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@dystopiandisastercontrol
Mutt rolled to a stop just outside the apothecary, care taken that the front doors were left unblocked for potential customers. The quiet had gotten to Mike as well, like it always did. A sort of residual anxiety left over from his military days. The thought that idling was unacceptable when there were things to be done. Due to that subconscious mindset, he felt it necessary to keep moving.
He had already completed the tasks that were more obvious. Those closer to headquarters. Menial things that regularly got put out of place in the helter-skelter of trying to put Kane back in his place. Unfortunately, without such chaos, that left nothing to clean. Organize. Fix. Even the mechanical aspect had no outlet to provide work.
He’d finally gotten on Jacob’s nerves a week into the lull by following him around his kitchen expectantly while the other Burners were out on other tasks. He was waiting for a mess that he knew the old vegan would make. It was no surprise when his hovering had gotten him told to go find something else to do. Which left him remembering that maybe Death could probably use some help, what with managing both the apothecary and the cemetery. It would certainly keep him out of trouble, which had a knack for following him during downtime.
The ignition was turned, the engine shutting down with a series of clicks. Mike unbuckled and gave a pat to the bobblehead resting on the dash.
‘Thanks, girl.’
The dog’s head bobbed as though telling him ‘no problem’. A tired smile crossed his face as he exited his car and made his way up to the front doors of the shop. He was assailed by the mix of smells brought on by the multitude of plants on the main floor, hit in the face with it as he walked through the front door.
The chime track at the ceiling played a merry tune, all the way through for once. He caught the usual culprit for bell-related issues already curled around her usual potted plant beneath the heat lamps on one shelf. He raised a hand in greeting to the python, receiving a flicking tongue in return. Whether that was friendly or not, he was never sure. Snakes were hard to read.
Maneuvering around hanging plants, Mike made sure to walk through the circle of ghosts painted on the floor. While he wasn’t too superstitious himself, Death was and had set up the main floor so guests would have to stand even briefly in that spot. Cleansed spirits and made peoples’ energy better, supposedly. He wouldn’t deny that there was maybe a tingle of magic in it.
‘Hello...’
Nothing greeted him back from the main floor and a quick scan of his immediate surroundings showed there was no one human nearby. A noise of thought escaped him, but this was a common routine.
‘Time to check the greenhouse.’
Admittedly, he wasn’t too keen on that. Almost every time he had been down there, Baptiste had thrown some variant garden tool at his head. While he had never seen the ghost himself, the amount of rage in it made the greenhouse touchy ground for the Burner. Still, he was going to check everywhere he was allowed to, and that meant the greenhouse too.
He made his way behind the sales-counter, hand reaching for the knob on the door to the greenhouse. He paused, head tilting as he heard something muffled through the door. Someone was down there, singing. The last he knew, Baptiste didn’t sing. Maybe the Haitian shaman had music playing while he worked?
The thought left when he opened the door a little, eyes sparkling. He knew that voice now that it was unobstructed by the door. Looked like the quiet had gotten to War too, but the inclusion of the woman didn’t deter his want to offer his services. He strode through the door with a renewed bounce in his step, closing it and walking down the stairs into the greenhouse behind.
He had barely gotten down the stairs when he noticed the old aviator’s jacket hanging on the hooks. Routine at this point dictated a relaxed salute in the garment’s direction when he saw it alone. A wave was offered to Death, tending to his crops in one corner. The verbal greeting was stopped in his throat by War’s acknowledgement, cutting off the song in hers. He gave a shrug, more reflex than dismissal.
‘Not too long.’
Which was entirely true. He’d barely left the stairs.
‘Little sad I missed the beginning.’
That quirk of a smug little smirk across his face said it more than his words. A mix of teasing and genuine feeling.
‘Encore?’
He liked hearing her voice. And missed it. It’d been almost a month since he’d heard it face-to-face. Usually, it was dictated through a comm-screen. Not quite the same.
