I tried to sell my soul last night
Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
Of all the fucking places he thought she might be, this was damned well not one of them. Hell, at first he half wonders whether he’d fallen asleep and was dreaming when he hears her familiar voice. Not that he’s the dreaming sort, but who the fuck knows what kind of hallucinations toxic algae might give a guy.
Blinking to clear his blurry vision, he squints at her vague figure. He snorts at the angelic mirage she makes. If he weren’t sane enough to know there is no way in hell he’d end up in heaven, one might’ve forgiven him if he had wondered.
“Be’er queshtion, whatth’ hell’re you doin’ here?” he asks, not realizing how badly his words are being slurred. Not that he’d ever been the very articulate sort anyway.
He doesn’t especially expect an answer as he snorts irritably again, though it comes out as more of a comically lolling raspberry. Abruptly trying to stand, he manages to rise about halfway before stumbling as he’s cut short by the sucking mud. Rather than the sharp, aggressive movement he’d intended, he finds himself lurching forward, wings flailing wildly, before flopping ass over chest right back into the mud.
Graceful as shit, no doubt.
“Fer fu’ssake,” he growls. He doesn’t bother trying to right himself. His efforts had only served to bring him just a few feet from her, so instead he slumps over, flat in the mud. One dark eye glares up at her, lips pressed into a mulish line despite his spectacularly failed attempt to get up and leave.
