[Marauders/Endless] Revolving Karma. (1/1)

By Rossi.

Interesting I should make my own resurrection with a Death fic…

Rated PG: Some implied violence.

Disclaimer: The Marauders are Marvel’s, Death belongs to Vertigo (interesting pun there *grins*). No profit is being made, and suing me would cost more than would be feasible. So please don’t.

Feedback: To Rossi@subreality.com

A mood piece, really, that struck me whilst reading "The Time Of Your Life" Death TPB. Someone remarked that Death liked everybody.

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Death’s realm has no borders, but it does have edges, paradox being a particular habit of the Endless. And at the edge of Death’s Country, you might find yourself in the Shadow Lands. And if you find yourself there, you might be surprised to find a bus stop.

Not much of a bus stop really. Just a wrought-iron bench with wooden slats, and a Narnia-esque lamp-post with a timetable stuck to it. The timetable is so smudged and faded the writing is barely visible. But all bus stops share that atmosphere of waiting, and this one is no exception. Certainly the girl, perched on the back of the bench with her booted feet on the seat, is waiting. Quietly. Patiently. It’s something Death gets a lot of practice at, waiting.

A surprise, really, as anthropomorphic personifications go. A slender young girl, black hair forever tousled as if she’s just woken up, and dark eyes that shine with the power of one who will see the Universe end. Death wears black, of course, and around her neck a silver ankh gleams against pale skin. She’s holding a large umbrella, the sort London bankers in bowler hats carry. And, as was said before, she’s waiting.

She doesn’t have to wait long. There’s a stirring, a disturbance in the mists that lay as thick and fluffy as cotton candy on the ground. A green and silver head pops up, followed by a slim gymnast’s body in a swirly-coloured leotard. The newcomer rubs her eyes, like a child just wakened, which, in a way, she is.

"Hello, Vee," says Death, and her smile is gently welcoming.

"Hello Dee!" says Vertigo (for who else has green and silver hair and wears a swirly-coloured leotard?), all signs of slyness and fear and craftiness fleeing from her face under the sunshine of Death’s smile. With eerie grace, Vertigo rises from the mists to embrace Death in a warm hug. The sort of hug you give an old, close friend.

"It’s been a little while," says Death as Vertigo sits on the bench beside her feet. When you’re Endless, time is an obsolete concept, but Death likes to talk.

"The team’s been quiet. I think the Boss has been busy with his science stuff." Vertigo looks up at Death with pale eyes. "I heard him say we weren’t worth the effort of sending out, since all we seem to do is get killed." Vertigo lays her head against Death’s knee. "I don’t mind, since it means I get to see you. Sometimes I think you’re the only friend I’ll ever have."

"You’re hurting my feelings, Vertigo," says a new voice, a man’s, rich with an accent of rolling ‘r’ sounds. Another figure emerges from the mists, lithe and tall, with a long mane of pink hair. Vertigo jumps like a startled rabbit, but Death is still. When you are everywhere at once, nothing comes as a surprise.

"I thought _I_ was your friend," Riptide continues, leering slightly at the frowning Vertigo.

"Don’t spoil it, ‘Tide," she retorts. "It’s not like we’ll be here long, and I want to talk to Dee."

"Maybe, maybe. Could be this visit could become a more permanent stay, if what Mr Sinister says is true."

"Let him pour my vials down the drain, I’m tired of all this anyway." Vertigo slides closer to Death as Riptide takes a seat next to her.

"Janos, it’s good to see you again," Death says in her friendly way, and the spiteful comment fades from Riptide’s lips.

"My lady," he says instead with a nod. "As always, a pleasure."

"For you, maybe," mutters Vertigo. Then she feels those long white fingers stroking her hair and quiets.

"It’s not like you to find your way here to me so quickly, Janos," Death says, but there is no judgement in her voice. Only honest curiosity.

"I got careless," Riptide replies with an extravagant shrug. "I don’t remember the details, but since I am here, and not battling Xavier’s tiresome students, it appears I am no more."

