The landscape was familiar, for no one could ever quite forget it, sadly.
From the mind-set of a living soul the place looked like a hastily thrown-together conception of hell really, perhaps a realm whose real origins were left to be unknown to all that traversed it. For it was a land of despair, of cold-hearted malevolence veiled thinly by the characters who resided there.
And characters they were, because it takes a special kind of being to live in such an aged and cracked world. One of crumbling crevices, abyssal gorges, spindling towers and dunes formed from slates of gray and black that seemed to provide some sinister feel or clue of this place's true expansion.
Where the sky really wasn't that, only a polluted yellow, silver, or raven hued color above the ground. It all depended on the going-on's and moods of the inhabitants really.
This place was alive as much as it was dead, oxymoronically so.
Although there was life, or more of a stream of consciousness that passed through this place as a giant vortex up. The souls, if you want to call them as such, flying loose from their earthly shells of a body to pass from the world as we know it, to somewhere else. Not very profound, not as spectacular an exit for those who have died, yet what else can it be called?
The only beings who live here anyhow can only ever hope to dream of what lies above their world, up into what you really can't call a sky. Only a gateway for these souls from Earth to zone into, to aspire up for. The souls of those who can go beyond this realm were all collected in such a vortex, for a reason no one really knows why. You can see Earth from this point sure, amidst the white wisps of smoke that up until moments before were those breathing their last final breath.
Yet for those who inhabit here, the place really holds that of little interest. Acceptance is such a concept that comes easily here, or at least to their role that must be played for an eternity and after. Those who can traverse the dying land and not think twice of it, for in actuality they are only a little better off in appearance.
Sure one can adorn themselves with jewels, encrusted with the golds and greens and blues of gems that once meant something, long ago. During a lifetime.
Feathers are a common choice, headdresses reminiscent of Native American chiefs as they led their tribes across the prairie in search of buffalo or an escape from the all too destructive force of the white man.
By chance maybe even a bone or two, skulls of animals that one would assume to have been quite large herbivores at one point. But of course, whose true origin is not known yet sought after. Who cares anyways where it came from? It makes a nice hat.
But all of these and more failed attempts at a last thread of humanity, of a life foolishly lost, truly can mean nothing in the grand scheme of things. Why not focus our attention on a once familiar face, one of these beings?
"And did they gu-get you tu-tu-trade your heroes for ghosts?"
He, or it, since such concepts of genders have no purpose here, resides away from his gambling and idle cohorts.
High up are figure is, his room more or less with an open wall that gives way to what one can consider a good view here, possibly. The distant peaks shrouded by a smoggy haze are nearly visible, the great cracks etched into the surface zigzagging across each other in a clumsily formed pattern. As if this entire place was stitched patch by patch, and already beginning to sag at the seams.
"Hot a-a-ashes for trees?"
He is upon a rock that has been well-worn flattened with age so it suits more as a make-shift stool than anything. A breeze is also present, more due to the fact of his elevation than any true natural wonder.
"Hot air for a cold bu-bu-breezeeeee?"
A slowly drawn out hiss is heard next, a cackle that seems to only be enunciated by the vast emptiness of his surroundings. But it's a nice song, one of the few significant things bothered to be remembered by him anyways. Although like most here, he can't rightfully remember the true source. But who wants to be bothered by that?
It seemed his loss of air as he had warbled those few lines amused more than anything, the slight stutter and wheeze brushed off as just that.
Aging is a bitch.
The thought passed through as quickly as it did, and seemed entirely out of character. As if for that one moment, a thought was able to resurface, a mirror of a boy who would think just that.
The theory wasn't all that irrational, all of the dead at one point or another made their way through, their last streams of words able to be received or at least heard. Especially if the thought was particularly loud.
Thus the situation here.
It was funny he remembered it, for the thought was more along the lines of 'Dying…', but who cared?
With a wince he let another attempt at a laugh escape his chest, this one harsher as the air fought its way out. Quite the pistol that kid was, or what he assumed based on reactions long ago. Particularly enraged with the fact on how he died, and by who more than the actual instance. The guy had quite the ironic nickname too, if he remembered correctly.
Which he didn't.
Leaning against the rock-made chair his cloak billowed out past him, the wind coming from no particular place really in this twisted physical sense of a world. His back was to the spiraling corridor that gave way entrance to the chamber more or less, and already he knew with that sense only earned through the years and experiences of many an age that there was someone coming.
He felt it in the air.
Never mind the question of whether this place had air. What mattered was the approaching party.
His outwards appearance may have changed some, but he figured that if someone would go all out on their way to bother coming up to reach him, hopefully you would know who you were trekking too.
The skull-studded belt remained, the rings one would attribute to Halloween costume jewelry added on to only more fingers, the decorative earrings hanging limply from what one would assume ears.
Yet his eyes were blank, vacant and faded to a dull, dirty yellow. The red glow long-gone, it seemed that the power associated with that hue probably no longer existent. One couldn't tell you if that was true or not, for it had been nearly how long since he had spent time among the living?
