Chapter Text
Zib's lungs struggled for air as he tore down the unfamiliar streets.
This…town (he couldn’t think of a better word for it) was so confusing. And downright morbid. The dead roamed the twisting streets in droves, ranging from the recently departed still dressed in the clothes they died in to bare bone skeletons. He raced past bizarre shops that sold spare body parts, embalming products, he even found coffins. Empty coffins. Why were these here if the dead refused to stay inside them?! Better question: Which way was out?!
Zib stopped near a set of the people-sized boxes on display to catch his breath. Panting, he looked up at the sky. No stars, no moon, no clouds. It didn’t even really look like a sky. More like a gigantic earthen ceiling. The only lights were provided by streetlamp.
Was he underground?!
“Darling,” the voice came floating along the air. Zib’s fur stood up. “Where are you?”
The musician thought fast. He climbed into one of the coffins and played dead.
He struggled to remain still as he heard the man in white’s foot steps grow closer.
The man called out, “Dorian?”
Zib’s blood turned to ice. Somehow, he managed to not flinch in horrified shock. He heard the foot steps pass, then gradually fade.
This was his chance. After checking to make sure no one was looking, he bolted away from the coffins down a narrow alley way. He ran until he hit a dead end. Before he could even think of turning around, the ghostly voice echoed towards him again.
Zib had never considered himself the athletic type. But between staying down there with a walking dead man who thought he was his husband and risking cracking his skull open by climbing up a steep hillside, he chose to climb.
The uneven terrain assisted greatly in finding good handholds to heave himself up. He went higher, and higher, hoping his strength wouldn’t give out before he reached the top. All he had to do was make it to a ledge, then he could plan his next move to escape.
He finally reached a plateau, pulling his torso up over the lip, blindly reaching for anything to hold onto. His hand went around something cold…and boney.
It was an ankle.
Zib recoiled with a gasp seeing the man in white standing there, grinning down at him.
“You could’ve just used the stairs, silly,” he chided with a laugh as he bent down to help Zib the rest of the way onto the look-out. Zib didn’t have the energy to resist. “Though I’m delighted to see you enjoy rock climbing as much as I do. That’s something we can do together in the future.”
The musician couldn’t respond if he wanted to. His breathing was still haggard from the climb. His panic from earlier was trying to reignite, but it was being strangled by exhaustion.
“I love this view of the town, don’t you? It takes my breath away,” said the man, gesturing to the many lighted buildings below. “Or it would if I had any, heh.”
He looked over at his companion and seemed to notice for the first time all the huffing and puffing.
“Perhaps we should sit down.”
The man in white seated himself, neat as you please, elegantly crossing one skeletal leg over the less skeletal one, on a nearby bench constructed of a recycled coffin and wrought iron arm rests. With a chipper little smile, he patted the spot next to him expectantly.
The last of Zib’s resolve crumbled. His shoulders slumped, defeated, as he sighed heavily. He shuffled over to the bench and plopped down with all the grace of a sack of potatoes. He leaned back, staring straight up at the not-sky for a minute.
The quiet felt awkward. The dead man was watching him attentively, waiting for him to speak first, either out of politeness or uncertainty. Zib scrunched his eyes closed as he dragged a weary hand down his face with a groan.
“Look, I’m…sorry, about what happened to you, and I wish I could help, but you got the wrong guy. I don’t belong here.”
“Everyone who comes here goes through an adjustment period darling. There’s no need to worry. You’ll be fitting in in no time,” the man said, trying to be helpful.
It only succeeded in aggravating Zib more.
“Oh for- I don’t even know your name! And I know I didn’t give you mine.”
“Wick,” said the man. He removed his top hat with a gentlemanly nod, placing it over the gaping wound where a beating heart should’ve been. “Sedgewick Sable more precisely. At your service. As to how I know your name, there are some of us who are able to glean some of the goings on of above. I asked around a bit while you were sleeping. Which reminds me, I have something for you.”
The man reached under the bench. He came back holding a simple wooden box, wrapped in a faded yellow ribbon tied in a bow. After a moment’s hesitation, Zib took it, inspecting it warily. He gave Wick a quizzical look.
“It’s a wedding present,” he said with a wink, as if he were sharing a secret.
“Oh….thanks…”
Zib eyed the box suspiciously, wondering if whatever was in there was going to spring out at him like some demented Jack-in-the-Box the second he removed the lid. He held it up to his ear and shook it. He heard something thumping around inside. Not a clue what though. He placed the box in his lap, then reached for the bow-
“Quack!”
The musician recoiled with a start as a translucent green beak and small feathered head popped up. It went through the lid like it wasn’t there.
“Pinfeathers!” Wick exclaimed. “Get out of there! That’s not for you.”
“Is that a duck?! Or, uh, a ghost?” Zib pressed his back as flat against the bench as he could, trying to get as much distance as possible between him and the see-through bird.
