The Dead Inn
The Dead Inn is one of several inns that have grown up in the town surrounding Draco Castle. Like many things in Draco County, it seems to revel in the macabre and gothic. The entrance is carved wood, shaped to look like skeletal Eeee holding up the top frame of the door. Inside everything is dim and shadowy, with proper dribbly candles everywhere. There's even a hunchback Skreek that scurries here and there straightening up the cobwebs and candles as needed. Behind the bar is a shelf that is lined with row after row of glowing bottles. Well, it's a faux glow … there's just a lineup of candles under the glass shelves. The chairs are all carved wood with velvet coverings and a Khatta in historic Sylvanian finery tends bar.

After a hurried appointment to tend to a woman's claim that a spirit was infesting her cellar (which turned out to just be stubborn, old, ceramic plumbing. She didn't need a reaper, she needed a plumber), Most found himself in a bit of a situation. Namely, none of the nearby pubs or restaurants would let him in! Bad for business, they'd say. So, after a lot of wandering, Mortimer finds himself at an Inn that lets him in. Nay … welcomes it! The Dead Inn; a place famous for welcoming those who walk on the darker sides of existence. Since it's just after lunch, though, it seems the place is rather, ah, dead. Only the barkeep (a rather large and gaunt looking fellow), and the hunchback Skreek are currently present. Well, at least he doesn't have to wait for a table.

Mortimer hobbles on inside, using the butt of his scythe to push the door open, and then the same end to push it shut. He hasn't been here before, and he finds that rather ironic. It does, after all, match his current home and his apparent style – though he finds the inn a little grim. "One Dead Man's Eye, extra eyeball, if you would, my good man," the Reaper tells the bartender as he heads his way.

"On the tombs or straight?" rasps the barkeep in his languid and deep tone. Before getting that answer, though, he's already working behind the bar and mixing the drink. Fitting … it comes in a little glass 'skull'.

"The tombstone, can't have the eyes rotting – I can get rotting eyes for free," the Reaper replies. He then hops up and sits, or rather perches, on a stool, letting his scythe lean against the counter. "Grim place you have here," he adds, before cackling to himself.

"Thank you for noticing. You are too kind … for a Reaper," the barkeep notes. He drops in a few cubes of ice into the skull, then slides to towards the Korv. The scent of alcohol is strong … and the floating candies made to look like eyeballs are staring at the Korv.

The wandering Skreek slinks over to Mortimer … where he proceeds to brush the dust off his robe into a dustpan. "Ah, thith will lookth greath on the tables. Real reaper funk," the strange rat mutters.

Mortimer peers down at his drink, giving the candy eyeballs a poke with some disappointment. No one makes a good Dead Man's Eye, it's just not the same without an actual eye. Still, it's a drink, and Mortimer isn't about to complain about liquor or candy. "Thank you," he says, adding, " … and we Reapers are much too kind. Why, we help everyone – eventually." He cackles again, then turns his head to regard the Skreek. He's not unused to being cleaned by stealth, but its rare someone actually wants his dirt. "I worked hard at getting that, do take good care of it," he insists.

"Drinkths fer free ifth you leth us scrub vou for all dirt an soot," the Skreek offers. "It addths to the ambiancth."

"Fair enough, just don't get frisky," the albino Korv offers. If there's anything he likes, its free.

Behind Mortimer, the door swings open and there's a soft clicking sound on the wooden floor as someone approaches the bar. "Ah, good afternoon, Miss Gehornt. It is odd to see you without your bother," the barkeep rasps.

Mortimer, meanwhile, sips at his drink and lets the eyeball roll around inside his beak. It's a bit solid, he decides.

A short Lapi slips up to the bar and sits down beside Mortimer. Well, at least it's mostly a Lapi. The short, curved horns that sprout form her forehead, the cloven hooves instead of the usual large Lapi feet, and the thin spade-tipped tail do a lot to detract from her otherwise Lapi countenance. So does the strappy, black, leather outfit she wears and the cloak draped loosely over that. While also dark-furred, her face has been dusted ghost-white and 'painted' to make it look rather skull-like "Oh, he is not far, Leech," the Lapi coos to the barkeep, "He is just checking the neighborhood once more. The times are tough, victims just can't find proper monsters to escort them anymore to the ball. What is the world coming too. And oh, would you be so kind and give me a glass of the Ice Dragon's Breath?"

