Lacka-Corpse Groom

by Merri_Mask

Summary:

Zib's band is in financial trouble, and their manager, Mordecai, decides the best way to get money fast is to marry Zib off to a wealthy lady, much to his chagrin. The lady in question, Mitzi, turns out to not be so bad though, and feelings blossom anyway.

But things take a turn for the weird and the macabre when Zib, completely by accident, marries a dead man.

 

Or, the plot of Corpse Bride, but with Lackadaisy characters, and hopefully enough changes to make things interesting.

Notes:

If there are any Edmund Church fans reading this. He's not very nice in this story.

Chapter 1: A Dark Foggy Night

His pocket watch read a quarter to three.

Wick sighed, the chilled vapors of his breath visible in the moonlight. He snapped the little device shut with a disappointed click, and returned it to the inner pocket of his dress coat which he tried to pull tighter around himself. It had been crafted for beauty more than function.

He was starting to feel silly, waiting around in the dead of night for the man he was hopelessly in love with to come pick him up. They were going to elope. Or the equivalent thereof, seeing as they were both men. There’s wasn’t a relationship that was smiled upon in polite society. All the more reason for secrecy, Edmund had told him. Wick would never have his family’s blessing, best to just take what they could and run away together.

As it happened, Wick could take a lot. Carrying two armloads of suitcases stuffed to the gills with cash, jewelry, and even a satchel of his father’s gold had been no easy feat for the hopeful groom-to-be. To think, with the weight slowing him down, he’d been afraid he’d be late. So much so that Edmund might think he’d changed his mind. Yet, when he made it to the oak tree, just inside the forest next to the graveyard, he found he was the first to arrive. He’d been waiting quietly in the cold ever since. 

The fog had long since settled in, obscuring the church, the rows of tombstones, and even the town beyond them. The world was condensed to only the trees, their bare gnarled branches piercing the silvery grey sky. With the moonlight filtering down through the fog, Wick looked almost ethereal, dressed head to toe in white. His tailor had outdone himself making such an elegant dress tuxedo, complete with a matching top hat. Wick had told the tailor he’d wanted something a bit different from the standard fare to wear at parties when he’d commissioned him. It wasn’t a total lie. If he and Edmund were going to…unify…it seemed redundant that they both be wearing the same thing on their special occasion.

And brides traditionally wore white so…

A branch snapped. In the quiet isolation, it sounded like a thunder clap. Wick almost jumped out of his skin with a start. He looked around for the source, heart in his throat, seeing only empty darkness. There came rustling from above.

Crows. He looked up to see three, maybe four, of the black birds silhouetted against the sky, peering down at him curiously from their perches. Wick released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He glanced at the suitcases nestled among the big roots of the oak tree. All the money inside meant to go towards his new life. Had Edmund changed his mind?

Another twig snapped loudly in the night. Wick flinched from the noise. 

  “Wick?” The head of a man a few years older than him, with a white muzzle framed by grey fur, and under a sleek top hat, appeared from around the tree. Wick’s heart leapt again, this time for joy. 

  “Edmund!” 

Wick all but jumped into his arms. Edmund returned the hug, then lightly pushed Wick against the tree. His eyes lighted on the bags. 

  “Is that everything?”

Wick nodded eagerly, “Yes everything you asked for. It should keep us afloat for a good while.” 

Edmund’s gaze returned to him, a small smirk on his lips. He caressed Wick’s face with one hand, then leaned in for a kiss. Wick gave himself up to the feeling completely. He never noticed when Edmund unsheathed the dagger. 

  “Thank you Wick,” Edmund said when he pulled away, leaving the other breathless.“That was a lovely goodbye kiss.” 

Wick’s whole demeanor dropped in confusion. 

  “Goodbye?” 

At the side of the road going through the forest, there was a modest horse and wagon, unmanned. The mare amused herself by eating what little bits of weeds and grass she could find while waiting for her master to return. A shrill ear piercing wail suddenly rose up from the depths of the woods. The mare looked up, on alert, ears tuned in the direction of the commotion. Above, startled crows took flight, squawking their own cries into the night, disturbing the trees.

Then all fell silent again.

The mare waited another minute before going back to her grazing. Her ears picked up heavy footsteps shortly after. Her master returned, alone, loaded down by heavy suitcases and a satchel which he deposited in the back of the wagon and covered with a tarp. He didn’t bother to light the lantern as he climbed into the driver’s seat. He rubbed at his face in annoyance where the idiot had managed to scratch him. Fool hadn’t yet realized he’d already lost. He hoped that wouldn’t scar. He took the reins and drove off into the night. Leaving behind a broken heart.  

Chapter 2: According to Plan

Asa Sweet stared through his reflection in the glass of the window at the front gates of his property. An automobile was being permitted entry, and making its way up the long driveway to the mansion.  

The guests were arriving.

He took the thick cigar out of his mouth and breathed out a plume of smoke. It swirled through the air much like the thoughts in his head. He knew what had to be done, but he didn’t have to like it.

He stopped by the nursery first, to check in on his wife and their two young children. He informed her of the guests arriving. To which she’d been delighted, relieved that everything would be going back to normal soon. He smiled warmly at her, nodded, then left her to her own devices. As he proceeded down another hallway to his true destination, he caught bits of conversation coming from a bedroom at the end of the hall. One voice was high pitched, somewhat timid, but filled with nothing but the best of intentions. His butler, Horatio. The other voice was unapologetically feminine and southern, no matter how uncertain her tone was. That was his goddaughter, Mitzi.

  “Horatio,” he heard her ask as he got to the door, “What if this Dorian fella and I don’t like each other?”

  “Impossible!” he cut in before Horatio could answer, swinging the door wide open.

He found Mitzi seated at her vanity while Horatio was helping to button up the back of her dress. They both turned momentarily startled faces to him. He strode inside, the scent of perfumes assaulting his nose.

“There’s no way he’s not gonna like you. All you gotta do is turn up that southern charm of yours and he’ll be wrapped around your little finger. If he likes you, you’ll grow to like him.”

Mitzi and Horatio exchanged quiet looks. Mitzi cleared her throat.

  “Of course,” she said, perfectly poised. He knew her well enough to see she wasn’t happy.

  “Aw, now don’t be like that Darlin’. You’re getting hitched to a rising star. You always talked about how much you like music.” She barely nodded. Well, if she was going to be difficult. “Just remember, you’re doing it for the family,” he said sternly. “This is your opportunity to pay us back for kindly taking you in all those years ago. Don’t blow it.”  

  “Yes Sir,” she said meekly, ears pinned back.

  “Good. Now, the guests are here. I expect you to look presentable and downstairs shortly.”

