"Ow!" Vaughn cursed, his index finger having just been burned by a match he was holding. He shook off the pain, looking around at the scene he had just made. Well, sure the chalk circle was on cardboard, but it was chalk and salt, just as the conjuring spell demanded. He had just finished lighting the specific one white candle in the middle of the bowl of specific ingredients and all was good, well and specific. He had to admit the spell was infinitely more complicated than the God of Spice and fire he had conjured in India, and for that spell one had to run through a labyrinth naked with a torch.

Seating himself infront of the bowl and the chalk circle, he took up a crumpled piece of paper to his left, and repeated the strange words clearly, stuttering once, and when he did, he laughed excitedly. After he had spoken the last word, he'd taken up a small steak knife, and cut his tongue, letting it fall in to the bowl. "Yech" He grumbled, wiping his now bloodied bottom lip. Perhaps he'd cut himself to forcefully.

"Um...Come forward...Mr. Death type person?"

For a moment, it must seem that the spell is not going to work.

And then he's there, in the circle. White skin, white hair, white eyes. The hair is short, uniformly about a centimeter high over the god's scalp. He's wearing a white trenchcoat over a white tank top and white jeans, normal. White bands of leather with silvery spikes grace both his wrists and his neck. Small silver loops spiral up each ear. His white-on-white eyes are heavily outlined in black eyeliner.

He's looking at Vaughn with a vaguely incredulous expression.

"Mr. Death type person?" he repeats, his cold, inhuman voice sounding amazed.

Vaughn's breathing became sporadic at best. He could feel the strength of the magic. His need was becoming unbearable until he was distracted by Death's voice. Chills were running through him, not up and down his spine like usual fear, but frantic ice water rapids in his veins.

"I uh...Didn't really know what you liked to call yourself..." He was shaking a bit now, as he stood up carefully, his green murky eyes looking down the length of the figure, and then up again. Absolutely unbelievable. His hands, which were placed at his sides, began flexing and unflexing slowly.

Death shrugs, a grin flickering onto his pale-white lips.

"Azrael, Thanatos, Aisling, Death, Dreams... whatever."

He pauses and makes a great show of poking the boundary the circle draws in the air.

"What did you want?" Odd use of past tense, there.

Vaughn took in the names with some trouble, because he was still in a state of high panic and excitement that his spell had worked. He'd never conjured such a powerful deity before...Since though, Death had mentioned the name 'Azreal' first, he figured that was the most common.

"Um...I was..." Vaughn shrugged a bit, attempting to look casual, looking down at the his feet as they shuffled shyly, as if he were asking the most popular girl out on a date, "I was wondering, well really just- I was playing with the thought that maybe you could...If, you know, you wanted to, you could...Give me some magic," At the last four words his shuffling stopped, and although his head was still tilted downwards, his eyes were looking up at Azreal expectantly.

The god's bleached eyebrows raise.

"Give you some magic? What for?"

One elbow rests on the other hand, crossed over his chest. He rests his chin on the spare hand and stares expectantly at Vaughn.

Perhaps the expression playing over his inhuman features is amusement. Perhaps not.

Vaughn looked puzzled. He'd never really been asked that before. Usually the deities he conjured were from an ancient and old world, and seemed to refuse to change. They just appeared, said a few poetic lines, granted him what he asked for and scampered off to Olympus, or wherever they lived.

"Because I need it," He declared breathlessly. In a sudden weakness he had advanced closer to the protective circle, but making a note not to disturb the salt. "I want it..." He may have seemed a frail and dependent thing...That was because that's exactly, what he was.

This deity didn't look like he was living in the past. No, not with the trenchcoat, the modern haircut, the modern style. People will always need death.

The god watches Vaughn carefully, shifting positions as he nears the circle. He wears the sort of expression a bug might see if it looked up through the magnifying glass.

"But what do you need it for?"

"I need it because I'm..." He smiled hesitantly, "Because I'm addicted." It was perhaps the one thing he said with full confidence, not as if he were proud, but with assurance. He was certain of that. He saw the strange look in Azreal's eyes and was perplexed....

"Do...Do you want me to release you?" Was that a taste of fear in those words?

"What?"

He blinks, then nods. "Oh-- yes. Yes, releasing me would be a good idea."