"Certainly," Leech answers as he walks off to prepare whatever that is.

"Nith to see you, Haschen," the Skreek that's still brushing away at Mortimer. "I had a hunch you were going to thow up. Been hearing you an your bother have been on the prowl for special monthers this year. Going for the grand prize, then?"

"Did I hear 'monsters?'" Mortimer turns his head to peer at the Lapi woman, brow cocked, the eyeball he had been rolling around now resting squarely between his beak. It seems to peer at the woman, too, like some sort of grotesque extra eye.

"You always have a hunch," Haschen notes to the Skreek, than whips her tail and lightly taps the buldge on his back. "And yes, we are. Kaninchen has his heart set on finding someone to represent the Babelite religions he loves so as his monster date. But … finding an Eeee with the proper coloring and attitude is hard. As for myself, well … I think this year I need to find someone willing to be a dragon. After all, beautiful maidens are supposed to be prized by them." To Mortimer, the Lapi smiles with somewhat sharpened buck teeth. "Oh, look what we have here a Reaper. Why, your kind makes the best victims, you know. And yes, tonight is the Monster's Ball. Begins at midnight. It's the best party of the year, where all those who love the darker things gather. the only catch is, every one must be paired. A victim per monster so no one gets left out, you see."

"I see, I see," Mortimer says, nodding a bit with that eyeball in his mouth. He must do that a lot, since he manages to talk around to just fine. Undoubtedly something he annoyed his sister with, early on. "Well, as I am in residence, attendance should not be an issue – will there be food?" He opens his beak and lets the eyeball roll in, then finishes it off with a nasty crunch.

"There is always food. Blood puddings, blood wine, stale cookies, that sort of thing" the demonic Lapi notes, her ears turning sideways. "But … you're a Reaper. You would have to come as a victim … and you would have to find yourself a monster for your date, you know. We can't just have a Reaper wandering around, it would disrupt the mood… "

Mortimer takes another sip, thinking the matter over. It could be a trap, of course, a gathering of monsters of the worst sort – but he doubts it. It's just too close to Draco Castle, and too obvious. On the other hand, there will be food – and if he's going to be ambushed, he'd rather have it happen with a sandwich in his hand. "Then, death willing, I will come," he tells the Lapi, nodding a little. "I suppose I will have to find myself a monster!" This makes him cackle again, a jolly, if a bit creepy noise.

Again the door creaks open and clicking is heard as someone crosses the floor. The demonic Lapi girl tilts her head, then waves her ears. "Hello Kaninchen. Any luck finding your monster?" she asks.

Mortimer turns to regard the new arrival, finding this inn more interesting by the minute. If he had visible ears, they'd be perked. "Hello," he greets the new arrival, feeling the need to be friendly. It's an odd feeling, one he's not well acquinted with, but something he's decided he'd better work on if he's to get along around here.

Another short Lapi slips up to the bar next to Haschen. This one is obviously male … given the lack of a chest and the prominent ram-like horns sprouting from his forehead and curving back, just barely missing his ears. Like his sister, he bears cloven hooves and a spade-tipped tail. In dress, though, he differs. This one dresses in old Sylvanian finery, complete with a velvet coat and blousy shirt with lots of lace. He rests his elbow on the bar, then his chin upon his hand. "Alas, no, dear sister. I have not found anyone from the great Babelite religions to go with me," he sighs. "No one appreciates cruel Goddesses anymore; such tragedy! And I had my heart set on an Eeee date this time. It's just not fair. You had an Eeee date last year. He was even a proper vampire! And you wouldn't even share him with me… "

"Finding a date thith late will be difficult," the Skreek notes to Mortimer. "Well, unless you are, ah, willing to not be so picky about it. There is thith … ah, no, not even a Reaper would want to go with her… "

"There's little we Reapers will not do, for a foo- … For forward thinking," the Reaper insists, to the bartender. "Tell me." Then, after eying the new arrival a moment, the Reaper inquires, "Looking for an Eeee, are you? Picky about sex? Or care about the gender?" Again, Mortimer cackles at his own joke. The road of a Reaper must be long, and lonely indeed …

"Pish," Haschen chides her brother, looking mildly amused. "You wouldn't share your Naga date. Why, you wouldn't even let her swallow me a little… "

"You and your hassenfeffer fantasies," Kaninchen says as he pokes his sister with a taloned finger. His attention shifts now to Mortimer. After a few twists of his ears, he answers, "Ah, sorry, I thought you were a new statue Leech had bought. To answer your questions, the gender of my monster doesn't matter to me; just that they're a proper and sexy monster. And yes, this year, I want an Eeee, preferably a vampiric one that dabbles in the arts of the Babel cults. That is so rare here, you know. Why, I expect to win if I could entice such a monster to 'capture' me. And dance with me. And enter the costume contest with me, and … " There's a wistful sigh from the Lapi.

