"And well. . . I reached the human realm right after."
"How thrilling, that must 'ave been!"
The Undertaker had brought you into his shop. You thought it was quite nice. It was filled with coffins, which were something you had never seen before. They looked very comfortable.
The two of you settled inside, with you placing your new clothes on a coffin and with the Undertaker making you a cup of tea, albeit he served it to you in a rather weird looking cup with measurements on it. You weren't sure what kind of cup it was. Maybe it was a human thing.
Anyway, you had just finished telling your tragic tale, the Undertaker so patiently listening.
"I guess so. . . After I fell, I've been living out in the woods."
"Oh really? Then you must've been living out there for. . . Five years!"
"I have. But it wasn't all bad. At least, I don't think it was. It looks really pretty out there."
"Didn't you get hungry out there?"
You laughed, "What do you mean? Angels don't need to eat."
"They don't? Then what do you do? Surely you need to sleep?"
You hummed and rested your head on your hand. The two of you sat upon a coffin.
"I think eating and sleeping are only to pass time and for pleasure. Isn't it like that for grim reapers?"
He shrugged in reply, tapping his nails (which were strangely long and black) against the coffin.
"No, not really. We're practically human, except we don't die as easily." He replied, throwing a biscuit into his mouth.
"That's interesting. . . Wait, grim reapers die? That's. . . Unexpected."
"Angels can't? You're father was killed, wasn't he?"
You griminced, "I mean. . . Yes, but we can only be killed by other angels. Not by other things, as far as we know. The only thing that can kill an angel are angels themselves or an archangel's sword. Er, well- an archangel's sword can kill anything, I'm pretty sure. That's it's purpose."
You passed the sword, still in it's scabbard, to him. The Undertaker examined it carefully, before deciding to remove it from it's scabbard.
The sword could simply be described as an angel would be.
Angelic. Delicate. Bright.
It was a sleek steel sword that was shinier than any fancy silverware he had ever seen. And it's handle was a beautiful golden colored metal. The swords hilt, or handle, resembled the wings of an angel. It was definitely no fencing sword.
This was a sword.
The Undertaker took a look at the point of the sword, gently placing his finger onto it, before quickly pulling it back.
The sword drew blood, immediately.
He sucked on his bloodied finger as he told you, "Then it's the same for reapers."
"What do you mean?"
"The only thing that can kill a grim reaper are death scythes, and apparently this sword here."
The Undertaker fiddled with the sword. He jabbed it into certain directions as if he had actually been fighting someone. You would say he's a bit sloppy.
"Ah! I thought you meant grim reapers have stronger bodies. Like with humans and their organs and weird bodily fluids."
"Do angels not have those?"
"No, we do. But it's not as gross."
"Well wouldn't your body be different? You're a demon too, aren't you? Not fully angel." He questioned, pointing the sword in your direction.
You slumped in your spot.
"I don't really like calling myself a demon."
"Oh? Why not?" The Undertaker smiled, deciding to take the sword to cut a biscuit in half.
You fiddled with you hands.
"I don't- Because- Well you know. . ."
"I'm afraid I don't, dear."
You sent him a pout before you huffed, moving further to the side as he raised the sword over his head, ready to cut the biscuit in front of him.
"Nobody likes devils. Angels don't like them. Do grim reapers even like them?"
"Hmmm. . . Well-"
He brought the sword down, which he immediately let go of as he felt the sword took control of itself and plunged itself deeply into the coffin. You flinched as you heard the loud "crack!" the coffin made as it broke apart.
"That packs quite the punch!" He laughed loudly. "I felt as if my arms were going to fall apart!"
"B-be careful! I didn't think you were really going to let it go! I thought you were only playing around?"
"Eh? Why would I play around with something that could kill me?" He asked comically.
You huffed. "Just give it to me, please!" You held out your hand for him to place the handle on.
He did, but not before grabbing the half of the biscuit that had fallen on the floor and stuffing it into his mouth.
"Sure. Do you know how to use that thing anyway? It's nearly as big as you?" He teased.
