Merry Cemetery (Neo)

The chapel doors sprang open as a party of well-dressed gentlemen were ushered inside. For the hour's remainder that entrance-way under the gable lay open invitingly. At about five past, an undertaker stepped outside to catch one quick cigarette. Maxwell Dunner made sure no ash would tarnish his respectable clothing before crushing the butt under a polished heel. Shortly afterwards another younger man would arrive. Mac, ever the professional, put on a consoling demeanour.
 
“Welcome, Sir. You're a little early. The viewing don't start 'til half past, I'm 'fraid.”
 
A white-haired lad in his early-twenties returned the much practised smile. The boy wore a suit also, so it was not too far an assumption to think this funeral was his destination, “I wanted to be early. Get the good seats. More chance of catching a souvenir that way. Is he in there?”
 
“Yes, of course. Right this way.” Mac led the early-bird inside, where a casket dominated the room's far end. A particularly disagreeable stench met the undertaker's nostrils, which he naturally attributed to his profession. The dead were a foetid lot. He had gotten into the habit of carrying pocket air-freshener for such an emergency, and applied a dose to himself now, “Did you know the deceased well?”
 
“Yes. Unless he's still alive. Then not as well as I thought.” When faced with a joke of questionable taste, Mac had learn to show only mild approval. He did this now with a short chuckle as he placed his spray on the mahogany coffin, “Was he embalmed?” The lad asked.
 
“No, Sir. Not enough time passed as to make such measures necessary.”
 
“Good! Good. I wouldn't be caught dead with the stuff.”
 
At last, the guest's quip provoked a spark of genuine laughter from the undertaker. Someone called out from the adjoining room. Mr Dunner was peeved that one of his workers would defile the sanctity of the chapel with needless noise. And then shouted right back, “What is it Henry!”
 
“We're outta lillies!”
 
“Gordon Bennet! I told you to order in more!” Mac sniffed the unpleasant odour for a second time, reaching for his air-freshener again. He missed it by two arm lengths. Grunting with frustration, he stepped closer to apply a spritz, placing the bottle on the coffin again.
 
“What we gonna use instead?”
 
“Use your head, will you! Carnations! We've got bleedin' thousands of them.”
 
“Well I ain't never seen any!”
 
“How could you not 'ave! They're the only red one in there!” Absent-mindedly Mr Dunner went to grab at his bottle again, only to discover it had gotten out of reach once more. This time he pocketed the spray, turning back to his conversation, “Well?”
 
“...I think I found the lillies.” Henry stepped into the room sheepishly, “Here.”
 
“What am I gonna do with you, eh? Put them in a bouquet already. The guests are arriving.”
 
“But Mac – where've you put that casket?”
 
“What the bleeding hell are you on about? It's right here-” Mac went to put a hand on the container, sighting nothing but an empty vestry, “Henry! Where's the casket gone!?”
 
“That's what I asked!”
 
Dead bodies didn't just get up and walk out by themselves. Both undertakers rushed to the entranceway. They were just in time to spot their casket high-tailing it across the graveyard. A single person was carrying it from underneath, “The ruddy bastard's nicked it! Coffin an' all!” It took four pole bearers to lift that coffin. This wasn't natural... “Phone the cops. A ghoul just hijacked us.”

Thud... Thud... Thud... Heavy bootsteps came from the area of Vincent Ward, who was feeling a particularly large weight on his shoulders lately. He would never actually tell anyone what it was, so that was anyone's guess, but he looked more slumped than usual as he walked the sidewalk with his hands shoved in his pockets. He wasn't fatalistic or anything, nor was he depressed, he just felt like-- Wait a minute... What?

A rather... Interesting sight caught Vincent's eye as he finally looked up from the sidewalk, strange enough that he found himself lifting his goggles from his eyes to make sure he saw what he thought he was seeing. "Oh, for the love of..." A man, about his own age, carrying... What looked like a full-sized casket... That... Wasn't normal. And of course, none of the showboats were around to take it upon themselves to check out what was happening.

"You have to be kidding me..." the metahuman said to himself as he jogged after the white-haired individual taking off with someone's eternal rest. Why couldn't he get a nice, normal wierdo? Bank robbers? Why not. Evil squirrel minions? Sure! But he stumbled across a guy taking his pet coffin for a walk... First Blitzkrieg, and now this...?

Hey... Hey! Yeah you, with the face!

You know what might have been a bad idea? Stealing the coffin as well. Common Sense 101 was never Scapegoat's strong suit. He'd gotten a little greedy, bitten off more than he could chew. Well, not the latter part. He would never find a limitation to things he could chew. The hunger inside his chest seared at his guts with all the fury of a thousand flamey, burny things. Hindered at his ability to compile proper metaphors for his internal monologue. And without an internal monologue, it was no wonder foolish decisions like this were being made.
 
