The Real LJ Idol - Mini-Season - Week 9
This is my entry for Week 9 of LJ Idol ( 
therealljidol).
Prompt: "404"
Milo was carefully adjusting the various liquor bottles so that all of their labels faced properly outward when he heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs. With a sigh, he turned to see Tenshi descending the metal spiral staircase at the back of the room, clipboard in hand and an unenthusiastic Ace in tow.
He tugged a damp rag out from his belt loop and busied himself with wiping down the bar, pretending not to notice them and hoping that by some miracle they would just go away.
No such luck.
"Milo," Tenshi snapped, hoisting her small frame up on top of a stool and dropping her clipboard unceremoniously down onto the bar with a loud smack. "We have business."
"Alright." Milo balled the rag in his fist and looked up. "What is it?"
The most obvious thing one first noticed about Tenshi was that she had the physical appearance of a child. Her small, round face was smattered with freckles and her white blonde hair hung down her back in two fishtail braids. Her wide, glossy, blue eyes were framed by long, feathery lashes. She was tiny in stature and her voice had an innocent, high-pitched tone to it. Her skin was translucently pale and smooth, free from any time worn imperfections. This, however, greatly contradicted the way she would constantly and condescendingly bark orders from over the top of her clipboard. She also acted as though everything was of the utmost importance and needed to be handled with extreme expediency. Lots of things about her got under Milo's skin, but her impatience annoyed him the most. They were, after all, dead. Time was not exactly of the essence.
Ace had taken a seat on the stool beside her and was drumming his fingers against the shiny, wooden bar top looking bored. Ace always looked bored. He was handsome, by earthly standards, with dark hair that fell over his deep green eyes and a sharp, chiseled jawline. He never buttoned his black vest and his tie always hung down loosely around his neck. It was the kind of boyish dishevelment that Milo guessed women went crazy over, but he just found it unprofessional and careless.
"You'll be training a new escort today. She'll be debriefed, prepped and sent down here within the next twenty minutes." Tenshi pulled a pen out from behind her ear and scribbled something down on her clipboard.
Milo braced himself against the bar and shook his head.
"I don't have time for this. I'm already behind for the week. Can't Ace do it?" He gestured towards the large, digital counter above the stairs. '404,' it read. It was only Wednesday and he was already behind about 600 shells.
"No." Tenshi was curt and direct, and Milo had enough experience to know that pleading his case any further would have no effect. To punctuate the end of the conversation, she shoved her clipboard under her arm and hopped off of the stool.
"Yo, make me something for the road?" Ace grinned and gestured over Milo's shoulder towards the line of spirits. "You can add it to my tab."
"You don't have a tab. And anyway, you're out of things I want."
Tenshi, who was already halfway across the room, paused and cleared her throat.
"Oh, and Milo?" she called. "You may no longer be among the living, but let's try to handle this one with a little warmth and liveliness, yes?"
She snapped her fingers and continued towards the stairs.
Ace groaned, pushed himself away from the bar and loped off after her.
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Milo held the position of escort in Lounge 7. It was one of the larger lounges - cozy, rich and smelling of wood. The walls were lined with heavy, sweeping curtains, plush, velvet, over-sized couches were arranged in the center and a long, dark oak bar stretched across the entire front of the room. There were leather accents and shining, polished brass knobs, and two massive chandeliers that cast everything in a dim, yellow light.
Drinks comforted people, whether they were alcoholic or not - an egg cream from your childhood, a hot chocolate like your mother used to make, the dry champagne you drank the night of your wedding after all the guests had stumbled home and you'd retreated to your hotel suite. Familiar beverages made people feel safe and soothed and reminded them of a happier time when things actually made sense. Milo could pull any number of things out from behind the bar. Whatever you ordered, it was always in stock and ready to be served. Such was the job of an escort - part bartender, part guide into the Afterlife. All day, people (or shells, as the escorts referred to them) would trickle in down the spiral staircase near the back of them room, each with varying degrees of understanding of where they were and why they were there. Milo would welcome them to The Lounge, offer them a drink of their choosing and then bring them up to speed.
Some accepted their fates quickly, with open arms. Some knew the reality of their situation before he even had a chance to speak. Some were angry or distraught and would loiter in the lounge for hours while Milo busied himself with polishing the silverware and cleaning glasses. This week in particular had ushered in a large number of laggers and Milo was sitting at a measly 404 shells sent on their way - hopelessly below quota. And now Tenshi wanted him to train a new escort.
He glanced up at the counter and began to sigh, but it caught in his throat suddenly and he ended up making a strangled, coughing sound instead. Standing atop the stairs was a very beautiful, very lost looking young woman.
Speak of the devil, he thought, humorlessly. Newbie.
"Down here," he called. "Let's get on with it."
