"Okay, why the ever-loving fuck are you up at this hour, and-" a young girl, around 19, peered in the doorway, face contorted with rage. She looked rather similar to Ember, but with longer hair and a tattoo of a sun on her left wrist, although she still had the very same glasses he wore. "Just leave it, Poppea. I'll handle this. Just go back to sleep." Ember ordered. The girl, Poppea apparently, glared. "You know what, I'm not even gonna ask." she said dryly, rolling her eyes and walked off. "Sorry, my sister. Poppy means well, she's just… well, Poppy. Anyways, stop insulting and threatening me. I only need one thing from you, okay? So, how does the whole thing work? I'm a little unclear on concept. You can heal people, right?" Ember asked, tone suddenly turning urgent.
“Of course you are unclear,” Thatcher hissed. These mortals knew nothing. It wasn’t as simple as needing one thing. He would be bound to the goddamn person until they died or were killed. The last time, he had to wait until the man died of old age.
It was during medieval times. The man was a rich englishman who turned out to be very greedy in a sense that he wanted all the riches in the world. He had summoned Thatcher, thinking that the Reaper could kill to get him what he wanted. Thatcher had been miserable. Reaper’s weren’t meant to be controlled, they were meant to naturally keep the balance. And the man barely had him killing. It was like buying cooking utensils and never cooking anything. He was made for a specific purpose that was wired into his brain, and he wasn’t able to complete those purposes.
But healing was a whole other topic. Healing would take years off of a Reaper’s life. He had only healed to save Nike one time about a century ago, but that was it. “I can,” he simply stated, a hateful edge to his tone.
"Right. There's a woman. My mother. I want you to heal her. How do I make that happen, exactly?" Ember asked. If this did work, he would be eternally grateful. "Also, you don't really have to stand there anymore if you don't want to." he motioned to the circle.
Of course, the male’s mother. That was to be expected. The male seemed like he didn’t know anything about Reapers whatsoever. “You don’t make it happen, I do,” he growled in an annoyed tone. He gave the other a sharp look at the male’s second comment. “You ignorant fool,” he snapped. “I can’t. You need to break it,” he huffed.
"Okay, right. So to leave, the circle must be broken. Got it. Alright, do I just do this then?" he asked, rubbing out a little of the chalk circle's edge. "Now, can you help me?" Ember said, a little quickly.
Thatcher watched as the male made a break in the symbol. He promptly stepped out of it, and the large scythe appearing in his hand. He resisted the urge to slash the other male, ending it switftly. But that would get himself killed as well in a much more painful and slow way.
“I would rather not, but I have to,” he growled. He ran a hand through his hair, brushing it from his eyes. He would waste his life force, but he would be forced to do it.
"Okay, good then. Is there any specific way I need to, like, officiate it or something?" Ember asked, a little stupidly. He had just then noticed how attractive the Reaper was, and urgently pushed the thought from his mind.
Thatcher’s eyes narrowed at the mortal male. He dug into his pocket and took out a slip of paper and a pen. “Name and intention,” he huffed. God, how he hoped that this man would just drop dead so he could be free of this slavery. He held it out, looking at the other in an impatient manner.
"Esmeralda Jane Wick, healing." he muttered aloud as he wrote. "Now please, help her." he pleaded, his voice lowering into a broken, pathetic whisper.
Thatcher watched reluctantly. He snatched the paper away from the mortal when he was done writing. He glared at it for a moment before turning on his heal. He seemed to know exactly where he was going as he left the cellar, and eventaully found himself standing in front of a sick looking woman. He stared down at her before bringing his own scythe to his wrist, slicing open the skin so blood could flow out. But the blood was not red. No, it was a shiny white tone. In a literal sense, it was white gold.
Ember followed, and watched in awe as the color began to return to his mother's face, her pale cheeks becoming rosy once again. "Mama?" he whispered. "Ember, baby? Is that you?" Esmeralda asked. "Mama, you're okay now, you're fine. Just sleep. You'll feel much better in the morning." he said, hugging her. "That's what you always say, my little lion." she chuckled weakly. "Don't worry, Mama. Just rest. I'll be up with breakfast in a few hours, okay?" he asked. Ember's mother gave a sigh that approximated to an affirmative, and fell back to sleep. She hadn't even noticed Thatcher. "Thank you. You… you can go now if you want. I won't keep you." Ember said quietly, as to not wake his mother.
