Food to Die For (Patreon)

A quick thinking rabbit manages to buy off Death with some of his fattening treats, day after day, until Death decides the gravy train has reached its last stop. Enjoy!

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Pedro was seated at the dining table, the rabbit waiting for his dinner to be served. He was a well-kept fellow; a well-respected merchant, he had garnered a sterling reputation for his good taste. He was a gourmand, testing menus in all the finest cantinas and restaurants in the land, and helpfully providing critique to the chefs and cooks who ran them. It had resulted in him being rather portly, his waistcoat strained by his round belly, but such was the cost of living well and providing for his family.

A maid brought in his meal, as it was almost midnight; Pedro had just returned from the road, and his wife and children were already in bed. Still, his servants had prepared a delicious chicken in a carrot glaze for him. The maid poured an appropriately paired chardonnay, set out a few side dishes, and he thanked her for the meal before sending her off to bed. Sighing contentedly, the pudgy lapine tucked in for a delicious meal— with perhaps a little too much gusto, as in his haste to eat, he snapped into a chicken bone. 

Instantly, Pedro felt it scratching at his throat, seizing it shut. He gasped for breath, banging his fist on the table as he tried to cough it free, but it only lodged it in deeper. The rabbit kicked and flailed, his face going red and his breath strained, his head swimming…

…And then, suddenly, the pain subsided. Pedro stood, patting his throat, but he could still feel the slight bulge where the bone was, a sinking feeling in his stomach as he felt he wasn't alone. Pedro felt his heart leap up into his throat as he looked into the dark hallway leading out of the dining room, and spotted a pair of red eyes watching him from the darkness.

A wolf with deathly white fur materialized in the room, looming tall over the petrified Pedro. He was dressed in a hooded black poncho, and held a sickle in either hand. 

"Pedro Coelho…" the wolf rumbled in a rough, smoky voice. "Your time is up."

Pedro quavered. "W-what? But… are you…" he gulped. "El Muerte?"

The wolf smiled toothily, pulling his hood back. "The one and only. I'm here to take you on to what lies beyond.."

"What? No— no!" Pedro fell to his knees, clasping his hands in pleading. "El Muerte, please, I beg of you— I-I have a wife and five children! They would be lost without me!"

Death scoffed. "Pedro, Pedro. You have a fortune— your wife is easily just as good as you are at business, anyways, and your eldest is already married. All of them will be fine."

"Please, I still had so much life to live! I-I'm not even fifty— and to die to a chicken bone! It's… it's a shame, really."

"'Still had so much life to live,' merda! You spent the last two decades trading around the same circuit of six towns like clockwork. You trade, eat, and sleep." The wolf folded his arms. "At least go out with a little bit of dignity."

Pedro's lip trembled. "Please! There must be something I can do! Just one more chance!"

Death rolled his eyes. "Honestly, can't I get one mortal who can face me with a little bit of backbone? You people act like—" the wolf stopped suddenly, smelling the air. "Is that…" he turned to Pedro's table, spotting a dish of thickly sliced, warm bread stuffed with thick cheese. "Is that Pao de Quijo?"

"Oh…" Pedro looked over. "Yes, it's a specialty of my cook." The rabbit studied Death closely, his eyes transfixed on the dish. "Do you… want some?"

Death snapped his head back to the tubby rabbit. "Ah-ah-ah, nice try. But I can't be bribed to give you a second chance at life with some cheesy bread."

"Oh! Oh, no, not at all. Just… a slight extension." 

Death narrowed his eyes. Pedro cleared his throat. "Say… twelve hours. Just enough time to settle my affairs, and spend one last night with my darling wife. To prepare my Will." He glanced back to the Pao de Queijo. "You can have the whole dish."

Wolf narrowed his eyes at the rabbit, then looked back to the stuffed bread. He sighed heavily, shaking his head. "You had better be grateful that good Pao de Queijo is hard to come by in the afterlife. I will return at noon. And if you try running, well…" he brandished his sickle. "Actually, please do. More fun for me."

Pedro felt a chill run down his spine. "Y-you have a deal. Noon. I swear by my honor, I shall not leave this house."

"Good. It's a date, then." Death picked up the plate, popping one of the pieces of bread in his mouth. "Mm… just like mama used to make," he chuckled darkly, skulking by Pedro and then disappearing into the shadows. The rabbit coughed, spitting up the chicken bone, and sighed with relief. He had somehow done it— he had faced down Death, and survived— but only for twelve hours.