"Youth be sorry ifth you ask her. Even is she is a Korv … she's a bit … odd," the Skreek warns Mortimer. Haschen pipes up now, asking, "You're not suggesting … Krahe Flugel … are you?"

"Then, I may have just the monster for you," Mortimer confides, leaning forward. "He is a quirky sort, but he should see how much I appreciate monsters, so I will point you to him that he might see me there. I'm sure you'll find him properly sexy, as it were." Leaning back, the Korv adds, "I will expect help in return, of course." He then shoots a curious look between the two men, broe quirked in a 'tell me more' sort of way.

"Really? Is he … properly spooky? Tall and mysterious? A n air of danger about him?" Kaninchen asks as he leans in now. A bit too far, really, as his sister ends up pushing him back, saying, "Down there, buck."

The Skreek shudders at the name. "Yeth, that one. Forgive me, I shouldn't have menthioned the blood-demon Korv," the Skreek admits. "Thee is … well, her feathers are the color of blood an' her eyes as dark as coal. She also hath worked with tho many chemicals over the years thath her hands and feel have gone bone white, the very skin bleached. An … thath's not all… "

Mortimer nods encouragingly. "Fur black as night, eyes as white as the film of a cataract. Tall and skinny, like all their folk. I'm sure you two will get along wonderfully," the Korv insists. "His name is Alptraum and … " He pauses to listen to the Skreek for a moment, cupping his hand to an ear.

"Thee has her army of invisible thombies," the Skreek whispers as he looks around … as if some might even be lurking nearby.

Haschen giggles at that. "What he is trying to say is that she is crazy. She thinks she has an army of invisible zombies," the demon-lapi says. "And why, she would just squeal if she got herself her very own Reaper."

"How very interesting," Mortimer remarks, trying to sound very neutral about the matter. "You say she's demon-blooded?"

"Oooo," goes Kaninchen, "What a lovely name. It means nightmare, you know, in the old tongue. And he would accept? I do know their kind tends to not care about the gender of their companions … especially if he's from Babel… "

"She says she's demon-blooded," Haschen notes, "But I say she's like my brother and I … just mutants. I believe her Murder expelled her because of her coloring, just as our warren expelled us because of … " The Lapi taps one of her horns to finish her statement.

"I'm sure he won't care at all, but you will have to convince him to come. Or, I could assist, of course, but … my drink appears to be dwindling, and my mind has run low on ideas." He rolls the eyeball around the almost-empty skull, to punctuate his point. To the sister, he says, "Not an uncommon fate for we who do not fit in, awrk? Perhaps I'll have to meet with her."

"A loss, too. You and your bother make the finest victims and reveller's in the dance of the dark," Leech rasps from behind the bar. He returns with an icy-looking glass. Inside it is a clear liquid. The air around it ripples, as if the warmth is being drawn from it. Haschen rubs her hands together, then picks up the glass and takes a sip.

Kaninchen nods, then asks, "Well, can you at least tell me what might convince him … ? And even if he agrees, unless my dear sister also finds her monster, well … I could not bear to go to the dance without her there too. All we have is each other, most days."

The Skreek pulls at his whiskers as he watches Mortimer. "Well, I can take you to her, if thath is whath you really want. Or … I could bring her here if you donth mind waithing a bit… " he says slowly.

Mortimer rubs his beak at that, then nods. "I'll help – I have a weak spot for brotherly and sisterly love, as it turns out." He then cocks his head, thinking. "He will require a sufficent reason," he begins, mulling the plan over verbally, "And … " The Reaper pauses, then nods to the Skreek, "Bring her here, my good man, I have a plan to forge!"

"At leath you're a reaper an can plan your own funeral," the Skreek mutters as he scurries off.

"You are braver than I am," Haschen tells Mortimer after she sets her glass down. She rubs her hands together slowly to warm them up. "I only seek a dragon this year … you seek … true danger with that one."

