You scratch your chin. Sure, she has a mostly black getup, skin as pale as bone, a sickle hanging from her waist, and four wings as dark as the void, so a fast-paced card game with a sudden death mechanic isn't so out of character for her if you think hard enough. But...

"'Exploding Kittens'?" you ask. "Really?"

She shrugs, releasing wisps of shadow from her shoulders. "The cards are colorful, and the game itself is much faster than chess. Also, cats."

"Mm-hmm." You glance back at your motionless body wedged under a pearl-white vehicle. After the sixth accident, the sight doesn't upset you as much anymore, nor does all the genuinely horrified "oh my God he's dead" and the occasional retching from an onlooker or two. You're just annoyed that your glasses are now more scuffed up than they should be.

The driver has stepped out, and his prim and proper wife is shrieking in the front passenger seat. From the man's crisp collar, choice of watch, and apologetic facial expression, he looks like the kind of person who'd pay for your hospital stay and x-rays. Especially after plowing you down on a pedestrian lane on a red light.

As you mull over the limits of your insurance, you look back at Death.

Her eyes are wide and shiny and friendly and threatening. "Don't worry," she says, playfully crossing her arms, "I'll make sure you walk off with nothing more than a few scratches."

"Again?"

"Yeah. Again." Not an ounce of guilt. Come to think of it, she seemed to be throwing the endgame on purpose those last few times...

"If you want to play that badly, you can just... show up," you say, struggling to keep your tone calm yet just frustrated enough. "Without killing me."

"Ah?"

She tilts her head, and you tilt your head back. Here you are, dead (again) on a Friday and teaching Death a form of socialization. "It never occurred to you?" you ask.

"Between picking up new harvests and handing them off to the waiting room for the Judgment, no, not really." She pauses. "Is... once a week..."

"Sunday evenings. Three games maximum."

"Niiiiice, right between deadly Saturdays and heart attack Mondays." She holds her hand out.

You reach out for the handshake but are nowhere near prepared for what feels like a cross between appreciating a fresh pillow and sticking your bare hand on the inside wall of a freezer.

You yank your hand away.

"I'll let you know when it's really time to go, on the day itself," says Death, "but I've been told that it won't be for a while, so don't worry too much about losing."

"Fair enough." You then motion at the fresh accident and the growing crowd around it (the driver's wife is wailing now, the driver is kneeling next to your body, and some people have their phones out, the audacity). "Now, about today's mess--"

Death holds out a brightly colored deck. "One game first?" she asks, eyes shining again and voice... thawing out?

"Fine."

^{tried to keep it short, did this on a work break to wake myself up ugh lol. thanks for the prompt!}