Don't Fear the Reaper

"YOU WANT ME TO WHAT?"

"Be my kids' Godfather! You seem like an alright sort." David clapped the strangers' shoulder jovially. A small, sober part of his mind noted that the black-clad shoulder felt rather... thin, almost bony under his hand, but the alcohol ignored it. It also ignored how the voice actually sounded. It was leaden, like a closed tomb, and if he were sober, it would have run straight down his spine and pressed a button marked 'primal terror'. But alas, he was drunk, and as far as he knew, chatting to a new friend at the bar. Who did indeed seem like an alright sort, if a little awkward.

It had started with a celebration. His daughter had been born mere hours ago, and he had gone straight to the pub to celebrate. The stranger had sat next to him, and he promptly ordered whiskey for both of them. Top shelf, of course. He was in a good mood. He was a father, after all, and he wanted to celebrate in style. His new, somberly dressed friend wasn't given much of a choice in the matter.

"AND WHAT DOES THAT ENTAIL?"

David shrugged vaguely. "You know. Stand for her at her baptism. Promise to look out for her. Turn up for birthdays. Give her presents. Listen to her when he needs someone to talk to. But back us up if she's complaining about us." The last was added quickly, an afterthought that might be important later. You never know what they were going to turn out like. Something else pushed to the fore of his mind and out of his mouth; "Take up the reins if me and the wife happen to... you know..."

"YES. I KNOW. AND YOU WANT ME TO DO THIS. WHY?"

David sighed, running a hand through his unkempt hair. "Millie and I... we've no family. We're all alone here. It's just us against the world and... well... there should be some backup. Just in case. She shouldn't be left all alone if..." If something were to happen. If she needed someone to talk to when she felt she couldn't talk to her parents. If she couldn't talk to her parents at all. He was getting morbid. He shook it off and grinned at his new friend. "Not that that's happening anytime soon, but you never know. I could get hit by a bus tomorrow."

"YES, YOU COULD."

David didn't like how he said that. His brow furrowed for a second as sobriety tried to push through, and alcohol pushed it back. He peered at the face buried in the depths of a large black hood. Something told him that there was something not quite right about the white features, those glinting flecks of blue that sat where his eyes should be. But the alcohol forced him to ignore it. He was an alright sort. They were celebrating. He had a new kid, and he was happy. A little girl... He clapped the strangers shoulder again. "So what do you say, buddy? Want to be a godfather?"

The silence stretched as the dark figure contemplated it, his face never changing. David could swear he was grinning, but the strangers' tone was somber as he finally replied:

"YES. I SHALL DO AS YOU REQUEST, AND BE THE CHILDS... GODFATHER."

David whooped happily, giving the stranger a one-armed hug. "Excellent! You won't regret it. You should come by the hospital later and meet the missus. She'll be delighted."

"OH, I DON'T KNOW ABOUT THAT."

"Don't sell yourself short, bud! She's going to love you. Now, I should get back. I'll see you at the hospital later, yeah?"

"YES."

The stranger didn't look around as David left. The man on his other side coughed wetly, straight onto the bowl of peanuts in front of him, and scowled at the black hood. "You shouldn't be getting involved. It'll lead to trouble." His voice sounded odd, nasal, like he had the worst cold on the planet. He wore an old, yellowing hood of indeterminate fabric. It looked like it was falling apart, yet hid most of his face. He had an odd, medicinal smell that almost masked the rancid notes. The black cowl turned to him, the blue sparks flaring slightly within.

"I KNOW."

Another man sighed, downing the rest of his beer. "You just can't help yourself, can you?" He sounded... hungry. As if there wasn't enough food in the world to satisfy him. His face was uncovered, full of hard lines and skin stretched taut. He looked like he hadn't eaten in decades. He ordered another beer. There was a collection of glasses in front of him, yet he sounded as sober as a judge. The barman hadn't taken any of them away, watching the glass forest grow with horrified fascination. He simply added another, foam spilling over slightly as his hands shook. Half of the beer disappeared in one gulp. The black cowl didn't answer. His face didn't change, fixed in a permanent, humourless grin, but there was an air of sheepishness about him.

The fourth and final man grunted, thumping his beer glass on the bar. "You're going to regret it. And so are they." His voice was a low rumble, his very words a call to arms. A hulking mass of muscle hunched over the bar, face obscured with a bushy red beard. He looked like he could incite riots just by standing in the middle of the street. His presence made others around him shuffle restlessly, eyeing each other suspiciously. Except his three companions.

The cowl bowed slightly, as if lowering its head in embarrassment. "MAYBE."

All three of his colleagues rolled their eyes. "You should get to the hospital. You have an... appointment." The first man spoke with a hint of warning. The stranger was a busy man.

The strangers' tone didn't change, save for a tiny note of sadness.

"... YES."