smeared black ink ; ——

[joonsexual]

Introduction : 1154 words
Date : 03 June 2014

---

"So, this is where they've been hiding."

He was unimpressed. He had expected more from his brothers, but, in retrospect, that was clearly an error in judgment; he must have had hit his head on something awful that day. Still, he was here now and, as the saying goes, if you want something done right, you had best do it yourself. And, this time, he was going to take that adage to heart. "Well, three, two, one. Ready or not, here I come."


timeskiptimeskiptimeskipPRESENT DAY —— NOON


The search for War was not, by any measure or definition, going well.

Instead of dragging his absentee brother back to the underworld by his ears, Death was, currently, sitting behind a counter, tasked with the job of renting out surf boards, scuba gears, and what-have-yous. When he had decided to join his brothers in their search for War, he had imagined scenes of action: kicking down doors with righteous anger, weaving through traffic in hot pursuit. He had not—not in any version of his imagination—figured himself a vendor suffering near-intolerable heat, catering to the whims of those who, if they knew better, would kneel at his feet, begging for mercy.

But, then again, he had also expected his older brothers to pick different—correction, better—disguises.

And as he surveyed the beach, which had grown loud and crowded since morning, Death wondered which face War hid behind—if he hid behind one at all. There was always the possibility that his brothers, Pestilence and Famine, were mistaken. In fact, if everything turned out to be a wild-goose chase, Death wouldn't be surprised; he would be angry, but not surprised. After all, instead of hunting down their truant brother, Famine was busy serving sweets and Pestilence was wasting time with human children. And, as if their lack of progress wasn't frustrating, neither Pestilence nor Famine seemed any wiser about his entrance.

Drumming his fingers irritably against the countertop, which was rough and uneven under his fingertips, Death continued to search through the passing faces. Or, rather, he tried looking for faces. Unlike his true form, which saw with extreme clarity, this body walked around in a tight haze of misshapen everything. Despite being an athlete—Death had chosen this particular human for his supposed physical skills—he couldn't see more than five or six feet ahead. Seven, if Death squinted.

"What a useless body."

"You could wear glasses. Or contacts. Or, wait, you can just give me back my body."

The helpful suggestion was, as usual, ignored. Death, with only a slight frown, continued to stare at the shifting crowd—as if the fog of obscure faces was the most interesting thing he had even seen or will see.

"You're just making it worse."

Death stared harder; his frown tightening further. 'If I ignore him for long enough, maybe he'll go away.'

"I'm not going anywhere," the spirit sighed, throwing up his hands in exasperation. "I'm here until you give me back my body."

Death's—or, rather, Evan's—lips had thinned unpleasantly as he glowered. There were numerous things Death hated about Earth, but few things rivaled his hatred for the spirits, who, upon finding him, invited themselves to stay. As Death, ghosts were hardly a problem: snap of a finger and they were gone—vanished. As Evan, he could only sit and endure their senseless chatter. Some spirits wanted to strike a bargain: trading one useless thing for more time. Other spirits wanted a shoulder to cry on: they wanted to spill their secrets. But Evan was different. Evan didn't want to bargain. He didn't even want to mourn his death because Evan refused the idea. Evan, for whatever reason, considered the whole incident an odd, but temporary out-of-body experience.

He thought he would be allowed back into his body once Death vacated it.

"You can ignore me, but I'll still be here."

Of course, that wasn't how things worked, but Evan was stubborn. He didn't listen to Death's calloused explanations (which, to be fair, weren't very good explanations; they consisted mostly of Death yelling at Evan and Evan yelling back). No, Evan didn't listen and Death, who was never the most patience of the horsemen, gave up trying to convince Evan of his fate. After all, once Death located War, he will deal with Evan.

Surrendering any attempts at trying to sift through the blurry faces, the brunette hopped the counter and made his way down the beach, abandoning his post at the rental shack. He had been there for hours and, if the afternoon progressed as it had in the morning, nobody was going to rent anything. And while Death had successfully ditched the store, he was less lucky with Evan, who easily fell into step beside him, a lecture already leaving his lips.

"You can't just leave! You're supposed to be manning the store!" Even in death, Evan was a do-gooder. "Hey, stop! You can't go!"

And just as Death was powerless in sending Evan into the afterlife, Evan was powerless in dealing with Death, who, despite Evan's constant nagging and complaints, simply did as he pleased. And, with nothing stopping him, Death walked closer towards his destination: Pestilence.

From the shack, he hadn't been sure if the kid was his brother, but, as he neared, he was certain that the kid, surrounded by other kids, was, in fact, Pestilence's host: Kent-something or another.

"Why are we here? You don't know how to play volleyball."

"I'm here to catch tail and soak up sun." Death may not have liked being on Earth, but he was quick to adapt—picking up human mannerisms without missing a beat. He may not have been a fan of the constant barrage of spirits dropping by all day and all night either, but their regular visits made the transition from horsemen to human fairly easy. Or, as Death was more inclined to believe, he was simply smarter than his brothers. Plus, sarcasm came to him naturally.

"That's Casper."

"Who?"

But Evan wasn't listening anymore. Instead, he ran over to the teal-haired boy, screaming the other kid's name at the top of his lungs. "Casper! Casper!" Death rolled his eyes; Evan could scream as loud as he wanted, but the kid wouldn't hear a thing. And, in a desperate act, he tried holding onto the other boy's shoulders. The only thing was, Evan couldn't hold onto Casper anymore than he could drag Death back to the rental store (if anything, he might actually have a greater chance of getting Death to go back than reaching Casper). His hands went through the body like hand through water and, eventually, Casper walked right through him.

"Idiot," Death muttered as he let his eyes focus on his brother. Damn, even at this range, everything was slightly fuzzy at the edges. It may be time to invest in those "glasses" or "contacts."