Chapter Text
"Rudyard, please. You simply can't continue like this. I know you think-"
"Get out, Chapman," Rudyard interjected from inside a closed casket, his voice slightly muffled. "Go back to your sorry excuse for a funeral parlour and make some coffee or something." Chapman rested a hand on top of the casket, gritting his teeth in frustration.
"Rudyard, if you would just listen-"
"Go away."
"Listen, I'm only suggesting that you-"
"Chapman, I am suggesting that you leave." Chapman tugged halfheartedly at the lid of the casket, which Rudyard was steadfastly holding shut.
"Please just hear me out-"
"Are you really trying to tell me how to run my own business?"
"Of course not. I'm just saying-"
"Do you really think that you are qualified to tell me-"
"That's not what I said-" Rudyard flung open the casket, knocking Chapman off balance, and sat up, staring defiantly at his rival.
"Now see here, Chapman-" before he could finish his thought, the door of Funn Funerals opened and a short, elderly woman walked in, stopping in her tracks when she saw the two men almost nose-to-nose, red in the face, one of them sitting in a casket.
"Am I interrupting something?" she asked cautiously, preparing to back out the door. Rudyard vaulted out of the casket with surprising grace, narrowly avoiding kicking Chapman, who stepped out of the way just in time.
"Not at all, ma'am. May I just say thank you for choosing Funn Funerals, and would you care to look at some of our floral displays, we do offer an excellent-"
"That funeral parlour across the square, is it closed? I wanted to book a service with them, but there was no one there. I thought it was quite a shame; I've heard so many good things about Chapman's," the woman interrupted. Rudyard blanched, looking as though the wind had been knocked out of him.
"They're closed. Incredibly out of business," he said quickly, before Chapman had the chance to get a word in edgewise. The woman looked slightly disappointed, but merely shrugged.
"Well, I need a funeral one way or another. So, young man, you were going to show me some flowers?" Chapman, sensing an opportunity, stepped forward to stand between Rudyard and his potential customer.
"Ma'am, I think you ought to know-"
"Not now, Chapman," Rudyard hissed, elbowing him out of the way. The woman frowned.
"Chapman? As in Chapman's Funerals?"
"Yes!" Chapman said hurriedly. "That's me."
"But this fellow said it was closed."
Chapman gave Rudyard a smug glance. "See, Rudyard? You weren't about to get away with-"
"Are you married?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Married. You tied the knot and decided to combine your businesses? I must say, that is absolutely adorable."
"Oh, we're n-"
"Married. Yes. That's us. We're very... married," Rudyard interrupted, forcing a broad smile onto his face while discreetly kicking Chapman in the shins to keep him from saying anything to the contrary. "Three years this... um, November. Now, I do believe we have a funeral to plan, Ms...?"
"Williams. Now, I was thinking of a smaller gathering, and perhaps..." Rudyard quickly guided Ms. Williams over to the flowers, leaving behind Chapman, who looked as though he were still trying to figure out what had just happened.
Ms. Williams spent half an hour discussing preliminary funeral plans with Rudyard, and by the time they were done, Chapman had collected his thoughts well enough to give Rudyard a piece of his mind. The second Ms. Williams left, Chapman pounced.
"What was that?" he demanded, cornering Rudyard as he tried to discreetly slip into the mortuary. Rudyard glanced around nervously, looking for another escape route, but there was none to be found.
"Well, it would appear that my client thinks we're married."
"Why."
"Well, I couldn't have her going to you for a funeral, now, could I? You certainly don't need any more business than you've already got!"
"For god's sake, Rudyard-"
"It's unfair and you know it!"
"Rudyard, I'm not trying to tell you what is and isn't fair, although I think the people of Piffling are perfectly within their rights to go to whichever funeral parlour they please-" ("You're luring them in with the chocolate fountain," muttered Rudyard), "-but that's not relevant right now. What I'm trying to understand right now is why you let your new client think we were married."
"Not all of us handle pressure well, Chapman!"
"We don't know when she's going to die. She looked pretty healthy to me, and we can't just have people thinking we're married for an indefinite amount of time. You either need to tell her the truth, or- or pretend to be married for god knows how long, and I think we both know which option you'd prefer, so just own up now. I'll even cut you a share of my profits after her funeral."
"It'll be fine. We'll just keep up the charade until she kicks the bucket."
"Or you could come clean," Chapman suggested incredulously.
"I'm not losing another customer, Chapman," snapped Rudyard. "We'll pretend to be married for however long it takes."
"And do I get any say in this?"
"No. This is really all your fault, if you think about it."
Chapman took a carefully measured breath. "How exactly is this my fault? I certainly didn't lie to an old woman about our marital status."
"I've been driven to this by your infernal business practices. If you hadn't... been nice to people, this never would have happened." Rudyard glared at Chapman, who stared exasperatedly back at him.
"You do realize you can't force me to pretend to be married to you, right?" This gave Rudyard pause. Admittedly, he hadn't thought that far ahead.
"Well, will you do it?"
Chapman pulled over a nearby chair and sat down, resting his arms on his knees, his demeanor becoming suddenly businesslike. "I'm willing to negotiate. Split the profits 50-50?"
"No way. 80-20."
"55-45."
"60-40. And I get the larger share, it's my funeral home."
"It's a deal." Chapman got up and shook hands with Rudyard, who felt very flustered all of a sudden. Obviously because of his victory, he thought as he watched Chapman walk back across the square. It felt good to finally win at something.