The bell outside tingled as Death drew a cup from his new espresso machine. He stared down at it and sighed. "I am so very, very weak."
The bell rang again. Then again. Then again and again and again and again and again and-
"ALRIGHT! I'm coming!"
"Not much of a place if they keep the customer waiting while they drink a cup of coffee," a voice said from behind him.
Death turned around to see a young boy in a Hitler Youth uniform playing with one of his scythes. "Wow, these are pretty sharp. What do ya use 'em for? I mean, it's not like you're out reaping souls anymore."
Death grunted and the scythe leapt from the boy's hand and flew to his own. "You must be Schrödinger," Death said. He turned around and placed the scythe in its rightful place. "The Major warned me about you."
He turned around to find that Schrödinger had disappeared. "Really?" the boy's voice called from the main room. "Why did he 'warn' you about me. I mean, I can understand why he would arrange an appointment for me while he was here, but did he really have to warn you about me? Hey! What does this lever on the chair do?"
Death rushed out of the back room into the waiting room. He flew through the waiting room into where Schrödinger was playing with the chair. As he rushed through, he noticed that he had another customer sitting patiently in the chair. A tall man in a greatcoat quietly reading a newspaper. The tall man's eyes briefly flashed upwards toward Death as he sped through the room, then went back to the newspaper.
Death grabbed Schrödinger's by the collar and yanked him away from the chair. "Stop playing with that chair. Keep this up and I will cut your ears off, even if it does mean I have to repay the Major for his loss. Which I am sure will not be much. Do you understand me?"
Schrödinger nodded. Death turned around and yelled back into the waiting room "I'll be with you in a minute sir!" He turned around to see that Schrödinger had disappeared from his grasp and was now rooting through his cupboards.
"Don't mind that guy out there. He's not a customer, he's my escort or chaperone or whatever you want to call it. The Major says I can't go out alone anymore. Something about how the last time I went out alone, I accidentally caused the Cuban Missile Crisis. I don't know what the big deal is. I mean, it all got resolved, didn't it? It's not like I started World War III before we were ready."
He picked out a couple of bottles from the cupboard and turned around. "Do you have any anti-flea shampoo? I've had a wicked case ever since I visited Cambodia and the Doc wants me to take care of it before they get on everyone else."
"…Get in the chair!" Death rushed at the kid, but he proved to be surprisingly quick. He yelped and darted out of the way, always dodging out of Death's grasp.
Suddenly, right as Schrödinger leapt over the chair, and hand came out of nowhere and slammed him against the back. Schrödinger's gaze followed up the enormous gloved hand, down the long arm, and to the face of the man who had been sitting out in the front room with the newspaper. The man glared at Schrödinger for a while. Schrödinger wilted.
"I'll… just sit here and be quiet then?"
The tall man slowly took his hand away and stepped back.
Death turned to him. "Do you want a haircut after him?"
Nod.
"Good. It's on the house. Now, Schrödinger," Death said as he picked up his double bladed scythe. "Try not to move your ears too much, alright?"