A Waffle House in Somalia.

[GoldenKitten]

A wise man once said; “When life gives you lemons, go eat at a Waffle House.” Words to embrace, words to contemplate and understand, words to live by. Of course life never gave Death lemons, and if it did he most certainly COULD kill you with them but that didn’t mean the words were any less meaningful! For you see the truly important part of those words was the “Go eat at a Waffle House” part, because honestly when wasn’t a good time to eat at one? Never, that’s when. Good, glad we got that out of the way.

So, Death was at a waffle house in Somalia as bombs and tank shells flew overhead, because who wants their precious breakfast interrupted by outside forces? Not Death, that’s who. When you’re three-hundred thousand years old you can predict a tank shell, it’s far more difficult to predict crazy bastards in Japan…I mean, you could do it but that’s boring, watching global genocide over a cup of OJ isn’t. So we’ve got this Waffle House in Somalia, don’t ask how, it just is. Pretty yellow sign and everything; coffee, food, completely illogical but who cares? Not us.

And what do we have for breakfast? Fucking waffles that’s what! Who goes to a Waffle House in Somalia and orders anything else (well honestly, who goes to a Waffle House in Somalia and orders ANYTHING? The insane, that’s who. Thankfully Death might possibly qualify by normal standards! So we’re still good.)? You go to a Waffle House, you order Waffles and nothing else, it’s called a damn Waffle House, pay attention! Waffles and coffee.

So Death; walking god, plotting world destruction, eating at a Waffle House, in Somalia, waffles and coffee. Entrance cue card GO!

[Wanzer]

Mortar shells, always with the mortar shells, they rained down more frequently upon the landscape than the rain that came with the monsoons. Whatever had instigated the now almost mythological warfare in Somalia was now beginning to boil down into little more than a pissing match with civilians in the way. Pausing with his back turned to the Waffle house, the long-haired, red headed male in a business suit glared down the grassy plateau with both of his hands resting in his pockets. Inhaling slowly, the scent of gun-powder, sulfur and various other chemicals rushed towards it leaving only a brief hint of the sweetness that was coming from the restaurant. “Honestly, with all this bloody fighting going on constantly, how’s a guy even supposed to enjoy being a merchant of war? Makes the job too easy.”

Huffing once again and feeling exasperated, Lazarus would throw up his shoulders in agitation before looking at the bright yellow sign of the breakfast shack. Fucking Americanization, can’t go anywhere without seeing that damned clowns face and now I have to look at this sickly yellow bullshit? Well, at least their food is actually edible. Those thoughts slipped away leaving the business man to press his way inside; it was the usual affair for one of those places. A row of stools lined up across a bar while a few booths were set up for larger parties. In the background several workers were slaving away, most likely making pennies for their work, on a griddle top and turning out hashbrowns, sausage patties and eggs while others ensured a constant stream of waffles were being churned out. All the while, some lazy bastard state side was making all the income. Ahh, the glorious American way, find cheap immigrant labor and then exploit the hell out of it!

Keeping the snide comment to himself, Lazarus would note the other well-dressed character nearby. Smirking a bit, the red-head would wander over and slide into the both next to him; only to be almost immediately accosted by one of the staff with a menu. Considering that the place was pretty much empty, he couldn’t say that he was surprised; however, given the circumstances, he wasn’t exactly in the mood to be a Mary Poppins.

“Coffee, two creams and one sugar, two eggs, a side of bacon and one blueberry waffle. Thank you.” Snapping out his order, he looked back towards his mutually fashionable comrade and rose an eye-brow slowly. “You’re about as out of place as a Union Jack is in Brazil. So, tell me….my obviously ‘non-human’ friends. What brings you to this war torn region of the world?” Keeping his voice down for the last parts, both of Lazarus’s amethyst colored eyes would lock onto Death; granted, the ever observant death should have been able to see that he was wearing a dark pair of contacts to off-set his ocular albinism.

