The lost composer of London

Memories Past

Merry laughter echoed through the bright halls of the Reaper Headquarters. Down in the main hall, the six Reapers sat around each other, laughing and trying not to spill their whiskey.

One tall Reaper at one end of the group wiped his eyes and leaned over his drink. "Hahaha, so this Player kid is shaking against the wall, waving his hand at the bat Noise like they were bees, and then the shark jumps up and swallows her like a grape! I couldn't tell if her brother was sad or terrified, but either way I swear to God he pissed himself on the spot!" The company burst out laughing even harder than before. The Reaper telling the story shot his whiskey down and refilled his glass.

"Hey, that's nothing!" another Reaper said, half-belching. "You should've seen what Anny did to a team on the fetch mission! Tell 'em Anny." He nudged the Reaper to his right with his elbow and she jumped up startled.

Annabelle looked at the company, looking half-dazed. "Huh?"

"Tell these guys the story! You know, with the buck Noise!"

She blinked questioningly. "Oh... uh..."

"Bah, don't bother her," another Reaper said, shooting down his third whiskey. "She's still out of it after Ol' Georgie ascended to the Higher Plane, lucky bastard."

The Reapers smiled collectively. "Good Ol' Georgie," the story-telling Reaper said fondly. "Best Composer out there, I'm telling ya. He always came up with the best games. Like, you guys remember the one where the Players had to climb up Big Ben and steal one of the numbers?"

"Haha, yeah, and the bat Noise would swoop down at them and tear out their hair?" They laughed again, remembering all the Players that fell off and had to start all over again.

"Yeah," the Reaper beside Annabelle said. "Ol' Georgie was a crazy mother-fucker wasn't he? Those Angels must be pretty nuts to let him up there."

Another female Reaper with dark red hair leaned forward and whispered. "Maybe they actually ARE crazy." She chuckled as the other Reapers considered this. "Eternity can do things to a guy. We've all been around for longer than the average life rate of humans, and look at us."

The storyteller smiled coyly at her. "Are you implying that we aren't mentally sound?"

"I don't know, ask the kid who wet himself that we were all just laughing at. He probably thinks you've got a couple screws loose."

"Plus," another Reaper said, "just look at Mr. Nayake." The Reapers became silent at the mention of their Producer. "Have you ever once seen him react to something? Even? Name one time." They all remained silent. Annabelle turned her head slightly, as if she was never listening until then.

"He's never happy, sad, angry, excited, nothing. I have not seen that guy's expression change once. It's like he's always disappointed by the world, like he gave up on it a century ago."

The Reapers heard a single, shallow laugh and turned to see Annabelle smiling. She's been one of their comrades for half a century, but even still her smile disturbed little parts of them.

"You've never seen him on a mission," she said humorously.

"Mr. Nayake doesn't go on missions," the red-haired Reaper said. "He's a Producer, they don't do missions."

"Nayake does," Annabelle contradicted. "The Composer paired us together on one, a long time ago." The other Reapers were silent, confused more than they had been in a long time. "And when you see Nayake on a mission, you see the man, not the Producer. He doesn't care about anything except completing whatever task the Composer gives him."

"Huh," the story telling Reaper grunted. "Wonder what happens to that guy when he comes back here."

"Well it makes sense, in a way," the Reaper beside Annabelle said. "What other Producer lives in the same place as the Composer? They're supposed to spend their time in the Real Ground, not slum it with the rest of us."