Pedro spent the next hour pacing feverishly in his drawing room. He had distracted Death with just his chef's cooking… could he do it again? He rushed up to his bedroom, gently kissing his wife. "Adelina… wake up, my love."

His wife, a pleasantly plump rabbit like her husband, stirred. "Hmm? Pedro, it's so late… are you just getting home?"

"Yes, but more importantly my love, we have a very important guest coming tomorrow. Could you make sure to talk to chef tomorrow and make sure we have a feast ready? It has to be fit for a king."

Pedro pulled out his pocketwatch, bouncing on his feet. It was two minutes to noon. He had shooed Adelina and his children out of the drawing room, even as it had come alive with delicious smells of Pao de Queijo, tender Picanha, and rich and creamy Quindim. This was going to be a gamble, but if he succeeded, he would have completed the greatest deal of his career. He glanced down at his watch again, and then spotted Death's red eyes reflected in the glass, making him jump.

"Pedro, I have to say, I'm impressed. I expected a soft little thing like you to run." Death chuckled darkly. He sniffed the air, looking around the drawing room. "What's all this?"

"Oh, well… it's for my funeral, of course. I don't like to leave these things to chance," Pedro chuckled nervously. 

"Well, then you've actually settled your affairs?" the wolf laughed again. "I can't think of the last time someone actually did that."

"Oh, but… there is one thing," Pedro smiled nervously.

"Of course there is," Death sighed.

"Well, you see, it's my youngest son's birthday today. He's only a child, and I wouldn't want to ruin his birthday for the rest of his life by tying it to the death of his loving father," Pedro explained. "Could you, perhaps, come tomorrow?"

"Pedro!" the wolf snapped. "This isn't how things work. I am not a doctor you can just reschedule an appointment with! I am the exact opposite. You had your chance— we're going, now."

"I'd be happy to let you share some of this food…" Pedro offered, gesturing to a huge slab of steak marinating in garlic butter. "Would you like some Picanha? My chef makes it particularly moist."

Death narrowed his eyes, snarling at the rabbit. "Very well, rabbit. But if you think you can escape me, you are in for a lot of disappointment."

The lapine merchant dared not let out a sigh of relief as the wolf grabbed a huge slice of steak, and when he had his fill, Death slipped into the shadows, and was gone, leaving the rabbit to think about how long he could keep this going.

Pedro had not made himself successful on a mere fluke; he knew his trade well, and he knew how much he could string out a deal. Days, weeks, months passed by, and he was always ready for Death's visits with an excuse and tempting morsels. Many times, he worried Death didn't believe his increasingly stretched excuses or sob stories— but the ravenous wolf only had eyes for the food Pedro could offer him.

Ever perceptive, the rabbit also noticed how the figure of Death was changing. He didn't think an immortal, all-powerful being could put on weight… but he was. The wolf came every day, and the rabbit had been working his kitchen staff to the bone to placate him. In fact, Pedro had begun to get a little thinner. But the rich steaks, cheesy bread, and heavy custards were literally weighing heavy on the wolf. The weeks crawled along, and Death trundled along, chunky thunder thighs churning against his massive, roiling gut. It billowed out like a weather balloon filled with jelly, not quite hitting the ground, but it sank well beneath his knees, making it harder and harder to navigate around Pedro's house. He nearly took up entire corridors on his own, huffing softly as his pillowy chest inflated, thick, fat-swaddled arms swinging to keep his balance.

But Pedro's house did not grow any larger. The rabbit checked his watch some two months after his first encounter with Death, and right at midnight, he spotted the wolf's red eyes.

"Alright, Pedro… no Pao de Quiejo, no Picanha, no distractions at all tonight. I have been more than fair, it's time for you to breathe your last and—" Death grunted, his thick, heaving belly spilling through the doorway, his momentum halting instantly. "What—" He growled, kicking his feet as his belly jostled. "I— I'm stuck!" His round face snapped to Pedro, and he bared his fangs. "You! So, rabbit, you thought you could trap Death?"

The rabbit went white with fear. "W-what? No! No no no, I swear, this w-was just… I just… negotiated with you!"

The wolf lashed out with his claws, his flabby arm wobbling as he did. "Hear me, Pedro Coelho! I'm coming back here tomorrow, and nothing, not your custards or steaks, no feast you can conjure, will stop me from taking your soul. Tomorrow, you die!"

Death was swallowed up by the shadows, and Pedro felt his heart about ready to leap from his chest. He was going to have to do some very fast thinking about how to get out of this… whatever it was, it was going to involve the biggest meal yet.