Jason grunts to himself and settles back in the seat. He's unsure if he's piqued or relieved that Raziel is choosing to end the reading there-- it would have been work to try and continue, the sort of effort he does not usually expend without having planned it in advance-- and apparently futile effort at that, as well.... but still.
It doesn't help that Etrigan is seething, stirring, beneath his skin. Etrigan ... dislikes the proximity to Raziel, and Etrigan can make it hard to tell his own emotions and his responses from the demon's.
He takes a slow, careful breath, filling his lungs and then letting it out again, counting to himself to provide an alternative to the whispered curses at the edge of his hearing.
"As you will," Jason says after a few seconds to try and regain his composure. He sits up straight, sets the deck to one side, lays his hands flat on the table's top. The burn on his left hand itches madly with the heat from within.
"Death. A card of transformations. Endings. Beginnings." His voice sounds like gravel to his own ears, the words dropped like unpolished chunks of rock.
Another breath; he tries again. "You can perceive Death riding over all-- kings, commoners, soldiers and children alike... death is the great equalizer, the universal humbler that every entity in the universe will face... eventually."
That felt half a mockery given his own overly-long life, and he knew from their prior encounter that Raziel himself claimed a lifespan of millennia. Nevertheless, even immortals died eventually. When the universe did, if nothing else.
"The card does not always-- very rarely, in fact-- refers to literal physical deaths. Although in your case, I am sure it could make the exception. You perceive the sunrise? New births, as well. Renewal. Transformation, as I said: one form to another, leaving one's old self behind again and again to become something new with each contact with death."
The words came faster; Jason felt they were true, but it was hard to be sure of anything over Etrigan's red noise.
"The skeletal rider has had everything extraneous withered away. He is pared down to his essentials: to the truths of bone. With each death, one's self-awareness expands. With each loss of the prior self, one's purpose clarifies."
no subject
It doesn't help that Etrigan is seething, stirring, beneath his skin. Etrigan ... dislikes the proximity to Raziel, and Etrigan can make it hard to tell his own emotions and his responses from the demon's.
He takes a slow, careful breath, filling his lungs and then letting it out again, counting to himself to provide an alternative to the whispered curses at the edge of his hearing.
foolslutprancingpisspotprisskillbitchrendripcrushfuckbreak...
"As you will," Jason says after a few seconds to try and regain his composure. He sits up straight, sets the deck to one side, lays his hands flat on the table's top. The burn on his left hand itches madly with the heat from within.
"Death. A card of transformations. Endings. Beginnings." His voice sounds like gravel to his own ears, the words dropped like unpolished chunks of rock.
Another breath; he tries again. "You can perceive Death riding over all-- kings, commoners, soldiers and children alike... death is the great equalizer, the universal humbler that every entity in the universe will face... eventually."
That felt half a mockery given his own overly-long life, and he knew from their prior encounter that Raziel himself claimed a lifespan of millennia. Nevertheless, even immortals died eventually. When the universe did, if nothing else.
"The card does not always-- very rarely, in fact-- refers to literal physical deaths. Although in your case, I am sure it could make the exception. You perceive the sunrise? New births, as well. Renewal. Transformation, as I said: one form to another, leaving one's old self behind again and again to become something new with each contact with death."
The words came faster; Jason felt they were true, but it was hard to be sure of anything over Etrigan's red noise.
"The skeletal rider has had everything extraneous withered away. He is pared down to his essentials: to the truths of bone. With each death, one's self-awareness expands. With each loss of the prior self, one's purpose clarifies."
riphiswitheredwingseathisfacearrogantlittleshit