Author's note: Okay, here is the first rewritten chapter! It's not perfect by any means, but I'm tired of sitting on it. I gotta write the rest of the story, sorry! Please accept this mess as an offering for the time being.
Disclaimer: I do not own any the media referenced in this fic.
It's not the actual beginning of the story that matters, so much as it is the way we start the tale. The way this story begins is dreadfully mundane, and so I fear the attention of viewers may be at risk. To reward your upcoming test of patience, I have elected to dangle a teaser, like meat on a hook, in front of you. Please kindly regard the following with anticipation:
The sky was dark, and there were no artificial lights this far out in the woods.
Clover just needed to get past the creek. If they could cross the footbridge, there was a fork in the trail that went straight downhill and back into the park.
They could escape by rolling all the way down, they just had to stick to the landing... and avoid broken bones. Better than getting caught.
"Daisy, go left!" They cried over the downpour.
The familiar was panting heavily and trying to stay ahead of the hide-behind, but this was just too much for her. She wasn't going to make it much further.
Cleaning. Restoration. Documentation. Record-keeping and coffee ring stains on cheap notepads paper. Ordering supplies to restock a janitors closet. Balancing calendars and working through a check-list of callbacks. Meticulous and life-sucking work. Unfortunately, these behind the scene duties provide the support and regulation needed to sustain a landscape that host legends, myths, and heroes.
They say the hunter writes the story of the lions, but what of the vultures? Often too busy to record their own impact on history, as neither hunter nor lion. Who has ever asked the vultures what grief tastes like?
Living comforts are served to those grieving, not to those who are cleaning. A fundamental comfort for the grieving is the lack of awareness. They are respectfully excused from the awareness of what it means to operate and maintain the exact services that they are provided. The workers must be strong to not become swallowed with dread. Menally buried alive in their own coffins of pale, nameless rooms that smells like printer paper and new carpet.
The particular office that we now turn our attention to, you may find it to be, a unique exception to the industry standard. Overnight it had become with an earthquake of haunting emotions. Yet, clerical work perseveres through even the deepest waters of grief.
Taking our metaphor of an occupational coffin, allow me to adjust it to better suite the event at hand. To be more accurate, this proverbial coffin is better compared to a burning clown car-wreck.
Overcrowded. Completely absurd, and somehow still indescribably devastating. An exhausted intern was still back-seat driving said burning wreck had been feeling the heat from the flames, figuratively, and literally, when passing through the crematorium multiple times that day. This intern is our hero, so to speak.
Finally, and without further ado, I present to you a series of fortunate curses.
A weak summer breeze taunted the open window. The curtains swayed in response to the current created by the slowly oscillating fan. With each whine of the abused motor, a ring of papers fluttered. Clover would have found this stale dance annoying if not for the greater distraction.
The large antique desk the intern was seated at stood stoically, like a mountain blanketed in a heavy snow of papers.
Wiping sweat from their brow with a handkerchief, Clover considered the relief of falling into real snow. The paperwork threatened to avalanche to the floor, which was already tiled with stacks of more paperwork. Despite the disaster laid out, Clover was making incredible progress. They had been up all night opening and establishing new files for each of the deceased individuals who were rushed in during the night. The surprise all-nighter had met the morning with abuse to the coffee machine. Lukewarm black coffee sat in disposable paper cups until each file had been dressed with the necessary forms and documents.
How could this even happen? How?
The tall oak door swung open suddenly. An equally tall man entered the room, took two impressively long strides, and promptly tripped over the vacuum cleaner that had been left in the middle of the floor.
"Clover! For goodness sake," he cried out as he struggled with the electric cord. His long legs were losing the battle quickly and knitting the electric cord around his awkward ankles.
"Sorry, uh," Clover deadpanned without looking up. They dropped their pen and, spinning around, Clover leaped to rescue the funeral director from the vintage bagged vacuum cleaner. Somehow, the extraordinarily clumsy man had managed to turn it on, and his black tie was being sucked up into the hungry machine. Clover lunged forward and yanked the cord from the outlet so that the funeral director could free himself. He smoothed out his poor crumpled tie and tried to look stern before seeing the state of the desk and Clover's sleep-deprived face.
