[ It's coming down out there. The sleet, that is. It hadn't been sleeting for most of the day and then, boom, torrential ice and rain out of nowhere, and out here in the Barrens? Sure, there are plenty of ruined buildings and caves but the chapel stands as one overwhelmingly whole building even if its outside walls were covered in creeping vines and the ground around it was gray and cracked.
The windows, the ones that haven't been covered up or boarded due to broken glass, glow with warm light from within, making it more inviting than most of the other ruins scattered around on top of having an actual roof intact.
Anyone passing by and seeking a dry spot to sit out the sleet will find the large front doors closed but easy to push open, with no bar or lock keeping them shut whatsoever. ]
[ The chill and the damp are two things that will not fell him, but also do not feel comfortable upon his body. A sudden parting of the skies has him darting for shelter, not recognizing the shape of the chapel ( -- such things come centuries after him, with his sandstone temples and structures ) but noticing that it has one of the more sturdy rooftops. When in Rome Stygia, any port will do. Wrapped in his traveling cloak as he is, when he ducks in, the material clings like a second skin to him, the ends of his red hair clumped together in sleek lines.
It's awful. He never really needs a brush to detangle all that hair.
Casting the folded hood back, he wrings out the melting sleet from his hair, looking high into the chapel to ensure the roof is not buckling -- and he presses the door behind him closed with a bare foot. ]
If someone is here, [ he does call out, just in case, ] I am only seeking a moment's shelter from this rotten storm.
[ It isn't the first time people have come baring into the chapel and it won't be the last time. Bruno is getting used to it... but this voice that calls outsounds familiar somehow and he immediately gets this sinking feeling from it. He isn't down on the main floor but up in the balcony overlooking the rest of the place, where the old pipe organ — no longer in use and kept very much shut by Bruno — takes up a portion and the rest is, well, just where he's set up his own living space.
There are no stairs up but rather a pew shoved partway up against a wall to offer a way to boost one's self up to it. It works for Bruno just fine. Maybe less so for other people but... that's fine, too.
In any case, Bruno pokes his head over the balcony railing, and the very second he sees who it is— ]
...oh no, not you. Nope. No way. Go away? Uh, yeah, you should. You should go away. Bye.
[ He doesn't want this lunatic in his home! Why him?! Of all the people in Stygia! ]
[ Devoted as he is to wringing his wet cloak out, he has enough sense to not do it directly on the floor of the chapel. No, no. He finds some manner of receptacle into which he squeezes the water into - a bucket, perhaps a makeshift trough. Whatever it is, he's quite dedicated to filling it with the splash of water, before casting his pale cloak over one of the nearby pews, intent on leaving it to dry. He draws his hair over his shoulder, once again bare save for the glint of gold jewelry and the dark, wrapped linen of his shendyt.
He lifts his head, sniffing at the air like some manner of wild animal, when he hears the sound of a familiar voice. ]
My my!
[ It takes him two steps forward, and then the flex of his thighs carries him into the air, landing him on the rail -- a monstrous and elegant leap, as he crows brightly at Bruno. ]
Are you truly going to turn me out into the storm, how cruel of you! Is this the place you make your nest?
[ That leap sends Bruno scrambling away from the railing. Thankfully, while this isn't the first time someone's done that — and it's weird that it's happened twice now, he thought he'd be safe up here! — this time he at least already has all the candles lit. He can find and put a chair between himself at Set, for what little good that would do. ]
Don't do that! Did I invite you up here? I. I don't think so! J-just. Just stay on the other side of the chapel a-and leave me alone!
[ Although it's very clear this is where he "makes his nest", so to speak. While the main floor has been tided up and organized as well as it can be, the balcony itself is where the pile of blankets and a sad little pillow exists, along with a table and some ramshackle chairs that have been cobbled back together from scavenged pieces here and there. There are other things up there, too, that generally mark it as the main living area... and a distinct lack of stairs. Those were broken long ago, meaning Bruno must have to climb up and down to get to and from this spot. ]
[ Something about Bruno begs to be bullied, and Set - god of bullies? - is so very keen on tormenting him. Not with true cruelty, not like he is capable of, but enough so that he can watch this man flail and scamper around. He is the most nervous creature, Bruno is; perplexing in his vulnerability, perhaps a little worrisome in his timidity. How had he ever survived as long as he had, to reach the age he is at? Set assumes he is an older human, by the hair upon his face and the lines upon him; he's not good at time or age, however. They don't apply to divinities.