[GoldenKitten]

Death showed no particular signs of any emotion when the other man approached. He had been happily sipping what passed for coffee in these parts (that was to say, not coffee) and passing time by staring into its murky depths, occasionally seeing a reflection of himself. Nobody would have believed it without being able to glimpse within Deaths mind but the man greatly appreciated those moments when he could tune out and think of nothing. That was not to say he was ever unprepared for anything, but when you’d spent ten times as many lives as the oldest individual plotting the future of the world with your every breath it did the soul some good to simply not think.

It only took a glance at the man for Death to tell he wasn’t human, a slight and barely imperceptible green glimmer in his left eye going off at the affirmation of reiatsu. A Vizard, relatively powerful…by conventional standards, and Deaths brain was once again racing; finding the answers to questions that he never had to ask. What a Vizard would be doing her, especially dressed like this did not take a genius to figure out though in similar fashion to Death he could be dressed like that specifically to fit in. Strange as it was two types of men fit into this locale; the locals, and the well-dressed outsiders. That wasn’t to say a human dressed as they would be safe, but such an individual was likely to have the backing of a warlord. So it was either for show, or he really was a war profiteer which fit in just fine with the Vizard way of life Death supposed.

The man addressed him, and again Death showed no particular reaction to his comment though he at least afforded him a returned look. He sighed and shrugged; “Believe it or not, the idea was to avoid other spirit entities today. Most of the worlds filled with them, the spirit realms are veritable ant hills, and let’s not even talk about beyond that. Thought I’d think…or maybe not think for a while in a place they rarely come. Look how that’s working out for me.”

Death pulled no punches when his peace was interrupted. Not that what he said was rude, but he wasn’t being his usual always charismatic self, specifically because he had come here not to be that. Similarly he had no problems speaking aloud unlike the man, few could understand him, and those that could would think them crazy which was something only many long years had given him knowledge of, most younger individuals thought they had a secret to keep. Still, he doubted those words alone would turn the man away and to be honest his existence peaked the old creatures interest a bit. As he’d said this was a place rarely visited by souls; shinigami viewed it as a lost cause other than performing the needed rituals for passing the spirit on, and Hollows found easier prey. Death was always interested in people who broke the usual mold so instinct told him to dig further, if nothing else than to have a few moments of entertainment.

So with his foot extended he barely tapped the booth across from him back a bit to make room as it’d been cramped and simply added, “Well sit then”, before he went back to sipping his coffee and eyeing what may or may not have been real waffles.

True, Death had already considered the man knew full well who he was and this was a ruse. But that would be boring, especially if he was a would-be assassin, that would be extra boring and predictable. So Death wholly hoped for a more interesting story, or a really good assassin, because only something out of the ordinary or someone who could actually kill him would make this an interesting day.

[Wanzer]

Death’s silence had been expected and Lazarus had planned for it; considering the beings advanced age and his ample, if not excessive, degrees of power made it impossible for the red-head to even fathom that a modicum of ‘real’ respect would have been passed towards him. Pulling out a cigarette from his vest’s pocket, the European vizard would place it to his lips and retrieve his lighter just as his coffee arrived. The black morass of a liquid wobbled as it was placed on the table, leaving only the two cups of cream beside it and the packet of sugar they had brought undisturbed on the tiny serving saucer.

Popping one of the creams open as he took a drag on his cigarette, Lazarus would watch as white and black swirled together creating a slightly less dark beverage. Once he had finished with his additives, the younger of the pair would simply look up and turn his head to the side exhaling away from Death’s face. “You’re thinking that I’m either here to attempt to kill you or I’m some crazed fan-boy chasing you down and trying to use you as a plateau to get stronger.” Looking back towards Death, he couldn’t help but smirk a bit as he picked up his cup of coffee and began to sip the hot, bitter liquid.

