His voice booms in that imposing, low sort of way from where he stands, leaning against a brick wall. His arms are folded across his chest, his wings tightly pulled in beneath his jacket.
"Now there's a face I wasn't expecting to see any time soon."
If there's a subtle edge to his voice, it's entirely deliberate. Paz Mendoza in Chicago cannot be a good thing.
No, Julian. Paz Mendoza in Chicago is never good for any reason at all, but you could at least be grateful that she's here for business and not for pleasure. When she hears the voice, however, there's something in her that straightens, and she laughs.
Laughing in the face of an archangel who could easily kill you probably isn't the wisest move to make, but in the case of this particular archangel, she knows him well enough to make an exception.
"Julian," she says with a grin as she turns to face him. "It's been a long time. I almost didn't recognize you."
"Paz," he greets, tipping his hat her way, and he gives no indication he's responding to the laughter either way--she always was a defiant one. A lot of promise, too. Pity she's a demon.
"It's the hair cut," he says flatly, eyes narrowing at the sight of that grin. Julian pushes himself off of the wall, striding over to her. The way he walks hasn't changed. He still moves with pride. With purpose, those he walks past left wondering if he'll smile at them or slit their throats instead.
"Now I know you're not here for some rest and relaxation, Chilena."
This is the dance they always do. She laughs in his face, and he tries to scold her for her shortcomings. When she's feeling masochistic, she could almost say that it is violently paternal.
But that's not a thought she entertains often.
"Does anyone come to Chicago for rest and relaxation?" she says softly, taking him in, but always on edge. "It's not exactly an ideal tourist attraction."
"It's not exactly an ideal city for someone laughing in the face of its Treaty, either," Julian points out. Once upon a time, he would've scoffed in its face also--believed the same things that Paz believed in, but a century can change a man.
So can life and the stones it hurls your way. Chicago is Wanderer central. A place where both angels and demons are allowed to co-habitate.
"The keyword here is yet. You're in my town. And believe it or not, I've grown fond of it," he says. It's been through enough. Political climate ebbs and flows, and it's vulnerable--far too vulnerable for his liking, but he doesn't say that.
His voice booms in that imposing, low sort of way from where he stands, leaning against a brick wall. His arms are folded across his chest, his wings tightly pulled in beneath his jacket.
"Now there's a face I wasn't expecting to see any time soon."
If there's a subtle edge to his voice, it's entirely deliberate. Paz Mendoza in Chicago cannot be a good thing.
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Laughing in the face of an archangel who could easily kill you probably isn't the wisest move to make, but in the case of this particular archangel, she knows him well enough to make an exception.
"Julian," she says with a grin as she turns to face him. "It's been a long time. I almost didn't recognize you."
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"It's the hair cut," he says flatly, eyes narrowing at the sight of that grin. Julian pushes himself off of the wall, striding over to her. The way he walks hasn't changed. He still moves with pride. With purpose, those he walks past left wondering if he'll smile at them or slit their throats instead.
"Now I know you're not here for some rest and relaxation, Chilena."
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But that's not a thought she entertains often.
"Does anyone come to Chicago for rest and relaxation?" she says softly, taking him in, but always on edge. "It's not exactly an ideal tourist attraction."
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So can life and the stones it hurls your way. Chicago is Wanderer central. A place where both angels and demons are allowed to co-habitate.
"Remember what ground you're treading, Chilena."
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