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A Strongly Worded Letter of Grievances to the Creator of Everything

Dear sir or madam,

I first want to state that I apologize for my initial salutation, because it may appear as though I am not giving you deference where deference is due. In fact, the reality is that I have no idea how to address you, but I do know how people here address mail, so I will go by that. For all I know, much like The Metatron, you are no gender at all, but more like a physical idea of an identity. In fact, you could be more like a amorphous floating glob of energy that is indescribable. Maybe that's why you don't even have your own voice? I don't know, I just know that the possibilities are endless.

I want to first state that I have put in my papers for a reassignment about twelve thousand years ago, and I am yet to get an answer. I'm sure with that kind of information in mind, my grievances are somewhat reasonable. Though I have tried to remain patient (knowing how bureaucracy is slow to move and all) I find that as another thousand years of waiting approaches, I am growing rather impatient for a response. I mean, that's quite a long time to subject anyone to mediocre food and mundane living. As far as I can tell, I have been created to live in a prison as opposed to enjoy the trappings other beings such as myself are able to enjoy. I would be remiss not to point out that while some of you may be off in the clouds enjoying ambrosia salad and a nice lie down, I am here care taking an ever expanding cemetery.

I am aware that I should be thankful for my consciousness, but I can't say that this past several millennium have been easy. To be frank, I feel as though I have been left to my own devices, and maybe that's why the quality of my work has decreased, as a letter sent from the central office was so apt to point out last quarter. I believe anyone would grow a bit "odd," when left with their own company for long extended periods of time. Not to mention, I am surrounded by a slew of perpetually dissatisfied customers. Adding insult to injury, no one is ever elated to meet the angel of death. That's not a real way to introduce yourself to anyone, really. I mean how does one go about doing that anyway? "Hi how are you? I take souls for a living. Yes, my job is to keep you here, in purgatory. No, I have no power to change your fate. I just sort of exist?" I mean, that just won't work. And besides, as soon as they know about me, they all want something. So, no thanks.

I have gone off track though, excuse me and my wordiness. I wrote to you today to ask for several things. If you intend to leave me here for eternity, I would at the very least appreciate better food, and the occasional change in music on the four radio stations. Also, if it wasn't a bother, could I at least elect and maintain one friend among these souls? I don't ask for more than the one friend and confidant, it's just rather lonely here after a while, and living in secrecy is not altogether simple either. I mean, you're the one that gave me these strange powers that sort of act according to their own will, as opposed to mine. Why, may I ask? What purpose do they serve? I realize you're the creator and knew what you were doing, but I feel that one idea wasn't fully thought out.

Essentially, I beg you to reduce the overabundance of cottage cheese at the grocery store. Please add a few other items. Maybe something exciting, like this chocolate everyone seems to be so keen on? Also, a companion would be useful. Everyone I seem to take on as a friend ends up crossing over, and I would like someone to stick around longer than a few years or so. I fell this request is rather reasonable, but I don't know, I'm not God. You are probably busy fannying about granting other requests and doing God things.

Yours In Eternal Boredom,

Azrael

P.S. Please only respond in letter format as the Metatron is an unrelenting twat.

P.P.S. I am aware that the Metatron is no doubt dictating this letter, in which case, you (the Metatron) are an unrelenting twat.

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Head Canon|| Mannerisms

Marcus has similar mannerisms and voice to his face claim, Richard Ayoade. They are both awkward and often deadpan in their delivery. This is why Marcus gravitated toward sarcasm when it came to types of humor.

Here are some videos of Richard Ayoade to be get a better sense of this:

BAFTA Acceptance Speech

Krishnan Guru-Murthy Interview

#character #dglrp world

Head Canon|| Angel Politics

Marcus can't stand the Metatron. He thinks they are a pretentious prick, but they get to be that way, because they are the voice of God. He also wished he had such a luxuriant job, but this is the one the creator gave him. Good for him.

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Head Canon|| Jamarcus

The name on the grey jumpsuit Marcus wears is in fact Jamarcus. He decided to go along with that name, but most people consider it a joke. Though he often introduces himself to new people as Jamarcus, his name devolves into Marcus without his strict consent. He has finally given into the natural laziness of humanity and has been experimenting with introducing himself as Marcus, just to see if people will start calling him Jamarcus, or Jam. He's not sure why, but it's the little things that amuse him anyway, so is an explanation really needed?

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