Thatcher watched the interaction, his blood still dripping. He had dripped the blood onto the woman’s lips, which had allowed her to be heald. His wrist ached something terrible. The metal of his scythe would cause the wound to stay open longer than usual. His eyes snapped to the male when he was addressed. He almost could have let out a harsh laugh.
“That is not how that works. I am enslaved to you until you die, you fool,” he growled.
Ember's face blanched. "Well, I didn't quite anticipate this." he said slowly. "Come on, I don't want Mama to freak out if and when she wakes up." he beckoned, trying to sort the situation in his head while maintaining calm.
(Hey, good evening! How are you?)
(Hey, sorry for not answering last night, I was with a friend for the evening!)
Of course the mortal didn’t. No one ever read the fine print, the warnings that came with this job. Thatcher had his wrist pressed to his black button up, and he assumed that it would leave a clashing white stain on the fabric. He had given a grunt in response to the male, throwing a glance back at the sleeping elderly woman.
"So, er, my bedroom's this way. We can chat there." Ember offered, leading the Reaper to a simple room, with grey walls and curtains, and a bleached white bedspread, as well as a dresser and bedside table and walk-in closet. There was a planetary alignment chart on the ceiling, and vials of all sorts on the dresser. "It isn't much, I don't normally stay here. Busy, work and all that."
Thatcher followed after the male at a leisurely, slow pace. He didn’t see the point of owning such a home. He had resided in various motels most of his life. He didn’t need to sleep, or eat for that matter, but it was nice to shower and get the blood off of his skin. His eyes scanned the inside of the room as he stayed silent. He should be working, but now he is unable to.
"My na!e is Ember. Ember Wick. You are?" he asked, sitting down on his bed. The springs creaked a little loudly beneath him.
Thatcher stayed standing near the doorway. He kept quiet for a moment, and could have sworn that he heard a howl in the distance somewhere. Finally, there she was. “Thatcher Wain,” he introduced, tilting his head to look away from Ember and to somewhere else in the room.
"Th-that's a… a pretty, er, name…." Ember trailed off, heat rising to cheeks.
Thatcher’s lips pursed into a light frown. He would have never thought of his name as pretty.. He did notice that it was a compliment, partly by the color in Ember’s cheeks. “M’hm, thank you,” he said. Ember was.. attractive, and something along the line of his type. But why would he think that now about the one who has enslaved him?
"Ah, it's n-nothing." Ember mumbled. Was he seriously crushing on this guy? What a pathetic little shit I am, Ember thought. Never even been in a relationship before. Not that I'd be able to bring it up. So why am I suddenly turning into a lovestruck adolescent now when I could have at like, thirteen? he asked himself. Bloody, bloody damn.
Thatcher shifted his weight on his heels. He looked down at his wrist and moved it away from his black button up. It had left a nice white stain that had a metalic look in the light of the bedroom. “Do you have anything that I could wrap this in?” He asked. He looked down to where it had begun to drip on the floor. Then again, not many people minded the mess when the realized it was liquid white gold.
"Ah, sorry!" Ember whipped out his wand, giving it a small flick. The wound was cleaned, all traces of blood disappeared from skin and clothing alike, and bandages wrapped nearly around the Reaper's arm. "I didn't think…. should have noticed…. sorry." Ember stuttered.
Thacther’s brows raised from the suddeness of the healing. That was faster than what his own body could manage. He frowned at the bandages and felt at his wrist. “I’m surpised you didn’t want to kee any traces of it,” he said slowly. He rememebred being attacked by a group of men one time who had planned to bleed him dry for the white gold in his veins. Thankfully, Nike had been there to rip them limb from limb.
"Well, I didn't. I find blood a little…. discomforting." he muttered. Torso ripped apart by his own spell, face barely recognizable. "Besides, even if it is valuble, I wouldn't want to, er, exploit you."
That was a new response that Thatcher got. He frownde a bit, like this was some sort of trick. “Are you sure? A Reapers blood is white gold, a very expensive metal. My kind is endangered because we were hunted down for that,” he said.
"Well, I don't really need it for anything, and I don't want to do anything to harm you since the whole, ah, accidental servitude, which I won't try to take advantage of, don't worry, so I'm pretty sure I'm sure." Ember spat out, not using the concept of coherent sentences to his advantage.
Thatcher had frowned a bit more heavily as Ember spoke. He nodded his head slowly as he listened, still not completely comprehending the statements. He had opened his mouth to speak when there was a loud howl that seemed to come from right outside. He quickly stepped over to a window, and looked down to see his massive hound, her three heads looking right up at him.
"Oh my goddess, what the three branches of hell is that!" Ember squeaked, backing up to the wall.