“Both. Come here.” Wick said sternly. Zib watched aghast as the fowl waddled through the wood and onto the groom’s lap. It seemed perfectly comfortable there.“So sorry about that. Just when I think I’ve finally taught him proper manners he goes and does something rude.”
Zib answered meekly, “S’alright. Is he your…pet?”
“In a way I suppose. I shot him down when I was a boy and he haunted me throughout my life as a result. I used to be quite terrified of him. After my…passing…I lost my fear of him and we’ve been getting along splendidly.”
The duck wagged his tail happily as Wick scratched him lightly under the beak, smiling fondly. It was frankly, weirdly, adorable. Zib didn’t know how that was possible, given that both man and bird were dead.
Once his heart rate steadied again, Zib remembered the box. He pulled off the ribbon and lid. Inside was a much smaller box and a book of music. Zib recognized the name of composer on the cover instantly.
“Woah, how’d you get ahold of this?”
He inspected the book as though it were lost treasure, turning it over in his hands eagerly. It was in pretty good condition despite the signs of ware. He flipped through the pages, skimming them. He could already hear melodies in his head by only reading a few random bars. Wick preened quietly.
“The dead have our ways,” he said proudly.
Finished for the moment with the book, Zib picked up the second box and flipped it open. The warmth he hadn’t realized he was feeling a few seconds ago went cold. Tendrils of revulsion crept up his arms.
“Ah, what do you think?” Wick asked softly after too many moments of silence went by.
Though the outside was dirty, the velvety inner lining of the ring box looked brand new. The ring sparkled in the light of the street lamps. The band was slender and silver. The gemstone in the middle was the biggest Zib had ever seen on a ring. He knew almost nothing about jewelry yet even he could see it was exquisitely crafted.
“Is this real?” Zib queried, holding up it closer for a better look.
“It is! My grandfather imported that diamond all the way from India and gave this custom ring to my grandmother, who passed it down to her daughter, my mother, who gave it to me.”
Zib gently closed the lid, thinking. He held the small box between his hands, brow furrowed.
“Shouldn’t you keep this then?”
The groom shook his head, “The whole point in taking it with me in the first place was to give it away. Edmu- uh- the other man proved unworthy. It’s lucky he didn’t find it on me. And anyways, I like this one much better.”
Wick held up his skeletal hand with the golden ring on it. The simple wedding band seemed so plain in comparison to the one in the box.
Zib’s ears folded against his head as his spirits sank lower. Guilt gnawed at his insides.
He spoke slowly, “Does your family know what happened?”
Wick’s tidy posture deflated, his gaze dropping to the ground. He stroked Pinfeathers’ back.
“No. I don’t believe so. My parents seem convinced I’ve disappeared of my own accord and aren’t interested in investigating. My sister, the last I heard, was offering a cash reward for any information on my whereabouts. Unfortunately, everyone who knows anything is stuck down here. Besides him, that is.” He added bitterly.
“Oh…Wait. Can’t you go talk to her? You came up when I put the ring on you.”
“You came to me darling,” he smiled sadly, blue eyes shining. “My sister lives far away. It’s extremely difficult to visit the land of the living when we’re not invited and any corpse who does make it can only wander so far from their grave.”
“I see,” Zib said after a lengthy pause. He stared down at the ring box in his hands.
“Well, enough about me,” Wick straightened his shoulders, focusing on Zib again. “Let’s talk about you. I’d love to get to know the person I’ll be spending the rest of my afterlife with.”
The words ‘rest of my afterlife’ almost sent Zib into a panic all over again. His tail momentarily puffed.
“Uuuhh, there’s- there’s not a lot to tell, actually,” he stammered, subtly searching left and right for an escape.
“Oh come now,” Wick said cheerfully, the grief from before evaporating. “You’re in the music business is what I heard. That must be exciting!”
Zib swallowed nervously. He really did not want to go into the latest bungle that had gotten his band locked up in debtor’s jail until he could come up with the money. He really didn’t want to mention anything about Mitzi.
“Yeah. I play in a band. We travel around some. They’re a good bunch. We get along pretty well.”
“Do you suppose they would’ve liked me?”
An awkward laugh escaped Zib’s throat. “They’d be screaming if they ever met you…Which is why you should meet them.”
An idea was forming in his brain.
“Hm?”
“Yeah, the guys are like family to me. Now that you and I are hitched, I should introduce you,” he said with much more enthusiasm than he felt. It took effort to smile.
Wick’s face brightened.
“Capital idea! Aren’t they still upstairs though?”
“Yes, but they’re in town. So visiting should be at least possible, right?”
“Uh, yes, however, I wouldn’t know how to go about it.”
Pinfeathers started quacking, flapping his wings for attention.
“What’s that?” Wick asked. It took Zib a minute to realize he was talking to the duck. More quacking followed. “Oh no, I wouldn’t want to bother him. Then again, it is important.”
“Very important, mmhm,” Zib added, hoping to nudge things along. “Who are we talking about?”
Wicked fixed him with a stare that made the musician freeze up.
“Elder Atlas.”