Asa didn’t wait for a reply. He motioned for Horatio to follow him, and the two left Mitzi in the mournful silence of her room. The young woman leaned her elbows on her vanity, her head in her hands. She ran her fingers through her wavy reddish blonde locks before looking her reflection in the eye. She saw a woman about to be married to a man she’d never met, to obtain his fortune for her broke guardian family, and she looked absolutely miserable about it.

 

  “Hold still.”

  “I’m trying, but you keep poking my eyes with that thing.”

  “If you held still, it wouldn’t do that, now would it?”  

Zib hated being fussed over like this. It was bad enough he’d already been forced into this suffocating suit and tie, he didn’t need Mordecai straightening out every last strand of his fur with a comb, especially not on his face. How was he supposed to be still with the car going over every bump in the road anyways? Apparently, the solution was for Mordecai to grip Zib’s face all the more firmly until the manager was satisfied with his work.

  “…Adequate.” He said, releasing Zib at last. He returned to his side of the backseat. “Now, you remember the plan?”

  “Yeah,” Zib said, resigned. “I pretend to be some big shot musician, marry the girl, get her money, then we use that money to spring the boys, and we drop her flat while we ride off into the sunset.”

  “That’s an extremely simplified version of the plan, but accurate.”

  “I don’t like it Mord!” he said scowling. The tuxedo cat scowled right back.

  “Mordecai. At least in public, Dorian.”

  “Just…This is so wrong…What was wrong with playin’ the music halls?”

  “Nothing. This will merely expedite matters. The sooner we pay off those debtors, the better for all parties involved. Lest we forget, the band is counting on us to ‘Bring home the bacon’ as it were.”

Zib had no argument against that. He sighed in defeat, slumping against the seat.

  “How’d you even set all this up?”

Mordecai gave him a small, smug little smile, “I’m persuasive.”

  “Of course,” he said flatly. He could only imagine how that conversation with the family had gone. “Still, I’ve never said one word to this girl.”

  “At least we have that in our favor,” Mordecai’s green eyes momentarily found the ceiling very interesting.  

The car braked to a halt. Mordecai let himself out first, then waited for Zib to exit. They were standing in front of a grand Victorian mansion. Zib had to crane his neck to look at the roof of the thing. This was the home of the people he was going to extort. Where his future…future wife resided. The thought made him sick. He’d never fancied himself the ‘settling down’ type. Faking it was no picnic either.

“Let’s go,” Mordecai was already striding to the front steps. “Try to look presentable.”

After a few seconds of hesitation, Zib followed.

Notes:

Updates are going to be slow and sporadic.

Chapter 3: Harmony

The doorbell rang. 

Horatio was already waiting by the door. He brushed himself off first, gripped the curved handle of the door, and looked to his employer for permission. Mr. Sweet took his time completing the last few strides it took to stand an appropriate distance from the threshold. He considered for a moment, his future son-in-law was beyond that door. The answer to their prayers. At the cost of letting some vagabond who’d gotten lucky into the family.

He chewed his cigar. At least it was his goddaughter and not his real daughter he was marrying off. He nodded to Horatio. The butler opened the door. 

  “I just tied this for you three minutes ago? How is it already loose?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did you touch it?” 

  “No?” 

  “Your hat’s crooked-“ 

Asa cleared his throat, a deep guttural sound, dripping with annoyance. 

The two bickering men froze for a second, realizing they were being observed. Asa recognized the tuxedo cat, Mr. Heller, the manager, from previous meetings. The other, slightly taller fellow in the red suit had to be the musician and his - ugh- future in-law. It looked like Mr. Heller was trying to strangle the lad with his necktie. The manager let go, swiftly shifting into a professional persona so smoothly that Asa was almost impressed by the recovery. 

“Mr. Sweet, pleasure to see you again,” he said, all business. 

Asa smiled pleasantly. Because when conducting business that is mutually beneficial, it is conducive to smile. No matter how badly he wanted to tell Horatio to just slam the door on these immature plebeians. 

  “Pleasure’s all mine Mister Heller. Would you please accompany me to the drawing room. There’s a few matters of the arrangement between my little girl and your…” He looked Zib up and down, “…boy, I’d like to go over with you before we all set out to the rehearsal.” 

Zib grimaced, ears folding back slightly, but he held his tongue.

  “Of course, we’d be delighted,” Mordecai said. “Lead the way.” 

As Mr. Sweet led them into the house, Zib got to see how big and opulent the building was on the inside. It was kind of distracting, especially with how out of place it was making him feel. So much grey and muted colors, all polished to a shine. He was a walking red splotch in comparison. And then he spotted it. 

A grand piano, in gleaming ebony and pearly glory. A tiny vase perched above the music rack held a small single daisy flower. It had fit so well into the drab background of the mansion, he’d had to practically run into it to notice it. Mozzie, their band’s main pianist, would’ve loved it. He glanced at it longingly…a moment too long. 

He realized Mordecai and Mr. Sweet were already disappearing into a separate room. A heavy door closed behind them. Zib could no longer hear their voices. He wondered for a few seconds if they’d notice he was missing. Then again, he reasoned, they’d set up this whole wedding affair without any input from him so far, why would they start asking what he thought now?

The piano was sitting right there. Quiet, beckoning. Zib glanced one more time up the hallway through which the others had gone. He sat down on the bench. He wasn’t anywhere near Mozzie’s level, but he still knew his way around a keyboard. He tested a few keys, glad to hear the instrument was in tune, then started playing. It was a slow melody, kind of a downer. However, he was in a down sort of mood. Expelling it through music was a good way to recover. 

Upstairs in her bedroom, Mitzi finished applying the last of her makeup. She fluffed up her hair. She wore a pale purple gown with a light dull green trim. Nothing too bright or bold, lest her godfather accuse her of having garish taste. A floral pattern helped pretty it up.

While she was checking herself over one last time, she heard something. Her ears perked up.

Music? 

Live music? From the piano? Nobody ever touched the piano except for Horatio, and that was only to clean it!

Curious, Mitzi followed the wonderful melody out of her room, to the top of the stairs where she saw him in the foyer, seated at their grand piano. He was a spot of bright warm scarlet in an otherwise colorless room. This must be the musician she was betrothed to!

As she got closer, she was trying to come up with what she was going to say, when he noticed her. He jumped away from the piano like it burned him, very nearly knocking over the little vase in the process. 

  “…Sorry,” he said, flustered. “I didn’t think anyone was, uh…” 

  “You play beautifully,” Mitzi said, honestly. Also to tacitly let him know he’d done nothing wrong. 

  “Thank you,” he said with a slight nod, tension leaving his shoulders. “You must be Mary-“ 

  “Mitzi. I go by Mitzi, Darlin’,” she smiled softly. 