Note to self: Make more notes to self.
 
As everyone who passed their Common Sense 101 course would know: ghouls ate the dead. That was ample motive for the crime right there. Scapegoat had a terrible case of the munchies. It was a wonder he never got fat. Maybe all this carrying caskets across cemeteries was a good fitness regimen. Anywho. The progress Vernon made began to falter as weight shifted subtly to once side. Scapegoat hopped precariously to the right, and then back to the left, before allowing gravity to carry him forward. This wasn't going to work.
 
A bystander tried to get themselves involved, hailed Vernon from behind. With some struggle, the ghoul turned his bulk around, almost causing a collision, “Sorry, Sir! I'm running late today. You'll have to catch the next one.” Situation sorted. Scapegoat swivelled around once more, again narrowly avoiding a collision. The things he did for food.

Yeah, it was official: Vincent was just confused now. He wasn't exactly sure what was happening here, but... It sure as heck wasn't normal... Or maybe it was! He hadn't really been a "hero" in jump for too long, but stuff was never this odd back where he came from!

Sure, local Chicago villains could be... Eccentric, but he never had to chase down corpses... "I... Hey, I'm not through with you!" As he chased after the disguised ghoul, Vincent reminded himself that he needed to figure out how to use his abilities for transportation. Sure, using his powers wore him out with extended use, but so did chasing weirdos all over Jump on foot...! "I have the sneaking suspicion you aren't just taking your pet zombie for a walk."

Okay, so maybe the zombie quip was a tad much, but he couldn't have known he was actually mocking the individual he was attempting to assail, could he?! Couldn't blame the guy for not knowing he actually WAS chasing after a walking corpse of sorts...

A grumble in his tumble reminded Vernon that he was wasting precious time by not eating. Such was the only way to quell this agonising starvation that renewed eternal. What was required here was a secluded corner to dine in peace. Unfortunately the bystander still insisted on making a pedant of themselves. Ignoring the problem didn't appear to solve anything - a similar story with credit card bills. Which left Scapegoat just one option. He would have to consolidate all his existing debts into one affordable monthly repayment.
 
...Not sure how that applied to this situation specifically, but he would see what transpired.
 
With difficulty, Scapegoat made an about-face, "Eh? A pet zombie? Now that's just absurd. If you can't be serious then I'm going to have to ask you to bother someone else." An authoritative finger pointed off yonder. However, this kind of strategy outside of a cartoon was doomed to failure. When the matter was not solved Vernon placed the hand back on the casket, "No? Worth a try."
 
Which meant it was time to unwrap his meal, "Hold this for a second, would you?" Activating his power, Scapegoat exchanged places with the stranger. Vincent would find that it was now he who carried the coffin, weight considerations permitting. Scapegoat quickly made to jump on top of the casket, prising open its lid, "Thanks! That little switcheroo right there is why they call me Scapegoat. And this chap in here is what I call dinner."

"You're nuts--oshi--!"

Mr. Ward hadn't even had time to complete a full thought before he was suddenly in a new spot, with a casket barreling down at him and a... WhatEVER this guy was... Barreling at him. If he had even a moment to think, he'd have been confused at what happened, but he was shorter than that Scapegoat, which meant that instead of holding the casket, it was falling on top of him from several inches up! Not to mention the fact that the teleporting odd-ball was flying through the air to land atop the corpse-container! If he didn't act quickly, this was going to wind up messy... Luckily, he specialized in defensive abilities... Even if he wasn't all that refined to actually call it a 'specialization' yet...

"Scapegoat, huh? Well, I guess I should... Introduce myself... In that case..."

A small movement came from under the casket that the ghoul had landed atop, shifting it a little bit, before finally managing to roll it over. What came out from under the casket was... A tad different than what Scapegoat had teleported there in the first place... Vincent was now covered in what looked like a coppery-toned glassy substance that seemed to move with him... Though his little life-saving stunt hadn't kept him unscathed - He now had a pounding headache from the psychic backlash associated with several hundred pounds of rigid weight falling atop, which... While not enough to mess with his head too much, was more than enough to give him a splitting headache... And this wasn't even a fraction of the way onto the fight! It was like getting checked in the first couple moves of a game of chess!

Headache or no, Vincent was determined to not be taken out quite so easily and slowly rose to his feet, the transparent armor moving almost fluidly along with his motions. It looked a tad... Wavy for a moment, but after having regained his composure, his armor took on a smooth look again and grew a bit more opaque. Vincent also took this time to pull down his goggles, which were only partially embedded in the material, so they covered his eyes... The purpose of that was really just because it was obnoxious seeing everything in sepia tones through the coppery construct, but he did feel more heroic with his goggles down.