He steps down, off of the creaking balcony, before it does more than simply threaten to cave in under the arch of his foot. There is a chair between them, but it does not stop Set from running his eyes so boldly, unabashed, over Bruno's appearance. Over the appearance of his little den. There is some form of recognition in his bright, red gaze; the metaphorical nod of understanding, as his eyes slide back to the man attempting to put as much distance between them as possible.
Perhaps it is why he softens. As much as a god of war softens, which means he just sighs. ]
I did not expect that you would be here, you must know. I've not come to injure or ravage you.
And you're not a guest unless I've welcomed you as one, so... y'know...
[ Besides, it wasn't as though he had anything prepared to offer any guests at the moment. He's long since gone through the tiny store of tea he had and no more treats from the festival remain, not even in their weaker forms. He doesn't say this, for it's pointless to complain aloud about his own problems, ones only he can really fix in the end.
He shifts awkwardly from one foot to the other at the look Set gives him, then the rest of his so-called home. It isn't much. He's never needed much but... he imagines it holds up poorly against where most others live and he'd been prepared for mockery over it, only that never comes.
Instead, Set tells him he isn't here to do harm. That sigh was certainly one Bruno could understand, perhaps the one of someone used to wrong assumptions. While he remains as nervous as ever, he pursues his lips in thought for a moment, his gaze flitting away towards the nearest window where the rain and ice continue to pelt steadily against it. He, too, breathes out a sigh. ]
Oh, fine. You can stick around. It's pretty nasty out there right now.
[ Set's throat works, as if preparing to say something more in retaliation -- perhaps something about not needing to be seen as a guest, then. An invader on tenuous grounds, if he must be seen at all; however, Bruno's permission comes soon after, and his voice catches on the faintest of clicks. Words stifled immediately, by the rise of something incredulous. To say that he was prepared to have to fight the entire time to be able to remain under the roof would be a lie; he would have complained, and then gone right back out into the cold, if it truly come down to it.
He doesn't have to now, and it's at that point that his knees finally give out on him and he slides to the floor below, casting his hands out to catch his weight with a relieved little flop. It's ungraceful, but like all things, he throws the whole of himself into the motion. ]
[ The way he flops to the floor is startling and it prompts Bruno to take a step forward, around and past the chair he'd been using as a useless little barrier, a hand raised towards Set, only to stop short of checking on him when he complains about hating being damp.
Ah.
So not hurt, just wet, very wet. Honestly, and here Bruno thought he was the dramatic one. ]
It's not great.
[ Bruno can only agree before settling on at least making an attempt to be a good host. Again, he has little to offer, but now that he's agreed to let Set remain, it'd be ghastly of him not to try. He turns and shuffles off to fetch one of the blankets he has folded up elsewhere, extras set apart from the pile he calls a bed, and he returns to hold it out to his unexpected visitor. ]
Here. You never did tell me your name but I, uh, guess there isn't time for that while hunting people down?
It takes a moment, for Set's body to catch up with the things he wants it to do. The lack of grace and control galls him, as he prides himself on so few things and his natural state of genuine perfection is one of them. It is a fragile pride, but there are so few things he has left, he must pretend here and there. His hands ache from the chill, as he finds it in himself to take the offered blanket and unfold it, drawing it around himself to huddle under the layer until his body heat is entrapped -- radiating back upon itself. ]
I suppose I was overzealous. I have not often played games with others, beyond the wargames with my kin and fellows.
[ It's as close as Bruno might get, apology-wise, for going That Hard over a game. ]
I am Set. As god of war, I am not known for -- well, half-measures. Even in play.
[ A god of war. A god. A god named Set. As in that god named Set that was supposedly taking care of Jonas. That god. Oh boy, oh boy, Jonas, what have you gotten yourself into? ]
Wait, you're the weird guy saying he'd take care of Jonas?
[ Yes, weird guy. It's weird! It is! Bruno grimaces but it's too late to reconsider tossing him out again. He turns away again instead and this time goes to fetch the little camping stove he's been using for cooking and generally as a heat source. He's not sure how much longer it'll last but he may as well put it to good use before it crumbles away like all the other things not yet soulforged... ]
You're not really a god, right? Like, the super ancient kind, from way back when?
[ Even huddled within the blanket, Set's expression is a thunderous thing -- his brow creases heavily, mouth thinning into a tight line of displeasure. Ire is a thing that rises quickly inside of him, and insult is easy to feel. Weird guy. Not really a god. He feels something raggedly hot and bitterly cold throb inside of him; resentment, burning its way into a hateful blossom. Into soft, agonized despair. He can't blame Bruno for assuming it. Nor for not believing that he truly is a god. It isn't as though he has considerable power, nor the ability to enact change or prove his might.