There was a little sparkle in her green eyes Zib found himself taking a liking to. 

  “It’s Zib for me,” he said. 

  “Ooh, is that your stage name?” 

  “It’s my name name. On stage, and off.” 

  “And is this what you play on stage?” Mitzi gracefully seated herself on the bench. One delicate paw lightly touched the ivory keys.   “Oh, no, we leave all that to our in-house pianist. He’s leagues better at than I am. No, I play alto saxophone. With a little clarinet on the side.” 

She liked his voice, it had a nice midwestern ring with only a hint of a growl. She could certainly get used to hearing him speak all day. Mitzi patted the spot next to her. His ears folded back. If anything, he shifted a little further away from her.

  “Aw, Honey, I’m not gonna bite,” she said with an encouraging smile and tilt of her head. “Besides, I really want to get to know the person I’m going to be spending the rest of my life with.” 

It was subtle, but she saw how his fur puffed for a second. Nevertheless, he smiled weakly anyways. 

  “Right, of course,” he sat next to her, awkward and rigid. She picked at a few keys idly. 

  “You’re much nicer than your shadowy friend. Your manager,” she commented. 

  “Who Mordecai?” 

  “Mm-hm.” 

  “Don’t mind him, he’s stingy around everyone. He just needs to get used to you. I’m pretty sure he’s still getting used to JJ,” he chuckled. 

  “And how did such a nice fella like you get stuck with such a grumpy puss for a manager?” 

  “Funny story, actually. Years ago, the band and I were at the train station in New York, waiting to board and head into the next state. We see this guy acting kind of jumpy, asking around for spare change for tickets. We don’t think much of it until we see that he’s hiding from some, ah, tough looking unfriendly characters who entered the station not long after.” 

  “Oh my,” she put a hand to her lips. 

  “Yep. It was risky, but we took pity on the guy and managed to smuggle him onboard the train with our instruments. Soon as it was safe, he introduced himself as Mordecai Heller and thanked us. Saying he’d stick around until he repaid our kindness.” 

  “And he hasn’t repaid it yet?” she raised a brow. He shook his head. 

  “On the contrary, he’s paid us back ten times over. Despite how stand-offish he is, he’s alarmingly good at getting gigs for the boys and I to play at. He’s tried to leave us a few times, but he keeps coming back.” 

He leaned close and stage whispered, “I think actually likes us, but won’t admit it.” 

That got a giggle out of her. Zib felt a pang in his chest that wasn’t unwelcome.

  “Tell me about your band, what’re they like?” Mitzi turned towards him, all ears and eager. 

  “Ah let’s see,” Zib ticked off each band member on his hand as he mentioned them. “I already brought up our Pianist, Mozzie. He’s kind of quiet, but a good listener. Our Bass player Ben’s our big friendly guy. JJ’s a great trumpet player, if you can put up with his bad jokes. And Sy’s kind of a grump, but a real loyal friend once you win him over. He’s on trumpet.”

Mitzi sighed, “And you all just travel around the country as you please? No one telling you where to go, or what do to?” 

  “No one besides Mordecai,” Zib said with a laugh. “But he makes sure our bills are paid…usually.” 

If Mitzi hadn’t been so caught up in her daydreaming about greener pastures she might’ve noticed the shame and regret that crossed his features momentarily. 

  “Sounds like Heaven, Darlin’,” she said. “Ya’ll got room for one more? I don’t play anything at the moment on account of my godfather. He thinks music is ‘too complicated for the fairer sex’. Hmph, well I’ll show him. I’m a very fast learner.” 

He looked her up and down a second, a sly little smirk on his muzzle.

  “Well, there might be something you could do, no musical talent required, but I gotta ask you something first. 

  “What’s that?”

  “How do you feel about Mata Hari?”

He tried to lean on the top of the piano, smoothly…and ended up knocking over the little vase on its side. The daisy fell out. Zib was quick to right the vase again, with an apology. Mitzi picked up the flower, holding the stem carefully between her thumb and forefinger. She twirled it for a second, thoughtfully. She offered it to Zib. 

He accepted it gingerly. 

  “I think I’ll have to get back to you on that one Hun,” she said with a smirk. 

That warm feeling in his chest doubled in intensity. Okay. Yeah, he liked her. He liked her a lot. 

  “How long have you two been there?” 

Zib and Mitzi both turned to see Mr. Sweet in the hallway, looking surprised. His usual business charm smoothed it over, as he grinned. 

“Never mind, it’s good to see you two love birds getting along,” he gave Mitzi a look. I told you so. 

A flat little hum was her response. 

Mordecai was right behind Mr. Sweet, checking his watch. 

   “It’s a quarter to five,” he announced. “Might I suggest we go to the church to begin the rehearsal?” 

  “Excellent idea,” said Asa. “Let’s go Mitzi. Today might be the last day you get to ride with your dear old goddad.” 

  “One can only hope,” she murmured to Zib with a roll of her eyes. She stood up, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. His ears stood straight up. “See you soon.” 

She waved to him, with a smile on her painted lips, as she followed her godfather out of the room. Mordecai didn’t say anything until they were well out of earshot. 

  “I take it things went well?” he asked. 

  “Very well,” he almost sighed through a lopsided grin. 

Mordecai rarely smiled, but Zib could tell he was pleased.

  “Good. Now we need only for this rehearsal to go smoothly, and the rest should fall into place.” 

  “Right,” he said. The rehearsal. For his wedding. To get Mitzi’s money to pay off the band’s debts and then divorce her….

That sinking sickly feeling came bubbling back. He stood up and tried to pull himself together. It was only a rehearsal. Everything would be fine. 

Notes:

So first, an AU where Mordecai didn't become a hitman and works with Zib's band instead because they helped him escape New York sounds like a lot of fun. And second, the mental image of Mordecai trying everything he can think of to make sure Zib looks neat and tidy, only to realize this is an uphill battle he could never win, is ridiculously endearing to me.

Chapter 4: The Vows

It was not fine.

In fact, the wedding rehearsal went about as badly as a rehearsal could go. And it was all. His. Fault. 

Zib guzzled down more of the contents of his flask he’d managed to keep hidden on his person from Mordecai. He couldn’t see his reflection in the dark frozen water beneath the bridge as he leaned over the stone wall. Perhaps that was best. He probably looked like more of a mess than usual. He’d long since given up on trying to look even remotely professional or put together. 