Finally, his response came, slightly muffled by the mask-like bit over his face and seeming to come in slightly heavier-than-normal breaths, "This little trick is why I'm known as Aegis - Armor of the Gods." ...He wasn't well-known enough or refined enough to actually deserve the title, but he'd kept Blitzkrieg from killing him so far, and he was a tad of a ham, so he decided to give himself the title!

An exploratory mitt was extended inside a gap the casket yielded. Scapegoat intended to ditch the container and carry said corpse as it was. Yet just as Vernon grasped the fine fabric of funeral attire, the entire box shifted violently. It was all the ghoul could do to tear his arm free in time to make a proper landing. Surely the man had been smushed! Scapegoat had employed a timeless school-yard technique designed to render victims helpless – the dogpile. To his recollection, no one escaped a dogpile. Not five year old Adam Jones nor even little Susie Becker. Though perhaps Susie was further incapacitated by hair pulling. Scapegoat would remember that for next time.
 
Jaundiced eyes met the construct with a flicker of surprise, “Eek!” Scapegoat's jaw dropped. Both fists came up as if he were judging how a bout of fisticuffs would go with this copper man. After a second those hands withdrew back to their sides; the ghoul obviously deciding such a venture as futile. It was official - dinner was going to be late.
 
Vernon reacted nervously to the revealed threat, “Y-You have super-powers! Hold on. Let's just calm down. As an honest man, I would never have committed the crime if I thought I might not get away with it.” A frank confession which in actuality was the exact opposite to how this ghoul felt. Scapegoat would benefit from sin whether the deed was successful or not. Never-mind the fact he would gladly risk life and limb for the momentary release of a mouthful of carrion. Failure in itself presented little in the way of discouragement.
 
He continued, “Your introductions aren't even necessary. E-Everyone knows your origin story. Aegis, boy wonder from New Jersey, one day blessed with a divine can of spray-tan.” At this Vernon gave an indulgent laugh, slapping at his knee once. The joke wasn't meant as an insult. Typical of British wit, the subject was encouraged to laugh at themself, “Spray-tan! Aaa. You have to admit that one was quick.” Yet 'time and a place' on this occasion might have been judged poorly.

Vincent could only stare at Scapegoat, crossing his arms over his chest. The man was obviously crazy, and... That was a serious understatement in his opinion. He wasn't sure what the guy was going to do with the corpse and he didn't really want to after thinking about it for a moment, but... One thing struck him more than all the rest there... What the hell kind of moron thinks saying 'I wouldn't have done it if I thought I'd get caught' is a good defense of stealing ANYTHING, much less a corpse?!

After a moment of staring down the white-haired man, Aegis took a few steps toward the individual. He wasn't really keen on the thought of letting this guy touch him, but he deserved a good sock in the head after that little stunt he pulled... There was also the fact that he only regretted attempting to kill him AFTER he found out that several hundred pounds of mead, metal, and wood wasn't enough on its own to kill him... Which means maybe it was a GOOD thing someone else didn't do it. A mage would have been squished to paste in no time...

"Chicago, actually. And I think you have some explaining to do."

The laugher fell flat as Aegis advanced. Vernon began to inch backwards, albeit at a slower pace. A shame this man would not indulge in a joke. It may have helped him forget the whole 'attempted slaughter' part. Most people out there took death seriously. Certainly a lot more seriously than the ghoul. His entire attitude regarding the subject was malapropos. Here they were standing on tuffets of grass surrounded by symbols of reverence. To people dead and gone were bequeathed great marble monuments. Entire plots of land attended to daily, and many frequented still by living relatives. All Scapegoat could think was how exorbitant this practice was.
 
“I don't really see the point in explaining. You won't much like it.” What use was an explanation if it was only going to get you into more trouble? Vernon gulped and tried to look earnest, “But all right. I'm what people call a ghoul. I eat the dead. Damned shame to bury all these perfectly good meals. I mean, I'm glad that they went to the trouble of packaging them in wooden crates, helps contain the juices, really baste the sucker, but shovelling a yard of dirt on top is just inconsiderate. Don't you think?”
 
Not like this lifestyle ways his choice. Humanity had this terrible insistence of burying their dead. Made Scapegoat's job so messy at times. It certainly didn't do much for his odour. The smell of decay already made Vernon an unpleasant associate, never mind the addition of damp soil. It was only recently his reek had improved – since his 'landlords' had insisted on better personal hygiene, “So naturally I intercepted this snack as it was in transit. It's not grave-robbing if they didn't make a grave yet.”

Aegis uncurled his arms from his chest, not missing a step as he continued toward the undead creature. It was hard to tell if he was fazed at all... And he really wasn't! Solomon Grundy was a zombie, wasn't he? And didn't a couple of the big bads use walking corpses and stuff? To top it off... This guy wasn't exactly a "big" bad. strong for sure, but he didn't look like he had the weight to throw a punch and not send HIMSELF flying too... Gotta love physics...

