The Undertaker hummed merrily along the British streets as he meandered into his old friend’s shop. Most of the underground “professionals” knew one another, so whenever something strange or disastrous occurred, another would take the helm. And as the practical captain of oddities (being one himself), he was often called in. He hummed as he entered the neat parlor, waving cheerily to his friend.
"So what’s happening this time? Is it a ghost… again?" He hid his mouth under his hand as he chuckled lightly, other morticians were so scared of ghosts! As his chuckling subsided, his friend simply pointed to a black casket and left the room in a huff. "Oh what a worrywort!"
He popped the lid off the cask and placed it gently on the floor below the table. He peered inside and saw an asian wo- man. definitely a man. A pretty man, but a man nonetheless. He tucked back his hair behind his ear before laying the pierced skin on the other’s clothed chest. No heartbeat, but he was definitely breathing…. With a shrug, he readied his hand. If it worked, he woke up a coma victim. If not, no harm no foul.
The sudden impact awoke Kanda with a start, and he shot up into a sitting position, gasping for air. “Fuck.” He managed to choke out. How long had he been out? Was he actually dead that time, or just unconscious? Sometimes it was really hard to tell, and it left him confused and a little disoriented when he tried to figure out the exact answer to that question.
He glanced up and noticed the man that was standing next to him— it must have been the man who so violently awakened him.
He looked weird.
"Who the fuck are you?" He manged to choke out, his words stumbling over themselves. Shit… how long had it been since he had last spoken? Had he even died, or had he just been unconscious and mistaken for dead?
"I’m the Undertaker~! Heeheehee, and you are bizarre, indeed!" He gently held the man’s arm to the side as he listened for a heartbeat once more, oh yes it was right about to beat out of that little chest of his! He recoiled quickly across the room as not to scare the poor man into a heart attack.
"It’s not every day that someone with such a light heartbeat can just act so fervently. Did your condition start recentlyyyyyy?" Something was off about the boy, something very crucial. He didn’t smell of death, and was really quite sprightly for a man that’d been "dead" for nigh on a fortnight.
"Or maybe you’ve "died" before? He giggled as he whirled around, opening the door to the adjacent kitchen. "Also, tea? I can’t let you go until I’m quite sure you’re all in proper order now, can I?" He hummed as he struck a match on the box and threw it into the tinder on the stove, placing the clunky old kettle on to boil.