Eight Legs Too Many || ONC 2021 and 2022

Chapter 4: Shiori kills more spiders, although she technically doesn't exist

Yoko was already back at the apartment when they arrived as a procession: Shiori, then Devland, and finally Death trailing behind them. The spidery rain had died down again, and Shiori had barely set foot on the stoop before Yoko threw the door open with a bang, heedless of the spiders which scurried in around her. She was still balanced on her non-injured foot, her face stormy with rage, her purple hair slipping free of its messy topknot.

"What the actual fuck, Shiori! Did you not get any of my texts? I finally gave up on you, I had to Uber home and the surcharge was close to a hundred dollars due to the stupid spider plague. I know you get 'in the zone' while dissecting snakes, but this is really too much—"

She broke off.

"Oh," she said faintly. "Oh... my."

"Tell me about it," said Shiori.

Death glowered at her. Shiori ignored him as she stomped at the thread of spiders that had trickled through the open door.

"Should... should I make some tea?" said Yoko.

Despite her brave expression, her voice shook as Death slid past her, and she seemed to be trying not to shy away.

"No." Shiori sighed. "Death threatened to kill me if I didn't give him a place to lay down for awhile. That doesn't mean we should let him get comfortable."

With considerable unease, she glared at Death, who was trundling toward the armchair—her armchair!—and plucking at the snake-patterned blanket with disdain. Inside the small row house, he made a formidable force, his scepter almost scraping the ceiling, but the impression was rather ruined by the wincing movements he made as he walked.

She hoped his injuries pained him.

Shiori turned to Devland, who stood innocently in the corner near the doorway. A pleasant smile had plastered itself to his lips, and he seemed to be trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible.

Glowering, she stomped toward him. "Explain," she hissed.

"I thought you were gonna wait before telling her," said Yoko.

Shiori's head swiveled toward her.

"Unfortunately, I didn't have a choice," Devland said apologetically. "Death got impatient—"

"What," Shiori grit out, "the Hell. Is. Going. On."

Yoko slung an arm around her shoulders. "I think I'd better make us some tea after all."

~*~

Devland was having a bad day.

If it wasn't bad enough that Death showed absolutely no regard for his carefully-laid plans—seriously, how hard was it to read a few text messages?—Facebook had just sent him a peppy message reminding him that his twenty-seventh birthday was only a month away, as if this was a thing to be celebrated. Then there was the fact that his mother had called again demanding an explanation for what he did for a living "so I can tell all my friends how proud I am of you!" and then spent half an hour interrogating him on his future plans, lamenting his lack of a girlfriend, and despairing over the prospect of future grandchildren.

If that wasn't depressing enough, one of his new roommates—the one whose help he most needed—seemed to utterly despise him.

So things weren't exactly going according to plan.

But there was no use showing it. If there was one thing Devland had become very good at in the years since Death had inserted himself into his life, it was putting on a pleasant and charming exterior, no matter how miserable he felt.