He was so busy stewing in his own self pity that Zib didn’t realize he was no longer alone until the other person flopped themselves next to him across the wall with all the boneless grace of a rag doll. The new person was a man who appeared arguably in much worse shape than Zib. His snowy white fur, probably fine and soft at some point, was matted and tangled. His tail had a huge bald spot in the middle, exposing scabbing skin. His clothes were dirty, stained, and smelled like garbage. He likely hadn’t bathed in quite some time. When he smiled, in what was probably supposed to be a friendly way, but ended up slightly crazed, Zib noticed a tooth missing, and several more were chipped. 

  “Hi,” he said cheerfully, like he’d known Zib for years and didn’t look like he lived under a bridge. 

  “Hi,” Zib replied with far less enthusiasm.

  “My name’s Virgil.”

  “That’s nice.” He vaguely wondered what he’d done to garner this guy’s attention.

  “Can I have a sip of that please?” He eyed the flask. 

Ah. 

Zib sighed, “Sure,” he said half heartedly, and held out the silver canister. 

Virgil stood straight and snatched it out of his hand like he was stealing a diamond. He started swallowing the contents like a man dying of thirst. Zib had to wrestle it back away from him. Luckily, Virgil wasn’t that strong. 

  “That was more than a sip,” Zib grumbled, holding the flask upside-down. The last few drops escaped onto the cold dirt.

He scowled. He was still too sober for his liking. On the other hand, considering Virgil’s current state, maybe it was better to wait until after he got the flask cleaned before he drank from it again.

  “Sorry,” Virgil didn’t sound all that apologetic. “Nobody in town gives me alcohol anymore. Not for free at least. And I ain’t never seen you before so I figured you must be new.”

  “Yeah, just got here today, in fact,” he said slowly.

So the town drunk had sized him up as an easy mark, and had been right. Zib peered over the edge of the bridge at the dark water again. If he jumped in, would he drown or freeze to death first? 

  “Today?” Virgil’s head twitched side to side like a squirrels. He muttered something under his breath Zib didn’t catch. One of the white cat’s eyes, the healthier one, went wide, “Oh! You’re that Zibinski guy! From the wedding rehearsal! Everyone’s talking about how you lit the table on fire! The old reverend was so maaaaaad,” he giggled. 

Zib went stiff as a board. Word traveled that quickly here? He pulled his red hat lower over his face, and huffed dismissively. As though gossip meant nothing to him. 

  “First off, the name’s Zibowski, but call me Zib.”

Virgil nodded eagerly, still chortling, “Okay, Zib!” 

  “And second, it wasn’t a table, just the table cloth, and it was an accident.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “The only reason it was even an issue was cause of the wine spill.” 

  “Huh? Wine?” Virgil’s face went blank with confusion. 

  “Yeah, it’s part of the vows. Somebody thought it was a great idea to add props to this thing. Anyway, I accidentally spilled the bottle over, then I dropped the candle after I finally got it to light, and…well…the situation was handled.”

Zib really didn’t want to go into how he’d gotten shown up right after by a late comer. An older gentleman by the name of Mr. Church, presumably from Mr. Sweet’s family, made use of the church’s holy water to douse the fire. He’d been irritatingly smug about it after. Zib couldn’t look anyone in the eye, especially not Mitzi. 

  “Ohhhh, you got shaky hands like me, huh?”

Virgil held out his dirty white hands, the pads were calloused and they did indeed tremble noticeably. 

  “Sure,” Zib said flatly. 

  “Aw, don’t be sad. If she still marries you after that, then that’s how you know it’s real right?” 

Zib raised a brow, glancing over at the surprisingly earnest look Virgil was giving him. He didn’t want to talk anymore. He didn’t want to go back into town either if he truly was everyone’s favorite current topic of discussion. 

  “I wish I could say this conversation has been pleasant,” Zib removed himself from the stones and started walking in a mostly straight line in the direction of the woods. “Be see’n you Virgil.” 

  “Okay, bye friend,” Virgil waved at Zib’s retreating back. Then a thought struck him. He yelled, “Watch out for the crows! They eat people!” 

Zib had to cut through a cemetery to reach the trees. The headstones he passed were old, cracked, and worn. The names no longer legible. Clearly no one was taking care of them. A thought passed through his mind that he might be forgotten like that too one day. He wasn’t sure if he cared all that much. 

Inside the forest, walking along a thin dirt trail barely visible under the light dusting of snow, Zib allowed his mind to wander. It kept replaying the disaster at the church over and over. 

Zib was a professional musician. He made a living using his hands to play instruments. He was anything but clumsy! At least most of the time. Perhaps this afternoon’s events just went to show that Zib was an excellent performer, but a terrible liar. 

He just, the whole time, walking beside her, holding her hand, having to look into her beautiful green eyes and having to say those words meant to signify ever lasting love when he knew full well what the true purpose of this arrangement was…he couldn’t stop picturing her face when she’d inevitably find out he was only doing this for the money. No plans to take her with him anywhere. The betrayal he was sure she’d feel. 

It caused him to loose focus. Mitzi, despite only knowing him for a few hours, had even noticed he was anxious. The poor woman probably thought all the stammering and shaking was just wedding jitters. Why would she try to be so encouraging to a sorry, two-bit con like him otherwise?

He needed a smoke.

He searched his vest for his lighter and pack of cigarettes. His hand touched something cold and metal, and something pliant. He pulled out the gold wedding ring that was meant for Mitzi, and the tiny daisy flower she’d given him. His thoughts went back to those sweet, blissful, if brief, moments with her at the piano. 

He held the flower gingerly between his thumb and forefinger, studying the delicate white petals and bright yellow center.

Perhaps…Mitzi could come with him. As his- he gulped down some air- wife. She’d seemed intrigued, eager even, to be a part of their band. Surely the boys wouldn’t object to some new blood. Maybe, if he went back and told her the truth, she’d understand. Maybe she’d marry him all the same, great fortune or not. 

The logical, more cynical, part of his brain was reminding him that he’d only met Mitzi once a few hours ago. How could he want to spend his whole life with her?

Well, it didn’t have to be forever. If she decides she wants out some time down the line, Zib would let her go, no questions, no arguments. He felt he was quickly warming up to the idea. A gentle smile played on his lips as he twirled the daisy stem. He placed it back in his vest pocket for safe keeping and turned his attention to the ring instead. 

His anxiety had made him stutter terribly at the rehearsal. Now though, with his mind made up, feeling more at ease with his decision, the vows seemed far more simple. Zib could do with a little practice all the same. No one was around anyways. Except for the crows in the twisted old oak tree.

  “With this hand, I will lift your sorrows,” he began. He imagined Mitzi next to him, holding his hand as he walked her the last few steps to the alter. “Your cup will never empty for I will be your wine.” 

The crows watched impassively. Zib didn’t care. He snapped off a piece of low hanging branch from the tree and pantomimed the motions he knew would be expected. 

