{Dagon} When Ophelia took over

[jamesbondsgirl]

As Dagon comes to her senses, she sees a blinding light at the end of a tunnel, when the rest of the scene focuses she finds herself staring out the window of a green house at the sun, sitting comfortably in a wicker high-backed chair on a soft cushion.

The air is filled with the damp earthy scent of slightly rotted vegetation. She hears a snipping sound off to the right behind her.

She stands and turns around, walks toward the clipping.

She sees a pale man with dark spikey hair, he's tall and quite thin, wearing soft linen slacks in a soft buff color his shirt is lightweight, white and the sleeves are rolled up.

He calls over his shoulder, "lovely dear, please pass the wires from over there." He motions loosely to the wall where rows of tools line a pegboard and a bundle of wires stick it out of a cone shaped cemetery ground planter tied to a peg. His voice is deep but soft. His face is hidden as he leans over a huge flower arrangement.

A massive scythe leans in the corner.

She raises an eyebrow but kind of smiles as she walks to the wall and grabs the wires. She walks over to the table and hands them to Death. "Here you go."

He turns and smiles, his features are gaunt and sunken, but not repellent, his eyes are disturbingly blue. He takes the wires and begins intensively arranging the flowers. "There's tea on, I'm sure you'll like it. Cookie?"

He points a slender hand back to the table, set with a linen cloth under fine looking china, a silver tea set sparkles and delicate china cups in pink and gold wait.

She nods slowly, "okay, um, sure. That'd be great. You want me to get the tea? Your hands are full."

"Oh thank you dear." He turns dusting his hands off on the heavy canvas apron he' wearing. He slips the clippers he was using into the pocket and fastidiously washes his hands in the work sink which seems devoid of any actual work residue. A kettle whistles through a door that leads to a well decorated and tidy country kitchen. Beside the kettle stands the silver tea-pot, it is already loaded with a crumbled amalgam of leaves and perhaps flower petals.

She blinks a bit as she looks at Death, walking slowly into the kitchen. She puts the hot water into the silver tea-pot, brings it out, and puts it on the table next to the tea set. "I, uh, have to let it steep for a minute." She looks at the service and then back up at Death, picking up a cookie and nibbling at it. She pulls a chair up and sits down slowly. For some reason she feels completely contented as she looks over at the arrangement Death was working on.

She notices a ribbon laying beside it reading "Rest in Peace" in gold on deep red. As she takes her cookie she realizes it's coffin shaped and the others are assorted novelty Halloween shapes, skulls, tomb stones etc.

The man sits after smoothing his trousers and smiles in a not completely disturbing way, though it seems a bit too broad. "You wanted to talk I suppose."

She nods as she swallows her bite of her coffin cookie, "If I'm not bothering you, please?"

"Oh it's no problem, it was inevitable really. I seem to have a talent for that don't I?"

"Inevitability. Yeah. You and taxes." She laughs a bit, "but um, I know I haven't talked to you directly in a while and I thought that maybe I should do that because . . . “her shoulders slump a bit, "yeah, well, I, “she fidgets a bit. "I'm having a hard time with a few things and I need some help. Please."

"You do realize they say I'm seldom helpful. What is it you want to know?"

She looks really confused, and shakes her head, "I don't say that. I think sometimes you are very helpful; and the rest of the time you’re necessary." She shrugs and reaches for the tea-pot lid. She looks in, "it's ready. How do you take it?"

"With honey, and thank you for disagreeing with the masses, it does make it all worth it."

She fixes Death his tea and hands it to him, then pours her own, with nothing in it.

"But yeah, I had a few questions . . . to say the least."

She snags another cookie, this time a skull; she stares at it kind of sadly all of a sudden. "Jack keeps talking about Fate this and Fate that when it comes to the Prophecy, but that's kind of not where I live, you know? I just don't know what to do anymore. This whole thing is just beyond me and every time I want to ask anyone about it who could help, I get NOTHING helpful. Abaddon wants to save the child just like Jane would have, Jack is no help at all, I can't tell anyone else or they think that I'm insane, Sariel is all 'look inside yourself', and . . . " she sighs, "and yes, that was a whole lot of verbal vomit, wasn't it?"

"I would say so, you do have a lot on your mind don't you." He sips his tea and smiles again, "just how I like it."

