"Well then aren’t you just a poor unfortunate soul." He said with a slight smirk on his face.
"I took a few slimy toad fuckers out with me, but you already knew that- Didn’t you?" Right to the point, Tristan might as well ask for his immortal soul at this point.
"Well it isn’t my fault that people are stupid." He said rolling his eyes as he pulled out a cigarette lightning it. "Death isn’t even that bad it is just like sleeping, you just never wake up."
"Bullshit." She scoffed, giving a slight roll of her eyes. "I woke up. In the same hell I tried to leave."
He sighs as he crosses his arms. “Death isn’t even that bad, why are people so scared of dying?” He spoke mainly to himself.
She drops her dying cigarette to the ground, not bothering to stomp it out. “Because Christianity as programmed them to believe they’re all sinners, and they’re all going to hell. What their God doesn’t tell them is that Earth is hell, and they’re all waiting to go nowhere.”
"Possibly maybe. It’s arguable. Are you always this much of a tightass?"
"I prefer to think of it was ironically hip."
"You have something—right there."
And she’ll gesture towards her entire face area in indication, although there really isn’t anything on the other’s face and she’s actually a just lying shitbaby.
"No, I don’t." As a painter you think Tristan would be used to having some sort of toxic shit on her face, but it’s not like you can’t feel slowly drying paint caking on to your skin. “Are you always so full of shit?”