Special New Arrival

[pumpkinhollow]

Who: The White-Haired Woman (via pumpkinhollow) & The Shade (deaths_head)
What:A unique new arrival
When:Right now!
Where: The beige office
Warning(s):BIG LORE


Because I could not stop for Death, she kindly stopped for me.

She had seen many visitors these past few days, each with their own life, their own story, their own death. But this one would be different. Therefore it would need to be addressed differently.

Instead of coming from the outside, allowing the visitor to adjust, she sat already at her office chair with a cup of hot cocoa in hand and awaited her guest to come through the door. As the man approached, just as he was destined to, her physical form responded. She took on the appearance of a woman just about the same physical age as he was. No sense in charades, she decided. She could be transparent with one of her own ilk.

Comments

[pumpkinhollow]

"Well, that's wonderful, because I will not tolerate hostility." She raised a brow. "Believe it or not, I did in fact bring you here to help you. People who pass through here are those who have had near-death experiences that are generally not due to shake out in their favor. I am able to offer them an opportunity to tip the scales. I have called you here to offer you the opportunity to assist your friend."

CW: mild allusions to self harm

[deaths_head]

The Shade raises a brow in turn, because a challenge isn't something he'll meet with anything less than an answer. He learned his lesson in life, learned it better when newly dead and half mad, wandering the wastes of Limbo trying to keep himself from fading--tearing himself apart, clinging to what was left of his identity.

Trying to write his name back into himself as Death tried to strip it from him until he became the new thing that the Lord had named Sorrow's Shade.

Problem is, he's got a nasty feeling about this. Ain't but three things the dead can feel: fear, rage, and serenity, and the Shade is loathe to admit he's afraid.

'Cause he's lost track of one particular soul--likely the only one he has to make a special project of keeping alive. Little troublemaking goddamn sorcerer, biggest pain in the ass in all of Creation...

Mortanne goes on, and that gives the Shade pause with a look of genuine surprise.

"The Mark of Death ain't real forgiving. It's either a passin' shadow--tragedy that can be changed--or it's permanent. Fated." he points out quietly, losing some of his agitation in favor of something softer. "Ma'am...you tellin' me you got a means to save a life, even if it's destined?"

[pumpkinhollow]

She folded her hands on her desk in front of her. "Have you ever tossed a coin, only to have it spin on its axis for a moment or two before falling to heads or tails?"

[deaths_head]

He nods slightly. It's been a century or two, but he did a coin toss or two as a boy with little Sara Lee--and promptly got whupped for gambling by the Widow Porter.

He understands the analogy she's making. Heads or tails, life or death. The mark of death that's temporary can cause the coin to land one way, but only if you can slip a two headed nickel in before the toss. Once that coin goes up, you can't control gravity. That's the mark what's fated.

"You brought me here...'cause you think we can nudge the coin' fore it falls."

A statement, not a question.

[pumpkinhollow]

"Close," Mortanne agreed playfully. "I already brought her through here, as I believe she can nudge the coin before it falls and I was all too happy to offer the opportunity. However, I believe she could use a hand. She's... impetuous. Quick to run headlong into danger. I would unfortunately have to send you in your mortal form, for reasons you'll find out soon, but I think your help would benefit her."

[deaths_head]

"You sayd 'she'--yup, knew it." The Shade mutters, scrubbing one gloved hand over his face. "Winslow, what the fuck'm I gonna do with you?..."

Harsh as the words may be, his tone is quiet, more tense than angry--fueled by worry, borne of a fear that stems from something painful, feeling that slipped away from his reach the moment he died. Impetuous, running headlong into danger--of fucking course. Gutsy little idiot had more heart than she'd ever let on and less care for her own welfare than any living being he'd ever met in Heaven or Hell, let alone the world of the living.

Mortanne's offer gives him pause. He knows what she's offering--or rather, the catch in this whole stupid deal...

...and he's going to agree to it. God fucking damn it.

"Maybe the magicks of your pantheon work different from mine, but I was born human--a death mage, first of my line." he confesses. "And my remains are lost--to restore my mortal form, you'd have to claw back my flesh, which can be used against me. What's more, bein' fully mortal, first mage in my line? The power I'd have could be proper dangerous. But..."

He tugs up the sleeve of his coat, displaying the tattoos that are just barely emanating any light.

"My connection to my power is strained near the point of breaking in this place, yet I feel fine." he explains. "I got but three of these marks that give me physical form, they seem to be workin' proper, but the rest? They help make me what I am as a god. You want me mortal and safe? I reckon you could achieve that simply by your office as a death goddess. Give this body I've constructed with my own magic life--put a beating heart in my chest, these marks will be naught but pictures on my skin, and you'll have a great deal more control over what I can and can't do with my magic. Leash me, so to speak...and should you have need of my aid, you can loosen it as well."

[pumpkinhollow]

"Sounds like we have a deal," she agreed. "I've been sending a friend of mine to deliver newcomers. Owes me a few favors. But I think for you, it'd be best if I give you a ride myself. That way you can have a gradual transition into mortality as we pass through the veil."

Standing, Mortanne led the way back to the door through which the Shade had entered. It no longer led to office corridors, however. Instead, it now opened to a stable where a number of spectral white horses with visible skeletons made their home. Two of said horses were already hitched to a black funeral carriage, just beyond the stable doorway. Mortanne, now garbed in black with a veil over her face, climbed aboard the driver's seat.

[deaths_head]

The Shade nods, moving to stand--but before letting her pass him towards the door, he sets a big hand on her shoulder to try and stop her.

Reaching for her hand, he enfolds it between both of his. Lowering his gaze, he struggles briefly for a moment before...

"...that girl's a pain in the ass, a fool, and a careless little harridan--and I'll make a meal of the eyes of a flesh eater outta Hell's pit itself 'fore I admit that, of the living that've pledged themselves to me, she's my favorite. All the power she could want at her fingertips, and she just wants to play games with it as a hobby while she helps folks what really need it. I just..."

He hesitates, then lifts her hand to his lips to press a cordial kiss to her knuckles before letting her go and meeting her gaze.

"One divine being to another...thank you." he finishes simply before gesturing that he'll follow her.

Following her back through the door, he's unsurprised by the sight of the carriage and the horses--and the sight of her true form makes him smile slightly. She's a striking figure, one lacking in anything truly fearful, which is something he appreciates.

Reaching up, he touches the brim of his hat with a respectful little tug before he climbs aboard himself.