#slothfuldemon

Man, you look like shit.

Call me "Uncle" again and it'll be even longer.

[ He sniffed, leaning back and away from the other. ]

[ Pride had been mostly minding his business. Still in a marginal slump, but on a steady recovery. It was business as usual, with an occasional taken break so he could go and see Jasper once or twice. Make sure that the nephilim was doing fine. Being looked after.

He was on one such break, waiting for one of his drivers to come and pick him up to head back to his halfway-hidden new home when Cresil appeared with that fucking sword. Pride wasn’t able to clock it as a holy weapon right away- hadn’t been considering that Cresil would be stupid enough to wield something like that.

So that meant that he was going to try to block it with a fucking arm in the split second he had to do so. Couldn’t use one of his weird tarry tendrils out and about as he was. Arm was the second best guess while he braced himself for a full on real ass attack.

Don't just casually say that in your inner monologue! Lucifer didn't get much warning so he did jump in his recliner before the moment passed. He did actually ask for this. Damn it.

In the day or two that followed what Anpiel would consider a genuine massacre, he spent many hours working to pick up the pieces. Bodies of birds were gently collected and individually buried in special places in the sandy dunes along the beach. Deep enough to not be disturbed. Some of the sea faring birds were placed on beds of seaweed and flowers and floated off on the waves. Injured birds were cared for and looked after as best as he could.

It was only under Azrael’s parental chiding that Anpiel took time to mend the spots on his wings that were scarred and missing feathers. The injury in his arm was the worst, blackened flesh with tarry infection that he tried to cleanse and wrap. Had to go a while without wearing a shirt with sleeves so it could stay wrapped properly.

As he buried the last bird along the shore, Anpiel took time to just sit several feet from the now-calmly churning waves. It was a deceptively nice day, the sun peeking through occasional cloud cover, but it was still cold enough for the seraph to have a small blanket draped over his shoulders.

He tiredly watched the horizon, still deeply embedded in his own grief. Even the knowledge that Pride had absconded with his weapon was not at the forefront of his mind. He could get it back, eventually. Couldn’t get his birds back.

As he sat on the sand, he brought a hand up to wipe at his eyes.

Was probably the fifteenth time he’d cried since it happened. Didn’t know how to stop doing it.

Tired of what. You showing up every twenty years to just lay around and do nothing?