Ignorance


"Don't get into trouble while I'm busy. Understand? I don't want to be here any longer than necessary."

This was Death's unnecessarily-stern message to me once we boarded the Eternal Throne, even going so far as to point his finger at me in emphasis. I tried not to be offended, but what trouble could I get into on this ghost ship? Nothing was here but dull, boring ghosts that had nothing to say but how the smell of my soul made them hungry.

Which was flattering sometimes, but didn't make for good conversation.

So, I gave him as flat a look as my face could possibly manage, and made a shoo-shoo motion with my hands. "You go find out what's going on with the souls of humanity, and I promise not to accidentally burn the ship down while trying to steal one of those fancy lanterns. Okay?" I drawled blandly.

He appreciated my attitude about as much as he usually did, but took my word nonetheless and scaled the steps to the throne room.

Sticking my tongue out at his back, I then jerked in surprise when I heard an earthen, throaty chuckle off to the side. Recognizing the voice, I immediately grinned and turned around.

Ostegoth peered at me with a smile in greeting, tapping his pipe against a claw to knock the ash from it. From the goat's eyes, the curling horns and long fur to the heavily-encumbered robes he wore, there was no telling exactly what he was. In the manner of creature, that is. A self-proclaimed seller of wares and goods hard to be found, he often had found the opportunity to pop up in whatever realm Death and I traveled within.

He refused to divulge how he got around so quickly, but having him around was pretty convenient in spite of it.

"Look who it is," I laughed a little as I jogged over. "Can't seem to get away from the dead, huh?"

"Nor you, it seems." He replied wryly. "This realm does look to be a bit brighter with the right company, however. How fare you, with the Horsemen? Surely sharing the lives of a family of roughened warriors must be difficult."

I made a complicated face, before leaning over and cracking up softly. "Let me tell you a secret, just between me and you." I paused, to add to the false drama. "The Horsemen actually don't live, eat, and breathe killing people. Shocking, right? Completely unexpected!" I lifted a hand to my mouth in the dainty spirit of gossip, and he laughed.

Then he coughed terribly, slightly ruining the reunion with the wracking sound. "You certainly don't hesitate in abolishing centuries of disparaging and hard-hearted rumor." He wheezed after the fact, blithely ignoring the frequently-occurring attack. "But you had better get your greetings out of the way while you can, or your companion will be dragging you off before you know it." His great, horned head bowed in understanding, and his smile both thanks for the concern and a reassurance.

Clamping down hard upon the urge compelling me to do something about it, I smiled my acceptance, nodded, and drifted away.

Out in the middle of the deck was a circle of ghostly soldiers, as per the norm, with one in particular tirelessly showing a decelerated version of an attack pattern— Leaping and ducking, slashing and dashing all seeming to be done in slow motion. Which may very well be easy, for one of the dead. The ones without the density of a corporeal body easily had an advantage in battle…

"Boo!" I suddenly found myself heckling loudly, a hand cupped by my mouth and the other exaggerating a thumbs-down of disapproval. The violent jerk given by the captain's semi-transparent body was very satisfying. "Who taught you how to fight, a three-year-old? Get off the stage!"

Draven turned, the glowing orbs he had in place of eyes blinking in acknowledgement of who was giving him a critique. But then he put his hands to his waist in exasperation as it sank in, and I honestly have no idea how he can go about his daily life without accidentally impaling himself. With all the various knives and swords sticking out of his body, that has got to be a painful affair.

"Who are you talkin' about, lamb? Leave the fighting to the wolves, or you'll get eaten." He jeered back at me with a shake of his head. I'd forgotten how pleasant his voice was to hear, in spite of his incredible lack of lips or tongue to speak with.

I stared pointedly at his emaciated and wiry torso as he approached me, everything withered and missing from the ribcage down. "I'm not too worried about that," I retorted airily, grinning impishly. "I'm too big to fit in your belly. What's left of it, anyway."

The fallen warrior angled his chin up in mild offense, and a skeletal, glowing finger poked me on the forehead. "Better watch that tongue of yours, pet. There are a lot of spirits missing theirs, and would not have a single reservation about taking it off of you."

I made a face in distaste, then chortled. "You'd be one of them, huh? I think you're minus half of what we would call a full complement of body parts."

He shrugged a shoulder, and his hood shifted away from his face slightly. "All lost in fair combat. The Arena's Champion made quick work of my flesh, but I made quick work of its life." What was that tone…?

He's bragging. Is he bragging? I think he's bragging.

I quirked my mouth to the side as I briefly pondered on my response. …Nah, can't let him get away with it. "What, really?" I morphed my face into an expression of doubt. "Death and I didn't have a problem with it when it was our turn. And they said it was supposed to be hard." I made sure to sound faintly disappointed.

Draven took the bait without batting an eye. Not that he had a lot of eyelid left to bat with, but… "The Riders have been renowned for their vast power ever since the Council took them in. And the terror they wrought has only grown since they took their independence from it. I was but a human warrior, compared to something as awe-inspiring as the Nephilim… Or whatever it is you are." It was an unspoken question, an implication to give him the knowledge he mentioned.

