Death seemed oblivious to his passengers - beyond his initial greeting he had said nothing more, dull eyes fixated unwavering on the road ahead. What was supposed to be a productive day at work was effectively ruined by the Horsemen's presences. Let it not be said that he disliked either one of them, but two was company and three was a crowd. A distracting crowd that pulled him away from dying patients and ticking clocks.
The vehicle strained with the slightest hints of relief as the passengers disembarked and went to get a private room while Death went to find the nearest parking lot. Looking for parking on a Friday night was no easy accomplishment, but Death was in the Horsemen's room after ten minutes.
He would drink, of course, and perhaps smoke away a packet or three, but no singing. War would enchant them with 'Love Songs 'til Midnight' and Famine can sing Celine Dion with him if he so chose, but neither were going to talk Death into taking the microphone.