Your grip on your blade tightens. Blood pools from your gut as you draw your weapon in preparation.

One last bargain, then.

Take the Ring off, you tell her.
Go back to being the mail-woman she was made to be.

That rabbit may be insignificant NOW, but it's previous role was anything but. Her actions in taking it back forced out some ignoble RESPECT for her on your part. Disgusting.

Does she think it a coincidence, perhaps? That SHE ALONE was spared your blade in those desolate wastes?

You never expected her to go through with it. But lo and behold, a rendezvous was arranged.

The slayer was summoned. The collateral, presented.
A bargain honored and the mail delivered.

You recall aloud the day she walked into your office, seeking the very tool that enabled your ascension.

How pathetic she was, faced with the big bad Archagent. Your hit list huge, regiswords to spare. No sucker walked out of that office without a blade in tow.

You wonder, faced with the pitiable rage of a woman scorned, why you were so insistent on running in the first place?

A better you would have had this taken care of years ago.

You never were one for fancy, pre-battle speeches. But you suppose can indulge just this once.

It cannot be understated just how fucking exhausted you are. The howl alone feels as if it takes everything from you, a pervasive ache spreading throughout your carapace as you 'stand' upright.

A furred hand finds its way to a hilt. The Slayer, readied.

hey wait what did she just call you

You don't know why she's dressed like that, but you tell her she's a fool if she thinks that PALTRY DISGUISE would hide her from you. You'd recognize that scent anywhere.

Your only regret regarding her untimely demise was that you never got to SLAY this particular SOVEREIGN yourself.

You can't help but feel the flame of undying fury burning in your chest. The mere sight of this– *Sickening Sycophant* makes you rather sick. You only have one way to greet someone of his caliber:

𝓗𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓸, 𝓕𝓪𝓰𝓰𝓸𝓽.

YOU KILLED HER FOR SURE. LAST YOU SAW OF THIS REGAL FLOOZY SHE WAS A SMOKING BLACK STAIN ON THE FLOOR.

NOW YOU KNOW THE UNIVERSE IS FUCKING WITH YOU.

What will eternity feel like when a single moment of boredom feels like an eternity unto itself?

A breath, taken. A howl, expelled. Loud enough to be heard from miles away, as if to say "Come get me."

You are done hiding.

Perhaps it is time to finally bite the bullet. To face your fate and reap what you've sown. Omnipotence has been a drag on your tired soul from the day you attained it.

You wonder if it will always be like this. Will this malaise follow you for eternity?

Your wings are extended haphazardly, your eyes are closed as you drift just along the outer range of the Green Sun’s influence.

You came out here to think. To hide from that which surely covets your death. You know she is around. You know she's searching.

But now you find yourself, surrounded by stars. Stars and stars and stars for lightyears upon lightyears. Up here, out of orbit, you don’t need your wings to fly.

All the better, because your entire body is tired.

Sprawled out, smoking gently.

It used to be that when you were bored with paperwork, you would go distract yourself by sharpening one of your favorite knives, or give your most disapproving scowl through a fenestrated wall to survey the kingdom.

But those were simpler times. Back when you had a KINGDOM to rule.

[ Closed starter for @postal-deeds.bsky.social. ]

Swordplay. Power.

Hacking away at nothing. Blood for bloods sake. The rush, the burn of muscles pushed too far, the nigh-silent way that your flashing blade cut through flesh—cleaving suckers in half.

It was liberating.

GOD DAMMIT. FINE. GRAB YOUR SWORD.
YOU GUESS YOU'RE DOING THIS NOW.

YOU WERE JOKING.

You remember when you put a hole through the Mayor's chest.

Would not this proud long snout assist you in the hunt? Sniff as you might, you detect no trace of the vicious MENDICANT.

With nobody around to stop you, a furred-hand grasps the NINJATO, spilling blood from your eternally gaping wound.

❝𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐲𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫.❞

What a daring dream, to combine the finest qualities of humanity with the elegance and nobility of the animal kingdom.

How you wish you could know their world. A low growl unsettles your slumber, a mysterious wolven tongue invites.

Wouldn't these ears suit you?

( ooc./ )

BARKBARAKRBAKABARAKBARKBARKBRAKKAKAKBARKBARK

... Fuck it. Sure, you're suitably bored enough for this.
You tell them you hope THEY have a way to come back to life.

Hell hath no fury like a slayer starving.

YOU SURE ARE GLAD THESE KIDS CAN'T DIE FOR REAL BECAUSE HOO BOY WOULD YOU BE GETTING IN A LOT OF TROUBLE FOR THE THINGS YOU'RE ABOUT TO DO.

Back in YOUR day, once someone died, THAT WAS IT. None of this fancy RESSURECTION or DREAM BUBBLE buisness.

Grumble grumble stupid dead kids and their stupid pseudo immortality bluh bluh bluh.

❝𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫. 𝐆𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬.❞

MOTHER FUCKER