the way we say goodbye

Phoebe Steadman I've dropped out, burned up Fought my way back from the dead Phoebe only dared glance at him from the corner of her eye. The scars should have shocked her...but given the man in question she could only internally sigh. Of course he was littered with more scars than healthy skin. The man ran at the god of death arms wide open, only to have him laugh and say, "Not today." She was more surprised by her own reaction. Such recklessness used to make her blood boil. But now, all she could muster was pity. Despite his angst and fire and attitude, he really was nothing more than a pale shadow of the man he could have been, brought to ruin by his own hand delusioned with unnecessary guilt. Briefly she wondered if this new lens was brought about by Frey's influence. Guilt was a human emotion that accomplished little after all. When Hank stepped to the back, she focused her gaze on the counter before her. The cracks in the wood, the areas that dipped from years of repeated wear and tear. And she would have been content to continue to stand there in silence, counting each individual line in the woodgrain to pass the time; but alas, Sunjata was not. For a moment, she hesitated. Perhaps she could just pretend she didn't hear him. But her conscience got the better of her. "Hello, Sunjata." she said quietly, with equal stiffness in her tone. Frey could come and whisk her out of this deathly awkward situation any time now. Any ole' time. Pretty please?