Dagon just opens her mouth for a moment to respond, but then shuts it.

"I won't talk about Fate, She's a bitch, though we do tend to work together a bit I suppose, after all she does turn them all over when she's done with them."

Dagon just nods in agreement after thinking for a moment about what he's said.

"As for Abbadon, I did like that boy. He sent me such lovely presents. Then again, he's planning on retiring isn't he. Such a shame, he really does have talent. I know what he wants, but he'll have to learn to live with disappointment, this little girl of his... well, no one does get what they want, do they?"

He smiles, "now Sariel, he has some mileage left, I think. He is pretty, don't you think?"

Dagon blinks at Death and almost blushes, but doesn't smile. "Yeah, I think he's very pretty. Too pretty. But that's just one more problem that I have to think about how to deal with . . . how my feelings are all confusing the Hell out of me. But that really doesn't matter."

"What do you mean he won't get what he wants?"

"I thought that was pretty straightforward?" The man sets down the tea cup and selects a coffin shaped cookie and nibbles at it.

She shrugs, "dealt with Jack long enough to see a possible double meaning when I see it. Or triple. That whole Fate's a real Bitch thing. So it could mean I'm killing the girl, or that I'll fail somehow, but the idyllic girl-child he's dreaming of won't be what comes out of me."

The man tilts his head, as if thinking. After a long pause he asks, "how do you like the tea?"

She looks down into the cup and nods as she looks back up. "I like it. Oh, I know this sounds like a stupid question, but what would you like me to call you today?"

"Call me? I don't know, anything that works for you, it won't change me in the least." He makes a twirling flourish with his overly slender hand, “Mark, Rick, Steve, whatever."

"Am I strange because I like calling you Death?" She shrugs and ignores her own question.

"No, you're honest. Do you have any idea how annoying it is to be called as many things as I am? One of these eons I'll likely lose all grasp of myselves."

She nods, "speaking of losing all grasp . . . um, it's that's what's happening to me? Am I not doing my job right anymore for you?" She doesn't seem angry; she seems kind of saddened. As if asking that question was admitting something horrible to herself. "Everything used to be so clear and now it's because it's all cloudy and makes no sense to me. Is that why? Because I screwed something up along the way?"

He shakes his head, "no dear, the problem isn't you, it's Life. Haven't you noticed how complicated She is? You can't expect things to stay simple, that's not the way the universe works. You didn't stop doing things right, you started noticing the details."

He sighs, "as your species gets older they begin seeing things differently. Your experience, the results of your actions, all of it begins to get more diluted, more complicated. When you have more time to look back on you notice repercussions, interconnections. Life is a Monet I suppose."

"Nice from far away but up close it's a big old mess." She sips her tea again, "but you’re sounding more like what I think Fate would sound like. Evasive and avoid-y. Why are you doing that?" She doesn't sound challenging, she sounds curious and still very sad; like this evasiveness is very much something she is used to in others.

"Dear, what is everyone's fate?"

He takes out a pack of cigarettes (without a warning label) and lights one. "This is what I'm talking about, complications, connections. "I'm as closely tied to Fate as I am to Time and Life. None of us can exist without each other. Without Life there's no need for poor old Death, without Fate there's no one to make the transition from Life to Myself remarkable, and lets be honest if it wasn't for Time all three of Us would be fucked now, wouldn't we?"

Dagon leans forward a bit, "may I have one of those, please?"

Death slides over a featureless pack of cigarettes.

She nods, "you are right. But if everyone's Fate is to Die, and no matter how good Life is, or how bad or whatever, it will always end and they meet up with you; and Time has to have it's place or it turns into this jumbled existence of . . . who knows what that humans can't understand because they cannot handle anything outside of a linear timeframe, then . . . well, hell, that's not complicated to me. Even Fate. Yeah, she can weave a tapestry if she wants to, cool. But no matter how complex or simple or ugly Southwestern Geometric patterned it gets, it still ends. It's all the fucking feelings that get involved in it . . . " she stops and blinks once, and then continues slowly, "which is what the Four of you cause in people anyway, which is the complicated part; which means this is about the time that I have argued myself into agreeing with the Inevitable anyway, which never bothered me, so why am I making it complicated. So in the end I've just chased my own tail like some mentally challenged, epileptic dog in front of The Boss."

