It was a nice day, though it was quite possible it could've been nicer. Weather-wise, in any case.

The young Aiden, clothed in a rather nice, dressy shirt that was a white in color with black, vertical pinstripes, was strolling down the side-walk without a care in the world. Because, really, why should he care? Life was good for Aiden.

He looked like some classy man, with black slacks and combed back, gelled hair (for heaven forbid if a strand should fall out of place). But, the overall classiness was ruined by the fact that he was twirling his key-ring on his index finger, sure it wouldn't fall.

In addition to his slacks and dress-shirt, he was wearing black wing-tips on his feet, and didn't care if the road was absolute hell, and there was snow and ince on the side-walks.

Of course he didn't care. Because remember, life is good.

Consider for a moment the temperature. It's below freezing, maintainging the snow, slush and ice that the city streets turn into slurry. The wind isn't too strong, so it's not much below freezing, but there's a definite chill to the air. It's winter, as winter is.

So this is why the young man leaning against a space of brick up ahead could be considered odd. It's not the fact that his sin is as pale as the snow. It's not the fact that he's tall, and quite thin, like the human version of a skeleton. It's not his pale eyes, which he's currently using to watch the traffic in a bored way. It's not the black eye-liner or white spiked hair.

No, it's the fact that he's wearing a thin black tee-shirt in blatant disregard for the weather. It's the fact that he wears no gloves, nd that his running shoes surely can't be enough to insulate yes, sockless feet. It's the fact that those tight black jeans don't look particularly insulating.

It's the fact that he doesn't look cold in the least.

He doesn't seem to notice that it's not summer anymore.

Of course, everyone notices that it's not summer anymore. It's just a fact. And if you couldn't tell by taking a peak outside, surely the temperature, the weather man, the news, the accidents that this bad weather has caused, the calender, and pretty much everything would prove that true. And really, it doesn't take much to figure out that you'll die outside if you don't dress warmly.

But this, this is almost funny, the way that man just stared boredly at the city streets, not even shivering. With a tee-shirt on. A tee shirt! Surely, someone would be more intelligent than to just have the nerve to wear tee shirts in winter, completely ignoring the fact that it was below freezing.

And yet, besides being funny, that's almost... insulting towards nature. And in fact, it should be considered rude, if not completely stupid.

He shrugged, though, and as he passed the man, other than an eye-brow raise and a rather snide look, he hardly noticed him.

Though when he looked back, his overly pale skin was a little bit... out of the ordinary and was... creepy.

"Creepy? I should be offended."

There's something odd about the voice-- other than the fact than it just responded to something not spoken aloud. The voice, this voice-- it sounds as odd as a tee-shirt in winter looks. It's not right. Doesn't fit. It's like a lion's roar coming from a sheep's mouth.

Of course, the full subtleties of wrongness tend to be lost on humans, who have filters against this sort of thing.

And the tee-shirt man isn't even looking at Aiden.

"What?" Aiden questioned, turning around. No, he didn't know why he had turned around, but he wasn't as rude as not to respond when somebody was talking to him. Of course Aiden had heard what he'd said, but... did he really say that aloud? Or did he think it... like he thought?

Suddenly, he stopped spinning the key-ring and just... paused. Besides the fact that his appearance was odd... his voice was just as creepy as he looked. No, it didn't belong. Not at all.

And now he's staring. Why shouldn't he stare, after all? You didn't see too many people out here in the middle of winter with tee-shirts on, with pasty white skin and, upon further inspection... eyes as white as his skin.

"I said, I should be offended. I'm not, but I ought to be." His gaze slides away from the traffic and lands dead on Aiden. A smile curls one corner of his lip, like a cozy cat.

"Oughtn't I?"

Aiden feels a bit squirmy under his gaze, but he doesn't show it at all. He's such a proud, cocky little bastard. So he smiles instead. Just a little. Though he's not sure if the smile shows his uncertainty about the white-skinned man. He should really stop reffering to him as variations of his appearance with 'man' tacked on to it.

"I suppose." There's that squirmy feeling again. He's not sure what to say, really. "You should be wearing something warmer."

"I like the cold."

The stranger turns his head, noting that the building at his back contains a bar.

He turns his gaze back to Aiden, lifting an inquisitive brow.

"Want to get a drink?"

