This Mortal Coil

Summary: Fantasy AU. In a world full of magic and gods, a man makes a deal with Death: in exchange for immortality, he will kill those that have been brought back via necromancy. But when he meets a beautiful sorceress/healer, he suddenly finds himself willing to defy everything: even the gods.

Characters: Nostalgia Critic, Linkara, Cinema Snob, Spoony, Insano, O/Cs, various cast members of Channel Awesome as the story progresses.

Warnings: Blanket R for violence, sex, and cursing

Pairing: Critic/OC, Linkara/Spoony/Insano, past Critic/Chick

Disclaimer: I do not own any recognized characters.

Word Count: 2,596

Chapter Two: At The Sign of The Black Falcon

Awesomia hadn't changed much in seven years, Doug thought to himself. If anything, it had gotten more dirty and decrepit. He pulled his coat collar up, trying to blend in to the crowd as much as he could. If there was one thing he had learned, it was that the more normal and non-threatening he looked, the easier it was to infiltrate a Necro's lair. Doug had fashioned the perfect disguise for himself-a white shirt, black jacket and jeans, a half-tied tie, and a black cap. He had even given himself a new name-Nostalgia Critic. He looked harmless, as if a stiff wind could knock him over.

Since he had made his bargain with Death, Critic had killed fifteen Ghouls and twelve Necromancers. He had been shot, stabbed, drowned, set on fire, and in one memorable case, been nearly sliced in half by a battle-axe wielded by a very large Ghoul. That last one had taken days to recover from. He hated his job sometimes.

Critic looked down at the scrap of paper in his hands. It was a note written in precise handwriting. 'Come to the Black Falcon. I have information that may interest you.' The note was unsigned, but there was a sun and stars insignia on the bottom that Critic recognized as belonging to a sect of Astrologers and Alchemists. So here he was, wandering the streets in the hopes that the note would pay off.

The Black Falcon was a rundown old pub right on the Channel, and Critic's nose wrinkled at the lovely aroma of shit coming off the river. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, blinking in the dim light. The pub consisted of the usual assortment of mages, mortals, and monsters, every one of them looking as though they could break Critic in half with their pinkies-or in the mages' cases, with a single gesture. Automatically, he raised his right arm, revealing the hooded skull tattooed on his wrist. A respectful silence fell, and a young blond man threaded through the tables towards him. "G...good evening, Sir. How may I help a Disciple of the Reaper?" He had a distinct accent.

Critic passed him the note. "I'm looking for the man that wrote this. Is he here?" The man perused the note, then pointed to a table in the back. "Thank you...?"

"Mat, but everyone calls me Film Brain."

"Why?"

Film Brain shrugged. "I love talking about movies."

Critic grinned. "Me too." He made his way to the back of the room, aware that all eyes were on him. "You the guy that sent me the note?"

The man looked to be in his late twenties, and was wearing a brown hat, vest, shirt, and pants. He wore glasses, and Critic could see a holster strapped to his waist and what looked like a flintlock pistol tucked inside. "That's me. Folks call me Linkara. Please, sit."

Critic slid into the booth opposite him, and that was when he noticed the other person sitting next to Linkara, his face half hidden in shadows. This one was pale, with long dark hair and eyes that were never still. His hands were in his lap, and he was muttering so rapidly that Critic could only catch fragments. "No, not now SCIENCE stop it not now I WILL BE VICTORIOUS stoppit not now Linkara needs us..." His voice alternated between low and subdued and manically high-pitched.

Linkara placed a hand on top of his. "Spoony, relax. It's OK, I'm here." He looked over at Critic. "He used to be one of the best Alchemists in the world, and then one of his experiments went wrong. I'm...well, I guess you could say I'm his caretaker."

Critic winced in sympathy. "You a Mage or Mortal?"

"Mage. My specialty is Transfiguration, but I've done a few other things as well." Linkara leaned back in the booth, eying Critic. "I'm also pretty good at getting a read on people. But you...it's like there's something blocking me. Is that just a product of you being a Disciple?"

"Maybe. Look, I'm not in any mood for friendly chitchat, OK? Did you send me this note?" He passed it over, and Linkara glanced at it.

"Yep." Critic glared at him, and he sighed. "I've got a lot of friends in this city, and one of them told me that he might have possibly seen someone that looks exactly like you in Shadow Town the other day."

"And just why couldn't this friend of yours deliver the message himself?"

