milliways_bar | (no subject)

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He's by the fireplace today on one of those very comfortable armchairs. His feet are crossed up on the coffee table and there's a copy of the Times open over his face. The tool of his trade is resting against the chair back, in easy reach for when he gets up.

It's a very odd position to find a skeleton in, but this is Milliways, after all.

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They are often upset, at first Death admits. The ones who are surprised.

"And of course, you being the last person they ever wanted to see, they take out their frustrations on you, I take it."

Spider then looks around, getting an idea.

"Have you ever considered taking them here? I think if it's one thing the recently-deceased would need, it'd be a good stiff drink to get over the rougher part of being dead. Dead people come here all the time and they can apparently drink and eat without having the problem of being totally ethereal and intangiable. It might take a load off of their minds."

I am not in charge of where they go, Death explains. I just set bring them through. What happens next is up to them.

"And if they don't want to go?"

Fair question.

What they want isn't any concern of mine.

"True, since being dead sort of narrows the options, but that doesn't mean you have to put up with their tirade against being that way. I mean, is there anything that gets on the equivalent of your nerves?"

Considering what he does for a 'living', there probably is.

Cruelty to cats, Death says. That really makes me angry.

Not exactly what he had in mind for an answer, but Spider thinks on that a second. The impression he was getting was that Death seemed hellbent on doing what he does and not worrying too much about the seemingly endless complaints from people who are dead. But cats...

"Can't argue with that one. So I guess, aside from things like that, ya can't complain?"

No, Death agrees.

There's no one to complain to.

This brings pause to Spider. No one? He's just the civil servant of the passed on and there's nobody to speak to on high about things? That's a lousy gig. Then again...

"Fair enough. Can't say I've got anyone to complain to either. 'To whom to the gods pray?', and such. What's it like, taking away a dead god? Any better than regular people?"

Usually they're angrier, Death remarks. They seem to think it's not supposed to happen to them.

"That's probably 'cause there's nothing to contradict them. When you're a god, the first thing you realize is that gods are mightier than mere man or beast. Power, influence, and no determinate age. My dad dying was very much a surprise, especially since I didn't sense it, which is why I'm trying to figure out how it was done. That's the other thing, of course. It's not a mortal body that expires, but keeps going. There's plenty of reasons to think that, and who - besides you - is gonna tell a god that they're finite? That's the sort of talk that brings about the thunderbolts."

Nevertheless, Death keeps on. I come for everyone.

"Everything ends..."

He thought about that for a moment.

"Do you end?"

He chose his words carefully, known that speaking of the Grim Reaper as a being who expires like your everyday bag of flesh is silly.

I am the end.

He's annoying like that.

Only when everything has died will I be no longer.

That's a LONG time... Spider whistles, impressed by the meaning of that statement. Getting off that deeply-meaningful moment, he jumps topic somewhat.

"By the by, have you seen any other Deaths around lately?"

Such as perhaps a pale young woman wearing an ankh?

<span style="font-variant: small-caps>Not in some time</span>, he admits sadly. He kind of misses her.

"Really? Hmmm. Well, if I see one around, I'll let you know."

And...he's off again. And will he find the other Death at some point? Well...that all depends on her mun.

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