He waited in silence and anticipation. He had just finished his last batch of souls for the record, and the pleasantry had already finished. No reward, nothing of note to define his existence as a courier, of course, apart from being a subordinate of the Grim Reaper, but he hardly considered that defining.
His office, which really was just an oval space with a window that showed nothing else, was quite saddeningly growing to become a stale view. Despite the books and written documents he had drawn up, even took a shot at a novel of sorts, although it could compare to the past he had.
And what a glorious fucking past he had. His eyes wandered off to another specific side of his office, just beside the cabinet where he kept the rest of his prized possessions, hanging loosely on a coat rack was an admiral’s cap and an overcoat of red, his favorite attire in his old life. It didn’t just remind him of his time with the British, but also of his antics with the Swedish, French, Prussian, and even the Spanish commands.
Oh, boy, did he miss his time while he was alive, what a wild ride it was. He could still remember his time with the Company, the Franco-Spanish Armadas that he co-led, and even his time in exile in the Baltic. Oh, the spoils of war he got to keep, if memory served him right, inside the closet where some of the naval and army officers attires of Europe’s former and current powers. Of course, he had a favorite, but that didn’t mean he’d forgotten about the memories, after all, he did consider himself to be sentimental when it comes to his possessions.
“…”
He was reminiscing again… which meant he still had a conscience. As much as he may try to repress or outright ignore some of these memories, they always resurface in one way or another. And every time he did that, he felt… empty afterward, like he was devoid of something integral within him. Yet he always found himself repeating and doing the same jig all over again, every time.
It had grown to be soooo… mundane.
A stark contrast to his predecessor’s achievements, and an even larger contrast to what used to be his achievements.
Looking again at the red coat and cap that hang loosely from the coat rack, he finally noticed the little coat of arms of the Subordinates of Death at the table beside it, the organization still being referred to as the House of Death, the very coat of arms that had been the symbol of the organization. And under it, there was a written plaque that showed their motto:
“Vixi, sed perii, plura sperans.”
“To live, only to die for more…” Or something like that. Frankly, he wasn’t aboard the entire virtues thing that served as their motto.
But, he did know his oath to Death wasn’t one he could simply break, lest he’d wish to face the wrath of Fate and Life combined. Which quietly left him in a perplexed state, one he quite frankly abhorred.
He was so restless, but he’d simply have to deal with it, follow the same guidelines nonetheless.
But a little spark of an idea came to his mind, as he finally began to think about his time as a living admiral…
‘Why not a hands-on approach?’ he asked himself, slowly forming a grin as he realized something. ‘Nothing to lose so long as I do my job and keep to the lines…’
And so, he stood up from his chair, making his way to his red coat and admiral cap, some of the few things he got to bring with him into the job. Lazily, he had his skeletal fingers to try and feel the sensation of its fur, but to no avail. Of course, he felt nothing since he didn’t have the tactile sense he once had, but he still nonetheless loved it for its vibrant and outstanding color, even if it was a bit dull. And besides, he’d grown sentimental towards it, kind of hard not to when you don’t have much from your old life.
Taking a deep breath in, he lifted the coat off the rack and decided to wear it, finding out that it fitted him like a glove... like all those years ago. Taking the cap next, he looked for a mirror to look over himself and found that it still suited his figure, which again made him smile at being able to see himself. Quickly, he went over to the cabinet to find it still filled with the uniforms of countless countries, all in vibrant yet equally dull-ish shades of color, maybe he'd have them washed one of these days.
Closing the closet, he made his way to a mirror. And once there, looked over at it to see his own reflection in his complete uniform. Maybe he was delusional or maybe its something else entirely, but he swore he saw his living flesh through that mirror's reflection, with what seemed to be the sea at his back.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t sully in there forever, let alone on what used to be. There was simply more to being a courier than simply delivering, after all, presentation was just one part of presenting.
And another breath in, he decided that maybe he should take a walk outside, even if it was just a void, could do him some good, who knows? Maybe there might be a semblance of fresh air, can’t hurt to know.
And as he approached the door to the outside, he looked back once again at his oval office, taking in the moment of just how pristine it is, with countless files and books being in order should he need something at a moment’s notice.
Once again, his vision landed on the rack from where he was just a moment ago, and his vision now slowly drifted to the Coat of Arms of the House of Death nearby. The motto under the Coat of Arms is still there, to remind him of what it means to be a Subordinate of Death.
Another breath in, and what used to be his hesitation was turned into willpower as he opened the doors, and was greeted with… the pleasant view of the seaside, which just so happened to be by the wayside of a road that lead inland.
There wasn’t anything particular of course, apart from the clear skies and fresh air. One wouldn’t notice that it was the void’s illusions at work. But even then, he didn’t mind that what he saw was a fraud of sorts, in fact, he seemed to have found a sort of pleasantly from the view, knowing that the void reflected one’s subconscious.
He sat down on the grass, looking as far as what he could see often view, of the horizon. Letting himself take the moment to fully appreciate it. Soon he’d have to go back to working again, and when he’s back, he’ll have a different in his way of handling this job.
No more paperwork and staleness, no more empty voids within him. He’ll make it his mission to be something, to fill himself with anything else other than emptiness and apathy. His history and oath won’t stop him, won’t slow him down.
A new season awaited him, and despite clearly lingering… opinions about his situation, he believed he’d manage.
He’d make a difference, change, little by little if he must, that is what he swore to himself at that moment.