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Dec. 19th, 2005 03:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kittydesadeTitle: Career Builder dot Com
Fandom: Kingdom Hospital
Characters: Antubis
Prompt: Death
Word Count: 500
Rating: PG
Summary: No taxes. Just Death.
Author's Notes: I take no responsibility for the strange creature's actions. It's all King, baby. Unless it's Lars.
“I grant wishes, prayers, and dreams.”
He keeps rewriting his job description, like he’s not happy with it, except his moments of discontent are so rare that he could still count them on the fingers of a human hand. For a death god he’s actually pretty happy, even if the phrase ‘death god’ is probably inaccurate. The names change with the seasons. Or with the centuries. Or whenever he gets bored.
It’s like tweaking a resume. People never run into a shortage of death gods, since he’s been around longer than even he can remember. Changing form as easily as changing thought, and what does that really matter anyway?
“I make room. That’s all.”
People vacillate, always, in his reception. Sometimes they fight. Sometimes they give it up as a bad job. Sometimes they just figure (and he’s always proud of them for this) that it happens, like birth, his evil twin. People are born and people die and there isn’t even anything he can do about it, though he pretends otherwise. He’s just there to facilitate, really.
It’s not like he can’t kill when he wants to. He’s ripped hearts out, throats, entrails, brains, muscle, bone. After a while there are only so many body parts you can lose. And it’s not like he can’t sneak death up on a body in a variety of entertaining ways. But that’s all he is, a gate guardian. A vehicle. A bored security guard with a penchant for dirty tricks and the occasional quirk of loneliness.
“That thing is the gatekeeper. And I believe we see him as we do only because of a child’s misunderstanding.”
He’s gone through so many names. People change, and he changes with them. No skin off his nose. Well, sometimes. The last time he had been hanging around some kind of hermetic circle, people consuming more drugs than they should have and tossing about names that had more weight than they could have carried. It amused him, for a little while. It led him to the still-new world, and a little girl named Mary.
He smiles a little to himself. It’s good to have a friend. And while Mary knows his name she doesn’t know who he is, and he’s a little relieved by that. She thinks it’s her bell because she’s too young, too poor, too much on the wrong side of the world to know who ‘Anubis’ is.
“She does me a solid…”
He’s spent the past century and a half as a giant anteater relaxing in the arms of a little girl. Not very dignified by today’s standards, but he liked it. It was like a vacation. And it was good to have a friend.
“…you do her a solid.”
He likes to be scratched behind the ears. He rips the still-beating heart out of a fat man’s chest and eats the buzzing madness flies out of a mean man’s mind. He makes a growling sound that means contentment and lies down when the girl tells him to, feeling her arms close loosely around his neck. His tongue flickers out and licks up a stray crawling along the floor of the hospital. He closes his eyes and waits for the next scratch.
Antsolutely delicious.
Fandom: Kingdom Hospital
Characters: Antubis
Prompt: Death
Word Count: 500
Rating: PG
Summary: No taxes. Just Death.
Author's Notes: I take no responsibility for the strange creature's actions. It's all King, baby. Unless it's Lars.
“I grant wishes, prayers, and dreams.”
He keeps rewriting his job description, like he’s not happy with it, except his moments of discontent are so rare that he could still count them on the fingers of a human hand. For a death god he’s actually pretty happy, even if the phrase ‘death god’ is probably inaccurate. The names change with the seasons. Or with the centuries. Or whenever he gets bored.
It’s like tweaking a resume. People never run into a shortage of death gods, since he’s been around longer than even he can remember. Changing form as easily as changing thought, and what does that really matter anyway?
“I make room. That’s all.”
People vacillate, always, in his reception. Sometimes they fight. Sometimes they give it up as a bad job. Sometimes they just figure (and he’s always proud of them for this) that it happens, like birth, his evil twin. People are born and people die and there isn’t even anything he can do about it, though he pretends otherwise. He’s just there to facilitate, really.
It’s not like he can’t kill when he wants to. He’s ripped hearts out, throats, entrails, brains, muscle, bone. After a while there are only so many body parts you can lose. And it’s not like he can’t sneak death up on a body in a variety of entertaining ways. But that’s all he is, a gate guardian. A vehicle. A bored security guard with a penchant for dirty tricks and the occasional quirk of loneliness.
“That thing is the gatekeeper. And I believe we see him as we do only because of a child’s misunderstanding.”
He’s gone through so many names. People change, and he changes with them. No skin off his nose. Well, sometimes. The last time he had been hanging around some kind of hermetic circle, people consuming more drugs than they should have and tossing about names that had more weight than they could have carried. It amused him, for a little while. It led him to the still-new world, and a little girl named Mary.
He smiles a little to himself. It’s good to have a friend. And while Mary knows his name she doesn’t know who he is, and he’s a little relieved by that. She thinks it’s her bell because she’s too young, too poor, too much on the wrong side of the world to know who ‘Anubis’ is.
“She does me a solid…”
He’s spent the past century and a half as a giant anteater relaxing in the arms of a little girl. Not very dignified by today’s standards, but he liked it. It was like a vacation. And it was good to have a friend.
“…you do her a solid.”
He likes to be scratched behind the ears. He rips the still-beating heart out of a fat man’s chest and eats the buzzing madness flies out of a mean man’s mind. He makes a growling sound that means contentment and lies down when the girl tells him to, feeling her arms close loosely around his neck. His tongue flickers out and licks up a stray crawling along the floor of the hospital. He closes his eyes and waits for the next scratch.
Antsolutely delicious.