'Sup folks! Here I bring you another Angel of Death Anne fic!
This is actually a short collection of short stories, all centered around different characters interacting with Anne, and all of them centered around the concept of Anne's VOICE.
More will be explained in future chapters, but esentially, Anne can do a special VOICE that pierce the very soul of the listener. Its the sound of Death Itself, and everybody hears it differently, depending on what (or who) they fear the most.
AND YES, there's gonna be some Sasha and Marcy (and Sashannarcy) here. But thats for later.
For now, enjoy some Hop Pop and Anne bonding!
"The fear of Death follows from the fear of Life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time."
―Mark Twain
The first time Hop Pop Heard Anne's Voice was two weeks after she moved into the Plantars' Household.
It was the dead of the night and, like many nights before, Hop Pop's body was being hard to live in. This time it was his back —that old snail-racing injury never wholly healed. Sitting by the window, he watched the fireflies swarming the pond. He still had a few hours before morning dawned. His back should be fine by then, or else he'll have to sit down on today's farming.
A loud creak made him turn. Anne had a pillow under her arm and was barely conscious enough to not drop dead right there. She acknowledged Hop Pop with a hum and ventured to sit by his side.
"Can't sleep?" Hop Pop asked.
"Nightmare."
He hummed a response and that's as far as their talk went.
They watched the red moon-lighted pond in silence. The girl's presence put Hop Pop on the edge; the sudden tension worsened his back pain. It's been two weeks since she moved in, and Hop Pop was still wary of Anne. Sure, having another pair of arms at the farm has been nice, and she got along well with Sprig. Even Polly had warmed up to the hooman —which might actually be bad. Anne seemed harmless enough, but she was a riot! A chaotic, foulmouthed, rule-breaking, back-talker, do-her-own-thing knucklehead!
Funnily enough, those same things were said about Hop Pop back in his days of youth. No wonder his mother was always so stressed.
And let's not even talk about Anne's 'special talents'. Hop Pop wouldn't say it, but he knew a thing or two about the supernatural. It's dangerous, that's one thing to know. It's tempting, that's another one. Young Hopediah would've jumped at the chance to interrogate Anne; to fill his journals with forbidden lore. Hop Pop wasn't that frog anymore. The Seductive Unknown has, in the old man's life, the same place surprise birthday parties have. None!
On the other metaphorical hand, Death itself was sitting by his side, half-sleep, with her head plopped over a pillow. It would be an insult against all rational, sapient creatures, to not ask.
"So… The Grim Reaper, uh?" he dared to ask.
Anne lifted her head from the pillow, very awake and very red-faced. "Sprig, I'm gonna kick your butt so hard-"
"Sprig let some stuff out, yes, but don't get mad at him," Hop Pop said, trying to shield his grandson from Anne's ire. "You haven't been very subtle, carryin' that scythe everywhere you go."
"I don't take it to the bathroom," she said, but they both knew it was a lie.
Hop Pop put his hands inside his pajama pockets. "It's not a problem to me if that's what you're thinkin'," he said, catching Anne's attention. "Don't get me wrong; I'd rather prefer you don't show it off 'round town. You know, no reapin' souls with your scythe, no raising the dead with magic, or anything that could put the kids in danger. They're the only thing I have, you know?
"But I'm a'right with you living here," he played the fool, looking distractedly at the window. "You might even say I'm a bit… curious?"
Anne seemed quizzed. "You don't say…" she said tensely, but then relaxed against the couch. "Fair enough. I already answered a ton of Sprig's questions, so I guess a few more wouldn't hurt."
Hop Pop didn't expect such an earnest response. "Oh, it's not really 'a few questions' as just a single one…"
He fumbled with his pajama shirt as much as with his words. "Tell me…" here goes nothing… "How am I going to die?"
Anne's face was blank, and in the same expressionless way, she said, "Nope. We're not doing this. G'night HP."
She picked up her pillow and took her leave. Hop Pop leaped from the couch (and his back resented the move).
"What? No, no, you stop right there, young lady," he demanded, as loudly as one could at 3 AM in a house with sleeping children. "I gave you bedding and food and I didn't ask for anythin' in return. Though I guess working the crops could count…" he shooed the thoughts away. "Never mind that. I've let you live in my house with my family, and I think that gives me the right to some answers. So come back here and tell me about the day of my demise, or at least explain why you can't tell me."
Anne faced him and Hop Pop saw blue moonlight shining around her; her nostrils going wide as she furiously breathed. The room felt colder, smaller. Or maybe Anne just seemed bigger. He had called her 'young lady', but right now, Hop Pop was hit with the knowledge he'd been nagging a god.
