“You dare provoke us at this table, Wolf King?” growled the Angel of Death, Gabriel.
The burly man flicked his wrist, casting bits of apple towards the opposite end of the table. “What are you going to do about it? All of you, Pontiff’s boy toys… you’re disgusting to look upon.”
Raphael lifted a finger, and with a flash the apple residue was cast aside before it could offend him and those beside him.
“Ahem.” The man in the tuxedo interrupted with the quiet sound.
The Wolf King turned his head towards the man. “What are you coughing about. You’re just as despicable.”
Meanwhile the Barber chortled at the exchange. His voice was thick with disdain. “I can’t tell if he’s supposed to be a wolf or a mutt. He’ll nip at whoever crosses his path.”
“You looking to die, kid?” The Wolf King shot to his feet.
“Sit.”
