The Ballad of Steve and Number 146

Location: The Grand Hallway of the Necromancy Division.

Time: The Golden Era.

Subject: Unsanctioned Romance / Tactical Courtship.

Steve (formally designated Skeleton #45) stood at attention outside the door of the High Necromancer’s office. He held a spear. He stared forward with the hollow, terrifying gaze of the undead. But his eye sockets were not focused on the infinite darkness. They were focused on the cleaning crew across the hall. Specifically, on Skeleton #146. Number 146 was scrubbing a bloodstain off the obsidian floor. The rhythm of her scrubbing brush was hypnotic. 

Scrape. 

Scrape. 

Scrape.

Steve’s ribcage rattled.  

It wasn't a draft.

It was love.

He looked left. He looked right. He slowly, carefully, reached into his ribcage and pulled out a small, perfectly round pebble he had found in the courtyard. He took a step forward, his joints clicking softly. He held the pebble out to #146.

The door to the office slammed open.

"You!" High Necromancer Vex shrieked, storming into the hallway. "Get back in formation! You are a sentry, #45! You do not wander! You do not collect geological debris!"

Vex snatched the pebble from Steve’s bony fingers and threw it down the hall.

"And you!" Vex pointed at #146. "Scrub harder! That stain is older than the Second Era!"

Steve slumped. His clavicles dropped two inches. He watched #146 return to scrubbing, his heartless chest aching with a phantom pain.

Location: Torian’s Workshop.

 One hour later.

Steve stood on a small wooden stool. He was trembling, his bones clattering together like wind chimes in a gale.

Torian walked around him, holding a measuring tape. Xara sat on the workbench, sharpening a dagger and eating an apple.

"He's definitely pining," Torian murmured, measuring the circumference of Steve’s skull. "Look at the posture. Total lumbar collapse."

"He's pathetic," Xara noted, though she tossed a piece of apple core at Steve playfully. "He tried to give her a rock, Torian. A rock. He has no game. We need to fix that."

Steve turned his skull toward Xara and gave a sad, jaw-unhinged sigh.

Clack.

"Don't look at me like that," Xara warned. "I'm the General. I don't do romance. I do Tactical Acquisition of Affection. And we are going to acquire you a girlfriend."

The door opened. Lysander walked in, nose buried in a ledger.

"I have received a complaint from Vex," Lysander stated without looking up. "He claims Skeleton #45 has abandoned his post and is currently being accessorized by the Weaver. This is a misappropriation of state assets."

"It's a rescue mission, Lysander," Torian said, holding up a swatch of red silk. "Steve is in love."

Lysander stopped. He lowered the ledger. He looked at the skeleton standing on the stool. 

Steve gave a small, hopeful wave.

"Love," Lysander repeated, his eye twitching. "Love is a chemical reaction involving dopamine and oxytocin. This subject has no brain, no glands, and no blood. It is biologically impossible."

"Tell that to his knees," Torian said. "They're knocking."

Steve’s knees were indeed knocking together.

Click-clack-click.

Lysander sighed, massaging his temples.

"Fine," the Architect grumbled. "If we do not resolve this emotional variable, his productivity will drop. Proceed. But keep it under budget."

Torian smiled and pulled a needle from his pincushion.

The plan was set.

Xara hid in the bushes, holding a bag of breadcrumbs to distract any wandering ducks (or Chimeras). 

Lysander stood on the balcony above, holding a telescope and a stopwatch.

"Target approaching," Lysander whispered, his voice amplified by a wind-spell. "Velocity: slow. Shuffling detected."

Skeleton #146 walked down the garden path, carrying a bucket of mop water.

She paused.

Blocking her path was Steve.

But this was not the Steve of yesterday. This was Steve 2.0.

He had been polished until he gleamed white under the moonlight. Around his neck, he wore a dashing red velvet cape with silver trim—a Torian original. On his skull sat a jaunty straw sun hat with a silk ribbon.

He held no pebble this time.

In his hands, he held a bouquet of flowers—which were actually creatively arranged colorful feathers Torian had salvaged from a pillow.

Steve bowed. It was a low, sweeping, courtly bow that Xara had forced him to practice for forty minutes.

Number 146 dropped her bucket. Splash.

She stared at him. She stared at the hat. She stared at the feathers.

Slowly, her jaw dropped open.

Steve straightened up. He extended the bouquet. His hand shook, just a little.

Number 146 reached out. Her finger bones brushed his.

"STOP!"

Green fire exploded on the path. High Necromancer Vex materialized from a cloud of smoke, his face twisted in a rictus of rage.

