Death regretted her decision to travel to the Nightosphere as soon as she pushed open the distressed black door to whatever shithole bar this was. Walking past decrepit demons and strung out vampires, she held onto the crumpled invitation in a tiny skeletal hand as if her undead life depended on it. The address to this place was sloppily scratched on to some sheet music, whoever wrote it obviously not bothering to sign their name because clearly they had better things to do. Like finding a way to actually mail a letter to the Deadlands, right to Death's front step. And as if the fact that someone actually tried to get in contact with the undead ruler wasn't interesting enough, they made sure to include the promise of a deal in the weird little note. Like hey Death, just wanna invite you out for a few drinks, let's hang and uh, oh please don't reap my soul thanks! Yeah, okay that just doesn't happen. Like, ever.

She walked by a bunch of dirty booths, some with ripped leather seats and some with angry occupants too focused on their drinks to notice her. Good. Death pulled harder at the hood of her black sweater, making sure to cover her face. When the ruler of the afterlife walks into wherever you're partying, it tends to kill the vibe. On that note, she squinted around hurriedly for the bar and shuffled towards the farthest side of the room.

There was a band set up on a tiny stage, doing a soundcheck or whatever, but Death ignored it and settled herself into the corner barstool. The lighting was dim, so the demon bartending didn't look too hard at her when she ordered a drink. She attempted to smooth out the invitation on the edge of the bar just as her drink was placed in front of her. Focused on the note, she reached out to grab her drink only to hear a sharp gasp. Death tensed, looked up immediately, and saw the demon glancing between her skeletal hand and her hollow eyes with terror in his own red eyes. She scoffed and stuffed her hands back into her pockets.

"Sorry." Not really.

"A-Anything else I can get you?" Death was actually impressed that he could form sentences; he looked like he was gonna shit himself any second now. She shook her head, holding back a choice selection of curses, and pointedly stared at her shoes until he went away. Fucker. Glob forbid she decides to go out anywhere. Death tugged at her hood again and moved her angry stare to her drink. Why in the hell did she even think this was a good idea?

The band must've started playing while she wasn't paying attention; suddenly there was a slow beat filling the room and sad notes strummed off a low bass. Most demons didn't bother to look up from their drinks but the skeleton girl could feel the slight shift of emotions in the room. She fished around in the pockets of her hoodie for a carton of cigarettes, promptly sticking one in her mouth and lighting it. She played with the stirrer of her drink while blowing out an angry puff of smoke in the direction of the bartender, who was keeping very busy cleaning glasses on the opposite end of the bar. Death sipped at her drink, which had a generous alcohol-to-soda ratio, and kept one ear on the band. Music and her had a weird relationship, but she could still appreciate a tune.

Who the hell was she supposed to meet here anyway? She killed her drink and waved for another one. It appeared before her significantly faster than the last one did and was significantly stronger. Bless. Then someone started singing and in that second she could feel another wave of emotions hit the room so hard that everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to look at the small group in the corner.

I'm so full of love I could barely eat.
There's nothing sweeter than my baby.
I'd never wanted once from the cherry tree,
'Cause my baby's sweet as can be.
She gave me toothaches just from kissin' me.

She felt the ash from her forgotten cigarette fall on her pants, and Death quickly snapped out of it and brushed it off. Cursing under her breath, she quickly put out the butt of her cigarette on one of the ashtrays strewn around the bar and tried to get the ashy smear off her pants. Naturally it had to be on her favorite pair of black jeans.

Whoever was singing hit the chorus, and she shifted in her chair uncomfortably. They were good, like crazy good, but there was just so much emotion going on that the undead ruler couldn't help feeling weird. She hadn't touched an instrument in what felt like forever; maybe a hundred years? Give or take? She didn't even know anymore. Death sipped at her drink, burning a hole in the bar with her gaze. She could've sworn they sounded so familiar, but who was it? She turned around, keeping a hand on her hood so it wouldn't fall off, and almost dropped her drink in surprise.

No way.

I didn't care much how long I lived,
But I swear I thought I dreamed her.
She never asked me once about the wrong I did.

There were three people crowded on the tiny stage; a ghostly guitar player quietly strumming in the back corner, a young vampire sitting among a mess of drums, and another vampire sitting on a barstool hunched over a dull red axe bass that was able to catch Death's eye even in the dim lighting. Despite the unbelievable mess of black hair covering his face, Death still recognized the son of her biggest rival.

