She looks squarely at Death. I enjoy these chats, Phillipa. It's Riptide's question. We're not exactly the most pleasant people to be around. We kill, and enjoy it.
Death only smiles.
The smoke from her cigarette wreathes around her head, echoing the mist eddying around her boots. Blockbuster sits up, gathers himself, and then heaves his bulk upright. Not that that ever matters. Bastards have more lives than we do. Arclight rolls her head around on her neck, stretching out the kinks.