“With this candle, I will light your way in darkness. With this ring,” here Zib got down on one knee, “I ask you to be mine.” 

He placed the ring on the dried dead branch of what he supposed was either a much smaller tree, or the roots of the big one. Zib had recited every word without stuttering, or forgetting anything in one go! He felt quite proud of himself. He was ready to return and face Mitzi. 

An icy cold gust of wind passed over him, chilling him to the bone, and he shivered. 

Something wasn’t right.

Zib had the feeling he wasn’t alone anymore. Some primal intuition was telling him he shouldn’t be there. The world had gone quiet, as if holding its breath. Zib looked around, unease settling in further. Above him many more crows had gathered amongst the branches. An army of beady black eyes stared down at him, waiting. He needed to leave, but he felt frozen to the spot.

He heard a crack. Like the sound of a twig snapping. His ears flinched from the noise. It was all the warning he got.

Something grabbed his arm tightly and pulled. Down. Into the ground. Caught off guard, Zib’s arm was buried to the shoulder. He would’ve been dragged underground completely had the opening been big enough. Startled crows shrieked and took flight, plunging the world into a cacophony of noise and movement. Adrenaline granted Zib extra strength as used his free hand to push against the ground. Once he got his feet under him again, it was easier to pull as hard as he could, slowly bringing his arm back above the surface. There was a snap. Whatever was holding him came loose, sending Zib tumbling backwards with a shout. He’d won the tug-of-war, but there was still something around his wrist. He felt it moving. 

It was a skeletal hand and arm. No ligaments, no muscles, no skin, yet he saw the boney fingers insistently wrap tighter around his wrist, felt how hard and cold they were against his flesh. Zib cried out in alarm as he flailed his arm until he flung the offending appendage off him like a poisonous bug. He heard it land somewhere with a slight clatter as the bones ground against each other. 

There came a loud thump. In front of him, where that root or whatever had been, at the base of the tree, he saw the ground shake. Mounds of earth and snow were forced aside as a decaying hand broke through to the surface. The claws dug into the ground to aid their master in rising. Zib watched, transfixed and horrified, scarcely daring to breathe, as roots snapped, dirt fell away, and what was left was a half decayed body of a man in a suit. A corpse, standing.  

It reached up to lift the brim of the top hat it was wearing. Zib saw a face. Light sandy and brown fur that had been tinged blue by death, bits of one cheek had worn away entirely. The eyes were blue and bright, capturing the moonlight, they seemed to glow eerily. It opened its mouth and spoke in a raspy whisper. 

  “I do.” 

Zib was too awestruck and frightened to even blink. Then it started to approach him, snapping off the last remaining roots twisted around its legs. He would’ve screamed, but his lungs couldn’t decided if they needed more or less air for him to do so. He scrambled backwards desperately, the thing reaching for him, until finally he remembered to get up and run. He sprinted off into the woods, not caring how torn up he got by branches grabbing at him, and hoping he was going the right way. 

The earth suddenly disappeared from beneath him and he was falling head over heels down a slope he somehow didn’t see coming. He came to a stop smacking his head into an old gravestone. Zib clutched at his skull with a pained groan.This was not his day. At least this meant he wasn’t too far from the church, people, help! He dared to look back.

The thing in white was just cresting the hill after him. A specter of doom in the moonlight come to devour his soul, accompanied by a group of crows. Zib hauled himself back up to keep running. He kept running. He had no choice. Every time he looked back it was still there, still following him!

After what felt like an eternity of endless trees and shrieking black birds, Zib at last broke through the tree line, back into the more open field of the cemetery. He still didn’t stop until he reached the bridge he’d been moping at just hours before. He latched onto the stone wall for support. His whole body was shaking as he tried to catch his breath. His heart felt like it was trying to pound right out of his ribcage. When he looked back again at the trees, it was gone. 

That, that, ghost, or walking corpse that seemed to glide as it chased him through the woods, that had attempted to drag him into the earth, was gone. 

Zib didn’t know if he’d successfully outrun it, or if it had given up, and he didn’t care. He was okay. He was safe now. His thoughts again turned to Mitzi. How close had he come to never seeing her again? He felt more determined to tell her the truth.

As his breathing steadied, he turned to go back into town-

Zib screamed in terror as he fell back against the wall. It had been right behind him! He almost ran into it. Its wide blue eyes stared at him. Zib’s body no longer had the energy for another sprint, too petrified by fear. All he could do was tremble, heart racing again, as the thing stretched out its arms, one all bone, the other still decaying. The hands were heavy and cold on his shoulders. He couldn’t breathe. Cawing crows were swooping and circling around him and the thing. It appeared to smile. 

  “You may kiss the groom.”

Zib wasn’t sure if the thing had spoken, or if he’d heard that in his head. As the decaying face with blue eyes loomed closer, the whole world faded to black. 

Chapter 5: Land of the Dead

He heard a steadily growing din of noise. Many people talking casually. He heard glasses clinking and cutlery scrapping against flatware. Familiar noises he remembered from every bar he’d ever awoken from a drunken stupor in. It put at him at ease. He would’ve remained blissfully unconscious, but then somebody laughed. A hearty loud man’s laugh, colored by an accent. 

  “You tried to kiss him, and he fainted?! BWA HAHAHA!” 

  “It’s not that funny,” a second voice, more proper sounding and sullen, said.

  “It kind of is Cher,” said a woman. Her accent matched the first man’s. There was a sigh.

  “Was that too forward, you suppose?”

  “You only jus met him Diamant.” 

  “Well he proposed and- Oh! I think he’s waking up!” 

Too much chatter prevented Zib from slipping away again, and the splitting pain in his head insisted he remain conscious. 

“Are you alright?”

He felt a thin hand caress his face. It was cold as death, but weirdly that helped numb a little of the ache. Slowly his eyes fluttered open. The world came into focus. There were three people hovering over him…at least, they kind of looked like people. 

The first one he recognized as the one in white who’d chased him around the woods. The two new ghouls were just as gruesome. A tall imposing man, built like a brick house, and a woman with wild flowing dark hair. Both possessed white fur tinged with green from the decay of their bodies. The flesh around their mouths especially was worn away, giving them both permanent toothy grins, like alligators peering up at their next meal from under the water. 

Zib gasped at the sight of them, sleepiness gone. 

  “Oh! We got a live one alright,” said the tall man. He looked down at Zib as though he were some exotic animal.

  “Mm-hm,” the woman knelt down to poke Zib’s chest, “he’s still soft.” 

  “Hey. Hey!” Zib scrambled backwards away from them, quickly coming into contact with the wooden bar behind him and using that as leverage to get to his feet. He put a hand to his chest to steady his heartbeat. “Hands off the merchandise lady.” 