Like the cold? How could anybody like the cold? Still, he was quite perplexed by the fact of him wearing just a simple tee-shirt. At below zero.

Aiden watches him turn his head to look, and then he notes that he asked him to go get a drink. He didn't even know him.

And he was still creepy.

But at the word 'drink', his head nodded instinctively.

"I'll buy." Flashing Aiden a smile like newly-fallen snow, the stranger spins and, placing his hands on the door, pulls it open.

And holds it for the mortal. Ahem. I mean for Aiden.

"After you?"

Well, he was already under the assumption that this man--- whom he really had to figure out a name for, was going to buy the drinks when he had mentioned them. But his words reassured him of that.

"Mhm," he mumbled, mostly to himself, however.

When the door is opened for him, the man needn't ask if he should go after him, because he just walks into the building with a muttered 'thanks', or something like that.

The tee-shirted stranger sweeps in after him, taking a seat at the bar like he owns the place.

He looks as comfortable in here as he had outside.

Tilting a head at his guest, he says, "Aiden-- I can call you Aiden, right?-- what would you like to drink?"

This is something like a fisherman buying the biggest, sparkliest, brightest bait he can. Sometimes, Death lacks subtlety.

Possibly, Azrael was just as cocky as Aiden was. Probably more cocky, actually. He simply takes a seat next to him, getting a bit more comfortable.

It's better in here than it is outside, though Azrael doesn't seem to care. He looks perfectly contended either way.

"Yeah. Aiden. A margarita would be nice." Definitely more comfortably here. And he forgets the fact that he hasn't even told Azrael his name yet. But he subconsciously knows, and it's an odd feeling.

"And I can call you...?"

"Oh, anything you like... Azrael, Thanatos, Morpheus-- just choose one."

He turns his attention from Aiden before getting a response, asking of the bartender one margarita and one amaretto sour.

And then turns back to Aiden, his bleached-white eyebrows lifting over similarly white eyes.

"Isn't that... Death?" He asked, a bit of his uncertainty flashing briefly through his chocolate brown eyes.

He was coming to put pieces together, and it made one hell of a broken jigsaw puzzle. Everything about this Azrael guy was too odd to piece together perfectly.

"Yes. And dreaming, to be technical."

He watches Aiden, as though he's said nothing out of the ordinary.

Buit of course, he's probably just some punk out to shock people, right?

"And dreaming?" This is said more in... confused shock than understanding.

He fidgets a little, but not much.

Yeah, the thought had crossed his mind already that this guy was just trying to scare him, but it wasn't exactly as reassuring as he would have liked it to be.

The stranger's pale, spidery hands flutter up in front if him as he mimicks a wave, explaining, "Death and dreaming are on the same mental frequency. Sleep, too. They combined."

In fact, it's not really much of an explanation unless you know the question.

"What kind of explanation is that?" He asks, becoming a little bit flustered.

Okay, enough of this game. This was getting more than freaky.

"A much more direct one than I usually give," he says, sliding twoards Aiden the margarita that's just been set down.

He takes a sip of his own drink as the bartender walks away.

"I think you're curious. Hmm? And bored with things as they are. That's why I'm here."

Great. Just great. What had he got himself into? Though, he gladly accepted the drink without any protest, and sipped a little bit of it.

He wasn't exactly enjoying the presence of this 'Azrael', and wasn't exactly sure if he was actually, in entirety, a man.

"Yeah, actually," was all he could manage to say.

"I think you wish your life were a bit different. You're wishing for a change. For something to come out of the blue, go whazaam, and make things more interesting. More unique. Right?"

Oh, sure, it sounds good now.

he smiles, and if you don't know about the god of death, it looks like a perfectly inviting, friendly smile.

Yes. Despite these odd circumstances, he was turned on by tihs... offer, perhaps? He sipped some more of his drink with a little bit of relief, and slowly nodded. Though things were currently going pretty well for him, he could use a change.

"And how would you manage this?" He asked, curiosly, relaxing again.

"Oh, I have my ways." He smiles again, an expression that would be warm if there were anything warm about him.

"Though if you must know..." he lowers his voice.

"It's magic."

"Oh, really?" He asks, growing more certain of himself. Yes, that was good, for he needed to be back in a position where he felt safe. And right now he was safe enough. Right now, anyway.

