It occurs to Connor that he might not only be dead, but in Hell. This overdose — did it count as suicide in some way? Technically Connor had died by his own hand, by pressing the needle to his skin and injecting himself with nothing other than death. He deserved it. He deserved all of this but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Touching a flame and knowing it would cook didn’t stop flesh from burning. It didn’t stop anything.
His heart breaks and he screams because of it, bringing his hands up to press into his eyes. “Stop. Jus’ stop! I didn’t fucken’ want ta do t’is!” Covering his eyes didn’t stop the images, didn’t keep Murphy’s crying face from behind his eyes. If he found Murphy dead due to something like this he would never rest and now Murphy would live that life. He felt sick. He was dead but he felt sick and stressed and in more pain than he thought humanly possible. And this being — this beautiful creature with his twin’s face was probably going to torture his soul like this for the rest of eternity. How fitting. How perfectly. Fucking. Fitting. “I didn’t know what ta do! T’is… it took over. It took over everyt’in’ and I hate it and —” And now he was dead.
Its the shout that riles Death up a little more. He started this whole affair with his venomous words but to be yelled back at? It does not sit well with him. Perhaps it is the years of always getting shouted at for his job that sets him off. Its a boom when his voice speaks out to rattle the walls and torment Connor entirely. “Who t’e fuck cares wha’ ye want now, Connor! Ye’r dead — ye’r nothin’. Ye left t’is world of yer own accord and pieces can n’er be picked up again!” Perfect brogue and tone of an angry Irishman, of a one Murphy MacManus, is mimicked in full.
"Do you truly not know what to do now? If you had the chance to fix all this — what would you do? Would you tell your brother how stupid you have become? Would you give it all up? Tell me right now, Connor."
Words slam into him and threaten to tear his heart right out; he knows that what Death is saying is true. How could he love Murphy so much and do this to him? How could he let his body wither as it had? Even with the attempts at extra layers Connor was too thin — that is what they would say over his body. That he was to thin, that he hid it well even if there were days when he looked too pale or tired because of the dark rings under his eyes. Connor was supposed to be a saint, was someone who killed people just like him for a living and yet nothing could save him. Not even his twin. It tears at him — at his very soul.
"He means more ta me t’an anyt’in’ — even myself. Y’know t’at. Don’t look at me and act like ye don’t. T’is was my punishment. Not his. Because I went on my own - I met t’at man wit’ my face and when he grabbed onta me I didn’t know better t’an ta let go. I should have killed him, should have got myself help — but I didn’t, and m’dead because o’ it… but Murph… he had not’in’ ta do wit it. I wanted him free of it. Of — of me. Of this me…”
Tendrils seem to bristle up just as Thanarius does. He is lit with some form of rage now, obvious by how the blues of his eyes turn a solid black and smoke bellows out from each corner. The room seems to get darker — Connor appearing much smaller on the bed he rests on. “How selfish a fool you are, Connor MacManus. How dare you sit and wallow in your own self-pity whilst your brother looks for you. When he finds you this is how you’ll be. A corpse of nothing but regret and wasted time — wasted talent and love. I know that if he truly meant a deal of greatness to you there is nothing that would tear you from his side and yet here you are without him.” Its growled out with venom dripping from his tongue.
"Cowardice. That is what he’ll think of you as. He’ll know he was hardly a good brother to allow you down this path — blaming himself for not seeing the signs. You have placed so much guilt upon him with your acts alone — that is what you leave him with. Freedom from this you is not what he will be granted with. No — you will plague him until he joins you in death. That is what you have left someone that means so much to you behind with, how dare you.”
”No! No! I never wanted t’at. I swear — I… I never wanted…” Any of it, really. When Connor was completely honest with himself he didn’t even want to do this so-called task from God. Connor missed being with Murphy, with it just being the two of them working from nine to five with nothing — no direction or plans. They had been so happy back then. The darkness coming off of this being makes it click what he really is. Death. With his brother’s precious face. A hand raises and he scrubs at his eyes sloppily, choking on a whine in the process.
"Da is prolly rollin’ in his grave, knowin’ t’is is what I am, now. T’e great Connor MacManus — killed by a needle. By his own fuckin’ cowardice. I can’t, yet. Please. Murph can’t do t’is wit’out me…"
The grief is heavy and genuine in this moment. So many people are sorry when they know death is at their doorstep or they have just slipped away. Always so sorry when nothing can be done to remedy the situation in the slightest. However Connor is far from dead but the point is not driven home just yet. The creature continues on as if the Irishman is no longer along the living. His frown seems to deepen, tendrils moving to pull and pry at Connor until he is sitting up against the headboard of the dingy motel bed.
"What is it that you meant to do in all of this then? You claim not wishing to leave behind a twin you love so dearly and yet you’ve wasted your time away here all alone. Died here without him. How precious is Murphy to you — truly?” Death’s voice is raw, howling and features contorted in annoyance. The frailty of the Irishman’s emotions are not comprehended entirely, are partially ignored in favor of reminding Connor about his life and what it should be.
