I was careful with the amount this time, and I've built up an immunity. I wouldn't be drinking it if I hadn't! [he sticks his bottom lip out in a pout]
[he folds his arms a bit, voice changing, mimicking almost] "Oh, Osvaldus, I am a death god-slash-angel-slash-whatever and I feel nothing but also I'm disappointed that you're doing the thing with the poison so I'm going to scold you because you're not being careful enough and I swear I'm expressionless but actually I'm going to give you a look that says I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed, which is absolutely worse."
[his bottom lip sticks out in a pout, then, and he folds his arms]
Yes, yes, terribly sorry. [he glances at Flotus, who is certainly almost all purple and blue now from lack of oxygen. His eyes almost look ready to pop out of his head.] ...more sorry to you than I am about him. He could always do with more suffering.
[And Enygma steps forward, ignoring that pout. Scythe in hand from one moment to the next, he draws it back, and...
...in one quick motion, slicers across Florus. The man falls over, after that.
Dead.
What follows is harder for Osvaldus to see. It's a dark shape, ethereal, more akin to smoke than anything solid. Enygma stares at it harshly, before touching it and sending it downwards.]
[Osvaldus was about to step away, to agree that he does need to hurry along and get going--but that last part makes him pause, lifting his head to look at Enygma for a moment with shocking intensity.
He's quiet, eyes flicking over him, as if looking for something, or trying to memorize him--before Osvaldus steps close, resting a hand on Enygma's shoulder for balance as he rocks forward onto his toes and presses his lips to the corner of his mouth.
It's barely a brush before he's stepping back, lifting a hand to touch his cheek briefly. He looks sad, almost.]
I'll miss you, Enygma.
[and it's true--before he steps back the rest of the way and moves to turn and make his escape from the city]
Enygma is not... shaken. As a rule. And yet, in this moment, things happen that he's not the least bit prepared for. He feels frozen and as if he's suddenly found the world shifting around him, terrified to break whatever spell is keeping him grounded here.
...By the time his thoughts come back to him, Osvaldus is gone. Running out the city.
And there is the oddest conflict, where Enygma wishes to see him again, but also has the burning desire to never have to again, even when it should be time.
It's.
Confusing.
And he doesn't know what to think.
...But he has a stop to make in the Underworld as is. He'll... ask his brother a favor. Let this mortal's escape from the city be as safe as it can be, if nothing else. The right person asleep here and there.
[More time passes, now. Years. Five of them, to be exact.
The next time Enygma is called to visit Osvaldus, he'll find him huddled in a storage room in a back alley in Rome, back pressed against the wall, frantically ripping off parts of his toga to tie around a bloody wound in his thigh, putting as much pressure on it as possible. He's pretty cut up elsewhere, too, but that seems to be the worst.
He's so focused on his task that he doesn't even notice Enygma, at first.]
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I was careful with the amount this time, and I've built up an immunity. I wouldn't be drinking it if I hadn't! [he sticks his bottom lip out in a pout]
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[He won't push the point. Mortal affairs. Ugh.]
Do as you like.
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Alright, alright, from now on I'll avoid drinking poison, okay?
[just don't make that face]
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...If that's what you want.
[............he's pleased]
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What I want? [he can't help the way the corner of his mouth twitches, though, with the smile he's trying to repress]
What I want is for you to not give me those sad annoyed Death God eyes. So I won't do it.
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I don't have sad eyes.
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[he folds his arms a bit, voice changing, mimicking almost] "Oh, Osvaldus, I am a death god-slash-angel-slash-whatever and I feel nothing but also I'm disappointed that you're doing the thing with the poison so I'm going to scold you because you're not being careful enough and I swear I'm expressionless but actually I'm going to give you a look that says I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed, which is absolutely worse."
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[RUDE???]
Is this what mortals call "projecting"?
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[he doesn't, genuinely, but Osvaldus has his number.]
...You're distracting me.
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Yes, yes, terribly sorry. [he glances at Flotus, who is certainly almost all purple and blue now from lack of oxygen. His eyes almost look ready to pop out of his head.] ...more sorry to you than I am about him. He could always do with more suffering.
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[And Enygma steps forward, ignoring that pout. Scythe in hand from one moment to the next, he draws it back, and...
...in one quick motion, slicers across Florus. The man falls over, after that.
Dead.
What follows is harder for Osvaldus to see. It's a dark shape, ethereal, more akin to smoke than anything solid. Enygma stares at it harshly, before touching it and sending it downwards.]
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...might I say that was...actually quite cool. [and attractive. But shhhh]
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...Is that good?
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It is, in fact. It was impressive.
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I'm not supposed to let them linger like that.
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[......]
...Still. It was...perhaps a bit vindicating. For me. To let him linger. So I'll take the blame for that one.
[he steps forward to take Enygma's hand, briefly, squeezing it]
Thank you, for that.
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...Yes. Well. It was not for your sake, I simply... chose to take my time. [Just... because. Just because.
It feels weird to be thanked.] Well. You got your revenge.
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he huffs out a small sigh]
...I suppose I did get my revenge. And now I have to escape before they find his putrid body, I suppose. [he straightens off the table.]
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You're... welcome.
[...]
Well. You'd best hurry along.
And pray you don't see me again for a long time.
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He's quiet, eyes flicking over him, as if looking for something, or trying to memorize him--before Osvaldus steps close, resting a hand on Enygma's shoulder for balance as he rocks forward onto his toes and presses his lips to the corner of his mouth.
It's barely a brush before he's stepping back, lifting a hand to touch his cheek briefly. He looks sad, almost.]
I'll miss you, Enygma.
[and it's true--before he steps back the rest of the way and moves to turn and make his escape from the city]
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What?
Enygma is not... shaken. As a rule. And yet, in this moment, things happen that he's not the least bit prepared for. He feels frozen and as if he's suddenly found the world shifting around him, terrified to break whatever spell is keeping him grounded here.
...By the time his thoughts come back to him, Osvaldus is gone. Running out the city.
And there is the oddest conflict, where Enygma wishes to see him again, but also has the burning desire to never have to again, even when it should be time.
It's.
Confusing.
And he doesn't know what to think.
...But he has a stop to make in the Underworld as is. He'll... ask his brother a favor. Let this mortal's escape from the city be as safe as it can be, if nothing else. The right person asleep here and there.
As Enygma goes to
not
think about what all that was.]
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The next time Enygma is called to visit Osvaldus, he'll find him huddled in a storage room in a back alley in Rome, back pressed against the wall, frantically ripping off parts of his toga to tie around a bloody wound in his thigh, putting as much pressure on it as possible. He's pretty cut up elsewhere, too, but that seems to be the worst.
He's so focused on his task that he doesn't even notice Enygma, at first.]
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This feels... familiar.]
...What happened?
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