don't be so shy, we are living and we're dying

[cadaverdaddy]

Who: Undertaker and YOU!
When: From morning sirens to evening sirens, Saturday August 20
Where: Cinnagrad Cemetery
Summary: It's a Tea Party! Stumble on in for tea, pastries, mingling, and a dash of insanity.
Warnings: Creepertaker, kidnapping, tea in a cemetery, and a corpse at the table. Will add more if anything comes up.

Comments

[cadaverdaddy]

[Mid-afternoon means a round of fresh tea for every pot and replenishing the plates of pastries. They'd gone over fairing well as they were, despite appearances, rather good. Great even. The mortician's quiet hobby has always been baking. Strange how similar chemistry and cooking are.

The sweet little sound of confusion reaches the man's ears and he perks up, grinning in all his glory at the sight of Uryuu, and the feeling of the strangely blue soul. Undertaker is even quite used to blue souls, and a little dribble of saliva gathers at the corner of his mouth at the thought. Did Lee feel like this boy when he was alive? Would little Uryuu linger about his body all gloomy and grim and shimmering blue if his life should be ended prematurely. What a gloriously interesting idea.

Plucking a cup from a saucer on the table, he fills it and adds a little-too-much sugar before advancing on Uryuu without hesitation. His grin widens as he tries to tug the bag from his hands and push the cup in its place. He speaks with his face honed in close to the young man's all but breathing on his cheek.]

Aaaaah~ Welcome~ heeeheheheeeeeee

[sequincy]

[in the split second between tearing his attention from the lifeless guest and realizing that a strong, strange reiatsu and its even stranger owner has approached him, Uryuu's bag is tugged away and he fumbles to catch and steady the tea cup replacing it without spilling the contents. He manages it, but that's before Undertaker presses close enough for Uryuu to smell the lingering sweetness on the man's breath.

He gives an undignified, startled squawk and fumbles back several steps, the tea sloshing and spilling on the thigh of his slacks. Like a cross to ward away a vampire, the Quincy holds up the tea cup between them.] Don't do that! Who are you? What is this? Why is there a dead man in that chair?! - And give that back!

[he makes a swipe for the bag of cloths. He needs something to blot at the stain before it sets!]

[cadaverdaddy]

[It only takes a quick step back to avoid the flailing mess of limbs and tea. A fit of giggles wills into his chest, one that draws his shoulders in and makes his entire being tremble faintly. Hissing snickers between his teeth, gathering tears in his eyes. Dropping the bag to the ground (it's not important), he advances again, attacked by the slew of questions. With his hands free, and Uryuu's occupied by the porcelain cup, it's the perfect opportunity to cradle that pale face in his hands, long nails trailing over the soft skin.]

If you want information, you must pay me for it first. [A little saliva dribbles down from the corner of his mouth as the infectious chuckling continues.]

1/2

[sequincy]

[If Undertaker listens closely enough, he may be able to hear the faint, but distinct sound of Uryuu's mind breaking.]

2/3 i lied

[sequincy]

[there are long, cool, somewhat bony fingers on his rapidly warming face. There are black nails prickling lightly over his cheeks. He's being touched. This freaky, giggling, drooling man is touching him. (And this close he can feel the shivering swell of hidden power in the man's soul, the otherworldly, glowing lines of reiatsu that feel like they're inspecting him as closely as he's inspecting them...)]

[sequincy]

- PERVERT!

[and with a sudden, returning jolt of feeling to his limbs and a brilliant misunderstanding of the situation, Uryuu freaks and jerks back to aim an arcing slap for his lovely, laughing host.]

[cadaverdaddy]

[The slap is dodged with an unexpected amount of grace from the otherwise unstable man. It puts Undertaker on his knees for an instant before he slides back up, fingers fiddling with the seams on the flustered young man's person. Another fit of laughter follows, before a sweet, nonchalant little comment.]

Sorry to disappoint, sir, but you're a bit too lively for me~ aaahahahaaaa~

[sequincy]

[Uryuu stops himself in mid-spin from the empty hit, the remaining tea spilling all over a formerly pristine sleeve. (Honestly, he's going to need to sew himself a new shirt before he can join the party.) Needless to say, finding the Undertaker at his side again, playing with his clothing and casually alluding to necrophilia does nothing to calm him.]

So stop doing that! [punctuated by a thrown (victimized) teacup] You can't just go touching people without even giving your name first!

