Over

It had been a long night, and the Angel of Death was over it. It was over cats hissing, people groaning as they sensed its presence, and the general (also endless) soul grapple that was retrieval. "Oh, my goodness, you look tired!" Vera exclaimed as the angel entered her room to check for someone on a wander. "Sit down and have piece of cake!" The angel hesitated, a little surprised to find her: a) able to see it, and b) cheery as anything; it made a clumsy gesture asking her to tell it how many fingers it was holding up. "Three!" Vera said, laughing. "You are a MESS, but at least you don't have to decide between cake or death like the rest of us!" It laughed (it couldn't help it), because it had wanted to make a little joke of the cake offer when she first said it. "I really didn't plan it out, but Shelly had a birthday and, well, it's a pile of frosting with a layer of flour holding it up. Careful not to get any on your robe, Dear." When Death rose to depart, Vera looked wistful. "Looks like I'm not on the list yet, Honey, but I wouldn't mind. Not trying to boss you, but we could have such fun," she said, and it realized that Vera was over it, too. The angel hesitated, then held up three boney fingers again and pointed to the clock; three a.m., when the shift was at its end. "Yay!" Vera clapped, excited. "I will SPRUCE UP! Not going to my reckoning without the right shade of red lipstick!" The Angel of Death would change before it came back - make it a little extra.