Danse Mors, Death's Story

Danse Mors, Death peered from behind the Philosophy section of the bookstore to eye Chilili gleefully. He didn't actually need to be there. Danse felt himself above logic even though he, himself, was simply putting order to the chaos. However, in his opinion, nature was something different than logic. From the moment Chilili awoke and Infinitious gave his announcement, he had returned to his incarnation. His “mother” was quite pleased, having worried about his absence. Unfortunately, it did not release him from cat-sitting duties. Danse understood the idea of walking a dog as it was a messy and loud creature that needed to walk the perimeter of its domain with its human companion and a plastic bag... however, walking a cat was a little beyond him. The slinky black feline his mother called Mr. Cuddles, did not appreciate the leash as much as its canine counterpart. In fact, he seemed quite annoyed by it. His little fangs often tried to rip the leash apart but with no luck. Danse had considered letting the thing go but after the early demise of Sir Hugs-a-lot by a speeding car, he didn't dare let his host's mother lose another one. So Danse and Mr. Cuddles had settled on an uneasy alliance. In exchange for Mr. Cuddles' relative obedience, Danse referred to him as Doom. He seemed to enjoy that. So together, they stalked the alleyways until they could see the apartment. He waited until Infinitious arrived and spotted Edelia as well. He wondered how many more would descend on the unsuspecting victim of this challenge. He grimaced with a painful joy. Doom simply meowed with boredom. And for a long time, they simply waited. Neither consciously knew the objective but both knew they'd recognize the opportunity when it came.

Danse Mors, Death And it did. As Chilili walked out in a huff of human emotion and angst, Danse made his move. Creepy along the shadows with the feline, they made their way along the other side of the street. He could recognize the air of hopelessness and despair anywhere. This was, after all, his department. Any minute now, Infinitious would be on her toes. He would catch her beforehand. He had to. And then he saw her stop to speak to a homeless man on the sidewalk. Nonchalantly, he crossed the street, tugging at Doom to follow. He crept near the entrance of the bookstore and listened in on her quandaries. The feline began to bite at his toes. As if the creature was in league with the human, it seemed to believe that she deserved to work out her problems in private. Danse gave it a stern look but cats were not as susceptible to being creeped out by Death as people were. Doom merely licked his paw. At a loss, Danse entered the book store. He made his way to his favorite section and was waiting for Chilili. And there she was, like a plucked chicken on a platter. But he didn't make a move. Not yet...

Danse Mors, Death 's eyes narrowed with menace as he spied on the others through the book shelf. He pushed aside the copy of Nietzsche's The Antichrist and watched the girls fawn over the human as if she were a pampered pet. Doom decided that was the right time to meow. Danse was not amused by this. Sadly, the cat had also seen the bird but was unable to leap upon the flying food due to its leash. Doom was disappointed when the flying food had changed into a human who were not as traditionally fun to hunt as a bird. Danse was also disappointed. It would have been interesting to see a common cat eat a god despite the inevitable explosion and messiness. Then suddenly, he was reminded again of Sir Hugs-a-lot... He decided he had to insert himself into the conversation. It was clear that too much feminine energy led to passive inertia. And only in this moment, would he side with Infinitious in his kinetic and somewhat aggravating initiative. Yet the nerd had obviously lost them as his presence was absent. He would have to hold it together. It was barely worth the hassle. He turned to Doom, trying to suggest that they were to embark on a serious undertaking. Yet lacking Nyama's natural sympathy for animals, Doom did not get the message. Instead, he licked his back leg, ignoring the obvious need for leadership. “This is why people prefer dogs,” Danse muttered, dragging the protesting cat around to the other side.

Danse Mors, Death Grimaced as he spotted the group. “Are we done with the group therapy?” he sneered. He looked at each one, baring into the whites of their eyes with the intention of intimidation. “Have we all forgotten why we are here? Do we need a refresher course?” he said with a snarling undercurrent in his tone. The black cat simply sat near his feet, staring at Maisie. Danse turned to Edelia, slightly caught off guard that another god dared to show up this time. The first argument setting off the end of the first universe had not been pretty. The fact that more gods were now starting to show made him a little nervous. An emotion that did not sit well with Death. He cleared his throat to buy himself a moment. Admittedly, he had an uneasy relationship with Time. When Time had a beginning and an end, especially an end, Danse was satisfied. It was when Time was eternal, endless that he became uncomfortable. And when things became uncomfortable for Death, he did not exactly react in a positive way. “So,” he started in an unusually high-pitched tone, “decided to join the dialogue here? Pleased to see the state of the universe actually caught someone's attention...” Sarcasm was dripping from his words like venom. “I hope you realize that this isn't a knitting party! We're here to decide the fate of creation itself! Not just this stupid girl!” he snapped, pointing offhandedly at Chilili. “Who cares if she LIKES it!! She agreed to it!” his chest puffed up as he swung his arms in a grandiose fashion. Books toppled to the ground and Doom began to yowl in distress. “And you!” he said, pointing at Maisie. He drew his words out longer in her presence, simply because he had no real argument with her. She had simply appeared and offered sympathy to a girl that needed it. She had done nothing wrong. “We have a job here! I expect you to tow the line, despite how you feel!” his tone had lost their bite. His temper settled to a quiet stew much to the cat's relief.

Danse Mors, Death turned to Chilili and discovered a hunger that he sat inside him like a toad waiting for a fly. Perhaps it was her mortality. Being around other gods was frustrating because he could not simply end them. There was no sense of relief for the struggle of existence. But Chilili was so refreshingly vulnerable to him. It made him almost eager in her presence. “Maybe I'm taking the wrong approach,” he said, gazing into her eyes. “Perhaps it's too difficult for me to understand you... What am I to you but some unknowable concept? What is Time to you but an idea? What is Fate and Fortune to you but notions? And in that respect, what are you to us but an impression? It's a little frightening to see those abstract thoughts suddenly become real before your eyes, isn't it?” he continued, “I admit, I'm a little intimidated too,” His tone grew slick and unnatural. Often in his incarnations he had been confused with a devil and bargained with. And other times, too, he had to convince those that refused to let go of their lost lives to turn to him. Ghosts were his failures. Chilili was his new challenge. “Chilili,” he said, in a familiar tone, easing closer to her, “In the end... there is nothing to be frightened of... Whether you succeed or fail, the end always comes. The very people you save will die. This very universe will one day die, either naturallyor preternaturally. You fight a lost cause. That is something I understand because I fight for you... And in the end, whether you win or lose, you'll come to me, Chilili...” As he came closer, his tone grew lower, darker; a lurking beast in the shadow ready to leap. “It's effortless, really... to die... No test, no gods, nothing... a beautiful void...” he said, and left it at that. No matter how big or small, every living thing understood the language of Death. He was giving her the illusion that she had a choice and all he needed to do was wait for the answer.

Danse Mors, Death was stunned. He held the spot where Chilili had struck him and let out a howl of agony. "Ow!!" he said indignantly. He spun on his heels and glared at the back of the petty human. "OW!!" he said again, punctuating his point. He couldn't decide whether the assault was insulting or simply irritating. He couldn't see how he could have provoked such behavior. Usually a deal with Death was met with more ceremony and fear... not POKING! He rubbed the wounded spot and found the injury to his ego hurt more than the miriad of scars and injuries to the body. His host body had never known pain such as this and niether had Death. He would take this poking incident as the most gravest of insults. His mind was made up. He wasn't going to play nice anymore. Unfortunately, he could not call upon an army of the dead in his host body but he would find a way. He was not without influence...