video.

[comeshonesty]

[ the video reveals an older man, thin nearly to the point of being skeletal, dressed sharply in a black suit and with his black hair slicked back. he's sitting neatly on a bench somewhere under a street-light, surrounded by the darkness. he seems comfortable enough with it, though-- it suits him.

there's a silver-headed cane propped against the bench beside him, a drink in a paper cup next to his thigh, and he's balling up the foil from what looks to have been some kind of chili-dog. there's no telling how his device is propped up, because it simply seems to be hovering in the air.

he finally glances up at it, black eyes strange and somehow terrifying despite his relatively harmless appearance and mild expression. long fingers curl around the cup and he takes a sip through the straw before seeming to settle on what he wants to say, his words deliberate and tone even, hinting at no particular emotion beyond perhaps the faintest trace of annoyance. ]

Well. So much for the star that I was rather occupied with. How is it I wind up on this dismal little planet so often.

[ he licks his thumb, setting aside the foil. ]

I suppose I could blame it on a certain significant other--[ chuck, he's looking at you. 8| ]--being rather himself. Or the Winchesters, perhaps, given their remarkable lack of self-preservation as a family. Or the little winged children bickering so much.

[ a pause, gaze lifting again, intense and disturbing. ]

Well. Shall we all coexist peacefully, then, or will I need to turn someone over my knee?

Comments

reaction -> video/private/unhackable

[paterelohim]

[And of course as the tides feel the moon or the East feels the outbound pull of the West wind, He feels it the instant it happens. It's a coming together, a glorious kind of wholeness filling a void He had gotten so used to ignoring that He had almost forgotten about it. The change is enough to make him drop what he's doing, look up at the ceiling contemplatively for a moment, then slide down his chair, laughing. Laughing, soft and low. Just laughing in a strange kind of tension release that has the puppy looking at him with marked concern in those Hellish eyes, but Chuck keeps laughing for another few minutes.

It's the strangest things, really, what you miss the most.

He doesn't even bother waiting a few minutes to collect himself and look like a normal person, the way you would with literally anybody else. His reply comes about thirty seconds after the laughter trails off, with time only to take a drink and assure Vonnegut that he isn't dying. He doesn't even bother listening to Death's post.

Sure, looking this content with the universe is a little insensitive in the face of Death's intense displeasure with the world and all who dwell in it- but come on, what else is new? It's not exactly breaking new ground here.

Chuck is all relaxation, utter immortal familiarity, and a little (very) human happiness.]

It'll be there when you get back.

video/private/unhackable

[comeshonesty]

[ he points a finger at chuck, brows arching. chuck might know it as his 'bitch, plz' face. ]

It's the principle.

[ as in, he has better things to do, better places to be. granted, he can imagine that chuck--god--is as relieved to have him there as death would have been in the opposite situation, but still.

he brushes his pants off as if he actually has crumbs there, glancing back up and finally offering a slightly warmer glance--as much as death ever does, anyway. ]

My, I take it you've missed me.

video/private/unhackable

[paterelohim]

[The bitch plz look is familiar enough, as is the relative warmth. Chuck tilts his head at the remark, sitting up a little and scratching at his beard thoughtfully.]

Well- yeah. [casting around for the right way to word His answer.] It's just... wrong.

[Being in a universe without Death in it. On a cosmic level, a metaphysics one, it's unbalancing, creates a perpetual state of discomfort slight enough to ignore, but always felt. Didi leaving exacerbated it.

He pauses. Thinks. Then-]

-Wait, did you just call me your significant other? To the whole city? [SDLKFJG SPUTTERING] My kids are gonna see this!

[Sure nobody knows it's him but not the point.]

video/private/unhackable ➔ action.

[comeshonesty]

[ he hums a sound as he sends the litter away, gathering the cane up in the crook of his arm as he rises. ]

It's not as if it's a secret. Anyone with a bit of sense knows that we're two halves of a whole. Anyone who doesn't won't even realize it's you I'm talking about.

[ and then, quite abruptly, he's settled neatly in a chair in chuck's room, adjusting his cuffs as he glances up at him. ]

Does that bother you so much?

action.

[paterelohim]

[He looks up at Death and somehow the NV is off, the transition absent even that little jolt of abruptness that still comes when angels appear.]

Well- no. [A little bit sputtered, but mostly gathering words, thoughts, nearly conflicting feelings together to form coherency.] I guess it really doesn't, but.

I don't know, it's just-

[It's not even the "omg no homo" thing- as if He's sparing any brain cells for a concern that stupid. It's that "significant other" is such an unequivocally human label to put on it, that it's honestly jarring. Aspects, halves, partners, brothers, significant others- all scrape at a thin slice of what they are, but human languages are so limited. Just communicating with physical mouths is unusual enough, let alone expanding his undoubtedly frail and delicate crystalline flower of a self-image to include this earth-shattering experience.

Or something.

The point is, it's weird. Labels, man, this shit is turning God into a hipster.

Chuck shakes his head and shrugs, letting it go with an uncharacteristic sedateness. Something about Death brings out His inner calm. (Mercifully enough, the dog obliterates the moment by more or less exploding off the loveseat and crashing to the floor in his rush to greet the new person-thing.)]