He's sitting off in the section of the bar on a little wooden platform, near the thick, smokey windows. The wood of the table is dark, heavily varnished, tarnished with age. His chair is slightly rickety, but it allows him to lean back and rest one ankle on the other knee, which is good enough for him. He's holding a glass in one pale, incredibly thin hand. The glass is filled with frothy golden liquid that looks like it just came out of a beer commercial.

He is, of course, Azrael.

Tonight, he's eschewed his usual black, black and more black ensemple for loose white garments that hang loosely from his painfully thin frame. The clothes are of that special thick, well-scrubbed fabric characteristic to hospitals everywhere. He makes it look as though, somewhere, there's a doctor going around naked. Or, more probably, a patient.

His hair is un-gelled for once, left to its own devices. It dominates his head, all a black, wildly curled dissarray. Possibly he did this for effect.

His eyes are as white as usual, marking him as the god he is.

She’s growing bored. That’s not good, a bored Grace is never good. She let out a slow pained sigh, this place was never as fun as Guilty Pleasures, but that was currently under renovation because of the fire that had been dubbed as ‘electrical’. Well, technically, he did burn the amp.

Leaning back into her chair her gaze shifted to the ceiling. It seemed to maybe, in some other life, have been white, but now it was rather ugly to be the nicest. It was peeling in some places and splotches hinted damages from some sort of flooding from the upstairs, if there WAS an upstairs. The discoloring caused by what may have been cigarette smoke wasn’t very attractive either; smoking wasn’t really attractive, well in Grace’s mind at least.

She held a can on Mountain Dew in her right hand, her black painted nails tapping against it random intervals. Yep. Very bored.

The dead-white eyes slide over the room to rest on Grace. One dark eyebrow quirks in an expression that could be amusement or intrigue...ment.

The bone-thin fingers shift a bit on the cool glass, pressing fingerprints into the condensation.

Other than that, he does not move.

Her breathe hitches in her throat; some one seems to be watching her. It’s not like that’s something unusual, many people look at her but something seems off. Brining the can to her lips she finishes off the carbonated substance before placing it on the wood of the bar. She moves her self so that she is sitting up normally again, her violet eyes quickly roam the room before connecting with white ones.

She doesn’t know how she knows, she’s not even sure if she’s right, well she is sure, just not sure how she is, but he’s like her. A deity. Older and wiser, for who which other god is not? Slowly she gets up moving across the room to where he is sitting, it looks, unstable to say the least. Looking down at him, her lips curl into a weak smile.

”Hello..”

With his free hand, the lanky god gestures to the seat across from him, his thin lips curling into a smile.

"Hello, dear. Nice to finally meet you."

His low voice hums through the smoky atmosphere of the room.

She nodded slowly as he gestured to the seat across from him. Pulling it out slowly so that she could sit into it she lowers herself into it, hopping it wouldn’t some how snap under her weight.

”I guess I would say the same if I knew that I was supposed to be meeting you…” she trailed off. Setting her arms on the rests of the chair she glanced up at him quickly.

”So I guess you knew my father…”

"Amor? Yes."

There is a delicate clink as the glass is set down on the wooden table, still as full as it had been when he bought it.

He laces his fingers together in front of him, a grin playing over the pale features. His white eyes never leave her.

”Yeah…” she lowered her eyes to the table, his unblinking an unwavering gaze somewhat intimidating.

She didn’t know what else to say. Her black painted nails clicked against the arms of her chair before her hands wrapped around them.

He blinks.

"How are you coming into your new powers?" he asks, as one might ask about how one is fitting into a new home.

She looked up, her lips twisting into a wicked grin.

”It’s a bit troublesome at times, but I was able to beat this annoying vampire pretty well with them…” she seemed to quickly move to another place, the memories of that night flashing before her eyes. The raining pounding down all around and the blood tinted water pooling around their feet, all of the pain, the adrenaline, the energy, the fear. It had been a great night

"You can do more interesting things than beat vampires, Grace," Azrael suggests, shifting his position. His clothing rustles.

She nodded slowly, it not really registering that he used her name, or maybe it just seemed normal.

”I know, but it was fun getting back at him…” she smiled sheepishly at him.

He leans forwards. Rests his elbows on the table. Smiles.

"Such a petty thing for a god to be concerned with, isn't it? Revenge?"

Not really... but perhaps he's testing her, probing her. Or perhaps he's just being his usual annoying self.

She shrugged her shoulders, finally meeting his gaze. Cocking her pierced eyebrow she continued to study him a bit before replying.

”Well, he did try and kill me when I was twelve, so I think revenge was in order.”

She briefly recalled how many or the myths she’d read out of boredom as a child involved revenge on the god’s side and repressed a question.

*Ex-excuse me. Miss, sir?* A small voice said from behind the two. A young girl, not much older then 7 or 8 stood behind Grace's chair, a notepad in one hand and a pen in the other. *Sorry for not getting to you earlier, but, can I get you anything?* She questioned, smiling at the two. She had heard what they were talking about, but if they questioned her if she had or hadn't, she would use her skills in lying and lye to them if need be. She had to keep herself safe.

With barely a glance at the waitress, Azrael shakes his head and gestures to the full glass on the table in front of him, his meaning as plain as if he had said no thank you, I already have something.

She didn’t bother to look behind her. She knew it was a kid, or something that looked like a kid. If asked how she knew, she would not be able to answer, and she would not be able to tell how she knew the child was ‘special’ or ‘different’ maybe it was a developing power or something.