I pointed to myself with a pleasant fool's smile. "Who, me? I'm nothing as grand as the Four Horsemen, or even the leader of the greatest army Earth had ever known." I gave him that tidbit at least, letting him know that I understood very well what kind of warrior he was. "Why, what do I look like?" I smiled serenely, challenging him to step into the trap I laid once more.

Draven knew it, and dared the teeth of the trap to close upon him.

"Trouble."

I felt the corners of my mouth curl up further and laughed. "All right, you win." I backed off graciously, holding my hands up and letting them fall. "So, that wins you a favor from me— Is there anything of the Chancellor's that you want vandalized while I'm here? I'm game."

His wilted face still managed to look both perturbed and amused by my words at the same time. "I think I heard the Horseman specifically tell you to stay away from danger." He reminded me, folding his knife-ridden arms over his chest.

I rapped my feet against the worn wooden planks beneath me and interlocked my fingers in front of me. "He told me to not get into trouble. I only get in trouble if I get caught. So, if I don't get caught, then no trouble, yes?" I grinned. "Oh, come on. Don't tell me you aren't jumping for joy over the idea on the inside. You hate him more than everyone else does, and that's saying a lot." I wheedled him a little bit more, shuffling over to nudge him with an elbow in an area that wouldn't leave me with a gash. "You can't rebel against him at the moment, yourself. So let me do it instead."

Then, I was surprised when he gave in, though without exactly admitting that he was. "…What did you have planned?" He asked carefully, tilting his head back appraisingly.

I tapped my chin in thought. "Well, even the dead have possessions. So, if you can't strike out at the man himself, strike out at what he holds dear. And he has to be the most avaricious person I've had the displeasure of meeting, so I think this means just about anything he owns. Or… Everything he owns." The smirk that appeared had to have been criminal in proportions, and I slowly looked back over my shoulder, at the merchant standing there smoking his pipe.

He caught my gaze, and slowly pulled the pipe from his mouth, looking cautious.

At Draven's sound of question, I gave him a glance that would spell nothing but entertainment in the future.

"And we have just the one here to supply us— I mean me, with what I need."


Death seemed, to me, a little relieved once his business with the King of the Dead was concluded. I'd already said my farewells to my friends, and was waiting for him at the mouth of the hall that led below deck.

It was actually an interesting thing to see on him, seeing how he had his fists clenched in irritation just seconds before. Once he reached me, however, his voice conveyed his ire well enough. "The Third Kingdom most likely won't return until their world is once more inhabitable to them. It makes sense, seeing how they would be destroyed with the demons still living on their world. Their return would be moot." He sighed gruffly and added in a mutter, "I shouldn't have expected it to end any other way. I sacrificed my life and there's still more work to do after."

I grimaced in sympathy, and gave his arm a pat. "You'll be fine," I assured him. "I'll help out, too. We'll have Earth cleared out in no time."

He rolled his eyes at me, but in the middle of doing so, those eyes got caught on something upon my person. "Hold on." He reached out with a hand, and used the metal of his gauntlet to gently scrape something from a strand of hair. Crap… "There's something… Paint? And why this color?" He showed me the semi-dried cherry-blossom-pink smear, looking pretty comical on his scary self, and I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"Ahh. I don't know. Why in the world would that be around in a place like this?" I laughed nervously, and I saw him about to reluctantly give me the benefit of the doubt when there was suddenly an enraged roar in the background, barely sounding as if it came from a person.

Death slowly looked in the direction he came from, and then back to me, steadily. "…Try to answer that again." He advised with a sigh, and crossed his arms over his chest in preparation to scold me into next week.

I kicked at imaginary dirt and ducked my head, apprehensive before it even started. "…I decided to do Draven a little favor, since, y'know, he's miserable with his life and all…" I mumbled, wilting under the increasing pressure of his gaze. "And since the Chancellor's a common point of hatred for, well, just about everyone who meets him…" My voice got incredibly small. "I hope he likes daisies."

There was only silence for a while, growing my anxiety in spades. I almost leapt straight out of my skin when he let out a short bark of laughter, clapping a hand to his head and pushing his hair back in exasperated bemusement. "There's going to be a bounty on our heads before we know it," He complained halfheartedly. "Daisies? What do you mean by 'daisies'?"

I peeked up at him, and found courage to answer through the fact that he no longer was in admonition-mode. "I mean daisies in the way that everything that isn't nailed down in his chambers now had them painted all over them and put somewhere else." I scratched my head sheepishly. "I'm not that good at art, though, so he might take it as a fungus spore or something…"

He closed his eyes, shook his head, and then proceeded to push me ahead of him.

"I don't know what you're talking about. There's no way to obtain such pigments in a place like this, and you were too busy bothering the dead to cause any mischief." He responded nonchalantly, like he was mentioning something common like the weather. But when I sent a curious look over my shoulder, I could have sworn I saw his eyes smile behind the mask.

"I never liked him." Was all he said.

I laughed.