Ruin eyed Reidy's antics with a mixed bag of amusement and irritation. There was a [i]reason[/i] she'd generally left the Sephirot's dealings with him to Binah or Netzah – he'd managed, somehow, to weaponise cheerfulness, combining it with a cheerful disregard for personal space into an altogether unsettling experience that sat uneasily with her. Particularly since, given his self-appointed cause, that simply [i]couldn't[/i] be all there was to him. He'd have lasted five minutes, at best.

Surely.

So [i]of course[/i] she'd struck back. He was a valuable player – certainly too valuable to PK – and thus her recourse had been to a litany of roleplayed rebuke, playing on the burning simplicity of a righteous angel with little patience for – or understanding of – the shades of grey of the real world. Shades into which Reidy was deeply dipped in the pursuit of his goals, a character made grubby by the metaphysical taint of a thousand shabby deals and scandal-dripping secret accords. 

Small wonder, then, that in happier times the other members of the Sephirot had been quick to take up the task of dealing with him – and on the few occasions thereafter when their paths had crossed, the old routine was a comfortable and familiar thing.

That said, though, he wasn't being grumpy or just plain antisocial, which put him ahead of at least [i]some[/i] of the players present. Why, exactly, you'd make your way to a player gathering in the last precious minutes of the world and then proceed to spend it grumbling in the corner or shunning other people was a mystery, and one she didn't particularly care to solve. 

“[b]I'm not a pinup model,[/b]” she protested, and sent a hot-eyed glare flashing at him, red and furious. “[b]And if I find you've turned me [i]into[/i] one, I'll come after you with a pair of rusty cleavers. Somehow.[/b]” 

Even so, the others – and a few favoured NPCs - were getting into such poses as took their own fancies. Not wishing to be left out, or worse, obscured as a mere flash of wing at the back, she rose slightly into the air, behind and above the others, using a few of the purely visual cantrips to send golden light glimmering along the edges of her eight outstretched wings and bringing her intricate halo into better and brighter view. Arms half-stretched out to either side, facing resolutely forward, into the camera and the future, she waited out the long seconds of the contingency, counting down the precious time.

It was important, she felt, in some odd and ill-defined way, to have a record of such moments as this.

At the end, a flash of light released her – and the others – from the varied panoply of poses, and the distinctive [i]ping[/i] of something landing in her inventory, more than likely the copy she'd asked for, quickly followed. Casting a glance at the timer on her HUD, she blanched – there wasn't long at all remaining. To any of them.

'[I]I wonder if there'll be fireworks,[/i]' came the sudden thought, unbidden. It amused her, and with a smile curving her real lips she asked Grey. “[b]Will there be fireworks? It's not a proper send-off without fireworks.[/b]”