He strokes a finger down the air where the barrier must be.

"And then we'll see, hmm?"

Hesitations, hesitations. Carefully, Vaughn stepped closer to the circle, his feet shuffling more then they are making defined seperate steps. In the dark night Azreal looks so bright...And Vaughn didn't need his usual spell to know that this was very, very strong magic power...He probably wouldn't need another hit for weeks, months? He was standing directly infront of Azreal, green eyes on him, his shaggy black hair falling over his eyes. Gently he tipped over a candle on to the line, and watched it mix and melt with the chalk and powdery white sea salt. He then kicked this mixture even more to asure the circle was broken. After having done so his dark eyebrows furrowed as he looked down at the chalk line.

"Does that work?"

Azrael streams out of the circle over the broken line, stretching as if being so confined has made him stiff. He's ghostly white in the night.

"It does, it does. So... just what kind of magic are you looking for?"

Vaughn stumbled backwards as the go stepped out so elegantly and spoke so casually. Vaughn's heart was going mad in his chest, but an excited grin fell over his lips. Azrael's very presence was chilling the air with strength. "Yours..." He said excitedly, his thin frame struggling to stand up straight. He looked as poor as he spoke...He was wearing old kahkis that had slashes at the knees, and an old tighter black t-shirt. An old trench coat lay on the bushes near by. He began regretting what he had just said and began to elaborate with remarkable inarticulation, "Yours yes, but-but just a little bit. I only need a small, small portion...small..."

"To feed your addiction," the god says, more of a statement than a question.

The slight breeze flaps his white trenchcoat, jingles the silver bangles he wears on one bone-thin arm.

"Yes, yes to feed it. Yes," Vaughn nodded excitedly, almost happy that Azrael had understood. Yes, his addiction, his hopelessness...His beautiful frailty. He suddenly felt like falling to his knees and begging, but this modern god didn't seem like the type to want grovelling, as the ancient gods did, and so Vaughn stiffled the habit. How easy that stiffling seemed...Hm. Well, it wasn't as if magic could destroy you...It could only make things better, make him better.

"So would you...?" Vaughn left the question open, his head tilted to the side almost endearingly.

"Come here," the god says, his voice devoid of any recognizeable emotion.

And that's all. He doesn't move, doesn't say anything else-- just stands there with his eyes on the mortal, waiting for the command to be obeyed.

A very confusing mix of relief, excitment and panic flooded Vaughn's brain. His breathing was again it's usual sporadic self- The brain struggling to receive it's much needed oxygen while the lungs continue to try and get the rythm right. This was perhaps the most powerful God Vaughn had ever attempted to woo. A few other Gods and Goddesses had found him sweet in his defencelessness...But they didn't know what Vaughn was prepared to do to get his much needed hits of magic. Being a mage he had taken a few hits off of demi-gods without their permission, but for whole Gods such as Azrael, he needed to become the ever humble.

As the command had sunk in, and all those mixed emotions tumbled about frantically in a fight for domination in his brain, he took the few steps seperating Azrael and himself. His lips were mouthing the words 'please don't kill me' over and over.

Vaughn approaches.

And then Azrael's hand soots out, grabbing the mortal by the hair and forcing him to his knees, leaning in close.

His fingers are cold. His breath is colder.

"You want my magic," he states. There's no malice in the tone to match his actions... but there's no reprieve there, either.

Vaughn winced as he was pulled down to his knees by the hair, but doesn't make a move to try and wrench himself free from the gods hand. He stays still on his knees, forcing himself to stop wincing. Chills, chills, chills, in that voice and that skin. Vaughn was intoxicated by his presence and could almost not bring himself to speak.

But speak he did. "Yes, yes I want it!"

A grin spreads over the god's face, white teeth glinting against white skin.

"Then take this," he says, and his grip on the mortal's skull increases. Power, like icy water, flows down from his fingers into the living flesh, soaking in. Paleness creeps over Vaughn's flesh like autumn frost.

((Please excuse the godmoding... if you mind, I'll change it.))

