So here's this guy, walking quite peacefully across the street.

And here's this car, racing furiously down the road.

And here's this accident scene.

It all happens within a matter of seconds-- the sickening crack of bone, muffled by flesh, is barely audible above the jungle roar of the highway. The car skids to a halt, but it's much too late-- the pedestrian might be alive, but he probably won't walk again. If he survives.

Which, at this point in time, looks a little unlikely.

"Call nine one one!"

"Ohmigawd ohmigawd, I didn't mean to hit him!"

"How long 'til the cops get here?"

"God, where's the ambulance?"

"What's going on? What's with the crowd?"

Blood always draws an audience.

It draws other things as well.

So here's this... man, gliding peacefully through the crowd. People let him pass. Half of them don't even seem to see him-- those that do, well. It's cliché to say they quickly turn away, but they do. They don't want to see him, even as they're crowind around a dying man listening through bloody ears for the sounds of sirens.

It's taking to long.

And here's this... man, in his pristine white business suit, with this nice white scarf and nice white hair that isn't touched by the autumn wind that races around everyone else. Here's this man who looks like he doesn't belong in the daytime, in the firm reality of the season ater summer, when everything has a crystal edge, even the blue sky-- he doesn't belong, except with the frosts.

frsot like that which is forming, in fact, as he approaches.

Trust Azrael to make a dramatic appearance.

((Open to anyone who might like to join, though obviously if your character has a good reason for seeing azrael and therefore can see him, it'd make a more interesting RP.))

James was out for another stroll. When you have as much time on your hands as he does, you tend to do that.

There was a screech, a thump, some screams. He couldn't help himself. It was still human and gore attracts a human more than they'd like to admit.

He made his way through the mass of people, not really feeling the bumps. Just like he didn't feel the cold.

He did, however, feel the wrongness coming closer.

James swept his gaze around, seeing nothing. A big spot of nothing in his vision. Last time he'd seen that he'd ended up very drunk with a breakdown inducing papercut the next morning. Bad memories.

Trying to seem inconspicious, the immortal made his way closer to the void of a god. He wasn't sure why. When he was close enough to be heard, he said the first thing that came to mind.

"What are you doing here?"

Sure, it was obvious, but it was the first thing that came to mind.

The nearby sightseers ignore him as he speaks.

"Do you hear ambulance sirens? No?"

He smiles, but that's not something James can necessarily see.

"I'd say 'I don't, either', but I always hear them. Anyhow--"

His long arm and long fingers extend to point at the body. (The void moves?)

"The paramedics aren't going to make it. So, how've you been?"

"You're Death. Give 'em a chance."

Maybe he just wants to spite Death, or something. James doesn't know.

"And I've been fine." Just about all he is.

A few people in the crowd glance curiously at James.

Azrael lifts his eyebrows, intrigued, his attention focused on James and not to crowd which is so intent on seeing him in the pedestrian that it ignores him where he stands.

"Give him a chance? Why?"

James shrugged. He still didn't know.

"You've given me enough of a chance." For once, his hand didn't go to the charm at his neck, but he could feel it under his shirt.

"Besides, why shouldn't you?"

Maybe a lack of a fear of death gives James an advantage when dealing with Azrael.

"Well, because things not dying when they bleed out is bad for society." Things, people, whatever.

A few braver Samaritans have fretfully started attending on the bleeding pedestrian. There's still no sign of the ambulance. The crowd waits in a hush for its arrival, whispers kept low and confined to edges.

"Unless you really want to be the one responsible for continual and eternal human suffering."

"What if they can fix him?"

Make him better, faster, stronger... or at least stop bleeding.

"What if he goes on to cure some horrible disease?"

"And why would I want him to go on to cure some horrible disease?"

Can James see the shift in posture? See that he's crossing his arms?

He can probably hear the petulant tone.

(Faintly, sirens sound. Not many of the crowd can hear them yet.)

James can see a shift in the void, a slight movement. The voice is a bit harder to hear, but he can just barely catch the tone. Even if he couldn't, the words are enough.

"Lighten your load," he replied. "Maybe you could get a break once in a while if he does."

The deity turns to face James.

"And why would I want a break?"

Might as well as a workaholic to quit.

James shrugged. Why would I god want to take a break?

"Maybe you could take up a hobby?"

James gets a sudden image of Death putting a model plane together. Doesn't quite work.

"I have a hobby."

My, doesn't that sound ominous.

