"Go to the Black Order. You'll be getting in without my recommendation."

A slender arm heavily mottled with black rose to brush the white strands back out of his sight, his steely silver eyes pointedly focused on the open scenery provided by the windows that took up the entire wall from the ceiling down to the floor, a slightly troubled, if not disgruntled, frown marring his usually deadpan expression.

"Master, you can't be serious," he voiced incredulously, palming his left eye aggravatedly, "We don't have much time left. Now's not the time to be fooling around."

"It's exactly because we don't have much time left that I'm sending you to the Black Order, idiot apprentice."

He let out an indignant sound. "What do you mean?"

"Quit asking questions and just do as I say. I already gave that poor excuse of a head officer with his severe sister-complex a heads-up. Go ask him for the details."

The white-haired teen glanced at his phone in a way that suggested that he'd readily strangle the man to death if he was right in front of him, his reputation and position in the Black Order be damned. "Master, you're not making any sense."

There was an amused snort that told him that his master was well aware and that he didn't give a flying fuck.

"If it makes you sleep better at night, go ahead and treat this as a direct order from a General. The next time we meet, you better be wearing the damn uniform."

"Wait, Master-"

Cross ended the call with not even a farewell, leaving the teenager to seriously wonder if his master had finally gone senile. It would be understandable, really, not with the pressing responsibilities of being a General and the knowledge that it won't be long before the sworn enemy of the exorcists started a war.

He locked his phone and gently placed it on top of the counter which resembled a bar - no thanks to his master's so-called eloquent taste in architectural design - with his eyes still drawn to the skyscrapers and buildings that towered over the streets, neon lights colorful yet blinding to his eyes. For a brief moment, he let himself be distracted by the muted noise of the city, admiring the bustling crowd that made the night more alive than it was during daylight from his seat, his elbow propped on the counter and his chin resting on the back of his hand, before closing his eyes and heaving a sigh.

"Stupid master," he breathed out agitatedly as he took the opened bottle of wine on the counter and grabbed a glass. (He could only imagine how ecstatic Cross would be once he found out that he had, indeed, rubbed off on his apprentice with his drinking habits. Not that he had any plans of letting his master know anytime soon.) "What does he want me to do now?"

Pouring himself a generous amount and watching the pale amber liquid slosh inside the glass through slightly hooded eyes, he thought that it'd probably, like most things in his life, work itself out. Whatever he lacked in the luck department, the apt number of opportunities he received made up for it. He'd figure out what to do tomorrow.

He took a sip and resigned himself to drinking for the rest of the night.