It wasn’t death that Seymour disliked—he didn’t like it either, it was just that every effort to care about it came out a failure—it was death by someone who was such an ass.
Added to that—or possibly the reverse—he’d lost his mind and it had come back to haunt him.
He’d found the sleaziest, meanest, most degrading, most degraded, evilest, slimiest, and most unpopular hotel and then went to stay in somewhere worse. He’d found a place where politics consisted of who wasn’t dead, and if it was debatable you hired a summoner (most often resulting in hiring two undead summoners to send each other if you’re really uptight about not leaving witnesses.) The only reason someone would know your name in a place like this would be if they already intended to take your ID.
Seymour had a hard time fitting in at first—everyone thought he was too cheery. Halfway through the lobby, he met someone who wanted to change that and had a few large friends, who each had a few larger friends of their own, who in turn had a few friends that you weren’t sure what species they were, but it made the ceiling seem to have missed the concept of height entirely. They all had more sharp objects than muscles and they had more muscles than brains. Natural selection didn’t favor anyone who fell for most anything because when they fell for it, they didn’t get back up.
Shortly afterwards, most of the ceiling was missing, the door had been destroyed beyond any hopes of finding remains, one wall had moved to a different continent (in pieces) and the place had taken on a burnt-to-oblivion theme in the décor. Seymour had helped himself to most of the people’s—and whatever’s—wallets and the only people standing were Seymour and one man who was bent on making Seymour his friend. Not that there weren’t other people in the place, they were just doing things other than standing, such as being in the act of having passed out, running around and waving their arms, fleeing, crouching so as not to be noticed, fleeing, or wetting their pants. There would forever be disagreement as to what exactly had happened, but they were all pretty sure they had misheard Seymour when he said ‘My pain.’
"Excuse me," Seymour said, leaning over what was left of the front desk after he’d agreed to be good friends with the stranger—whose name turned out to be ‘Mary’. There wasn’t much to it and it hadn’t been involved in his fight at all. There were more sharp objects—and a skull—lodged in it, all from previous fights.
"Is it over?" said the clerk, as he stood up.
"Is it possible to get a room here?" Seymour asked. "I’d like to sleep somewhere less…" A large chunk of thoroughly incinerated plaster fell from the ceiling. "…Lived in."
The clerk handed him a key and explained that you—or your murderer, or your murderer’s murderer—paid for your room in the morning and that lodging was free if the Hotel wasn’t standing by 12 am the next morning.
Immediately upon entering the room, Seymour discovered the corpse. Or, more precisely, his foot discovered the corpse and his face discovered the floor. Seymour stood up and figured that since the rest of the place was neat and tidy, the removal of rotting carcasses was a job for room service and someone had been a bit too stingy.
Seymour shrugged and slammed the door, utterly unsurprised to have a black-cloaked figure standing behind it.
"I think you’re a bit late," Seymour said. "The man’s past his prime. Better late than never, though."
"I’ve come for you, Seymour," the figure said.
"It’s always nice to be wanted."
"I am the spirit of Spira future," the figure said.
"Immediate or distant?"
"Not exactly distant, but somewhere a bit far off," she said, and produced a doll wearing a similar black cloak.
She set the doll down and they both did a very impressive dance that involved moving their arms and backs in unison. Seymour had seen people do this before, but the way the figure’s very curvy chest moved and bobbed and bounced was what made it worth watching.
They were standing in the middle of a cemetery all of the sudden.
Seymour stood there, waiting for something to happen. The figure stood there, waiting for Seymour to figure out nothing was going to happen and begin asking stupid questions.
"Well?" Seymour finally asked.
"What do you mean ‘well?’?" Lulu said angrily, flipping off the hood of her cloak and making the doll jump into her arms.
"It’s very nice," he said. "But I pretty much figured it’d end like this—well, something would end like this—well, most things would. Am I supposed to be paying attention to something in particular, or just to enjoy the scenery?"
"How about you go read one of these stones?"
"Any one in particular?"
"How about the big obvious one over there?" she asked.
Seymour bent over and read the inscription on the giant monumental…whatever it was. It had to have been made by someone who majored in art, but never took a class in anything else. It was so large it was sinking into the ground, and the ground was sinking into itself. The epitaph read ‘He never gave anyone a raise.’
"It’s mine," Seymour said. "I should have figured. Well at least Kinoc didn’t get me."
"You don’t’ seem too terribly worried," Lulu said.
"Is that a bad thing?"
"Well, DYING is. To most people."
"Well, when someone comes back to complain, then I’ll start trying to think of some alternatives to it. What IS this thing, really?"
"A tombstone."
"No, I mean, what is it supposed to be? A slime-winged octopus bird?"
"It looks like a feliney sea cucumber from here. With a bit of abstractionism thrown in," Lulu commented.
"You know, with all the money they spent on this thing, they could have fixed the schools. Or put it into care for the elderly. Maybe built a hospital and a police station? I certainly don’t want it, even if I am dead."
"But you will be," Lulu said.
"Well… Well… Um…"
"Well what?"
"I can’t really say ‘I’ll show them’ now can I?"
"Not really. Not ultimately, at least."
"Got any ideas what you’re gonna do?"
"You mean you won’t tell me?
"Hey, I’m just a spirit," Lulu said.
"Well, first I’m gonna get some sleep, I’ve been up all night and I don’t want to do anything until I know I’m in the right mind."
"That could take forever," Lulu said.
Seymour glared at her. She glared back. The doll didn’t glare, but might’ve if it could’ve.
"You have a sister?" he asked.
"What’s wrong with me?" she exclaimed.
"Nothing, I just didn’t think someone I’d gotten to know outside of reality would be all that interested."
"You never know," she said, and she and the scene vanished. The corpse, however, was still on the floor.
A piece of paper fluttered down through the air as if it were confused with the specifics of falling. Seymour plucked it out of the air.
"Call me sometime," he heard. He looked around. There was no one but him and the corpse. He wondered what all the numbers on the paper were for and kept it in case it turned out to be important.