The Manhunt/Chapter 17

Speech returned, but not in the same way. Their sentences were short and jolted, as if their thoughts came in shattered, scattered sections rather than their old sea of rambling, the oceans of contemplations that spilled over and flowed gracefully.

Airmid Valerian cursed this lost confidence. It was nothing short of an inconvenience.

The trio were in some part of Belgium now. Neat rows of buildings, wide pavements. Near them, was a fountain.

It was a nice fountain – a dark metamorphic rock ring, water spurting from the ground erratically.

While Gabriel and Bas were working out directions and food places, Airmid ambled over towards that fountain.

The two Fanfarinets' animated discussion on cafés became simple background noise. Airmid tuned them out.

And without thinking, Airmid jumped up on that rock circle.

And jumped down.

Then jumped back up on it.

And down again.

And they continued this little stunt of jumping up and down.

For a good, brief moment, they were lost in their stimming, until it was broken by a loud voice.

“Hexcuse me! Young men these days! No respect!” said an angry looking man, striding over.

Airmid nearly fell off the fountain in shock.

"Do you know how irritating it is for people like you to come here and do that?" he shouted. "Do you?"

His yelling had caught the attention of the Fanfarinets, both of who looked up from their MirrorPhones and maps.

Gabriel took a glance at the situation, and went back to looking at his phone. Bastion, however, slipped his own phone in his pocket, and striped over.

"I'm sorry, is my friend--" he had almost said 'being a bother', before realising that was the last thing he wanted to imply. "I'm sorry," he said again. "How did my friend ever wrong you?"

"You teens and your disrespect for authority! Jumping on everything and acting like you own this place!" the man said, again. With that, he let out a string of words and phrases, too fast to discern, perhaps too rude to report.

He made so much noise, he caught the attention of a few people in nearby crowd.

One of these people had been dressed in a casual blazer and bowtie, with grey hair and smile creases on his sides. Upon seeing the trio, his wizened face melted from shock into skeletal form.

“Son!"

“Why are you here? Who died?”

“A Reaper has a life outside his job, you know,” Lanius Nightshade said. The three – four now, with Lanius with them – were sitting in the nearest café, hot chocolates in hand. "Though, if you were actually asking - my future, my sense of humour, my self-respect, my decency, my–"

"That's quite enough, Godfather."

Lanius raised his mug of hot chocolate to his lips – not that was any good, he had been in his skeletal form that day. The image looked almost comical. “Alas, I thought my humour would appeal to the youth more. It was intended to be self-deprecating. I’m trying to hashtag keep it real."

Bastion Fanfarinet fidgeted. It was taunting, really, the fact that he had busted himself out of school to make a run from death, and here was a representation of it, sitting in a coffeeshop, raising a mug of hot chocolate (but never sipping or drinking it) nonchalantly. “Are you alright, Gabriel?”

“I’m fine,” said the new Fanfarinet. If Gabriel was disturbed by the presence of a Grim Reaper, he did not show it.

Airmid looked at the mug in their hands. “You promised tea…”

“Hot chocolate is sufficient. Unless you three would like me to accompany you all in BookEnd?"

"No, no, it's just..."

"The letter?"

Airmid didn't respond. Their shoulders drooped.

“Please don’t get your hopes up, son,” said Godfather Death. “Upon thought, I think… I think you deserve to know the truth. Not necessarily the nice truth, though.

Airmid’s shoulders drooped. "It's just... I always envisioned them as intelligent individuals. The journal hinted otherwise.”

“Oh, they were all intelligent, alright. Brilliant is my adjective for them all,” he looked at his mug of hot chocolate. “Just a tad overambitious."

"Like me."

“People– humanity–“ Lanius said, stirring his drink. “Well, we’ve changed a lot over time. But then again, we’re still the same. You might look up to the old greats, but upon realisation and scruntisation, you’re just as great – and just as terrible – as them."

His rambling was met with a stoney silence.

"How does that quote go?” Lanius put a bony finger to the side of his mouth. “The past is a different country–“

“– they do things differently there.”

“Exactly. No point in romanticising it, and no point in treating the past as better. Change, as we all know, is how we develop and improve and grow increasingly more complex. That Charles Dickens guy deduced that concept, I believe.”

“Darwin,” Airmid corrected.

“Same gist,” Lanius laughed. “Just think about how far we’ve come! Free vaccinations!”

“No polio.”

“LCD screens!”

“MirrorNet!”

“Touchscreen MirrorPhones!”

“Hoverboards!”

“Social media in which I can spam my fellow Reapers with memes that they do not appreciate decently enough!”

“Um."

“So, to all those people who talk of the past with a glint in their eye,” Lanius said. “They can go back there and churn their butter and die young from childbirth.”

“Perhaps we should send the anti-vaxxers with them.”

“I readily welcome that idea."

Airmid laughed, then recognised that carefree attitude of Godfather Death. It only ever occurred when he felt down. "Godfather, I think you're attempting to distract me from the point.”

His grin fell from his skeleton face, and his voice went quiet. “I know nothing of what you talk about.”

“The point is the past.”

“Or is the past the point?”

Airmid Valerian raised an eyebrow at their Godfather, not unlike the way Bastion Fanfarinet raised an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry, I am digressing,” Godfather Death straightened up and fidgeted uncomfortably. “You do deserve to know, you know."

"So why aren't you telling me?"

"Perhaps I'll tell you back in BookEnd."

It had been a trend. Make a scene, return to BookEnd, discuss things over tea at the Mad Hatter's Tea Shoppe.

Of course, it would be ridiculous to talk about such an issue when two others were sitting with them. The information surrounding the previous physicians was most likely sensitive.

Still, waiting around for that day? Painful.

Airmid screwed up their face and tried to move the conversation along. “How was the conference? The one in Iceland?"

“Rather illuminating, I’ll say,” Godfather Death tapped the edge of the mug. “We’re attempting to keep up with new technology, perhaps we’ll even spruce up the reapers’ website. Votes were cast and it was determined that a colour scheme featuring pink glitter will make it in the next update.”

“I’m sure that’s very productive."

“Oh! Very! And we’re even considering the potential of launching an app form! Truly, we are a modern society!"

At the mention of an app, Lanius quickly glanced at his MirrorPhone. “Look at the time! Well then, I must leave,” Godfather Death stood up, and bowed a little. “I have some errands to carry out in France, you know. Loving talking to you all. And Airmid? Do me proud, son."

As if on cue, Bastion stood up as well. “Hexcuse me, Mr Nightshade,” he said, quickly darting over to Godfather Death. “One last thing?”

“Yes?”

He stuck out his hand.

Lanius’ Reaper Form did not have eyebrows, but you could see him raising a skeptical one anyway. “You’re too obvious, young Fanfarinet."