Death in Crisis

Death is so fucking weird. I mean, he holds life in the palm of his bony hand, and he gets all googly-eyed over a puppy.

Yeah, Death got a dog. A bichon frise.

"It's bēshō frēzā."

"Really? You sure?"

"Fluff, I'm a tad bit more universal than you..."

"So you can say, 'Time's up, big fella' in 6,000 languages. It's still just a kickpup."

"I dare you."

"I'll pass. So, first the glasses, now a dog. What's up with you?"

"I think it lends a bit of winsome to my overall bonhomous persona, don't you?"

"Dude, you're Death. A puppy ain't gonna make folks any happier to see you."

"Well, that's hardly fair. I'm a very likeable haunt."

"The puppy just peed on your shroud. Look, I know you're having a bit of a rough go these days..."

"Why do you say that? I'm doin' awright."

"Hm. Well, first, there's the spectacles. People don't really expect Death to be concerned with appearances."

"THEY MAKE ME LOOK OLDER."

"I REALIZE YOU THINK THAT. That's not all, though - there's the whole wallpapering incident."

"What do you mean?"

"You wallpapered every room in your house with floral print."

"So? Can't a spectre like flowers?"

"It's...a bit cloying. And then there's the sleepovers..."

"You don't like it when I pop over unannounced?"

"Think about it. Death shows up on my doorstep at 1:30 in the morning and tells me to grab my PJs and the makings for cosmos. Who's gonna say "No" to Death?"

"I really thought you LIKED it..."

"Oh, don't get me wrong, I DO like it. But, it's indicative."

"Of what?"

"Really? You don't know?"

"No, I don't. I may be universal, but I'm not very well socialized."

"That's just it, Death. You're lonely."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"AM NOT."

"Yes, yes you are."

"WELL YOU'RE STUPID! YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO SAY BICHON FRISE!"

"Sigh! Come in and sit down; I'll make you a cup of hot cocoa. And for chrissake, hold that damn puppy still!"

"Can I have a chai?"

"Only if you say it in iggpay atinlay."

"What's that mean?"

"Universal, my ass."

"Cat." "Fish."

I was playing cards with Death last night; he was having trouble sleeping and thought he'd pay me a quick visit. We got to chattin' about one thing and another, and finally decided to make it an all-nighter with a rousing game of Go Fish.

"Got any twos?" he said.

"Go fish," I replied. "Sixes?"

He slapped down three cards with a bit more vehemence than I would have preferred, but then, he's Death. He doesn't really know how to be subtle.

"Hey!" said Death.

"What?" I squeaked. It's best to show a little fear when Death is shouting at you.

"I HEARD that comment."

"What comment?" I was puzzled as I hadn't actually spoken.

"The comment about me not being subtle!"

Point taken.

Anyway, so I was winning at Fish and he was getting agitated at my winning, so I started cheating to lose, and he looked at me over the top of his bifocals and asked me if I really thought it was a good idea to cheat Death. So I quit cheating to lose because we all know how that feels from playing Ger. I tried a different tack.

"So, Grim," I said.

"Yes, fluff? Please don't ask me about love again." He seemed resigned, I have no idea why. I seldom, if ever, talk to others about love.

"What's with the granny glasses?" I asked.

"You don't like them?" he asked, seeming a bit surprised and...well, insecure.

"YOUR EYE SOCKETS ARE EMPTY," I pointed out.

He snorted and replied, "I don't wear them for vision, goof. I think they make me look older!"

"Really, dude? What on earth could possibly be older than death??"

"Hm...good point. Sevens?"

I slapped down a card.

"Really? he said a bit snarky. "You wanna check your hand again?" I put another seven on the table, looked at him for a split second, then quickly laid down a third card with an apologetic look. He placed one very cracked and bony finger atop the three cards and slid them quite eloquently across the table. Death has savoir faire.

"Since you brought it up," I said.

"No," he replied most emphatically.

"Fine. TENS." I said with a bit of what I would call a sharp edge.

"You wanna see sharp?" he said, fingering his scythe.

"Stop reading my blogmind!" I shouted.

"Threes." he replied.

"IT'S STILL MY TURN! TENS!" I persisted.

He chuckled then, and laid down a card. I gave him a fluff's version of the empty-socket look, but he refused to budge, so I picked UP my measly one card and added it to my hand.

"What's with all the dead cats in his brain, anyway?" Reaper asked.

"Yeah. I don't know. You'll have to ask him." I replied.

"Hm. He and I don't really have a good relationship," he responded. "Is it some sort of experiment?" he asked.

Now, considering he is the one that said "no questions about love," I was a bit taken aback that he was enquiring. This line of questioning was eventually going to lead to the other and I wasn't quite ready for a pajama party with the harbinger of doom. But I generally try to answer any questions he asks expeditiously, as Death has places to go and people to see, and the clock is ticking for some of them. Best not keep Death waiting or he just might take someone closer.

"I think so," I replied, "Maybe he thinks that, if he keeps repeating the experiment, it'll turn out different?"

"HIS BRAIN IS FULL OF DEAD CATS." he said, stating the obvious.

"I KNOW." I replied, matching his tone, which got me yet another bi-focused look. Talk about hoping for different results; Death doesn't miss a trick, not a single frickin' trick. "Jackass," I said.

"Apology accepted," he replied.