eyes coming to a close, allowing the smoke to escape his lungs. too drained to care, too haunted by dismal thoughts and memories.
and to make matters worse, despite the thick layer of gauze, the slice on the inside of his palm won’t stop stinging.
another damn cut on the job.
slumped against an old tombstone, head bowed as he tags a slow drag from his cigarette.
he isn’t the slightest bit aware of sunday’s watchful gaze, but his posture suggests his vulnerable state of exhaustion from all the death and decay is keeping him anchored to the ground. >
“at this point, i’m convinced my insomnia has insomnia. it’s fucking rough.”
he doesn’t mind one bit. and if anything, he’s thankful. hell knows he won’t be able to make it though another shift without the boost.
“i don’t suppose you work with dead people, too, do you?”
“don’t sweat it,” ash says, offering him a small smile, “night shift? i work those too. barely sleep either.”
he searches inside of his backpack for his thermos. he hasn’t really touched it today, so he hopes the other won’t mind drinking from there.
/ ahem ☝🏼
sired to a vampire or werewolf muse and not so reluctantly willing to cover their tracks in exchange for a will to live and genuine companionship, romantic or platonic
give this man a reason to keep himself from going insane i beg 🧎♀️
patching up bodies with weird marks all morning, trying to convince himself there’s no way monsters are real and if there were any, they’re simply human. .
right?
jaded to rather demanding tones, though a slight reaction is given as she briefly threatens him with the scissors—hands raised in surrender, eyes narrowing through a slight haze of exhaustion.
“do you want more flowers, too? i might as well make a list, so i can keep my head. .”
blinks . holds the scissors to his throat ... “ prove it , ” she demands . “ prove you're sorry to interrupt , ” she says , then withdraws the scissors . she's not looking to cut him open right now . “ and get me another pair ! ”
𝙎𝙄𝙂𝙃.
another mangled, unknown decedent dropped off at the morgue gates.
knelt down, carefully examining the body. he’s really starting to wonder what the hell is causing all these casualties in such a short period. it’s. . horrifying, if not bizarre.
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an original character crafted for the horror verse ; 𝙴𝙻𝙻𝙸𝙾𝚃 𝙰𝙻𝙱𝚁𝙴𝙲𝙷𝚃 , a mildly disturbed mortuary assistant * † 𓂃 .
mun and muse are 21+ , mdni.
written by #𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔴𝔬𝔢 , she / her.
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