Death Hath not Visited, Death Hath not Seen

"It ain't the play that's amusing, it's the passing of life in front of one's very eyes."

Gold. Basically, it smelled like pennies inlaid with rust; she turned her nose at it. It was pathetically lame that such a valuable material on the market would possess a trait so daringly similar to copper, a cheap lowly metal. With her head slightly tilted high, it was noticeable that her pose was rather odd. Her companion, unfortunately or not, seemed to pick up on that.

"Why, my dear Duchess, what is that face you are making? Does something disgust you so?" her fellow lady asked. Her face was revealed to be quite amused as her hand dropped and let her twinkling purple eyes show.

"It is these glasses, Lady Black, they are absolutely awful. I must consult with the manager of this theater, it might house poor commoners but I am not such!" she exclaimed with silent fury. The other laughed at her, chuckled to be precise, for she did not want to insult her. That is, directly insult her; she was more than fine with doing it in a sophisticated, indirect way more than she admitted.

"No need for such formalities, Duchess, you shall call me Lammy if you please," she said, still smiling lovely, her perfectly trimmed violet nails covering the tips of her slightly pale lavender lips.

"Ah, yes, yes, please do call me Giggles as well," the other replied quickly, returning the gesture, her hand in her open purse, ready to leave.

"Welcome back," a male said, his olive eyes smiling.

"Yes, yes, thank you," Lammy replied tersely, as if quick to leave. She grabbed hold of her diamond-bordered heels and placed them gently on the silver hook dangling from the patterned wall. With her feet now bare, she strutted into the larger expanse of her already very vast hallway and threw down her black leather and gold-trimmed purse into the woven tan basket. Throwing herself onto the ebony chair, she then called for coffee.

"How was the play?" her butler, dressed in a nice green dress shirt and covered with brown vest, asked casually.

"Horrid. I must say the only delightful thing I came across was my meeting with the Duchess, she is quite childish as they make her out to be."

With coffee poured and steaming, she grabbed it in a special lady-like manner, her white, pale, and long fingers gripped tightly around the small handle of the cup.

"And now!" she starts, before sipping a bit more of the brown liquid,

"I have that play's song running circles in my head. How horrid, how horrid..." She sighed.

"Oh? Is that so?" he asked, with the same manner of amusement as his master.

"Well, I wonder, would some good news appease you?" he finished.

Lammy looked at him excitedly for a second before returning to her usual calm state. Her lips curled. She stretched out her hand as if asking for the information to come flowing into her beckoning hand.

"Of course it would, dear Pickles! You must know how dreadfully boring the world can be sometimes, ah! If you were only at that play, if only, I think it is a wonderful example of the dullness of our age. Ah, what a shame you weren't. You must join me next time. Hm, it seems like I have extracted another good thing from that grotesque thing, that is good, that is good, optimism is good," she said happily, her sentences dragging along somewhat needlessly. She clapped her hands together waiting for the news.

"Now, hurry, Pickles, hurry," she urged him.

"Glad to see you that eager, mi lady." he said, moving his eyebrows curiously.

"Well, you see, I happen to bump into a pair of nerve-racked thieves today."

"Oh! I believe I bumped into them as well today. They were wearing your favorite scarf I believe, the splotchy black and moss one no? They haven't stolen it from you have they?"

He chuckled then continued as the woman stared at him intently.

"Haha, but no. Rather, I do think I stole more from them then they did."

"Oh no, Pickles, please don't tell me you stole their life, did you? You do know picking up after that can get quite irritating after a while don't you?" she frowned, though did not seem very shocked or miserable at the mention of such a topic. She fingered a glass chess piece from her obviously custom-made chess set. It was a white pawn whose top sphere had a small dent; she fit her nice little nail into it and dug, scraping against the glass slowly.

"Ah, don't jump to conclusions so quickly," he said, then sat.

"I may sit, yes?"

"Of course, it was rather rude of me to let you stand there, please do sit. Help yourself to my coffee," she said, pushing the stainless steel tray towards the male.

"I think you mean my coffee."

"Oh, whatever," she laughed. "Now, do continue."

[5 hours ago...]

There was always something that he didn't like about the early morning sun, it shone too early, way too early, and that was something he didn't like, rush. Slipping into his snake-skinned shoes, he flipped the buckle over the smooth material and grabbed his kiwi-like coat. The quicker rays of the giant yellow egg hovering over the town started to flitter into the large living room through the dusty glass panes. The scene was quite remarkable, the glass seemed to glow and the colored panes cast intricate floral patterns onto the marble floor, growing grass and flowers through pure shadow on top the chocolate-textured ground.

