Splintercd

“I mean…isn’t that the most logical scenario to assume to be the case?” he still wasn’t sure what this man was or just what his role in it all could be but he was at least comfortable with the proposed concept.

“I hate to ruin your whole…dramatic reveal about the workings of the afterlife but–yeah. I mean I wouldn’t doubt it’s like that. Makes the most sense.” he shook his head. “I’m not interested in all of that.” especially when his particular shade of afterlife was already predetermined. “I just want to know where you fit into it all.”

That got a laugh out of Damon, “Well, I’m glad it’s not a dramatic realization for someone. Imagine telling an agnostic individual that they have a plethora of afterlives they could choose from.”

   “Better to attack their wallets than do them physical harm, hm? Or are you even one that bothers with debating morals?” half demon or not, he himself didn’t make it a frequent habit of murdering people for the sheer hell of it.

He followed along with the man, had offered his arm out despite knowing that it likely wasn’t necessary. “Work usually tends to be unpleasant.” though this did stir his curiosity. 

It was squashed however at the mention of death. It was a relatively sore subject with Clark considering he’d already done so once. “As in the actual aftermath or what ferries you over?” he asked. “Because I really only vaguely remember one and don’t remember the other at all.”

“Ah, alas it’s not in my nature to get violent with humans without great cause. I wouldn’t have been able to live among them so long if I incited violence each time a human slighted me.” Though the same couldn’t be said for some of the other members of his kind...

after a test of its weight, cocking it, and pointing it at the floor, hellhound’s brows furrow a bit in dissatisfaction. ❛ like i would pay shit for this. i mean, it’s alright, but it’s nothing compared to that rifle you made a while back, short stack. fine – what do you want notes on? ❜

   “I gutted them and feasted on their entrails.” he announced dramatically. A click of his tongue after a short pause. “No, just a very sternly written email and a boycott on further investments in his company for the rest of the fiscal year.” he looked for the offered arm, followed it back up to look over them man himself. “You’re plenty old. I’m sure you’d do just fine yourself in not running into anything.” 

But, that’d be a terribly rude thing to do and what would his mother think? “Headed anywhere in particular for your…job? Or shall I just start walking?”

“A pity that that’s the modern equivalent. Hopefully they feel the gnawing of your boycott in their bank accounts, then.” As much as he used the excuse of being blind for a reason for Clark to accompany him, the other was very much correct. He swiftly turned them in the direction he needed to go.

“Oh, I can tell you have.” he returned smoothly. “Most people from nowadays jump through hoops to lie about their age. They hardly flaunt seniority.” he glanced about and sighed. “No, no. I’m not stood up often. Or, at least, it never happens a second time.” he made sure of that. 

“Just out and about for the pleasure of it.” a nice walk was a bit of a treat for someone that usually just blinked to wherever it is they wanted to be. “And you? Off to…well, what is it you do concerning death?”

“There’s no shame in age.” Damon chuckled, “I pity the one who stood you up last time then. And what fate did you place upon them, hm?”

“—Yes, well…” he shrugged. There was no attempt at trying to feign innocence, but no confirmation of guilt either. “Poor sleep schedule coupled with having most of my business take place in the evening will tend to encourage that penchant.”

A tilted of his head as he sized the other up. “Seems like a terrible case of the kettle calling the pot black though, hm?”

“Ah, unfortunately for me death keeps no schedule. And I have been on the night shift for likely longer than you have existed.” 

Like Damon, Isaiah is a black dog and therefore follows the same origin lore. However, he died in Louisiana shortly after the establishment of New Orleans. Because of the nature of the earth in the area and the lack of realization of what this meant for burying the dead meant that his body...didn’t stay buried. Where it came to rest was at the bottom of a swamp where a dog had recently drowned and because other bodies soon followed his path he became a black dog.

Isaiah is 50ish years older than Damon. Unlike Damon he does remember his previous life and knows how old he is. 

Isaiah’s status as a black dog is strange, though. He has not actively brought a soul across the border of life and death in an incredibly long time. Technically, he should have been forced to retire and move on to an afterlife of his choosing. However, he has managed to stick around on a technicality; he does bring the dead to rest. Just as a hearse driver and grave digger, not in his actual capacity to do so.

He’ll sometimes fly out to Cali to meet with Damon as they are friendly

it takes some time for hellhound to properly inspect the gun; its accuracy is about right, it’s got a good weight, but you never know. she’s … picky, to say the least. it takes a long time for her to get comfortable with a rifle, and by then it becomes a near-inseparable part of her, so it’s important that it’s well-made in the first place.  there’s no question that this weapon is high quality, though. even looking for something to nitpick reveals no genuine flaws. his comments are met by a wary look. what’s your aim? what do you want? he seems incredibly nonthreatening, but then, maybe the height is misleading. no one is to be trusted, not really. everyone’s out for their own shit. not that hellhound blames them – she’s out for her own shit, too. ❛ … long time. and, yeah, no argument here. i exist because of the dumbasses with shotguns who forget their place. which is in the ground. ❜ satisfied, she slings the gun over her shoulders and takes a cigarette out of a case in her coat’s pocket.  … shit. lighter’s gone. probably dropped when she staggered up from the floor after getting shot in the fucking back. hellhound’s loathe to ask, but she does anyway. ❛ got a light? ❜

“Dumbasses with shotguns breed women with rifles.” Louis chuckled to himself at the thought, “And men with no business in arms taking up dealing.”

And it was true. If there hadn’t been a demand for his trade along with his desperation to not return home, he would never have been what he was. The man never dwelled on how out of place he was in this world nor what he could have been outside of it, though. 

The question has mismatched eyes rolling. The woman didn’t seem the type to ask stupid questions, in his mind, yet here they were.