The woman peeked over her shoulder and then began slowly descending the stairs. Milo tried to divert his attention to lining up a pile of cocktail napkins, but glanced up again before he could stop himself.
Her hair was long and dark and poker straight, and it fanned out behind her like a cape as she walked, the contrast of it against her creamy skin eliciting an ethereal glow. Her lips were small and pink and curved into a mischievous half-smile. She wore a simple sundress that hung perfectly on her willowy frame and it twirled playfully around her knees with each step. There was a boldness about her, in the way she carried herself, head held high, that exuded confidence and determination. It wasn't until she had crossed nearly a third of the room that Milo was able to snap his focus back to stacking the napkins. When she reached the bar, she noisily cleared her throat.
Milo hesitated before looking up. There she stood, with her hands on her hips, one eyebrow cocked in an expression akin to amusement. Now that she was closer, he could see her eyes. They were brown, but not a dull, drab brown. No, they were warm and bright like the color of burning firewood, familiar and inviting like the color of the bar. They were the color of earth, the color of whiskey, and they easily sized him up in a way that made him feel bare.
"Sit," Milo demanded, tugging slightly at the neck of his tie.
She bowed slightly, then hopped gracefully atop one of the bar stools, tucking her feet onto one of the wooden rungs beneath her.
"So..." She smiled and ran a hand along the top of the bar. "Are you going to offer me a drink?"
"No. We have work to do."
"Aw, but it seems like such a shame to not take advantage of all of this!" She pouted slightly and gestured around the room.
"We're not permitted to drink on the job."
"Well, I'm not on the job," she retorted.
"Yet," Milo muttered under his breath, but she didn't hear him. Instead, she was now swinging her legs back and forth, her lips stretched into a wide smile.
"I'm having the weirdest craving for a Margarita. I haven't had one of those since college. I don't even know what made me think of it!"
Milo was used to requests like these. It was an effect of the bar. He wanted to tell her that they didn't have time for this, that he needed to start her training immediately so he could get back to his real job. If he had any hopes of hitting 1000 shells before Last Light he needed to get through this session as soon as possible. However, something about the pure look of delight dashed across her face rendered him unable to do so. Instead, he made a sweeping motion with his hand and then reached beneath the bar.
"Here." He lifted a large glass towards her. It was filled to the top with icy, light green Margarita.
"I didn't even say frozen. How did you know?" She hurriedly reached across the bar and grabbed a napkin, her scramble leaving the rest of the pile in disarray. Milo pursed his lips together and narrowed his eyes in irritation as she took the glass, but again she was too enthralled with her drink to notice.
"Intuition. It comes with the position," Milo answered coldly.
"Does abject annoyance come with it as well?" she teased, sipping her drink coyly.
Milo didn't answer. He busied himself with re-stacking the napkins into a neat pile until a hand unexpectedly flew in front of his face.
"Mira," the woman said. She was practically laying across the bar now, with her arm extended towards him, her dark hair spilling over the wooden surface.
"Milo," he returned, accepting the handshake. Her grip was stronger than he expected. "Now, we need to get star-"
"Oh!" She gasped, interrupting him, and he crossed his arms tightly over his chest in frustration. She was patting the front of her dress, a look of dismay written across her face.
"Now what?" he asked, exasperated.
"I- I don't have any money. For the drink."
"Money?" Milo snorted. "We don't deal in paper and coins up here."
"Oh, well, I see." She looked up and tilted her head curiously.
Clearly, Ace had slacked off during her debriefing. It wasn't a surprise, but Milo could feel his head ache with annoyance.
"The currency here is memories," Milo explained, grabbing a rag out from under the bar and wiping the places where the condensation from Mira's glass had dripped.
When he looked up, she was staring at him blankly.
"Did they not cover this?" Milo sighed. "Ok, so, your Afterlife can only be made up of things you know and can accurately recreate. My Afterlife is different from your Afterlife, is different from any of the thousands of others who pass through here daily. You can't recreate a beach you've never been to. Your subconscious doesn't have enough information saved. If you've never had caviar, you'll never find it served at the banquet hall. Unless, of course, you barter for it somewhere along the way. Here we trade in experiences."
"I'm sorry. I... I don't think I understand," she said, her brows knitting in confusion.
"Ok." Milo exhaled and tossed the wet rag over his shoulder. His explanation was obviously not clear enough. This is why he didn't handle the debriefing process. Instead of uselessly trying to put it into words again, he reached beneath the bar and pulled out a round, white, ceramic plate. He placed the dish down onto the bar in front of her and pointed at it.
"Think of something you've never eaten. Something you know you've never tasted. Picture it in your mind and then picture it on this plate. Be as specific as possible."
Her expression was skeptical as she glanced between him and the plate, but eventually she shrugged and looked down, focusing her attention on the empty dish.