As he lowered his voice and spoke something about magic, Aiden just chuckled. Though there had been some odd coincedences with Azrael today, Aiden would never be convinced that there was ever such a thing as magic. "Surely you're kidding," he said, almost asked but not quite.

"I'm not-- and don't call me Shirley."

The oldest and worst joke in the book. Which, it appears, is the point. (Can this god ever resist a line?)

Taking another sip from his drink, he suggests, "We could step out back, and I could show you something... convincing, if you like."

Haa, good one. But the fact that he'd heard that joke about a thousand times before and it wasn't funny in the first place... well, it just wasn't funny. So he didn't laugh.

He simply finished up his drink, and looked back at Azrael.

MAybe he meant magic like magic tricks... like pulling a rabbit out of a hat.

"Sure." he shrugs. He has nothing to lose, anyway.

Well, unless Azrael plans to take him to a secluded area, overpower him, rape him and steal his money.

You never know, with a guy calling himself Death.

Nonetheless, the tall stranger stands, drops a few bills on the bartop, and turns to stride out the door. He seems confident that Aiden will follow him, caught fast by his curiosity.

Yeah. There was always that, but that thought never even entered Adrian's mind. Because he was pretty sure that this would all be some sort of sick joke anyway, so he wasn't worried. No, he was never truly worried. Okay, sometimes he was, but he wouldn't admit to that.

And Azrael, or Death, whichever he preferred, stood and strode away, Adrian followed him, like a little duck following its mother.

Out, around, back. There's an alley to the side of the place, where the snow's not as brown as in the rest of the city. It squeaks under Azrael's feet as he moves out of sight and then stops.

And then smiles at Aiden.

And he follows him out, around, back. And he pauses... and then follows him into the alley.

"So, what's your trick, Azrael?" he asked, trying out that name. Azrael. hm. Sounded like a proper name for someone calling themselves Death. Because of course, all of the names he'd mentioned probably meant Death in one language or another.

Azrael smiles and, wordlessly, waves his left hand. A full-length mirror appears, facing Aiden. he waves his right, giving Aiden something to look at. Metaphorically speaking.

It's natural for a guy to want to be taller and more muscular.

The transformation won't be painless, though, because Azrael likes his gifts to be... noticeable. Even when it's only a demonstration.

"Hm... interesting," Aiden said, commenting at the trick of the mirror just appearing out of thin air. Or soemthing along those lines.

"Cute trick, I must say. That all?"

"Not all."

Any moment now, the transformation should really sink in.

Aiden was waiting, waiting, waiting... getting bored... and then, he staggered back slightly in pain.

The expression he wore was a sort of 'what the hell did you do to me' kind of thing, and he didn't exactly like what was going on. Whatever it was, it kind of hurt.

And then, kapow. Four more inches and more muscles. Swweeeeeeeeet.

Amazed, Aiden commented with a grin, "You're a better magician than I gave you credit for."

With a wave, Azrael takes it away. Aiden ought to deflate like a balloon, all things considered.

"No mere magician, I. Now then, my offer-- you want something more than this mundane life is giving you. I think I can help."

He tilts his head at the boy.

"Are you interested?"

And, in fact and in theory, he does, and it's just as if nothing ever happened. He was now the same scrawny, average height male he always was. So much for magic.

He nods at Azrael's first remark. If he can add four inches and muscles, and that was perhaps just a demonstration, what other, greater things could he do to him? Perhaps permanently?

And as Azrael tilted his head and asked him if he was interested, he waited a moment before smiling, although it was only a brief smile.

"Of course. What other tricks do you have, Death?" Maybe he's mocking Azrael. Maybe it's just a question. In any case, he's interested.

"Part of the fun will be finding out. Come here."

He gestures for the young man to come closer. His eyes follow each movement. "Like a hawk" is such a cliche, but it does have merit: unblinking, unmoving, predatorial.

Yes, this is all a game. Just a fun, harmless game. And besides, a couple of cute tricks couldn't harm him too much.

"Is that so?" He asked, stepping without caution towards Azrael. The fool.

The 'magician's' hand snakes out, delicately catching Aiden behind his back as though he were going to teach the boy to dance.

He leans close, moving to kiss.

He doesn't do it slowly-- just an average speed, as though he doesn't expect Aiden to shy. The mortal probably has enough time to turn his head-- all depends on him, doesn't it?