GigiandMad- ^^" I guess I'm glad I had to make you look up the words haha
Mewtwo3642- For now... *waggles eyebrows*
Imaginefun- Oh god, did I make your cuteness meter explode into cupcakes and puppies again? o.o
VioletDawn00- Yeahh it was pretty fluffy :3
Confetti108- Thank you!
Sorry it took a week (I think), I wasn't too sure how to progress this chapter, but I'm pleased with it! Enjoy!
The years melted into decades as he once again lost track of time. He had partner after partner, their names and faces blending into each other. The town grew larger, cobblestone in place of dirt, bricks instead of wood. "Town" wasn't even the proper word now; it was "city." The once nameless town was now called, "Death City" for the Shinigami residing there, its prominence flying through the world. The landscape shifted, becoming hot and arid. He started to build a wall around the the city to keep the sand from eroding the buildings away too quickly.
The only constant was Ophelia. Initially, he had been apprehensive; what if she did die of old age? When her hundred twentieth birthday loomed around the corner, he was confident in her "immortality." And with that confidence, came the thing he had been putting off for nearly fifty years.
"I'm telling ya, sir, ya should really consider moving Chloe from Europe to Oceania; her partner thinks she is being overworked. I mean, Europe is a pretty big place not to mention Chloe's always out on missions. Oceania is small; perfect for a rookie Death Scythe!" His partner was prattling on.
His current partner was androgynous and Death, embarrassingly could not discern what his (her?) gender was. It seemed no one knew for everyone always called his partner "him." His partner never said anything about it, so maybe it was accurate. His name gave no hint to his gender, either; his name being Rowan.
Rowan was dressed in head to toe black with most of his face hidden. His turtleneck covered up to his nose and he had black goggles shielding his eyes. His blond hair was cut close to his scalp. He was lithe, almost feminine in build, but spoke in an uncouth way that Death felt was masculine. He had known Rowan since he was a child and not once had he seen him without his odd clothing and goggles.
Death hummed absentmindedly, not bothering to pay attention as Rowan read mission requests. What flower would be appropriate? Definietly not poppies...
"...think it would be a two star mission. Also-huh? Oi! Ya listenin' to me?!" A shoe smacked into Death's head, startling him out of his daydreaming.
"Wha-How dare you throw a shoe at me?! Where did it even come from?!" Death glared, trying to aim a Reaper chop.
Rowan blocked the Chop with ease, having grown used to Death's countless attempts at knocking his head about, and grabbed his shoe. "It came from my foot, o'course."
"Watch it." Death warned half heartedly, withdrawing his hand. He settled back and took a sip of his cooling tea.
"So, is it Missy Ophelia who has ya so distracted from yer duties?" Rowan asked, sitting cross legged across from his meister.
He twitched at the mention of her name, unable to stop the smile from crawling its way across his face. "Don't be silly."
"Oh please," Rowan scoffed, "ya been pinin' for her since I was a student here. When are ya gonna ask her to marry ya?"
Death sputtered and waved his hand in dismissal. "I have no intention of asking her to marry me. We are both content with our relationship as is. There is no need to make such a radical change."
"Sir, how long ya been with her?"
Death grumbled as he calculated the years. "I don't remember. Does it matter?"
"Yeah, it does. A lady wants to get married right quick, if ya lost count o' the years, maybe it's time to propose." Rowan suggested.
"I don't know if that is what I want, let alone what Ophelia wants. She hasn't hinted anything." Death frowned. He almost wished he had cared enough to listen to his mother talk of how Shi proposed to her. He doubted it would be useful to him, though; Shi probably presented her the soul of an enemy.
"Women ain't gonna hint anythin'. They want ya to be...what's the word? 'Spontanuoues?'" Rowan scratched his head.
"'Spontaneous.'" Death corrected automatically, a habit he unwittingly picked up from Ophelia.
Rowan waved his hand carelessly. "Anyway, just do it, sir. I betcha she'll say yes. Ya got nothin' to lose!"
"Except a good friend." Death answered dryly.
"She won't just leave ya, sir. Missy Ophelia ain't like that."
Sometimes, Death envied his partner for his relaxed view of the world. It was simple for Rowan: nothing had a negative. Death wondered what it was like to see the world positively with no gray areas in between. It was a child's perspective, granted, but a perspective Death longed to witness.
"Perhaps you are right, Rowan. I will consider it. Now, back to business. What about the two star mission?" Death poured himself another cup of tea.
Rowan's cheeks lifted, the only way to tell when he was smiling, and opened his file again. "Right. In the Vatican City, cardinals an' such have been disappearin' and their bodies found a few days later. No can seem ta find the kishin egg, but there's a consistent area where-"
"Send Nike and Rachel." Death cut him off.
"Sure they're up ta it?"
Death nodded. "It will be fine. I will watch over their mission progression."
"Alright. I'll tell 'em now." Rowan saluted him and ran out of the Death Room, leaving Death alone.