"Colossus again," provides the voice of the Asian man known as Scrambler. He stands, graceful as a cat, barefoot, smoothing down the lines of his suit. "The Russian has really taken exception to you, Janos."

"Could be because he almost killed his friends during the Massacre," mutters Vertigo. "Third down, Scrambler. You’re improving."

"I’ve been practising ducking." The Korean chuckles as he joins them on the bench. "This time was purely an accident. A chunk of building fell on me. Mr Sinister will not be pleased."

"He’s been threatening to not re-clone you again?" Death asks.

"Vertigo and I. He says we’re dead wood, and a waste of resources." Scrambler waves an admonishing finger at Vertigo. "You’ve been a very naughty girl, getting yourself killed first again." Vertigo pokes her tongue out at him playfully.

"I don’t care. I like it here better anyway." Anything else she is about to say is cut off by the string of virulent swear-words.

"Sounds like Arc is pissed," remarks Riptide needlessly as the tall muscular woman stomps her way through the mist towards them.

"I can’t believe it. Taken down by a bunch of pussies," she complains as she comes nearer. She looks squarely at Death. "Don’t you have anything better to do?"

"I’m doing it now," says Death mildly. "I enjoy these chats, Phillipa. It’s not often I get to talk to the same people twice, you know."

"But why us?" It’s Riptide’s question. "We’re not exactly the most pleasant people to be around. We kill, and enjoy it. We’re completely amoral."

"Dee likes _everybody_," Vertigo declares. Death only smiles.

"Only three to go," Scrambler notes. "Bets on who’s next, anyone?"

"Too late," Arclight grunts as the mists swirl again around a much larger form. The smoke from her cigarette wreathes around her head, echoing the mist eddying around her boots. Blockbuster sits up, gathers himself, and then heaves his bulk upright.

"Got my licks in first," Blockbuster says, coming towards them looking satisfied. "There’s gonna be some very delicate X-Men for a while."

"But you didn’t kill any of them, did you?" Riptide snorts.

"Not that that ever matters. Bastards have more lives than we do." Arclight rolls her head around on her neck, stretching out the kinks. "They got a season ticket or something, D-Lady?"

"No, not really. They just seem to die." Death grins slightly mischievously. "If anyone could be said to have a season ticket, it’s you lot."

"Well, I wouldn’t mind cashing mine in for a bit of rest," grumbles Blockbuster. "Seems like lately even the X-brats could kick our butts."

"Sometimes I think the only reason we exist is to give the heroes someone to kill with a clean conscience," Scrambler observes. "We don’t really die, so it’s not like they’re really murderers."

"It sure feels like I’m dead," Blockbuster’s voice is the low rumble of thunder, or earthquake. "I sure felt it when the weather-witch fried me."

"More fool you for getting her angry," Arclight says with a savage grin. "Although batting around her little Kitty-Cat was fun once Scrambler screwed with the kid’s powers."

"Shame we didn’t have time to have some proper fun," Blockbuster says, lowering himself to a spot at the other end of the bench to Arclight. "Wake me up when we’re resurrected." He leans against the end of the bench and pretends to snore slightly.

A lull falls upon the group as they wait together. Arclight smokes, blowing smokes rings which eventually sink to join the mists at her feet. Riptide hums under his breath a song he now remembers his mother singing to him when he was small. Scrambler, too, is lost in memories of a life before Sinister, before the Marauders and his mutant powers. Vertigo nestles against Death’s legs, letting her stroke the silver-green hair. Blockbuster falls asleep.

They all wait.

Arclight is the first to disappear, simply fading from sight like the Cheshire Cat. The smoke from her last cigarette hangs in the air like a grin. Then Blockbuster, and Riptide. Scrambler has time to nod companionably at Death before he too fades like a dream upon waking. Until there is only Vertigo left.

"I don’t want to go back," she whispers. Death smiles, and her eyes are like stars.

"I’ll be waiting for you. Next time." Cool white arms enfold her, and then Vertigo melts away, so that for an instant Death is embracing empty air. Then she straightens, stands, and putting the furled umbrella over her shoulder, walks into the distance of her realm.

The End.