”No thanks, sweetie,” she said briefly motioning to the soda next to her, which she almost could have sworn had not been there earlier. She had her vision locked on with Az, trying to read his almost indecipherable emotions.

*Oh, right..* The girl said timidly, looking at each of the drinks cursiously. *Well, sorry to bother you then.* The girl flashed a quick smile and then turned around and went else where around the bar, cleaning up the tables that weren't in use.

"Now then." Az smiles at Grace.

"Where were we?"

He considers this.

"She did look a bit too young to be working, let alone in a licenced bar."

Grace smiled back, "You questioning my need to vengeance. And me wondering why there is some who looks to be in Kindergarten serving drinks in at a place that carries alcohol. Oh, and wondering WHAT she was... yeah, that is where we were."

Grace nodded, not quite sure what to say or how to respond.

”Yeah, isn’t that illegal or something?” She reached for her can of soda and dragged it across the table to stand in front of her, though she didn’t drink from it.

"I think, in fact, I was asking how you were coming into your godhood."

He leans forwards, just a touch.

"I'm curious what it is like for a human mind to become deitic..."

”Umm, I-I’m not sure. It’s… really.. weird. That’s probably the best way I can describe it, I mean, I’ve lived with my dad ever since my mother, umm, died, so I’m not that unfamiliar with stuff being.. weird.” She sighed pulling a bang behind her ear, trying to think of something that made more sense.

”I’m not sure what it’s like exactly, I think my brain has been warped since my birth. Having a father that can turn into a woman at will, may do that to a kid…. And being a werewolf, that always helps to screw some one up enough to not even seem to somewhat resemble ‘normal’.” Brining her hands up to the table she laid them down across it and tilted her head to the side.

I’m probably making no sense what so ever to him…

He's still smiling. 'Smirking' might be a better word.

"Of course, you're not a werewolf now... not unless you want to be."

She noded slowly.

"Yeah, it seems to be part of me though, it's weird to just stop being something I've been my entire life."

She blinked slowly, "I don't think I know your name yet..."

Jesse listened to them, but only for a short while longer, she stopped after when they were done talking about her. Yeah, it was evesdropping, but she couldn't help it. Shaking her head she picked up the plates she was clearing and walked to the back room, calling for Miss Zyra, the owner of the club who had allowed her to work here, but only in the day and day was coming to an end but she had to tell Miss Zyra that she was leaving, though Miss Zyra didn't seem to be anywhere.

"Well, you've just started being something you've never been your whole life..."

He runs a thin finger around the rim of the cold, condensation-covered glass, eliciting from it a ringing noise.

"Azrael, if you like. I have more than one."

"I'm trying to determine if starting being something you haven't been is harder, or stopping being something you have been. Maybe I'll be it sometimes, and then less and less until I get used to not being it, and I can slowly start being what I need to be or something like that.”

Her shoulders drooped slightly gesture of defeat, she really had no idea what she was saying.

"Maybe," he says, "You'll get used to it eventually."

He shifts his position again.

"Love is, after all, a necessity for human survival... well, lust, at least."

She nods slowly, dragging the can of soda across the table again, leaving it by her right hand. Her violet eyes followed the girl in the white coat.

”Something bugs me about her, I can’t tell why though…”

Normally, Azrael might have spun to take a look, but today, he doesn't.

"Can't you?" he asks. "Extend your senses..."

Extend my senses… Yeah, maybe if I knew exactly how to do that… She closed her eyes, and let out a slow breath. Just extend your senses… I wish I knew how….
She probably couldn’t ever say exactly how she did it. It worked though, maybe it was like slowly pushing out an energy around her, like echolocation, or maybe it was just sensing the power of someone else, or it wasn’t either of those, and it just, somehow… worked.

”She’s like, umm, a not dieing-person…..”

Azrael nods. "Good."

A god stands out to another god's senses like a glowing neon sign in a dark windowless room after weeks of nothing but black. Azrael is outlined in, figuratively speaking, blindingly bright white. He is a god as clearly as if he had a sign hanging over his head.

Human glow with a much fainter, more subtle, and altogether different light.

And that's not even desciribing the half of it.

It kind of hurt, looking directly at Az, it was so much brighter, was it power that was radiating off of him? She lowered her gaze a bit, to stare blankly at the Mountain Dew can off to her right; her hand grabbed it and finally brought it to her lips, allowing the caffeinated beverage to slide down her throat. Lowering the can she let it settle on the table with an empty ‘clink.’

Azrael reaches out and grasps the empty can in bone-thin fingers. There is the creak of distressed aluminum and then the can crushes in his grip. A slight grin graces his lips.

Those thin fingers really don't look that strong.

Zyra opened the door from her flat and shut it behind her again. She smiled to herself before walking over to the bar and whispered something to the tender. She looked about and motioned for Jesse to come over to her. She than glanced around the place and stopped when she spotted the two talking at the end of the bar. Not human, was what ran through her head something very powerful.She walked over to that part of the bar and began to wipe some glasses while keeping her eyes on them.

She let out a laugh as he crushed the can between his fingers. Shaking her head and grinning she sighed.

”Was there any point to that?” Her back stiffened and she sniffed the air quickly, old wolf habits die hard. Some one was watching her; she turned to them and stuck out her tongue. She turned back to him.

”Very, very mature, I know, I’m chockfull of maturity…”

Still grinning, Azrael shrugs.

"There was," he suggests, "Just as much point to the bit with the can as there was to the tongue, I think."

A thoughtful pause.

"We don't have to be mature."

Zyra raised her eyebrow and cleared your throat*Excuse me for being a bugger but would you like another one*She pointed to the crused can and smiled.