See, there comes a time where I'm supposed to give a fuck.
I could tell you the entire history of your shoes, but no, that brilliant idea would require another person entirely. She rolls her eyes. They aren’t that bad, how would you have liked having to attend six funerals a week during your summer break as a child? Much worse than suffering through one. She shakes her head and sighs. Not as simple as all that, the post-mortem business tells you more about people than you ever wanted to know, especially in my case. I make my assistants deal with the mourners.
The history of my shoes? No thank you, I got them custom made just for this occasion, the only history they have better be that of them being made or me wearing them. He had to break in the shoes somehow, even if they were unsuitable for wandering New York for no apparent reason. Maybe for you, but I’m not you and funerals disagree with me as much as I disagree with them. We’re better off staying clear of this one, but this one I can’t avoid — or shouldn’t, I suppose. He frowns at her words. And their funeral doesn’t do as much yet? I think the difference is, your job tells the bad parts about them, the funeral tells the good — and that’s optimistic for someone like me so let’s pretend I didn’t say that.
Tracy had received the text while she was trying to pick up his track. She knew who she had to hunt down, recognized his vest as well. The woman kept walking quickly, with the fury in her body giving a negative aura which could be felt with the sound of her footsteps as a lot went through her mind. She asked herself who wanted her head. She was the queen, she did the decapitating, at least from her perspective. Truth is, she had murdered many people and got to a point where she felt no remorse. Actually, she never did. Ruthless was one thing, but Tracy was unforgiving.
The words of the man echoing through the thin spacing between the buildings reached Tracy Strauss’ ears as she came closer every second. The night was cold and the mist arising from the ground mixed with the vapors from the manholes from around disguised her arrival, at her command. The woman’s footsteps ceased, as her figure formed on the mist as a shadow. She then finished listening to what he had to say, and stepped forward, revealing her face without a scratch. Tracy shot a glare at him, “If I was trying to sneak up on you, trust me, darling- you wouldn’t be standing.” Tracy’s hand immediately opened with a cold mist rising from her palm which was barely even noticeable. She wasn’t one to underestimate her opponents, so she stayed still. He could still have something against her. Hell, he probably didn’t even know of her ability from what it seemed. She didn’t know his motive and she did not know him, so taking that fact into consideration she guessed he was payed to do so, or he just had a blind hatred for politicians with Post-Human abilities. Or maybe he was from Nexus, the organization who oh-so desperately tried to destroy the Post-Human race as if it were a disease. Pathetic. Their agents even included some Post-Humans, which, she found not only hypocritical, but also insulting and very unprofessional. Who bows to get rid of something he’ll later on be using for his own personal reasons? No one in the right mind would be so cruel unless they had a reason behind their hatred, something personal.
The woman looked into his eyes, trying to decipher who he worked for and what his goals were, and awaited for his reply. She guessed small talk wasn’t her best area, but she bit her tongue and let him speak. She let him have the first move, even. But what was that?— His skin shone. She took a real good look, studying what it was which spread through the small visible parts of his skin, “What’s your ability, Vampire Mimicry?” asked the blonde as she crooked an eyebrow and tilted her head slightly to the side. She did have a tendency to make references like so. The moonlight made it worse, although Tracy was stone cold serious.
Arthur was no fool. He didn’t believe in ghosts, never would after all the things he had done to the living that would make them haunt him in the afterlife, but he wasn’t stupid either, he knew a dead body when he saw one and Tracy Strauss had been dead. He had seen as much with his own two eyes. So why is it then that she was standing behind him with a stony expression and dangerously glinting eyes? No answer was forthcoming and he didn’t ask, didn’t want to question because he was almost afraid of what the answer was before his better judgment caught up to him, the side that had been a mercenary for fifteen years, who had been a post-human for longer. “Huh, guess that ability of yours has more tricks than I was lead to believe,” he said, an easy grin on his face as though this whole thing was amusing, not letting on to his annoyance.
Wishful thinking on her part, to sneak up on him and knock him down, as though it would be as simple as that. She may have had five years on him, but she certainly didn’t have as much experience under her belt as he did, not unless she was hiding a dangerous secret in which he wouldn’t exert the effort to find. His grin widened at her words. Vampire mimicry? He’d heard that one before, but he didn’t see a reason to let her doubt otherwise. “If that’s what you want to call it. Before these bullshit movies came out, people feared vampires,” he pointed out, taking a step back as though preparing himself to move, watching her carefully for any sudden movements. Tracy Strauss didn’t look like she was going to make the first move though.
Then, he relaxed his stance, allowing the tension to ease from his body while he considered what to do. Obviously bullets wouldn’t cut it, but who was to say that one through the leg wouldn’t keep her down for a few moments at most? Nonetheless, he needed time to think. “Do you want to tell me how you survived that or shall we just cut to the chase, hm? I imagine you’ve called your friends by now, I expect my face to be plastered across the world tomorrow.” It wouldn’t though, because Arthur had long since gotten connections high up that halted any movement against him such as that. While he spoke, he extracted his gun from his side pocket without being seen, watching her for only a moment to gauge her movements before quickly pointing his gun at her and firing in the direction of her legs.
