“It’d be a funny old world, he reflected, if demons went round trusting one another.” - Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, Good Omens Austin swallows past the urge to vomit. The collar of the dress jacket Naberius sent up to his quarters is just slightly too tight, pressing uncomfortably against his Adam’s apple. He hooks a finger into it and tugs, trying to give himself more room to breathe, catching sight of himself in the floor-length mirror as he does so. Against the dark fabric of his new clothes, he looks very, very pale. The bruise-dark circles underneath his eyes are even more prominent, the mousy brown roots of his hair too light against the rest of it, still dyed dark auburn, but fading fast.
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“It’d be a funny old world, he reflected, if demons went round trusting one another.” - Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, Good Omens Austin swallows past the urge to vomit. The collar of the dress jacket Naberius sent up to his quarters is just slightly too tight, pressing uncomfortably against his Adam’s apple. He hooks a finger into it and tugs, trying to give himself more room to breathe, catching sight of himself in the floor-length mirror as he does so. Against the dark fabric of his new clothes, he looks very, very pale. The bruise-dark circles underneath his eyes are even more prominent, the mousy brown roots of his hair too light against the rest of it, still dyed dark auburn, but fading fast.