He really isn't much of anything.
As quickly as the flare of resentment and resistance rises, something within him gutters and chills. He curls a little harder into the blanket he was given, hooking his hands into the folds of it -- and says nothing in his defense. It's just so tiresome, and really not worth the fight. ]
I mean, yeah? It's... it's a little weird to tell someone you barely know that? Kind of? I, uh.
[ Set doesn't have to say anything. Bruno has long since gotten good at realizing when he's shoved a foot in his mouth and when he turns back with the little camping stove, he recognizes it with Set. That expression, displeased, even worrying, and the fact that he buries himself deeper into the blanket rather than tell Bruno off makes it all that much worse.
He's messed up again. Again! Why does he keep doing this? How? He really wasn't meant to be around people, was he?
But Bruno will power on through those thoughts, managing a really uncomfortable smile as he returns to set the stove down and turns it on to offer additional heat near Set. He then stands there, nearby, hands clasping together to try and tamp down on how much he feels like fidgeting with them. ]
N... not that I'd know. I. I don't spend a lot of time a-around people or... or anything or... know anything about gods apart from, uh, just regular God.
[ What does "regular God" even mean, Bruno? He has no idea. The words just tumble out and he already regrets everything. ]
[ That it's weird, he means. Jonas was young, he was in need of someone, and Set had been there at the start to offer that; he had been the one who had scared him in the first place, who had asked brutality from a boy not equipped for such things, who had been protected by him in their fall. It was humiliation and something cautious that had pressed him forward, to offer Jonas his care. ]
Perhaps for humans, it is odd to care for someone who is not your immediate family, but for the gods, we are -- we're meant to be something for everyone. For Jonas, I provide him financial support so that he can focus on things he wants to do. He is young. Someone ought to be there for him.
[ It's a little accusatory, against the other humans present. A slight disdain for them, for not caring for their young; there is something animalistic about Set, in that regard, like a lioness preparing to lash out in defense of her young, or -- like a parent. Just a parent. ]
-- and, I am a father.
[ Slowly, he begins to uncurl, still unwilling to address the fact that once more, someone does not believe him when he tells them he is a god. Would they believe him if he said he were a king from a far-off world? A doctor? A general of armies? Such things seemed easier to swallow than "god of war", and the dim ache within him -- it continues to fester, quietly. ]
[ Truly and completely messed up. Maybe Bruno should save them further awkwardness by simply leaving or saying nothing else or... but that'd make him a poor host, even if his guest was an unwanted one at first. He breathes out a sigh and steps past the warming camp stove to the balcony banister and turns. He slides down to sit with his back against it, near where Set is, and draws his ruana up around him, close. He comes with a blanket already attached, thankfully. ]
Yeah, well, and I'm a prophet who only sees bad things, but you don't have to believe me, either. [ He is, though. ] I'm... look, I'm sorry. Caring about other folks is the right thing to do. That's how my own family works, kind of. The people in the village always came first...
[ Typically at the detriment of the Madrigals themselves but such is the self-imposed burden of their miracle. ]
I guess I'm just worried about Jonas, too. If. If you mean that, that you're looking out for him, then... thank you. It's. It's better than I can do. For anyone, really.
[ Since he's definitely not a god himself. He's small, he's nervous, twitchy. Who's he going to help? ]
And, eh, if you say you're a god, then. I dunno. It's scary that a god can die and end up here, isn't it? Instead of just choosing to be here and then leaving again when you want to?
[ There is a lacking in Set. Judgment withheld, no matter how awkward or contorted people seem to be; he does not dislike them, but neither has he felt much for them in countless years of existence. Bruno seems to come to some manner of decision, allowing himself a crack in the door, a quiet moment settled nearby. It is more of an allowance than he expects. ]
Why would I not believe you? I am new to attending to mortal life, but I am aware that there are those with such visions.
[ Prophets and prophetesses alike invoked the will of the gods. Aged women wielded the power of his sister, gifted to them by her grace. Poets spoke in the voice of Hathor at times, singing until they collapsed with exhaustion -- but happy, so happy, to have been a conduit for a moment. ]
I will not tell you that I am a god of the people. Jonas could do better, than Egypt's most evil of gods -- I am of war and disorder. The bad things you see, they are doubtlessly of make and my might. But, I promised him.
