(Untitled)

[no_justice]

Death is in the bar. With a candlestick.

Not with a candlestick, per se, but there's a candlestick on his table. Also wine, and curry.

Yeah, Death's having a candlelit supper for one.

Life's hard, for an old bachelor.

[The three little tags: Sabriel, The Russian Astronaut, Stark]

Comments

[walksindeath]

Sabriel will probably realise that she's staring rudely soon, but it might take her a moment. On walking down into the bar, her Death-sense - which had been a strange but muted hum before - had gone literal on her, screaming out the fact that Death is right here and yet she isn't there.

And it's a skeleton. Having dinner.

[no_justice]

The dinner, by the way, is a curry. Not the kind of curry one might find in India, Klatch, Thailand, or anywhere that invented curry.

It's more water than spice, and there are sultanas in it.

Death dips a Keema Naan into the curry and looks up.

He grins.

Curry drips down his fingers.

Hello.

[walksindeath]

Odd, it smells rather like something Sabriel might have had at school when Mrs Umbrade was feeling adventurous.

"Hello," she says faintly, swallows and tries to sort out her senses. No Free Magic, or anything that reminds her of the Charter, either, just Death. But no apparent threat either. That's reassuring.

You know, a bit.

[no_justice]

It is a pleasant evening, Death tells her.

He doesn't mean to, but it does seem like he won't take any argument.

[walksindeath]

"It certainly seems so," she murmurs, succeeding in sounding polite this time. "You are... Death, am I correct?"

It is a fascinating thought. Just a little disconcerting to find yourself talking to your place of work.

[no_justice]

I am, Death confirms. You can tell.

[walksindeath]

"I certainly can," she says. "I just... Death is a place, where I come from. I had never expected to meet it. You."

Sabriel wonders vaguely what would happen if she were to enter Death while he was in the room. She isn't sure, but has a feeling it would be rude.

[no_justice]

I am a person where I come from, Death offers conversationally.

Obviously.

[walksindeath]

"So I see," she says. "Where is that, if you don't mind my asking?"

For instance, all those times she entered the river of Death, has she been wandering about in his skull?

No, she thinks not. But it is worth checking.

[no_justice]

The Discworld, Death says.

[walksindeath]

That's a relief.

"Not the same as mine, then," she says then adds, "You are a river in the Old Kingdom, that can be travelled by some - hence my surprise."

[no_justice]

I'm a boatman on that river sometimes, Death says.

[walksindeath]

Boats?

Sabriel looks momentarily speculative, then shakes her head slightly. It would make the Second Precinct easier, but would be most impractical in the Third. And some of the gates, too... no.

"Then it changes? Experiences of... you differ? Based on what?"

[no_justice]

World of origin, Death says. Personal belief, sometimes. Some of me like to appear as expected.

I tried that once, but I like the classic.

[walksindeath]

It must be very odd, being Death, Sabriel thinks.

Then again, it probably isn't for him.

"I think continuity of a kind works for most," she says, then frowns. "Not that they always receive that, in the Old Kingdom. Do you have much trouble with necromancy?"

[no_justice]

Not really, Death says. It's nice to see a familiar face.