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A reflection of Valhalla's state, perhaps his opposite in many ways, Al-Janah was prowling the streets not far from home with a grumble low in his breath, not only alright with a little trouble but actively looking for it. A part of him just wanted to smash things, because he could; dent garbage cans, move dumpsters, steal candy from small babies. Thus far, he'd suppressed the urge, if only because Leto's reaction to it probably wouldn't be good.

Or, maybe more importantly, Ares's reaction. Though he thought of that less...

The brush of Order around the edges of his sense was like a gift from God -- or, well, maybe not God. Maybe the gift had come from another direction. He didn't discriminate. He went quiet, waiting, all but holding his breath.

Valhalla was creeping up and Chaos-hunting, likely prepared for nothing more than a heated debate. Al-Janah was just waiting for him to get close enough. Round the corner and he was there, suddenly on top of the page, not even waiting to get a word out before he took him down to the ground and raised one fist in warning.

And paused. Frowning. "...the ******** are you supposed to be? Thor?"

...empowering. He squinted down at the flinching page, fingers shifting in his oversized falconry glove, and slowly lowered the hand. Al-Janah did not, however, get up -- still settled more than halfway on top of Valhalla, it would prevent the young man from getting up, from wriggling away, from pulling any tricks, or otherwise taking the offensive.

"Well, why the hell not?" It wasn't insulted, just curious. As he understood it, they were supposed to fight; it was all-out gang warfare. If possible, they were supposed to convert the senshi, and he understood that on a basic level. Not the instinctive. The instinct was to break teeth.

"What are you doing, if you're not fighting?" This time it came with a faint snort. He sat back on the heels of his boots, frowning down at Valhalla.

Al-Janah's expression had blurred out somewhere around "innocent civilians", his head tilted and his eyes gone distant. Thinking about something else, perhaps, considering the floof of fur around Valhalla's throat with much more interest than he gave the pleasant words. It wasn't entirely that he didn't believe the knight, though when asked later, he'd say that too. It was more that, well. He just didn't care that much.

"...dude, this is a ********. And you're on the other side. And I'm pretty sure we can't bring you over, right?" He finally came back into focus to blink down at Valhalla, waiting for a reply.

As Valhalla shifted, so did Al-Janah -- moving to tuck his knee in against the other man's chest, just hard enough to serve as a warning. Honestly, if the page jerked hard enough, he could probably dump his attacker and make a run for it before Al-Janah had time to reply. The question was just what sort of response that would get, what kind of attack. It'd be the end of diplomacy, definitely.

"I'm Al-Janah and, uh." How did you explain the goal, exactly? He frowned, trying to remember the elegant words used by his superiors, and failing. Al-Janah wasn't much on diplomacy, on fine words, high ideals. He preferred cursing. "The goal's to bring senshi over to chaos or kill them."

Now he paused, raising an eyebrow at Valhalla, one hand clenching and unclenching, ready for a fist. "But you're not a senshi. I don't think we can fix you."

"You're not a random person, and I'm not without a reason." Though, he didn't exactly say he wouldn't jump a random person. Technically, that was part of his job; subdue and send out the mirror wraiths. He hadn't quite gotten the hang of it yet, was still working, trying to figure out the best policy. The best targets. He shook his head, frowning down at Valhalla.

"You're not running around in jeans and a t-shirt, are you Thor?" He reached down to tug on the fur collar, one of his eyebrows raised meaningfully. "You're not playing a ******** game of basketball, or having a fancy dinner out."

At least he shifted, now, enough to let Valhalla free, rising smoothly to his own feet. He still had his magic, if nothing else.

A convention indeed. Al-Janah rolled his eyes at the very suggestion, swiping dirt briefly from his knees. One quick pat did very little to clean them off, and he didn't go for a second -- because, well. It didn't matter. A switch back into civvies later would clean it all away. Magic made life easier.

"You mean other than the 'would be dead without' part? Gee, I can't imagine." He tugged at his collar as well, everything tumbling neatly into place. He made fun of Valhalla's outfit quite a bit, and yet not a word had been said about his own feathered boots, the transparent overlay.

That was probably wise. He looked like he might take offense.

"It's all to do with blah blah blah, senshi are blind, fighting for the wrong side, etc etc." Al-Janah wasn't big on explaining. Or listening to explanations. He made a proper blah-blah-blah hand signal. "You, though, aren't a senshi. What are you, exactly? You feel like....sweet-rotted teeth."

Valhalla was a talker. Too much of a talker, perhaps; he just kept going and going, and Al-Janah's expression faded out toward something distant, distracted. He processed very few of the words coming out of the page's mouth -- only enough to recognize that part was making fun of him, or teasing him, or giving him a hard time, or at least interpreting them to mean that. It meant when the lecture finally came to a close, and amber eyes resettled on Valhalla's face, there was a mix of annoyance and boredom that usually led to trouble.

This case was no different.

There was no warning, no heads up, other than the slight shift of his posture, and then a fist came toward Valhalla's face. So much for talking it out, or explaining himself. So much for rationalization. He wasn't going to get that out of this one.