[Insert "You're not my dad" and stuff. Can't enact this kid's bedtime!

Kid ponders what he might want to talk about for a few moments, then:]

Undertaker is an unusual name.

[He said he wasn't sleepy, not that he was at his conversational peak.]

[H U F F]

My father choose a very appropriate name for me, and I would prefer you not call me "Kiddy". That is not even my full name.

Is "undertaker" your profession?

I am inclined to believe you will poke fun. It's not a particularly becoming habit for a mortician, you know. One would hope you would have more respect for the deceased.

The dead tend to be fairly quiet, I've noticed. That doesn't mean they don't deserve your respect just the same.

[Kid fiddles with the straw on the milk. Undertaker's relaxed attitude unnerves him just enough to get under his skin. He is intended to be a guardian of human souls, after all.]

I didn't say it had anything to do with my name. What I said is that I was inclined to believe you would make fun, and that such behavior was not becoming of a man in your position. You are the last one in contact with that person. It would do to have a little respect.

My name is Death the Kid, if you intend to be so insistent.

It is a perfectly appropriate name, thank you. There's no other name that would be more appropriate. [There's a hint, however slight, of Kid bristling at Undertaker's comment. He didn't take kindly to people insulting his father's naming choice.

Were he more himself, more alert and healthy, he might have noticed the slight shift in the other man's position. But he doesn't; instead Kid is disrupted by coughing before he can finish his thought.]

And living souls deserve just as much respect.

[Something about Undertaker's question makes Kid uncomfortable. Most here find the idea impossible and as such would never make such a connection--so why did he?

Ordinarily quite proud of his heritage, Kid isn't sure how he feels about Undertaker knowing. But he's already put the pieces together...] Yes. That is precisely what I am implying.

Yes, I did imagine this would be your reaction.

[Don't react. Don't react, don't react, don't react.

Maybe he reacts a little, smushing the milk box in his hand just slightly.]

You will wake everyone up, and they are trying to sleep.

[Kid gives him a good minute to get his shit together.

And when he doesn't, Undertaker gets the open carton of milk lobbed at his head. Hard. For someone his size, Kid could make that little piece of cardboard move pretty fast.

He did at least have the courtesy to finish drinking it first, though. Waste not want not.]

You are an ass and I would appreciate it if you would shut up.

[Kid has been spending too much time with Black☆Star and the Thompson sisters.]

You are free to thank Liz for my extended vocabulary. I'm sure she'll be pleased.

[For the very uptight, anxious front he was displaying a bit ago, Kid now looks every ounce his age: arrogant and indignant.]

I was created from a piece of Death's soul.

[Kid's expression has not changed, jaw set.] That is how it is possible.

[To Kid's credit, he doesn't move when Undertaker leans in. His golden eyes focus intently on the other, meeting the sliver of color he can see behind the bangs without wavering. His breathing gently ruffles the hair on his head, disrupting the oddly-placed stripes.

When Undertaker sits back, Kid remains stock still.]

Believe what you will.

Certainly. I wouldn't profess to be something most would fear in a place where people are already suspicious of strangers.

[Kid watches Undertaker flop back, quietly rifling through his bag and placing the last container of milk beside the man.]

...my apologies for throwing that carton at you earlier.

[He doesn't wait for a reply, getting to his feet and taking his backpack with him as he moves towards where Stein is sleeping.]