As his eyes wandered around the room, he was filled with dread. 

Skeletons! Everywhere he looked, he saw bones, walking carcasses, rotted flesh and sunken eyes. He started to breathe faster, feeling his pulse speed up again. More laughing redirected his attention back to the three corpses he’d already come in contact with.

  “Ah, he’s got some fight in him after all,” the woman turned to the man in white. “Dat’s good. Maybe he’ll balance you out Cher.” 

The man chuckled awkwardly as she patted his back. 

  “Mais là, a toast!” The big man held up a glass of some mysterious bright green liquid, his skeletal grin somehow widening. “To the newlyweds!” 

All three turned expectant gazes to Zib. He felt his skin crawl beneath his fur as it stood up. 

  “N-Newlyweds?” He stammered out. 

  “Yes!” Zib tensed more as the one in white came close enough to lay a hand on his shoulder, but he had no where to run. “Don’t you remember?” 

His blue eyes were looking at Zib so earnestly, and he seemed so genuinely happy, that Zib forgot for a moment he was staring at a corpse. His mouth hung open for a second. 

  “Uhh…” 

  “Back in the woods! You said your vows so perfectly.” 

He proudly held up his skeletal hand, showing off the golden ring glinting in the warm light of the room. 

  “I did?” The realization of what he’d done, that he’d placed the ring on the boney hand of a dead man instead of a branch, hit him like a speeding train. Zib felt as though the earth below him had suddenly opened up and swallowed him. He felt the air go out of him, legs going weak, as he breathed out despairingly, “I did...” 

He sunk to the floor again. He ordered himself to wake up and smacked himself across the face as hard as he could. It didn’t work. The three ghouls were still there, all peering down at him with varying expressions of concern and confusion. Even worse, something of a crowd was beginning to form around them, as other dead came to gawk at the newest arrival, a living person, in their midst. Zib was feeling more and more boxed in. No way to escape. 

  “Coming through! Coming through! Ugh, one side people!” 

The corpse of a much thinner man finally broke through the wall of bones. Scraps of dark fur still clung to his body, making his bones and yellow dress shirt stand out all the more. He stood before Zib, just a bit to the side, and cleared what was left of his throat. 

  “Hello! And welcome. My name is Reuben, but please feel free to call me Ruby, everyone does. And I will be in charge of preparing your wedding feast!” He proclaimed with pride, bending slightly at the waist. He tipped his cap, in so doing revealing the small bullet hole square in the center of his forehead. It made Zib jump. 

  “What? Wedding feast?!” 

  “Of course Darling,” the man in white knelt down beside him, hands folded in front of him. Zib froze up, watching him suspiciously, even as the man gave him a small encouraging smile, “It’s tradition. And Ruby’s an excellent cook. He’ll make whatever you like.” 

  “That I shall,” Ruby beamed. “And you both have my word, I’ll make you the biggest, most delicious, most fabulous wedding cake this underside of the old cemetery!” 

A round of cheers went up at that. Zib did not share the enthusiasm. Not at all.

  “No. No, no, hang on, STOP!” The room went dead silent at his outburst (pun intended). All eyes and eye sockets were turned to the musician. He scraped together what little courage and indignant outrage he had left, willing his shoulders not to quake. “Before anything else, I need questions!” 

  “What?” The man in white asked, puzzled.

  “I t’ink you mean answers, Cher,” the dark haired woman said flatly, arms crossed. 

Zib flailed for a moment, haplessly, “Uh- yeah, what she said. Answers! I need answers! What is all this!? Where am I? Who are you people? And…am I dead?” 

  “No,” the man laughed. 

  “But we can fix dat for you if you like,” the woman flicked her boney wrist, producing a silvery switchblade. Her wicked grin matched her companion’s as the two leered at him gleefully. Zib pressed his back against the bar as his tail puffed. The man in white rounded on them. 

  “No,” he said sternly. The two merely shrugged. He turned back to Zib with a long sigh, “As for the rest, well, that’s quite a long story.” 

  “And what a story it is!” A voice came floating across the room. 

The dead collectively turned their attention to the stage opposite the bar in the establishment. The man in white gently grasped Zib’s arm with both hands, sending a shock of cold through him, and helped him to his feet. He wouldn't be able to see much from the ground after all. 

On the stage, there was a lone man. Zib noted, to his dismay, he seemed rather young. He had grey fur turning blue with a few still discernible black stripes that hadn’t fallen off his bones yet. The huge grin he wore put the other two ghouls to shame, with its sharper fangs. He only had one blue eye in his skull, and one ear was considerably more withered away than the other, giving him a lopsided appearance. He was holding a violin. 

“A tragic tale, of passion! Romance! And a murder most foul!” he rolled his skull from one shoulder to the other. The blue eye went with it, bouncing from one eye socket into the next, like a tennis ball in a rotting Jack-O-Lantern. He made the instrument sing a few dramatic notes.

Zib’s ears perked right up. The people here might be dead, but the violin sounded in top shape and well cared for. 

The woman groaned, “Not again.”

The big man cupped his hands around his mouth to be heard, “Hey, Rocky! Our diamant doesn’t need you turning his death into a spectacle again!” 

  “But everybody loves this story!” Rocky insisted, “Besides, the new guy hasn’t heard it. Shouldn’t we enlighten him? He did ask.” 

Rocky pointed his violin bow at Zib with a casual shrug and knowing sly smirk. As attention shifted back to him, Zib’s ears pinned back as he gulped. He very much wanted to curl up on the floor again. The man in white spoke up. 

  “It’s alright Nico, Serafine. I don’t mind.”

  “You sure now Cher?” The woman had a brow raised, frowning in concern. 

  “Yeah, cuz we can shut Rocky up real easy,” the big man gestured to the stage, completely ignoring the indignant “Hey!” from across the room.

  “It’s fine, really,” the man in white assured them. “Everyone knows already, and this way I don’t have to tell it. I’m not as good at entertaining as Rocky is anyways, heh.”

Zib caught something sorrowful in the way he said that. Despite the small laugh, the man seemed forlorn as Zib more closely observed him, tired even. 

Singing strings cut through the air with their music. Now that he had permission, Rocky was more than eager to get on with his show. 

 

  “Hey, gather ‘round and listen, 

all you corpses of cheer.

Though we’re all rotting,

we’ve still got an ear.

I’ll tell you a story that’ll make you cry in your tomb,

about our own beloved handsome corpse groom!

 

Years ago, our groom, a wealthy young heir,

crossed paths with a new face, a mysterious stranger.

He was charming and dashing, and easy on the eyes.