It was like drinking mud, which the Brit noted quickly and put aside pursing his lips slightly in disgust before sticking his tongue out at it. “You’d be wrong on both accounts. Maybe you’ve guessed this or maybe you haven’t, but this tiny little orb of a planet you’ve got. Everything about it…everything you’ve known is simply put merely one of many…an infinite number if you well.” Another large smirk crossed Lazarus’s lips before he heard an artillery strike land not too far away. While the impact hadn’t been much to him, the roaring fire merely made him whistle slightly.

“Couldn’t choose a safer location to get your early morning munchies could you? Ahh, well, I suppose it suits the whole situation; two fugitives enjoying breakfast. Almost seems like something out of a poorly written crime movie.” A brief laugh escaped him before he folded one leg over the other and began to take another slow drag on his cigarette. Head hanging low and his eyes staring back down into his cup of coffee; Lazarus wouldn’t speak anymore, rather, he would simply begin to look outside and in his boredom begin to analyze the trajectory of the incoming mortars. Occasionally a brief mutter about the number of fatalities would follow upon the impact of the shell, which he was generally accurate on. After several more moments, his order was flopped in front of him, leaving a few wobbly fried eggs and pieces of sausage in front of him. Neither looked particularly edible, granted the waffles actually seemed to be light and fluffy, if somewhat darker than he would have preferred.

Cutting into one of the crispy waffles, he lingered over the taste of blueberry before raising his eyes at Death and lifting a small eyebrow. “Boredom is a curse…wouldn’t you like to know how to find….better sources of entertainment?”

[GoldenKitten]

Death sat half-watching his new…whatever this was, and half just going about what he’d been doing already. He saw no reason to entertain every word that came out of his mouth; it was easy enough to fill in the blanks so he just took in the important parts. As the boy continued to speak an amusing thought crossed his mind, and as soon as he wrapped his little speech up with a pointed question Death broke out into a half-laugh, half-scoff. It didn’t seem particularly ill mannered as it seemed to come from genuine amusement and Death backed this up when he spoke.

“God, you remind me of me when I was young. That can’t possibly bode well, the world barely survived me,” he sighed and added, “And you honestly think this place is dangerous, to me? Hell, to either of us?”

Death shook his head and for the first time when he spoke his eyes were actually on Lazarus, “Boredom is no curse lad. I don’t expect you to understand that now, but one day you will…assuming you live to get my meaning. I won’t say anymore on that since in the five-hundred-and-thirty-two –thousand-four-hundred-and-sixty-seven times I’ve tried to explain things I’ve come to realize precisely zero of the listeners have ever agreed with me. In the end only the experience itself can offer the answer. But boredom is no curse.”

He shook his head, “So I’ve thought of a couple hundred reasons you could be here now, and while you’ve deftly avoided the actual answer I fear I should ask before going back to my coffee. Care to share which of them it is? I’d prefer not to have to take out a sheet of paper and run down the checklist if I can avoid it.”

[Wanzer]

That comment struck Lazarus a little bit and rattled around inside of his head for a moment, before he chocked his head back and began to laugh profusely. Whatever sense of pride that the red-head possessed it wouldn’t allow him to be compared to someone else, which in turn caused him to glare back at Death balefully. “Sorry, but I’m not like you and I was never like you in any rendition, I’d ask you not to fall into such error again.”

Once he had finished speaking, he went back to his eggs; the watered down instant mix making his stomach churn violently as he thought about what he could be eating at the moment. A fried kipper flayed out butter-fly style with a large sunny-side up egg sitting in the center of it, a little silver canister with hollandaise sauce; not to mention a piping hot cup of Russian caravan. Just the thought of it took him to a blissfully unaware state, causing him to completely ignore his dining partner. High life was in his blood and thinking about eating the slop that was put in front of him, felt like an insult once again.

That was when he brought down from his daze by the question that Death pulled on him. Raising an eyebrow up at him, Lazarus smirked softly before beginning to respond. “Obviously, I came here to have you help me with my crossword puzzle. It’s a bit of a bitch and I figured who better to help me than the oldest living creature in existence.” Holding a serious face for a few seconds, the red-head looked back down to his waffle and proceeded to coat it with layer after layer of syrup in order to make at least half-way edible.

