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zinda blake

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Zinda is grumpy, and Zinda is bored, and these are never good combinations, especially in an isolated village somewhere far too close to the North Pole.

She can't even wear a low-cut top OR a short skirt to the local bar. And what is a woman without cleavage? Zinda is unimpressed.

Also, unimpressed with the quality of the local moonshine. And the local men, who mostly seem to be either happily married or way too shy for Zinda's tastes. And the local utter lack of communication with anyone she knows except Steph, who's good company and all, but Zinda misses her BFFs.

And also, there's really nothing to do around here. Nothing to grow and nothing to build, and there's sure as hell no planes to fly.

Zinda really misses her plane.

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Despite all the snow and ice, there is still a boy on a skateboard. These emo punks will throw their boards down anywhere. Funny, he will look rather familiar to Zinda, She's had more then enough brushes with him.

Zinda sits straighter, one leg curled under her, hair and skirt flapping in the breeze, eyes narrowed as the kid approaches.

"Hey. You. I've seen you."

At the farm?

Is this a rescue?

More importantly, does he have booze?

Rickie glides over to where she's sitting, hands tucked in his hoodie pockets.

The answer to her questions are: no, no, and probably.

His eyes seem to keep flickering back to her flapping skirt, and her legs, because, despite having been made an incarnation of a natural function, he's still a teenage virgin.

"Yup, you sure have Zinda. You've been through a lot of rough spots."

She frowns, distrustful.

"Goes with the job. Who the hell are you, buster?"

He taps his board up to rest his arms across the tip. "Hi. I'm Death."

"... you ain't kiddin'?"

He gives her a smug grin. "Uh, yeah, sorry. Oh, don't worry! I'm not here for you."

Which implies that he is here for someone. Zinda's eyes narrow and she drops a hand to her pistol.

Which doesn't work, having had a long bath in icy salt water and a trek through the tundra - but he doesn't necessarily know that.

"Steph?"

"What?" He pulls out his little black Blackberry and taps into it. "No, no, actually, I'm, uh, just hanging out. Trying to relax a little bit, y'know?"

Zinda relaxes, leans back, crosses her legs.

"Death, trying to relax? I'd reckon you'd be more'n busy on this world, kid."

"Well, I don't have to be there for every death. Technically, according to the paperwork, just by holding the mantle, it means people can die."

He shrugs. "Plus, not as many deaths, now that this world is stabilizing a bit, it seems. Less big ole monsters around."

Zinda frowns. "Dead boring if you ask me."

That's the lack of monsters, not a ha-ha-ha-pun for his job.

"What do we do if the monsters stop coming? I'm not exactly about to settle down."

"Well, there's plenty of monster still breeding, if you're really insistant on such things. And, of course, the human monsters." Which can be worse.

Zinda looks at him, expression unreadable.

"You're awful young to know that." About the human monsters. "How the hell does a guy like you end up being Death anyway?"

Rickie shoves his hands into deep into his hoodie pockets. He's not cold, but it's a reflexive action. "It's kinda complicated. But, it comes down to, wrong place, wrong time, and BOOM! I get to be Death just in time for 9/10th of the worlds population to bite the big one."

"That doesn't sound like a huge chunk of fun," Zinda observes. "So you ... took up skating?

"To isolated villages where nobody ever comes?"

"I was boarding before I took the job." When he took the job even. "And now... I travel. See whats going on. Help where I'm allowed."

"Huh."

Zinda eyes him.

"What kind of help, exactly?"

"Information. Passing messages." He gives her a sad smile. "Not a whole lot else. The Main List is pretty harsh."

"Okay. So you didn't mean, like - mercy sort of help?"

The way she says mercy implies - something a lot like his job description.

"I don't kill people. They do a fine enough job on their own." Someones awful jaded for his age.

"Point," Zinda concedes, and frowns at him. "How old are you, anyway?"

"Old enough?" Hopefully. Aww, lookit the boy, trying to be all manly.

"Cute." Zinda shakes her head. "You poor kid."

Rickie blinks a couple of times. "Uhm. Thanks? Maybe?"

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