Scythe

I've never been fond of romance movies.

My ex-girlfriend, Ensie, however, has an obsession with them. Always has and likely always will. Whenever she'd come over and want to watch a movie, I made sure to stock up on snacks, tissues, and most importantly, made sure my phone was fully charged and my charger handy.

She never seemed to mind that I was on my phone. Her love language was quality time, and she'd said before she'd rather have me next to her working on my laptop or scrolling through videos on my phone than in another room where she wouldn't be able to lay her head on my shoulder whenever she wanted. Especially during the climax scenes when the love interest would confess his undying devotion and affections for the protagonist in a spur of the moment sacrificial gesture.

Her words, not mine.

And that's not to say I don't appreciate the time and efforts invested in the production of these movies, I'm just not much of a TV guy. Sports aren't entertaining to me, thrillers too unrealistic, and I've collected enough souls of people actively being unfaithful to their partners to believe in the unlikely connection of two people in a romantic comedy.

I believe in love, really, I do. But relationships aren't perfect. And neither are people. Life and circumstances make romance complicated, I just don't see the point in watching impossible scenarios play out. Patience would say I'm a cynic, but I don't think so. I'm a realist. Two people from different social classes are not likely to cross paths on a sinking boat. Much less fall passionately in love.

And princes from rich kingdoms don't just stumble into poor maidens in a dense forest only to later kiss them awake from an evil witch's curse. I remember when I brought this up to her.

"Ensie, I just don't see the value in lying to people."

Ensie turned to look at me, sniffling. She looked so cute right then. With her reddened nose and silky brown hair splayed out on the pillow in my lap. She sat up and lowered the volume on the movie she was watching. A Nanny in Maine, or something like that.

"Sci, it's not lying if we all know it's pretend. Besides, people don't watch romantic comedies because of the realism. We watch them because they have happy endings. And we all like to fantasize about having a small part in it by engaging in relationships ourselves. Only to later romanticize our partners' faults because we like to believe, on a subconscious level, that our lives can be perfect too."

I chuckled, tugging on the ends of her hair, a small smile tugging its way to the corners of my lips.

"Now you sound like the cynical one."

She shook her head, smiling broadly, leaning forward to align her forehead to mine.

"No, I just watch them because they're cute. I don't need to fantasize about anything, I know my life is perfect."

Then she kissed me, tasting of buttery popcorn. When she pulled away, her lips pulled into a sly smile.

"Besides, I'm a cupid. I'm a romantic at heart!"

I furrowed my brows.

"Really? You got that promotion you wanted?"

As far as I knew, Patience wasn't a field cupid. She worked in the IT department running numbers for cupids working the field and monitoring their performance each quarter. She turned to look at me, rolling her eyes slightly.

"Well, I guess I'm not technically a cupid. Yet. I just have to manage to convince my immediate supervisor I'm cupid material. I'm just as capable as some of their field agents. If only the guy didn't walk around like he has a giant sick up his ass."

I looked at her, then. I should have seen it coming, honestly. No one's relationship is perfect, but at that point in time, she and I had spending less time together due to work and other commitments.  But this moment, this one should have been the one to sound off warning bells in my head. Patience had never been the kind of person to use foul language. That was more my thing.

And she had mentioned the guy more than a couple times in passing before that. Each time, she had described him as someone she couldn't stand being in the same room with. If it wasn't his attitude, it was his constant presence looming over her shoulder. Or he and his girlfriend were always obnoxiously making out in the main TMD hall.

Finding out she'd been seeing the guy for several weeks, even at the time of this memory, should not have been surprising. But it was. I'd been so blindsided. Where Patience was concerned, I'd always been easily distracted. She was funny, kind, beautiful. Especially beautiful.

I've never been one too concerned with looks. Most supernatural beings look great. But there was just something about Ensie. The first time I met her, she was wearing oversized yellow rain boots, looking lost in the middle of Limbo. There was not a single gray cloud in the sky, but for some reason, she was dressed for rain. Her brilliant hair was swaying lightly in the wind, twirling under her chin-- encasing the curve of her cheek. She looked so... so...

"Scythe Hound?"

The sound of my name echoes off the gothic ceiling. It draws me from my thoughts. Looking towards the direction of the voice, my eyes find Hunt, Hell's master. She's not what I expected her to look like when I first began working here. She's short, blonde and happy. Her attitude is far too bright to be wasted on the souls of the condemned or even with miserable, burnt out employees such as myself.

I don't bother answering. She knows me well enough not to take it personally. Standing up, I walk towards her place by the large glass door. She summoned me earlier this morning, stating she had urgent business to discuss with me. I have no desire to be here, and she knows it. I'd rather be roaming the Earth, finding some unlucky bastard to drag down with me or drowning myself in my own wails of sorrow.

"Come on in, make yourself comfortable."

Hunt's voice is warm. Teasing almost. I frown.

"What's so important I descended Earth for?"

My voice is flat. Irritated, almost. But not quite. I've been too listless to feel anything these past few days. Hunt laughs, moving around her index finger as she points at me.

"I love that sense of humor of yours so much! I might just laugh so hard I accidentally perforate one of your organs by shoving a pitchfork up your ass!"

She's smiling, but it's not genuine. It's polite. That's something about Hunt I haven't quite gotten used to yet. Her face is an open book.

"Look," she says, walking in from behind me as she ushers me into her office, "I'm very flexible with my employees when needed, but I'm not your coworker, Scythe. Remember that."

She gives me a pointed look and gestures to the large velvet seats in front of her desk. Point taken. Her eyes turn into half moons when she takes a seat behind the mahogany structure. I'm not even sure I could call it a desk. It's large, intricate, and fashioned into a structure depicting two damned souls holding it up. And struggling.

"So, I have some exciting news," she says, leaning into her scarlet seat. She folds her hands on top of her stomach, staring at me.

"What is it."

I'm not curious enough to inflect my voice as a question. Hunt smiles.

"Hell is expecting someone and I've selected you as the lucky person to train them."

I force my mouth to remain flat in case my frown further irritates Hunt.

"That's what HR is for."

Hunt shakes her head, turning around to collect some scattered paperwork behind her. She turns back to me with a pink folder. Its contents are spread open into butterfly shaped leaflets when the folder is given to me. On the front page, a lip shaped paperclip holds a photograph of something hideous.

"What the shit? What the fuck is that?"

My brows knit without thinking, my lip curls. The thing is disgusting. It's not very big, unironically pink, fluffy and glittery.