milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Death sat in a chair at the fireplace, on the coffee table in front of him a chess board was set up. He currently was nursing a soda that sat on a table to the right of the chair with a basket of fries. He watched the bar. Death is botherable.

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"Oh, now that is interesting," he says with a little smirk. "But rest assured, mein Herr, I would never use anything I learn about people here against them -- especially not a goddess of death and rebirth."

He's human; not stupid.

"She doesn't want anyone knowing who she is," said Death, "Of course, I could tell you and then wipe the memory from your mind.... but that is too much work."

He sat back in his chair.

His eyes widen a bit as he cocks an eyebrow.

"Then I appreciate your not telling me her name. I'd like to keep my mind un-fucked-with, danke schön."

"You are welcome, Host," he said, "You don't mind me calling you that?"

He smiled as he steepled his fingers.

The eyebrow stays raised.

"Well...'host' has multiple meanings. I'm curious as to which meaning you choose to associate with me, and why?"

"As someone who hosts the party," said Death.

With a barely there curve of his lips, he tips his head in a half-tilt, half-nod.

"If you wish. Who am I to say what you can and cannot call me, as I'm sure your reapers walk with me every day."

"Not my reapers," said Death,"Your world's reapers."

"Mmm, that is true," he muses, at least in a figurative way, as he is certain that the supernatural only exists in his world in the minds of believers. And he is not one of them.

"I know I cannot escape death, nor can I avoid it. But I can still defy it, even as I take it as my companion."

"That is one of the best attitudes I have come across," said Death, "Most people fear me to the point of wetting themselves. I don't blame them, but as long as they treat me with respect, I can be quite a friend. I won't save you though, when your time comes."

"I don't expect you to," he says, matter-of-fact.

"I do not beg or barter -- or wager. I do not ask for more than what is offered to me, unless I know for sure that I can get what I want. So, what use is begging for one more day? What is one more week, month, year? When my time is up, it is up, but until then, my life is mine to enjoy, no matter how close to death I come."

Death laughed and leaned close to Host. His breath smelled of beer, snacks, and dust.

"I like you," he said, "And that is rare for your species."

It's not that Emcee doesn't fear death or dying. He fears it as much as the next person. He simply refuses to let it keep him from living. Defiant.

He finds Death's laugh a little unnerving, but he doesn't let it show. Responding with a barely-there, feline smile, he utters a short, low chuckle.

"Rare, am I? Well, I would hate to have spent all this time being common and mediocre."

"Yes," said Death sitting back and taking a pull on a beer,"At least you can say you were not mediocre. Though, I know some humans would rather live a normal life, rather than the crazed ones they do."

"I can understand how that may be an issue for some people," he muses quietly. "But as I have never been what is considered 'normal,' and have never led a 'normal' life, perhaps I don't know what I'm missing."

"Then it is normal for you," said Death, "I never really understood humans' desire for some unattainable status quot. I mean, some may attain it, but it varies from person to person, family to family, even culture to culture. They never are quite satisfied with how unique they are. Frankly, I find most of them quite dull."

He popped a chip laden with guacamole into his mouth and chewed. Upon swallowing he said, "And they never seem quite satisfied if they do attain that ideal. Sometimes, I wonder why God lets them live. And believe me, the angels are even worse. They don't think for themselves and the ones that do are punished severely."

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