Chapter 2: Interruption
Waking up under the thick quilts (lovingly woven by Aunty El) to the feeling of the morning sun peeking through the blinds was always a pleasant start to the day in Ozzy's opinion.
(Better than the erratic sleep schedule he was forced to endure under the hands of his handlers. Consecutive hits were by far the most frustrating to deal with; there was only so much time to plan and carry out his hits in a week before people would start to become suspicious. Therefore, sleeping became a scarce commodity in order to quickly get things done and ordered.)
He gave himself five minutes in bed before getting up at the sound of his alarm. There was a bit of a struggle getting down from the bed as his feet scrambled for some purchase, but Ozzy eventually wiggled himself off, slipping his feet into a pair of slippers as he walked off to the bathroom.
(Mama and Aunty El laughed the first time they saw Ozzy do that. It still irks him to this day.)
Squirting toothpaste on his toothbrush, the boy stuck it in his mouth before raising his hands in the air to stretch, letting out a yawn. Tears gathered at the corner of his eyes, causing him to rub them away as he brushed his teeth with a mumble. "Should I make an omelet...be enough eggs."
Ozzy's black frilly nightgown billowed around the tops of his knees and his arms, revealing stark white skin; the flesh was bare of any blemishes and seemed to fade to a dark tan color the further you look. On his head was a floppy black sleep cap, fashioned with white polka dots and a white tassel sewn at the end that trailed down to the middle of his back.
At first, Ozzy was confused about why his mother and aunt settled on the endearment: "Ink Cap" and "Mushroom"; However, after a look in the mirror on the first night in his new home, he got what their deal was. No longer was the dark black pigment in Ozzy's hair. In its place, snow-white hair swayed with his steps, the ends fading into a feathery pitch black that brushed against his tan, white-freckled cheeks. He had to admit, he did look like a mushroom.
After washing his face, Ozzy dried his face and moseyed his way back to the bedroom. He dug around his drawers and pulled out his work clothes. Calloused fingers tugged off his nightgown and cap, pulling on a brown button-up and black shorts; soft white socks, patterned with brown mushrooms, followed by his slippers.
Palming the nightstand, he picked up his glasses, put them on, and then strolled out the door to the kitchen.
After a bit of rummaging around, Ozzy compiled all the ingredients needed for today's breakfast: three eggs, a bottle of milk, mushrooms, spinach, a tomato, and some seasoning.
Setting the rice pot to cook after adding and washing the rice, Ozzy started cooking. Tying on a frilly white apron (courtesy of Mama Dee) he washed the vegetables and cleanly diced them into small cubes. Picking up the eggs, he cracked them into a bowl and quickly beat the eggs with a fork, adding the seasoning and milk while he was at it. The vegetables came last, and when they were given a thorough stir, Ozzy stepped onto the stool placed in front of the stove and poured the mixture onto the oiled pan; the egg sizzled at the contact and was quick to crackle.
The air soon smelled of cooking breakfast as the omelet solidified. With a practiced hand, Ozzy folded the omelet in half before lowering the heat; he still had to plate up the rice.
Should I get out the pickled cucumber?
Hmm...why not?
Walking to the fridge, Ozzy pulled open the doors and peered inside. Locating the jar of cucumbers he had pickled with Mama Dee and Aunty El, his face brightened; he pulled out the jar and opened the lid, savoring the smell wafting from the contents.
Quickly plating up the cucumber, he set it on the table and spooned some rice onto a plate. Walking back to the stove, Ozzy used the spatula to place the omelet on top, his glasses fogging from the steam wafting off the freshly cooked omelet.
The boy frowned with annoyance as he set the plate down; taking off his glasses, he used the hem of his sleeve to wipe off the steam. Ozzy always hated it whenever his glasses blurred; it was a nuisance to have his vision bothered and irked him every time specs of dust or dirt landed on his lenses.
Soon enough, breakfast was eaten, the table was cleared, and dishes were cleaned and put away on their drying racks. Ozzy walked to the backdoor, swung open the door with a hum, and walked out of the house and into his backyard.