"Clover...go take lunch," he pleaded. The intern looked back at the workspace with begging eyes.
"I've almost finished sorting out the priority clients. Please, allow me to just-" but Clover was cut off when their superior pointed to the open door. The intern hung their head in defeat and marched towards the break room, like a dog being reprimanded to the backyard.
"Hey, Clover," mumbled an equally exhausted man from the corner of the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee. He wore black slacks, a lavender and cream striped button-up, and spotless white converse sneakers. He was barely trying to hide his disheveled face behind the leaves of the generic large office plant that inhabited the corner.
"Sato, Mai," Clover greeted him and the silent woman sitting at a table. She was multitasking; sluggishly working through a mini microwaved lasagna and reviewing the growing itemized financial report.
She had a pen balanced on each ear, one red and one black. An accomplished young accountant, Mai conducted her work via commissions through various small businesses in town. She normally only needed to stop by at the end of each week to update their records, but given the circumstances and emergency, she kindly came in early with the sun that morning.
Back to the wilting young man hiding behind the greenery. Sato was their trophy receptionist. He was always the first face to see upon entering the funeral home. His irreplaceable memory and organization skills kept the daily operations comfortable and efficient. His charming personality and formal etiquette were desirable bonus assets. If the funeral director was the captain of the ship, Sato was the lieutenant.
The two desk-jockeys worked well together. Although, Clover suspected they had a tendency towards harmless gossip.
Sato assisted in piling a random assortment of snacks onto a paper plate and shoving two juice boxes into clover's cardigan pockets before turning back to Mai's documents. Clover shut the short fridge with their foot and tried sneaking back into the office, but their shoulders were gracefully apprehended and spun back around.
"Outside. Sunlight," their superior pointed to the glass sliding doors leading to a small private courtyard. Clover was confused, given the heatwave, until they saw the shadows of the clouds quickly drifting past.
Finally, wind!
Clover sat and watched the clouds glide silently across the bright blue sky, thoughtlessly inhaling food. The fleeting shadows covered the grounds for seconds at a time, as though the sun was playing peekaboo with the blushing rose bushes. Tall trellises lined the fenced-in perimeter, shielding the garden from the outside world. The gentle songs of birds replaced the noises of the neighborhood, muffled behind walls of foliage. Clover regularly dedicated hours to nurturing that courtyard. It had not been in a state of disarray when they first arrived, but it had also not been thriving. Store-bought plants had been left to struggle in their ornamental plastic planters, the ground an evenly spread coarse gravel, and the bare fences all screamed of a commercial display purchased and installed for the sake of getting the job done. Thanks to their passionate hobby the courtyard had transformed into a proper garden. A little paradise nestled away in their primarily industrialized city.
Clover's green thumb had also produced multiple benefits for the business. The clients and mourners often found the courtyard a safe spot to step away and breathe, or weep in privacy. Additionally, the assortment of different plants and florals guaranteed that they would almost always have access to fresh, in-season materials for arrangements.
The glass doors slid open and the funeral director joined Clover on the wrought-iron bench. The old walking-stick shaped man handed Clover a small can of coffee and in return they offered up the plate of treats to him. He took a plain sugar cookie, dropped it, picked it off the ground, and then ate it anyway. They sat comfortably for a while, watching the pollinators buzz around, blissfully drunk on nectar. Bees, butterflies, even the occasional wild Greenman gorged themselves on the floral buffet.
"I appreciate you hard work, kid, but I need my living tenants to remain living. Take breaks, please. The dead aren't going anywhere," he gently lectured.
Clover nodded, and tried not to tear up. Fatigue was taking it's toll on them, and they knew the employer/landlord was right. He sighed and patted the top of their unruly hair.
"Clover... sometimes these things happen and it's our job to handle it so others don't have to, but please don't feel responsible for their grief," he added with more compassion in his voice. Tragedies came through their field of work all the time, but that never made it easier to handle. Loss hurts. No matter who you are.
Clover peered up into his gaunt face. He was honestly an extremely kind man with the patience of a saint. His hair, despite his age, was still obsidian in color. Cut and uniformed into an unremarkable style, as were his suit and shoes. His stature was really the only thing that stood out.
