“Ye see, I like m’head. Bein’ a born necromancer jus’ ‘eally sucks.” He can’t control those arseholes.

“Yeah, well, it was not m’choice of becoming a necromancer. & I’ve yet to know how t’make these dead whores shut up, & how t’bring ‘em back from death.” A low grunt. “‘Eally loud.”

“I promise. Ye’re gon’ stay clean from all th’shit I’ve don’ in my time.” He truly didn’t want to see her spiral downwards into drugs, alcohol or maybe something even worse. “Oh, yeah, they’re th’best. & a friend of mine will give us free noodles.”

Sliding another shot, before he prepared one of himself — doubling the doses.

Another shitty night for the messenger of the dead.

Oh?

Well—, sliding another shot just like his own.

Uh, yeah.

“God, aren’t ye all a bunch of wallapers.”

Good for her, not so good for her liver.

She should. He ain’t looking for another dead voice on his brain.

“Good fuckin’ mornin’, ye losers.”

She would be surprised.

Heaviest, loudest sigh.

Nothing really surprises him anymore.

“Who th’fuck got m’fuckin’ eyeliner.”

What’s that? “Aziraphale. Eh, th’name’s Bastien.”

Taking his hand in a firm shake, the necromancer offered a side grin. “Now, will ye give me th’book I asked?”

[ All the time. It’s really annoying. & if I’m honest, it took me a lot to get used to them. ] A small smile rose to his petals, before sighing softly. [ But I can help you with them. ]

“Good mornin’, Queen’s th’only buddies I respect.”