"Hehe…"
Another release and tremble of the vocal chords, the jester in him not all that willing to have such a thing like age anyhow limit him in his moments of makeshift glee.
Because now it was going to get fun!
The steps behind his figure slowed to a halt, almost in response to the words before they even were uttered.
"I nu-know you're there." And it seemed that the breeze around picked up, and welcomingly so. Dramatic entrances always made everything better.
The figure stood up straighter, the makeshift bone staff - bordering on possibly even a guitar of some kind- straightening up against its back. His leather jacket already well-worn to a smooth brown, creases and rips adorning the sleeves as they met the dark, hide fringes on the ends. Although it was its head that was the most curious, within good reason.
"Not qua-qua-quite a talker…are you?"
The words left the elder's mouth, and only seconds later had the cracked, blue-stained lips turn up into a sneer. His hand, wizened as much as anything else on him, was now in possession of a particularly intriguing object. Probably thrown just as the first words were uttered.
"I've come to hear the stories. Or what all of them down there…"
The guest sharply jerked his head down, the message clear to the ones who just sat around all day wasting what couldn't possibly be time. For their was too much of it.
"…Call your happenings. Down there-
-On Earth?"
He interjected with no stutter, no sign that he could have possibly been nearing the age of expiration, if there was such a thing. The head turned around, hand still clutching as he tried to focus the opaque bulbs. As if he could see the jacket-clad being.
A nervous shuffling of the feet followed for the one who was standing, yet its hand deep in the pocket to pull out yet another 'treasure'. It would stand here for as long as it took, to hear what happened. It had to know. Yet his stare, was unblinking. Unwavering.
Another tilt of the head, this seemingly innocent action dislodging a lock of auburn hair.
He wasn't really blind. Not where it mattered. The Old Kook, as most of the shinigami here had labeled the hermit he had become, still knew a lot. Still remembered a lot. Still had just as much a yearn for adventure in this dead world to have him spring his old bones up and proceed with the zest for danger that had motivated all those many, many years ago.
The grin on his face remained, our old friend brought the treat centimeters from his mouth before proceeding.
"An apple…fer-fer-for old Ryuk?"
The younger shinigami stood tall, arms now crossed and neck titled back only slightly to address the elder as if still superior somehow.
"There's more where that came from, although I need to know from you. What happened? When you were in the Human World."
A slobbery chunk was ripped out, teeth now chipped yet just as razor-edged piercing into the bruised flesh of what only could be an apple, to a shinigami. His chewing of the apple was not silent, and there the younger stood while the food was devoured in another two particularly vicious bites.
A heavy gulping was heard, the digested food falling as if a stone down the throat. A languid tongue spread out through the thin, scabbed lips, licking up any juice that he could have spilt in his process of, devouring really the apple.
It was only after he was done that the question was addressed, mouth still quirked in amusement.
"Now that is such a long time ago…Mu-Much too long ago for old Ryuk to remember…"
He didn't even hide his glee as another apple was tossed his way. He was going to milk the young one for all it was worth.
"Just get on with it. I know there was a boy…"
"…Who became a mu-mu-murderer. And then a ma-man. And then a ru-ruler."
This was followed by only more quick intakes of air, as the apple threatened to lodge itself down his throat. He didn't seem to notice the absence of wind only now, as if in reaction to his last statement. It died down, his cloak remaining still behind him, save for the animated gestures of the current apple-gobbler. Yet there was still a question left in the air, and the brown-haired shinigami approached Ryuk with but a few steps, his bony hands fisted in what would be a sign of anticipation. For there was more, he knew it.
"And then…a god?"
Ryuk finished with another lick of the lips, now standing up to his full height, a good foot above his visitor. Yet he chose not to approach, and instead turned around as a king admiring his kingdom, mind far away and lost in thoughts and memories that made up nearly half a decade. Such a short time when compared to that of eternal servitude. For really, this was not life.
Only a service, to never be paid in full as a result of their all one common-placed sin on Earth.
"A gu-gu-gu-god is a fu-funny word my fu-friend."
His eyes, though not seen by the younger, narrowed considerably.
"A mu-man can become a gu-gu-god yes, if the people are fu-foolish enough to follow him. And it has happened bu-bu-before."
Through the brown bangs of the younger were eyes, glowing with the rightful red and only studying the talking figure in front of him. If one looked closely there could have been a spark of recognition, of reaction. But mostly only that of anticipation.
"They su-say you see the lu-lu-lu-light. When you du-du-die."
The stuttering caught up with his words, and only increasing the agony for the figure behind him. Yet of course, he paid no heed.
"That expression is qu-quite interesting, wouldn't you su-su-say?"
If shinigamis could roll their eyes he surely would have, the brown-haired being near close to losing whatever little patience he carried into this conversation.
"Get on with it Ryuk." The tone even to the elder shinigami's ears could be picked up as that of dull disinterest.
