outcasts ;

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"Is it pretty?"   The question is odd, he thinks, to ask if death is pretty.  Death was not a human to hold some tactile beauty, death was an intangible thing,  ineffable,  untouchable…  but the  question still rolls from his tongue as though it is normal.

      " is what pretty ? death ? " she questions, eyebrows raised at the       question. she's not sure how to answer this, but takes a deep breath       and tries to answer it anyways. she's not entirely heartless --- just       mostly. " death is...it can be pretty. for the right people. the good people.       you know how they say when you die, you see your life flash before       your eyes ? that's true. you see everything. every detail of it. and,       well...for me, i have one task. to take you to...the other side. but i can...keep       you here as long as i like. people who die --- they're given a choice.       they can move on or...or become a reaper, like me. but anyway, if       you choose to move on, i'm allowed to take you one place. and ---       i always take people to their funeral. i don't know why...but that's what       people seem to like. to see how they're remembered. " she takes       a deep breath and looks over then, eyes searching for why this was       being asked. " so, in answer to your question, yes, death can be pretty.       if you actually work at life, and do good things with it. don't have a       life like mine. that's not the way to go. "

           ”are you always this hostile?”

               ”butting in my daydream is rude too.                  let    me    stare    in    peace,    man.”

         ❛there were were board games twenty years ago.❜

         ❛okay uh, do you have board games or something here?❜