Clover was grateful to have found a place to live AND work while studying for their teaching license. It was an even greater fortune that such a peaceful aria accepted Clover's application. He was a local. Born and raised in True Cross Town, he'd inherited the funeral parlor, property and practice. It had originally been opened to exclusively cater exorcists.
Supernatural afflictions had a frustrating tendency to complicate funerals. It took great skill to purify bodies for the sole purpose of a funeral or wake. For a long time many exorcists opted to skip the strain on their resources and cremate, regardless of the deceased wishes. Throughout the years of operation, many exorcists had found sanctuary in the privacy of his specialty practice. They were able to be truly themselves and openly discuss occupational secrets within the building. Of course, a complicated passing was not a requirement to be honored there. Many exorcists from other True Cross branches had been served and memorialized in their halls.
Clover gazed upon the large marble pillar that stood as the centerpiece of the courtyard. Though most of the surface area stood untouched for future use, it had been used to engrave the names of hundreds of local exorcists laid to rest by their funeral home. It filled Clover with a sense of duty and belonging. The relatively new state of the pillar served as a constant reminder of the unknown number of names throughout history that were never recorded.
"Grandfather... thank you," Clover finally replied. The director chuckled at his nickname. No, he was not Clover's grandfather, nor anyone else's.
The funeral home was named in memory of his own grandfather. An infamously lucky exorcist who narrowly survived a harrowing series of dangers while in the line of work. He had finally met his end while battling a kin of Ashtaroth as his body was claimed by demonic infection. As per procedure back then, the bodies of the fallen exorcists were cremated on site so as to prevent the spread of infection. It was just an occupational risk the families had to accept. The current funeral director could never accept the situation as was. He dedicated himself to years of study to design alternative procedures and practices.
"Grandfather's Fortunate Funeral Home for the Dutifully Afflicted" was a mouthful of name, but it worked well in redirecting the interest of those unware of it's true purpose. Sometime shortly after opening business, the locals endearingly referred to him as "Grandfather Fortunate", like some kind of morbidly cartoon mascot. He'd been called Mr. Fortunate for about 40 years now, and it didn't bother him anymore. He'd learned to humor it with pride. As for those close to him, they simply called him Lucky.
"You can finish up that paperwork now, whenever you're ready to," he smiled. Clover sniffled and wiped their eyes. They finished the second juice box and slammed the coffee back in one go before returning inside. Lucky deadpanned at the alarming display of skill.
After the sliding door shut closed, he crossed one ankle over the other knee, taking up the entire bench. He brought out a long pipe from a hidden inner jacket pocket. He stuffed it with dried flowers from an unlabeled vial and lit it. Breathing out a smooth plume of remarkably purple smoke, he sighed.
Clover was his first full-time apprentice. He would be lying if he said he hadn't chosen them out of sheer amusement for their name, as it fit the overall theme of the establishment.
He spaced out, watching the plumes of purple smoke drift away. The day Clover had applied for the position came to mind. He thought back to that day and chuckled.
~flashback~
Sato knocked before entering Lucky's office. He looked confused, and informed Lucky of an internship applicant requesting to submit their information to him directly. Lucky considered turning them away for not following the simple instructions given to students that wished to apply, but more often than not, there weren't have any applicants at all. He sighed and went into the lobby to meet the bold student.
He was stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Clover for the first time.
He raised an eyebrow and waited for an explanation.
Standing on their tippy toes, Clover was reaching desperately to remove a coal tar stubbornly glued to the corner of the ceiling. Their shorter than average stature was not granting them any mercy, and they pathetically swatted at it, several inches out of reach. Lucky picked up a newspaper they had left on the seat of a chair. A chair that Sato had most likely asked them to wait in. He rolled it up and reached his long arms over Clover's head to effortlessly snuff out the coal tar.
Clover turned around, wide-eyed and immediately apologized as they hopped down from the chair. Lucky just made a 'Hm' sound and unrolled the newspaper to hand back to the embarrassed teen, but noticed a couple of big red circles on the classifieds. They were both for apartments, one being of his own real estate.
'Ah,' he thought.
He looked down and traded the newspaper for a manila folder containing relevant paperwork. He leafed through it for a long minute.
'Good grades. Decent academic achievements. Hm'.