…No. Not a god. Something worse.
"Fine, I can give you three reasons," Anne said bluntly. "One, I don't even know if I can do what you ask." She waited for the realization to sink in. "You, Sprig, and everyone else in this town are hooked on me being 'the Soul Collector' and whatever, but that's not it! I'm just a girl, dude. Sure, I can see ghosts, and I have some death-based powers, and mushrooms sprout when I spit on the ground-"
"… sorry, mushrooms do what?" Hop Pop broke in.
"But that's it," Anne went on. "I've never collected anyone's soul. How could I know when you're about to die?
"And second, even if I could tell you, I wouldn't. I'm not an expert, but it sounds like knowing when you're about to die kinda sucks the fun out of living. It's like when you're in line for a movie you've been hyped to watch for weeks, and you're so excited you're shaking. And just when once you're about to go into the theater, some nerd dude behind you hits ya with a big fat spoiler and it ruins the whole movie and your whole week, and your whole life!" Anne got worked up as she talked.
Hop Pop only understood half of those words, but he thought if those movies of hers spoiled so fast, they must be of shady quality.
"So there you have it. I won't tell you," said Anne and crossed her arms.
Hop Pop waited and waited. "Hold on, those were two. What's the third reason?" he asked.
Anne put on a thinking face. "Right, uh… The third reason is 'cause I'm a jerk, so deal with that."
Hop Pop's mood turned sour. So much for hoping. "I see… T-thanks anyway. I guess."
Anne saw the change in Hop Pop and tried to make amends. "It's just… I don't think it's something anyone should know, HP."
"No, I get it." Hop Pop smiled sadly. "I just thought it would be nice. To get an estimation of how much I have left. Then I could make plans for Sprig and Polly. I'm the only thing they've in this wild world." Hop Pop glazed out of the window, clutching his chest. "Oh, my poor grandchildren! Who'll take care of them if I'm gone?"
He cried and hunched over, trying to look miserable. To add salt to the wound, he made a tiny teardrop from his eye. Then he waited.
"Look, if you really want to know-"
"YES!" Shouted Hop Pop and slammed his mouth shut. "I mean... If you're sure you want to tell me. I won't pressure you or anything." He said nonchalantly but was shyly smiling.
And to think his mother said he could never cut it as an actor!
Anne took her seat back, facing Hop Pop this time. "As I was saying, if you want to know —and I'm not promising it'll even work— you can't tell anyone. EVER," she nearly shouted. "The last thing I need is a line of old people wanting to know how they're going to kick the bucket. It'll be our secret."
Hop Pop lifted a hand and swore it on his soul. This was good enough for Anne. She scrubbed her eyes and said something about regretting this in the morning.
When she looked back at him, it was Hop Pop who regretted it. Anne's eyes burnt with blue fire. It was the brightest light ever cast on Hop Pop, shining like a thousand- nay, a million fireflies. Shadows filled the house from every creak, turning everything gray, and eventually black. Shapes and forms were absorbed by the shadows as the world outside disappeared into nothingness. Hop Pop sat in the black void, with only Anne's light to keep him company. Like a candle in the darkest night. But he couldn't look at her.
He focused on his hands; his normal, wrinkled, not-supernatural hands. He tried to think of his grandchildren, his neighbors from the town. He did everything to remind himself that he was alive. That there was a world outside this pitch-black darkness.
Then he heard a Voice. Loud yet faint at the same time; like the last breath of a dying creature:
"LOOK AT ME, HOPEDIAH."
It was a command. And against his will, Hop Pop did what it asked.
What he saw, he couldn't remember. He thought he saw Anne, half-swallowed by the shadows, wearing them like a cowl. Her eyes were two pools of fire, scaring but calling to him at the same time. Hop Pop couldn't look away. He timed the seconds with his ragged breaths. When he counted thirteen, Anne closed her eyes. Hop Pop gasped and rubbed his own crying eyes.
Out of the corner of his vision, he saw the shadows retreat, back to who-knows-where. Probably the same place they came from in the first place. 'Twas dark magic, he thought. The darkest he'd ever seen.
Anne was normal-ish now. She was shining, but at least it wasn't burn-inducing bright. She shook the mantle off her shoulders, dismissing it completely. Then, she spoke.
"You got thirty years."
If a steel beam had fallen and smudged Hop Pop's feet beyond recognition, it wouldn't have made him yell as loudly.
"Say WHAAAA-"
Anne squeezed the frog's face, shushing him up. "You're not gonna be happy until you wake up everyone in Wartwood, aren't you?"