Milo squinted up at the staircase and then at the counter which still read 404. Ace was probably pissed about earlier and had thrown this girl down here after a very simple crash course explanation as pay back. If she was this behind, it was going to take forever to get her up to speed and ready for Lounge 2. Milo's thoughts, however, were interrupted by sudden movement out of the corner of his eye.
The air above the plate had begun to shimmer and Mira jumped back on her stool with a gasp.
"Keep going," he pressed. "Do it again."
She nodded, eyes wide, and leaned towards the dish a second time, now biting her lower lip in concentration. Again, the space above the plate began to warp. The air spun and rolled and folded in on itself, becoming increasingly opaque as it moved. There was a low hum and then a crack, as through two edges of air had solidified and smacked together, and then there on the plate were two round, green lumps, each flecked with slivers of dark brown.
"Ice cream?" Milo scoffed, reaching out and spinning the plate from side to side to examine it. "You've never had ice cream?"
"Mint chocolate chip," she said with a wry smile. "I'm severely lactose intolerant. Was."
"Ah." His expression lightened slightly and he reached under the bar again, this time to retrieve a spoon. He handed it to her and pushed the plate closer. "Try it."
She tucked her hair behind her ears and grinned, bouncing a bit on her stool. Her excitement was palpable and child-like. Milo rolled his eyes and tugged the rag off of his shoulder, busying himself with buffing out a dull spot on the bar top and trying to ignore the way the edges of his mouth threatened to twitch upward.
"Well?" he asked as she scooped a spoonful into her mouth.
"It tastes like... It tastes like...," Mira's eyes popped open and then her lips pressed into a tight line of disappointment. She glared at him, tossing the spoon down onto the bar. "Nothing. It has no taste at all! It's not even cold!"
"That's right," he said, pushing the dish away. "You've never had it and so you can't recreate it. But, now let's say I want you to cover an extra shift for me or run something up to the office. I have leverage. I have something to offer you in exchange for the favor."
He pulled out a second clean plate from beneath the bar and placed it down on the surface between them. Then he raised his hand, nodding his head towards it.
"Here. Put your hand against mine."
Mira shifted on the stool and tilted her head. She hesitated slightly and then slowly lifted her hand and pressed her palm flat against Milo's. Playfully, she pushed her fingertips against his and her mouth twisted into a cheeky half-smile, but Milo did not return it.
"Focus," he scolded, and she straightened, pursing her lips and pulling her expression into one of over-exaggerated seriousness.
He was suddenly very aware of how warm and soft her small hand felt against his larger, rougher one. And she was now looking into his eyes with an intense expectancy that was making it very difficult for him to focus.
"Close your eyes," he demanded, even though it was an arbitrary request and not a necessary part of the process. She raised an eyebrow in response, but did as she was told.
Milo took a deep breath and then he visualized mint chocolate chip ice cream in his mind. He thought carefully about the sweetness, the lingering taste of mint, the gritty texture of the small flakes of chocolate against the smooth creaminess. He imagined every small detail as clearly and thoroughly as possible and then, mentally, he pushed it through the palm of his hand and into her's.
He heard her sharp intake of breath and knew the transfer had been successful.
He cleared his throat. "You can open your eyes."
Mira blinked her eyes open slowly as Milo pulled his hand away and pushed the plate towards her with the other.
"Now, try again."
Mira seemed to pause and consider him for a moment. The way she was looking at him was unnerving him again and he shifted under her gaze. It was as though she was simultaneously seeing through him while also seeing all of him at once, parts of him he kept far below the surface. It made him feel naked and exposed and he found himself subconsciously taking a step back away from the bar. She gave him another of her playful half-smiles, rubbed her hands together and then looked down at the empty plate. After a few moments, the air above the dish again took on an iridescent hue, reflecting the light in the room as it began to ripple and spin. As before, there was a low buzz and then a snap, and then two roundish, light green lumps materialized on the plate. Wordlessly, she lifted one finger and swiped it along the ice cream, scooping up a gob. Her eyes widened in surprise.
"It's cold!"
Milo snorted derisively. "It's ice cream."
Ignoring him, she slowly lifted her finger to her lips and popped it into her mouth. She let out a small sound of surprise and then laughed. It was a deeper, louder sound than he expected and it caused her entire small body to shake. She threw her head back, her long, dark hair cascading down over her shoulders, and laughed some more. It was pure and real and more beautiful than any sound Milo had ever managed to recreate in his Afterlife. He found himself frozen behind the bar unable to tear his attention away from her raw show of emotion and delight. She threw herself forward, doubled over from the force of her own cackles, and wiped at her eyes. A second sound joined in with her's and it took Milo's ears a moment to register that he too had started laughing. The foreign, unexpected sound made his chest instantly feel both heavier and lighter and the lounge seemed to tilt and blur. Without thinking, he reached out and ran his own finger through the softening ice cream, then licked it clean. Immediately, he felt his face heat and his laughter caught in his throat. Mira straightened suddenly and quieted.