You frowned and placed the sword back in it's scabbard.
"Angels are each incredibly skilled with a sword. We were all taught from a young age. Or well- a younger age in my case." You added quietly, subtlety blushing.
"Oh really? I'm sorry for my mistake."
You let out another sigh that the Undertaker chuckled to.
"Well, back to the topic at hand, some don't like demons much, I know. I don't care much, to be frank," he continued.
"Who's Frank?"
The Undertaker smiled at this.
You were so. . . oblivious. It was amusing.
He replied in sarcasm, "A friend."
"Oh, alright. . . I haven't met much people. Actually, I haven't met any. You're the first. I hope I'm doing okay, with this being my first time. Meeting someone, I mean."
"I'd say you're doing alright."
You grinned.
"Thank you. Do you think we could be friends? Like how you're friends with Frank?"
"A friend, eh? Of course, I don't see why not."
He found it cute how your face seemed to brighten up.
"Really? You'd be my friend?"
"Yeah, I'd be you're friend, sure."
"This is so exciting! I've never had a friend before. I used to have them, anyway, but not after what happened. Thank you, Mr. Undertaker!"
He waved you off, "Yes, yes. Very sad you've had it, yes."
You blushed and held onto the sword tightly, smiling to yourself.
You felt warm and fuzzy inside, and you found yourself unable to hide the grateful smile that made it's way to your face.
"Oh, by the way. I had another question for you."
Your smile seemed to lessen, though you still had it.
"Hm? What is it?"
"Angels, they usually have wings and halos, no? Where are yours? Or do they not really have them and were made up in stories or something?"
"Huh? Oh! No, we have them. It's just that we don't always have them out. We can make them go away if we want. But for angels my age, they can get sore if we keep them out for too long." You explained, standing up and bending over as you moved the white cloth away to reveal your bare back.
"Oh? A live show?" The Undertaker said, quirking a brow.
Two spots on your back began glowing a soft golden light. The Undertaker took notice of how that same light appeared on the sides of your head and the bottom of your ankles. Soon after, large white feathers shot out of your back, forming long fluffy wings.
The Undertaker was surprised, least to say, to have his entire vision blocked by your wings, and was entirely gentle as he placed a hand on one, careful as he glided his hand till it's very tip, till the last feather.
You were entirely fine with this curiosity, seeing as you somewhat trusted the man. You straightened your back, allowing your wings to fold onto you, and turning to face the Undertaker.
You smiled lightly as he inspected your head, which held a small pair of puffy wings, just about the size of a fist, and just above your ears.
"I have some on my ankles, too. But the elder angels told us that we might get more as we grow. Two more pairs on our back and maybe even a pair on our wrists if we're lucky, they said! I'm not sure if I'll get them or not, though."
The Undertaker took a hold of you head to fully spread out the wings. They were delicate and soft. Probably the softest thing he had ever touched. Probably the softest the thing anyone would have touched, really. He felt like he could just dive into them and sleep for all eternity. Literally.
"How lovely," He thought aloud. "They're as soft as a new born puppy!"
Offering him a close-eyed smile, you exclaimed, "Thank you! I try not to let them get too ruffled."
"Then you've done a magnificent job at that, because I think I might just die if I keep a hold on them."
"You can't possibly die now! You just became my friend!" You whined.
"I'll try not to, then. Just for your sake. But where's your halo?"
You raised a brow and tried looking above your head. He was right! Your halo was nowhere to be seen.
To this, you shook your head, ruffling your grown hair. Out popped a halo just the size of your head.
You smiled, grabbing it and presenting it to the Undertaker, "Sometimes it gets lost in there. My hair is a bit long now."
As he reached it grab it, you warned him, "It's a bit heavy for some people. Better watch out."
He put this comment to the side, assuming it was a small joke considering how frail it seemed to be.
He grabbed it.
". . ."
". . . Why exactly does it feel as if it the whole world was given to me?" He asked, giggling.
I'd like to take a moment and clarify that the Undertaker at this moment did not mean this sentence in a sentimental manner, or in a sweet manner.
