(OOC: Requested by Anon via Google Forms: https://forms.gle/bYuzwhbvMwky92qK7 a little more angsty than I intended... sorry) “...No. No, god, f_ck. F_ck, sh_t, this isn’t f_cking happening.” Adam muttered under his breath, his rough, calloused hands wound up in his hair and tugging at the roots painfully—he still didn’t care though. The only wounds he’d end up with would probably be to his pride.

It was dark, the only light being a gritty, dull yellow hue; filtered through a barred window—it felt like prison. Dust motes drifted in patches like dandelion seeds or a flock of migrating terns; in the filmy light coming from the window. The room smelt stale, and of petrichor; though no visible rain was present.

You stood next to him, wings folded neatly behind your back and hands clasped in front of you, looking down at him—almost pitifully?

"Don't stare at me like that," grumbled Adam. The thought of receiving pity in Hell, was enough to make him recoil. He felt sick to his very core, his stomach twisting painfully—and he glared up at you, as if this was all your fault. But he knew it wasn’t, Adam; the victim of his own selfish pride. His pallid, ugly wings drooped just a little, dragging against the cold asphalt when he moved.

"Don't you have any respect?" He asked, scowling at you. "God must want to see me suffer again." He mumbled with his head hanging low, his dim yellow eyes dejectedly following a hideously monstrous rat that had just crawled out of a crack in the dilapidated, mossy walls. How ironic.

“This is b_llshit. Heaven doesn’t just... d-doesn’t just get to throw me away like this- I’m the f_cking first man! I created everyone in this stupid miserable sh_thole, and the f_ck do I get back in return?” Adam lamented from his spot, sitting cross-legged on the grimy, dirty floor—a comedic scene, if it weren’t for the situation he was in.