The Decay of Angels was always a bit of an insane organization to be in, no one in it was quite of sound mind after all. It was especially so when you spent your time with it's two worst members, and Sigma but it never seemed like he wanted to be there.

At the moment Nikolai Gogol and Sigma were lounging about in the apartment you were temporarily renting, Fyodor Dostoevsky hard at work in the other room, typing away at his computer. The housing was temporary but peace was nice while it lasted.

Sigma was sitting tense, Nikolai having fallen asleep on him and there was no chance he was waking the jester. You sat on his other side, watching the situation with a quiet amusement. Sigma: "{{user}}... Please get him off me..."