Linkara scoffed. "It'd be kind of hard, seeing as how he's a ghost. If you want to talk to him, he haunts the old Grey Lady Club on Whittier."

Critic snorted in derisive laughter. "Oh yeah, me talking to a ghost. Because ghosts and Disciples just get along like peanut butter and jelly."

"I love peanut butter and jelly I DON'T IT'S GROSS Will you please stop shouting Sorry is this better yes blue red blue red lalala..." Spoony took a deep, shuddering breath, then fell silent. Critic blinked at him, then turned back to Linkara.

"Well...umm..are you sure this friend of yours saw G...my brother?"

"Positive. He described him down to the smoking jacket he had on."

Critic sighed. "Sounds like him. He wore that thing constantly. He's a Necro, isn't he?"

Linkara shook his head. "No, from what Harvey-my friend-gathered, your brother is a Black Mage. A pretty powerful one."

Critic's entire body slumped. "Oh...shit."

"Yeah. I don't dare go up against him. Even at my full power, he could swat me like a bug. But you might have a chance."

"Fuck that! Look, just because I can't die doesn't mean I can't be hurt, and if he's as powerful as you claim, he could do all sorts of horrid things to me."

Spoony chuckled, looking at Critic for the first time. "We're not asking you to go up against your brother! We want to hire you as a bodyguard."

Critic blinked, then burst out laughing. "OK, one, I'm a fucking Disciple, not a bodyguard. Two, the wave of power coming off that gun in Linkara's holster is making my neck hairs stand up. Three, if you're the Spoony I think you are, don't you have enough power to level this pub? Why the fuck would you two need guarding?"

"We don't need it, Disciple! A friend of ours does."

"Shut up, Insano. Anyway, it's not for Linkara or me...us. We can handle ourselves if it came down to a Duel. Linkara, show him."

Linkara pulled what looked like a flat disc out of his pocket and placed it on the table. He waved his hand, and a three dimensional image materialized. It was of a young woman with flame-red hair and dark green eyes. She was wearing a dark blue shirt and jeans, and was smiling at something just off-screen. "This is Layla Green. She's twenty eight, no parents or family. She's got an eidetic memory, and a knack for languages. Her parents were both Class A Mages, so as you can imagine, she's pretty damn powerful. She also happens to be a Healer."

Critic's jaw dropped. "You're shitting me. There hasn't been a Healer in..."

"Seven hundred years," Insano replied. "Precisely why we think your brother is so interested in her. Healers can defy Death himself, without all the pesky side effects of necromancy. If she fell into the wrong hands-who knows what could happen."

"Are you forgetting the part where I WORK FOR DEATH? He's not likely to be too thrilled if his best Disciple starts guarding a Healer!"

Linkara looked surprised. "There's more than one of you guys?"

"Yes. It's usually no more than four to five at one time. There's me, this guy named Angry Joe, a gal that calls herself Nostalgia Chick who was damn good in bed, and two that constantly stroke and fondle each other named Elisa and Paw. I think they might have been a married couple. The world's a big fucking place, it's going to take more than one of us to ferret out all the Necros and Ghouls. But back to this Healer chick. Why me?"

"Because you're the best, like you said. You're the son of a Class A White Mage, you've got Immortality, and you know how to blend in. Plus you can handle yourself in a fight," Linkara said, arms crossed in front of his chest. "And you're also the only one that knows just how dangerous your brother is. If it's remittance you're worried about, don't. Both Spoony and I have more than enough money."

"It's not the money, it's the fact that my boss is very strict. Anything or anyone that changes death or brings back those that should be dead or dying has to be killed, along with whatever creatures are brought back through necromancy or any other magical means. It's the one unbreakable rule. I disobey, and it's True Death for me, with the added bonus of feeling all the ways I died. So I'm sorry, but you're going to have to find someone else." Critic started to rise, and Linkara glared at him helplessly.

"You are our last hope! Please, just this once can't you bend the rule? She hasn't brought anyone back! All she's done is heal some people. That's all. Please...help us."

Critic groaned, then sat back down. "I had better not come to regret this. Where is she?"

"Spoony's got her hidden in a safe place. He'll bring her over to you tomorrow. I trust your residence is well warded?"

"Not even an ant could get through without setting off alarms." He looked from one face to another, then heaved a sigh of resignation. "Fine, but if I find out she's Resurrected ANYONE, I will do my Job."