"I will head towards the nearest market, mi lady," he said softly, pushing his rounded spectacles upon his nose.

Said lady came out of the dining room in a light purple nightgown, her black framed glasses drooping slightly as she dropped her head to see clearly out of her sleep-boggled eyes. Her small toes gripped at the comfortable cold tiles and she leaned on one of her pale as white legs, crossing her fabric-covered arms.

"Someone's quite early today," she said, a smirk flashing across her thin lips.

"Mind you, I would've loved to stay in today if it had not been for a feast-craving black beast."

"Oh! You must not mean the extravagant woman whom you referred as "mi lady" do you?" she asked mockingly and in a slightly narcissistic way, praising herself midway of her sentence.

Though not thoroughly beaten, he decided to leave it at that, exhausted of the needless bicker.

"Anyways, vulgar horrid beast, I will go to the market and buy you back your requested bloody sacrifice."

He walked speedily in a proper manner and shut the door politely, even before the sarcastic lady could say,

"I believe I requested vegetables, dear."

Having her brilliant remark go ignored did not cheer her so, and she sighed. She grabbed her bag and rustled through it, a pair of tickets jumping out to welcome her.

"Hm. Wonder if it's any interesting..." she mumbled to herself, already scrawling on a piece of paper noting her later location. It read "Going to a play, Pickles. If you remember to pick up the book I reserved from that dainty library, leave it on my bed please." She clapped, it was perfect.

She threw her leather purse over her shoulder, slipped into her newly bought heels, and as fancy as any lady could, ran with her dress swaying back and forth behind her to the new play.

He smelled like rotten pig. Lovely, absolutely lovely. He's almost sure that the strange smelling liquid clinging onto the tip of his scarf is pig blood as well and that the germs are throwing one of those needlessly expensive gatherings his master insists on holding every month to dirty the whole house.

The market was infested with flies, dancing across the whole area in brown leathery skin, entertaining the various peddlers by pestering them as they chopped raw cold meat and poked holes through fish scales to rush in with their gloved or naked hand to pull out, one by one, blood-stained organs of various sizes. Some laid sprawled out lazily on the dirty soiled floor and the horribly loud children would run and poke them with a stick or twig or two. The churning river on the left would then emit a grumbling sound so similar to that wolf, Fenrir's, growls in the dark forests that seemed to stretch across the richest expanse of land. It also smelled like eggs, eggs from so long ago that their smell would cause anyone with a mild nose allergy to turn it fatal. The continuous snowing and rain of the city's seasonal winter weather was just the chocolate decorations on a cake of unpleasantness; he proceeded to pinch his nose with red frozen fingers.

Walking past a stall selling duck tongues and chicken legs, he turned to swivel into a alleyway that led to the pathetic excuse of a library that was practically just a shack. He doesn't know why his master likes to call it dainty, the only thing delicate there are dust-filled, insect-filled books with broken spines and unhealed holes. Mud played amongst his shoes and put his snake skin to shame, he doesn't like that, surely he doesn't. He knelt down and lifted up a disgusting piece of red curtain to enter a small room filled with a rackety pair of stairs; squished to the point the steps seemed to blend and mix with each other under the blurred sight caused by the steam that lived there. He headed up and then jumped down swiftly through the hole at the top to reach the hidden corridor behind. The fog still floated heavily, sticking onto the ceiling and crawling on the floors, and he instinctively swatted at it as if it was a fly. He knocked on the only door there.

"Hello? It's Pickles."

The door opened in a fragile manner that raised about much concern, and out came a bald young man, who possessed sparkling orange eyes, so similar to that of the orange ribbons that were wrapped around tightly on wet wine bottles. Despite this, there was a black ring in the middle of his pupils, and a grey shadow that surrounded it, matching the ones underneath the skin of his eyes. Though his eyes sparkled, his face did not do so and his expression was sober and solemn, giving off an menacing face. However, said older man was already used to it, no doubt from the countless trips, and was completely unfazed by the intense, concentrated, stare that would send many back home crouching under their cushioned chair or silk covered bed.

"Lammy's book?" he asks, and somewhat states, short and brief, like all the other uneducated commoners, though he is not so.

"Uh, oh, yes." the gentleman replies, caught off guard, searching for a certain something.

"Looking for seat?" the younger asks, though says with such a tone of knowledge and maturity that it seemed like he already knew the answer, making his question rather useless.

"Oh, yes. You don't happen to have a chair of some sort do you? A stool is fine as well, just some sort of sea-" he stops as the other stares at him and then looks at the floor, his hand up and almost ready to pat the ground, indicating it as a suiting place to sit down and get comfortable.