"You forgot to fill out a few things here," he pointed directly to the blank line under "gender" and "age". The student nervously fidgeted with their hands.
"Uh, well I uh, you see..." they fumbled. The teen was wearing their school uniform, but a large cardigan sweater obscured the bulk of their form. Lucky gently waved a dismissive hand.
"Is your name really 'Clover'?" he asked, to which they enthusiastically nodded.
"Are you sure you want to live next to the place you work? Tenants are obligated to follow strict noise and smell ordinances. I won't have my clients be disturbed," he listed.
Clover nodded again, "Yes sir. I already have some experience with death care, and I am confident I can meet the expectations," they carefully explained.
'Hmmm, okay why not,' he thought.
"The internship begins on the first day of the next semester. Should you successfully complete the course and wish to continue the work, the opportunity for an extended, paid, internship will be available," he explained. Clover delayed their reaction for a moment before a beaming smile overtook their features.
"Thank you, sir!"
"Mhm. As for the apartment, my receptionist Sato can guide your walkthrough. I must return to work now," Lucky said before turning around and silently stalked down the hall to his office.
Sato sputtered and looked like he wanted to complain, before sighing. He closed his eyes and pushed his rolling office chair away from the desk.
"Alright, let's go see you new apartment," he grabbed a ring of keys from his belt and led the excited Clover around the building, up the stairs and into the detached second floor.
Author's Note: Yes, I know the process would have been more complicated than that, but this is a fan fiction, not a realty office lol
Lucky brought his thoughts back to the present. Considering the risk he took with such an impulsive decision, the situation turned out pretty well. Clover had turned out to be an exemplary tenant and apprentice. They continued working at the funeral home while finishing their last year of high school, and was now currently taking a "gap year" after graduating earlier in spring, just before summer rolled in. Lucky never did figure out Clover's real age, and eventually learned of how they were fostered by a small monastery that frequently took in kids with temptaints. Clover was young enough to not have been walking just yet when taken in, so anyone's best guess was about a year old. Lucky found it easy to be proud of his apprentice. He even attended the graduation ceremony. Sato and Mai both congratulated Clover's achievement, which was a good sign for future working relations. He was pretty satisfied about everything above ground. It was the things hiding below the floors that troubled his thoughts.
A little world building for this specific AU (inspired by the movie): The True Cross town and surrounding areas are very old, there's no doubting that. The architecture, a complex urban cultivation of never-ending projects and construction, was built in layer upon layer. In some of the smaller tucked away neighborhoods near in the river, they were not immune to earthquakes or other natural disturbances. An ancient but small cave system does exist closer to the shores. Very rarely have there ever been serious problems, but unfortunately... accidents do happen.
Last night, an entire 3 story apartment building was swallowed up by a sinkhole. Nobody saw it coming. There were many causalities. It was mostly inhabited by exorcists, so Lucky had been the first businessman abruptly woken at his own home and presented with the horrifying news. He was still trying to process the shock during his drive to the funeral parlor. Clover woke, inevitably, to the sound of heavy traffic coming and going on the ground floor below. Clover threw on black jeans and a yellow hoodie, slipped on their house slippers and grabbed their keys before running outside. They snuck in through the back door, after hopping the courtyards fence of course. Lucky was definitely taken aback at the sight, leaves stuck to Clover's curly hair, but quickly gave them directions to help. They hated the freezer, but put on their best brave face. Not everyone could be as unshakable as a certain aloof, bad-mouthed gravedigger they'd once met in passing.*
Lucky tapped the ashes out of his pipe and held his head in his hands. He was exhausted, and the smoke barely helped to soothe his nerves. The other problem regarding unexpected fissures in the ground was just below his own feet. There was no risk of collapse of instability in the foundation, thankfully. However, he knew something that none of his employees or clientele were aware of.
The reason he chose this property to invest his inheritance into, to build upon his bold ambitions and the old building originally there, it was all because of what laid beneath it. There was an underground cavern that had been used as a makeshift mass unmarked grave. The spirits beneath had haunted the area for a long time, leading to urban legends and several properties abandoned out of fear.
He was drawn to the location and their resentful cries. The deep pit of ashes had been sealed off since then, obviously, but standing directly above it all from inside of the building... he could still hear them.
