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 But The End is Still to Come

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Eaton

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Posts : 274
Join date : 2013-10-28
Location : Texas

PostSubject: But The End is Still to Come   Fri 15 Aug 2014, 19:54

Eaton leapt onto his makeshift bower, putting his hands behind his head and leg over his knee. No sense being worried about it, he thought. Never made since to worry about stuff he couldn’t control. His eyes shut out the hazy umbral mist as the dreams began.

He soon awoke; even though his eyes fluttered open there appeared to be something covering his face. No longer lying down it felt like he was leaning back against something, his arms hanging lazily at his side. A musty scent filled his nose, and upon reaching up he realized that a book was blocking his line of sight, as if he had fallen asleep reading it. He sat up allowing it to fall onto his lap, after it did so his jaw nearly dropped from what he saw. He was seated with his feet propped atop a wooden table, stationed at the end of an enormous hallway lined with rows upon rows of books. An occasional torch illuminated thin ones, thick ones, ones with multicolored spines. Eaton leapt to his feet in excitement, forgetting or ignoring the entire point of this ritual as he furiously scanned the shelves and pulled out the books, just to see what could be here. Once the ecstasy subsided somewhat, he realized he couldn’t understand what was written on them. A second later he realized that each was written in a different language, completely unlike anything he had ever seen. Several books fell to the floor as he looked frantically for something he could understand, but his search was to no avail.

“Looking for something?” He heard a cynical voice say from behind. Eae looked over his shoulder to see a young man, not much older than himself, tapping his foot impatiently. He wore a high collared back shirt with a white cravat, his brown hair tied back with a ribbon.

He turned around to face him as his eyes darted side to side, “Nothin’ in particular. On the shelf, anyway.”

The other man rolled his eyes and reached to pick up the books Eaton had knocked on the floor. Looking at the covers he let out a chuckle, “Ah, Waldon. He certainly had it coming.” For the other two he merely glanced at them with amused expressions. Slightly confused Eaton asked, “Who are you?”  
Still adjusting their positions on the shelf, the other man didn’t turn to face him as he replied, “I’m sure you know who I am. You wanted to talk to me, didn’t you?” He turned to face Eaton, noticing his slightly muddled expression he continued, “What did you expect? Death usually isn’t what you imagine.”
He walked over to the table and pulled out a raven feather, and motioned for Eaton to sit down, “It’s not every day I meet with someone in my study. Please, tell me the reason you’re here. Your life is far too short to waste on dull matters.”

Eaton took the seat opposite him, unsure how to start the discussion. Pretending to himself that Death was a normal human be began, “Ya say this is yer study. What are all these books here? Stories? Records?”  

Death nodded, “Indeed they are. They tell the story of each and every creature that has died. I myself have penned each page. Needless to say it is quite an impressive collection.”

Ignoring the salivation as best he could, Eaton swallowed and said, “Now, I’m sure that would be facinatin’ to read a few of those, they ain’t the reason I’m here. It’s gonna sound weird, but I need to stop my book from bein’ published.”

Death scratched at a piece of parchment on the desk, raising an eyebrow to the Bone Gnawer’s request without sparing him a glance,
“Now now, I write these books but not as an author. These are ledgers, of a sort, records that tell how and when every creature died.”  

Eaton gave a smirk in reply, “Course, the reporter still has quite a bit of say in the matter. What ypi include or exclude in that final tally could probably slant the account one way or the other. Actually, you sound like the kinda guy I need right about now.”

“I can make your death seem as poetic as possible, I suppose, but ‘cheating death,’ as it were, is not something I relish.” The other man said in a distasteful tone, setting the feather down and staring Eaton in the eye, “I don’t like it. I can hear you now: ‘you're biased! Of course a spirit of death is going to be biased!' you say. I am afraid there is far more to it than that.”
He gestured to the shelves all around them, “Death is natural, unavoidable, inevitable. That isn’t what’s interesting. The cause. The motive. The murderer. The innocent. The accident. The disaster. The misfortune. The courage.”

He pointed his finger directly at Eaton, “That’s what’s interesting. Everything and everyone will die, but what keeps me invested is why. There are some similarities over the millennia, that heroic last stand which protected they’re loved ones from me for a few weeks longer, the deranged murderer who only met justice after I claimed him, the woman who perished during childbirth. . .”

Noticing the look on Eaton’s face, Death gave a bored look and said, “It happens. Anyway, knowing that death is inescapable hasn’t changed mortals one bit. They still looks for ways to lengthen their lives, becoming all the more inventive with their methods. Oh course, that just makes it all the more . . . well, I wouldn’t say tragic, but, a better read.”

Folding his hands on the table, Death leaned towards Eaton, “So pardon me if I don’t particularly think your current endeavor is going to get you what you want.”

Eaton took a deep breath and crossed his arms to his chest, “It’s ‘cause I know death can be ironic. You’ve talked about ways we try and live as long as possible. I’m sure ya read of the woman who was deathly sick, so she overdosed on her pills and died like that instead? The poor soul who built his own house only to have it collapse on him? About the man who feared so much for his safety, he locked himself up and died of boredom?”

Death chuckled to himself as Eaton continued, “That’s why I’m talkin’ to you. Seems you like yer death interesting, shocking, maybe even a bit twisted. And that ain’t gonna be what yer gonna get if ya turn me away.”

Death raised an eyebrow at his claim, “Now why would that be? I can almost read it now: after defeating Akna the first round, she returned with a vengeance to finish what she started. This time, the Prodigals could not hold their ground against the assault of her forces. That doesn’t seem half bad, does it?”

Eaton peered to the bookshelves and then back at his host, “I think enough of ‘em books are of people that damned Phoenix has killed. Surely, you must be getting’ tired of readin’ the same story over and over.”
“What are you getting at, Garou?” Death asked contemptuously. Eaton spoke calmly as he stated, “Us dyin’ to the phoenix, the skin-rippers, or anythin’ to do with ‘em is gonna be a stale rehash. Right now, folks expect us die, that Akna is gonna win and continue spreadin’ more of the same. If you allow us to live past that, makin’ sure we don’t go out with a wimper, I can guarantee ya we can find another way to join your collection. Make us worthy of bein’ here instead of just jotton’ our lives down ‘cause ya have to.”

Death drummed his fingers in the table, pondering what the Bone Gnawer was saying. After a moment, he began, "Because Death had rejected them for the time being, in one last desperate battle the Garou succeeded in bringing down their foe, bringing her reign to a fateful end.”  

“. . . But little did the Prodigals realize what other horrors awaited them, while Death watched eagerly for when he would claim them unexpectedly and euphorically.” Eaton finished.

Death smiled at Eaton, a predatory stare in his eyes. He pushed himself off the table, and reached his hand out towards the Garou.

“I like it. You have yourself an accord.”

Eaton smiled back as he seized Death’s hand with a firm shake, “Thanks for understandin’. Now if ya excuse me, we got a Phoenix to bring ya.”

“If it makes for a great read, it would be my pleasure to allow it. I would say take care, but . . .” Death gave one last sly smile before the scene before Eaton vanished, his eyes opening to reveal the swirling sight he feel asleep to.
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