Recently, I finally got around to finishing a HP fanfic I've had sitting around for ages, and realised that it had been far too long since I wrote Discworld fanfiction, so dug this one out and finished it. Very definitely inspired by a piece of fanart on DeviantART ( http:_/_browse_.deviantart._com_/art/_Death-Discwo rld-I-101621505 without the underscores), and by one of the comments on it. The Discworld and characters sadly do not belong to me.


Death was annoyed and confused. And mildly embarrassed.
But he had a job to do, and he was not one to shirk his duty*. He picked up his selection of hourglasses, and headed to Binky's stall with the wearied tread of one who knew that this was going to be a long day^.

"Oh. I'm dead, then."
"YES."
"I didn't know you came for, well, people like me. Thought you'd only turn up for the nobby folk, wizards and the like. Or those what died interesting and important deaths, not just drifted away."
"I COME TO THE END OF EVERYONE, EVEN IF THEY DO NOT KNOW THAT I AM THERE."
"Oh. Well, that's nice. Nice to feel, well, like there's someone to help you on."
"YES. THAT'S ME."
"Only, er, I sort of thought you'd look, well, a bit different. A skeleton, yes, that's exactly what I would've thought. And the scythe. Just as the story books show you. But..?"
"THERE WAS A MIXUP WITH THE WASH."
"Ah. Happens to us all. I remember one time with my best shirt..."
"I REALLY DON'T KNOW HOW IT HAPPENED. IT'S VERY ANNOYING."
"Well, I think it rather suits you."
"REALLY?"
"Oh, yes. Bit of colour."
"I DON'T REALLY DO COLOUR."

He didn't know how it had happened. It should have been impossible. But it had happened.

A great calamity had befallen Death himself, the skeletal spirit who could not be pleaded with or swayed from his purpose. The one who was there at the end for everyone to send the soul on to whatever came next, scythe clutched in one bony hand, eyes blue flames in his skull, clothed in robes that seemed to be made of darkness itself.

Well, usually, that is. Somehow, defying all laws of colour theory, his robes had come out of the wash rather…altered…from their usual and correct state.

Death really was not convinced by pink.

*It caused all kinds of chaos when he did.
^And an anthropomorphic personification with a 24 hour job lacking the ability to sleep really knows about long days.