"Have you not done enough damage to me lately?" It's a fine hello- and if it were for anyone else, they'd be apologetic. But Absinthe doesn't even need to turn around to know who's approached. It's a curse, perhaps- to know one another so intrinsically that Sin could recognize Raziel deaf, dumb, and blind- to hate the person who's scars move in perfect lockstep with one's own. "Whatever it is you are here to say I have... I have no interest in hearing it." They grimace, lighting the end of a cigarette and taking a drag just in time to be staring Raziel down.
It's your mouth muttering filth in Italian in the moment. It's never a problem until you remember you're not supposed to be here, with a fist in your hair and teeth in your lower lip- not with them, anyway.
He tears his gaze away- down. a subtle deferment of power. "What do you want, Raziel? Pleasantries? Small talk? Observations about the weather? Do you want me to get on my knees and beg you to let me be?" He inhales, brows knitting as he blows smoke into Raz's face. "Because I would much rather just smoke. I am not often afforded a break from you or your little pet project you've made of Quinn. Or her brute for that matter."
@ambercast