He let his eyes slowly close, a slight shake to his head. Old habits never die, whether consciously or not.
"Patience is a vu-vu-virtue, last I checked. You'll hear it all in gu-good time. It's nu-nu-not like we're going anywhere."
"Funny how I don't remember being a smart-ass was one as well."
Ryuk's grin turned down just a tad, the youngster obviously not taking this all in good cheer as he figured he would. The shuffling behind then filled the next few seconds of silence, the shinigami rifling through a satchel just as equally worn that Ryuk had not caught at first glance. With a quick "Hmph" and nod of his head the young one pulled out his own oh-so familiar book, the scrawled writing on the cover clearly legible to state the obvious. Yet with one rare difference.
He made a step forward, arm out while he held the binding and waved it at the elder shinigami. The pages were still remotely new and unused, their white glow seeming to be the only escape from the otherwise granite background.
"You wouldn't know why it's like this, would you Ryuk? My Death Note? Being how it is?"
The elder turned around to face him, not quite expecting what he was supposed to see.
"You ru-ru-remember I'm blind right?"
A quick retort was not in the cards; instead it seemed Ryuk's house guest was a man of action. If you would excuse the irony of course. For no, the younger only stepped forward only a few more steps to the blind shinigami, face set in one of determined action.
The book was thrust into Ryuk's hands in one smooth motion, the owner stepping back as if just waiting for his reaction. One could almost sense the presumptuous gall of the figure, arms crossed and back still straight in such a self-important gesture. This was big, and he wanted answers for it.
"Well, this is…"
Quite unexpected really. Yes Ryuk couldn't observe the book in a visual sense, that ability was indeed lost years back. But still his spindling fingers of navy and black sprawled themselves across the front, the engraved letters of its title able to be read as if by Braille. The pages were crisp; Ryuk just had to open the book but a bit to tell that not many names, not many at all were present in the expanse of blinding white.
Yet of course, there was something more. Something only he could catch on to in lieu of no sight. Why else would anyone have made whatever travel and fuss this took to get to him, if he Ryuk didn't hold some sort of knowledge?
This Death Note, the youngster in front of him, only but now two hazy figures in the expanse of the elder's mind. They were going to add up to something, obviously it all would.
"The cover isn't black you know."
Ryuk looked up at the voice, a curt nod before resuming his apparent trance into the book. No, no of course it wasn't. And it was possible after all. Death Notes didn't have to be black.
But they were most of the time. It was standard, it was normal; it wasn't supposed to be-
"…Interesting."
Ah what danger that word had gotten so many people into, so many lives changed. He would take some credit of course, for being the enabler to start a revolution that nearly changed the Human World.
Luckily Ryuk was not one for giving a damn, credit or not.
In his hands was a very special Death Note from a just as special shinigami.
Whether the youngster knew this or not was left to be determined.
"Pu-Pu-Please, enlighten 'Ole Ryuk. What kind of Du-Death Note is this?"
And it was here the brown-haired death god finally gave a smile, his ragged teeth seeming to gleam just a little bit brighter. He was holding in his mirth, that much was obvious. He had Ryuk right where he needed him. To give out answers.
"It's red. As blood in the light if there was such a thing here. Right now though I think it can pass for a deep maroon. And it's mine."
Here he shifted, stepping forward to lay a bony hand on the edge facing him, slowly pulling the book out of Ryuk's grasp. Once secure he didn't remove his distance, instead eyes focused on the elder's face.
"Tell me everything you know Ryuk. I want to remember it."
The taller shinigami felt the gaze, and fell back into a smile, rubbing his hands together and cracking the ancient bones beneath in the process. The wind returned more as a gust, Ryuk's cloak trailing past as the younger's hair rustled but a tad over his eyes, the brown a pale contrast against the bony exterior. The former opened his mouth, yellow eyes focused on the latter.
He had confidence, an air of implacability that would have anyone but Ryuk storm off in a fit of frustration, obviously not thinking anything this infuriating soul could produce worth it. Yet luckily, it seemed the aforementioned git knew exactly how to push the right buttons on Elderly Ryuk. Too well.
"Oh, do you now…?"
In its owner's hands the red Death Note seemed to have pulsed from within.
_______
Oh my! Could it be I actually am finally entering the realm of death note in Fanfiction? Yah I've only known and basked in this series' awesomeness for two years now…But yes. And guess what, I honestly have no idea who or what or how everything is going to get tied in! If you saw the Death Note rerelease TV special that aired a year back, you would know that the opening and beginning scenes did have the Ryuk I tried to describe, as well as a mysterious shinigami come to him in search of an answer. But like anyone I of course tied in some special random thing that I wanted to do. So yeah, yay for this? And I'm not even trying to put limits for myself, with chapter expectancy and what-not. I get burned out way too fast and lose all motivation to finish when that happens, so I think I'll take the suggestion I've been told and try to do a chapter a week. Whatevs.
So…Leer y Review por favor?