Disclaimer: Do not own Discworld, or Irregular Webcomic. They are the properties of Terry Prachett and David Morgan-Mar respectively. No money is being made from this.
"So...there are more of you?"
DEATH nodded solemnly over his cup of tea.
SEVERAL.
"And this dimension is just understaffed, and that's why I only ever see you?"
The skeleton sniffed, offended. THAT'S A LOVELY WAY OF PUTTING IT.
Rincewind apologized quickly. Life was hard enough when DEATH didn't hate you.
YOU DON'T NEED A 'DEATH BY LICKING A POISONOUS FROG' OR A 'WRESTLED TO DEATH BY STEVE'. DEATH chirped mockingly. YOUR DIMENSION IS FAR TOO BACKWARD TO NEED A PARADOX DEPARTMENT. ALL I HAVE TO WORK WITH IS 'DEATH OF RATS', AND HE'S BEEN HORRIBLY BUSY IN ANKH MORPORK LATELY.
"That's... awful. Terrible really. But what am I supposed to do?"
Here DEATH grinned. NOTHING. NOTHING AT ALL. I'LL SIMPLY BE FOLLOWING YOU AROUND FOR A WEEK OR TWO.
"As much as that sounds simply wonderful-"
YOU HAVE NO CHOICE.
The Wizzard sighed. "But why?" he whined.
YOUR LIFE ALONE IS PROOF I NEED A FULL DEPARTMENT. I'LL BE TAKING A FEW ICONOGRAPHS, KEEPING A FEW RECORDS, ALL EVIDENCE GATHERING. NOTHING TO WORRY YOU IN THE SLIGHTEST.
Somehow, the thought of DEATH using him to get more DEATHS on the Disc was enough to worry him more than slightly. But... they couldn't possibly have more issues than the current DEATH could they?
-two-weeks-later
YES? DEATH asked, slightly irritated at being woken up that early.
"Good morning, I'm here from the Mundania Paradox Department's temp agency. You're looking for an assistant Death?"
YOU DON'T SPEAK IN CAPS.
"I CAN." The temp bellowed. It wasn't very good, but it was a start.
IT WILL HAVE TO DO.
The temp saluted smartly, barely managing to duck in time to prevent beheading by his own scythe. "I am Da-"
AHEM.
"Right. Sorry, I'm new at this." The temp cleared this throat and bellowed: "DAVID MORGAN-MAR REPORTING FOR THE POSITION OF 'GOING BACK IN TIME AND KILLING YOURSELF'."
DEATH sighed. FINE. GET TO IT.