Death shrugs, "Don't discount emotions. They'll save your life one day, temporarily anyway"

She sits for a second with the cup in her hand, and then just giggles in her soft and disturbing way. "So, why do *you* think Sariel is pretty?"

"Have you SEEN that boy? I think he sleeps doing sit ups. Must be all the time he spends crawling around on all fours. Nice view."

Dagon just blinks and stares at Death, a blush forming again over her cheeks. "I, uh, I've seen him, yeah . . . but like I said, I probably shouldn't."

She pours more tea, and then fixes Death more as well, then lights one of the offered cigarettes.

"I'm becoming something completely different, aren't I?" It doesn't really sound like a question as she sips her tea and smokes the cigarette.

Death nods.

"And your going to be all enigmatic because I have to figure out WHAT I am on my own, aren't you?"

He smiles the broad grin, "I'm just letting you talk through your thoughts."

She nods a bit, "talk through my thoughts. Well, it's something I've done with like . . . no success before and it got me in WAY too much trouble, but I'll go with it. Guess we can play 20 questions on this one, huh? Or sorta."

"If you like that game."

She nods, "yeah, I kind of do. It kind of helps me get my brain moving; like the Socratic Method." She stops abruptly and blinks awkwardly, "wow, have no idea where that came from. Anyway . . . “she sighs, "so, out of curiosity, in one word, what would you, Death, call me?"

"You? I would call you Dagon, you seem to prefer it."

She shakes her head, "crap, my stupid came back. I didn't ask the right questions. I mean, what am I to you? A disciple, avatar, servant? This actually will help me go along way in forming another thought I have. And no, this isn't about telling me what I want to hear or something like that."

"Well, when you were a girl, do you remember all those Santa Clause's on all the corners at Christmas?"

She kind of cringes, "barely but yes, I remember them."

"What did parents tell children when they asked how there could be so many?"

"That they were actually Santa's helpers, so somehow he could get to all the little boys and girls. To be fair, my parents never told me any of that crap, I think I saw it in a movie called Bad Santa. Halloween was more my gig; but you already knew that."

Death nods and slides a book across the table, "it's a workable metaphor."

She takes the book and looks at it, "so even though I'm one in a sea of faceless fat jolly folk for Death, do you even still need me? I mean, don't get me wrong, I don't want to stop working for you, but if I'm changing into something else, I'm tripping along trying to figure out what."

"Death isn't simple, I know you hate it but its a complicated process. It affects the one dying, yes, and there's a long process for most of them; it's not a surprise much anymore. Now consider all the other people affected by it. Just doing the easy part leaves a lot undone."

"I just don't understand why people don't handle Death like I do. It's normal, comforting sometimes. It, You, never bothered me." She reaches for the RIP ribbon, "can I do both? Have those left behind for the time being come to grips with their heads and still bring them to you when it's time? But who am I kidding; I've brought plenty to you on mine or someone else's Time and dime. Even if it was Fate that called the hit."

"I chose you because you could do the job and see things the way you do, but that's changing. Call this a lateral move."

"But, I . . . " she gets upset, and squirms a bit, "lateral moves are for people who you just pity and don't want to go through the hassle of firing. Am I not able to do the job anymore? Do I suck at it or something?" She clearly looks hurt.

"Not at all. You really are used to linear thinking aren't you dear? Have another cookie." Death pauses and then continues, "no, you simply no longer think like a child, even if you don't realize it."

Dagon forces herself to calm down and then takes another cookie, this one is a bat. She bites a wing half off as she slides the book Death gave her onto her lap.

She's still absently playing with the RIP ribbon.

"So, any clue about my lateral move, Boss, or you going to make me figure that out on my own, too?"

He tilts his head to the side, "Dagon, tell me what YOU want to do."

Dagon blinks up at Death. She looks a bit lost, "no one ever asked me that question before. I'm not sure how to answer it. Jack tells me he created me to be this thing, but when the Apocalypse has been all beaten back this time around, then what the hell do I do? I want to keep working for you, even if I had a choice, I'd want to stay on with you, you know? But maybe different methods? I mean, some days I just want to be completely alone. And I don't mean like 'screw you I don't answer to anyone', I mean like my company just isn't fit for many people, you know? The way I accept Death, deal it out, try to handle it. But everyone is just scared of me. But I have to admit that I kind of like that."

