[ R E P E N T ]

Hopefully, I’ll get back into the groove sooner rather than later. I’ve been gone for some time due to military reasons so I’m also catching up on life itself.

     Those words actually cause a roughened laugh to come from behind the emotionless mask, short-lived and heavy with false humor. Because, really, it would be Morrison to say such a thing laden with irony whether he meant for it to be or not.

     “There’s no rest for the wicked.” His past nearly has his tongue following it up with the verbiage from the Bible but it dies before coming to fruition.

     But he isn’t wrong. And that’s the true magnitude of speaking those words out loud, giving life to them. Reaper almost feels his shoulders ache just then, perhaps a pinch at the base of his spine as if the true weight of his exhaustion needed but a few seconds to try and manifest itself.

     It’s ignored easily enough, brushed aside with a casual shift of his stance from one side to the other and appearing rather nonchalant to the truth of the matter. “You should be used to that by now.”

ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴡᴀʀᴍᴇᴅ ᴏᴠᴇʀ | ᵃ ʷʳᵃᶤᵗʰ ᵘᶰᵈᵉʳ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵉᵃᵗʰᵉʳ

     A low snarl is given in answer but there isn’t his usual bite in it, muted just as much as the rest of his movements. It’s a clear acknowledgment of the words but it’s not a welcome one considering the narrowed eyes that are directed at him also. The wraith is more than aware he’s not up to par today. Or yesterday. And most likely not in the immediate future. If given the option, Reaper would have simply disappeared until this is all over.

     Whatever this is.

ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴡᴀʀᴍᴇᴅ ᴏᴠᴇʀ | ᵃ ʷʳᵃᶤᵗʰ ᵘᶰᵈᵉʳ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵉᵃᵗʰᵉʳ

     Hooded eyes, all six of them, are sluggish in tracking over to Gabriel as though it cost him more energy than it is even worth doing. Despite the idea of being dead, it certainly appears that it can, in fact, get much worse when your body decides to go on an extended immunity vacation. Reaper hadn’t even been aware that this could even happen. Yet here he is, a partially smoking lump of a man with disfigurement near unmanageable.

     “Just take me out back. Put me out of my misery.” It’s garbled, partially growled as most of his face is invaded by serrated teeth. He’s either unable or uncaring to control his appearance in this state, it’s just another aspect that’s too much trouble when feeling like...well...death.

-screeches-

Short answer: I try not to.

Okay.

First off…what? I don’t know if this is in jest or seriousness but it’s definitely off-putting. Like, what have I ever done to you?

If you meant for this to be answered in character or something, maybe this would be more amusing but considering I haven’t been around I can’t think that’s what you meant by sending this.

So. Yeah. The hell.