Chapter Text
Jean wasn't sure what he'd expected from his first day selling caskets to the Parisian public. The day had been strenuous, both physically and emotionally. The others who worked at the store were clearly numb to it, but Jean had somehow stumbled into being employed there. If he saw one more grieving parent he wasn't sure if he'd be able to handle it. However, he did feel like he was helping people. Making a hard time a bit easier.
He checked the clock, it was about time to close up. Everyone else had gone home quite a while ago and no one had come in since. The last strands of daylight were fading fast. He had to get home to try to calm down enough to sleep. Jean stood up, and then the door opened. One last customer. Okay. It'll be fine. One more and he can get home.
The customer, dressed all in black, came closer. The man, he presumed the person was a man, turned off one of the gas lamps on Jean’s desk, which cast the room into shadow. Jean could still make out underneath the hat the stranger was wearing was a face that was wrong, though he couldn't tell how wrong exactly. The nose seemed off. The wrong color. Perhaps even glued on. The first thing he noticed though, was the eyes. Yellow, gleaming, glowing eyes.
Jean straightened up, trying not to stare, “What uh, how can I be of service?”
“I would like a coffin.” The stranger said.
“Yes of course, we have many in a range of-”
The stranger slammed a stack of papers on the desk, “These designs should be strictly followed.”
Jean wrinkled his nose despite himself, the man smelled like the mortician he'd met earlier. He squinted at the papers in the half light. Mahogany, oak, three types of fabric, carvings, metal inlays, quite a lot of padding? This looked more like the blueprint to a grand building than a casket. There was writing too, but it was mainly illegible. This would cost a fortune. He wondered why it had to be so plush on the inside, a dead person doesn't need a feather bed. He sheepishly looked up, “Ah, this would be quite expensive. I'm not sure our shop would be able to make something like this. Monsieur, uh, what did you say your name was?”
“I didn't.” The stranger said.
“Ah um, yes. As I was saying, Monsieur, are you sure you would not rather see our selection? I saw mahogany mentioned here, we can-”
“What's your name, you gruesome idiot?” The stranger asked. His words sharp with annoyance.
Jean flushed, “Jean, Jean Mortemer.”
“Monsieur Mortemer, I will provide monetary compensation, you will provide the finished product. My designs should be more than clear. It will be much wiser for your future prospects to do what has been instructed.” The stranger reached out and grabbed Jean’s collar with a ghastly pale hand, pulling Jean slightly towards him, “You understand?”
“Yes sir.” Jean nodded quickly.
“Good. This meeting has not built confidence, but we can work things out.” The stranger smiled. The smile was large. The eyes brightened in intensity. He finally let go. He pointed to the papers, “I'm not sure you've fully comprehended this minuscule project. We will go over this together to make sure there aren't any little mishaps.”
“N-now?” Jean gulped.
The man nodded, tapping his fingers on the desk, “That is indeed what I meant.”
Jean spent the next few minutes frantically trying to keep up. He pointed to a small drawing in the corner of one page, “So um, you want it to be carved with the words, ‘Dies irae, dies illa, solvet saeculum in favilla, teste David cum Sibylla.’, and then painted in with gold leaf?”
“Yes.”
“And you want a painting of a lyre with laurel leaves on the side?” Jean sounded resigned.
“Yes, yes!” The man was starting to sound agitated again.
“Now you wanted the inside to be padded with feathers?” Jean said.
“Goose!” The man said.
Jean looked down at the designs again. These were in fact, amazing. The amount of detail was incredible. It was almost as intricate as the new opera house down the street! He didn't know what to make of this strange encounter, “We’ll ah, see what we can do. How can we contact you, Monsieur?”
“I will be back in a week. Here is the first part of your payment.” Bony fingers dropped a small envelope on the desk. The man turned with a flourish and started to leave.
“Monsieur, whoever died, you must've really cared for them!” Jean said in amazement.
“It's for me to sleep in, not some other corpse.” The man nonchalantly replied.
“Y-you to sleep in?” Jean started to question, his eyes widening in disbelief, but by the time he managed to utter the last word, the man was gone.
Jean had a lot to drink that night.