"No, no, no, the ground doesn't count. Something above the ground please."

The other sighs and throws him a wooden stool, home to a spider resting on top, who now was quite jostled and was surely panicking. The elder man looks at it with a rather disgusted face and the younger looks on at the situation with a smile flitting across his pale lips. The elder isn't sure if he's glad that the monk could understand his long sentences or would rather prefer him to not acknowledge what he was saying for he was surely playing with him, surely.

"I'll stand, thank you."

"Whatever pleases you," he says with a smile, then gets back up to search for the book amongst the dank rubble, tossed and ripped lost pages, his own clothes, and his sprawled out blanket and pillows. It's a one-room house of dirt with only half of it covered in new carpet, given by Lammy herself (or rather forced for the monk was not willing until he was knocked unconscious and well, let's not get into the story), but the monk didn't seem to care.

"I've found it." he says with his special manner of speech, and he gently puts it on top of the other man's stretched palms. The other mutters a thank you and drops off a light blue and creamy striped plastic bag of some truly dainty perfume shop and heads towards the door for it is stuffy and dusty and he is almost sure he cannot stand the suffocating smoke.

"It's a gift." he says while the other looks at it curiously through deep circled eyes and he gently shoves it back into the other arms.

"No need, thanks." is all he hears because he's shoved out of the room and locked out, pushing it results in nothing, which is quite shocking seeing as the monk's locks seemed quite inefficient...

Outside, the fog was still hanging slowly amongst the building walls, the whole hallway shrouded in mystery. Gathered groups of unknown backgrounds and intents glared at him, though he is sure he hasn't gotten himself in any deep debt. A pair of twins stared at him, then at his pockets, and he laughed sarcastically. He's a good looking man obviously, even the young guys are taking a look at him and he praises himself. He sighs. He's lying of course, it's just rather amusing in his brain. He is sure the young lady will approve.

The alley was thin as usual when he walked out, and he greeted it unhappily. There was always this scuttling sound that followed him, and whether or not he was followed was never solved. Most of the time however, he's gotten out safe. As for the thieves he really does meet...he chuckles. He knows his lady doesn't like it. Today, however, besides the obvious shuffling sounds, whispers were abound behind him.

"It's that book..." said one, seemingly down.

"Shut it." A hand clamped on the other's mouth and squirming was heard, along with a few sighs and hurried gasps. The voice tripped over a rock on the ground and something was wrapped once more around it. The butler sighed. They were being quite obvious weren't they?

"What do you want Mister Grubbyhands?" he asked, turning. The younger was gripping the book in his hands quite tightly, and the older gentleman feared it rip.

"Now, I hope you will let go, ripping it would be most unfortunate." his eyes narrowed angrily and the small boy ripped the book completely in half in fear, wanting to get away. His eyes were big, like the color of pickles indeed, and he bit his lip, his hands still in position of wanting to grab the dirty pages, though broken and in half.

"Fool!" his elder brother yelled furiously, running out suddenly and surprising the gentleman, hitting his charge across the face.

"I am sorry!" the younger cowered in the corner, his hands wrapped around his head, the book acting as a make-shift shield, draped over his messy hair. The elder pulled on the younger's scarf, which had obviously been used to muffle his voice before, some saliva drooled down the fabric in certain areas close to the other's mouth. The younger, the pickle-eyed one, stood up clumsily, being dragged up by his elder. His hands clung onto the scarf like the book, trying to stop it from choking his already red neck, and it ripped in the sudden fight. However, he stood up anyways, trembling, jittery, and all sorts of shaking. The elder had other things to face in the meantime, the by-standing victim of attempted thievery, looking on with mixed emotion with quick darting eyes, smile flitting through his face once in a while. Though rather rough with his younger brother, his kiwi-colored eyes, more brighter and therefore a bit more charming, looked at the man with sudden fear, being caught red-handed meant jail, jail, and jail, or maybe a fine or so, something like that, yes, at least a fee of some sort and it was something they definitely could not pay.

"Run for it!" he rashly shouted, and his younger brother obeyed instantly, running as fast as he could as the elder dragged him out of the alleyway, his scarf in tangles. It kicked up dust, like the fog inside the horrid building, but the gentleman grabbed them anyways, holding onto a hole in the scarf, un-patched and barren. The younger choked, being pulled on both sides of the scarf, and desperately tried to get the restricting object off his neck, but did not succeed. Feeling a bit sorry, Pickles ran slowly after them and pulled onto the longer part of the scarf that had became most likely a rope by now, roughly thrashing back and flinging them both.

