The snow swirled, drifting wherever the wind blew and coating the dreary

graveyard in a blanket of glistening white. Amidst the snowy landscape, the dark figure that was the cemetery's owner—-a man known simply as the Undertaker—can easily be seen as he shifts through the deep snow, humming an out-of-place, cheery tune as he works.

Despite the bitter weather, business had been surprisingly slow. Listlessness had forced the mortician from his shop to out amongst the graves, inspecting the tombs upon which he prided himself for any sign of ware.

His patrol now nearing its end, he circles the last crypt—content to see it still stands firmly regardless of its age—when he spots in the distance a dull brown clashing with the monotone, winter coloring.

He squints his eyes, trying to focus his blurry vision on the object before him as he moves closer, awkwardly shifting through the snow. It's not long before he's able to recognize it as a cloth-covered basket, and though the smile never leaves his face, he still sighs in aspiration: Experience makes him realize just what he has discovered this cold winter's morning.

"I suppose it won't be a slow day after all..." he mumbles, making to himself a tsking sound as he clumsily treads the remaining distance.

Kneeling down, he hooks a long, black nail under the edge of the tattered rag, pulling the covering back to get a peak at the small body he'd be working with that day. He certainly hadn't expected a small—and very much undead—hand to reach up and latch onto his finger.

Surprised at this obvious sign of life, Undertaker glances about for any signs of the mother. For the infant to still be alive in this sort of weather meant it mustn't have been abandoned too long ago. However, with no signs of foot prints in the snow—perhaps hidden by the freshly fallen powder—it was clear that it had been long enough for the mother to decide she would not be returning.

Looking back down at the small baby gripping his taloned digit, he offers it a soft smile as he trails a finger along its cold cheek; judging from the icy feel of its skin, it wouldn't be much longer now.

"I'll be seeing you again soon," he speaks to the infant, pulling his finger loose from it's weakening grasp. "I'll make you a nice little casket. You may have had a bad start to this short little life of yours, but that doesn't mean you can't leave this world in a more fitting fashion~."

Giving the child one last smile, he nods a farewell and goes to leave, except the small hand that had previously surprised him, yet again reached up to snag onto a clump of long, silver hair, as if to stop his departure.

"Now, now, none of that," he lectures gently. Attempting to pry the baby's hold loose only encourages soft cooing sounds from infant. "You'll have to do better then that, my dear. I've reaped much cuter children than you in my day, you know."

Undertaker pauses a moment, as if waiting for the child to actually respond with some reason to save it, but he only receives the gaze of two big blue eyes staring up at him.

"I didn't think so." He sighs, pulling his hair free and standing. "Then I must bid you adieu~." Tipping his hat in a final farewell, he turns to leave. "I wish you better luck in your next life."

Without saying another word, he turns and walks away, only glancing back once at the small bundle left crying behind him.

Comments:

Right now this is a bitter one-shot, but if I continue it will most likely become humor. Let me know if I should keep it as is, or if I should continue.

Also looking for RP partners. I can play Undertaker (my favorite), William Spears, or Grell Sutcliff. I'm fine playing with anyone's perfered character, and OC's are ok too (in most cases.) Let me know if you're interested.