[ Lightly, he begins to emerge from the blanket. The ends of his hair still damp, his leonine body sleek and warmed by cloth and flame; it is miraculously dry, by the time he returns it to Bruno, weaving the layers across his lap to keep his own legs warm. His little home is so drafty, after all - and the deserts at night were inevitably frosty. ]
To be honest, I was demoted. [ Wryly said, his mouth twisting into a mean smile. ] However, the gods of Egypt do die. Differently than our humans, but we also die.
[ Right, someone calling themselves a god would certainly not find a gift of prophecy weird, huh? Everyone else, though... ]
I mean, not everything bad is going to be, uh, your doing. [ Right? Right? ] Otherwise, I guess that makes me your prophet, huh? Ha...
[ Awkward, that was an awkward laugh, absolutely trying to lighten up the entire admission of being Egypt's most evil of gods because, wow, what the heck? Evil? Look, Bruno had been leery of him but he wouldn't have called him evil? He's thoroughly thankful for the return of the blanket since it gives him something to pick at, fidget with, that isn't simply his own ruana. ]
Eh, I dunno, you can't be that evil if you care about other people that much, like with Jonas. Even... demoted. [ Also weird. Gods can get demoted? What about fired? Or was being fired just being dead? So many questions and yet he doesn't think he should ask them. ] Or. Or dead, since, I guess... if you say so, then...
[ Maybe it is true. It could be that Set is still some raving lunatic or maybe, just maybe, gods really could end up here. He had only the vaguest concept of those ancient pantheons from across the ocean and what rules they followed were a total mystery to him. Besides, looking at that guy? Especially next to him, who's short and scrawny and ultimately unimpressive? Sure, he could imagine that was what a god should actually look like. ]
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for Set
The windows, the ones that haven't been covered up or boarded due to broken glass, glow with warm light from within, making it more inviting than most of the other ruins scattered around on top of having an actual roof intact.
Anyone passing by and seeking a dry spot to sit out the sleet will find the large front doors closed but easy to push open, with no bar or lock keeping them shut whatsoever. ]
no subject
RomeStygia, any port will do. Wrapped in his traveling cloak as he is, when he ducks in, the material clings like a second skin to him, the ends of his red hair clumped together in sleek lines.It's awful. He never really needs a brush to detangle all that hair.
Casting the folded hood back, he wrings out the melting sleet from his hair, looking high into the chapel to ensure the roof is not buckling -- and he presses the door behind him closed with a bare foot. ]
If someone is here, [ he does call out, just in case, ] I am only seeking a moment's shelter from this rotten storm.
no subject
There are no stairs up but rather a pew shoved partway up against a wall to offer a way to boost one's self up to it. It works for Bruno just fine. Maybe less so for other people but... that's fine, too.
In any case, Bruno pokes his head over the balcony railing, and the very second he sees who it is— ]
...oh no, not you. Nope. No way. Go away? Uh, yeah, you should. You should go away. Bye.
[ He doesn't want this lunatic in his home! Why him?! Of all the people in Stygia! ]
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He lifts his head, sniffing at the air like some manner of wild animal, when he hears the sound of a familiar voice. ]
My my!
[ It takes him two steps forward, and then the flex of his thighs carries him into the air, landing him on the rail -- a monstrous and elegant leap, as he crows brightly at Bruno. ]
Are you truly going to turn me out into the storm, how cruel of you! Is this the place you make your nest?
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Don't do that! Did I invite you up here? I. I don't think so! J-just. Just stay on the other side of the chapel a-and leave me alone!
[ Although it's very clear this is where he "makes his nest", so to speak. While the main floor has been tided up and organized as well as it can be, the balcony itself is where the pile of blankets and a sad little pillow exists, along with a table and some ramshackle chairs that have been cobbled back together from scavenged pieces here and there. There are other things up there, too, that generally mark it as the main living area... and a distinct lack of stairs. Those were broken long ago, meaning Bruno must have to climb up and down to get to and from this spot. ]
no subject
[ Something about Bruno begs to be bullied, and Set - god of bullies? - is so very keen on tormenting him. Not with true cruelty, not like he is capable of, but enough so that he can watch this man flail and scamper around. He is the most nervous creature, Bruno is; perplexing in his vulnerability, perhaps a little worrisome in his timidity. How had he ever survived as long as he had, to reach the age he is at? Set assumes he is an older human, by the hair upon his face and the lines upon him; he's not good at time or age, however. They don't apply to divinities.
