[How nice would it be to take a break and rest in such a scenic place? Until he knows what "we" entails, he can only spin his wheels and wonder what might become of his existence now that he's died and awoken in this flowery purgatory. No purpose, no reason, no drive... but just as he had before, Vergilius refuses to give up. Refuses to let "them" give up, perhaps. There may be something to live for yet.
Hissing pain through his teeth, Lobelia rolls onto his back, gazing sidelong at Vergilius. There's no delight in his inquiry, just a quiet plea, humble and earnest. He needs nothing more from Vergilius now than what he knows best, and so, plainly spokenβ]
Kill me. I can't be of much use to you if I'm shambling along in your shadow.
[It seems the easiest way to "heal" in this place is to wipe the slate clean and start all over again. Vergilius has no problem granting such a simple request, does he? It's no different than swatting a fly, Lobelia thinks.]
no subject
Hissing pain through his teeth, Lobelia rolls onto his back, gazing sidelong at Vergilius. There's no delight in his inquiry, just a quiet plea, humble and earnest. He needs nothing more from Vergilius now than what he knows best, and so, plainly spokenβ]
Kill me. I can't be of much use to you if I'm shambling along in your shadow.
[It seems the easiest way to "heal" in this place is to wipe the slate clean and start all over again. Vergilius has no problem granting such a simple request, does he? It's no different than swatting a fly, Lobelia thinks.]