(stretch arms, were-lachii, clairvoyance).

It does indeed sound ominous.

"Then you'd have more time to pursue it."

James, finally unable to take the sight of the void that is the god, looked away. His eye fell on the body of the pedestrian who was unlucky enough to be hit.

"What if he has a family?" It was more of a whisper to himself, but it was loud enough to be heard.

"Of course he has a family. Mortals don't just spring fully grown from the head of Zeus."

Azrael takes a step forward and nudges the corpse with his toe. The slight jerk is taken as a spasm by the crowd, which is ignoring Death and focusing on the now-audible sounds of the ambulance.

"No one would ever die if I didn't take them just because they had a family."

"But why can't exceptions be made?"

James is stubborn. Too bad he can't win against Death.

"You can't see it, but I'm pointedly raising an eyebrow at you."

James frowned.

"I guess cold as Death is a good metaphor."

He could hear the sirens and they sounded like defeat.

"The point was-- who says I don't make exceptions?"

Azrael glances towards the ambulance, which has screamed up, stopped, and unloaded a number of paramedics.

The god jerks his thumb towards the vehicle as they begin to carefully pull the still-alive pedestrian onto a stretcher.

"Wanna go for a ride?"

Jame shrugged.

"Sure, why not?"

"Take my hand."

It's an instruction, and in such a tone to imply that it's not a prelude to flowers and chocolates, just a prelude to James not getting thrown out of the ambulance.

A portion of void is extended towards the immortal.

James hesitated for a second, then took the hand.

It was very uncomfortable. His hand closed around nothing. It didn't feel like empty air. It didn't feel like anything. But he was holding it and it was very uncomfortable.

The crowd had been mostly ignoring James to begin with, so there isn't an immediate difference. The chilly void that is Death, personified, leads the immortal towards the ambulance, where a couple of paramedics are shouting things and loading the pedestrian into the back. Not for a second questioning his right to be there, Death climbs in after them.

James followed as well, pulled along.

"Where are we going?" he said in a whisper. He felt like he should.

"The hospital." If Death sounds a bit patronizing... well, is it really a surprise?

Paramedics rush around them-- and through them. Ignoring the living, and the immortal, Azrael reaches out a hand and strokes the dying man's cheek. The skin pales, briefly.

James pales a bit, too. Having gone so long witht death himself, he feels like he's intruding when someone else is on their way.

"Are you just rubbing it in?"

"Do you have to be rude? This is an intimate moment."

The pedestrian opens his eyes and shudders, then turns to look directly at Azrael (ignoring James completely.)

He doesn't look to happy to see him.

James wouldn't be happy if he could see Azrael either.

He stayed quiet.

James can't see the smile-- can't see the almost tender way Death's lips are curved.

If he's looking, he'll be able to see the pedestrian shake his head, or try to, before he stiffens and the, finally, relaxes-- releases-- dies.

Maybe he can feel it, since he's holding on to Death as it happens.

He feels a slight tingle, but nothing more.

"That -- that's it?"

Azrael rests a hand on the dead man's chest 9the paramedics try to revive, regardless) and turns to look at James.

"Yes. You expected something else?"

"I dunno. There's always been such a... fanfare for death. I thought there would be more."

"Sometimes there is."

A young paramedic is swearing.

"Sometimes there isn't."

James was silent.

He was lost in thought as to what his death would be like, if he ever got there.

"At least it was peaceful," he said finally, lamely.

"As far as youknow, anyhow."

He smiles and draws his hand back. A paramedic rushing through him pases to shiver, then continues through James.

James shivered, not enjoying the feeling of someone running through him.

"You mean it isn't peaceful?" That worried James. He wanted it to be peaceful.

"Maybe. I'm just saying you assume it is because to your rather limited vision, it looks that way." Not releasing James' hand, the god toys with a bit of the corpse's hair.

It was an odd sight, watching nothing play with a dead man's hair. Far off, he felt ill.

"I assume it is because I want it to be." He wants it to be like a nice sleep. Peaceful, resting, quiet.

"Maybe. Do you want to find out?"

The grip on James' hand tightens, and it's none the less ominous because one can hear the smile in the god's voice.

Maybe it's his extended attatchment to life, or maybe it's some failsafe from the curse, but James is suddenly seized by an overwhelming panic.

"No, no thanks," he said too quickly. His eyes were wide and for the first time in a long time he was able to feel the effects of adrenaline. They are making him woozy.