shatterverse | (no subject)

It's been a little over a year since the Shattering. And, for Richie Valentine, it's been quite a long year at that. It's not bad enough that his whole world has been destroyed, oh no, fate just has to spit on him some more. He wasn't even able to be there for his friends when they passed on, nor for his family. Whoever decides what deaths need his personal attention apparently didn't think people he loved were important enough for him to oversee.

Bastards.

When it started, it had been horrible. Being rushed from one place to another, never any time to slow down, never any time to enjoy the sights, just show up, cleave the soul with his blade, move on to the next one. Like some kind of twisted assembly line of reaping. No one even bothered explaining to him what was going on, he had to figure it out all by his lonesome.

So now he travels the world on his pale skateboard, collecting souls that need to be released from this mortal coil with his silvery katana, storing them in his dark hoodie for whatever purposes. The demand has slowed a lot. He's picking up one soul a day when it's busy, one a week most of the time. Leaves a boy with a lot of time to explore.

Which all goes to explain why there is a young man in a dark sweatshirt riding a skateboard up to the Cooper Farm. It's a place some of the dead have talked about, and somewhere he hasn't had cause to show up. But there are ghosts here, he can feel, and some of them might need help passing on. (another one of those duties he had to figure out for himself.) And, if they don't, well, a little human contact would be nice.

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"You're not on my list for a while. That's a good thing." and then he registers the question. "Oh, uh, well, I'm Death. I know everybody. Or, at least, I do when my gear is working right."

Angela blinks. "Well...good to know?" Okay, this place just got a little weirder...and a little creepy. "You...don't look like Death. But...I guess that would be a good thing." Or people would start freaking out. "So...what brings you here?"

Richie drops his feet to the ground, dropping off his board. The Pale Board itself rolls back and forth, a little nervously. If it was still a horse, it would be pawing the ground.

"Looking. Job doesn't bring me in this area often. And I'm the New Death. Like New Coke, but cooler. And with a katana."

"Huh. Last Death I met was a woman. But...yeah, different place, different time. And a katana is probably easier to hide than a great huge scythe?"

She grins at him. "Well, at least this place is pretty nice to land in," she says cheerfully. "Hope you don't have to collect too many around here."

One or two in particular that she doesn't want going anywhere anytime soon.

Rickie shrugs. It's a very meaningful gesture, filled with all sorts of angst and woe. Cause he's that kinda kid. "Katanas just niftier. Who needs to hide it? I'm freaking Death."

"Mmm. I guess you're right." Her brow furrows as she thinks a bit.

"How did you land the job of being Death? I mean, if you don't mind my asking."

"Complete accident. I was getting ready to get reaped, and the previous Reaper bit the bullet." Richie adjusts the strap of his scabbard a little self conciously. "Boom, I was Death."

"Wow. That's...sudden." And weird. "Didn't think that Death could, you know, die."

"Didn't think so either. but, bam, here I am."

"Seems that way," she says, grinning. "Well...anyone's welcome here, long's you don't hurt anyone. I've heard about ghosts, you know, just...around, but I haven't seen 'em."

She's really itching to make sure that people she cares about are safe for a good long while yet, but...yeah, probably best not to know. Even if he could tell her.

Oh, he could. He so could. He actually might. He's a dick like that. "You live here then?"

"I did for a while. My boyfriend and I have a place down the road now. I just come here to help out with some stuff. I haven't been on this world all that long, actually."

"Who's your boyfriend?" Oh yeah, he's totally fishing.

"His name is Thomas." And then winces inwardly.

Good one, Angela. It's not good to have chats with Death about loved ones. In general.

He glances down at the Blackberry, his eyes bouncing back up almost instantly. "Wouldn't happen to be Thomas Pahn would it?"

"Um. Yeah. It would."

She looks up at him anxiously.

"What?"

He taps a couple of times on his screen, then tucks it away. "Nuthin."

Her eyes narrow at him and she folds her arms over her chest. "Dude. Dude. That is just not on!"

She shivers. She's lost enough, she doesn't want to start again.

"Just. Don't tell me. Like, Ever. 'kay?" It wouldn't help her to know.

Richie smirks at her. "Whatever babe."

Angela shakes her head, only a little amused at him. She does have a sense of humor, after all. (Not much for things like this but...yeah.)

She smiles slightly. "Okay...I gotta get home."

Mostly because a) she's anxious to see if Thomas is still there, and b) once she makes sure he is, she's going to tackle him. And try to make sure he's occupied enough with her that he doesn't go anywhere tonight.

"See you around, okay?"

"Whatever." The kid glides away, snickering to himself.