Chapter Text
‘Look where that fucking got me,’ Liz’s inner monologue echoed in her head, and if spoken aloud, it would echo in the wide, near-empty rooms of Gallows Manor. Stationed in Death City, Nevada, Liz and her sister Patti were recruited by the stuck-up, hypocritical rich kid– coincidentally, that’s what he called himself. Death the Kid, the son of the Grim Reaper.
Kid thought he was some kind of cowboy and made Liz and Patti wear cowgirl-like attire to match an aesthetic that he did not actually participate in. Kid would wear a pressed, pristine black suit, while the girls were stuck in bell bottoms and jean shorts. He was the rootin’-tootin’ gunslinging cowboy of the Nevada desert, and Liz and Patti doubled as twin pistols and to their dismay: eye candy.
‘It’s completely demeaning,’ Liz would think to herself, though she knew she was the only one who cared. Patti, though she was 17 years old, was completely juvenile and didn’t understand the weight of degradation. For the better part of her stay in Death City, Liz felt like an object rather than a person. Maybe a Barbie, of all objects. She didn’t feel as badass as a gun, her second form.
It had been years since the young reaper picked Liz and Patti up off of the street to be his identical, symmetrical weapons. So long that Kid had graduated from Death Weapon Meister Academy and started teaching there as a substitute. He had a masterclass on Dual Weapon Meistering, as well as a textbook published on the subject. Kid was well known and well respected around the school. Following in his father’s footsteps, he would soon prove to be a suitable reaper.
Liz was ripped away from her home, any friends or allies she'd made, and her old lifestyle (though it was definitely less than glamorous). They were forced to wear GPS trackers for a probationary period of a year. While Patti didn’t seem to mind much, Liz was furious, though only in the beginning. A year or so after Café Redemption (as she liked to call it), which consisted of working with her sister at a DeathBucks Café in Death City, she started to realize working with Kid wasn’t as high stakes as it had been made out to be.
Kid was annoying. He was a step above high maintenance and had some serious mental health issues that made him difficult to work with. Taking on Kid as a pet project entirely distracted the girls from any discomfort or homesickness. Eventually, they became accustomed to the high-class lifestyle and living with a young reaper.
As thanks for dealing with his severe OCD and increasingly concerning desire for symmetrical surroundings, Death the Kid would regularly gift Liz and Patti with designer clothes, bags, and perfumes. All of which he deemed must be necessary for females to be comfortable, as he hadn’t ever really taken the time to learn about what women liked.
Liz and Patti graciously accepted these gifts, and eventually became accustomed to talking Kid down from the ledge and did so willingly without bribery from Lord Death, his father.
__
“I deserve to DIE! Liz, take me to the nearest meatpacking warehouse and THROW ME IN THE MEAT GRINDER,” Kid pleaded through heavy sobs, gripping the fabric of Liz’s shirt.
“Kiddo, it’s just a couple of fruit flies in the lamp,” Liz, deadpan, gestured above their heads to a chandelier, inside of which three flies were caught and dead.
“A couple? NO! If you count them, it’s only three! A horribly asymmetrical number, and I am asymmetrical by association for not noticing!” Kid fell to his knees in front of Liz, weeping into his palms.
‘Jesus Fucking Christ,’ Liz looked down at the poor, miserable reaper with pity.
__
Years passed and the gifts became commonplace, and after that, the lifestyle became monotonous, and Liz and Patti had fully assimilated as members of Death City’s royalty.
They grew to appreciate Kid for bringing them in off the violent streets of Brooklyn, and even more for the opportunities he’d allowed them as weapons. They had the opportunity to become the most powerful dual weapons in the world: Death Cannons. And they were grateful as ever.
Appreciating Kid seemed like it was going to be a lot of hard work, considering how snooty and prideful he was, but after having lived with him for about six months, Liz realized how fast that calm, collected exterior could dissipate at the sight of one (1) asymmetrical object.
Kid was a major inconvenience. And the worst part of it all?
He had a growth spurt between the ages of 15 and 18.
He would sometimes push his frayed bangs out of his face to look at things more closely.
He recently finished developing a smooth, itch-scratching voice that never stopped ringing through the empty hallways.
After finishing a stretch of puberty that lasted forever, Kid had become the eye candy, and Liz was struggling to deny that she was highly attracted to him.