Mason sighed, already bored out of his mind. He had been waiting on that bench for an hour. According to the post it that he had been given, he was to wait for two hours before he could collect the soul. Rude had been just as charming as always, telling him that he was to be there because he was going to do it, and he had said it with the tone of voice that suggested that the fact that he was dead wouldn’t help him if he dared to question him again.
So he was sitting in a bench in Arcadia, waiting for God knew what. He didn’t even have enough money for liquor! Blast it all to hell.
“Thinks himself so important, of course, doesn’t care that I’ve plans, doesn’t care that I’ve a life, the conceited bastard.”
At least someone else was having as much of a rotten day as he was. Mason eyed the teenager sitting on the bench besides him. The girl had been muttering a stream of complaints and mutters against someone (Mason was betting either an older brother or her father) who had apparently forced her to be there for almost an hour. Or so he thought: although it had been interesting at first, he had stopped paying attention when the cussing started repeating.
“Thinks he’s so fucking important, just because he’s all ‘Hi, I’m omnipotent, fear my skills!’; doesn’t care at all, I wanted to–”
“Darling, you ought to give your old man a chance.” He heard himself saying. “I’m sure he’s doing all this for a very good reason. Or not. But, give him a chance.”
The girl glares with the power that teenagers have. “And what do you know about it to butt i… Oh. Oh, of course. OF COURSE!” And if the glare before had been powerful before, Mason was actually glad that he was dead as to not shrivel up at the look he was getting from an itsy bitsy teenager. “Are you finally going to tell me why I’m here? Or is it just your sick idea of a joke?”
Mason blinked. The change on the girls’ tone was incredible. She could probably give Daisu a run for her money in giving you literally killing looks. “I beg your pardon?”
The girl huffed, burrowing closer to her clothes. She was still glaring though, obviously completely annoyed and on the verge of murdering him with her nails alone.
“And why are you sounding so…”
“Gay.” The girl finished. Mason gaped.
“I do not!” And then he huffed, too. “And why do you talk as if we knew each other? I don’t do toddlers.”
“I’m not a toddler!”
“Yeah, sure puppet, keep saying that to yourself.”
After a moment of silence where they both tried to ignore each other, Mason spoke again. “I don’t suppose you’re E. Nigma, are you?”
The girl shook her head, arms still crossed. “Nope.”
Mason sighed. “Figures. And you don't happen to have something to drink, do you.”
“Do I seem an alcoholic to you?” The girl asked, glaring again. Mason thought that more like a bratty bitch, but refrained from saying so and, sulking just like the other girl was doing, he got ready to wait for God knew how long to however it was he had to take the soul off.