"It's amazing," she whispered. "That's incredible."
Milo surreptitiously wiped his wet finger against the leg of his pants and nodded, the tips of his ears burning hot.
"What else can you do?" she asked, raising up her hand. Her voice was laced with breathy excitement.
"Anything. Anything I've experienced, I can share with you. Roller coaster rides, sunsets, storms, more ice cream..." He smiled sheepishly and started to lift his hand to hers.
"Milo!"
Startled, Milo looked up and over Mira's shoulder. Ace was standing at the bottom of the staircase with his arms crossed over his chest, his face contorted into a look of confusion and annoyance.
"Um, excuse me a moment." Milo dropped his hand and sighed, then hoisted himself up over the bar and walked slowly to where Ace waited. He was vaguely aware that his chest was tightening with every step he took.
"Milo," Ace hissed, grabbing him by the arm and spinning so that both of them were facing away from the bar. "Why is 404 still here?"
"404?" Milo squinted at the counter above their heads.
"Yes." Ace reached out and flicked Milo against the forehead. "404. You haven't sent her on yet? We sent her down here over half an hour ago! She's an easy one! Why is she still here?"
Milo blinked and felt his hands ball into fists at his sides.
"Tenshi is going to have a fuckin' fit. You've gotta be backed up, like, fifty shells by now. Not to mention you've got your trainee waiting in the wings. Get 404 moving. Now."
"404," Milo echoed, the truth slowly dawning on him.
"Dude, what's with you?" Ace went to flick Milo again, but Milo blocked it this time. Ace's eyes narrowed and he took a step forward, grabbing Milo tightly by the bicep. "I don't know what your deal is, but just get back on track, man. I'm not covering for your ass today."
With that he released his grip and headed back up the stairs, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. Milo watched until he'd reached the landing and disappeared down the hall, then his chin fell to his chest and he stared numbly at the floor.
Mira wasn't the trainee. Mira was number 404.
With a deep breath, Milo headed slowly back towards the bar. Mira was still sitting atop a stool, swinging her legs back and forth and sipping the last of the Margarita from her glass.
"Um..." Milo was finding words difficult and his tongue felt clumsy and dry in his mouth. His words, however, turned out to be unnecessary.
"I have to get going, don't I?" Mira said quietly, spinning her empty glass between her palms.
Milo swallowed and nodded. She already knew. This is what Ace had meant by 'an easy one.'
"Well, Milo." She held her hand out to him with a small smile. "It was nice meeting you. Thank you for the drink. And the ice cream."
Milo took her hand and shook it. Her grip was just as strong and as sure as it had been before and it made him feel strangely weak. Wordlessly, he lead her away from the bar and towards the foot of the stairs.
For a moment, they both just stared at each other. It had only been a half an hour, forty minutes at most, but somehow their time together had seemed to stretch out longer. Milo felt a strange flutter in his stomach as Mira nodded and turned away. Quietly, he watched as she ascended the stairs, feeling very much unlike himself. She seemed to be hesitating with every step, but he wasn't sure if that was the reality of her movements or just what he wanted to see. He waited there until she had reached the top landing and then, with a small wave, she disappeared into the shadows.
With a loud sigh, he turned and returned to the bar, hoisting himself back up and over to his station with a groan. His mind was buzzing in unfamiliar ways and he quickly busied himself with washing in an attempt to ignore the strange tugging sensation.
"Milo!"
Milo spun around suddenly, holding a glass tumbler in one hand and a rag in the other.
"Milo," Mira gasped from the top of the stairs. Her fingers were clutching the railing so hard that he could see that her knuckles were white.
"The recreating thing," she yelled. "You said you can only recreate things you know, right? Things you've experienced yourself."
Milo nodded. "Yes."
"People," she shouted, hunching over slightly to catch her breath. "Can you recreate people?"
Milo felt his eyes widen and something in his chest twisted painfully. Slowly, he nodded again. "Yes."
Mira straightened and offered him a magnificent grin.
"Ok," she said softly. "Ok, then." Her eyes shimmered and her smiled widened impossibly further. "I'll be going now."
Milo dipped his head and gave a small wave.
"Wish me luck!"
He opened his mouth, but she was already gone. With a deep breath, he leaned forward against the bar and pulled the half-melted plate of mint chocolate chip ice cream closer. He was vaguely aware that his mouth had pulled into a smile as he retrieved a spoon. He finished the remaining cold treat and wiped down the bar top, all the while feeling oddly light and refreshed. He glanced up at the counter.
405.
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This piece was loosely inspired by the manga/anime Death Parade. So, if you enjoyed this, I highly encourage checking it out! It's even dubbed!
If you enjoyed this it would mean a lot if you could vote for me here >> LJ Idol. I'm on Team Norbert and I highly recommend checking out my teammate's pieces as well! TY! ♥
therealljidol).