Our poor heir fell hard and started tellin’ lies. 

His parents wouldn’t understand, their love had no hope.

So the stranger proposed, they together elope.

 

They conjured up a plan to meet late at night.

They told not a soul, kept the whole thing tight.

He commissioned a suit of all white, just for the occasion.

And as long as he was fleeing his upper crust station,

he packed a few things, necessities for the road,

several cases of money, jewels, and satchel of gold!

 

Then next to the graveyard by the old oak tree,

on a dark foggy night at a quarter to three,

our boy was ready to go, but where was he? 

 

And then….

he waited….

 

He waited in the dark and the cold,

for his happily ever after to unfold.  

 

And then…. 

From the shadows, his love thanked him for playing the part.

And then…. 

The wolf shattered his poor beating heart.”

 

Rocky took his bow and jammed it between his torso and arm, making a strangled grunting noise for effect.

Zib couldn’t stop himself from looking at the man in white, quietly alarmed. This time for him rather than of him. The man’s hands were clasped tightly in front of him as he kept his head down. Zib didn’t know him well enough to guess what he might be thinking, and the man’s hat obscuring his face didn’t help. A shred of pity settled in the musician. 

  “Yer pushin’ it imbécile,” Serafine snarled. 

  “Aw, don’t be upset my frightening femme fatale! For this tale is no longer a tragedy!”

Rocky bounced around some as he resumed his playing. He stepped off the stage, making his way through the crowd.

 

  “When our groom opened his eyes, he was dead as dust.

The riches were missing, and his heart was bust.

And so he vowed lying under that tree,

he’d wait for his true love to come set him free!

 

Waiting years, for one to ask for his hand,

when out of the blue came this noble young man!” 

 

Rocky had made his way over to Zib. His wide crescent grin was all the more unsettling up close. The fiddling skeleton very purposefully elbowed him, hard. He landed in the cold arms of the groom, whom he had to hold on to keep his balance. 

 

“Who vowed to stay for eternity, under the moon,

and that’s the story of our dear Corpse Groom!”

 

Without meaning to, Zib locked eyes with the groom. Again, he forgot for a few seconds he was looking at a corpse. Something about those soft blue eyes was drawing him in. The rest of the world forgotten. But, then he noticed the hole in the other’s cheek, revealing some of the jaw bone. He flinched back.

Bone snapped. Zib saw that the skeletal hand was still gripping his arm, detached from it’s owner- again. 

  “Ahg!” 

  “Oh, so sorry,” the groom retrieved his hand, slotting it back into place on his skeleton. “Decay, you know? I promise that doesn’t usually happen.” 

Zib really didn’t know how to respond to that. Fortunately he was spared from having to do so by Rocky letting out a dramatic sigh. 

  “Aww, see? It’s so inspiring to see love’s sweet flower bloom after death! Well, one death anyways. Although, I guess you’re kind of dead now too.”

  “What- no I’m still alive,” Zib protested. He had the heart beat to prove it. Rocky shrugged. 

  “Sure, sure, but functionally, since you’re down here with us forever now, you’re dead. The people upstairs won’t even have a body to bury if they miss you, they’ll think you ran away or something. Hey, maybe that’s something you guys could have in common!”

The big guy, Nico, appeared out of nowhere to seize Rocky by the throat and lift him like a toothpick. The violinist made a noise similar to a rubber duck. Serafine drifted out of the shadows. 

  “What did we tell you earlier, idiot,” she said. 

The groom jumped to intervene, “Wait! I’m sure he didn’t mean it-“ 

  “Doesn’t matter. Dat was disrespectful.”

The three were occupied, and the rest of the dead seemed to have finally lost interest in him. Zib took that as his cue to leave. He made his way to a staircase, the only exit he could see, as casually as he could. About halfway up, he gave in to his building anxiety and bolted the rest of the way and out the door. 

Below, with Rocky finally allowed to leave after some begging of forgiveness and some insistence from the groom, the three watched him go. 

  “Your boyfriend sure is jumpy Cher,” Nico commented. 

  “He’s not my boyfriend. He’s my husband,” he flashed the gold ring on his boney finger to his friend, proof of some accomplishment. “He just hasn’t settled in yet. Once he’s calmed down, everything should fall into place, you’ll see.” 

The siblings exchanged a look. They quietly watched their friend ascend the stairs to go sort things out with his new beau. Nico leaned down to speak to his sister.

  “You t’ink dis’ll work out?”

  “No,” she sighed sadly. “But, for our diamant’s sake, I hope it does.”

Notes:

Wick: Cinnamon Roll
Nico and Serafine: The Cinnamon Roll Protection Squad

Whew! Finally got this out. I had the most trouble repurposing "Remains of the Day" into something more Rocky-like and accommodating of the current characters. I ended up leaving in more of the original lyrics than I thought I would, but they're Danny Elfman's lyrics. Who can argue with that. Ya'll I can't write song fics to save my life. I think they're extremely tricky to pull off. I've only seen it done well once, and that was years ago on fan fiction.net, with a Nightmare Before Christmas and Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle crossover.

Anyway, I'm going to return focus to Treasure Hunt, so no idea when the next chapter for this is coming. I hope you enjoy what is up in the meantime.

Chapter 6: Along Came A Spider

Notes:

A little something to tide everyone over while I keep working on my other fic.

Trigger Warning: Mild Homophobia

The fire crackling in the ornate fireplace kept the gloom and cold of the outside world at bay, but only barely.

Mitzi sat on her knees upon the couch, not caring how “unladylike” it looked, as she leaned on its back to gaze longingly out the window. Night had fallen, and with it came a light rain. The streets were scarcely visible, even with the aide of street lamps dutifully keeping their lights lit to assure all that the world had not been engulfed in complete darkness. Her emerald eyes kept searching, hoping desperately to see a spot of scarlet. Any indication that Zib was on his way back to the mansion, safe and in one piece. 

Between sips of tea (unsuitably steeped, but he held his tongue) and listening to his host prattle on about Mitzi’s childhood mishaps, Mordecai subtly kept an eye on the young woman, noting her behavior. It was good that she seemed to miss Zib so much, despite only knowing him for a few hours. The wedding could continue despite the day’s…series of unfortunate events. Assuming Zib came back at all.

Mordecai raised the steaming cup to his lips. He fought back the impulse to wrinkle his nose in disgust as he allowed more of the inferior tea to slide down his throat. He still needed to keep up the appearance of an appreciative guest and business partner. Zib would return soon, he assured himself. Even if the musician hated the plan, Zib still hated rain enough to come inside from wherever he was hiding from. He should be back any minute-

There was a knock on the door.