"Then you're either a thief or a kidnapper. Not really a good rap sheet you're building for yourself, now is it?"

The gentle thudding of his 'feet' against the ground continued as he flexed his fingers in preparation for a work-out. He agreed that the concept was impractical, but it was cute, caring for someone enough to never want to forget them. Novel. He didn't really have any feelings like that, but he wouldn't mind if he did, to be sure.... He continued to walk through the garden of stone, rolling his neck to loosen up, as characters in anime often did before combat impending. He... Knew he couldn't hit harder than the guy who had tossed a casket like a bundle of sticks, but it was possible he could trick him into thinking he was stronger than he really was and getting him to run away...

"Anyway, don't you think it's in bad taste to devour the honored dead? especially being a corpse yourself.

“Bad taste? Never. They're delicious!” Vernon laughed loud and proud, “But seriously. Morals are something of a handicap here. You, sir, have to learn to let go. I had a choice: subsist on a diet of my fellow dead 'uns, or starve for all eternity. Funny thing about eternity – we're not there yet. We never will be there yet. Every man comes to realise this. Everybody would make the same decision I have made, even the best among us. Even you.”
 
It was easy to throw around the word 'eternal', but no one had actually experienced such a thing. Everlasting torment was an insurmountable prospect. At some point a limit would be reached. Lapses were bound to occur. And when you lapsed, you began to crave that sweet-sweet relief. It was like ecstasy, a personal euphoria. An addiction was formed based solely on greed. The desire for self-satisfaction above all things. It certainly came before a few petty misdemeanors of law. Nothing else mattered but Scapegoat's fix. For this reason, he would not be scared off. It may have been suicidal – but what was suicide to a ghoul?
 
“It quells an urge. And that's a fact.” Vernon crowed, attempting to implore a sense of pathos, “It quells an urge. What's the matter with that?”

"Don't be so pretentious." Aegis barked, his armor seeming to become a tad more sharp and angular momentarily. He didn't appreciate being told what he would and wouldn't do... Especially when someone attempted to tell him that he would prefer to turn into something like that. His personal opinion was that if you wouldn't defend your beliefs to the end, then you didn't deserve the right to have them, and he would rather fight than submit in a situation like that. "Anyway, no one can hold me for long, so I wouldn't worry about an eternity of suffering."

"As for what's the problem with quelling your 'urge'? Well, I suppose there isn't much of an issue, but there's likewise not much of an issue with me putting you in the ground too, right? After all, you told me to let morals go, right? And you're just a talking corpse anyway, so..." A grin could be seen from behind the translucent, glassy 'mask' over his face. In truth, he had nothing, but that's exactly why he acted like he could. He hadn't been tested yet, so Scapegoat couldn't know that that first hit had nearly brought him to his edge already, but he'd had time to recuperate thanks to this little chat, and he had no intentions of backing down himself... Though getting the corpse-eater to run himself seemed like a decent idea.

With a bit of comic-book flair, Aegis decided to be a bit of a ham and try out something he'd seen a comic character do once... A set of blade-like claws grew from between the knuckles of his armored fingers, extending out from the construct that engulfed his form. Once again, he rolled his neck, and stretched his arms up in the air, making sure to keep an eye on the well-dressed ghoul, just to make sure he didn't decide to exploit the opening.

"Well, I guess we should get down to business if neither of us are going to bow out, huh?"

Pretentious? Oo-la-la. That was a big word to be throwing around! If only Scapegoat knew what it meant. He might be offended or something. As it stood, he could only guess it implied a state prior to now where he'd been divisible by ten. Of course this definition was absolutely barmy. Scapegoat had never been divisible by ten, nor did he ever plan on being. Well... He supposed it held some advantages. For one thing, he could be easily revalued as legal tender should society suddenly decide to incorporate people into the medium of monetary exchange. In which case, Vernon supposed Aegis did have due justification for his accusation.

The young hero went on to dismiss the issue of eternity by assuming it wouldn't be forever. Scapegoat was momentarily hit by a pang of remorse. He used to think like that. This stray thought was eradicated as the smell of decay reached his nostrils and another growl emanated from his stomach. Aegis next quite successfully twisted Vernon's appeal to drop morals into an excuse to stand against the ghoul, "Touchy. I mean - touché." The fight couldn't be avoided.

"Yeah. There's nothing else for it. We can use that tree as a marker. Whoever pees highest wins." Scapegoat appeared to be entirely serious until a look of realisation dawned on him, "Ah! By 'getting down to business' I suppose the literal translation... Right. I understand this time. No really. Ahem." The ghoul cracked his fingers, glaring at the bronze man before him. He then stood on one leg, raising both arms high, reminiscent of a martial-arts pose, "Form of an eagle!" A magpie materialised as Vernon disappeared. It cawed once.

Scapegoat was now airborne, descending on Aegis with the half-assed intent to clobber him with a fist.