Prompt: "404"
Milo was carefully adjusting the various liquor bottles so that all of their labels faced properly outward when he heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs. With a sigh, he turned to see Tenshi descending the metal spiral staircase at the back of the room, clipboard in hand and an unenthusiastic Ace in tow.
He tugged a damp rag out from his belt loop and busied himself with wiping down the bar, pretending not to notice them and hoping that by some miracle they would just go away.
No such luck.
"Milo," Tenshi snapped, hoisting her small frame up on top of a stool and dropping her clipboard unceremoniously down onto the bar with a loud smack. "We have business."
"Alright." Milo balled the rag in his fist and looked up. "What is it?"
The most obvious thing one first noticed about Tenshi was that she had the physical appearance of a child. Her small, round face was smattered with freckles and her white blonde hair hung down her back in two fishtail braids. Her wide, glossy, blue eyes were framed by long, feathery lashes. She was tiny in stature and her voice had an innocent, high-pitched tone to it. Her skin was translucently pale and smooth, free from any time worn imperfections. This, however, greatly contradicted the way she would constantly and condescendingly bark orders from over the top of her clipboard. She also acted as though everything was of the utmost importance and needed to be handled with extreme expediency. Lots of things about her got under Milo's skin, but her impatience annoyed him the most. They were, after all, dead. Time was not exactly of the essence.
Ace had taken a seat on the stool beside her and was drumming his fingers against the shiny, wooden bar top looking bored. Ace always looked bored. He was handsome, by earthly standards, with dark hair that fell over his deep green eyes and a sharp, chiseled jawline. He never buttoned his black vest and his tie always hung down loosely around his neck. It was the kind of boyish dishevelment that Milo guessed women went crazy over, but he just found it unprofessional and careless.
"You'll be training a new escort today. She'll be debriefed, prepped and sent down here within the next twenty minutes." Tenshi pulled a pen out from behind her ear and scribbled something down on her clipboard.
Milo braced himself against the bar and shook his head.
"I don't have time for this. I'm already behind for the week. Can't Ace do it?" He gestured towards the large, digital counter above the stairs. '404,' it read. It was only Wednesday and he was already behind about 600 shells.
"No." Tenshi was curt and direct, and Milo had enough experience to know that pleading his case any further would have no effect. To punctuate the end of the conversation, she shoved her clipboard under her arm and hopped off of the stool.
"Yo, make me something for the road?" Ace grinned and gestured over Milo's shoulder towards the line of spirits. "You can add it to my tab."
"You don't have a tab. And anyway, you're out of things I want."
Tenshi, who was already halfway across the room, paused and cleared her throat.
"Oh, and Milo?" she called. "You may no longer be among the living, but let's try to handle this one with a little warmth and liveliness, yes?"
She snapped her fingers and continued towards the stairs.
Ace groaned, pushed himself away from the bar and loped off after her.
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Milo held the position of escort in Lounge 7. It was one of the larger lounges - cozy, rich and smelling of wood. The walls were lined with heavy, sweeping curtains, plush, velvet, over-sized couches were arranged in the center and a long, dark oak bar stretched across the entire front of the room. There were leather accents and shining, polished brass knobs, and two massive chandeliers that cast everything in a dim, yellow light.
Drinks comforted people, whether they were alcoholic or not - an egg cream from your childhood, a hot chocolate like your mother used to make, the dry champagne you drank the night of your wedding after all the guests had stumbled home and you'd retreated to your hotel suite. Familiar beverages made people feel safe and soothed and reminded them of a happier time when things actually made sense. Milo could pull any number of things out from behind the bar. Whatever you ordered, it was always in stock and ready to be served. Such was the job of an escort - part bartender, part guide into the Afterlife. All day, people (or shells, as the escorts referred to them) would trickle in down the spiral staircase near the back of them room, each with varying degrees of understanding of where they were and why they were there. Milo would welcome them to The Lounge, offer them a drink of their choosing and then bring them up to speed.
Some accepted their fates quickly, with open arms. Some knew the reality of their situation before he even had a chance to speak. Some were angry or distraught and would loiter in the lounge for hours while Milo busied himself with polishing the silverware and cleaning glasses. This week in particular had ushered in a large number of laggers and Milo was sitting at a measly 404 shells sent on their way - hopelessly below quota. And now Tenshi wanted him to train a new escort.
He glanced up at the counter and began to sigh, but it caught in his throat suddenly and he ended up making a strangled, coughing sound instead. Standing atop the stairs was a very beautiful, very lost looking young woman.
Speak of the devil, he thought, humorlessly. Newbie.
"Down here," he called. "Let's get on with it."
The woman peeked over her shoulder and then began slowly descending the stairs. Milo tried to divert his attention to lining up a pile of cocktail napkins, but glanced up again before he could stop himself.
