Snippet #1352939

Death heard the massive wingbeats of the reptilian manifestation of Lakonius long before he came into view, and when he landed behind her, she turned, blinking slitted red feline eyes almost lazily. "You know very well that I can speak aloud as I am," she replied despite her cat's tongue and teeth. In this Order-less world, there was no need for the proper apparatus to speak, at least not for her.

Nevertheless, she obliged, standing on her powerful hind legs even as her fur receded into her skin and the rest of her gradually morphed back into something resembling a human. Her ears, tail, teeth, and eyes lingered longer than the rest; for Death, something as commonplace as transformation was something of an art form, and where it was an ugly process of utility for some others, she had been at it long enough that she could alter even small parts of herself alone.

Waving a hand in a seemingly careless gesture, Death summoned her scythe. Propping the haft of the thing against her collarbone and the back part of the blade over her shoulder, Death quirked an eyebrow. "Dionysus," she greeted evenly. "Or is it Lakonius today?" Her eyes flicked to where a hellhound was watching them, but she said and did nothing. Truthfully, she had no idea what the God of Madness wished of her; it was not often any Spirit sought her out.