[ Aziraphale's gaze breaks from the flowers to look at the reaper, and he understands the earnestness in that look, even through a haze of nerves and worry. He appreciates it, really, though the thoughts of disease and possible death are swimming around in his head in rather dizzying ways.
He bleeds. He shouldn't bleed. Why is this a thing now? He'd been trying very hard to keep questioning his condition here, as it had proved entirely pointless, but this-- this is--
He swallows dryly, and he could swear that, for a second, he's pushing against something well beyond nerves. He stutters just slightly when he speaks, voice soft and quiet and anxious. ]
Hum. I...I do appreciate it, Kravitz. This is...
[ His eyes wander back over to the flowers on the bowl, and his hands fidget faintly on instinct. ]
I think I need-... [ He doesn't actually have an ending to that thought. ]
that icon makes me SAD
He bleeds. He shouldn't bleed. Why is this a thing now? He'd been trying very hard to keep questioning his condition here, as it had proved entirely pointless, but this-- this is--
He swallows dryly, and he could swear that, for a second, he's pushing against something well beyond nerves. He stutters just slightly when he speaks, voice soft and quiet and anxious. ]
Hum. I...I do appreciate it, Kravitz. This is...
[ His eyes wander back over to the flowers on the bowl, and his hands fidget faintly on instinct. ]
I think I need-... [ He doesn't actually have an ending to that thought. ]