Still - With this perfect finale, the cheers and ballyhoo- Who wouldn't be happier?
WHO: Grell Sutcliff {chainsaw_juliet} (open to Nozomu and perhaps Death)
WHAT: A tragic end for the handsome Prince Hamlet. The Reaper should be happy, right?
WHERE: Residential area/flood ruins
WHEN: Minutes after midnight
*~*~*
The moon was certainly beautiful tonight. Grell looked up, pausing in his patrol to admire the sky littered with glittering, twinkling lights. A multitude of stars nestled in night's inky canvas. There rested something truly poetic about the situation- Rivelata in ruins and yet the sky, ever timeless, still remained unchanged.
The natural disaster had claimed lives and livelihoods, bringing the best and worst out of people. Oh how Grell adored such situations! Laughing to himself, he shook his head at human folly before plopping down and crossing his legs, quite comfortable to sit on the rooftop he had been walking across. Fishing for his damp journal, the redhead decided to check if there were any updates from his family after he had sent them home to salvage what they could.
The carefree grin was wiped clean off his face and he snapped the journal shut. Placing a hand over his furiously beating heart, Grell gulped for breath.
No. It can't be true.
Scrambling back up, Grell vaulted from roof to roof, eyes scanning the waters desperately. Most of the bodies and debris had been cleared away diligently to prevent infection, which made it easier for him. And yet the nature of the task was no easier.
And there he was. Despite the situation, Grell found himself laughing. The sound seemed so foreign as he waded towards the floating body, so forced and so husky. The fair Prince of Denmark lay atop the water surface, bright eyes still open and glittering with unshed tears. His arms were spread almost casually, fingertips below the waterline as though combing through the debris. A perfect physical gesture of letting life slip through one's fingers... Wasn't it beautiful?
"Did you drown passively too, just as your Ophelia did?" Arms pierced the water, scooping beneath the figure and drawing the cold body close. "Only you probably cursed the Stars above as you realized your inevitable demise drew near. You probably cursed Fate and you cursed De-"
Grell bit his lip, Hamlet's face gently splattered with the red droplets that ran down the Reaper's chin.
"I wasn't the one. I wasn't the one!" Shaking fingers smeared the red until it faded into pinkish liquid. "You cursed me and rightfully so. I wasn't there for you, Prince. Someone else took you! Someone else ended your tale and I'm-"
Was he crying? Crying for a mortal? When he had ended the lives of thousands of others? Ah but this was no ordinary mortal. This was the mortal. The one link back to Grell's world of rigid classes, of Decadence and of Shakespeare. That he had spent more than a second in the same reality as the Prince still amazed him, and yet he had spent months here with him. That Hamlet died by means other than Grell's own hand made the Reaper feel betrayed on the highest level.
"I am deeply sorry." Burying his face in the man's neck, Grell could still pick up the faint scent he adored. Cold, hallowed hallways and Danish daisies, weak yet warm hope and the bitter twist of cynicism. "I wouldn't have chosen this for you and yet... it's fitting, isn't it?" Yes it was. Swept away by Nature, helpless to Her just as he was Fate's slave. To drown like Ophelia, to curse the Stars as his life was snatched- even Grell would not have thought of such a Death.
"I may not have given you your Death, but I can certainly give you an ending to your tale." Carrying the figure, Grell sought the poppy field they had visited before. Too far out for the floods to have reached, the ground was still dry and the poppies swayed playfully in the wind. It was there he began to dig.
Grell gently closed the Prince's eyes, kissing each lid reverently before capturing his lips.
"Goodnight, sweet Prince." Lowering his body into the freshly dug grave, Grell buried Hamlet amidst the flowers of Rememberance with their soft petals the color of bright red blood.
*~*~*
Nozomu would find him on the rooftop of their partially ruined Townhouse. Hands stained with dirt, shoes splattered with mud. Hair plastered to his face, tears staining his cheeks. A poppy being twirled by his fingers. The Prince's stained velvet coat draped around his shoulders like a soggy cape.
"He's buried in the field of Rememberance. Can you imagine? A Prince buried in a field of flowers." A short, broken laugh. "The perfect subversion, the perfect twist to his already twisted tale. A fitting ending and a job well done. I couldn't be happier." And yet the Reaper could not lift his head and meet his eyes as the words escaped his lips.
