Daniel will hear a sudden sound - a small clink of a nearly-full glass being set upon a coaster on the end table beside him, along with the rattle of two ibuprofen settling in the space next to it.
The gaunt looking man standing a few feet from him gives him a slow and formal nod, before turning away to sit in the seat across from him. He seems to be wearing a formal suit with two yellow roses gently attached with black ribbon as a corsage - a decidedly Russian funeral custom, even-numbered yellow flowers.
The only thing that keeps him from jumping is the exhaustion in his bones. They feel like stones, now, his head lifting almost slowly to look between the offering and the man across from him. The little things don't go unnoticed-- like the two yellow roses. (Funny, that. Surrounded by a number meant for good tidings, but the symbol there is of separation.) It's just that... well, Daniel doesn't know what to make of it yet.
He gives the ibuprofen another look after dropping his hands. The offering tempting, but paranoia wins out, and he leaves it be, though doesn't make any obvious gesture of rebuffing it. This time, when his eye move back to observe the man's thin face, his expression is certainly more alert.
"What? You the ghost of Christmas Past, or something?" Daniel asks, nose wrinkling slightly in irritation. "Come here to tell me to relinquish my selfish ways before I die alone and miserable?"
"My appearance much more befits the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, wouldn't you say, Mister Cross?" The man quirks the corner of his lips in a poor attempt at a smile. "But no. I am not here to change you, nor am I here to lecture you. And I'm certainly not here to kill you after I spent so much effort reviving you. I am here to answer your questions, to... give advice." He waves a bony hand almost absently. "I've gone by many names over the cycles, but this cycle I've chosen the name Mortimer. Death will also suffice, if you prefer formality."
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The gaunt looking man standing a few feet from him gives him a slow and formal nod, before turning away to sit in the seat across from him. He seems to be wearing a formal suit with two yellow roses gently attached with black ribbon as a corsage - a decidedly Russian funeral custom, even-numbered yellow flowers.
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He gives the ibuprofen another look after dropping his hands. The offering tempting, but paranoia wins out, and he leaves it be, though doesn't make any obvious gesture of rebuffing it. This time, when his eye move back to observe the man's thin face, his expression is certainly more alert.
"What? You the ghost of Christmas Past, or something?" Daniel asks, nose wrinkling slightly in irritation. "Come here to tell me to relinquish my selfish ways before I die alone and miserable?"
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