But what in the name of Glob would bring Marshall Lee to this awful place?

When, my, time comes around
Lay me gently in the cold dark earth
No grave can hold my body down
I'll crawl home to her.

He tilted his head, effortlessly strumming the worn-looking bass while crooning some song about love and loss or whatever into the mic. She immediately turned away and closed her eyes. Death was suddenly glad for the strong drink and began to tune out his voice. She was uncomfortable with the raw emotion in the room and chose to focus on the bitterness of her drink instead of the weird feeling in her bones. What a mess this turned out to be.

It wasn't until an eternity later that he mumbled a thank you to the crowd, grabbed a drink that was waiting for him off an amp, and disappeared somewhere. Death released the fabric of her hoodie from a vice grip that she had held for the past hour and let out a breath she hadn't been aware of holding in. She stared at her empty drink, nothing but melted ice left, and made her choice. This is was a huge waste of time. There was nothing for her here. Music wasn't her thing anymore and she didn't know what sort of stupid ploy this was but she didn't want anything to do with Marshall Lee and whatever his deal was. Of that she was sure of.

So when someone tugged at her sleeve to grab her attention and practically shoved a drink in her face she almost jumped out of her skin (figuratively speaking).

"Hey uh, I didn't think you'd actually show up. I heard you liked these so um. Yeah. It's on me..."

Death didn't quite know how to respond to the young vampire awkwardly standing in front of her. He was tall, nervously looking down towards her and not exactly knowing what to do with his hands. He settled for shoving them in his pockets. Death opted to take a sip of her drink. The same mixed drink the bartender gave her.

"Thanks," she muttered while taking a seat. The vampire seemed relieved, as if he expected her to reject his peace offering and consume his soul. Or whatever. He took a seat on the stool next to hers and offered his hand to shake. She blinked once and took it, awkwardly shaking it. He smiled easily as she busied herself with her drink. Death was accustomed to screams of terror and other awful reactions to her appearance outside her realm. Not polite courtesies and drinks. Her collection of "friends" was meager at best and she didn't exactly count the other deities she played poker with on occasion as best buds. The fact that he was speaking to the ruler of all things dead and dying didn't seem to phase the young vampire as much now that they were acquainted.

"So," he began, polishing off the rest of his drink, "I'm the one that summoned or, er, called you here tonight."

She scowled, "Do I even want to ask how? What are you, 100? 150 at most? How exactly does a baby manage to get ahold of enough dark magic to send a message to me?"

He looked a bit uncomfortable at this, "Well, uh, it was kinda important so I asked around everywhere. I wasn't really getting anywhere in the beginning down here in the Nightosphere so I went for the big guns. Asked around topside until someone in the Candy Kingdom said they could help."

She had three guesses who and rolled her eyes, "Oh, Pep."

"Look, I wouldn't have looked for you unless it was really important. I want to make a deal."

"Of course you do. Look kid, I'm sorry but I can't be bringing back people from the dead every time someone asks just because Pep-"

"I want you to join our band."

She stared at him in disbelief, pausing to make sure she heard him correctly. He nodded, looking determined. She didn't know whether to laugh or not so she just stared at him through black, hollow eyes.

"I'm sorry, what exactly do you want me to do?"

"Look, look, I know it sounds ridiculous but just hear me out for a sec. This band is falling apart. It's been falling apart for years even before I joined. Marshall is..." and here he paused to nervously run a hand through his hair, "Tough to work with. Something's up with him; it's the reason he's been reduced to playing gigs like this. He used to be huge, dude. Had a crazy huge following, a great sound, and was a great bandmate. Then something happened to him, and I don't know what kind of shit he went through but it's just been downhill from there. He's a wreck and I don't know what else to do."

Before Death could get a word in he continued, "And I know you used to be the best drummer out there. Hell I don't know what shit you went through either but I know you're what this band needs. You heard Marshall, you heard what he can do, if someone like you were to join the band just imagine what-"

"You're right," Death cut him off, playing with her empty drink, "I was the best. And now I'm not. I'm the ruler of the Deadlands, what makes you think your little mortal problems affect me?"

In reality she could care less about reaping souls and other miserable things. But the last thing she wanted to think about were the piles of instruments covered by sheets and sitting untouched for over a century in her forgotten studio. Clearly, this guy had other ideas.