"Fraternization!" Vex screeched, pointing a trembling finger at Steve. 

"Unauthorized wardrobe modifications! Loitering! I will have you ground into bone meal! I will have you demoted to a paperweight!"

Vex raised his staff, gathering necrotic energy to blast the sun hat into oblivion.

Steve didn't run. He stepped in front of #146. He raised his arms, shielding her with his velvet cape.

Vex paused, shocked by the defiance. 

"You dare? You dare defy your master?"

The Necromancer pulled back his staff for the striking blow.

THUD.

An apple core hit Vex in the back of the head.

Vex spun around. "Who—?"

Xara stepped out of the bushes. She wasn't smiling.

"Leave them alone, Vex," Xara growled, resting her hand on her sword hilt. "Or I'll tell everyone about the time you got scared by your own shadow puppet."

"General!" Vex sputtered. "This is anarchy! The dead do not date! It is undignified!"

"It is... statistically fascinating," Lysander called down from the balcony.

Vex looked up. Lysander adjusted his glasses in the moonlight.

"I have been tracking the metrics," Lysander announced. "Since #45 began this courtship, his shield-polishing efficiency has increased by 18%. The anticipation of social interaction appears to be a powerful motivator. Even for calcium deposits."

"But the hat!" Vex wailed. "It's straw!"

"It is jaunty," Torian added, stepping out from behind a statue. "And I made it. Are you criticizing my stitching, Vex?"

Vex looked at the General with her hand on her sword. He looked at the Architect with his logic. He looked at the Weaver who knitted sweaters for gargoyles.

He looked at Steve, who was still shielding #146, his straw hat slightly askew.

Vex sighed. The green fire in his staff died out.

"Fine," Vex hissed. "Fine! But if they are late for the morning muster... if there is one speck of dust on their armor..."

"Go away, Vex," Xara said, waving him off.

Vex grumbled something about "no respect for the macabre" and vanished in a puff of smoke.

Silence returned to the garden.

Steve turned back to #146. He offered the feather bouquet again.

Number 146 took it. She tucked the feathers into her ribcage.

Then, she did something unexpected. She reached up and adjusted Steve’s sun hat, straightening the ribbon.

She took his hand.

Steve looked at Xara. He gave a thumbs-up.

Xara smirked. "Go on, lover boy. You've got an hour before curfew."

Steve and #146 walked down the garden path, hand in hand, their capes fluttering in the breeze.

Clack... 

Clack... 

Clack.

"He walks with a listing gait," Lysander observed from the balcony. "The cape is creating drag."

"Shut up, Lysander," Torian whispered, watching them go. "It's perfect."

The Date Night Protocol

Location: The Whispering Woods (Two miles from the Citadel).

Time: The Golden Era.

Subject: Unsanctioned Combat / Romance Preservation.

Steve (Skeleton #45) adjusted his jaunty straw hat. It was slightly crooked, but he didn't mind. He felt dashing. He wore the red velvet cape Torian had stitched for him, which fluttered dramatically in the evening breeze.

Beside him walked Julia (formerly #146). She looked radiant—or as radiant as a reanimated collection of calcium could look. She wore a shawl of midnight-blue silk draped over her clavicles, and Torian had woven a small wreath of dried lavender into her skull.

They walked hand-in-hand. 

Click-clack. 

Click-clack.

The woods were alive with magic. A Spark Squirrel, a creature glowing with static electricity, scurried down a tree. It paused, twitching its nose at Steve.

Steve slowly reached out a finger bone.

The squirrel didn't run. It hopped onto his hand, sending a tiny, harmless spark through his phalanges.

Steve turned his skull toward Julia. 

His jaw unhinged in a silent, delighted gasp.

Julia clapped her hands soundlessly. She reached into her ribcage, pulled out a glittery pixie that had gotten stuck there earlier, and gently set it free. The pixie buzzed around her empty eye sockets before zooming off.

It was the perfect evening. 

The efficiency of their patrol route was zero, but their morale metrics were at an all-time high.

Then, a twig snapped.

Two humans stepped onto the path. They wore battered plate armor and carried heavy swords. Adventurers. Tourists.

"By the Light!" one of the humans shouted, drawing his blade. "Undead abominations! They're menacing the wildlife!"

Steve looked at the Spark Squirrel, which was currently nuzzling his thumb. He looked at the humans. He tilted his head, confused.

"Die, monster!" the second human screamed, charging forward.

Steve didn't fight. He dropped the squirrel gently. He grabbed Julia’s hand.

Run.

