[Talk shit about Mort and suffer the consequences. 🔫🐝 But refusing to discourage them is basically encouraging them, in Thanatos' opinion. He's a stickler like that? It's why he eyes that lazy dragonling with obvious distaste, already annoyed with life (ba-dum-tss) and everything in it. The sky is cloudy, sure, but it's still far too bright for both of them...

And Hypnos still has a knack for saying the sorts of things that aren't wrong, per se, but are still, like, super grating. Damn. Take this Look.]

The surface is vast, Hypnos. Mortals are scattered across it.

[...And yet? And yet. He doesn't want to, like, worry Hypnos—and how does he explain his job, anyway? The feeling of a thousand pinpricks pulling him in a thousand different directions, each one a soul calling out for its Fates-ordained release. Shit's complicated, bruh.]

But something is wrong. Nothing is... calling out to me, here. [HmmMMM—] There's no work to do.

[Say it isn't so.]