"Bacon." Patrick started, "And waffles. This place sells waffles, of course, right? Bacon, waffles, toast- coffee. God. Coffee. Milk- chocolate and... butter. So much butter." It was weird, he had to admit hearing his own voice, his voice say his words again, his phrases and not Zachariah's. For so long he thought of that voice as the Angel's, and now it almost felt wrong for him to use it. He didn't fear Rube killing him, hell it would be a bit of an improvement, and when you long for death- what else is there to fear?
"Everything. I think I could eat everything on the menu. Right here, right now- I'd pay but.." His voice trailed off as he checked his suit's pockets once more. "I doubt they'll take my credit card."
Already his coffee cup was empty, and his eyes wandered over to the waitress (Kiffany? What kind of name is that?) hoping she would refill it, and ASAP. Had he his proper wallet, he'd offer her double just to leave the pot, or, he would've, once.
Turning back to the Reaper, he couldn't help but raise a quizzical brow speaking again without once having waited for an answer. - Perhaps he and Zachariah had that bit in common. "Does your kind even keep cards?"
Point of order, Mr. Meat Suit...Rube doesn't kill people...he just sort of takes souls and even then he has to have a Post-It. Even though, he's been tempted to do so without one- like with this poor slob. Still, and cautiously, Rube nods to Kiffany to take the order. He'll cover it, if only because he isn't sure what sort of game Zach is playing and he's not inclined to test the Angel.
Wait.
...there's no Angel.
"My kind?" Rube repeats caring not a minute for the fact he sounds offended. He really isn't. Much. "I'm human."
And then, because he has to know. "Where's the dick?"
If all he needs it a bit of office supplies, Patrick will hook that man up. Does he have a preference? Color? Yellow might be standard but who knows! He might be a pink guy. Whatever it is, he'll be there.
At Rube's defense of humanity, Patrick had to actually laugh. "No, you're not human- no one I've ever seen go toe-to-toe with him walks away as many times as you have with his lungs in-tact." Draining the second cup the waitress filled Patrick continued, already feeling the c affine hit him like a first hit wonder.
"He's... up north. If you know what I mean. He can't ride me there. Sure" He shrugged, "He can look like he does? And I guess he is what with how the Kansans reacted a few months back."
"He'll likely be back soon, what with my luck as it is."
"Let's keep that between us, yea?" Rube asks as he slid into the seat across from him. "I am human...I just already died."
"Why did he pick you?" He asks too, because the whole idea of consent has always put Rube on...edge. He just keeps watching Patrick as he downs coffee and for a second, he wonders if he's about to take to the crackers near the edge. "...tell me, something buddy. Who you are you?"
It's a mistake and Rube knows it. You don't get close and you don't take an interest. Sue him. He'll do it anyways.
The food hadn't been delivered yet, and already Patrick had emptied his cup and mug another time. He's lasted almost eighteen months, another fifteen minutes shouldn't kill him.
"Dead, dying." He shrugs, "He still hasn't got you. That's something." At Rube's question, Patrick pauses, both times it takes him a moment to think of the answer, perhaps to just remember why, and who he and it all was.
"He offered a chance for me to serve The Lord- I, I am a good man, a good Christian man and when The Lord knocks..." Letting that sentense hang in the air, Patrick reached out his hand to his seated companion. "Patrick Driscoll. I am- I was a district manager for the southern counties of Piggly Wiggly."
"Everything. I think I could eat everything on the menu. Right here, right now- I'd pay but.." His voice trailed off as he checked his suit's pockets once more. "I doubt they'll take my credit card."
Already his coffee cup was empty, and his eyes wandered over to the waitress (Kiffany? What kind of name is that?) hoping she would refill it, and ASAP. Had he his proper wallet, he'd offer her double just to leave the pot, or, he would've, once.
Turning back to the Reaper, he couldn't help but raise a quizzical brow speaking again without once having waited for an answer. - Perhaps he and Zachariah had that bit in common. "Does your kind even keep cards?"
Reply
Wait.
...there's no Angel.
"My kind?" Rube repeats caring not a minute for the fact he sounds offended. He really isn't. Much. "I'm human."
And then, because he has to know. "Where's the dick?"
Reply
At Rube's defense of humanity, Patrick had to actually laugh. "No, you're not human- no one I've ever seen go toe-to-toe with him walks away as many times as you have with his lungs in-tact." Draining the second cup the waitress filled Patrick continued, already feeling the c affine hit him like a first hit wonder.
"He's... up north. If you know what I mean. He can't ride me there. Sure" He shrugged, "He can look like he does? And I guess he is what with how the Kansans reacted a few months back."
"He'll likely be back soon, what with my luck as it is."
Reply
"Let's keep that between us, yea?" Rube asks as he slid into the seat across from him. "I am human...I just already died."
"Why did he pick you?" He asks too, because the whole idea of consent has always put Rube on...edge. He just keeps watching Patrick as he downs coffee and for a second, he wonders if he's about to take to the crackers near the edge. "...tell me, something buddy. Who you are you?"
It's a mistake and Rube knows it. You don't get close and you don't take an interest. Sue him. He'll do it anyways.
Reply
"Dead, dying." He shrugs, "He still hasn't got you. That's something." At Rube's question, Patrick pauses, both times it takes him a moment to think of the answer, perhaps to just remember why, and who he and it all was.
"He offered a chance for me to serve The Lord- I, I am a good man, a good Christian man and when The Lord knocks..." Letting that sentense hang in the air, Patrick reached out his hand to his seated companion. "Patrick Driscoll. I am- I was a district manager for the southern counties of Piggly Wiggly."
Reply
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