Upon biting into it, a slight amount of regret filled his eyes. The syrup was more of a molasses than a sugary coating, one that had the adhesive grip of caramel and managed to make his teeth stick together in a painful way. Grunting for a second and washing it down with a bit of the muddy coffee that had been served to him earlier, Lazarus would start to shake his head for a moment before speaking once again. “Considering that I know you’re smart enough not to buy the bullshit I just fed you, despite how entertaining it might be, my objective here isn’t all that obscene or transparent.”

Sliding back into his seat and setting the liquid and meal aside, no longer having a taste for it, Lazarus would simply slide one arm back to the top of the booth seat and smirk. “My reason for being here and simply communicating with you is simply a subject of…let’s call it coincidence. While I work as an arms dealer in some realities, I’m a lawyer in others and business consultants in others; you see, myself and a compatriot discovered away to traverse the barriers of existence and become part of other realities. Granted, our arrival and departure is….shaky at best. Regardless, think of me as an observer someone who is detailing the events and recording them for study for later.” Lazarus would pause for a second, then look up at the ceiling before looking back at Death with a chuckle.

“Also, I’m here to see how well you compare to the ‘antagonist’ of my own reality.”

[GoldenKitten]

He was sure the man intended for his glare to be imposing but to Death it was about as threatening as a puppies whimper. Barely paying it any mind he simply sat waiting until the other man finally moved on with his one-sided discussion. The more he spoke the more Death was convinced there wasn’t really anything of interest here, he was just another egotist. Which, contrary to the boy’s desire did make him a lot like Death when he was younger; it had taken the man many long years to move beyond that. He’d even admit he was still a bit too sure of himself at times, but he no longer felt the world owed him anything, or that he owed anything to the world – he was perfectly free of expectations for or from.

When the lad went silent Death took that as a cue to do the same and he went back to his food. Unlike the other man he had no problems consuming the poor imitation of breakfast before him, for he’d survived much worse situations. Not being able to simply survive, expecting any more than you could realistically receive, was weakness. Working around those limitations was strength. He was becoming increasingly convinced this young man was not the entertainment he had hoped for.

That was when the boy decided to explain himself, and explain himself he did. Death wasted no time laughing at the poor joke and when the man spoke next was when others might have balked, instead Death just took it in stride. Some might have taken it as poor fiction but Death had been friends with Hrugar long enough to know such things existed. Death himself was not a manipulator of fate and while he could travel beyond the veil, he could not predict it. But in their free time Hrugar had talked of other worlds, other universes where they existed in a different form, or didn’t exist at all in favor of someone else. It would have been overwhelming for others to accept, but given everything he’d seen over the years Death had believed it when Hrugar told him. And had since made a few trips of his own in preparation for the play to come.

Now here sat a man claiming to be able to jump those barriers much like Hrugar, or even Death to a lesser extent, and he had decided to appear before Death. Death considered what his real reasoning might be for a minute before concluding, “Right. So, how am I stacking up so far?”

He finished this by washing down a dry piece of waffle with the mud water,

[Wanzer]

There was no reply for a moment, the nonchalant nature of Death had simply alienated Lazarus a bit, who leaned back as well and let his emotions fade away. It wasn’t particularly a stance that he was fond of, but with his current dining companion becoming more and more Russianeesqe with each passing moment it seemed like the wise thing to do. Seeing him also devour the crappy food, as if it were nothing special put a slight question of what sort of diet that Death normally undertook. Pausing and pursing his lip slightly, Lazarus would think it over a little bit.

“All things considered, better than some, but still not very well. What I’ve seen so far is someone who is either too poorly motivated to accomplish anything major in most cases; however, on the other hand I see someone who fails to contemplate the true results of their actions. In both cases, it seems backwards and leaves much to be desired in the planning department; especially for someone with the closest thing to omnipotence anyone can get.” As he spoke, he took hold of a nearby cup of coffee and sipped on it. Starting to get used to the sickening stew and simply drink at it as he would a normal cup.