Her hair was long and dark and poker straight, and it fanned out behind her like a cape as she walked, the contrast of it against her creamy skin eliciting an ethereal glow. Her lips were small and pink and curved into a mischievous half-smile. She wore a simple sundress that hung perfectly on her willowy frame and it twirled playfully around her knees with each step. There was a boldness about her, in the way she carried herself, head held high, that exuded confidence and determination. It wasn't until she had crossed nearly a third of the room that Milo was able to snap his focus back to stacking the napkins. When she reached the bar, she noisily cleared her throat.
Milo hesitated before looking up. There she stood, with her hands on her hips, one eyebrow cocked in an expression akin to amusement. Now that she was closer, he could see her eyes. They were brown, but not a dull, drab brown. No, they were warm and bright like the color of burning firewood, familiar and inviting like the color of the bar. They were the color of earth, the color of whiskey, and they easily sized him up in a way that made him feel bare.
"Sit," Milo demanded, tugging slightly at the neck of his tie.
She bowed slightly, then hopped gracefully atop one of the bar stools, tucking her feet onto one of the wooden rungs beneath her.
"So..." She smiled and ran a hand along the top of the bar. "Are you going to offer me a drink?"
"No. We have work to do."
"Aw, but it seems like such a shame to not take advantage of all of this!" She pouted slightly and gestured around the room.
"We're not permitted to drink on the job."
"Well, I'm not on the job," she retorted.
"Yet," Milo muttered under his breath, but she didn't hear him. Instead, she was now swinging her legs back and forth, her lips stretched into a wide smile.
"I'm having the weirdest craving for a Margarita. I haven't had one of those since college. I don't even know what made me think of it!"
Milo was used to requests like these. It was an effect of the bar. He wanted to tell her that they didn't have time for this, that he needed to start her training immediately so he could get back to his real job. If he had any hopes of hitting 1000 shells before Last Light he needed to get through this session as soon as possible. However, something about the pure look of delight dashed across her face rendered him unable to do so. Instead, he made a sweeping motion with his hand and then reached beneath the bar.
"Here." He lifted a large glass towards her. It was filled to the top with icy, light green Margarita.
"I didn't even say frozen. How did you know?" She hurriedly reached across the bar and grabbed a napkin, her scramble leaving the rest of the pile in disarray. Milo pursed his lips together and narrowed his eyes in irritation as she took the glass, but again she was too enthralled with her drink to notice.
"Intuition. It comes with the position," Milo answered coldly.
"Does abject annoyance come with it as well?" she teased, sipping her drink coyly.
Milo didn't answer. He busied himself with re-stacking the napkins into a neat pile until a hand unexpectedly flew in front of his face.
"Mira," the woman said. She was practically laying across the bar now, with her arm extended towards him, her dark hair spilling over the wooden surface.
"Milo," he returned, accepting the handshake. Her grip was stronger than he expected. "Now, we need to get star-"
"Oh!" She gasped, interrupting him, and he crossed his arms tightly over his chest in frustration. She was patting the front of her dress, a look of dismay written across her face.
"Now what?" he asked, exasperated.
"I- I don't have any money. For the drink."
"Money?" Milo snorted. "We don't deal in paper and coins up here."
"Oh, well, I see." She looked up and tilted her head curiously.
Clearly, Ace had slacked off during her debriefing. It wasn't a surprise, but Milo could feel his head ache with annoyance.
"The currency here is memories," Milo explained, grabbing a rag out from under the bar and wiping the places where the condensation from Mira's glass had dripped.
When he looked up, she was staring at him blankly.
"Did they not cover this?" Milo sighed. "Ok, so, your Afterlife can only be made up of things you know and can accurately recreate. My Afterlife is different from your Afterlife, is different from any of the thousands of others who pass through here daily. You can't recreate a beach you've never been to. Your subconscious doesn't have enough information saved. If you've never had caviar, you'll never find it served at the banquet hall. Unless, of course, you barter for it somewhere along the way. Here we trade in experiences."
"I'm sorry. I... I don't think I understand," she said, her brows knitting in confusion.
"Ok." Milo exhaled and tossed the wet rag over his shoulder. His explanation was obviously not clear enough. This is why he didn't handle the debriefing process. Instead of uselessly trying to put it into words again, he reached beneath the bar and pulled out a round, white, ceramic plate. He placed the dish down onto the bar in front of her and pointed at it.
"Think of something you've never eaten. Something you know you've never tasted. Picture it in your mind and then picture it on this plate. Be as specific as possible."
Her expression was skeptical as she glanced between him and the plate, but eventually she shrugged and looked down, focusing her attention on the empty dish.
