Vita et Mors || A TXT Fanfiction

Death. Year 2042.

War drags me away from the rabbit, threatening to leave me behind if I don’t follow him. It’s not a noteworthy threat, because I couldn’t care less if I was left alone, but War isn’t up for negotiation, and I’m not willing to stick around and see him angry. So I follow him, and he leads me back to where I know the others are. It’s a bunker we rest in made from an abandoned storage container, with cots set up for the four of us and blankets scattered around. We don’t spend a lot of time inside, but every so often we’ll return to the bunker to chat, plan, or simply sleep. Not that we need sleep anyways, but sometimes it’s nice to have a break from our jobs.

Once War and I reach the place, it’s not hard to notice that Famine and Pestilence beat us there. Pestilence is leaning against one wall of the container, his back pressed to the metal while his legs are kicked outwards. He holds a white cigarette in hand, plumes of smoke that smells of street rats flowing from his mouth and nose.

“About time you joined us!” He shouts the moment he locks eyes on us, his mouth twisting into a grin to reveal yellowed, rotting teeth. All of his smoking has taken a toll on his mouth.

But it’s not like the rest of his body is in much of a better shape anyways.. What, with his skin that carries a green hue, and the scatter of countless dark spots that stretch over his cheek and neck. Between his teeth, the whites of his eyes, and his fingernails, there isn’t a sign of white on him. It’s all become yellow from years of mistreatment towards his own body, mistreatment that has built into a habit I know he couldn’t break, even if he tried.

I give him a nod, and he goes back to smoking, satisfied that I acknowledged his existence.

“Famine still in bed?” War asks from beside me, but before Pestilence has a chance to reply, War is shoved from behind, his feet dancing one of danger to keep himself from falling over.

“No, I’m not still in bed.” His attacker sounds, making Pestilence snicker to himself. “In fact, I was waiting for you two. What took you so long?” He spits to both of us, before angling his words directly to War. I turn to look at Famine as he speaks, but due to his heavy slouch, the way my head tilts downwards makes it appear as though I’m looking down on him. But if anyone is to come across as rude, it’s him, not me.

“Death was grieving.” War answers for me. Famine scoffs, blowing a stray strand of his silvery bird's nest hair away from his face. “Death is always grieving.” He retorts lazily, waving a dismissive hand towards me. “Why couldn’t you just leave him? You know that he’s boring.” He continues, speaking as if I’m not right next to him, or like I’ve just become completely deaf. I don’t let him get to me, though. Famine has always had it out for me. I’ve never been able to figure out why.

War snickers softly. “Come on Famine, he’s right here. Have a little respect.” He says, but then he inches closer to Famine, whispering something in his ear that I don’t have a chance at hearing. Whatever he said makes Famine laugh, so I know it wasn’t a good thing. I can only imagine the hell the two of them might be whispering about me, the fun they’re sharing in plain sight, the belittling they’re bringing upon me behind my back. It’s better to not ask, though.

Famine and War make a team together that’s practically impenetrable.

“So now that you’re here,” Pestilence speaks up, his cigarette reduced to just the butt, of which he throws lazily to the ground before stepping it out. He immediately pulls another from the pocket of the doctor’s coat I’ve never seen him without, lights it, and takes a long drag before speaking again. “Can we make plans for the ball? It’s coming up soon. And we have a lot to do.” He says, each word accompanied with the leftover smoke from the pull of his cigarette. It coils in patterns around his pointy nose before vanishing in invisible whisps.