Instead, his hands trembled as they continued to twirl the poppy.
WHAT: A tragic end for the handsome Prince Hamlet. The Reaper should be happy, right?
WHERE: Residential area/flood ruins
WHEN: Minutes after midnight
*~*~*
The moon was certainly beautiful tonight. Grell looked up, pausing in his patrol to admire the sky littered with glittering, twinkling lights. A multitude of stars nestled in night's inky canvas. There rested something truly poetic about the situation- Rivelata in ruins and yet the sky, ever timeless, still remained unchanged.
The natural disaster had claimed lives and livelihoods, bringing the best and worst out of people. Oh how Grell adored such situations! Laughing to himself, he shook his head at human folly before plopping down and crossing his legs, quite comfortable to sit on the rooftop he had been walking across. Fishing for his damp journal, the redhead decided to check if there were any updates from his family after he had sent them home to salvage what they could.
The carefree grin was wiped clean off his face and he snapped the journal shut. Placing a hand over his furiously beating heart, Grell gulped for breath.
No. It can't be true.
Scrambling back up, Grell vaulted from roof to roof, eyes scanning the waters desperately. Most of the bodies and debris had been cleared away diligently to prevent infection, which made it easier for him. And yet the nature of the task was no easier.
And there he was. Despite the situation, Grell found himself laughing. The sound seemed so foreign as he waded towards the floating body, so forced and so husky. The fair Prince of Denmark lay atop the water surface, bright eyes still open and glittering with unshed tears. His arms were spread almost casually, fingertips below the waterline as though combing through the debris. A perfect physical gesture of letting life slip through one's fingers... Wasn't it beautiful?
"Did you drown passively too, just as your Ophelia did?" Arms pierced the water, scooping beneath the figure and drawing the cold body close. "Only you probably cursed the Stars above as you realized your inevitable demise drew near. You probably cursed Fate and you cursed De-"
Grell bit his lip, Hamlet's face gently splattered with the red droplets that ran down the Reaper's chin.
"I wasn't the one. I wasn't the one!" Shaking fingers smeared the red until it faded into pinkish liquid. "You cursed me and rightfully so. I wasn't there for you, Prince. Someone else took you! Someone else ended your tale and I'm-"
Was he crying? Crying for a mortal? When he had ended the lives of thousands of others? Ah but this was no ordinary mortal. This was the mortal. The one link back to Grell's world of rigid classes, of Decadence and of Shakespeare. That he had spent more than a second in the same reality as the Prince still amazed him, and yet he had spent months here with him. That Hamlet died by means other than Grell's own hand made the Reaper feel betrayed on the highest level.
"I am deeply sorry." Burying his face in the man's neck, Grell could still pick up the faint scent he adored. Cold, hallowed hallways and Danish daisies, weak yet warm hope and the bitter twist of cynicism. "I wouldn't have chosen this for you and yet... it's fitting, isn't it?" Yes it was. Swept away by Nature, helpless to Her just as he was Fate's slave. To drown like Ophelia, to curse the Stars as his life was snatched- even Grell would not have thought of such a Death.
"I may not have given you your Death, but I can certainly give you an ending to your tale." Carrying the figure, Grell sought the poppy field they had visited before. Too far out for the floods to have reached, the ground was still dry and the poppies swayed playfully in the wind. It was there he began to dig.
Grell gently closed the Prince's eyes, kissing each lid reverently before capturing his lips.
"Goodnight, sweet Prince." Lowering his body into the freshly dug grave, Grell buried Hamlet amidst the flowers of Rememberance with their soft petals the color of bright red blood.
*~*~*
Nozomu would find him on the rooftop of their partially ruined Townhouse. Hands stained with dirt, shoes splattered with mud. Hair plastered to his face, tears staining his cheeks. A poppy being twirled by his fingers. The Prince's stained velvet coat draped around his shoulders like a soggy cape.
"He's buried in the field of Rememberance. Can you imagine? A Prince buried in a field of flowers." A short, broken laugh. "The perfect subversion, the perfect twist to his already twisted tale. A fitting ending and a job well done. I couldn't be happier." And yet the Reaper could not lift his head and meet his eyes as the words escaped his lips.
Instead, his hands trembled as they continued to twirl the poppy.