She picks up the ribbon, finally. "Who is this for?"

"Does it matter?"

She nods slowly, "yeah, for some strange reason it does matter."

He smiles, "a friend of a friend, no one you really know, don't poke dear."

She sighs and puts it back quickly. "Ok, sorry."

"So, what are you thinking?"

Her head snaps up from looking at the ribbon, "I don't know what I'm thinking anymore, Death. I'm very new to this thinking deal."

He shakes his head and Psyche enters.

Dagon starts to ask, "why are you shaking your head?" when she looks at Psyche.

"What are you doing here?"

Psyche looks at Death and then back at Dagon, "you have to come back, D. There's something fucking riding your body, yo."

Death raises an immaculately groomed eyebrow. "I don't remember you making an appointment girlfriend."

Psyche nods, and says "yeah, I know, I'm sorry, yo, but we thought she should know. Peace out." Psyche leaves and Dagon begins to get up.

"Maybe I should go."

Death lights another cigarette. "Why?"

She stops mid movement, "um, something nasty has taken over my body?"

"What's it going to do? I thought Death didn't bother you?"

Dagon sits slowly, "it's not about You. That wouldn't bother me, you know that. But what am I supposed to do? Let this thing come out of me early?"

"That's not going to happen, We all have rules to follow."

She nods, feeling rather pointless right about now and looks at the book in her lap. "I trust You; not going to stop now. All the rest of them may not make any sense, and I may not understand any of this, but I trust You." She looks around at the floral arrangements and the ribbon again, "I thought this was Life's job, anyway, the one's left behind."

The figure shakes His head. "I'm afraid not. I touch all parts of life this way, it is the only part of me that can really be grasped by a person... well the average person. A brush with my greater mystery." He smiles lighting another cigarette, "I suppose that does sound a bit grandiose doesn't it. Am I really such a drama queen?"

Dagon shakes her head, "not to me, but then again I'm not normal, remember? I think it's humans that make you so . . . dramatic. Tragedy, The End, Edgar Allen Poe and his consumptive beauties, heroin chic, death glam . . . staple my hand to my forehead, blah blah blah; good tunes, though." She shrugs.

"What can I say, my following may be eccentric, but it's dedicated."

"Yuh, huh. So, about that stalling thing your doing . . . ?"

"Most people don't like it when I seem to rush, it encourages paranoia."

"Well, I'm not most people, am I? I mean, fine, I'm not some great Chosen One, I'm just Santa's Little Helper of Death; but paranoia has never been my shtick." She grabs a cookie again, "besides, since when did you start giving a shit about my time or the wasting thereof?" She smiles a bit as she chews on a tombstone.

"Perhaps I just want you to get into a bit of a different mind set? Let’s be honest dear, I of all Beings have no reason to hurry, they call them deadlines for a reason, sooner or later..."

". . . they are always filled. Yeah, I know." She sighs, "I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but you've always been straight forward with me in the past. No offense but you kind of sound like Jack now." The black icing from the cookie makes her lips a dark grey, "and if I wanted some vague ancient Chinese secret, I'd grab a fortune cookie." She sighs again, the tombstone gone in place of lips that look like she's been touched a bit by Death herself.

"I know you can't just give me the answer, and I don't think I want you to give me the answer if you could. But I'm standing on this HUGE planet and I'm all spinning around 'which continent should I fucking START looking on', and all I would like is a kick in the right Continent. See what I mean? You say I'm going to have to make a lateral move, okay, but what the fuck does that mean? In case you haven't guessed already, this servant of yours," she points to herself, "not the brightest thing walking among the living. I know I wasn't chosen for my scintillating intellect and my sparkling insight . . . “she stops and blinks, like she didn't mean to say that or has no idea what just came out of her, but then continues, "but I'm trying. I mean, what? Grief councilor? Not exactly my forte, you know. I'll wind up beating someone to Death just because they can't grasp."

She grabs the edge of the seat with her hands and shakes a bit, her talking having worked herself up, "who do I have to kill around here to get some help?

"No one, that's the point. I gave you a guide book dearie. Read the dedication."

She read the book cover finally, and when she looked up, Death grinned with his Cheshire Cat mouth full of razors and kicked her off the chair.

She landed in Baltimore.