He steps down, off of the creaking balcony, before it does more than simply threaten to cave in under the arch of his foot. There is a chair between them, but it does not stop Set from running his eyes so boldly, unabashed, over Bruno's appearance. Over the appearance of his little den. There is some form of recognition in his bright, red gaze; the metaphorical nod of understanding, as his eyes slide back to the man attempting to put as much distance between them as possible.
Perhaps it is why he softens. As much as a god of war softens, which means he just sighs. ]
I did not expect that you would be here, you must know. I've not come to injure or ravage you.
no subject
[ Besides, it wasn't as though he had anything prepared to offer any guests at the moment. He's long since gone through the tiny store of tea he had and no more treats from the festival remain, not even in their weaker forms. He doesn't say this, for it's pointless to complain aloud about his own problems, ones only he can really fix in the end.
He shifts awkwardly from one foot to the other at the look Set gives him, then the rest of his so-called home. It isn't much. He's never needed much but... he imagines it holds up poorly against where most others live and he'd been prepared for mockery over it, only that never comes.
Instead, Set tells him he isn't here to do harm. That sigh was certainly one Bruno could understand, perhaps the one of someone used to wrong assumptions. While he remains as nervous as ever, he pursues his lips in thought for a moment, his gaze flitting away towards the nearest window where the rain and ice continue to pelt steadily against it. He, too, breathes out a sigh. ]
Oh, fine. You can stick around. It's pretty nasty out there right now.
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He doesn't have to now, and it's at that point that his knees finally give out on him and he slides to the floor below, casting his hands out to catch his weight with a relieved little flop. It's ungraceful, but like all things, he throws the whole of himself into the motion. ]
I'm in your care. I truly despise being so damp.
[ it makes him all sorts of USELESS ]
no subject
Ah.
So not hurt, just wet, very wet. Honestly, and here Bruno thought he was the dramatic one. ]
It's not great.
[ Bruno can only agree before settling on at least making an attempt to be a good host. Again, he has little to offer, but now that he's agreed to let Set remain, it'd be ghastly of him not to try. He turns and shuffles off to fetch one of the blankets he has folded up elsewhere, extras set apart from the pile he calls a bed, and he returns to hold it out to his unexpected visitor. ]
Here. You never did tell me your name but I, uh, guess there isn't time for that while hunting people down?
no subject
It takes a moment, for Set's body to catch up with the things he wants it to do. The lack of grace and control galls him, as he prides himself on so few things and his natural state of genuine perfection is one of them. It is a fragile pride, but there are so few things he has left, he must pretend here and there. His hands ache from the chill, as he finds it in himself to take the offered blanket and unfold it, drawing it around himself to huddle under the layer until his body heat is entrapped -- radiating back upon itself. ]
I suppose I was overzealous. I have not often played games with others, beyond the wargames with my kin and fellows.
[ It's as close as Bruno might get, apology-wise, for going That Hard over a game. ]
I am Set. As god of war, I am not known for -- well, half-measures. Even in play.
no subject
Wait, you're the weird guy saying he'd take care of Jonas?
[ Yes, weird guy. It's weird! It is! Bruno grimaces but it's too late to reconsider tossing him out again. He turns away again instead and this time goes to fetch the little camping stove he's been using for cooking and generally as a heat source. He's not sure how much longer it'll last but he may as well put it to good use before it crumbles away like all the other things not yet soulforged... ]
You're not really a god, right? Like, the super ancient kind, from way back when?
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[ Even huddled within the blanket, Set's expression is a thunderous thing -- his brow creases heavily, mouth thinning into a tight line of displeasure. Ire is a thing that rises quickly inside of him, and insult is easy to feel. Weird guy. Not really a god. He feels something raggedly hot and bitterly cold throb inside of him; resentment, burning its way into a hateful blossom. Into soft, agonized despair. He can't blame Bruno for assuming it. Nor for not believing that he truly is a god. It isn't as though he has considerable power, nor the ability to enact change or prove his might.
He really isn't much of anything.
As quickly as the flare of resentment and resistance rises, something within him gutters and chills. He curls a little harder into the blanket he was given, hooking his hands into the folds of it -- and says nothing in his defense. It's just so tiresome, and really not worth the fight. ]
no subject
[ Set doesn't have to say anything. Bruno has long since gotten good at realizing when he's shoved a foot in his mouth and when he turns back with the little camping stove, he recognizes it with Set. That expression, displeased, even worrying, and the fact that he buries himself deeper into the blanket rather than tell Bruno off makes it all that much worse.
He's messed up again. Again! Why does he keep doing this? How? He really wasn't meant to be around people, was he?
