#thaegeiro

            ❝ --ah, beg pardon. Er, no... rather -- pardon, si vous plait? ❞

            Aziraphale endeavored in a rather paltry attempt at French; an exceptionally beautiful language that he’d always been rather abhorrent at. Still, his efforts had seemed to garner the attentions of the gentleman at the table adjacent to him, and his expression lights up with unquestionable warmth as he continues -- in English, of course. He needn’t embarrass himself any further.

            ❝ -- terribly sorry to interrupt your meal, my good fellow. But -- do you frequent this establishment often? I was wondering if a discerning, local palette such as yours could offer any recommendations. ❞

Lana Winters knows her way around a morgue. More often than not, it’s not about what one says, but rather, how one says it and who one says it to. It’s with this in mind that dark eyes flicker and settle on a tired whisp of a young man ( either an intern, she guesses, or else a receptionist ), and she fixes her mouth in the pseudo-curve of a polite smile, sidling up to the front desk as though casual conversation were commonplace in such a morbid setting.

‘yes that’s absinthe in that glass’ you’re not fooling anybody viktor we all know it’s human blood

stunningly-lesbian replied to your post: i regret to announce that this photo is a candid...

   you can show up in photos now?   

     LUCIFER  COULD  FEEL  THE  rumble  of  thunder  shiver  its  way  down  to  Pandemonium,  built  upon  the  tundra  of  the  deepest  level  of  Hell.  The  anomaly  sits  uneasily  in  his  stomach,  and  he  wastes  little  time  in  delegating  to  his  advocates.  He  had  taken  Beelzebub  with  him  to  scour  the  woods  of  Purgatory  while  the  rest  of  their  compatriots  rifled  through  each  level  of  Hell.  It  had  been  impossible  to  know  what  they  were  searching  for,  but  once  Lucifer  stumbled  upon  it,  he  knew  instantly.  A  shade  was  sprinting  about  the  woods  with  frenetic  madness,  whimpering  as  they  hyperventilated.  He  was  jostled  to  his  very  core  as  he  smelled  the  life  on  them,  despite  the  fading  transparency  of  their  soul.  Their  chest,  though  lacking  in  corporeality,  gave  no  faint  trace  of  a  heartbeat.  However,  Lucifer  could  sense  a  warm  pulse  emanating  from  the  smooth  inside  of  their  elbow,  just  above  where  the  visage  of  their  soul  cut  off.  Lucifer’s  stomach  dropped.  

     The  others  shared  similar  findings,  and  it  didn’t  take  long  for  Th’Almighty  to  demand  answers  from  Lucifer,  just  to  find  that  even  the  Angel  of  Evil  had  none.  His  offer  to  go  set  things  right  is  tacit  between  them ;  the  punishment  of  mortals  is,  after  all,  his  lot  in  this  eternity.

     ❝ 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 I would expect to find a gentleman taking an evening stroll. ❞  He splays a hand towards their surroundings; though he supposes a graveyard framed in twilight has a certain morbid beauty.  ❝ It’s not safe here after dark, Sir. ❞  A guttural screech tears through the air. Even uninfected by the virus, Skals exist on the edge of sanity. Their malnourished bodies begin to cannibalize themselves without a steady flow of flesh and blood.  ❝ We need to leave, now. ❞  Lately all his good intentions feel lethal. You cannot be afraid of the darkness if you’re the worst thing in it.