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Published:
2020-05-05
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2020-05-11
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5 Times Death Had A Near-Mechs Experience And 1 Time The Toy Soldier Was Present And It All Got A Bit Weird

Summary:

Death looked at Jonny's ghost, then at Jonny's body, then finally back at Jonny's ghost.
YOU MAY WANT TO SIT DOWN FOR THIS.

 

Or: Death isn't paid anyway, but he really isn't paid enough to deal with the Mechanisms

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes and other works inspired by this one.)

Chapter 1: Jonny

Chapter Text

The bullet in his skull didn't come as a surprise.

One group was shooting at another over.. something. Jonny never bothered to find out. He didn't particularly care either, just went towards the first sounds of violence he heard and started shooting at them.

Then they started shooting back.

 

Jonny didn't even have time to bite out a "Bast-" before his body thumped to the floor, blood soaking into his nice new coat.

 

HAVE YOU EVER CONSIDERED A DIFFERENT HOBBY?
asked a voice from somewhere above him. It was an odd sort of voice - it echoed, and seemed to go straight to your brain without messing about with the ear.
MAYBE ONE THAT DOESN'T KILL YOU IN UNDER HALF AN HOUR.

 

Jonny flipped it off.

Then he paused. He was dead. Would be for some time - his healing hadn't kicked in yet and it wasn't as if he had somewhere better to be. He flexed his fingers a few times. They were pale, slightly translucent, and he could look through it to see his actual hand still on the ground where he left it.

"If I sat up," Jonny began, letting out an annoyed groan, "will I see a tall skeleton with a scythe and black robes?"

 

There was a pause.

I, ER- COULD PUT THE SCYTHE AWAY?
The voice still skipped the ears entirely, but at least it sounded apologetic about the whole business.

 

Jonny groaned again, hardly sparing a glance for his physical body as he sat up. There was indeed a skeleton stood above him. Twin blue flames burned where eyes should have been, and his robes were not merely black, but a lightless gap in the world that was here long before the concept of colour and would be around long after too.

The effect was ruined somewhat by the scythe he attempting to hide behind his back. The scythe was much taller than he was. It wasn't working.

 

"Not to sound ungrateful, but why the fuck are you here?"

 

If Death had eyelids, he would have blinked in surprise.
YOU CAN'T SAY THAT.

 

"Say what?"

 

THAT. IT'S INAPPROPRIATE. IT'S.. DISRESPECTING THE DEAD.

 

"Can't say I care."

 

IT'S THE PRINCIPLE OF THE THING.

 

Not for the last time, Jonny sighed heavily. He hated dealing with anthropomorphic constructs. He stood up fully, doing his best to ignore that fact he barely came up to Death's shoulder.

"My sincerest apologies. My name is Jonny d'Ville, captain of the good starship Aurora." He bowed deeply and dramatically. "May I enquire as to why you are here?"

 

METAPHORICALLY?

 

"Look if I wanted to debate philosophy I would call Brian. Why are you in this location, talking to me?"

 

Death looked at Jonny's ghost, then at Jonny's body, then finally back at Jonny's ghost.
YOU MAY WANT TO SIT DOWN FOR THI-

 

"I am well aware that I'm dead!" he shouted. "But I must have died hundreds of times and never once got a visit from the spooky skeleton himself."

 

I RATHER THINK,
Death said slowly, like someone whose worldview is undergoing a sudden and significant shakeup,
THAT WE'VE GOT OFF ON THE WRONG FOOT HERE.

 

"You think?" he asked in mock surprise.

A few moments passed. They were each rapidly rewinding their internal scripts, trying to find a point that might salvage this train wreck of a conversation.

Jonny spoke first, bowing again as he did so.
"From the stop, shall we? I am Jonny d'Ville, captain of the good starship Aurora and member of the Mechanisms, a crew of immortal space pirates who roam the universe looking for fun, violence and.. more violence, usually"

 

I AM DEATH,
said Death.

 

This was, without a doubt, one of the worst conversations Jonny had had the misfortune to be a part of. His fingers itched to draw his gun and shoot something. Or someone.

He was struck with an idea.

"What would happen if I tried to shoot you?"