"Hey, hey, now, where are you going?"

They turned sharply, their eyes scared and sunken with fear, their mouths open but not speaking. They didn't understand him. Pickles sighed. He asked again, though this time briefly and in a more understandable manner.

"Where ya going?"

"Uh..." they faltered, and the younger kept the book behind his back, away from sight.

"No where!" the elder yelled suddenly, and very bluntly as well, and the gentlemen was taken a back from surprise.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really!" it was very straightforward, and there was no grace in that hoarse, used voice, and very different to the voice he was used too, ones with melody and musical tones, that flew out of their master's mouths easily and politely, it was a very beautiful thing, but that did not appear to exist in the two twins. The younger spoke, and confirmed this readily.

"Yes, no where." he agreed, softly and shyly, unlike his explosive brother, who seemed to like to get things going his way through threatening or just pure brute force.

"Okay, sure." He nodded, as if soaking up the exposed information, that was, so obviously a lie, that he need not think more than a few mere seconds.

"Then, book please?" The twins looked at him reluctantly.

"Uhhhhhhh..." the younger, who was more favorable and usually more easier to get through, this time, showed some defense, he did not immediately turn it over, which seemed to earn him some beaming from his elder brother, which he willingly and very happily absorbed.

"There's no book," the elder replies tersely, depending on the fact that it could be possible that the man hadn't seen. However, depending on that was like depending on a old shack lasting for more than 500 years, that man had quick, sharp, and accurate eyes.

"Uh huh, right," the man says, playing on jokingly. He knows, unfortunately.

"No. Not joking." He stops, so they can comprehend. Then he starts again, cutting his usually long sentences into short, sometimes grammatically wrong parts.

"That book."

"Give it."

"I saw it." There's a gleam in his eyes. It's scary, it sends chills downs the spine of almost every person he meets, that is every person who makes him mad, or maybe, if they have the guts, play him as a fool. Basically, it gives creeps, and like it successfully does so, scaring the two needlessly.

"The book, uh." the younger stammered, then stopped. He admitted to having the book, yes, he did, but he did not however, give it back to him. In fact, he hid it behind him even further, and the gentleman did not like that. His eyebrows frowned themselves.

"Where is it?" He doesn't add his more friendly following words, those that are playful, like "Hmmm," they wouldn't understand him if he did.

"Elsewhere," the elder says with a flap of his arm rather defiantly. His younger brother is shocked that he would try to attempt such a thing and pulls at his sleeve.

"Brother, brother...," he murmurs, and he though he's just whispering, it's audible.

"Mmmmm. That was rather naughty, kid." It's one long sentence but he's tired of playing this game when the others refuse to cooperate nicely. They don't understand at all, but that's okay, really.

He snatches the book, and the little one, with his unhealthy shaking hands, drops it to him as the gentleman's wide fear-inducing face nears in and intimidates him. His elder, being quite protective, sticks his face in front to confront the creepy man.

"Whatcha lookin' at?" he angrily scowls.

"A handsome face?" he laughs and asks, and the elder looks unhappily at him. He sticks up the dirty ragged book with his little nicely-trimmed fingers, so glass-like as usual, and moves his wrists to wave the stack of papers about.

"Why do you want it anyways? It's a pretty old book. You know, kids these days, do you all like old stuff?" he asks, curious and doubtful. They look at him weirdly and try to answer with what they could hear.

"Uh. Don't know?" the younger tries, confused.

"It has treasure!" the elder bluffs and the man seems to, for some reason, believe him.

"Really?" his eyes widen and his eyebrows stick up, it's curious, but it's doubtful too. Seeing this as a chance, the elder speaks up.

"Yeah! It does!" he nearly shouts, and the man flips through the pages doubtfully.

"Where is it?"

"Where is what...?"

"Obviously, the treasure," the gentleman sighs.

"Yes!" the elder yells unwavering and by the younger's disapproving and hesitant look, he could tell that this was hardly the truth. Oh well, he'll go along with it anyway. He is sure he won't be the one who would be losing out on this.

"Show me."

"Later," the elder grumbled and the gentleman tossed him their scarf.

"It's for identification," he said, then continued,

"Find me."

"But only when..." he hesitated a bit before continuing again,

"...you find it." He found that he finished rather lamely; he's quite unhappy with the fact that he's forced to use short choppy sentences.

"Fine!" the elder grunted and then as the gentleman walked away, scarf-less, and therefore freed of pig-smell, he yelled behind him,

"I'm not afraid!"