Ozzy walked down the steps with a jaunty whistle and turned right. By the stairs was a table with a cassette player placed on top; underneath the table was a case full of tapes, each labeled with white tape. He searched through it until he found the one he'd been looking for. Pressing down on the lid, he waited for the compartment to open before placing the tape inside the player and closing it, pressing the play button to start the music.
Ozzy hadn't always been fond of music; it was too distracting on missions and practically forbidden in the buildings belonging to The Society of True Life; although, he had always secretly attributed that to Zaldroga's saltiness of his own inability to hold a note. Now that it was only him living in this home, with no other human beings to bother him and his life, he began listening to fill in the silence that perpetually permeated the air whenever Mama and Aunty left to do their work.
A clear melody filled the air as he strode into the shed and pulled the apron off its rack. He pulled the neckpiece over his head and the waist ties behind his back to tie into a bow. The apron's material was black and smelled of fertilizer and dirt; multiple pockets were sewn into the apron, a couple holding a gardening tool or two with the edges stained and frayed from use. Stepping up on another stool, he reached up to retrieve the sunhat and gloves that hung on the wall; the hat hung on his neck while the gloves stuck out from his pocket.
By now, the morning suns were shining down on Ozzy's garden, morning dew shining like diamonds on jade green vines and leaves under the soft light. Dewy flowers proudly showed off their beautiful, soft petals as they luxuriated in the sunlight, opening up to catch more light. Vibrant and full were the vegetables planted in their corner of the garden; the vegetable patch held many ripe for the picking.
Taking his time, Ozzy slipped on his gloves and put on his hat; with a gardening shear in one hand, and a basket in another, he was ready.
"Let's get to work."
Ozzy stared quizzically at Mama Dee after her explanation.
She gave him a helpless shrug. "I tried my best, Ink Cap. It's different for everyone; so just do what feels right for you."
Seeing his questioning face, Aunty El shrugged her shoulders as well. "What she said, Ozzy."
He felt like palming his face. It's been ten years since he started his Priest apprenticeship, and his mother still has a hard time explaining how to use his powers.
Since he was now Death's son, it was expected that his body would be made to change. Aside from the obvious visual difference, he gained some powers that would aid him with the duties that would come with being Death's priest. For example, his body hasn't aged much for the past decade aside from the additional two inches to his height; something he's still upset over, to be honest.
"What feels right for me?" Ozzy murmured.
Well, he thought, I guess I'll just wing it.
Throwing care out the window, Ozzy shut his eyes and let instincts take over, swinging his hands out at his sides; his body, loose and swaying along with the breeze like a dandelion on a breezy summer day. He took in deep breaths, envisioning himself breathing in energy into his lungs and throughout his body. Strangely enough, he could feel the difference from when he was previously trying to copy his mother. He guesses 'doing what feels right' was the right thing to do, in the end.
"Well, done, Ozzy." Mama praised, pride in her voice. "Now, try to pull it into one area. I suggest pulling it to your chest for some ease; you're still a beginner after all."
"Okay, Mama."
Taking in a deep breath, Ozzy pressed his palms to his chest and searched within himself. It took him a minute, but he finally coaxed the absorbed energy into the center of his chest, right underneath his hands.
With an approving hum, Aunty El continued where Mama left off, "Good, now try pushing it into your hands. Imagine wrapping all that matter into a ball, like when your Mama rolls her yarn into a yarn ball after giving up her abysmal attempts at knitting-ow!" She rubbed the back of her throbbing head where Dee smacked her.
"Oh shut up, El!"
"It's true though!"
While the two bickered, Ozzy focused on himself, tuning the women out, and tried to follow his aunt's instructions. The energy felt faint and more than a bit off (Mama said that feeling would wear off the more he got used to it) but he tried his best to mentally tug that feeling into his palms. Slowly lifting them away, he slowly opened his eyes to take a peak.
There was a candescent ball of white, that looked as puffy as a dandelion head, floating above his palms. Funny enough, the edges faded into black the same way his hair did.
