Time is weird: this is just a commonly understood motto by Chronomancers - and Azrael was no different. Traveling through temporal rifts can weigh heavy on the mind and soul of those new to the craft, but over the ages this means of travel had become second nature to him. Outside the bar, within the alley, the wall of a dark alley shimmers while opening a rift. As Azrael steps out the portal blinks behind him. The smoke from a thin black cigar held between his lips lofts a thick smoke over the large brim of his hat. He makes his way towards the Gambit bar and is momentarily stopped by Security with a 'halting' hand gesture. Azrael's head slowly tips upwards to look at the man, his shimmering gold eyes gaze in to the man's and he sends a solitary nod of acknowledgement. The Security guard lowers his hand and makes a gesture with his head toward the door allowing Azrael entry. A sly smirk pulls the corner of his mouth as he enters the establishment, looking curiously through all of its patrons. He notes the location of the bar and begins to make his way through, adjusting his broad shoulders as he moves so that he may make his way up. He finds an open piece of 'real estate' at the bar counter of the bar and rests his elbows atop of it. He lets out a deep sigh, the sweet aroma of his cigar smoke casting a loud before his face, as he awaits the bar tender to approach.