Raphael snorted indignantly and miracled his clothing back on, facing him in a huff.

"You know damn well what I meant. And I don't care if you think I taste like filet mignon - since you're being so obtuse about it I'm leaving."

After all, he could always work on himself if it became absolutely necessart. But if Mic was going to tiptoe around the issue then he could play the waiting game until the demon decided he was through playing around.