reaper

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"I wouldn't disagree with you." In the few decades that Samrath had been at this he'd heard countless souls ask after their perceived afterlife. Heavens, Hells, and everything that ran above, below, and between. Nothing was ever quite as it seemed, even those who thought they held all the answers were only scratching the surface on what did or did not classify as dying. Samrath had died, but here he was: Vampires were soulless husks, but they walked around claiming to be full of unbridled life. Was a thing a thing because it had a soul? Did it need to breathe to be called alive? Samrath would have laughed at all of this in life and probably spat in the face of the person who asked, now he couldn't say he knew, but neither was it his business to know. A man jogged down the sidewalk before his feet slowed to a cautious step, he was young, healthy, and full of life: but that didn't stop him from clutching his chest and keeling over. He was dead before he hit the ground, and Samrath stood in response; right on schedule. "But I don't think I have any strong feelings towards them either way."

"You're telling me." Sometimes he regretted getting wifi put into the place, he couldn't believe some of those memes that they seemed to latch onto. Ciaran tried not to blame them too much and for all of his exasperation over feeling like he was constantly being run ragged, he didn't think he could have it any other way now. "Now there's the matter of the job." Legs crossed at the ankle, he's curious as to if Samrath knows what he's getting into in Rome. "I can't say it hasn't been harder here, if you'd believe it." They saw all sorts of tragedies but the last couple of years, Rome is a special kind of open wound that seems hellbent on bleeding.

"That's the nature of this place, isn't it?" Samrath hadn't expected Rome to be easy, he'd come here because The End had gathered so many of them. Now as he sat in this dingy, grimy hotel he wondered how much dedication it would take to keep this sort of existence running. Samrath supposed there had to be some way of distilling small joys out of this second, half-life, but so far the reaper had precious few things to occupy his mind beyond books and changing cinema. "How long have you been here?"

Person: @samrathx Location: A Party (That's a Codename for a "party") It's been a couple of weeks and while things at Eden are always somewhat interesting and worst case scenario, he can always entice someone to the back room, but Asmodeus can't deny the boredom. All of the decadence, all of the orgies, all of that temptation was easy. It was nothing to look at someone and convince them to steal something or take another glass of wine, say something that was on their mind. Where was the fun? Where was the challenge? The dying man at the foot of the bed has nothing to do with Asmodeus, not directly. The party consisted of a decent amount of vampires who were more than happy to drink their fill of the man who'd shown up to the party in khaki's. That alone was enough for perhaps the entire room to think he had to go. There's ample wine, there's a lot of skin on display, the place itself is beautiful, the lights dimmer around where he sits perfectly perched (with the usual leather pants) on the bed. "You know, I didn't get your name last time." The reaper once again strides into the room as the man at the end of the bed, still khaki clad, fades away as three separate pairs of fangs go to town. Asmodeus doesn't pay attention to them after waving a hand to shoo the vampire's who pout but know better if they want to get invited next time.

"Another sex party." It was more pointed than the last time they'd spoken because while it mattered very little to Samrath whether or not people lived or died, he didn't appreciate what was a very obvious attempt to provoke him. Delivered in a deadpan fashion because it lacked any originality, a single facet of a very uncomplicated individual. Samrath had burned bright and died young in life, things like this interested him significantly less now in death.

"It's not like I haven't tried." That's the thing, there's been a few spirits here and there that had simply been hanging around. But there were so many that had been here so long, were comfortable within the walls of the hotel or worse, seemingly tied to it. It's a ball of string he's long since stopped trying to unravel, it's just how it was. "You're free to try to get someone to leave, but it's an uphill battle." Ciaran explains as he pulls a key out of his shirt pocket and hands it to his fellow reaper. "I recommend trying to get rid of the one that follows everyone around with a tuba. Lad used to be a jazz ensemble of sorts and now it's all of our problem."

"Some ghosts have unfinished business," Samrath sighed as he reclined further into his seat and sank his hands into his pockets. "Some of them are just cunts." Menaces that liked to hang around because they'd been little shits in life, so they liked to be little shits in death. The prick with the tuba was a great example of that. What kind of an asshole did something like that? Definitely wasn't funny at all. "I'll start with that one then.''