Following those words though, Lazarus would look up and speak once more. “You’re also not as powerful as the being in question; though, that isn’t surprising. When something is literally the sum total of all reishi and reiatsu in existence…it makes it hard to meet that standard; granted, you’re much more combat capable and mobile than…that thing is. All in all, I’d put you somewhere between a four and a seven on any given day out of a ten. Depends on how generous I’m feeling.” Stopping that line of dialogue, Lazarus would pause and simply pushed around some of the watery eggs on his plate. Forking up a few of them and chewing mechanically before turning his head to look outside.

“Granted, I still don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish yet and what exactly you’re going to do after the fact. What I’ve seen so far though, leads me to surmise more than simple domination of a particular race or placing someone else on the pedestal, which includes yourself. No…you strike me as a no Gods, no Kings, only men sort of person. More specifically, you seem more like someone who Ann Rand would follow like a whimpering pup and kiss the very ground you walked upon.” Once said, Lazarus again turned his head towards the window and watched a few shells being launched off; shrapnel flinging itself in every direction as the splash damage took effect.

Keeping both of his eyes on the battle that was unfolding in front of him; Lazarus thought about the old quote about war never changing. Yet, in his head all he could say was that it was utter bullshit. War was always changing, it wasn’t based on honor or land anymore, nor did people rush headlong into battle as they once did. Machines were replacing men on the battlefield and it was fought over consoles rather than by true warriors.

It was enough to make him vomit slightly in his mouth. All that was there were sentiments of nothing and niceties that battle-hardened men told themselves to make it all that much better. Yes, the veterans would the rookies there was glory in war, something to inspire them; however, in reality there was nothing but pain waiting for them. So be it, let the cowards run…war was war, it would be an ugly thing, but saying it never changed, that was just a falsehood. More lies to demonize the actions of warfare and make peace seem like the purest of answers to everything. Well, sometimes men had to bleed and die in order for things to truly get done.

Turning his head as he noticed a stray shell coming their way, Lazarus would raise up one hand and let his finger tap against the glass of the restaurant’s window. Spiritual energy gathered just outside of it before darting outward and starting to spasm before it struck the shell causing it to explode in the several meters from the restaurant. Several of the workers looked up in panic, while Lazarus simply cut his eyes back to death. “They seem to be getting closer don’t they?”

[GoldenKitten]

Death had finished his meal and had now sat back with his hands on his stomach like a content overeater, save that he was incredibly skinny. He was both intrigued and bored by his new companion, the power he possessed to move through worlds made him interesting, but it was wasted on someone with an all too familiar phenotype. When you could freely move through the multi-verse it took more than simply being strong and intelligent to make the best use of it, much of its benefits were being lost on this man. The simple fact that he hadn’t even figured out what the Horror Vacui intended to do was all the proof he needed of that.

As he had wound down Death responded in a bemused manner, not seeming to be insulted by the man’s comments, “Fun fact; Ayn Rand was a disillusioned, or perhaps that’s illusioned Vizard here.”

Death made a movement to take a sip of coffee only to be reminded it was empty, at which point he flagged for another cup. At the same time the other man blocked an incoming strike and then commented on the battle getting closer.

Without looking up Death responded, “Wars always changing. Usually I just keep eating.”

He followed through with this as the waitress poured him another cup of the ichor coffee and he finally addressed what had been said, “To narrow an observational window. To narrow. If you can indeed shift then you should know this, or maybe you’re new to it? Either way you live as long as me you stop judging on a daily basis, or even a yearly basis. Plans that change the way anything works for good are not made overnight. Sometimes changes are made instantly of course, but they themselves will be subject to change in short order. Changing things permanently in the way you desire is something that requires a broader view. After all, you seem to be under the impression I’m somehow important to this what-if scenario…what if I’m not? What if I’m a guy eating bad food in a Waffle House in Somalia and have absolutely no bearing on where the world is headed? It could be that my importance is over, or maybe I was never important at all; you need a wider world view if you intend to do this multi-verse thing justice.”