Kaninchen runs his fingers lightly along one of his horns. It must be his way of brushing a hand through long hair … since he doesn't actually have any hair outside of short head fur. The Lapi looks lost in thought for the moment.

"Death by woman is high on my death list," Mortimer insists, reaching to pat his robe and, presumably, a pocket inside with an actual death list. "As for a dragon … That may be possible, as well. Yes, yes. Alptraum will know – if your brother can get him, he can get a dragon. But getting Alptraum will require some work – I'm not certain your basic cuteness will be enough, cute as you are! Yes, you will need more. A reason. A quest. He is fond of rallying against evils, and may come if he thinks I'm here to deal with the darker sort of monster."

"Oh, so he's a romantic sort, as well as sounding handsome?" Kaninchen asks as his mind returns from its wandering. "Well, what better reason is there than to make a poor, innocent, victim happy?"

That earns him an elbow from his sister. "Innocent you are not," Haschen comments.

"But I can fake it well," her bother retorts.

"That may be enough," the Reaper agrees. "He surrounds himself in unusual people, perhaps he will see this as a chance to expand on that." After glancing between the two siblings, the bird cackles. They remind him so much of himself and his sister.

"And cover the rest by getting your date drunk?" Haschen teases.

"Sometimes monsters need liquid encouragement to embrace being a monster," Kaninchen counters. "After all, are not victims supposed to subtly encourage them? Why else would they be victims?"

"Just so," Haschen comments, then rolls her eyes. To Mortimer, she notes, "He's impossible some days. He always has, well, a reason for everything. Very frustrating buck, he is."

"Another drink?" Leech asks Mortimer.

"But I'm sure you love him, all the same," Mortimer returns, knowingly. He then glances at the buck, and says, "He's a vampire, you know. Better watch what you serve him – not that I think you mind! He also looks good in a nightie, if you need a costume idea." The Korv nods to the bartender, opening his beak to ask for another Dead Man's Eye, then pausing. Rethinking the choice, he says instead, "I'll try what she's having."

"In a platonic sort of way," Haschen assures Mortimer.

"A vampire, you say?" Kaninchen asks. "Well … this may prove to be quite the fun evening. Perhaps he will … bite me."

"Very well, sir," Leech asks and walks off again.

"Sometimes, your brother or sister is all you can count on," Mortimer insists. "And yes, a vampire. Vampire eeee, you know the sort. Just push him around a bit, and he should come around. he needs direction."

Leech returns faster this time and sets the icy glass before Mortimer. "I suggest you drink it slowly, sir," he rasps.

Kaninchen rubs his chin, thinking. "Perhaps I will, then. Once he is a captive audience. After all, the doors lock and do not open until morning at the Ball. So, once he's there … " the Lapi notes, sentence trailing off.

"Patience is a virtue we know well." The bird takes a sip of the new drink, then clacks his beak. "I'm sure you'll find a way," he then tells Kaninchen, "I'm sure the bat could use a night of relaxation, away from his burdens."

"I'm sure I can make him forget all his worries," Kaninchen says firmly.

"Because he'll be running away from you?" Haschen teases.

"That is one way," Kaninchen quips.

The drink hits Mortimer like a hammer. It's like drinking liquid ice and within a few seconds his head swims a bit. Once the chill passes, a slow burn ripples along his throat. Amazing that Haschen is just sipping away at her drink next to him … and shows no reaction at all.

"The two of you are cuter than a pair of Creen skulls," Mortimer murmurs. He winces at the drink, having expected it to be cold, but not that cold. The bird decides it'll take some getting used to, and that he might invent a 'Cold as the Grave' drink with it, if he ever figures out how its made.

In the middle of Kaninchen and Haschen making faces at each other … the door to the Inn opens again. the two Lapi's freeze mid-face. "I am here!" cackles out an obviously avian voice, followed by the scraping sounds of talons of a wooden floor. "Where is my Reaper? My slave of the dead? My guide of the … my … aren't you a handsome one. Isn't he a handsome one, my pretties?"

"Slave of the undead? Now, that's entirely not right," Mortimer murmurs as he eyes the new woman. Crazy, oddly covered Korv women aren't new to him, but he's never sure what to suspect. He decides they're like eyeballs: they come in many colors, and you never know which is rotten until you bite it. After a moment, he decides his analogies need work, and whispers aside, "I assume that's Krahe Flugel?"