Milo squinted up at the staircase and then at the counter which still read 404. Ace was probably pissed about earlier and had thrown this girl down here after a very simple crash course explanation as pay back. If she was this behind, it was going to take forever to get her up to speed and ready for Lounge 2. Milo's thoughts, however, were interrupted by sudden movement out of the corner of his eye.
The air above the plate had begun to shimmer and Mira jumped back on her stool with a gasp.
"Keep going," he pressed. "Do it again."
She nodded, eyes wide, and leaned towards the dish a second time, now biting her lower lip in concentration. Again, the space above the plate began to warp. The air spun and rolled and folded in on itself, becoming increasingly opaque as it moved. There was a low hum and then a crack, as through two edges of air had solidified and smacked together, and then there on the plate were two round, green lumps, each flecked with slivers of dark brown.
"Ice cream?" Milo scoffed, reaching out and spinning the plate from side to side to examine it. "You've never had ice cream?"
"Mint chocolate chip," she said with a wry smile. "I'm severely lactose intolerant. Was."
"Ah." His expression lightened slightly and he reached under the bar again, this time to retrieve a spoon. He handed it to her and pushed the plate closer. "Try it."
She tucked her hair behind her ears and grinned, bouncing a bit on her stool. Her excitement was palpable and child-like. Milo rolled his eyes and tugged the rag off of his shoulder, busying himself with buffing out a dull spot on the bar top and trying to ignore the way the edges of his mouth threatened to twitch upward.
"Well?" he asked as she scooped a spoonful into her mouth.
"It tastes like... It tastes like...," Mira's eyes popped open and then her lips pressed into a tight line of disappointment. She glared at him, tossing the spoon down onto the bar. "Nothing. It has no taste at all! It's not even cold!"
"That's right," he said, pushing the dish away. "You've never had it and so you can't recreate it. But, now let's say I want you to cover an extra shift for me or run something up to the office. I have leverage. I have something to offer you in exchange for the favor."
He pulled out a second clean plate from beneath the bar and placed it down on the surface between them. Then he raised his hand, nodding his head towards it.
"Here. Put your hand against mine."
Mira shifted on the stool and tilted her head. She hesitated slightly and then slowly lifted her hand and pressed her palm flat against Milo's. Playfully, she pushed her fingertips against his and her mouth twisted into a cheeky half-smile, but Milo did not return it.
"Focus," he scolded, and she straightened, pursing her lips and pulling her expression into one of over-exaggerated seriousness.
He was suddenly very aware of how warm and soft her small hand felt against his larger, rougher one. And she was now looking into his eyes with an intense expectancy that was making it very difficult for him to focus.
"Close your eyes," he demanded, even though it was an arbitrary request and not a necessary part of the process. She raised an eyebrow in response, but did as she was told.
Milo took a deep breath and then he visualized mint chocolate chip ice cream in his mind. He thought carefully about the sweetness, the lingering taste of mint, the gritty texture of the small flakes of chocolate against the smooth creaminess. He imagined every small detail as clearly and thoroughly as possible and then, mentally, he pushed it through the palm of his hand and into her's.
He heard her sharp intake of breath and knew the transfer had been successful.
He cleared his throat. "You can open your eyes."
Mira blinked her eyes open slowly as Milo pulled his hand away and pushed the plate towards her with the other.
"Now, try again."
Mira seemed to pause and consider him for a moment. The way she was looking at him was unnerving him again and he shifted under her gaze. It was as though she was simultaneously seeing through him while also seeing all of him at once, parts of him he kept far below the surface. It made him feel naked and exposed and he found himself subconsciously taking a step back away from the bar. She gave him another of her playful half-smiles, rubbed her hands together and then looked down at the empty plate. After a few moments, the air above the dish again took on an iridescent hue, reflecting the light in the room as it began to ripple and spin. As before, there was a low buzz and then a snap, and then two roundish, light green lumps materialized on the plate. Wordlessly, she lifted one finger and swiped it along the ice cream, scooping up a gob. Her eyes widened in surprise.
"It's cold!"
Milo snorted derisively. "It's ice cream."
Ignoring him, she slowly lifted her finger to her lips and popped it into her mouth. She let out a small sound of surprise and then laughed. It was a deeper, louder sound than he expected and it caused her entire small body to shake. She threw her head back, her long, dark hair cascading down over her shoulders, and laughed some more. It was pure and real and more beautiful than any sound Milo had ever managed to recreate in his Afterlife. He found himself frozen behind the bar unable to tear his attention away from her raw show of emotion and delight. She threw herself forward, doubled over from the force of her own cackles, and wiped at her eyes. A second sound joined in with her's and it took Milo's ears a moment to register that he too had started laughing. The foreign, unexpected sound made his chest instantly feel both heavier and lighter and the lounge seemed to tilt and blur. Without thinking, he reached out and ran his own finger through the softening ice cream, then licked it clean. Immediately, he felt his face heat and his laughter caught in his throat. Mira straightened suddenly and quieted.
