Mailbox

[equal_shots]

[At 5009 Apple Pie Way, there is a very plain mailbox mounted up against the front door which will be checked fairly frequently.

Edit: For the sake of continuity, as of his arrival in the Meadous and until further notice, Kid cannot see--so unless you intend to read him your letter or you write it in Braille, he's not going to actually be able to see it--he'll just know someone's posted a letter his way. Thanks to auto-translation, Kid will be able to read anything sent to him as it will automatically be changed to Braille while he is blind.]

Comments

cw: self harm

[exequies]

[That question makes him blink once, surprised at the request but perhaps not as concerned by it as a normal person should be. He knows immediately what Kid intends to do and doesn't seem to disapprove of it if his next actions are any indication. Wordlessly, he sets the rolling pin down on the counter and pushes away from the wall, striding a few short paces to a kitchen drawer.

He pulls it open, rattling silverware and various utensils within it as he does so before he extracts--not a steak or paring knife--but a scalpel from it. Which he hands over to Kid with a hint of a smile and a small shrug.]

Cuts biscuit dough the best.

cw: self harm, blood/gore

[equal_shots]

Now I really don't want any of your biscuits.

[He takes the scalpel and is able to make blessedly short work of his task. The blade is sharp enough that when he sinks it into his upper left arm, first cutting the fabric of his shirt and then pressing it into the skin and muscle beneath. He meets no resistance until the scalpel blade meets bone, and tugs downwards until he's certain he's caught the brachial artery--if the amount of blood pouring from the wound is any indication, he's sure he's found his mark.

The scalpel is then discarded into the sink; the hand that should be applying pressure might be digging into the wound to better keep it open. And Kid watches with just the slightest hint of discomfort, jaw set in what seems to be more irritation than pain.

It hasn't yet struck him that he's left himself off balance. In a few minutes.] Good enough. It should last long enough for a few stitches.

cw: self harm, blood/gore

[exequies]

[He can't help but snicker a bit at Kid's reaction, following it up with,]

At least I have a proper oven and not a cremator for baking, now.

[And when the younger reaper uses the scalpel to stab himself, Undertaker appears indifferent. His own pain tolerance was stupidly high and he suspects that the other's healing ability is close to if not equal to his own. It's moreso the copious amount of blood dripping on the floor that he chooses to complain about, ironically considering his state of living.]

And good enough to leave more work for me~! Go off before you make a bigger mess of my floors.

cw: self harm, blood/gore

[equal_shots]

[He's careful to keep his fingers in the wound to prevent any chance of healing, and shoots Undertaker a glare.]

I cleaned your counters. Call it a trade.

[Kid huffs before heading out the door. He's quick and quiet, and Undertaker will even find that the teen manages to leave fairly little blood in his wake and no smudges on the front door.

From outside though, the reaper might be able to hear a strangled cry of horror, followed by panicked rambling that grows quieter as he makes his way to the clinic: Hideous asymmetric filth! Unbalanced--why just a single cut on the left? There could have been two perfectly symmetrical cuts on both sides! I am a failure as a grim reaper! What sort of reaper would allow this?!]