Golden Shore Vacation

Vikalos smiled as he laid back in his seat, pondering existence. All around him as golden sand, made from gold flakes, taken from a universe where rare metals were as common as oxygen and nitrogen. A few meters away, small, shimmering silver waves lapped up the artificial beach, powered by a small generator deep in the centre of the artificial lake. This whole area was set up to be a miniature paradise, mimicking the Life Oasis that other, more feminine deities tended to on and control. But the Golden Shore, located in the southern luxury parts of Deathven, was simply better.

Unfortunately, a shadow looming over Vikalos interrupted his daydreaming thoughts.

“Settled down already, I see?” Itaviir grunted in a rather annoyed tone. For reasons Vikalos could not explain, his fellow Decay Lord was carrying a small work suitcase, with pieces of paper hurriedly stuffed into it.

“Are you not taking any time off at all?” Vikalos grunted back, reaching to his side where a small table was sitting. On it were several colourful drinks, decorated with dry ice, bright straws and sugar treats, as well as a pair of sleeping pads and a comically small towel. Everyone in Deathven carried a comically small towel around and Vikalos never really knew why, but tradition was tradition, and his own towel had come in handy a few times.

Itaviir shifted his weight, not wanting to answer. “I have a lot of work to do.”

Grabbing one of his drinks and sipping it, Vikalos couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “You are working yourself to death, Itaviir. Even if you are immortal. Take a moment to smell the salt. We have been here for only 50 hours and you are already off doing all your work in one go.”

“Maybe I like working? If every other higher being had the same work ethic I have, the omniverse would most certainly be a better place.”

“It would most certainly be a more boring place too…” Vikalos sighed, drinking more of his fancy cocktail. “Have you considered that maybe this exact behaviour is why Galyn wanted some time on his own?”

“Vikalos, we have work to do, duties to fulfil.”

Vikalos tutted, sitting up and looking directly at Itaviir. “Yes, which we will do when we are not exhausted from being teleported across distances so vast that we had to make up our own units of measurement for them! We all need breaks. Yourself included. You are not a machine, you are an imperfect being capable of making mistakes and more likely to make them if all you do is work.”

Itaviir grunted some more. “Maybe I like working.”

“Do you, though?”

“Keeps me occupied. Otherwise I start thinking about, well, the past. And all that I perhaps did wrong.”

“You think working yourself to the grave will help?” Vikalos shook his head. “Maybe you need to speak to someone who is not me or Galyn. Because you are working far too hard, harder than anyone else here. Even the Overlord takes regular breaks.”

Itaviir hesitated, then sat on the floor, next to Vikalos’s sunbed. “I do not want to talk to anyone. I just want to make things better. But you… have a point. I should make things better for myself as well…”

Vikalos let loose a smile, then shoved a drink into Itaviir’s hand. “I understand. But we have plenty of time to better others. Right now, we should be bettering ourselves, if only for a fleeting moment.”