He sighed and stood up, his legs protesting after being tucked beneath his body for so long. He moved his mask to rub his weary eyes, wishing for the umpteenth time he could sleep. The Death Room was silent, a truly deafening absence. He placed his hands on his lower back and leaned backward, popping his vertebrae with a satisfied grunt. He thought of taking up qigong, an exercise one of his Chinese students showed him to relax after she politely realized he seemed tense. Ophelia tried it and found it to be very soothing indeed, her demeanor even more gentle than it usually is after doing the exercise.
At the thought of Ophelia, his shoulders tensed again. He cared for her, wanting nothing but the best for her, and if he was going to do it, he intended to do it right. A simple ring wouldn't cut it. And it most certainly could not be gold (not only did Death detest gold, Ophelia had mentioned before she found gold to be a loathsome and vain metal), but silver was no better. He didn't know what her favorite gemstone was and reluctantly decided to guess and hope he was right. Now, he wondered about flowers.
Over the years, his own plant knowledge had gotten better; to the point he could tell the meaning of a flower without Ophelia's help. He decided on primrose (eternal love). The town florist, if he remembered correctly, had just gotten primrose and if he hurried, he would get them. For some reason Death did not understand, primrose was on high demand. They were in season and everyone in the city squabbled over the flowers. Even gentle Ophelia was known to elbow someone in the gut to get her share of the rare flora.
Death glanced out the tiny window on the northwest wall to determine the time of day, his only way of telling time. The sun was falling into late afternoon where the heat of the day had passed. Deciding his presence wasn't urgently needed, he slipped out of the Death Room.
The halls of the school were quiet, the only noise coming from the closed classroom doors where teachers were lecturing. It was strange; whenever he left the Death Room, the halls were flocked with children waiting to wish him a nice day before they headed home like he was. The change was nice enough, but he decided he liked their farewells better.
He exited his school without incident and decided to stop first at the Jeweler. He entered her store, the little bell ringing to signify his entrance. She was looking at a diamond, turning it this way and that, but paused to peer at him from behind her large glasses.
"Oh, hello, Lord Death! How may I help you?" She said warmly, placing the diamond down to bow to him.
Suddenly embarrassed, Death poked his index fingers together. "Well, I would like two rings to be made."
A knowing smile bloomed across the Jeweler's face. "Really? What would you like the material of the ring to be?"
"Definitely not gold or silver," he wrinkled his nose at the very thought, "I've always liked onyx...Would it be possible to forge to rings out of that?"
The Jeweler frowned thoughtfully. "I'm not sure; it's never been done before. I'll try my best, though! Would you like it engraved?"
He shook his head. "No, that's alright. Can the stone on top be garnet? I think she likes garnet."
"Of course, Lord Death! Ring sizes?"
"E-erm, I believe she is a three and I am a ten."
"I will start on the rings immediately!" She beamed.
Death pulled out a handful of coins, giving them to her. "That should cover the cost, I think."
She nodded enthusiastically. "This is more than enough! The rings should be done in a couple days; I'll send a courier to you when they are ready. Thank you for coming!"
He nicely bade her a good day and left the shop. He walked across the city to the florist where, unsurprisingly, people were nearing blows over the primrose. As he drew nearer he was shocked to see Ophelia in the middle of it, furiously clawing at another woman's hair.
"Back off, lady, I saw the damn flower first! Now, let go of my hair or I'm going to shove my foot clear up your-" She screeched, face bright red.
Death was torn between laughing or splitting her head open for fighting over a flower. "Where did you learn such vulgar language?"
Ophelia looked up at the sound of his voice and she grinned sheepishly. "Hey, Death, fancy seeing you here."
"Lord Death?!" The other woman released Ophelia's hair and straightened up, looking perturbed at being caught by the Shinigami in such a state.
He shook his head. "Ophelia, when are you going to learn? Don't you know it's impolite for a lady to fight in such an unorthodox manner?"
She fixed her tangled up hair, tucking it behind her ears, and gave an uncaring shrug. "You know how I get with flowers, especially primrose!"
The other people backed off as Death drew closer. "I will buy the flowers for you. Not all of them, of course, but a small bouquet. Does that satisfy my love?"
Her smiled softened, pleased. "That would be nice."
He turned to the cowering florist, who peeked nervously over the edge of his counter, straightening up as soon as he saw Death. "O-oh, hello, Lord Death!"
"Good afternoon," he greeted, "I would like to purchase a small bouquet of primrose."
"Right away, sir!" The florist ducked back into his stand, re-emerging with the flowers.
Death handed him a couple of coins and took the bouquet. Ophelia reached for them eagerly, but he pulled them back out of her reach. She glared at him when he wagged his finger at her.
"Uh-uh. Not so fast~! You don't get these for another couple of days!"
She huffed and crossed her arms indignantly. "And why not?"
He bounced excitedly, "That's for me to know and for you to find out!"