The skeletons scrambled back down the path. Their gait was awkward; Steve’s cape created significant aerodynamic drag, and Julia’s shawl kept getting snagged on briars.

Clatter-clack-clatter.

"They're fleeing! Don't let them escape!"

An arrow whizzed past Steve’s skull, knocking his hat askew.

They burst out of the treeline. The Citadel loomed ahead—black, safe, and eternal. But it was too far. 

The humans were gaining. The heavy boots of the adventurers thundered behind them.

Julia tripped. Her foot bone caught on a root, and she sprawled into the dirt.

Steve skidded to a halt. He looked at the safety of the Citadel. He looked at Julia.

He turned around.

He stood over her. He didn't have his spear. He didn't have a weapon. He spread his arms wide, flaring his red velvet cape like a shield.

He looked at the charging humans. He trembled. His knees knocked together. But he did not move.

He pointed a bony finger at Julia, then pointed at the Citadel. 

Go.

Julia shook her head. She reached up and grabbed his cape. She wouldn't leave him.

The lead adventurer raised his sword for a killing blow. 

"Back to the grave, filth!"

Steve flinched, bracing for the impact.

WOOSH.

A geyser of green, necrotic fire erupted from the earth between Steve and the adventurer.

High Necromancer Vex stepped out of the flames. He was holding a clipboard. He looked absolutely furious.

"UNAUTHORIZED!" Vex shrieked.

The adventurer froze. "What? Who—"

"Do you know what time it is?!" Vex yelled, green magic crackling around his fingers. "It is Date Night! It is a scheduled morale event! And you represent a hostile interruption of the itinerary!"

Vex snapped his fingers.

Two tendrils of black smoke lashed out. They wrapped around the adventurers. There was a brief, wet crunch, and then silence.

Vex stood over the bodies, breathing heavily. He looked at the clipboard. He looked at the mess.

"Paperwork," Vex whimpered. "Incident reports. Corpse disposal forms. Foreign dignitary explanation forms."

He turned to Steve and Julia. Steve was adjusting his hat. Julia was dusting off her shawl. Steve gave Vex two thumbs up.

"Don't you thumbs-up me!" Vex snarled. "Get back inside! If you are late for curfew, I am revoking your hat privileges!"

The Debrief

Location: Lysander’s Office.

Time: One hour later.

"You killed the delegation from the Iron-Hills," Lysander stated, looking at the report Vex had slammed onto his desk.

"They attacked my assets!" Vex argued, pacing the room. "Skeleton #45 is a high-value sentry. And his cape is custom velvet. Do you know how hard it is to get blood out of velvet?"

"They were armed trespassers," Xara said from the window, sharpening her dagger. She didn't look up. 

"They attacked Authority citizens. Vex followed protocol. Threat eliminated. Good job, Spooky.".

"It is... diplomatically inconvenient," Lysander sighed, adjusting his glasses. "However, Xara is correct. The defense of the citizenry is absolute. But we have a logistical problem."

Lysander pointed to the map of the forest. "If we continue to allow the undead workforce to wander the perimeter for 'recreational' purposes, incoming travelers will panic. They will attack. We will kill them. The pile of bodies will obstruct the trade routes. It is inefficient."

Vex paused. A dreamy look glazed over his eyes.

"A pile of bodies..." Vex whispered. "Think of the recruits. I could expand the Gamma Squad. I could make a bone-golem the size of the Chimera...".

"No," Lysander snapped. "We are not farming tourists for parts, Vex."

"We need a solution that doesn't involve massacre or banning love," Torian said. He was sitting in the corner, stitching a small tear in Steve’s cape that had occurred during the flight.

"Signs," Torian said.

Lysander blinked. "Signs?"

"Big ones," Torian explained, biting a thread. "On the main roads. Warning: Free-Roaming Skeletons Ahead. They are Friendly. Do Not Attack the Ones in Hats.”

Xara snorted. "You want to put up Caution: Skeleton 

Crossing signs?"

"Why not?" Torian smiled. "We can paint little hearts on them. It sets expectations.".

Lysander looked at his ledger. He calculated the cost of wood and paint versus the cost of diplomatic incident reports and cleaning up adventurers.

"The cost-benefit analysis favors the signage," Lysander admitted grudgingly.

"I'll paint them," Xara volunteered, sheathing her dagger. "But I'm drawing the skulls. I want them to look tough."

"As long as they have hats," Torian countered.

Vex grumbled, picking up his clipboard. "Fine. But if anyone attacks them again... I am keeping the bodies. That is non-negotiable."

"Acceptable," Lysander whispered. "Meeting adjourned."