What an excuse. Too old? Pah! Reapers could live for centuries. We were death gods. Empathize on gods. They probably needed an excuse to demote me. Any less creative and their brains might turn to mush. I'd happily help that process.

So here I am, dragging my death scythe along, letting my glasses continually slip down my nose till they fell and cracked on the ground. It's not as if I needed them anymore. Sighing dejectedly, I rounded the corner, heading towards an old friend's base. Or so I've heard. I tripped over my own two feet, cursing softly as I bumped into a robed man.

"Sorry," I mumbled, pushing myself away from him. "Two left feet."

I started off again, slogging through a dirty puddle. Great, so now, along with the blood and the dirt, my skirts would be wet. The man giggled and I whipped around, making the puddle spray everywhere. I knew that giggle; the same insane touch to it. This time I took in his appearance properly; long black robes, top hat, overlong black nails peeked out from the sleeves. White hair cascaded past his shoulders, falling around his face, hiding most of it from my view. A scar disappeared into the bangs . He was grinning manically, and I focused even harder on his face, making out familiar planes.

"You?" I asked, stepping forward to touch his face.

"Me!" he agreed, giggling all the while, not flinching from my hand. "how have you been Andy?"

I let the first smile in 50 years split my face, probably seeming misused and lopsided. I've never had a good smile. The consequence of the long scar on the right side of my face, the pale streaks marring my light brown skin. Said scar sent a lance of pain through my body and my smile was replaced by a slight frown. Sutcliffe had called me more serious than William T. Spears.

I dropped my hand from his face and pointed at the building behind him, discovering that I was about to go the wrong way had I continued. "Undertaker?" I asked.

"yeah~" he giggled again. " a very interesting business. Call me Undertaker. I under take the job of making so many people pretty!"

I nodded. He'd always been eccentric. Borderline crazy. It seemed he had finally gone off the deep end.

"So, um, I'm in a bit of a situation. Can I stay with you?" I asked, fiddling with the bloodied end of my sleeve. "please." I added the word as an afterthought, used to ordering Reapers around.

"Yes, but you'll have to sleep in a coffin and make me lau-" he started.

"What!" I exploded, my eyes stretching wide, jaw dropping; much to my scar's discomfort.

"Bwehehehee!" he shrieked, clutching my skirts in an effort to keep him off the ground.

He apparently found my discomfort hilarious. I took this in offense and poked him with the edge of my scythe. He squawked each time, but the amusement at my reaction must have been more than I had originally predicted. Eventually, I dragged him by his hands back into his shop. I threw the white haired male into a coffin and slammed the lid shut. The laughs were muffled, providing a small semblance of peace. Sitting on the counter, I tucked my knees to my essentially flat chest and watched as the his laughter died down. This is why most male friends I had called me Andy instead of Andrea. I looked like a boy and acted like one; for the most part.

Undertaker stepped out of the coffin, standing unsteadily on his feet. I glared at him as he made his way to the counter, grabbing a container off it. He opened it to reveal doglike biscuits, one of which he offered to me. I took it and bit into it, keeping my eyes on him just in case he decided to burst into laughter again. Not that bad really, the biscuit. Between biscuits, and later Earl Grey, we discussed the dismal highlights of the years we had spent apart. My life had been boring, annoying and mostly, down right depressing. Doing errands for the higher ups, one of which had been my favorite student; William. Seems that power can get to everyone. And then was actually placed under a younger reaper. Just thinking about it got my blood boiling. Now, here I am, searching for a source of happiness. Something to distract me from my empty life.

Undertaker seemed to be in the midst of an "exciting" autopsy. He predicted that there would be even more killings; all the same as the previous ones before this. He was also sure that his favorite Earl would be stopping by. Soon, very soon.

I blinked once as he rambled on about finding him the perfect coffin for him, scratching the jagged remains of my right ear. "show me," I said, cutting him off mid ramble.

His grin widened and he pushed off the counter, walking towards a backroom door, pushing it open. The mangled body of a woman lay on the metal table, dried blood crusted around her wounds.

"gruesome," I commented.

He giggled. "I still have to pretty her up. I was thinking flowers for this one."

"sounds good, roses?"

"maybe, you think it'll contrast well with the pale skin?"

"quite well, indeed." I responded, then realized I was discussing corpse decorations.

Not my ideal conversation, considering I'd just fought my way out of the reaper's HQ to get here. Just to keep my dear scythe; they shouldn't mind. As long as I don't interfere with their affairs.

Undertaker hummed as he cleaned away the crusted blood from the wound, using a black rag. I watched intently, mesmerized by the way he took care of this body. Much more than he seemed to care for any living thing. The white haired man caught me staring and decided to explain, in full detail, his step by step process for the cleaning of corpses. I studied my bitten nails, harrumphing at the correct points.

So, now I was stuck here with a odd albino reaper who seemed to be obsessed with cadavers. Perfect.