A dour-faced man walked into a cafe.
For a moment, he just stood there, watching the hustle and bustle of the patrons and the staff. No one seemed to notice him, even as the baristas offered cursory pleasantries to the other patrons who walked in. It was only when he took off the hat he was wearing that someone asked what he would like, for which he had no reply.
The girl behind the counter persevered with her best customer service smile. "What are you in the mood for today? I could make some recommendations." When she still received no response, she said, "It's strawberry season, and our new line of strawberry drinks are all the rage."
"I will have this one," said the man, indicating a frothy little pink number on the poster beside the counter. The girl rattled out a price, took his cash, and gave him back the change.
"We'll bring it to you when it's ready," she said, and that was that. The man made his way to a windowside table for two, and stared at the chair opposite him.
What... What in the nine hells was he doing here?
On paper, of course, he was here on a 'blind date'. This was what his colleague told him when they'd informed him about the engagement, which he had apparently been signed up for without his consent. He didn't look at all like he was here for a date. As far as his clothes were concerned, he was much more suited to a funeral. Which was sort of the point.
He was a reaper. Reapers didn't go on blind dates. He didn't even understand why reapers had to have physical bodies, and go through the motions as if they were still alive. But his colleague had insisted, and so here he was.