If Ozzy hadn't been so out of it, he would have noticed the strange glowing lines that showed brightly through his clothes. But he was, so it won't be until much later that he remembers that tidbit.
Ozzy was watering the roses when he saw them.
At first, he had thought it to be a meteor shower; some loose rocks falling into the atmosphere. But as the projectiles came closer, something strange happened.
A sudden surge of awareness flooded through his body; a sharp contrast to the mere seconds before when he had the inherent sense that there were no other humans on this desert wasteland. The sudden change was so disorienting, he violently jerked himself backward with enough force to slam his back onto the ground; his watering can was dropped off to the side forgotten, water spilling from its top and spout. Thankfully, the grass helped cushion his fall, but he was too occupied regulating his breathing to notice any outside pain.
Were those spaceships?
"Ne, Ink Cap."
I brought my teacup down with a clink. "Yes, Mama?"
Death was laid out on her back with her arms and legs spread out like a starfish. His mother declared that today was Mother-Son bonding time because Aunty El was occupied with something in the universe next door.
His mother turned to look at him, chin on top of her arms. "Do you think you'd want to travel any time soon?"
Her words sent shivers down Ozzy's spine. "No. Definitely not any time soon." He adamantly answered.
"But eventually?" She prodded, oddly focused on this.
At that, the boy looked down at his tea, swirling the cup in thought.
"...I guess so. Although," The tea was sweet down Ozzy's throat as he drained the cup. "I doubt the circumstances would be in my favor for me to leave on my own."
Another shiver ran down his spine the moment those words left his spine.
Did I just jinx myself?
His mother cackled ominously.
A series of desperate knocks on the door startled Ozzy when he was pouring his afternoon tea, his hand over pouring the hot liquid into the saucer.
He fucking knew it.
He lived in the middle of nowhere; even then, there were wards placed around the area to repel people and animals alike. Mama Dee had made those herself with a warning to never take them off or they'll immediately go down.
He's had humans come by before, few as the chances may be; most of them with not the best intentions in mind. (There's a reason why the garden had an extremely fertile corner riddled with crosses, all of them engraved with the same insignia as the pendant on his priest robes.)
So why was there someone knocking on Ozzy's door?
"How strange." Ozzy hesitated, dreading the outcome of opening the door.
Wait—what if he just stays quiet? That'll work, ri—"
The knocks on the door returned with a vengeance, shattering his weak resolve to ignore the knocker.
Nervous, as well as immensely scared, he scrambled to the coat rack and took his priest robes off the hook. The robes consisted of a large black button-up coat that reached the top of his throat with its high neck and billowed out at the knees; the sleeves were long and wide, sliding down his arms until only the tips of his gloved fingers were visible. At the uppermost part of his coat, right in front of his throat was a silver pendant with an insignia carved into it: a simple triangle inside of a circle.
Next up was the veil. The fabric was smooth as silk and light in his hands as slid it over his nose, lifting his glasses to sit on top of the veil so he could tie it securely behind his head. The black veil was a recently mandated part of the uniform his mother had added as of late, manically mumbling under her breath while Ozzy's aunt handed over a pair of dangling earrings bearing the same insignia as his pendant with a sheepish smile. Said earrings were now violently swinging around as he quickly turned his head in search of the last article he needed: his hat.
When he was given it, he ended up staring at the hat for a good five seconds before side-eyeing his mother. It was obviously a witch hat; its pointy white top, sagging backward in a tilt. The black brim was wide and floppy; white spots riddled the top just like an Ink Cap mushroom would look. Black squishy baubles were even hung around the edges of the brim, their weight barely disturbing the fabric. It helped that the baubles doubled as stress balls to him whenever he was feeling particularly anxious (like right now).
"Aha!"
Finally retrieving the hat, he quickly donned it, shoved any stray hairs back underneath the cap (Ozzy was in a rush and couldn't find a hair tie for his usual bun), and pulled the wide brim further down the front in an attempt to shield his features. A detail he'd like very much right now.