No, the reason why he asked why it felt as if the world was handed over to him was because he felt as if the world was literally passed to him. This sentence does in no way suggest that he felt flattered, or have any correlation to the phrase "I can give you the world" as stated in multiple romance novels. He meant this in an absolutely dreadful manner, as the halo in his hands felt as if it weighed the same as the entirety of Earth.
This is obviously a hyperbole, or a form of exaggeration. But to give you a clear idea of how heavy this halo truly feels, the Undertaker is currently comparing your halo to the weight of Earth, which in recent times has been found to be around 13,170,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 pounds (or 5,970,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 kilograms for whoever uses such).
At the moment, the Undertaker was giggling on the floor. I'd also like to clarify that the reason for this is because he is currently hiding the pain, and that he's on the floor because of the weight of the halo (obviously). Touching this halo had singlehandedly crushed any form of happiness he held at that moment. Don't worry, this won't last long. He's a rather happy man anyway, isn't he? I'd think so.
Now that my clarification is over, I'd like to add that you rushed to grab the halo and placed it back to float over your head, apologizing frantically.
"I-I'm so sorry, Mr. Undertaker! I forgot you need to ask before grabbing a halo! Otherwise, it'll practically ruin your hands. It's so no one steals each other's halos! I'm so sorry! I for-"
He waved you off tiredly, slowly standing straightly. He looked at his hands in a sort of depression. It made you all the more worried.
"It's fine." He said. That was the only thing he said.
". . . Are you alright, Mr. Undertaker?"
"Yes, I am."
You stood there, lost. The room was silent. Not a single laugh came from the retired grim reaper. He seemed to be in a trance.
". . . Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
". . . Maybe it's time I go. Thank you for buying me new clothes, anyway. I'm very thankful, but goodbye." You nervously blurted, walking towards the exit of his shop.
You were nervous- no, you were scared. Just what was going to happen, now? You had ruined the fun, all from carelessness! Now the first friend you had made probably didn't want you to stick around any longer.
"Eh? Why would you leave?"
"What?"
The Undertaker popped out of the trance he seemed to be in just seconds ago. He flexed his hands, an attempt to get them to feel normal again.
"Why would you leave, I said. It's not like you've got any other place to be."
Your back facing him still, you turned your head to his direction.
"Because. . . I don't live here?"
"And if you did?"
You turned around to face him, an eyebrow raised higher than the other.
". . . Then I wouldn't be leaving?"
The Undertaker grinned.
You don't seem to understand what he was trying to say.
"I'm trying to say you should stay, angel."
"Oh. . ." You looked down in thought. "For a while longer?"
"I mean for you to live here with me."
Your nose scrunched up, respectfully.
"You live in a shop?"
He laughed, "There are more rooms in the back. Though I suppose sleeping in a coffin is nice every once in a while."
You looked at him weirdly.
"Is that normal?"
"Would it be wrong if it weren't?"
". . . I guess not. They do look comfortable. Is it really alright for me to stay here? Are you sure your hands are alright?"
He raised his hands out for you to see, almost as if surrending.
"They're as good as new, and it's alright. Why have room if you aren't going to use them, anyway?"
"Oh. . . Then sure. I'll stay. But what would I do? Do we just lay around all day?"
"No. I'm an Undertaker. I prepare dead bodies. 'S my job."
"That sounds interesting. . . Can you show me how? I've never seen a dead body before."
"You wish to see a dead body, do you? It's not easy to take in for some people."
You blushed, twirling a strand of your hair.
"Then I guess it's good we're not people. I'm an angel and you are a grim reaper."
"Fair point, I suppose," the Undertaker admitted. "Then you'll be my apprentice."
You beamed, "What's an apprentice?"
"It's sort of like a student. I teach you how to do things so you can do them yourself when I die."
"When you die?"
"Hm, well I can't die, now can I? Then I suppose, if I die."
"Oh. . . alright then!"
And then a ringing appeared.
This startled you, as your wings raised and ruffled. It was similar to how a cat's fur pricks up when threatened. The Undertaker cackled to this.