At last the man croaked, the last of his brain activity faded into nothing. Well, truly, and definitively dead; perhaps this demon could have helped him, maybe anyone here could have, but they'd been too wrapped up in themselves to try. Predictable. The shade of the deceased came to stand invisibly at Samrath's side as he tugged at the reaper's sleeve and he offered him a sympathetic look of affection that brought his gaze away from the Riddler on the bedsheets. "The secret third option, neither." Samrath said to the demon instead. "Duty calls," he moved to escort the shade away before he looked back to the demon wrapped up in himself, his gaze flit momentarily about the room at the others in various stages of undress before he disappeared. "enjoy."

Wine glass still upright as to not spill it, Asmodeus falls back against the mattress with a sigh that's wistful. A few of the people that had dispersed earlier find their way to the bed again, there's soft hands at his shoulders, kneading at the tension there. It's not so hard to find a reaper again and he has half a mind to kill someone else in that very room in hopes of bringing him back. Another day, they'd think of something grand perhaps, get him to come back to some kind of romantic gesture. It'd been a while since he'd been genuinely interested in someone. The hands around him, the bodies, the people in the room, they didn't mean anything. Boring, just there for the party, just there because of the pleasure they provided. It wasn't all that fun to tempt people with weak constitutions, there was nothing to it. The reaper didn't know it, but he'd incited something. "I'll figure it out." They say to no one in particular, content to fall back into the arms of whatever boring people have bothered flocking to them.

The reaper is both too much fun and no fun at all and Asmodeus can't say he doesn't really like a challenge. It's very satisfying to see someone give into temptation, arguably the best thing. Besides, he thinks the reaper is enjoying denying him and while that's certainly something, it means they're both playing the game. "I trust you'll find out soon enough. You should see when I get the vampires going, they often get carried away." The statement is outright dismissive as they go about perching themselves back on the red sheeted queen size mattress. If a death would bring about this one in particular, he'd have to make sure it kept happening while he was in various stages of undress. "I can keep you around with work or you could see me outside of it."

At last the man croaked, the last of his brain activity faded into nothing. Well, truly, and definitively dead; perhaps this demon could have helped him, maybe anyone here could have, but they'd been too wrapped up in themselves to try. Predictable. The shade of the deceased came to stand invisibly at Samrath's side as he tugged at the reaper's sleeve and he offered him a sympathetic look of affection that brought his gaze away from the Riddler on the bedsheets. "The secret third option, neither." Samrath said to the demon instead. "Duty calls," he moved to escort the shade away before he looked back to the demon wrapped up in himself, his gaze flit momentarily about the room at the others in various stages of undress before he disappeared. "enjoy."

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"I like it, it's predictable. Humanity is callous at its core; just last week a man died on that park bench from the core. He sat there, wrapped in a flimsy blanket as people went by talking on their phones, picking up their dog's shit. Nobody stopped, nobody cared. So ignorant in their self absorbed cruelty that its casually accepted." in life Samrath had been no better, his life had been inconsequential and was consumed by his own inflated sense of ego. "I'm not keeping anyone waiting, he'll be here soon." He watched Hwijid move his hand over the woman as he wove something through her dreams, "What are you showing her?" Professional curiosity, plus Hwijid was many years his senior and bathed in experience that Samrath simply did not have.

A standard demon? Asmodeus doesn't know whether to laugh or be terribly offended by the mere sentiment, but they stand there and pour themselves an ample glass of wine, scoff at the audacity. "Standard? I'm afraid I'm above and beyond such a thing." Wine glass in hand and not a single stitch of clothing in sight, they saunter back over to the reaper, step over the body of the soon to be deceased human. The candles in the scones on the wall dim or brighten back up depending on where they are. "You could say I'm a connoisseur of pleasure." They offer a slight raise of a shoulder before taking a sip of wine that's could be just a touch sweeter. "Arguably, the epitome of it."

Was that a riddle? Samrath wasn't interested in games; truthfully, he wasn't interested in much transpiring in this room. There were a lot of players in this city, and this party was the definition of that. Divinity muddling with mortality, the death toll was predictable. "The Riddler, then." The demon's ego all but demanded to be fed, but Samrath would do no such thing. If only because it was amusing to think about denying the creature that he'd built so much of his identity around.