It’s bad enough that you’re concerned about chickening out? Unfortunately time travel isn’t in my skill set, or I would help you out on that count. She laughs shortly. Both of those come with a sort of glamour that my occupation doesn’t have, sadly. I’m a medical examiner, it’s worse than those two by far, if you ask the average person. She shrugs faintly. Bring me your suicides, your murders, your deaths by natural causes…
Eh, funerals have never been my thing so, yeah, I’m a lot of a wimp about it. Damn, there goes my brilliant idea then. He mocks an expression of disappointment. I think that would depend on how the person feels about bodies, dead ones in particular, I’d much rather cut someone up than have to be there and watch their family mourn for them. He gives a small grin.
Of course I have, exams, things like that. Procrastination doesn’t do anyone any favors. She laughs gently. My Wednesdays are full of interns that I have to sort through, kicking out the ones who puke during post-mortems and suggesting they take up another specialty.
That’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid, procrastination, or else I’ll run off. He shrugs. Are you a mortician then or an instructor at a college? Either way, sounds like an eventful job, I guess.
Prompt: Children (from Libby)
Prompt: Injury (from Hanna)
1995; age 13
“You’re weak, Arthur,” the voices mocked above him as he lay on the floor, dazed and confused. “Just a waste of space,” another voice said. “Just going to die in a couple of months anyway,” someone whispered before the crowd around him dispersed, leaving him on the floor, trying to figure out what was going on, why everything on his body hurt more than usual.
What, with all the disappointment of half a week left to soldier through? Your Wednesdays must be much better than mine.
Ever wanted something you don’t like to come quicker to get it over with? That’s the situation my hands, but now I’m curious: what’s so sucky about your Wednesday? He raises a brow.
Sunday, actually. What day of the week did you think it was?
Thought so. Uhh, Wasn’t what I thought, but rather what I wanted; wish it was Wednesday.
What day of the week is it again, hm?
Realizing that he probably mistook the statement, Akala shook her head. “I meant my dad,” she explained, letting out a small giggle. “I’ve got two, actually.” She smiled a bit, hoping he’d get the fact that she had been adopted by a couple of gay men. It wasn’t until then that Akala had started to wonder whether Arthur was as lucky as her to be welcomed into a loving family. She opened her mouth to ask him about it but stopped herself before she could make a sound, having second thoughts on whether or not it was okay to ask. Resorting to biting her tongue, she kept silent.
Akala couldn’t help but smile at the man, adding him to her mental list of people who had a kind soul, the people that made the world worth fighting for. “Thank you, Arthur,” she expressed. “You know I’ve never told anyone my fears before,” she uttered more to herself as a realization. “I always thought I’d be more afraid if I say it out loud, but I guess I got that wrong.” She smiled at Arthur, feeling that she had gained so much more than she had expected that day.
Nodding at Arthur’s confirmation, she walked her way to the queue and waited. For the duration of the time they spent walking, or rather shuffling, towards the casket, Akala kept her silence and clasped her hands as a subconscious sign that showed she was feeling solemn. But she was immersed in thought about the conversation she just had with the kid who she had never even talked to while they were younger. There was no explaining how these things happened, just as there was no pointing out where people went after death.
"That makes more sense then," Arthur mused, having forgotten that she got adopted. Though that was no surprise to him, he had always been more worried for himself and his lack of being adopted that he hadn’t gave a second thought to the other people around him who suffered the same fate. Not that he hadn’t changed as he grew older either, but he gave himself points for at least noting this fact.
Arthur returned the smile, nodding his head briefly to hide and turning to face forward so the puzzled expression on his face was hidden. Being thanked for words he hadn’t even thought about was a new experience, though not entirely an unwelcome one either. “There’s people who waste their whole lives being afraid to state their fear, I guess it’s good you’ve over come that when you’ve got ages more time of life to go through,” he pointed out optimistically. “Everyone fears death a little bit anyway…”
Privately or not, he couldn’t think of anything to say as they got closer to the casket. The people in front weren’t helping either, they were crying, tears leaking down their in a steady stream that had Arthur frowning, the weight on his shoulders suddenly more apparent to himself than before. “Death hurts people a lot more than I expect it to,” he murmured to Akala quietly, a headache forming as his ears could suddenly hear every noise in the church, from the people in the far back with their faces ducked into tissues, to the people in the front row with sobs slipping from their throat, to the people in line with an expression of sadness that Arthur didn’t have words. Sadness here, a face lined with anger there and… No, that wasn’t right, and he rubbed his eyes, hoping to see the nun rather than one of his most recent kills laying there, but it was still there and as he lifted his head, he could see their faceless loved ones replacing the people in their seats, their eyes directed so sternly on him that his breathing picked up a notch, fear inching up his spine for what felt like the first time.
The room was too heavy in that moment. He had to leave, he had to go, before his emotions tried to betray him as much as his head and eyes had. “I’m sorry,” he said, both to Akala and to the casket as it was their turn to say their good-byes and he didn’t stop to explain as he hurried down the steps, down the aisle, and out the church doors with a deep intake of air to calm his heavy heart. He could see why he didn’t go to funerals now.