Hop Pop smacked Anne's hands away. Maybe he shouldn't have, considered what he thought he'd just witnessed… But dang it with the politeness!
"How do you want me to take that?" said Hop Pop, and… oh, his hands were shaking badly. "Thirty years… Yer not pulling my leg, are ya?"
Anne brought a hand to where, Hop Pop assumed, her heart was in her giant-sized body. "Swear on my soul. Thirty, twenty-eight —depends on your diet. But you like vegetables, so I'm being positive. Hey... are you alright? You have this… weird look on your face."
'Weird' was an understatement. 'Weird' was finding a copper inside your shoe and not having a clue how it got there. 'Weird' was a turnip growing in your lettuce field. 'Weird' was when your grandson brought home a slinky, horrible alien who may or may not be Death itself, and he went "Can we keep her?" Hop Pop had left 'weird' behind ages ago.
"I don't know," he confessed. "I woke up thinking I was nearly a goner. Fearin' I might have to leave Sprig and Polly alone any day now, but also... I was lookin' to rest."
Anne grimaced, nearly horrified. Hop Pop's words had upset her. His heart tightened. Death or not, she was still a kid.
"Anne, I have a pain in my back. And in my joints. And in my —you know what? It would be easier to list what doesn't hurt than what does," he said drily. "I've been sweatin' for years on a farm that barely keeps me floating. I have outlived both friends and family, and I wake up every day knowin' my best years are long gone and I'll never get them back. How do you think I feel?"
He posed a question because he too didn't know how he felt. To think he'll have to wait thirty more years to meet up with the daughter he'd outlived... No, no. He couldn't even think about that.
Anne came out of her stupor. By blowing a raspberry, no less. "That's a depressing attitude, dude," she said. "I mean, yeah. Your life sucks and you're super old. But think about all the time you've left. It's never too late to make a 180 spin!"
"Anne is not that-"
"Don't tell me 'is not easy'. Nothing is gonna be easy with THAT attitude. Think of it more like... Nothing is impossible."
She put her hands over Hop Pop's shoulders in a friendly way. They were frozen cold, but it was oddly comforting.
"Thirty years, man. Do you know how much time that is?" she asked.
Hop Pop had to laugh. Did he? He'd gone through two of these, and some more. Thirty years was more time than some people get. One single day could be enough to change your life forever. Dang, it seems a few minutes in the dead of the night were enough to knock you sideways.
A smile grew on the old man's face. "It is quite some time, isn't it?" he scratched his chin. This required some deep thought… "You know, my Gram-Gram lived 'till her nineties, and she was the oldest of the lot. But with thirty years ahead of me, then I'll be the oldest living Plantar ever. Every Plantar to come after will remember me because of that."
Yes. YES. The more he considered it, the more Hop Pop liked the idea of being a living ancestor. The oldest Plantar ever. That's something to brag about in the Underworld.
Hop Pop jumped off the couch. "Yer may be right about this, Anne. If I'm gonna be the oldest of the lot, I'm gonna make my story one to talk about! Nobody will say Hopediah Plantar lived a dull life."
Anne jumped as well, infected with joy. "Heck yeah, man! Go for it! Live your life!"
"You can bet your slinky bones I will. SPRIG!" he shouted and Anne winced. "Get your butt over here, boy."
From the other side of the house, Sprig whined. "What? Why?"
"'Cause if I'm seizing the day, so will you. Come on! I'll teach ya how to be a lady's charmer. I want grand-grand kids as soon as possible."
From the other room came a bunch of whining and moaning. Soon enough Polly joined in, exclaiming how impossible it is to sleep in this house.
Hop Pop laughed at the mayhem he'd created. Just like his younger days, when he would wake up the entire house, making his ma rabid. The more things change…
He made a line to his room but stopped to address the alien creature.
"Oh, and Anne? Thanks," he said, in the softest way possible.
Anne hand-waved at him. "Don't sweat it, dude."
Hop Pop paused. "Frogs don't sweat, but alright."
He walked to his room. There was more power in his gait. His back still hurt, but a little less than before.
Anne watched him part and felt satisfied. That'll get Hop Pop off her back for a few years. Hopefully she'll be back home by the time he figures out he'd been hoodwinked.
She picked up her pillow and went back to bed. Just because the Plantars had to seize the day, didn't mean she had to.
There it is!
I don't know how often i'll update this. I started a new job (YAY!) and its a pain in the ass (...yay)
As usual, you can follow me on Tumblr (wolfinshipclothing) for more info on this AU, or even better, ASK ME QUESTIONS! I LOVE THOSE!
Anyway, see you guys later! Don't forget to like and comment!