"Well you're more than welcome to hang around. The spirits bother just about anyone but they like us more than they like the mortals." They were all united on that front at least, couldn't stand those who just ignorantly wandered in. Or they were just incredibly bored, Ciaran tried really hard not to blame them despite how annoying the whole lot was. "I put you on the other end of my floor, most of them stay away. Worst you'll get is someone sitting on the end of your bed. You get used to it." It's more sad than anything, but it's better than any of the spirits that had gotten their hand on modern technology.

Home until he figured out where to go next. As far as spirits went reapers had it more accessible; they were more fluid, less tied to unfinished business or places related to whatever trauma had created them. "Sounds like sloppy work." Samrath said that whatever reaper had been assigned to their case had either been negligent or bad at it. If he had time maybe he'd see about helping those that he could, that was the whole reason why reapers were here. Then again, Samrath was off the clock now. Death was supposed to be peaceful; this hotel just sounded tragic. "Key?"

who?: open to all || @senatusstarters where?: parco savello

Undetectable to the world around them, the reaper stood shoulder to shoulder with his fellow. Samrath had no intention of revealing himself to the rest of the world, but neither would he interfere with his coworker's efforts. One reaper was enough. Samrath didn't manifest in front of the mortal woman but instead chose to take his place beside Hwijid on the opposite side. He'd come here because of The End alongside so many others; he and many of his kind had flocked towards the end of the world so that he could do his part. Hwijid was a legend, employee of the year, lifetime, afterlife, whatever you wanted to call it... And for whatever that was worth in their line of work. "I'm not here to interfere," he gestured vaguely into the distance, "I have an appointment coming up."

"So you're telling me I'm not special." Nothing else the reaper says matters because it is not a question. There's not even feigned hurt, Asmodeus looks to the man as he slips from the bed in one fluid motion. The sheet falls away, leaving him bare but he doesn't think anything of it. They're about the same height, the reaper is even prettier up close and just as disinterested. In a way, he gets it because it's something monotonous, a job. They are still somewhat insulted anyways, but temptation is the fun part, what keeps them going. It'd have been boring if the reaper gave into his whims immediately, now he's made himself a challenge. "I could change that." His tone is cool as he gets closer, fingers skimming the back of the reaper's hand casually as they pass him and the slowly dying mortal in favor of pouring themselves a glass of wine. It'd been just a taste, a little tingle of pleasure sent from hand to hand, a gentle shock to the system. The glint in his eye though carries the promise of more, there's an abundance of pleasure where that came from. "We will have to change that."

"I'm sure you think you are." A tingle ran up his arm as the demon walked past him. It was new but not genuine; that much was obvious. A touch like that didn't have "I take it people don't tell you enough that you should keep your hands to yourself." Not a question, but Samrath delivered in the same tired, deadpan cadence that the reaper was known for. He hadn't been much different in life; Samrath had approached everything with this same casual indifference that defined him; this demon had an apparent neediness to him that spoke to a very blatant desire to be the center of attention. "You're not a standard demon, are you?"

"There's only one of me." He states, eyes on the nailbeds of this vessel and that's something to do, manicures. It's a damn good vessel, but there is work to be done. Perhaps after they've all gotten off, he'd implore the entourage to move onto the bath house. The spa maybe, something like that. "Fucking people to death though, that's quite a feat." It's not something entirely uncommon for them, but it's the first time someone has commented on it. "Have you ever ferried someone for that before?"

"I've ferried people for all kinds of things." Samrath admitted, it'd been a turn of phrase but he could see why the demon would have taken it that way. "I'm not a doctor but I'd hazard a guess that it was a weak heart, maybe whatever he'd taken beforehand. Doubt he'll be the only casualty tonight." Frankly Samrath was surprised that there hadn't been more deaths at this party, all things considered he thought that there'd be people dropping like flies. Besides some of these demons it looked like everyone had been on their best behaviour.

Person: @samrathx Location: that dang hotel "How long are you staying?" There aren't any Christmas decorations up in the lobby anymore on account of the spirits had decided on barreling through to the new year with gold and sparkly bits the moment it hit December 26th. He looks across the coffee table at Samrath and it's so nice to have another reaper around again, he did truly miss Marisol.

