[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 :)]
Oh, I certainly am! Despite about two years and a couple of mishaps, this whole endeavor has finally come to fruition!
[he's SO pleased. Which is also about the time he notices that Florus's eyes are wide eyed and darting from Osvaldus to Enygma and back again, wildly, even as the foam at the corners of his mouth start to turn pink--then red--
And Osvaldus sets down the wine and pushes off the table, and leans over Florus slightly]
Ah, Florus, I suppose I should introduce you. This is Enygma! I've gotten well acquainted with him while plotting your demise. He's Death. Or, well, some form of Death. He's really very sweet, actually, but I'm hoping that, perhaps, he won't be to you.
[that near-maniacal smirk widens further towards a smile]
You see, I think you should know that my real name is Tzadok bar Gilda. From Judea. [Florus's eyes widen slightly, still darting around, though there's confusion there] You won't recognize the name--there's no reason for you to do so. After all, why would you remember the name of a boy and his mother who were working in the Temple when you had it ransacked to fill your coffers?
[at that, Florus's eyes do widen further, pupils contracting as his face starts to turn red, then his lips turn blue at the edges]
Now, why did I save your life, then, if it's your command that murdered my mother? Well, it's simple really. [he reaches out a hand, placing it on the man's shoulder] I saved your life not because I wanted you to live longer, but because I wanted you to die slower. I needed you to suffer. And look, here you are! Suffering! [he sounds so pleased, patting Florus's purple-hued cheek, before straightening again with a sigh]
If only I could make it last longer. But, alas...there was only so much I could do with that poison.
[It probably is about time, isn't it, for him to go? Enygma says nothing as Osvaldus goes on. Mortal affairs. They're not his business. He simply watches Florus, coldly. With all the interest of looking at a particularly uninteresting insect.
]Osvaldus backs up a bit, then, going back to leaning on the table, picking up the glass of wine. He takes his eyes of Florus, then, turning his attention to Enygma]
Ah, forgive me, I'm being a terrible host. Would you like some wine, Enygma?
Just this once~ [he looks pleased, though, as he offers it.] Granted, it is poisoned, but I figure that won't be a problem for you. And it doesn't ruin the taste at all!
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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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[he's SO pleased. Which is also about the time he notices that Florus's eyes are wide eyed and darting from Osvaldus to Enygma and back again, wildly, even as the foam at the corners of his mouth start to turn pink--then red--
And Osvaldus sets down the wine and pushes off the table, and leans over Florus slightly]
Ah, Florus, I suppose I should introduce you. This is Enygma! I've gotten well acquainted with him while plotting your demise. He's Death. Or, well, some form of Death. He's really very sweet, actually, but I'm hoping that, perhaps, he won't be to you.
[that near-maniacal smirk widens further towards a smile]
You see, I think you should know that my real name is Tzadok bar Gilda. From Judea. [Florus's eyes widen slightly, still darting around, though there's confusion there] You won't recognize the name--there's no reason for you to do so. After all, why would you remember the name of a boy and his mother who were working in the Temple when you had it ransacked to fill your coffers?
[at that, Florus's eyes do widen further, pupils contracting as his face starts to turn red, then his lips turn blue at the edges]
Now, why did I save your life, then, if it's your command that murdered my mother? Well, it's simple really. [he reaches out a hand, placing it on the man's shoulder] I saved your life not because I wanted you to live longer, but because I wanted you to die slower. I needed you to suffer. And look, here you are! Suffering! [he sounds so pleased, patting Florus's purple-hued cheek, before straightening again with a sigh]
If only I could make it last longer. But, alas...there was only so much I could do with that poison.
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...It is time.
...
He stands there. And does nothing, for now.]
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Ah, forgive me, I'm being a terrible host. Would you like some wine, Enygma?
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[He hasn't looked away from Florus. Still with that same indifference.]
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[let him just. specify there.]
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[...From the sound of it, it's the latter.]
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Come on--one small sip won't hurt. It's good, I promise.
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Just this once.
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