The secret to his practice was the ghost's advice and guiding words they occasionally stirred up to offer him, solicited or otherwise. The uncountable generations inspired him to take on many difficult and gory cases. Over the long years it seemed as though the number of voices had been reduced, and he suspected some had even finally found the peace to pass on. Many of the older ones remained, some having accents or dialects so old it sent shivers down his long spine.
Sometimes their words made no sense, and he had to simply tune them out. Unfortunately, this particular heartbreaking accident had disturbed the nest of historical spirits. It just hit too close to home for them. He tries to give the occasional phantom a chance to wander the grounds until they have been properly laid to rest, but this was too much for him to bear. There were a dozen bodies crammed into the morgue's freezer, and at least half of them had been fading in and out with anguish, arguing with the permanent residents all night.
Still, he forced himself to tune it out as best as he could. The sooner he could finish his work the sooner they would all pass on. He may have been the one working with the physical bodies to purify and prepare, but his hearth went out to his young apprentice, who had been assigned the task of identifying the bodies and matching exorcists to their respective records. Clover was brave, but young. Such work is emotionally, mentally, and physically draining.
Lucky snorted at himself and got his composure back together. They were all okay, right now. These aren't his real grandchildren, he reminded himself. They all had to have support on the outside, so such a responsibility did not rest exclusively on his shoulders. He didn't know too much about Clover, specifically, but their background check elaborated a bit on their foster care from outside the main branch. He also recalled that they had a couple of friends at their graduation ceremony.
'Yeah', he thought. 'Everyone's okay right now.' He tried to ignore the distorted ranting beneath his feet. It was time to get back to work. 'A vacation after this all, would be nice, though'.
Clover ended the impossibly long day at 6pm,. Lucky insisted they close early, and nobody raised any complaints. He held the door open for the three young adults as they sluggishly filed out into the street and went their separate ways.
Clover trudged up the tall stairs, leaning against their door as they fumbled with the lock. Kicking of their house slippers, they took the big butterfly clip out of their curly hair that Mai had kindly gave them. Frazzled mahogany bangs fell over bleary eyes. Clover belly flopped onto their bed and muffled their screams into the plush quilt.
A large animal squirmed beneath the blanket before pulling it's round head out from the covers, making a small unimpressed noise. Clover blindly reached a hand up and awkwardly pet it's head before sliding down to the floor and rolling over to their back. The exhausted desk-jockey stretched their toned arms up high and felt their back pop in two places. The animal slowly slid off the edge of the bed and fell across Clover's torso, pinning them to the spot.
"OOMF," the air left their lungs. "DAISY! GET! OFF!" Clover gasped for air, trying to shove the heavy capybara away. Daisy rolled off and onto the floor in an exaggerated defeat, as if mocking them.
"Don't give me that look, I know I'm late," they argued, but Daisy continued to look bored.
Clover groaned and got up to feed the abnormal familiar. As soon as that was done, they took a shower, using their soothing honey and milk soap. Washing the day away and allowing some tears to finally flow while under the warm water. They donned a light blue bathrobe with yellow fuzzy slippers and rummaged their mini-fridge for something they didn't have to cook. A mediocre gas station sandwich and juice box. Score.
They snuggled into their tiny red sofa next to Daisy. They turned the TV on to some random shopping channel, and reduced the volume to just barely audible before chucking the remote over to the coffee table. Within seconds they fell asleep to the electric hum.
"WHAT?" Clover cried out. The morning sky had barely yet revealed a bright red sunrise. The silhouette of birds against the fiery sky dotted the horizon.
"I said you have the day off," Lucky answered, bemused.
"But, but the paperwork!"
"You actually did all of the important stuff yesterday, so don't worry about it kid," he ruffled their hair affectionately.
Clover stood there dumbfounded, mouth agape. Lucky chuckled and turned around, going back inside and leaving the young adult at the sidewalk.
"Well, now what?" Clover pondered for a moment before the answer became clear. They walked back upstairs, kicked their shoes off at the door, undressed as they walked towards the bed, and crawled right back under the still-warm covers.
Author's note: Thanks for reading! I hope there weren't too many typos or broken grammar ;) I might combine the drafts of chapter 2 and 3, so that will be longer than this one. See you next time!