And then he took a big swig of coffee without a moment’s pause.

[Wanzer]

“Narrow is a relative term.” Lazarus would reply casually as he slipped a small slip of paper across the table with an eye etched upon it. Upon examination, it was clear that the construct was staring upwards at Death before it blinked like a camera shutter. The snapshot signaled the close of the ink upon the page leaving only a thin line remaining which soon dissipated as well. Not explaining the action or why it had been down, the red-head would carefully pry one of the nearby napkins from the holder nearby.

A few dabs of the course paper against his lip, illustrated Lazarus’s lack of concern for Death’s statements as he crossed one leg over the other and leaned back further. “Both your modesty and your air of supremacy are unbecoming, simply because your view is narrower than my own.” Chuckling softly at the comment, he returned to his flat statements and his apathetic tone before continuing to speak; he found no more stimuli coming from the conversation for now. Maybe Death would surprise him, but he sincerely doubted it.

“Did you honestly believe I would talk to you if I didn’t already know that you had a scheme going on? Not to mention, the various other things I may have witnessed down the road; yet, here you are waving your banner of age like a crowning achievement. Your age means little to me, a life without experience regardless of how long, is still to me an infant one; so what have you experienced? War, constant hatred, the endless cycle of a life pre-determined by that of another? I know your kind, the cold, the mellow, the schemers….the would be God-slayers….the bitter.” Pausing to drink slowly, Lazarus would shake his head and let out a brief sigh before looking down into the bottom of his mug.

“What exactly does the purpose of your life seem to be to you? A messiah that comes from on high to liberate the lost little souls from the pitiful cycle or perhaps, as I mentioned before…you truly wish to remove all Gods and kings from existence.” Lazarus cut him a smile at this point, barely halting for that instant before pointing at Death and starting to giggle lightly.

“Yet, you would call me narrow. You would seek to enforce your own beliefs upon everyone, remove their crutch, their veritable reason for living and the hope that they sustained and for what end? Do you believe they will thank you for their ‘freedom’, do you believe that anyone truly wants what you would impose upon them? And are you willing to deal with the blood, all the blood that would need to be spilled?” Lazarus would pause once more before looking at Death’s face and leaning back slowly into his seat.

“Of course you are, because everyone is ‘beneath’ your grand plan; they are insignificant to you. Simply put, little plebs that should be happy that you deigned to liberate them from their servitude, yet you call me narrow. And then what comes next? Your martyrdom, the massacre of countless souls that spirals into a spiritual holocaust and from there into an Armageddon as your ‘preferred’ side hunts down the stragglers? A grand plan, poorly thought out, executed sloppily and with no real consideration of what comes after the fact. Cute, the words oldest mind and still bent out of shape because of something in the past, but don’t listen to me. I’m narrow.”

Lazarus looked back out the window at this point, watching the armies push in the direction away from the restaurant. Not much caring for the scene now, he looked back towards Death without a hint of remorse in his eyes.

“What makes you assume that I want to change things? I am at peace with existence and my lack thereof, my reality is something I care about in the sense of observation from time to time; yet, I exist outside of it now don’t I? Why would I move to change these things or someone else’s and to what end would it serve? No, I’m here to compare and observe and watch as history unfolds before my eyes.“

Lazarus would stop, realizing that his current conservation partner was not someone who spoke as much as he did, nor had a reason to. Breathing outward at his excessive monologue and brief cupping his fingers around his chin, the red-head would finish off his statement. “Change is not something I seek and your change is something that you pursuit with a reckless abandon and an absence of observation towards your fellow man. You live a deathless life and in that, you’ve allowed your own smugness to cloud your thought. Honestly, I find it sad. Think of me what you will, but at the end of the day, I can still look at myself in the mirror with dropping into denial. My dear, Lucifer”