Prayers For Rain (Undertaker x Original Female Character)

1

Lucretia, a traditional goth girl in her twenties had just finished mortuary school and was now going through her yellow pages in search of a job or apprenticeship. Usual Christian establishments didn't want someone else dressed in all black, clad in rosaries to be present at a funeral parlor, though it seemed rather fitting.

There was no real reason for her becoming a mortician other than the fascination of death. Death and the afterlife frequently occupied her thoughts, so she decided it could be her profession. That, along with watching too many scary movies as an unsupervised child made her nearly insensitive to the macabre.

Her only remaining option was The Undertaker whom her peers had mentioned being a crazy man that loved his customers a bit too much...according to rumors of course made by college kids. Her peers frequently referred to him as the last man they'd be stuck alone in a room with, even if he was best mortician in London.

Lucretia met him a few months prior when she accompanied her roommate, concerning their neighbor's death. The neighbor had been killed and she had been the one to find the body. Seeing as the young girl was a prostitute and the only family she potentially had would not have claimed her, Lucretia took it upon herself to give the girl a proper funeral. The Undertaker charged no outrageous fee like many other parlors, in fact, he charged nothing at all except for a good joke.

Though it was only around five p.m., it was getting dark since it was in the dead of winter. Lucretia added a few layers to her normal attire, thick black stockings, a black layered skirt that went just past her knees, a black turtleneck, a real leather jacket, pointy black boots that would make her look like even more of a witch than normal, and finally many articles of jewelry that jingled and jangled as she walked down the snowy sidewalks of London.

Though she knocked twice on The Undertaker's shop door, there was no answer, the door only creaked open eerily. She stepped inside, looking around the dimly lit funeral parlor with a few different coffins on display. It definitely smelled of a funeral parlor: formaldehyde and floral arrangements.

"Undertaker?" she asked somewhat hesitantly. Not long after calling for him, she heard rustling in a back room covered by a door.

The mortician himself stumbled out of the back room, chuckling to himself. "Yes dearie, do you have a customer for me?"

He approached the young woman as his impressively long white hair followed behind, swaying in rhythm. His boots clicked across the floor of the parlor with each step and a pleasant grin rested on his features. Unlike her fellow mortuary pupils, she was not put off by his appearance or so-called "creepy" demeanor. She had experienced how kind the Undertaker had been when she was trying to bury her neighbor, and wasn't going to let gossip ruin the impression she already had of him.

"No Sir," she answered, somewhat confused about why he was chuckling. "You took care of my neighbor a few months ago." Lucretia tried to jog his memory.

"Yes of course my dear, I could not forget your customer, nor such a macabre vision as yourself," he grinned, his mouth the only visible facial feature aside from his nose, his silvery locks and hat covered the rest.

"Thank you," she nodded, somewhat flattered by the compliment. "I recently got out of mortuary school shortly after she died. I was hoping you would take me on as an apprentice?"

"You? A mortician isn't necessarily a job for a lady," he shook his head in disbelief.

"Don't be so close-minded, Mr. Undertaker, I worked very hard in school for a job like the one you've got. You won't find help as good as me." she tried to convince him.

"You will?" He asked.

"Yes sir," she bobbed her head eagerly, hoping that she could finally land a job so her roommate would no longer shoulder the burden of paying all the bills.

Lucretia also considered that maybe being denied a job by the rest of the funeral parlors across London was for the best—those people were all so bland—they would bore her to death (for lack of better terms). The Undertaker could be an exciting mentor that she could genuinely relate to...

"Well," he paused for a moment and left a heavy silence hanging in the air.

"Well?" Lucretia asked, somewhat nervously. "I have my degree, if you'd like to see it."

"I don't need to see your credentials, dearie, I believe you," he held up his hand in protest with long black nails that rivaled her own. "I might be glad to help you learn the practice but tell me...do you tell good jokes? I love to laugh." The Undertaker grinned from ear to ear, waiting for a response.

"Yes sir, I think so, I remember you asking that we tell you a joke when you took care of my neighbor" she nodded. "Hmm... a joke." Lucretia paused to think of one that might make him laugh. "Just a moment, I haven't told one in a while." She rested her chin in her hand and tapped her nails on her hip as she mulled over her brain for a good enough joke.

"Make it a good one," he waved his finger.

Against her better judgement, she decided against trying to remember a sophisticated joke, and landed with a good, old-fashioned dirty one that would make anyone laugh. "Alright, I've got it," she smiled. "How do you get a nun pregnant?"

The Undertaker got a puzzled look on his visible features, unsure of what the answer may be. "I don't know dolly, how do you get a nun pregnant?"

Lucretia giggled to herself at the vulgarity of the punchline for a moment before answering, "fuck her."

The Undertaker was silent momentarily before the loudest sounds she'd ever heard left his mouth—he laughed—near screamed like a mad man. She could've sworn the building shook as he did. "Oh that was a good one!" he yelped as he doubled over on the floor, tears streaming down his face, and gripping his sides as he continued to laugh.

At this point, even Lucretia was laughing, not at her joke in particular but at just how funny he thought the joke was. He might die of laughter if he kept on like that much longer.

"Well I didn't think it was that funny," she thought aloud as she watched the mortician roll around on his shop floor as his giggles slowly faded. "You need some help up?" she asked as she walked closer with her hand held out for him. 

"Thank ya, dearie," he smiled and took her hand, pulling himself up and sighing once he stood. His hands felt very warm compared to her's after walking in the cold for some time. "I think you might do good here. I need some help cleaning this place up a bit and I can teach you all of the old tricks."

"Really? You'll let me work here?" Lucretia asked in almost disbelief after being rejected several times today.

"Mhm," Undertaker showed his teeth a bit with the answer. "Now, you be here in the morning to get started. I believe several customers will be coming in that need tending to."

"Yes sir," she nodded. "Thank you so much for the opportunity, and I'll see you tomorrow." Lucretia paced to the door.

"You're quite welcome. You better be glad I need the company," he joked and waved a finger in her face before tapping her nose, making her giggle.

"I'll be a great mortician, but I don't mind the company either," she replied and stepped out the door.

Lucretia arrived back home, shutting the door behind her and took of her boots immediately as to not track in dirt and snow. She was orphaned and after turning 18, was thrown out and lived with friends for periods of time. Now, she was living with her close friend for the past few years, Caroline.

"Any luck today?" Caroline asked from the sofa, not even looking up from the magazine she was skimming.

"I'm gonna be The Undertaker's apprentice," she smiled, glad to have finally found a job.

"The creepy one on the same street as our regular tea shop?" she looked up, eyebrow cocked in confusion.

"Yeah," Lucretia answered, "he wasn't all too creepy today."

"He just rubs me the wrong way," Caroline shuddered and went back to her magazine.

"Oh he isn't that bad," She giggled to herself and made her way to the kitchen to fix herself dinner.