"I told you I wanted to make a deal. I still do and you can't refuse that. Follow me."

She groaned inwardly, cursing whatever mumbo jumbo laws of the universe, and allowed him to grab her bony arm and lead her to a set of thick, velvet curtains behind the stage. He gave her a nudge and she grudgingly shuffled through the dusty curtains. When she turned to glare at him, he had already vanished. Fucking vampires. The skeleton sighed and turned back around to look at the mess she allowed herself to literally be dragged into. The mess in question was currently perched on top of an ancient looking amp, idly blowing rings of smoke at a cracked window. Death coughed.

Marshall groaned, "Garrett I'll be there in a sec, just pack up my shit."

He didn't turn to look at her, so she decided to help herself to the half-empty bottle of liquor sitting on a shelf in the cramped back room. "Mind if I have some?"

She didn't wait for Marshall to turn around before she unscrewed the cap and took a sizable swig from the bottle. It burned like hell but she just casually wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her hoodie and moved to offer him the bottle. Instead, he opted to just stare at her through bloodshot eyes. He looked almost frail, the scant light that shone through the window only served to make him look gaunt and tired. She realized that the other vampire (Garrett?) wasn't lying when he said Marshall Lee really was going downhill.

He flicked the cigarette out the window and slowly turned his whole body to face her. It was sort of sad, Death concluded as she watched the supposed 'Vampire King' sitting in the back room of some shit hole bar. This was the famous king? This wreck?

"So," he took the bottle from her hands, "You enjoy the show?"

She didn't want to think about the uncomfortable churning in the pit of her ribcage and all the other dumb feelings his music caused. Death shrugged. He laughed bitterly, bringing the bottle up to his lips and taking a huge swig.

"Didn't like the show so you're here to reap my soul? You're about a hundred years too late," he took another swig from the bottle. She shook her head.

"Nah, your idiot drummer thought I'd be interested in joining your band," Death crossed her arms, "He was sorely mistaken. I can see you're not worth my time."

Marshall stood up, too fast, and wobbled a bit before regaining his posture. In two long strides he was towering above her, quite a bit drunk and very angry.

"Not worth your time? Are you fucking kidding me? Say what you want about me or my soul or whatever, but not about my music," he was beginning to slightly slur his words together as he grabbed her shoulders. Death shook her head, almost amused at the ridiculous situation.

"I'll say whatever I damn well please about your music," Death retorted. She chose to leave out the fact that she did think he was talented. Like, crazy talented. But he was also a total mess and that was a can of worms she could do without opening. Besides, she had a whole underworld to ignore and a zen garden to work on. Her schedule was packed.

Death nudged Marshall away and left him to cling to a shelf for balance. "Not worth it."

"Let's make a deal," he hissed. She froze.

"You're kidding."

"I've never been more serious. I know you can't refuse," he shot her a spiteful, lopsided grin. She cursed inwardly.

"You don't know what you're getting into. If you lose to me, you lose your soul," Death tried not to sound too pleading. She had known Marshall Lee for all of ten minutes and yeah, he was kind of a dick, but she would really prefer to not reap his soul. Or anyone's soul really. Besides, the backlash she would get from his mother would definitely give her at least a century-long headache. He didn't seem to care as he leaned against the shelves lining the wall and crossed his arms.

"I won't. We'll both get on a stage and play our instrument of choice. You're gonna lose to me and join my band."

Death shoved her hands into her pockets and sighed out of frustration, trying to ignore the stupid knot forming in her ribcage. She made to leave the room, but turned around just before she closed the curtains, "Dude, is this really worth your life?"

He nodded, lighting another cigarette. She shook her head and left to find Garrett in order to settle the details of their agreement. Death could have sworn she heard Marshall Lee mumble 'It's all I have left', but she had enough demons of her own to deal with.

For a moment she wondered about what happened to the Vampire King to leave him in such a state, but then she saw Garrett waving at her excitedly from the bar and decided that she'd rather have a drink than think about Marshall for another second.

What a fucking night.

A/N: its been 30 years since i wrote stuff wow. also yes, this is a genderbent death and yeah theres alcohol and other grown up stuff yolo

death is like a million years old in ooo but ill get to why she's a grumpy 1500 year old in aaa later okay

okay cool. R&R if ya want its always appreciated

p.s. song marshall sings is work song by hozier. listen for the feels.