[center][i][color=8dc73f][h2]Oliver[/h2][/color][/i][/center]
[center][i][color=c4df9b]Prior to entry into the Underworld[/color][/i][/center]

"Won't you come with me, Ollie?" his sister sang at him, tugging his sleeve with her eyes wide in pleading. "I promise it won't take long! Everyone else is so [i]busy[/i]." 

Oliver really couldn't remember where everyone else in the house was at the time, but he went along with it. It was his sister asking him, after all.

They bundled into light coats and ventured outside, the house keys jangling in his pocket and a wallet securing its place in hers. It was the right amount of cold and humidity, not enough to make puffs of white clouds come from their mouths but enough to make Oliver's face feel fresh and damp. It had just rained before nightfall, so it was expected to say a little cooler the next few days, a fact that offered relief to the resident hoodie-lover. It was way better commuting to work by bike with such climate, especially at night! In fact, Oliver debated taking some time later that night to cycle along the residential street to enjoy the lifeless night.

The two walked mostly in silence. Or, at least, with him staying silent. His younger sister, Fleur, tended to interrupt the comfortable space between them with a comment, note, or a factual statement regarding the day. Sometimes, she even made a little joke that he would attempt a smirk at. She would giggle after his recognition, but she actually couldn't tell that Oliver was zoning out entirely. His mind was very gone, washed away into the night by the puddles that scattered the clean cut pavement they walked on. His sister might as well have made conversation at a zombie; Oliver's ears were so tuned out that he swore he could hear the buzzing of the moon's light (or were those streetlamps?).

They managed to make their way to the store a few streets away. The neighborhood was one they felt comfortable in; they grew up around here, after all. But on this particular night, a rather rotund older man with the stench of alcohol rolling off his person in waves, hitting the siblings' nostrils hard, proved to be a match for the thinner, lankier Ollie. His attention was zapped back to present day Earth when the man began to make a few lewd comments towards his sister, reaching out to grab her hand when she refused to acknowledge him. Brotherly instinct kicked in, turning his face a bright red with rage that matched his hair as he intercepted the hand by slapping it away.

[color=8dc73f]"Keep your grubby hands off of her,"[/color] he growled menacingly, surprising even himself by how threatening he made himself out to be. He'd never threatened people before; was he doing it well? He goddamn hoped so. 

Within a blink of an eye, the man erupted. Not literally. But he might as well have, for he crashed and spewed onto Oliver, taking him to the ground as Fleur could only scream and watch in horror. Time passed by with achingly long strides as Oliver could do nothing but try to claw at the man's hands. But he'd lost strength, and soon he simply blinked into black.

[center]~[/center]
[center][i][color=c4df9b]Present, upon entry to the Underworld[/color][/i][/center]

His neck ached like hell, it was way too hot down wherever he was, and there was a really weird feeling weighing down his lungs that warned him that the whole scenario was likely not a dream. Who dreamt in temperature anyway?! 

Oliver shook off most of the odd feelings, his hands delving into his pockets. He wanted to take off his jacket badly, but couldn't really think of a good place to put it as they were in the middle of what seemed to be lava pits. The self-proclaimed "sin", Belphegor Sloth, had told them all they needed to know, made them sign some odd papers that the red-head could only nod at, feeling obliged to fill them out despite being unsure and confused as to his situation. If it was all true and he wasn't having a wild dream, then Oliver had...

Died?

He raised his hand reluctantly, his eyebrows raised in concern. He ignored the cat with the weird name (dogs were always superior in his eyes), focusing on the sleepy-eyed man. [color=8dc73f]"Question, where exactly are you taking us and how can we necessarily trust what you say? Can you physically prove that this is hell and that we are...dead?"[/color] His voice hesitated on the final word, his tongue lingering on it like some oddity, a complete impossibility. It felt wrong using it. He still felt so very much alive.