Chapter Text
Terry Sheridan stood blankly by his body, grumbling through his teeth.
"I can not believe it. It's just incredible. This is fucking incredible, the bitch killed me. This motherfucking bitch just outright killed me! Bitch. Bitch!" - he shouted after the already gone "fucking bitch." A figure in a white robe appeared in front of him, who cleared his throat into a fist, swayed from heel to toe, and, finally, making sure of due attention from his counterpart, said with a nasty British accent:
"Of course, I understand your indignation, but I am here solely on duty and demand due respect."
"What?"
"I say, I'm on the duty, so to speak ..."
"Who are you?"
"Kind of a guide..."
"You mean an angel?" Terry was surprised. What he didn't expect was some mannered angel coming for him. Rather, he was waiting for devils and frying pans. - "Aren't I going to hell?"
"We will take into account your wishes, do not worry. How funny it is," - the “angel” began to look around. - "The first name on the list, and immediately to the Center. Lucky."
"What the hell…"
"Let's make it within sensible bounds," - the moron in the hoodie tapped on his groin. There was a metallic sound. “I am protected in some way. In case the client will be visited by the same thought as me at one time. By the way, in order to warn you against rash steps in this direction, let me tell you one instructive story that happened to your obedient servant not so long ago ..."
"Is it a long one?"
"Are you in a hurry somewhere?"
Terry shrugged and looked around. The bitch drowned the box. If it could be obtained... No, it was no longer about money. Why does a dead man need money? It was a matter of principle. It was HIS box, and he simply had to have it. To spite this bitch. Out of spite!
“Well, I didn’t always deal with this business,” the shabby type continued his instructive story. - "In fact, you are my first client. And it all started with the fact that I was in almost the same position as you, but with one small exception - the Angel of Death, and this is exactly what my current position is called, did not wait until I kicked the bucket completely and irrevocably, like, I can assure you, you have already done, and decided to offer his services, so to speak, in advance. Because of that there was a small overlay - I was not yet in the mood to go through the procedure for which you should prepare ... Take heart. So, I was not in the mood and resisted by inflicting bodily harm to my counterpart in the scrotum area. But he was on duty, you understand? What my disrespect for the official resulted in, you can evaluate yourself now. And if you think that working as Death is so exciting… However, I myself still don’t know what arguments to give you against such a career – I’m a beginner…” A sigh came from under the white hood.
"If you are Death, why are you then in white?" Sheridan asked, fearing that the cautionary tale had already been exhausted, and that the very procedure for which he should have prepared was coming. Because instead of the proper preparation, he indulged in thoughts of how to pull the box out of this strange black acid. The machine gun had helped him last time, and his eaten remains were still lying around, but he was not good enough to get the box from the bottom of this pond. It needed something longer and, if possible, stronger.
“Actually, I wanted to add some gold to the color sceme … But, I’m afraid, then I would be mistaken for an Elder.” Black or white was my choice. It's not that I really care, but black doesn't really suit me. Well, let's get started, shall we?"
Terry did not understand where the guy had hidden it before, but a scythe appeared in his hands. This, Sheridan thought, just what the doctor ordered. Long and sure as hell strong.
“Give me that,” he said, wrapping his hand around the shaft. It wasn't a request. Not even an order. More like a calm statement of fact.
"Smeg," said the Angel of Death. This, too, was not an expression of indignation or despair, but the same statement offact. Yes, smeg , definitely.