[closed] Let me up on the stand

[thelast]

who: Death and Peter Quill
what: Making a compilation.
when: Early August, following this.
where: Floor 13
warnings: N/A

[Peter's floor remains uninterrupted even though Death follows through on what she said. As soon as she switches off the feed of her device she looks up from her seat. Not the one from her room, but the one on the balcony of the thirteenth floor. Like she had been there all along.

Black boots made themselves at home on the edge as she starts writing down songs and artists in a small black book. Anyone else passing by wouldn't notice her unless they were looking for her specifically. No, she was here to see Peter.

Every once in a while she glances over her shoulder through the glass door to see if she can catch his eye or have to resort to knocking.]

Comments

[thelast]

[She's strangely proud of him for not trying to hold his breath. Much as she wants to shoot a little banter at him, Death puts a free gloved hand out before her.]

Watch.

[She motions her head to the creature with them. The giant whale shark seems to split in two and everything else besides the trio stills. The slow, stationary original and the other that swims lively over to them only to stop in front of her. Mere inches from her hand.]

Big guy's had a long run, way before I got here. [Finally she releases Peter's hand and looks back to him, the toothless mouth idly opening and closing.] This is your last chance to see or touch one for a long while, Peter. He's been patiently waiting for me to take him.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ That explains exactly nothing, but Peter reluctantly looks toward the big— fish thing. It's massive, and Peter is pretty sure creatures this big are usually accompanied by the descriptor "man-eating." This fish-thing, though, seems tranquil enough, and it helps that its mouth isn't lined with dozens of rows of teeth.

It just seems to be waiting, and reluctantly, Peter uses his freed hand to rest it against the whale shark's nose. Its skin is rough beneath Peter's touch, and he swallows thickly against the nervous lump in his throat. This is all surreal, and a part of him thinks he might actually be going insane, or at least that someone slipped him the good stuff, and he looks over to Death. ]

Where's he going?

[ Because even as confused (and slightly terrified, though he'll never admit it aloud) as he is, Peter's curious, in spite of it all. ]

Is there something wrong with him?

[thelast]

The "where" is up to him. I'm just how he's getting there.

[She runs the tips of her fingers between the spots and gently smiles, her eyes suddenly moving to it. The same kind of attention one gives when listening to another talk.]

Not wrong, no. Just old age. Time catches up with everyone and everything.

[nostalgiabomb]

... You're saying he's dying.

[ A quiet edge of sympathy, there, and he looks back at the shark-thing with a frown. ]

That's just it? There's nothing else to do for him?

[thelast]

[The lingering look she gives him might have taken a tiny eternity, but her eyes go downcast as she continues softly petting the giant fish.]

There's nothing anyone else can do. He might choose to be reincarnated and live here again, or not.

[The palm of her gloved hand stop on its dorsal fin, her eye brows lift ever so slightly when she looks up to him again.]

Thank you. [It was as if she had read it from a book. Then she smiles and her usual tone comes back.] Not many get a final visitor, Peter.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He fidgets under the look she gives him, and when she finally speaks, her answer doesn't quite sit right with him. But it's not like Peter's, like, a fish biologist or a fish doctor or a fish whatever. Old age gets the best of everyone, he knows, and if that's it, he supposes that's just...

... it.

Peter frowns again, his hand still smoothing back and forth in the wide expanse between the whale-shark's eyes. The words of gratitude are met with a shrug. ]

I mean, you kinda brought me here, so.

[ "It's not like I had a choice," is the implication, though his voices holds no resentment for it. ]

What happens now?