This wasn’t his twin. This as some other creature — something otherworldly using his brother’s face to get his attention. It is a shame; Connor is honestly too high to understand it fully, to appreciate the fact that Death himself was simply visiting. When those words reach his ears, he smiles first. A profound task? Was that supposed to be what that was? Was that what God would say?
The smile fades, guilt takes places, and tears well up in his eyes.
"Am I dead? Is — is t’at what t’is is?" It wouldn’t surprise him; he deserved it. After everything he had fucked up. "… m’not ready. I can’t leave Murph — he can’t find me like t’is…"
This is not is task — to step in and fix a wrong in life. In fact, Death’s vision on the subject is very much lacking. But some humans have shown him a great deal of what right and wrong truly mean. And in this moment, being in the same room as the Irishman, he can see a devastating wrong being committed. Death does not deceive, does not lie, is far from an unkind creature — but in this moment all that seems to melt away when Connor’s eyes start to tear and he speaks outs.
"He will find you by morning. You have left him behind in such is your selfishness. Is that what you wanted to take place, Connor? To look down on your poor twin as you rip out his heart and have him know you felt him all alone?"
Rarely does the substance take well with Connor anymore. Not when he was alone — not when he lacked anything to distract him from everything. Shooting up felt good — so good at first but that was what felt like a long time ago. Connor used to crave that high, the heightened sensations and the pleasure. There had been so much to experience but now — now Connor did it to feel normal. To get rid of the aches and pains. To stop his body from shivering. Maybe he’d done too much today; sprawled out on top of the blankets of a motel room with his eyes focused on nothing. That is — until something catches his attention. Brows knit with confusion and his head shakes a bit, words coming out slow and slurred.
"Mmm— Murph? How didja get here? Yer nn-nnot…" This wasn’t his twin. Maybe he was seeing shit, it wouldn’t be the first time.
Brows furrow just the same back at the Irishman when the creature is acknowledged. There is disappointment on his features. Radiating from him and bleeding into the tendrils. Death wants to shake him and slap that face but he cannot touch physically save for the wisps. “You are acting a fool, Connor MacManus.” His voices comes out like a howled whisper carried by wind. Something disturbing in a sense but won’t have the same effect. The Irishman is higher than he has ever been, on the verge of an overdose. One he might even have but he won’t die tonight. Death can see when and how long from now — there is still time. Time to set a lost soul back on course.
"What ails you so greatly to cast aside such a profound task given to you?"
Its not his time but the creature deems now the perfect opportunity to meet the saint. To possibly get some better sense into him. Death has been watching the MacManus twins — been following them from place to place but lately he has been away from them. The need not there anymore as the eldest has been consumed by an addiction. One that will very much lead to his demise, or already has. Death is looming now — so close as bright blues look over the pills scattered on an dirty table and a few needles discarded here and there. It is then his appearance becomes very much solid with dark tendrils of smoke swirling around and moving to glide over the Irishman. To get his attention in a way, if that is at all possible.
Tʜᴇ sᴛᴀʀs ᴛᴡɪɴᴋʟᴇ sɪʟᴇɴᴛʟʏ ᴏᴜᴛsɪᴅᴇ.
I ᴀᴍ ᴀ ɢʜᴏsᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜɪs ʜᴏᴜsᴇ ᴡʜᴏ sɪʟᴇɴᴛʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴇᴘs ғʀᴏᴍ ʀᴏᴏᴍ ᴛᴏ ʀᴏᴏᴍ.
I ᴍᴀᴋᴇ sᴜʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ sᴛᴀʏ sᴀғᴇ.
Aɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ sᴘᴏᴏᴋɪᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴍᴇ ᴅɪsᴛᴜʀʙs ʏᴏᴜ.
Yᴏᴜʀ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍɪɴɢ sᴛᴀᴛᴇ ᴍᴀᴋᴇs ᴍᴇ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ.
Eᴠᴇɴ ɪғ I ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴇɴᴄᴇ sᴜᴄʜ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴀɴʏ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ.
Tᴏ ᴍʏsᴇʟғ I sᴍɪʟᴇ.
Aɴᴅ ᴅʀɪғᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ʀᴏᴏᴍ.
Wʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ sᴜɴ ʀɪsᴇs ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴏɴ’ᴛ sᴇᴇ ᴍᴇ.
Mʏ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴏᴠᴇʀ.
Oɴ ᴀ sᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ ᴀғᴛᴇʀɴᴏᴏɴ I ᴡɪʟʟ ғʟɪᴄᴋᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ғᴀᴅᴇ ᴀs ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇsᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ғʟᴏᴜʀɪsʜᴇs.
Bᴜᴛ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ғᴀʟʟ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ.
Mʏ ᴊᴏʙ ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴs ᴛʜᴇ sᴀᴍᴇ.
Tʜᴇ sᴛᴀʀs ᴛᴡɪɴᴋʟᴇ sɪʟᴇɴᴛʟʏ ᴏᴜᴛsɪᴅᴇ.
WOW! I wish tumblr would have told me this was here. I am so GLAD that you enjoyed it so much. I am sorry it took me forever to get back to you. This muse is very fickle but oh gosh, thank you <3