we served a purpose, like a bloody circus;

[ladyfair]

Bam! You're dead.

Well, it might not have happened with a bam or a bang--maybe just a whimper. Afterwards, some psychopomp or another grabbed your hand and led you here, to this awkward waiting room on the astral plane.

There's stale coffee and some mediocre donuts. The chairs are moderately comfortable, and the paintings on the wall are pretty but somewhat unsettling.

Every so often one of the gods' messengers shows up and fetches someone to take them to their proper place in the afterlife.

It's kind of boring.

Comments

[pummelgranite]

You want some, pretty boy!?

[motherloving]

[ gently puts down the bowl of pomegranates on a nearby counter so he can lift one hand in a gesture of surrender ]

Oh, no, you'd crush me.

[pummelgranite]

[ She looks at the fruit dubiously. Then she looks at the bowl of pomegranates. ]

Fuckin right.

[motherloving]

Why don't you talk it out instead of going on a rampage, darling?

[ he sounds more hopeful about this prospect than he really should be ]

[pummelgranite]

Are we actually going to talk?

[motherloving]

[ tilts his head ]

Why wouldn't we?

[ pause ]

Would you like a pomegranate? They're always in season here.

[thanks_satan]

[ she... does in fact want a pomegranate... but still too much in a snit ]

Because no one else here will.