"That's fair enough, Disciple," Insano giggled. "Spoony finds it a bit tasteless, but I think your integrity is quite refreshing. Linkara?"

Linkara took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "Agreed. Now that that has been settled, I think we're done here." He pocketed the disc, and stuck out his hand. "Pleasure doing business with you, Critic."

Critic shook their hands and left the Black Falcon.

Spoony turned to Linkara. "Did we do the right thing, babe?"

Linkara smiled, kissing him gently on the lips. "We did. I can feel it."

Critic turned up one street and down another, dodging oil-soaked puddles and falling debris with nearly balletic ease. It didn't take him long to reach his destination: a boarded up bar with the faded image of a woman in a very revealing grey dress in the window. He pushed at the boards that covered the door, and they split apart, leaving a hole big enough for him to walk through.

Critic stepped inside, and the temperature dropped like a stone. The lights began to pulsate rapidly, creating a strobe effect, and something howled in the darkness. Dusty glasses toppled from the shelves in front of him, shattering like bombs on the tile floor. "Will you stop that?"

The temperature rose a bit, and a voice came from the direction of the howling. "What, you got no appreciation for theater?"

"I have plenty of appreciation for theater, but I need to talk to you, and I'd prefer it if you were corporeal."

The ghost sighed, causing dust motes to stir. "Fine." Critic watched as he materialized, revealing a man of fifty-ish in a black suit and fedora and holding a partly burnt cigarette in his right hand. "Name's Harvey. Who are you?"

"I'm called the Nostalgia Cr..." Critic ducked as Harvey sent a stool flying at his head.

"GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE, DISCIPLE! I AIN'T BREAKING ANY OF DEATH'S LAWS!" The temperature plummeted again, and Critic shivered.

"I'm not here to send you on! I swear! I'm here because Linkara told me you saw my brother!"

Harvey raised an eyebrow at him, and the temperature rose to slightly above Antarctica. "On the level?"

"I swear by the Scythe, I have no intention of making you leave." He sighed in relief as the room became bearable. "So did you see him?"

Harvey sighed. "Yeah, a few days ago. I'm not bound to this place, so I can come and go as I please. I just like it cuz it reminds me of joints I used to sing at when I was still breathin'. Anyway, I was in Shadow Town and I seen this guy looks exactly like you coming out of the Apothecary."

"Did you see what he bought?"

"Nope, but from what I know about the guy, it probably wasn't anything good. By the way, how do you know the Kid?"

"He and his...friends...hired me to be a bodyguard for someone named Layla Green. Supposedly she's a Healer, I have to protect her, and all that shit."

Harvey whistled, an odd and eerie sound. "Tough gig. You met the dame yet?"

"No, not yet. Can you tell me anything else about my brother?"

"Sorry."

Critic nodded. "OK, fade away. I'll see myself out and close the door back up."

Harvey started to fade. "Hey listen, next time you see Linkara, tell him to come visit me. It's been a while since we chatted."

"Will do."

In an apartment in a cleaner part of the city(in that there was less garbage littering the streets and the people had access to showers once in a while), a young woman with red hair sat cross-legged on a bare wooden floor, her eyes closed in meditation. She had on a green shirt and jean shorts, and no shoes. Her hair was loose, and blew about her face as if governed by a breeze all its own. The furniture in the room was floating in the air, and there was a slight sheen of sweat on Layla's face.

A knock at the door, and the furniture dropped down with a light 'thud'. Layla sighed, stretched, and opened her eyes in one movement before clambering to her feet and answering the knock. "Spoony?"

"Yeah, it's me. We found someone to watch you. A Disciple."

Layla scoffed. "So in other words, someone that will kill me themselves if I perform a Resurrection. Got it."

"We didn't have a choice, Layla. Any Mage we asked would want to use your power for their own gain. And what's the old saying? 'The enemy of my enemy..'"

"Is my friend. When do I meet the Disciple?"

"Tomorrow. Right now though, you need to get some sleep. You look exhausted."

Layla smiled and pecked his cheek. "You know, if both you and Insano weren't so over the moon for Linkara, I'd jump your bones."

"I am NOT 'over the moon' for that uptight, goody two shoes! He's annoying, and heroic, and..."

"The man both you and Spoony would die for. Or...well, since you share one body, you could both die...y'know, you have a weird triangle going on."

Spoony laughed. "Don't we know it. Get some rest, Layla. We've got a long journey tomorrow."