That's much better, but...
[So says a certain young man dressed in stark monochrome, dark hair interrupted by three parallel lines of white running along only one side of his head, as he regards what appears to be a colorful ball -- the sort of toy meant for felines to caper after, once catnip has been placed inside.
Residents of a certain villa may recognize their foyer.
It's looking significantly tidier, or rather like someone had artfully arranged but one side of it, and proceeded to arrange the other side in a spookily precise mirror image. Even various cat toys found scattered around the premises have been doled out to each corner of the foyer in a bilaterally symmetrical fashion.
Someone even went through the trouble of dusting and sweeping. It veritably sparkles. Death the Kid's hair is a little disheveled, in the way of one who had little choice but to let damp hair dry as it would.
Indeed, the young grim reaper had stood there in the plaza since yesterday afternoon waiting to drip-dry, unable to abide by the thought of moving around while his wet clothes insisted on sticking to him, horrifyingly askew. He has standards.]
What do I do? It's almost perfect, but I can't simply place this in one corner.
[This is sort of stressing him out.]
I'll just have to acquire another that matches this precisely! Residents of this house! Where is the nearest market?
[This, while addressing the starfish communicator held in the other hand, until the reaper's golden eyes dart a brief, distressed glance at his own creased (and still uncomfortably damp) suit.]
...No, I should first change into something suitable. But I can't just leave this unfinished!
[Ahh, he can't decide, what should he do? WHAT SHOULD HE DO??? At last, he decides to stow the catnip ball away, and black, crackling tendrils of skull-capped shadow spirits away the toy out of sight.]
First things first--where can I launder and dry my clothing? Don't delay in supplying in answer, this is essential, I'm filthy.