Being near-immortal isn't so great when you watch your friends die, now is it?
The King freezes with a half-formed block in his hand, before turning to settle cold blue eyes on his accuser. The ice there is sharp and jagged at first, but melts under the scrutiny of the speaker until a hollow laugh dredges it’s way from the First’s lips. It lands on unamused ears, meaningless to anyone.
When the mirthless broken noise is ended by a cough, the speaker shifts, impatient for an answer. “It’s fucking great.” Geoff drawls, scrambling to throw up a blockade against the dam of emotions that swells and threatens to burst. The efforts are futile, and the King turns back away, letting the block in his hand disappear as his voice raises an octave and cracks painfully with the beginning of regret. His face hidden, the words are muffled but tinged nonetheless with sorrow and a forced steadiness to them. “Go the fuck away before you join them.”