This is the part that he hates the most. Because the dead are simply dead; they are souls waiting to be freed from their cages of flesh and blood. But the living, the living are another matter. The living are those that are close to disaster, close to disease to ruin, and it is his duty to tell them. To warn them in some cases of the dangers to come, to damn them to those dangers if needed.
He has whispered into the ears of kings, emperors, presidents, and other nations. He has told them of their downfall, of their deaths. He has promised their loss of power, sworn to them that they would fall. The people he talks to varies, it all depend on what matter is most pressing. For he is not truly Death, so he can not hear all, see all, be all. So he finds that most of those he talks at are his fellow nations.
When he touches down, feet firmly planted on solid ground, he allows the wings he's borrowed from Death to slide back into the folds of the Death's robe; for Death comes on swift wings, and he is Death, so he must have wings. If only for the day.
He breaths in, tasting the coming horrors on the wind.
A tsunami was going to strike and thousands would die. Some from the water, others from the disease. A war was on the horizon, a war of religion, or faith; a war that promised to be bloody. Stock markets were falling and suicide rates were about to rise. A million and more disasters were going on in the world and only a few could be altered.
A hand on a frosted window and a gentle push, and he's in. Locks can not stop Death and England will not be halted, not tonight, or any other night that he is carrying out Death's duties. England cringes when he spots the posters, the propaganda, the signs that celebrate the Man of Steel, Stalin. Even if he wasn't directly opposing Russia he still flinched at what Ivan allowed Stalin to do, how the Man of Steel systematically cut down his own people. It made England's skin crawl.
He stops directly behind Russia, the bigger nation was focused on some papers, violet eyes wandering over the pages, soaking up the numbers and data. Out of all the nations that he could visit in the limited time he has left, Russia is in need of his guidance the most.
"Russia. Ivan. The cold is coming, your General will not be kept waiting. His forces are ready to sweep through your lands, and if you aren't careful, Ivan, if you don't take the right precautions you could lose everything. Be careful Russia, for winter is coming." If Russia didn't hear him, didn't heed the words of Death, then millions could die. The cold and ice would take them.
---
The sun warms his frozen bones as Death approaches, hand stretched out to take back It's scythe and wings. To take back It's powers and responsibilities. England solemnly hands them over, knowing better then to celebrate over being freed of this particular burden. Because Death always comes back, because it had promised all those years ago when it first foisted It's duties on him.
Thank you for your service, Arthur, I'll be needing it again.
Death would be back and he would be forced to reap the souls of rotting corpses and deliver dark tidings.
----
I hope that fits what you were looking for OP. I'm sorry if it didn't!
Re: Dead Days (1c/1)
This is the part that he hates the most. Because the dead are simply dead; they are souls waiting to be freed from their cages of flesh and blood. But the living, the living are another matter. The living are those that are close to disaster, close to disease to ruin, and it is his duty to tell them. To warn them in some cases of the dangers to come, to damn them to those dangers if needed.
He has whispered into the ears of kings, emperors, presidents, and other nations. He has told them of their downfall, of their deaths. He has promised their loss of power, sworn to them that they would fall. The people he talks to varies, it all depend on what matter is most pressing. For he is not truly Death, so he can not hear all, see all, be all. So he finds that most of those he talks at are his fellow nations.
When he touches down, feet firmly planted on solid ground, he allows the wings he's borrowed from Death to slide back into the folds of the Death's robe; for Death comes on swift wings, and he is Death, so he must have wings. If only for the day.
He breaths in, tasting the coming horrors on the wind.
A tsunami was going to strike and thousands would die. Some from the water, others from the disease. A war was on the horizon, a war of religion, or faith; a war that promised to be bloody. Stock markets were falling and suicide rates were about to rise. A million and more disasters were going on in the world and only a few could be altered.
A hand on a frosted window and a gentle push, and he's in. Locks can not stop Death and England will not be halted, not tonight, or any other night that he is carrying out Death's duties. England cringes when he spots the posters, the propaganda, the signs that celebrate the Man of Steel, Stalin. Even if he wasn't directly opposing Russia he still flinched at what Ivan allowed Stalin to do, how the Man of Steel systematically cut down his own people. It made England's skin crawl.
He stops directly behind Russia, the bigger nation was focused on some papers, violet eyes wandering over the pages, soaking up the numbers and data. Out of all the nations that he could visit in the limited time he has left, Russia is in need of his guidance the most.
"Russia. Ivan. The cold is coming, your General will not be kept waiting. His forces are ready to sweep through your lands, and if you aren't careful, Ivan, if you don't take the right precautions you could lose everything. Be careful Russia, for winter is coming." If Russia didn't hear him, didn't heed the words of Death, then millions could die. The cold and ice would take them.
---
The sun warms his frozen bones as Death approaches, hand stretched out to take back It's scythe and wings. To take back It's powers and responsibilities. England solemnly hands them over, knowing better then to celebrate over being freed of this particular burden. Because Death always comes back, because it had promised all those years ago when it first foisted It's duties on him.
Thank you for your service, Arthur, I'll be needing it again.
Death would be back and he would be forced to reap the souls of rotting corpses and deliver dark tidings.
----
I hope that fits what you were looking for OP. I'm sorry if it didn't!