The light flickered briefly behind the counter in the small diner. Not frequently enough to be really annoying and force someone to fix it, but often enough that it caught your eye. The interminable wait for it to flicker again somehow made it worse.
The waitress/cook/owner asks the two people at the table furthest from the door if they want anything else.
“And what”, asked the man facing the door, “could you possibly have to offer that could interest me?” His malevolent grin softened as the waitresses hackles rose. “After I have so enjoyed these delicious pancakes?” He looked like snake oil had been poured into a suit and told to pretend to be human.
“So is that a ..no?”
“It's a get the fuck back behind your counter and stop interrupting our conversation”, interjected the woman in the Army surplus jacket on the other side of the table.
The diner owner was not unfamiliar with violence. Others may have reacted to that, in their own establishment with indignation or fear. She had seen plenty and survived enough and knew neither emotion would help. She turned on her heel wordlessly and headed away from the situation. Before she had even got 5 paces, the walking snake oil spoke again.
“Ignore my angry companion. War is not accustomed to company that is not trying to kill her. I'd love another round of those pancakes, my dear. Stick some bacon on the side this time, there's a good girl.”
The waitress waved over her shoulder to indicate that she had heard but offered no other words.
“Fuck you even doing eating this shit. Aren't you supposed to be Famine? Shouldn't you be against food on a philosophical level?”
“War, my dear girl, your father would never have asked such stupid, infantile questions when we 4 meet. It is frankly, a little disappointing.”
The girl rose out of her seat.
“Oh do sit down. Its frightfully boring, the constant regression to base physicality. I had really hoped for more. Your father didn't ask questions, but that was because he was even denser than you apparently are.”
The girl looked blank, aside from a subsurface glower.
“Look, the point of this little gig is to encourage your particular art. You can create famine by stopping food existing, or you can do it by consuming or destroying it. I rather think overeating has been one of my favourite ways to create Famine elsewhere actually. It's the inequality of it you see?”
“Well I find being violent tends to encourage violence.”
“Dare to think a little bigger my dear. A bit of gentle persuasion and you can make any number of people be violent all by themselves. I've always felt creating an artificial division and then making people fight over that would work well. Perhaps blondes vs brunettes?”
Famine looked over her shoulder as the door opened. “Ah, the remaining two members of our party have arrived!” The waitress looked over as they came in but Famine waved her off.
War got out of her seat to meet the newcomers. She put her hand out to shake the taller one's hand and was rewarded with a cold grip and a cough in her face.
“What the hell was that?” she asked jerking her hand back. It darted to the hilt of the knife in her belt.
The tall woman laughed. “This must be War Junior I presume?” She directed her question to Famine, behind War.
“Yes. You want to explore some of the things my father taught me?”, War threatened.
“Quiet, sweetie. The grown-ups are talking”, the woman said.
Famine stepped between them. “Yes, Pestilence, of course it is. Did you think I just met a strange girl and thought I'd invite her? Shall we sit down? The coffee here is absolutely average. I wouldn't recommend it at all”.
War looked at the last member of their foursome as he sat down. “War, Famine, Pestilence. So that makes you Death? You don't look like your media portrayal.”
The young man in the hooded sweatshirt smiled at her warmly. “Yeah, I know. I know. I just, like, don't feel it's my place to tell them its inaccurate. I think my Dad used to go with that look on big occasions, after battles and stuff. But its not really my scene.”
War looked around at the other two, open-mouthed. “Is he for real?”
Famine rubbed his eyebrows. “Yes, he is. He is also rather effective, and as of late putting us all to shame.”
The party all took their seats. “Effective? I've been seeding war all over the middle east. We've been teaming up to starve refugee camps. Pestilence has locked down the entire world. What has he done?”
Death leant back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. He didn't really seem to be paying attention.
“He made people happy”, Famine said. “Do you know how to make millions more people die every year? You can't do that by killing them directly, or by Wars, or Famine. Even our greatest hits only kill a few million.”
“Happy? Happiness kills people?”
“Happiness makes people make more people. And more people mean more deaths. And actually more wars, and more famine, and more disease.”
Death waved the waitress over. “Yep, I get to make people happy, and I'm also outperforming my quotas, and carrying you three at the same time. How were the pancakes, Famine? I could really go for a stack right now”