"You could hear them from that far, Pickles? Are you sure you did?" she chuckled mischievously and her butler frowned in reply.

"Do you take me for a deaf old man? I am not as old as you like to think I am, mi lady." A smirk slowly moved into the creases of her face.

"Was that a compliment?"

"Yes."

"For yourself?"

"Indeed."

"How vain."

The man sighed. Looking up, he eyed the clock that dangled ever so perilously and the crystal frame of it shook as it ran to announce the coming of 4. He then tapped at his invisible watch.

"With respect, were we not to wait for the arrival of your brother? We have spent so long on the topic of today's morning event yet have not seen a swaying hair of your brother's sea-weathered hair."

"Late, 'tis true, however, his presence we will face nonetheless," she said, purging the cup of coffee. She set it down and tapped the table. The butler, towering over her, poured her another steaming cup and the repeated tapping ceased. Sitting back down, he sighed.

"I berate him almost daily and what am I to receive? Fruitless sighs, my dear, fruitless sighs!"

"Oh, Pickles, so dramatic as usual! Does he ever give you the slightest chance to let you scold him so repetitiously? Is he not on sea one day or another? Why, if he was not, I do not think we would sitting here, waiting like a pair of sitting ducks!" She laughed loudly and the rung bell of the door barely sounded above it.

"Oh, look at you. So loud for a lady, ever so un lady-like, you are! That is the bell, my dear."

"Oh, Pickles, today is a joyous day, do not ruin it with all your motherly grievances!" She laughed once again before sipping more neatly to avoid a wagging finger.

"Won't you get it for me, dear?"

"Of course, mi lady, if it not for me, you would have sat there needlessly, would you not?" he replied quickly, rushing to the door before it was roughly kicked open. However, it seemed rather late.

"Oh, I would not, Pickles. Only those who seek me with utmost importance would kick it open, you see? Or well, like regular people, open the door, of course. It is always open. I welcome brave thieves and ill-meant men to my doorstep to my challenge any day. They face my wrath and your ever accurate pinpoint kicks, Pickles."

A rough hearty chuckle came through the widespread door and it sounded like the stormy waves of the outside foamy sea. Surrounded by a small, prickly, and very camouflaged beard, it ceased moments later.

"Ay! It looks like Sister is as hardy as usual!" He laughed once again. His hair was gelled, dyed a crazy blue in random areas, and his bangs were pulled back to the start of his neck with a long black bobby pin of metal or steel. Running his slightly scarred hand over his scalp, he threw his raw and nearly thin bare coat at a random chair, knocking it over in the process.

"Oh, Truffles, your sister is always like so. Now, how are you doing? I see you have not shaved your beard as usual, I swear, you do seem to like to make Pickles there fume, ahhh."

"Yes, indeed, he does. I don't take your pranks very well, m' lord," the mentioned man said rather sadly and picked up the chair. There was a small dull metal hook above a fancy woven laundry bin and he threw the coat back onto it.

"Now, m' lord, it is time you learn where your rather foul clothes go."

"Oh, Pickles, picky as usual!" he said and then shrugged, sulking and draping himself all over the butler.

"Do I smell of putrid sea to you?" he mocked. Covering the man's face with his hand, he barely let breath fly into the other's nose and the other quite obviously expressed his dislike for it.

"Yes, indeed you do! Now why don't you go and take a shower like all the normal folk?" His hand swept over his face in a useless attempt to wipe the dirty off his face. Obviously, it did not succeed to do anything other than appease the sailor-like lord, who then decided to humor the poor man and go at take the offered shower.

"Well then, Pickles, I will humor you because you seem ever so distressed and unhappy."

"Oh, what a honor I have been graced with!" he mockingly replied and sat back down with a huff.

"And to think I will have to deal with those twin thieves later in the week! How horrid, how horrid," he mumbled.

"Oh! I do think you are picking up on my wording, my dear. You sound quite like me today on this very afternoon!" she said rather interested. Stomping off into the opening stairways, the silent sounds of heels against ground echoing off the wall's rooms were produced rather frequently and became the beat and constant rhythm the man below had to work too while he cleaned off the table.

"How horrid..." he finished.

A/N: I had a lot of fun with this chapter, it's probably my favorite. It might be just me enjoying a break from describing dreary and gloomy conversations and scenarios compared to the more mocking and sarcastic dialogue that is exchanged between Lammy, Pickles, and Truffles. I had someone else planned for Truffle's role however, he didn't fit the role of Lammy's brother all that well. Going back to the group of miserable HTFs next chapter, meaning I don't get to write long sentences of speech, meaning that I'll go and lament that loss right now. :c