(( No it's fine, I would have made that happen anyways. ))

For a time, Vaughn doesn't see. It's not as if he's gone blind, or that all went black, it was simply as if...He stopped noticing. The icy cool power flowed through him and Vaughn opened his mouth to yell, but no sound came at. A few guttural sounds were all that was heard as his thin body tried to cope with this small amount of entirely potent magic. This time his right hand shot up to grip the God's wrist in an instinctual reflex, however, he wasn't pulling or tugging and trying to scramble away...He was using it as an anchor. The pressure of the grip had increased, but the pain had gone unnoticed as the magic sunk deep down to forge with his own.

"Enough...enough!"

The death-cold non-flesh of the god's hand pulls away.

If Vaughn were to look up-- were to see-- he'd see the god standing much as he had before, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. his expression is curious.

"Enough?" Not questioning that he's had enough, but questioning that there is an enough.

As the iron storng hand pulls away Vaughn lies flat on his back, looking up at the star filled sky, which is interrupted here and there by the leaves of the surrounding Deep Wood trees. His breathing was regulated now, and he seemed more normal now that he had more magic in his supernatural system. As the God's frozen voice echoed in his ringing ears he nodded.

"I've had enough...I've had enough..." His voice faded out softly as his murky green eyes now closed. "What will it do to me?..." He asked, opening his eyes and looking up at the God, who seemed almost painfully bright.

The god's mouth pulls into a skeletal grin.

"You may not be able to warm up for a while," he says, without elaboration.

Vaughn didn't feel cold, but with what the god had said he was pretty certain that if someone were to touch him, he would be. He looked up at the grinning God and suddenly found it in him to stand up. As he did so he looked, if possible, a lot more healthy...Well, mentally. His breathing was normal, though his mind was just as frantic as it had always been...He only looked mentally stable. He stood squarely in front of Azrael, forcing himself to look in to those inhuman eyes.

"What did you give me?" His voice didn't sound defiant, just a bit more confident, but still holding that same kind of dependent frailty. He felt better already. Some blood appeared on his bottom lip from the previous tongue cutting. The cut was already healing pretty quickly, but he could still taste that familiar metal.

"I shoved you away from life a bit," he says.

"Threw raw power between your soul and body." Gee, that sounds good.

"You mean to say...You made me more 'dead'?" Vaughn asked, an eyebrow raised. His studdering was gone, but his hands were still clenching and unclenching at his sides. He wasn't certain what had just happened was exactly what he had wanted, but then again, he could already feel the power between, as Azrael said, his soul and his body. It was na old power, older than even the most ancient gods he had visited. Death was the oldest...He was the first. Vaughn began brushing himself off, having been in this type of situation before, but perhaps the other times he had never been quite so lost.

"Sort of," Death agrees. "It seemed the best way to provide power without specifics."

You always want to be specific with Azrael.

Vaughn gaped for a moment. Eventually he closed his mouth and set his jaw. "Ok...You go...You go back to your circle! That deserves a time out!" He pointed to the circle, but knew nothing of the sort would happen. He was powerfully annoyed, which means he was taking it remarkably well. "How much time did you take off of my life? How much?" At the last repitition of his question it sounded as if he were whining, and his shoulders slouched in his desperation.

"Time off? Who said anything about taking time off?" Azrael says, not moving an inch.

"I just detached you a bit. You'll probably feel like you're in a dream, insulated from the world, for a while. A good high, all in all."

"Oh...Well..." Vaughn looked perplexed for a moment, "Thanks?" He smiled uncertainly. Sighing softly he nodded, as if saying 'yup, yup' in an awkward silence. "So I guess I'll see you around? Thanks for the pick me up, I guess..." Vaughn shivered a bit as he remembered the sentation of the power entering his flesh. He shrugged lightly. "If you want I could...Buy you a drink or something? It's the least I could do" Vaughn began talking to Azreal as if he weren't a god at all, as if he were just a normal person. This often happened after a long withdrawal and the sudden hit, in a long withdrawal, even the slightest magic caught his attention and made him hunger, but now that he was full and satiated, there was no more grovelling. He intended not to have anymore long withdrawals...Not in this city. Oh no...This city was like a buffet.

"No," Azrael says, fully into his role as God at the moment.

"Do not conjure me again for this," he warns, as the wind picks up around him, whipping the salt out of the protective circle behind.

Who knows if a junkie will really heed that warning. Death is curious to find out.