[He's well aware that Fluttershy and her friends get up to some wild stuff. Wild and dangerous stuff, and he'd kept himself uncomfortably close to their little group just to observe and shake his head. At first it seemed circumstantial, but as time went on...he understood this was the sad hand they were dealt, considering so much magic was at play, and interwoven into their threads of life now as well. Thankfully, he's also noticed that their combined tapestry is nigh indestructible, so long as each of their six threads remains woven together. Powerful stuff, the bonds one can make. He cannot be defeated, he is nature itself, but Death can be slowed.
Lobo chuckles, the quiet sound shaking his broad shoulders as he taps a claw against his bicep as he crosses his arms. It's not that he's never heard thanks for what he does, nor understanding for the weight that comes with it, but it's rare in the grand scheme of things. People don't like him. Yes, they respect him and acknowledge he is important, but no one in their right mind actually enjoys Death. That's just how it is, and he's not bothered by it, either. Will she like him less when he admits just how many she's led to him? Lobo can't be sure, yet he doesn't care. Those animals needed to meet him. They had to be shepherded to the jaws of the wolf - there was no other option, and it was indeed the kindest thing for some.]
Kind as always, senorita, thank you...but my job is less difficult than yours. I merely come to collect, but you gather. Such a place where Life and Death intermingle...I cannot imagine what you'd seen come in and out the doors where you volunteer.
[He wets his lips, tongue sliding over his teeth, and starts to whistle a tune...which may sound eerily familiar... Like it always seemed to play, at the back of her mind, subtle against the white noise of vet techs moving, equipment humming, the cacophony of animal cries. Yet it was always there, loudest when a creature moved on.]
But I too must give my thanks. You see, final moments are important, and often souls come to be fighting, scared, angry, resentful, hurt... [He waves a hand through the air, then points at her.] But you. You send them to me filled with peace. That is most admirable, and more difficult than even the job I am tasked with. So my hat goes off to you.
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Lobo chuckles, the quiet sound shaking his broad shoulders as he taps a claw against his bicep as he crosses his arms. It's not that he's never heard thanks for what he does, nor understanding for the weight that comes with it, but it's rare in the grand scheme of things. People don't like him. Yes, they respect him and acknowledge he is important, but no one in their right mind actually enjoys Death. That's just how it is, and he's not bothered by it, either. Will she like him less when he admits just how many she's led to him? Lobo can't be sure, yet he doesn't care. Those animals needed to meet him. They had to be shepherded to the jaws of the wolf - there was no other option, and it was indeed the kindest thing for some.]
Kind as always, senorita, thank you...but my job is less difficult than yours. I merely come to collect, but you gather. Such a place where Life and Death intermingle...I cannot imagine what you'd seen come in and out the doors where you volunteer.
[He wets his lips, tongue sliding over his teeth, and starts to whistle a tune...which may sound eerily familiar... Like it always seemed to play, at the back of her mind, subtle against the white noise of vet techs moving, equipment humming, the cacophony of animal cries. Yet it was always there, loudest when a creature moved on.]
But I too must give my thanks. You see, final moments are important, and often souls come to be fighting, scared, angry, resentful, hurt... [He waves a hand through the air, then points at her.] But you. You send them to me filled with peace. That is most admirable, and more difficult than even the job I am tasked with. So my hat goes off to you.