#planehopping

As it stands, people die a lot. Too much, if you ask some people - soft-hearted people, people who witness loss too often. People who live on the cusp of war, in the path of disease or sorrow, someone who has just buried someone near and dear to them. Anyone who's ever had to put down their own child in the ground.

Also, reapers. Because dead bodies mean paperwork, and paperwork means long nights at the office, few visitors, and getting home tired. (Sure, time in the union was wibbly-wobbly, and he didn't actually miss more than an hour or two in Gotham, but Ramura hates this kind of stuff.)

And so it is that the flying purple people eater finds himself hunched over a desk made for someone a good three feet shorter than he is, pawing through stacks and stacks of papers in his inbox (Computers and talons don't really get along), with thrashing frizzled tail and teeth he'd grit if they weren't so darned pointy.