But Bruno will power on through those thoughts, managing a really uncomfortable smile as he returns to set the stove down and turns it on to offer additional heat near Set. He then stands there, nearby, hands clasping together to try and tamp down on how much he feels like fidgeting with them. ]
N... not that I'd know. I. I don't spend a lot of time a-around people or... or anything or... know anything about gods apart from, uh, just regular God.
[ What does "regular God" even mean, Bruno? He has no idea. The words just tumble out and he already regrets everything. ]
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[ That it's weird, he means. Jonas was young, he was in need of someone, and Set had been there at the start to offer that; he had been the one who had scared him in the first place, who had asked brutality from a boy not equipped for such things, who had been protected by him in their fall. It was humiliation and something cautious that had pressed him forward, to offer Jonas his care. ]
Perhaps for humans, it is odd to care for someone who is not your immediate family, but for the gods, we are -- we're meant to be something for everyone. For Jonas, I provide him financial support so that he can focus on things he wants to do. He is young. Someone ought to be there for him.
[ It's a little accusatory, against the other humans present. A slight disdain for them, for not caring for their young; there is something animalistic about Set, in that regard, like a lioness preparing to lash out in defense of her young, or -- like a parent. Just a parent. ]
-- and, I am a father.
[ Slowly, he begins to uncurl, still unwilling to address the fact that once more, someone does not believe him when he tells them he is a god. Would they believe him if he said he were a king from a far-off world? A doctor? A general of armies? Such things seemed easier to swallow than "god of war", and the dim ache within him -- it continues to fester, quietly. ]
You don't have to believe me.
no subject
Yeah, well, and I'm a prophet who only sees bad things, but you don't have to believe me, either. [ He is, though. ] I'm... look, I'm sorry. Caring about other folks is the right thing to do. That's how my own family works, kind of. The people in the village always came first...
[ Typically at the detriment of the Madrigals themselves but such is the self-imposed burden of their miracle. ]
I guess I'm just worried about Jonas, too. If. If you mean that, that you're looking out for him, then... thank you. It's. It's better than I can do. For anyone, really.
[ Since he's definitely not a god himself. He's small, he's nervous, twitchy. Who's he going to help? ]
And, eh, if you say you're a god, then. I dunno. It's scary that a god can die and end up here, isn't it? Instead of just choosing to be here and then leaving again when you want to?
no subject
Why would I not believe you? I am new to attending to mortal life, but I am aware that there are those with such visions.
[ Prophets and prophetesses alike invoked the will of the gods. Aged women wielded the power of his sister, gifted to them by her grace. Poets spoke in the voice of Hathor at times, singing until they collapsed with exhaustion -- but happy, so happy, to have been a conduit for a moment. ]
I will not tell you that I am a god of the people. Jonas could do better, than Egypt's most evil of gods -- I am of war and disorder. The bad things you see, they are doubtlessly of make and my might. But, I promised him.
[ Lightly, he begins to emerge from the blanket. The ends of his hair still damp, his leonine body sleek and warmed by cloth and flame; it is miraculously dry, by the time he returns it to Bruno, weaving the layers across his lap to keep his own legs warm. His little home is so drafty, after all - and the deserts at night were inevitably frosty. ]
To be honest, I was demoted. [ Wryly said, his mouth twisting into a mean smile. ] However, the gods of Egypt do die. Differently than our humans, but we also die.
no subject
I mean, not everything bad is going to be, uh, your doing. [ Right? Right? ] Otherwise, I guess that makes me your prophet, huh? Ha...
[ Awkward, that was an awkward laugh, absolutely trying to lighten up the entire admission of being Egypt's most evil of gods because, wow, what the heck? Evil? Look, Bruno had been leery of him but he wouldn't have called him evil? He's thoroughly thankful for the return of the blanket since it gives him something to pick at, fidget with, that isn't simply his own ruana. ]
Eh, I dunno, you can't be that evil if you care about other people that much, like with Jonas. Even... demoted. [ Also weird. Gods can get demoted? What about fired? Or was being fired just being dead? So many questions and yet he doesn't think he should ask them. ] Or. Or dead, since, I guess... if you say so, then...
[ Maybe it is true. It could be that Set is still some raving lunatic or maybe, just maybe, gods really could end up here. He had only the vaguest concept of those ancient pantheons from across the ocean and what rules they followed were a total mystery to him. Besides, looking at that guy? Especially next to him, who's short and scrawny and ultimately unimpressive? Sure, he could imagine that was what a god should actually look like. ]