"What is that sound?!"
"It's just the telephone. No need to get frightened."
You settled down as the Undertaker grabbed onto the device and brought it up to his ear. You couldn't make out exactly what he said, as he had been almost mumbling into the thing. It wasn't until he put the device back into place and turned to face you that you heard a creepily said, "We must get a move on, angel."
"Really? Why is that?" You questioned, swaying side to side in boredom.
Grabbing another biscuit, the Undertaker smirked.
"There's been a murder."
You stopped your swaying as your face fell into one of sorrow and sympathy.
"Oh no! That's terrible!"
"That means you'll be able to start your dreadfully wonderful process of learning to be an undertaker."
"Oh. . . " It wasn't until you fully processed what he said that you dropped your sword and clapped your hands together in joy. "Oh my! That's wonderful!"
"That's right! So you must change now! We must dress for the occasion, you see. We can't have you wandering around public in a robe."
You looked down at the white cloth you wore.
"I'm pretty sure it's called a tunic, actually."
"Tunics like yours aren't very common here, I'm afraid. Now put your wings and halo away and change." The Undertaker stated, pointing a finger to a hall just on the far side of the shop.
"Alright!" You picked up your new clothes and skipped out of the room, going off to wherever the Undertaker pointed, leaving your sword to lay on the ground in the process.
The Undertaker inevitably noticed this and smiled from behind the coffin.
Walking towards it, he dragged his finger nails across the wood.
Once he reached it, he took a hold of it gingerly.
He sort of laughed to himself.
This whole situation was a bit strange, wasn't it? He had no issue with it, but who would have thought a retired grim reaper would suddenly find a lost half angel half devil stuck in a grave with a weapon capable of mass destruction? He hadn't, surely.
Just carrying the sword felt nerve-wracking. This thing in his hands. . . It would only be appropriate to put it in safe keeping for no one to find, besides you and himself.
He turned to a coffin on the other side of the shop. It layed on the floor. It had been there for around two years, now, but he was sure to allow no dust upon it.
It was important.
He held in a laugh.
Opening the coffin, laid a boy.
Eyes closed.
Dead.
A Phantomhive.
The Undertaker placed the sword in the dead boy's hands, almost like how a woman would hold a bouquet of flowers on her wedding day.
"Take care of this for me, will you?"
". . . "
The boy laid there dead. Of course he would. He's dead. He's an inanimate thing now.
Well, for now, anyways.
"Okay, I'm ready! I haven't worn shoes in years, so they felt a bit strange at first!" You laughed, looking at the floor. "Oh, my sword! Where did it go?"
"It'll be over here," the Undertaker informed you. "We'll be leaving it in here for safe keeping."
You curiously wandered behind the Undertaker, peaking from behind him to take a look at the inside of the coffin. Your eyes lit up.
"Is that a real dead body?"
"It's as real as we are. The poor thing died two years ago."
You kneeled next to the dead boy, poking his hand.
"He's cold!"
"Most dead people are."
"Wow. . . So the sword will be with him?"
"It will. No one will look in here, anyway. It's ignored by everyone, and I always keep it sealed shut."
"Oh good. Then the sword will really be safe. Who is this, anyway?"
"His name is Ciel Phantomhive."
Your curiosity only seemed to get bigger.
"Ciel Phantomhive. . . How incredible. . . I've never seen a human before. Never up close, anyway."
"They're quite interesting things aren't they? . . . Oh, and a word of advice."
You craned your head up, being met with the Undertaker's green eyes.
So mischievous, they were. Not that you could tell, either way.
"What is it?"
". . . If a human by the same name as Ciel comes by. . . " He placed a hand on your head, affectionately petting you. This didn't seem to bother you. In fact, you leaned into it. "Don't mention it. Just let him along. Never mention this boy right here."
You didn't question this, instead standing up and leaning against his side for more affection from him, with your hand on his back.
Cutely and obliviously smiling, you obediently replied, "Okay!"
The coffin was closed, and the two of you were off.
How exciting this was about to begin to be.