"Allow? Sir, and I use the term because it always gets a laugh, you allow me in much the same way as I allow you to continue breathing. When we are safely away from civilization I will show you a thing or two about respect, and perhaps then we'll see who can be a good dog. You know, sit. Stay. Beg for your life. I will not tolerate your condescension. I will not tolerate you speaking of me thusly, and were it not for the fact I prefer not to upset the sensibilities of our fairer companions, I would cut you top to tackle right now for the assurance that I wouldn't have to listen to you once more. Am I clear, or is there a need for demonstration?" With that, the room goes darker, as if the light was sucked right out of it. Zachariah, the girls, Dean, and perhaps Saren if he's close enough, are plunged into dim light, making it hard to see. Shadows flicker across Zachariah's form with malevolent design. The voice that rasps within says<strong><em>"I am no petty thug. I am a master of the ars arcana, and you will know your place or be shown it."</em></strong>Light just seems to stop a few feet from him, and while it does so he exits the hall, the darkness flowing with him. He turns his back on Dean, because he knows one thing for sure. Dean is 'honorable', and it just wouldn't do to strike a foe from behind. It would tarnish his 'reputation'. These are tethers, weaknesses, and in time he'd have to show Dean just how foolish it is to draw the ire of his betters.