Without much further ado, Ozzy spun around to face the doorway and marched forward, his clenched hands shaking with nerves. Bracing himself with a stiff face, he grabbed the doorknob, turned it, and swung the door open.
"May the grace of Death be-eek!" An embarrassing noise escaped from his mouth.
"W-water."
Ozzy had expected to have a simple exchange of words, directing the most definitely lost stranger to the nearest human town. It would take, at most, five to eight minutes of talking—ten if they were looking for food or water—before the stranger would promptly fuck off and leave him to resume living in peace.
Instead of a quick exchange happening, Ozzy ended up with a heavy handful of a human falling into his arms and getting knocked off his feet. His hat nearly flew off his head.
Literally.
The person was so heavy, the impact knocked the air out of his lungs, forcing him to wheeze for oxygen.
"Um, Sir? Ma'am?" Ozzy pathetically wheezed out. "Could you find it in yourself to get off of me? Please?" At this point, he was practically begging for some room.
You know what? He thinks he'll just move the man himself.
With a quick and careful push—the stranger's breaths sounded labored from above him—Ozzy pushed himself off the ground and took in as much air as he possibly could, wincing as he rubbed his chest.
"Damn, what's this man made of? Metal?"
It was upon laying his eyes on the stranger, did they widen with shock. The person was most definitely male, around one hundred eighty-eight centimeters tall, sported tall spiky blond hair, and wore a bright red duster that laid in an incriminatory manner on the floor around him like he was a murder victim. Not to mention, a flap of his coat revealed the large silver gun strapped at his waist.
(Now, where has he seen him before? Ozzy swore the man looked suspiciously familiar.)
"Oh, dear."
Despite these red-flag-raising details, the most eye-catching thing about him was his shriveled-up skin. The stranger looked like a raisin forgotten in the sun; like a pickled plum; like a crinkled and balled up piece of paper; like a dried and smoked piece of meat; like a—you know what? He thinks you get the message.
The bottom line was that this man was severely dehydrated.
And what do you do with a dehydrated person?
Well, hydrate them of course!
Jumping up, Ozzy quickly ran to the kitchen, grabbed a glass, pitcher, and towel, and turned on the faucet. Wetting the towel, he then placed the glass under the flow of water, impatiently waiting for the water to fill; when it finally reached a suitable amount, he put the pitcher under the water and took the glass full of water with him to the man. Ozzy could see and hear the man barely clinging on to life when he finally reached him; he moved to action, making sure not to spill a single drop.
Smoothly sliding down on both knees (thankfully, he was wearing slacks today), Ozzy gingerly lifted the stranger's head onto his thighs and gently forced his mouth to open a little—just enough so the stranger wouldn't choke on the sudden onslaught of water passing through his lips when he brought the rim of the glass to his mouth.
"I've got some water, Sir, so please drink slowly," Ozzy advised, wiping the man's neck and cheeks with the wet towel before laying it on top of his forehead. The cool feeling immediately soothed the man, causing him to sag with relief in his lap.
Now that he has a closer look at the stranger, he has to admit the stranger was extremely attractive. Smooth, peachy skin, a beauty mark dotting his left eye, and a facial structure that would put models to shame; the man below him was definitely a looker.
Which makes it even more imperative for him to boot him out as fast as he can. What if he has a lover looking for him—or worse, exes ? A person like him would definitely have a lover or two; let's not even mention friends.
Aquamarine eyes suddenly stare up at him. He hiccuped in surprise.
Soon enough, the stranger shot up like an arrow and snatched the glass from Ozzy's hand, chugging the cold water down like it was ambrosia. Just as quickly, the water was soon drained, leaving not a drop left.
"Ahh?" He pouted with confusion, shaking the cup over his tongue to try and coax more water out. The man soon dropped the endeavor and settled for wringing out the water from the towel
on his forehead.
Ozzy built up as much courage as he could, and tried to get his attention. "Sir?"
An ear-piercing scream rattled the room as the man leaped a foot back from Ozzy. Shock painted itself on his face as he took in his get-up; his face paling by the second.
