#plaguebind

 ❛  i  brought  you  this. ❜  the  cup  is  all  but  thrust  into  @plaguebind  hand,  face  a  blank  mask. ❛  i  hope  you  like  lemon. ❜  that  would  sound  more  legitimate  from  practically  anyone  else. ❛  we  need  to  speak. ❜

welcome to nightvale sentences/ @plaguebind

thoughtful hand trails up and down his arm as if trying to drive away the chills that came over him. it is not that he is afraid of death himself per se, he is rather at peace with it coming one day, one way or another, and in a way he can already feel it in his heart, that somewhere along the line he is already lying dead upon the ground until he is not, until the stars take him again. it's all alright and it does not make a difference to the angel to know that one day he will be no more. for something eternal there is an emphemeral quality to the angel's very existence, much like the slightest miracles he performs.

Ambrose had suggested Brokeback Mountain this time. It's not the first time they'd watched this together - nor the first time Raven had ended up using the (untouched) spicy chips as an excuse for the tears that come every damn time they watch this movie. He looks over to Ambrose when the credits roll -- breaking the silence as he usually does.

' lucky fuckin' me. '

his fingers are still prickling as he paces warily, now a comfortable distance away. there's a slow, searing itch sliding through his veins like someone's coring his arm up to the shoulder. it'd been a last minute addition, the gold angel amulet he's got wrapped around the crook of his elbow, but he's desperately glad of it now, watching the rot seep back the way it came, feeling the RELIEF expand in his chest like a nova.

not that it makes him glare any softer at the horseman. not that it's anything other than his own bloody fault, either, look before you leap, constantine, but still: for FUCK'S sake. he could make a booming business off of supernatural warning labels if he ever had the ambition for it. ' so much for retirement, eh? old habits die 'ard an' what have you? didn't figure you lot for a cactus defense, i thought you'd all be above that sort've measly mortal fear. '

Now when Destruction had said they were going to the Ritz, he'd not anticipated them to dress up to the nines. Well, he had-- but....wow. He's donning a suit himself - a much more simple black and white get-up with a little red bow-tie - and wonders if he's under-dressed. He shakes those thoughts off though and moves over to Ambrose, grinning broadly as he neatens their tie (not that it had needed it.)