 

YOUR HAND WOULD GO STRAIGHT THROUGH YOUR GUN AND YOU WOULDN'T BE ABLE TO EVEN PICK IT UP.

 

Why were some people so obsessed with coming back as a ghost? The way Jonny saw it, it was a lot like life, only worse and containing a skeleton who wouldn't let you be temporarily dead in peace.
"Fine - metaphorically?"

 

I WOULD BE UPSET. WHAT IS IT WITH YOU AND VIOLENCE ANYWAY?

 

Instead of answering, Jonny tried picking up his gun. Unsurprisingly enough, his ghostly hand went straight through it.

"What about if I shot you when I'm alive again?"

 

I WOULD STILL BE UPSET.
Then Jonny's words registered fully.
YOU ARE AWARE THAT HUMANS DON'T TEND TO COME BACK AFTER DYING, AREN'T YOU?

 

"I'm not human," Jonny said, and if he sounded overly flippant about it well- living forever can give you some funny ideas about existence.

 

PEOPLE THEN. LIVING CREATURES. THINGS THAT WERE ALIVE AND NOW ARE NO LONGER WILL, IN MY EXPERIENCE, STAY THAT WAY.

 

"Hardly my fault your experiences are so limited."

 

Death looked like he was about to say something in response, then decided better. Instead, he reached into the folds of his robes, pulling out a small sandtimer.

A small sandtimer with a little belt wrapped around the middle.

All the sand was firmly in the lower half, like it should be. Death glowered at it as if he could make Jonny stay dead by sheer willpower alone.

Then slowly, a grain of sand began to float back up to the timer's top half.

Shaking the timer didn't do anything, and turning it upside down just made reality fizzle slightly.

Jonny tried to tap on it, but Death raised it up out of his reach. Given the height difference, it wasn't hard.

 

"Does that mean I'll be coming back to life soon?"

 

YOU SHOULDN'T BE GOING BACK TO LIFE EVER. THERE ARE RULES ABOUT THESE THINGS.

 

"Well," Jonny shrugged. "Never was one for the rules."

 

I DON'T JUST MEAN RULES. I MEAN THE RULES. THE ONES THAT ENSURE THE SUN RISES EACH MORNING, AND THAT SNOW IS COLD AND THAT THE DEAD DON'T COME BACK.

 

That was a direct challenge if ever Jonny had heard one. He started counting off on his fingers:
"There are planets where one half is always in darkness - where the sun never rises and never will do. Somewhere out there boiling rain is falling which, by a freak of language evolution, the locals call 'sno'."

He grinned at Death, the kind of grin that forcefully reminds you how most animals bare their teeth as a threat.
"And I myself am evidence that the last one isn't true."

 

Death was silent.

 

"Like I said," Jonny sat back down again. This conversation wasn't going anywhere useful, and, even in his ghostly form, standing was more effort than it was worth. "I never did like Rules."

 

There was a rustling of fabric as Death sat himself down as well. He tapped out a quick rhythm with one bony finger on the glass timer. If anything, this seemed to make the sand rise faster.

Jonny looked over at it, doing his best impression of someone not consumed by incredible nosieness and a fair amount of curiosity to boot.

 

"So, when all that sand reaches the top again, I'll be back?"

 

Just the rhythm, over and over again.
The sand kept rising.

 

"If I apologise for breaking the Rules, will you answer me?"

 

Death let out an impressively heavy sigh for someone with no lungs.
YOU HAVE MAYBE TWO MINUTES MAXIMUM.

One final flick at the timer.
GIVEN THE CIRCUMSTANCES... ANY LAST REQUESTS?

 

Jonny considered this. He had never met this Death before, and maybe never would again. This was an opportunity like no other - whatever he asked should be important, something he wouldn't be able to find out otherwise. Something for Ivy to file away, perhaps, or for Raphaella to take apart in her lab.

He pointed to Death's scythe, sharp enough to cut the air in two.
"Can I touch it?"

 

NO.

 

And at last, there was no more sand in the bottom of the timer.

 

*

 

Jonny's body sat up, Jonny's ghost firmly back inside of it. His coat was ruined, soaked through with blood from the now-closed bullet wound.

"Bastard didn't even let me touch his scythe."