Mordecai’s ears swiveled in its direction. Mitzi also straightened up on the couch, turning eagerly. 

  “Enter,” Asa commanded. 

As the door swung open, both Mordecai and Mitzi deflated.

The older gentleman from earlier strode into the room smoothly with the air of a poised aristocrat. The grey and white cat with a top hat and cane had impressed Mr. Sweet so much with his quick thinking putting out the fire at the church that he’d welcomed him into his large home as a guest. At least until after the wedding.

Mitzi sighed sadly and went back to her window watching with a pout. Mordecai felt his gut coiling as he did his best not to scowl. There was something spider-like about the gentleman. How he would often lurk near the edges of the room, hovering just far away enough from conversations to not be a part of them, but still hear everything. As though he were waiting. Biding his time, weaving his web, and waiting. Mordecai had always detested spiders.

  “Ah, Mister Church,” Asa greeted warmly. “I trust the accommodations are to your liking?” 

  “Indeed Mister Sweet, you have been most generous,” Mr. Church said with the exact right amount of decorum. “Which is why I must apologize, for I am the bearer of such dreadful news.” 

He effectively had everyone’s attention then. With a hint of smugness, he turned to the open door and gestured to someone to enter.

Mordecai physically recoiled as a shabby mangy transient shuffled into the room, bringing his stench and god knew what else with him. There was a bald patch on his dirty white tail. One of his eyes was swollen, almost shut, ruining any possible precious symmetry his face could’ve had. Something Mordecai found especially offensive. The transient was twitchy, unable to keep still as he fidgeted with his hands, his ugly tail jerking side to side like a broken metronome. 

Mr. Sweet seemed to share Mordecai’s distaste as he looked up to Mr. Church in askance. 

  “I thought it best to bring an eye witness,” he explained cordially. He spoke gently to the homeless man, “If you’d be so kind please as to tell my friends what exactly you saw tonight while you were about by the bridge?” 

  “Um,” the transient held his hands behind his back, shifting his weight from foot to foot, like a child nervous about reciting to his parents’ guests for tea. “Well, it- It was a most curious thing. I saw Mr. Zibinski at the bridge.” 

  “Zibowski, I believe,” Mr. Church corrected, he peered over his shoulder at Mordecai. The manager set his cup down on the rolling cart, eyeing the gentleman suspiciously. 

  “Yeah! Yeah, him. He was a real swell guy, I met him earlier, and I was happy the crows didn’t eat him. He wasn’t alone though. There was another man on the bridge with him, dressed all in white. I thought he was a ghost for a second. I left them alone though because they seemed really, um,” the transient lowered his head, ears flattening. Mordecai wondered if he ought to clean his glasses because it looked like the dirty little man was blushing. “Well, let’s say, they were getting, friendly.”

  “What?!” Asa was flabbergasted. 

Mitzi suddenly felt as though she’d been stabbed. Of course, of course he didn’t actually have feelings for her. How could he? They’d only known each other a few hours. It made sense that such a dashing, talented, and famous musician would have other lovers. She was just some poor little rich girl who’d grown up cloistered in her godfather’s mansion. And she wasn’t even rich. 

It took everything Mordecai had not to slap his hand over his face in total exasperation. That idiot! He couldn't have waited until after the wedding to do this?

Church paused a few seconds, quietly observing the reactions of those in the room. “That will be all thank you. You are dismissed,” he said with a wave of his hand.

The homeless man couldn’t seem to leave fast enough. Just as well. The damage was done. Mordecai was already plotting all the various painful things he was going to do to Zib when he got his hands on him- 

  “Heller!” Mr. Sweet’s booming angered voice ripped him from his thoughts with a jolt. “What’s the meaning of this?!” 

Mordecai expertly schooled his expression, keeping his voice calm and even as he lied through his teeth, “I assure you Mr. Sweet, Mr. Zibowski is a man of good character and would never stray from his own bride-to-be, much less be inclined to engage in such degeneracy.”

  “Or, so you thought,” added Mr. Church casually.

This time Mordecai made no effort to hold back his glare, “You’ll recall, your ‘eye witness’ had only one functioning eyeball, and by the looks of him, inclined to seeing things that aren’t there. It is highly likely he is mistaken.” 

  “Hm, as you wish Mr. Heller,” Church bowed gracefully, an almost smirk on his lips. “I shall retire for the evening, but do call me, Mr. Sweet, if you should need more of my assistance. In any way.”

He gave a pointed glance at Mitzi as he closed the doors behind him. It made her curl her tail around her feet protectively on the couch, though she wasn’t sure why. Mr. Sweet, however, was still incensed. 

  “Heller, I’d be willing to sweep this under the rug if your boy was off with another girl,” Mitzi scowled at the back of his head. “But a man?! It’ll sink my entire credibility!”

  “I assure you Mr. Sweet, the man was mistaken. And honestly who’d believe a transient anyway?”

  “I don’t want to chance it. The wedding is off!”

  “No!” Mordecai got to his feet, “Sir, please, allow me to go find Zib. He can explain to you in his own words no impropriety has happened.”

Sweet sat in his chair, not quite glaring, but calculating as he sized Mordecai up. He chewed the end of his cigar.

  “…Very well. I’ll give you until dawn,” Mr. Sweet said coldly. 

   “Thank you Sir.” Mordecai did a small bow and headed for the door, eager to start searching. 

  “Mr. Heller.”

Mordecai paused, hand on the door handle and one foot over the threshold, “Yes Mr. Sweet?” 

The golden furred man puffed out a ring of cigar smoke. He spoke coldly, “If you don’t find him, don’t bother coming back.” 

   “….Understood.” 

 

Outside in the rain, Mordecai had to make do with only his hat and his coat as protection from the falling sky water. Zib was going to get more than earful for this. Mordecai hated getting wet.

The fur on the back of his neck stood up. He turned back towards the mansion looking up at the many darkened windows. He couldn’t see anyone, but he felt in his bones he was being watched. And he had a pretty good guess who. With an irritated grunt, he resumed his walk into town for there was nothing he could do about that at the moment. Nothing except find Zib. Wherever that idiot was.

Up in his guest room, Mr. Church watched through the window as the stingy little man forged out into the rain, all by his lonesome to retrieve his wayward ward from whatever vices or dangers he’d gotten himself into. If he was very lucky, the both of them would drown in the coming storm.

Mr. Church lit a lamp, opting to spend a few hours reading to keep himself occupied until sleep eventually overtook him or something interesting happened. He was a patient man. He could wait. 

Chapter 7: Wedding Presents

Notes:

Inspiration found me and I typed out this chapter instead of sleeping! 'Bout time, honestly. This poor story was overdue for an update.

Here we go!

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.”