The Lapis are already scooting away from Mortimer and don't seem inclined to answer him. What is walking towards Mortimer is indeed a blood red Korv. At least, all her plumage is. Where she has skin or beak, though, that is bone white. Coal black, pupiless eyes are locked on Mortimer as she approaches. Her wing-arms spread and Mortimer can see that she's painted large eyes onto the feathers, in the center of her wings. And if that wasn't strange enough … she's wearing a wig of long, black (probably Rhian), hair. "Of course Reapers are the slave of the undead. You follow them and work tirelessly, without pay, to control them. How is that not a slave?" the Korv cackles. "Now, my pretties say they like you, so who am I addressing, Mister Reaper?"

Deciding arguing with the mad is useless, Mortimer stands up, brushing himself off despite having already been cleaned off earlier. "Reaper Mortimer, at your service, Frau," he replies, extending his hand. His other hand reaches for his scythe – just in case.

The red Korv takes Mortimer's offered hand and draws it to her beak. Instead of kissing it (since that's hard without lips), she preens the surrounding feathers. "You have the honor of meeting Krahe Flugel, greatest of all Korvs," she kaws. "And are you truly at my service? You are offering yourself to me?"

"It's a figure of speech," Mortimer insists. "I only serve Death, like all my kind. Professional obligation, yes. Yes." He eyes his hand, which is pink to her white.

"Do you not find me pretty enough to serve, then? Or are you one of those … perverse Korvs that like mammals?" Krahe inquires as she draws in close. "Which would be such a pity, a Korv with eyes as beautiful as yours and yet you only share them with mammals." The Lapis continue to scoot further away … with a rather 'I told you so' look on their demonic faces.

At the mention of being perverse, Mortimer puffs his chest up. "I serve Death," he repeats, sounding a little affronted. "I will not have my interests questioned. I am a Reaper, we have our obligations." He then nods solemnly, tapping the butt of his scythe to the ground.

"And do these … obligations lean towards tending to … monsters?" Krahe asks, her head tilting a bit to the side.

"In a manner of speaking, yes," the Reaper answers. He lets himself depuff, hoping the woman has learned where not to press him. "And to parties, no doubt. You are interested in the Monster Party?" His head cocks to the side, eyeridges rising.

"Indeed I am," the female Korv answers, "No one has ever had a reaper as their victim before. Why, I expect we could even win the grand prize!"

Mortimer nods a little at this, then asks, "What is the first prize, anyway? I'm not accustomed to entering local contests."

"You, a Reaper, and you do not know?" Krahe asks. "Why, one of the greatest captures from the necromancer wars … one of the black-heart created zombies! Once its masters were defeated it became … docile. I hear it makes a nice pet … or a coat rack. Not that I need any more zombies, you see … " She waves behind if as if to indicate a horde of zombies (which there isn't). "But this is a special zombie. Rumor has it it was made by the very Shadow."

"Now, that's something. The Shadow, you say?" Mortimer rubs his chin at this, considering. He could use a coatrack. The Reaper also supposed he could use it for study, or to clean up the clock-tower, too. Or, decoration! The possibilities! "Yes, I can see how that would be a valuable prize. Do you have a plan, then?"

"Why, we must wow them with how good a monster I am and how well I have taken and trained my victim. Of course with you being a Reaper, a legendary monster hunter … and I have conquered you, well! How can they not award the prize?" Krahe asks, then cackles maniacally. "So … would you come? Be my victim. Dance with me? Enter the contest? Of course, I will need to make something extra spooky… " (As if being a blood red Korv in a wing isn't creepy… )

Mortimer, not being the particularly proud sort, considers this. He hasn't been to a party in, well, ever, and it would help if people saw him as less dangerous than he really is. Less spooky, too. It's difficult to act when no one wants to help you, he decides. Plus, a zombie! "Yes, let's see what we can accomplish," he agrees, bobbing his head.

"Excellent!" cackles Krahe and she wraps one of her wings around him. "Now, tell me of all the nasties you have fought before, perhaps we can find inspirations from them! You can also buy me lunch."

"The Lapi can buy us lunch – they need me for their others," Mortimer whispers aside to the female Korv. He leads her back, and proceeds to 'hint' at how much a good meal would help him plan …