"...I have more water if you're interested?" Ozzy awkwardly offered. It turned out to be the right decision when the man's reaction turned to a complete one-eighty; gone was the fright and cowering, he grabbed Ozzy's hands and cupped them in his own as he gave a bright smile at the stunned boy.
"Wow, thank you, thank you! You're truly an angel, uh..." The man tilted his head in confusion as he surveyed the heavily clothed savior in front of him.
Ozzy shook his head and helped the other stand up; his arm pulling the lanky man's long one over his shoulder. "It's quite alright, Sir." He said, guiding the taller to the kitchen where the pitcher was probably overflowing by now. With a kick, he moved the chair out from the table and lowered him on it. "Down you go, Sir."
"Thanks."
Unsure of what to do when thanked by someone other than his family, Ozzy nervously shook his hands in front of him. "No, really, it's no trouble."
The man in red then softly smiled at him for some reason, confusing Ozzy; this only increased his anxiety. Was there a reason he was smiling? Did he do something weird? He did, didn't he? The air soon turned awkward after that; only the sound of the running faucet filled the air as Ozzy averted his gaze to anywhere but the smiling man.
"..."
"..."
"Um...not to be rude or anything, but...shouldn't you close the tap?" The man kindly pointed out.
Shit, the water!
Ozzy forgot about the pitcher under the open tap!
Quickly, he sped over to the sink and turned the tap off with a desperate twist of his hand. Ozzy could clearly see that the water had overfilled and was now leaking out from the top of the pitcher rim. He slapped his forehead at how nervous he was being. After a couple of decades without direct human contact, he was already acting like a fool.
Sliding his hand over his eyes in embarrassment, he simply tipped the pitcher a bit to spill out the excess liquid. With the gloved hand still over his eyes, Ozzy walked back to the waiting man and extended the hand holding the pitcher.
"Here you go. Please make sure to drink slowly." And forget I ever existed.
The other let out an ecstatic cry of joy and his hand was soon relieved of the pitcher of water; already, the thirsty man was guzzling down the liquid like a bottomless sink.
All Ozzy could do was look away from the uncomfortable sight of the man's bobbing throat; the small trickles of water missing their mark and sliding down the corners of his mouth and down his neck.
"Ah!" The man sighed with satisfaction, his arm wiping his grinning mouth. "That sure hit the spot!"
Our protagonist gave a weak smile and nodded. "I'm glad you feel refreshed. You must've come a long way if you managed to reach this place by yourself."
Self-note: Go and check on the wards surrounding the house for any glitches and replace them.
The other energetically nodded his head. "Yeah! I've been walking for around twelve days I think." He gave a sheepish chuckle as he rubbed his neck, "I actually ran out of supplies on the tenth day, so I was super lucky when I saw your house in the distance. Not gonna lie, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me the moment I saw it; there aren't any other settlements around here for hundreds of miles, after all." The man admitted. "Luckily, I trusted my gut, and it led me here."
"Right...how fortunate." Ozzy nodded along, mentally panicking. He couldn't just send him off by foot; the man was obviously still weak and tired from his twelve-day walk. His supplies seem to have run out as well. Maybe he could let him stay for the night and get him all packed up tomorrow morning? Would that work? That wouldn't be too rude, would it?
"Oh!"
Startled, Ozzy whipped his head to where the man was sitting. The man had a fist plopped onto his open palm.
"I can't believe I almost forgot to introduce myself!"
Nonononononon, no! This was not how it was supposed to be!
Ozzy did not want to know the stranger's name. He did not want to know anything about him, at all!
Arms outstretched in a pleading gesture, he vigorously shook his head. "Oh, no; that's quite alright. There's no need to—"
Alas, the stranger was already on a roll and unknowingly interrupted Ozzy with a bright grin. If he were an animal, Ozzy would have no doubt he'd be a golden retriever; that energetic and bright aura he emitted—despite knocking on his mother's door only a few minutes earlier—was second to none. He was honestly tempted to block his eyes from the bright light coming from the man's aura; the intensity of it made him feel faint.
"The name's Vash. What's yours?"
This time, Ozzy really did faint.