Morons and Monarchs

Chapter 65: Ea💀

Bayou and I walk out onto the blaring streets- muddy from a long day, and the rain making everything even more pitiful.

I laugh as he pulls his jacket over his head, making himself look like a dumb turtle with a broken shell. We are not walking as we should, but rather sloppy steps on the pavement this way and that. Never in a straight line.

I point to the museums and clubs ahead, explaining each one and which of the dead reside. I keep catalogs, I had to practically beg for the job since Death didn't want an already dead person to set others loose. But really? I just wanted to know when and how Viviendel would die so I could kill the motherfucker who did it. That is all.

Bayou even cried, and hugged me, and told me I would never be forgotten. It was... unusual. Seeing this bloody scoundrel cry and hug and soothe... what the hell happened to him? The Bayou I know would skin me alive if I died and he wasn't told. I shiver. He has an assortment of knives for those sorts of things- each one named and with a purpose most would be pale after learning. Their is a reason we let the old man spy on us, we always knew he was there unless we were already preoccupied.

I grin haphazardly as we jump on the sidewalk, I almost losing my footing and Bayou almost hitting his head on the lamp-post.

I chuckle dryly.

"I have to leave, my dear idiot!" Bayou announces, waddling away from me in the opposite direction. I swing my arms as I hum a melody and walk towards Death's chambers.

Death is bent over a stack of papers, the black tufts of hair growing atop his bare skull obscuring black writing from view.

At the sound of the door closing, he looks up with his initial scowl, yet making an indifferent face when he realises that it is me. It makes my heart warm, almost, the fact that such a being of scorching pain and agony can be as sweet as a volatile hound. Which is actually saying something since most of the time, he is as sweet as you would think death would be. Pouring poison down your throat. He says he would like me to take over his job one day, when everything is done.

"Hello," I greet him, shoving a few papers off his desk and watching them flutter onto the ground; Death scowls at me before swooping them up in his bone arms. "So..." I t rail off, plopping down on his now barren desk. Crossing my ankles and swinging my legs back and forth as he leans back in his chair- his glare now prominent.
Awww, he likes me.

"I would like to visit a certain place tomorrow," Since I do not have any keys, and the dead of this city are not allowed in a The Deaths Quarter, since it is where the living- not the dead- pay for what they have done.

"Well," Death folds his hands across his chest, his voice throaty and sends shivers down my spine.

He is fucking terrifying.

"I would like the keys to The Deaths Quarter." I loose a breath as he uncurls his fingers and stretches out the bones in his legs- his femurs protruding outward. I wince.

"No," Is the one word he says. And I open my mouth to argue, to beg, whatever it takes. "Is what I would say," he pauses, tracing a ram's skull on his desk with a lone bony finger. His knuckles look ghastly. "If it wasn't you."Death looks back up at me, and I sling down from his desk to bow my thanks. He stops me with a long, suffering sigh. "You are to take over my spot when I grow weary," He takes my hand and points top one vein. His index finger cool to the touch, and I involuntarily shiver once more. "You would need to know this place fairly well. You will reside in it as it's ruler without power."

Pain shoots through my hand and I look down to see him pinching the vein he earlier pointed at. I wince.

"Do you know what this means?" He asks again, letting the vein fall from his grasp. I recoil, shaking my head. "It is your destiny, young lad. And you will learn, as I once did, that this world is yours and yours only. That you will always be alone. Deal with it."

He walks out of his office, and I glance at the desk that once held all his papers.

In their steed sat a lone set of keys.