[cadaverdaddy]

[The tea cup is mourned in its flight with a passing glance, before attention returns to Uryuu. Undertaker's fingers haven't stopped, but then again, why would they? They've inspected all the buttons on the young man's shirt, clicking black lacquered nails against the plastic rhythmically. A stronger fit of giggles comes over him as his opposite hand brushes finger back through black hair, habitually straightening out whatever strands have been ruffled by Uryuu's energy.]

You have paid enough for that information, certainly. [The chuckles that make his chest ache being that payment. He all but whispers his name, fingers never ceasing their touches.] I am called Undertaker~

[sequincy]

[Uryuu's skin shivers and crawls, the hairs on his arms and the nape of his neck standing in affront. Even the light click, click, click of the Undertaker's nails against his zipper (for Uryuu despises buttons, and will decry them to anyone who listens as inefficient) makes something twist uncomfortably in his stomach. And when the man brushes through his hair, well - if Uryuu's eyes popped out any further he'd be a cartoon character.

Recognizing that he needs a new tactic, the Quincy instead grabs for the reaper's thin wrists, hoping to push and pin them back against the other's chest.]

- Undertaker. [a flash of recognition in his eyes and voice. He'd thought the man strange over the NV, but this is a level of weirdness he'd never expected!

Accusingly:] You're the one who was talking about singing souls.

[cadaverdaddy]

[Of course, zippers. Then the buttons that run down the sleeves of the victorian era robe might bother him quite a bit. Perhaps even more than the relentless touching, as those probing, spindly fingers reach and snatch for whatever they can despite Ishida's struggling. The boy's hair is quite soft, and the tip of his nail finds the arm of the glasses behind his ear. Of course, that's the instant that his wrists are grabbed and pushed against his chest. His shoulders roll forward, curling around where his and Ishida's hands alike are pressed. A grin flashes in response to the recognition; or rather a twisted undertone to the smile already present.]

And yours is singing quite beautifully. [His voice cracks into a whisper as another giggle leaks between his teeth.]

[sequincy]

[it's debatable whether this has improved his situation. On the one hand, he's no longer being treated like some fluffy, pettable animal.

...On the other, he's stuck holding on to the Undertaker. Uryuu pulls his head back in an unconscious reaction. I swear he wasn't this unhinged on the Network...

He steels himself, narrowing his eyes and closing off his expression - maybe it will elicit a more serious response in kind.] What are you? It's obvious you aren't human.

[cadaverdaddy]

[Ishida's observation is correct. He hadn't been nearly this insistant over the Network. Tact and patience have always been part of his game, it always had to be that way. It was always more fun that way. But the little ticking inside his head just won't let him do anything quietly; it keeps displacing the little thoughts of keeping well-kept secrets kept in the wake of being able to touch. Everything if so much more fascinating right now, and the urge to pick apart the fascination, to peel away layers of skin and flesh in ripping, sloppy folds is enough to make his shoulders quake.]

I am a messenger of death~ a shepherd of the empty shell~ a humble undertaker~ [He's all but singing his answer as his head rocks to the side. His ability to mask is presence is flawless, enough to keep him thoroughly hidden from other reapers and demons alike. But that mask isn't holding so firmly today, giving him the creeping aura of a grim reaper in the same fashion as Grell.]

[sequincy]

[there's a teasing familiarity to the reiatsu pulsing so sporadically around the unhinged undertaker. Uryuu's eyes narrow as he tries to catalogue the energy. His senses hone in past the rocking, swaying body, past the twitching madness and Cheshire grin. He's felt something like this before... if he can just remember...

Recognition flashes across his features. Of course - Grell Sutcliffe. The reaper.] ...Messenger, shepherd and god, you mean. Shinigami.

[his grip tightens, embittered]

[cadaverdaddy]

[If his grin could spread any wider, it would likely split his face in two completely. The dancing of his glee bounces up through his vocal chords, giggles frothing from between his lips as his fingers lace themselves together. Holding his own hand as if in an effort to hold the fabric of his sanity together, to keep it from being ripped apart by his delight. His nails migrate to his lips, tapping out a little rhythm as he finally speaks.]

It has been quite some time since I've been called such a thing.

[sequincy]

[Uryuu scowls and flashes back several feet, putting a good distance between them. He's straightened, contempt holding his spine erect and his chin high. Shinigami. The familiar coldness seeps over his features and his heart.]

But it's what you are, isn't it. [flatly. It's not a question.] Like Grell Sutcliffe. - Or that other: William Spears.