Jul 12, 2019
I’d think you make a very good promiscuous lady!
“And I think you’d make a simply delightful corpse!”
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I’d think you make a very good promiscuous lady!
“And I think you’d make a simply delightful corpse!”
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sporks me mummy i want to wash your hair with lavender oils
“Well, I don’t let just anyone near my hair, you know... but lavender oils, hm...?”
Where would you like to go for a date?
“Oh, I’m not particular! Dinner, or dancing, or a play, or the opera---or even a romantic evening at home, mm? So long as you don’t try to take me to a public house like a cheap hussy.”
♬♩♪♩— “ I love the way you hack up them broads Red! You’s and I should hang sometime ta’ go make some sucka’s bleed. “ —Dxmonic-Flappxr
@dxmonic-flappxr
“Ah, what a rare pleasure to meet a woman of similar tastes as myself! While these particular—broads—are something of a personal matter, I wait upon your leisure to paint the town red with the blood of some other pitiful filth.
“It is so much more enjoyable to kill in good company, don’t you think?”
✂ DO IT COWHERD
{ Murder meme }; Accepting
“You knew exactly what you were doing when you began courting Death, didn’t you, darling? You’ve been wanting this for aeons.”
Her voice is soft, but she can’t suppress the tremour of excitement running through it. A painted nail scrapes along his cheek, clean-shaven for her sake.
“So have I.”
She revs her scythe, mere inches from his chest, gloating in his final moments.
She doesn’t expect him to fall forward.
Half a million screaming souls crash over her. Half a million ribbons of film spiral in her peripheral, imperceptible to human eyes. There’s no use reviewing them individually; their bodies are dust and she couldn’t spare them now if she wanted to. But she still has to see them: echoes of half a million lifetimes.
Half a million---and one.
Cause of death: suicide.
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It would seem the old reaper has been partnered up with a rookie again. What was it with the brass making him nurture the reaperlings these days? Oh hell, might as well see the job done before time was up. They had plenty of it ahead of them, but the he would rather be at the locale before the deaths even happened rather than arriving a minute or two late. Leaned back against the canteen's pillar, if he couldn't spot that guy in ten minutes time, the old reaper was bound to set off on his own.
It was another eight minutes before Grelle strolled into view.
“My, aren’t you a handsome one~?” she crooned, leaning back to look him over. Just as well she’d spent the extra time on her makeup today. “The chap with the numbers, yes? I must say, if you didn’t want anybody prying into your past, you should have simply made up an alias. This nameless business makes a fellow madly curious.
“In any case, I have no such qualms. I’m Grelle Sutcliff.” The irony of that statement was lost on her. She’d been exclusively calling herself Grelle for over twenty years now, and she’d all but forgotten she was ever known as anything else.
She offered him her hand, palm down, as if she expected it to be kissed.
“‘Appy Valentine’s Day, Grelle~,” Eric purred, holding a bouquet of roses out to the red reaper. - scottish-rebel
@scottish-rebel
“Ohh, they’re beautiful! Nearly as beautiful as me, mm?” She left the print of her lipstick on his cheek.
" So what're you doing for Valentine's today? " Ron lackadaisically offers them some of the chocolates he's been munching on.
Never one to turn down sweets, Grelle helps herself with an appreciative little hum.
“I have a date,” she says grandiosely. It’s a date with her bathtub and a bottle of wine, but he doesn’t need to know that. “And I suppose you’re off to charm some unsuspecting maiden, hm?”