milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

death,
raven

(no subject)

Death was let out of the cells recently. He's not bothered by the stay, it wasn't too long. One thing he felt he should do was go back to his world and take care of a few things. His ring being the biggest of them. However, before he left, he would like to eat something. Something hearty, something homemade (or rat made as it were), something everyday American.

So there is a Death sitting at a table eating pot roast, potatos, and salad.

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A bundle of ragged black feathers drops from the rafters, snagging a piece of pot roast and perching on a nearby chair back.

Raven is a monster.

Also hungry.

Go figure.

Edited 2015-01-22 03:03 (UTC)

"You could have asked," said the !man sitting there. If the Raven is the kind that can, he may be able to see through the disguise.

Raven can see a lot of things.

Some of it he ignores.

Some he thinks is hilarious.

Death's face, for instance, appears to be ridiculous.

Also --

"Asking is boring. So."

"I would have gotten you your own food," said Death, "I was rather hoping to eat that piece."

Death was always hungry.

"So, should I call you Chuck, or do you have another name in your world?" asked Death with a smirk.

Death stretched his invisible wings.

"They are for saying hope is the thing with feathers, yes? It is often for being true."

He caws out a rough laugh.

"Except when it is not. So."

"You are Raven, yes?" asked Death tilting his head, "Would you like to join me for dinner. I can order you a proper plate and drink."

Death rather likes this one, as mad as Sheogoroth.

"Just don't throw cabbages at me, please," said Death calmly.

Raven is only mad north by northwest.

When the wind is southerly he will turn a handsaw into a hawk.

"I am not so much needing anything from you, I do not think."

He laughs again, dropping from the back of the chair onto the seat, and losing his feathers in the process.

Instead he is a tall, skinny man in a ragged black coat that smells of old smoke and blood, dusty jeans, and boots.

He may also be taking the makings of a cigarette out of his pocket.

"I am for being called many names, I think. Some of them are mostly true."

Edited 2015-01-22 03:23 (UTC)

"That is a nice suite," said Death, "I was offering to buy you dinner, not because you need it per se. I was thinking it might be polite."

Death paused, "After all, you are a creator. Tell me, is your death older, younger, or the same age as you?"

He had quite forgotten the answer in his case.

Raven snorts.

Loudly.

"I am for being many things, yes? But I am not so much for having a death. Or a Death, perhaps."

He doesn't have the biology. For one.

"Some things are not much meant for endings."

Edited 2015-01-22 03:32 (UTC)

"I mean the Death, force, in your world," he said, "Not your actual death. Is it as old as the first living things?"

Ah, the first created beings, were wonderful viscous things, that would have eaten the entire world. He rater enjoyed them. Death smelled of dust with an undertone of decomp.

Raven rolls his eyes.

"Most things, I think, are not so simple as that. It is not always a question of coins."

Or faces on the coins.

"Okay," said Death, "Are you a hungry being?"

He didn't know much about Raven, him being from another universe an all.

"That is for depending, perhaps. On what you are thinking being are hungry for."

Some people like power.

Some people like life.

"Food," said Death,"Do you hunger for food?"

He technically didn't need to eat.

"I am, I think, not so bad at consuming."

Speaking of consuming.

He digs a frosted sheep cookie out of his pocket and inhales it, all in one go.

Death stops a rat and orders a family style meal of the same type he had in front of him. He also asked for a pitcher of beer.

"That was rather impressive," said Death, "Especially for a raven"

There might be cake later.

Raven snorts.

Again.

"Possibly you are not so good at fishing. So."

"I have never had to fish," said Death realizing that he wasn't very good in speaking in metaphor, "Are you good at fishing?"

He wondered what a Raven would fish for.

"That, I think, is not so much a surprise."

His nose wrinkles.

"You are for wanting salmon, perhaps? They are not so bad. Possibly they are better for bear. Still."

"Salmon is good," said Death, "But I am not bear. Would you teach me to fish?"

Death wouldn't mind fishing, and then learning to cook the fish. He really wanted his ring back now. Their food arrived.

"Fishing, I think, is not what you need to be learning."

He makes a face, and pulls another cookie from his pocket.

This he flicks in Death's direction.

It's iced to look like a skull. It has glitter on it.

And half the food on the platters is already gone.

Death takes the cookie, catching it deftly without letting it hit the table.

"It is quite a cute cookie," said Death, "Thank you."

Death pours a glass of beer out of Raven, "Here."

Raven flicks his finger against the glass, and swallows it down as whiskey, instead.

"You are so much for serving, perhaps?"

"Is that not what Death does?" he asked, "A service. I am a force of nature, yet most humans think me evil. Would you say you are good or evil?"

Death was neither, although sometimes his actions could be construed as evil. Death in general was a balancing force.

"I am not so much for saying I am anything, yes? Things are always changing."

Raven is really, really good at that.

"Serving is also boring. So."

"I take it you get bored easily," said Death.

He had spent the better part of the last few mellinia in a dark box buried underground, he had learned that not everything should be or could be exciting.

"There are many things you would take, I think."

Raven's grin is sudden, and sharp.

"But I am not so much for giving."

"I don't always ask," said Death with a grin that was somewhat larger than should be in a human face, "I take what is mine."

Like marking Ava, she was his reap. It didn't matter that she stayed here and threw the balance off being her, she would some day go back.

"I can also be generous and give," said Death, "Only, I generally have to like the being first."

Dinner didn't count.

"Did I thank you for the cookie?" It was still uneaten, he wanted to enjoy it with milk later.

Raven gives the impression of someone who has just rolled his eyes, even if nothing of the sort happened.

"There are always prices. Even if some are not for seeing them."

"So, what is the price for this cookie?" asked Death. The way he saw it, Raven didn't give things, he must want something in return.

He poured more beer in Raven's glass.

"That, I think, would be telling, yes?"

And then, in an explosion of feathers and black glitter, Raven is gone.

The glitter, however, remains.

Stubbornly.

Possibly forever.

Or maybe only an instant.

Death shook his head, finished his food, put the cookie in his picket and disappeared to go speak with Dean Winchester.

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