"It's amazing," she whispered. "That's incredible."
Milo surreptitiously wiped his wet finger against the leg of his pants and nodded, the tips of his ears burning hot.
"What else can you do?" she asked, raising up her hand. Her voice was laced with breathy excitement.
"Anything. Anything I've experienced, I can share with you. Roller coaster rides, sunsets, storms, more ice cream..." He smiled sheepishly and started to lift his hand to hers.
"Milo!"
Startled, Milo looked up and over Mira's shoulder. Ace was standing at the bottom of the staircase with his arms crossed over his chest, his face contorted into a look of confusion and annoyance.
"Um, excuse me a moment." Milo dropped his hand and sighed, then hoisted himself up over the bar and walked slowly to where Ace waited. He was vaguely aware that his chest was tightening with every step he took.
"Milo," Ace hissed, grabbing him by the arm and spinning so that both of them were facing away from the bar. "Why is 404 still here?"
"404?" Milo squinted at the counter above their heads.
"Yes." Ace reached out and flicked Milo against the forehead. "404. You haven't sent her on yet? We sent her down here over half an hour ago! She's an easy one! Why is she still here?"
Milo blinked and felt his hands ball into fists at his sides.
"Tenshi is going to have a fuckin' fit. You've gotta be backed up, like, fifty shells by now. Not to mention you've got your trainee waiting in the wings. Get 404 moving. Now."
"404," Milo echoed, the truth slowly dawning on him.
"Dude, what's with you?" Ace went to flick Milo again, but Milo blocked it this time. Ace's eyes narrowed and he took a step forward, grabbing Milo tightly by the bicep. "I don't know what your deal is, but just get back on track, man. I'm not covering for your ass today."
With that he released his grip and headed back up the stairs, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. Milo watched until he'd reached the landing and disappeared down the hall, then his chin fell to his chest and he stared numbly at the floor.
Mira wasn't the trainee. Mira was number 404.
With a deep breath, Milo headed slowly back towards the bar. Mira was still sitting atop a stool, swinging her legs back and forth and sipping the last of the Margarita from her glass.
"Um..." Milo was finding words difficult and his tongue felt clumsy and dry in his mouth. His words, however, turned out to be unnecessary.
"I have to get going, don't I?" Mira said quietly, spinning her empty glass between her palms.
Milo swallowed and nodded. She already knew. This is what Ace had meant by 'an easy one.'
"Well, Milo." She held her hand out to him with a small smile. "It was nice meeting you. Thank you for the drink. And the ice cream."
Milo took her hand and shook it. Her grip was just as strong and as sure as it had been before and it made him feel strangely weak. Wordlessly, he lead her away from the bar and towards the foot of the stairs.
For a moment, they both just stared at each other. It had only been a half an hour, forty minutes at most, but somehow their time together had seemed to stretch out longer. Milo felt a strange flutter in his stomach as Mira nodded and turned away. Quietly, he watched as she ascended the stairs, feeling very much unlike himself. She seemed to be hesitating with every step, but he wasn't sure if that was the reality of her movements or just what he wanted to see. He waited there until she had reached the top landing and then, with a small wave, she disappeared into the shadows.
With a loud sigh, he turned and returned to the bar, hoisting himself back up and over to his station with a groan. His mind was buzzing in unfamiliar ways and he quickly busied himself with washing in an attempt to ignore the strange tugging sensation.
"Milo!"
Milo spun around suddenly, holding a glass tumbler in one hand and a rag in the other.
"Milo," Mira gasped from the top of the stairs. Her fingers were clutching the railing so hard that he could see that her knuckles were white.
"The recreating thing," she yelled. "You said you can only recreate things you know, right? Things you've experienced yourself."
Milo nodded. "Yes."
"People," she shouted, hunching over slightly to catch her breath. "Can you recreate people?"
Milo felt his eyes widen and something in his chest twisted painfully. Slowly, he nodded again. "Yes."
Mira straightened and offered him a magnificent grin.
"Ok," she said softly. "Ok, then." Her eyes shimmered and her smiled widened impossibly further. "I'll be going now."
Milo dipped his head and gave a small wave.
"Wish me luck!"
He opened his mouth, but she was already gone. With a deep breath, he leaned forward against the bar and pulled the half-melted plate of mint chocolate chip ice cream closer. He was vaguely aware that his mouth had pulled into a smile as he retrieved a spoon. He finished the remaining cold treat and wiped down the bar top, all the while feeling oddly light and refreshed. He glanced up at the counter.
405.
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This piece was loosely inspired by the manga/anime Death Parade. So, if you enjoyed this, I highly encourage checking it out! It's even dubbed!
If you enjoyed this it would mean a lot if you could vote for me here >> LJ Idol. I'm on Team Norbert and I highly recommend checking out my teammate's pieces as well! TY! ♥