"Don't know," Samrath admitted as he settled back into his seat with a drink in his hand; for the spirit, alcohol didn't do much for him, at least not the traditional kind, but there was a sort of familiar comfort that came with it. "Rome seems like a popular place to die, I imagine that means I'll be here for a while then." Work had taken him all over the world, but he had the freedom to go where he chose, Samrath didn't have a large reason to stay, but neither did he have any reason to go.

"If I say not that long will you stay?" It feels like a very loaded question and normally they give those to people, people don't give them to them. Asmodeus is only not outright pouting because that damn red sheet is expertly draped to expose the top of his hip. Maybe that's the problem, if this guy could see their ass, this might be going better. "Are you not a team player? I can dismiss the others." And he would, he'd rather spend time with one interesting person to tempt than a room full of people who were naked and boring. "We could discuss your taste in leather." They do roll over just enough that the red sheet doesn't stand a chance in staying up and he hopes it's giving 'tasteful side cheek'.

"Until he croaks, sure." Samrath remained standing as the euphoria that the room had induced seemed to continue to fan out amidst the bodies within. The reaper didn't expect anyone to care that a man was dying, he didn't, and this demon certainly didn't. While the man in front of him seemed borderline desperate, Samrath ignored his question and the offer that came along with it. "I was asking because if you intend to keep fucking people to death I'm going to be kept busy. Are there more of you here?"

That party had him waking up with one hell of a hangover, but he'd still ended up getting out of bed long enough to go for a run. Santino needed to go work out or else he started getting antsy and then he wouldn't know what to do until he saw Octavian or Atlas again so that they could train. He was a necromera now and that came with an entire slew of things that he wasn't familiar with. He'd become used to turning into a wild dog, but now he could turn into something else entirely. But he always stayed focused and that meant it would come as naturally to him as anything else he attempted when it came to this druid thing. Perhaps he had always been meant to become one.

"Much obliged." Samrath popped the cigarette into his mouth before he lit the other end and took a long drag. More habitual than anything else, the nicotine didn't do much for him but familiar paths led him to familiar feelings. He exhaled and offered the lighter back to the druid, his eyes drifted back towards the man who was awaiting his death. Someone could help him though by now Samrath didn't expect that from people; more often than not regular folks would step over a dead body if it was in their way along their commute. "Is it always this fucking cold?"

Oh no, it was a secret third thing. He wasn't there on behalf of a sibling, or to do any sort of foreplay, he was there because he was working. Asmodeus practically shoos people away from him, much to the chagrin of the crowd he'd gathered. They dispersed to either the dying man or to scurry into corners together, it gave him plenty of room to huff and drape the velvet duvet over himself. It's less for coverage and more for dramatics. Of course Ba'al would ruin one of his orgies and of course this tall glass of water was there doing menial labor and seeming rather indifferent to the whole ordeal. Somehow that makes it even hotter, the indifference. "My family doesn't know how to knock and this guy doesn't know how to handle a blowjob, semantics." Propping themselves up on an elbow, they're literally waiting for this person to die. It's not the best way to meet someone, but it is kind of romantic, maybe. Perhaps there's some poetry to be found in it. There he lays, draped in deep red cloth, a man is dying, another equally beautiful man is there to collect his soul. If he read books, it'd be something he'd read the back cover of. "You didn't give me an answer. I offered you an invitation. I think you're pretty enough to warrant a raincheck." He is working and interfering with a reaper felt too far somehow.

Brat. "I heard you." Samrath said as he ignored most of the boundary issues that this man had with his family. The demon wasn't the first big bad to roll up into the city, he wasn't even the second, third, fourth, or fifth at this point. The list went on and on, by the standards of a reaper Samrath was still young but somehow it felt like he'd seen it all. Original vampires, phoenixes, greater demons, the end of the fucking world itself. In the end this just broiled down to more paperwork on his end, quicker endings for the people of this city who had been momentarily content to believe that their lives were not going to be so short lived. That they might amount to something beyond the brief and the temporary, alas, men like this spitroasted demon proved otherwise. "Do you plan on being in the city long?"