Snippet #1129456

Danse watches the others fuss and preen over themselves about their precious universe and he merely fumes. Music blaring into his ears create a perfect, insular world inside his little shell but he watches the lips move about on the awkward hosts. In particular he chews on the the insult of having a universe without him as Quagmire suggests. Slowly, unnoticed in his mood, he slips off the headphones. His gaze rises up towards his compatriots and an almost audible growl filters through his pursed lips. Finally, he cannot stand the neglect. "Cassius is right. Humanity is entirely wrong, a figment of our own nightmare," he snaps. He shifts his attention to Quagmire, "Think of natural selection, for a moment. You should be able to do that. If a human being is born with a defect, like... oh a weakened immune system; the boy in the bubble scenario. The human will die without assistance, never passing on its defect. However, as gods we grant these ants with the ability to overcome its weaknesses artificially and so it passes these defects on to the next generation. What we have is a hobby that's grown sickly and deficient. As Death, I am just in my decree to end human suffering," he says in a soft tone, bearing an undertone of sympathy. But as the memories of every soul Death has touched, a bitterness hardens in his throat. "Without me" he shouts, "Without ME you punish your defective brats!" He sneers, nursing his insult deep in his chest. "Once you become tired of your playthings, it is me who cleans up after you and puts your pretty little toys away," he mutters, staring off to the side. Danse waits for recognition, knowing it won't come. In all of Creation, Death has never been popular.