[Osvaldus blinks at that, and freezes, holding very still as Enygma's fingers trace over his face.
Huh.]
...wow, you weren't kidding about cold hands. [he musters his strength and lifts a hand to press it over one of Enygma's, holding it against his cheek--and now, he smirks, looking up at him through his lashes, more than a little coy]
[alkdshfs Oswald can't help but laugh a bit at that--though there's a slight wheeze to it, and a wince as it jostles his side, and his hold loosens on Edward's hand]
Usually when someone tells them they like their bone structure, it's considered flirting, Enygma.
[he's wincing, still, but at least he looks partially amused]
[Osvaldus can't help but pout a bit, then, as Enygma starts to move away. He makes an attempt and tightening his grip on his hand, pressing his cheek into his palm, but...well, he doesn't have a lot of strength in him at the moment]
[he sighs a bit at that, relaxing, as if it's a relief, and leans a bit more into his hand. It's cold, yes, but...he's hardly had a hug or a friendly pat on the arm since his mother died and he likes Enygma and he misses this and well, he may be a bit delirious right now anyway so it's...fine] ...thank you.
Mmmn, you're sweet, y'know? [a little slurred, nuzzling into his palm a bit. He's trying to keep focus, he really is. But also...his hands maybe cold, but the skin is smooth, and it kind of feels nice against his fevered face]
[He doesn't say anything to that. Just stays there, looking down at Osvaldus. Something in his chest feels odd. Something that reminds him of sparks, perhaps, and a chill that's not quite the same as his own.
...He should take him now. Spare him more suffering. He should.
[great, he's just going to nuzzle his fevered face into his hand a bit more with a contented sigh, relaxing, comforted. He's trying very hard not to fall asleep but...he might doze a bit.]
[...Enygma stays, for a while. It's wasted time. He should've taken this life already and moved on. There are others dying that need their release. There's no reason for him to hold things up here.
There's the familiar weight of his scythe in his free hand.
One swing.
One swing and it's over. It's that simple. He's done it so many times now that he couldn't even begin to keep track. It's simple as breathing.
...He takes a step back and just... watches a moment.]
[Osvaldus makes a small upset sound in his sleep as Enygma steps back, taking his hand away, but...
...perhaps it's done him some good, that cool hand at his cheek. His fever seems to have lessened, anyway. And he curls up a bit more, burrowing back into the blanket now that he doesn't have a hand to cuddle up against.]
Perhaps not...as the next time they meet, four months later, Rome has been through two more emperors and Osvaldus is casually leaning on a table, a goblet of wine in his hand that he sips at idly, watching the form of Gessius Florus writhe on the floor in agony, starting to foam at the mouth.
When Enygma shows up, Osvaldus glances over--before his expression visibly brightens]
Enygma! There you are! I was wondering when you were going to show up.
[He doesn't always know what he's going to see, when he comes to collect. Appearing in this room, well. He was expecting another mishap involving Osvaldus.
Which is correct, but...
This isn't quite what he'd been picturing.
He glances, almost idly, at the other mortal writhing on the floor. Normally he'd be more concerned. Merciful. But sometimes, he makes exceptions.]
[he smirks, then, slow and sharp and with a hint of absolute ruthlessness]
Oh, for about a day now. Granted, I didn't really expect you to show up earlier--I did design this to be slow-acting, after all. Starts off as what seems like a small cold, then gets worse with stomach cramps and fever and other kinds of spasmodic fits until the end of the day, when eventually your lungs stop working and you suffocate. [cheerfully :)]
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[he notices that look over]
....what?
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And getting extremely close to it.
Sup. It's just, you know, Death. Tracing over the sides of your face.
...The touch is... cold, as is to be expected, but careful. Almost gentle.]
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Huh.]
...wow, you weren't kidding about cold hands. [he musters his strength and lifts a hand to press it over one of Enygma's, holding it against his cheek--and now, he smirks, looking up at him through his lashes, more than a little coy]
Do you need me to warm them up for you?
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[He thinks so, anyway. As he just keeps looking over Osvaldus's face in an almost analytical way.]
I don't know what make up is. But your bones look fine to me.
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Like I said. Flatterer. [he squeezes his hand, keeping it against his cheek] Look at you, just full of compliments. You'd make a boy blush like this.
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[what
what is happening
he's so confused]
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Usually when someone tells them they like their bone structure, it's considered flirting, Enygma.
[he's wincing, still, but at least he looks partially amused]
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[HE'S SO CONFUSED???]
Mortals woo each other based on the shape of their skeleton?
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Well, that's one of them! And also everything that covers their skeleton. [alsdkhfs he's so amused] It means you find them attractive.
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...I'll never understand mortals.
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No, stay.
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Well, when has someone ever asked that of him...?]
I...
...Very well.
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these
they don't fit.]
...Of... course.
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...He should take him now. Spare him more suffering. He should.
But he just... stays.]
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There's the familiar weight of his scythe in his free hand.
One swing.
One swing and it's over. It's that simple. He's done it so many times now that he couldn't even begin to keep track. It's simple as breathing.
...He takes a step back and just... watches a moment.]
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...perhaps it's done him some good, that cool hand at his cheek. His fever seems to have lessened, anyway. And he curls up a bit more, burrowing back into the blanket now that he doesn't have a hand to cuddle up against.]
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...Next time.
Next time, for sure.]
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Perhaps not...as the next time they meet, four months later, Rome has been through two more emperors and Osvaldus is casually leaning on a table, a goblet of wine in his hand that he sips at idly, watching the form of Gessius Florus writhe on the floor in agony, starting to foam at the mouth.
When Enygma shows up, Osvaldus glances over--before his expression visibly brightens]
Enygma! There you are! I was wondering when you were going to show up.
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Which is correct, but...
This isn't quite what he'd been picturing.
He glances, almost idly, at the other mortal writhing on the floor. Normally he'd be more concerned. Merciful. But sometimes, he makes exceptions.]
...How long have you been waiting?
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Oh, for about a day now. Granted, I didn't really expect you to show up earlier--I did design this to be slow-acting, after all. Starts off as what seems like a small cold, then gets worse with stomach cramps and fever and other kinds of spasmodic fits until the end of the day, when eventually your lungs stop working and you suffocate. [cheerfully :)]
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...You're enjoying yourself.
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