Of all the things that had to happen this soon, she had to be called into William's office. She had just transferred from Italy, and had stepped on egg shells for the most part, so why even bother calling her there? As she passed by a few employees, including a Ronald Knox, they had all either ignored her or just gave a simple glance. She wasn't much to look at, though compared to the same man she was heading toward, it was a surprise to find her looking exactly like him. There were of course key differences, her Italian nature giving her tanner skin, higher cheek bones and full lips. Her womanly curves shown much more in the suit she wore, unlike the women who usually wore pencil skirts, Hecate Morte was out on the field so she opted for pants instead. Her hips swayed with each step, long ebony black hair pulled up into a bun with only three strands of black hair hanging off to the sides of her head. Her walk appeared almost soldier-like despite her hips swaying; features schooled into cold calculation as she stopped at his door, William T. Spears boldly displayed. She stared at the name for several seconds, because of her being so busy setting herself up in the British Division; she never really got the chance to meet the man. Was there fear? Of course not, just a strange curiosity on what this man truly was.
Lifting a single gloved hand, she grazed her knuckles against the wood before tapping five times, the hand once again lowered to her side. She waited for permission to enter before opening the door, slipping inside quickly and shutting behind her with a silent click. Green-Yellow eyes lifted to meet the exact same color, and she found herself slightly surprised; the man in front of her was almost an exact copy. Pushing the surprise back, while still keeping her features neutral, she lifted her arm and placed her fisted hand against her chest, bowing her body within thirty degrees. "Hecate Morte, you requested me?" Her English was quite good, though the heavy Italian accent couldn't be hidden within her blank and almost empty words. Lifting back up from the half bow, she lowered her arm back to her side and stared at him with an almost blank look; she was assessing him completely, his looks were clean and professional, and just like her he didn't show any emotion. She couldn't tell much else, he kept everything pretty much OCD clean, so her thoughts wandered toward her having to check on her Death Scythe and make sure that everything was in order there, and that it was approved here as well. Then she'd have to finalize her home financial plan, establish a connection to work, and then make sure her transfer went flawlessly. Too much to do within the next two days, else she would be behind in her work.
Several orderly stacks sat at the corner of his desk, upper right, to be taken down to General Affairs. For a moment, he assumed the office secretary had come to retrieve said files, and inhaled in preparation to elaborate on whom those papers needed to go to. Dual-toned green orbs were busy scanning over two incident reports. However, the Italian lilt that reached his ears caused his focus to shift from the complaint, to the woman that had /just/ transferred, if he was not mistaken.
"I did." Not a beat missed. William T. Spears prided himself on being on top of most events in his Division. A transfer of a new Reaper was certainly not going to be missed, or unexpected. Especially when said Reaper had a reputation that would put Grell's 'Ripper' stint to shame. Pale visage gave no sign or symptom to his opinion on her appearance. Standing from his chair, he gave a bow in return, before adjusting his glasses. "I appreciate your punctuality. If only every other reaper in my employ had such responsibility." The tone was so dry, one really couldn't tell whether it was straight frustration, or an aggravated joke.
Grabbing a rather thick file-folder, William opened it to Hecate's profile page. "According to your portfolio, you have a rather violent way of soul collection." A slight note of disapproval, but otherwise monotone. Setting the file once more neatly on his desk, the Dispatch Manager sat and intertwined his fingers together before continuing. "While that may pass in the Italian Division, I regret to inform you that it will not here. I prefer to run as well-oiled of a machine as possible, despite the many employees that enjoy throwing in kinks." Pulling out a soul collection file, he held it so that she may grab it. "We are understaffed, and I do so dislike overtime. So I am giving you a case that has seemed to slip under the radar. If you wish, consider it an assessment of your skills."
He was sending her to the Undertaker. To whom he would later speak, and ask on her performance. The legend may seem insane to most, but William was all too aware how intelligent and sane the man really was. In her file, it was stated how much she respected him, and would defend his name to all who dared slander. William may have had a stiff upper lip, but it was about that time where he'd send his former mentor entertainment. Usually Grell was ousted out of the offices, to give a break to all in the Library, but why not the transfer?
"You are to go to the London Funerary. A soul has been missed, and I have chosen you to retrieve it. As stated earlier, violence and the like are not approved. Especially in this case. The Funerary Director, in his lifetime, has been a great boon to us. Generally he acts as informant to the Underground, however we as well get information on the occasion it's needed." A glare, and the Manager was finished with, "I implore you not to smear our reputation."
So, the Italian Division handed over her profile then? It wasn't a surprise, she figured that they would be worried for the British Division. Eyeing the profile with boredom, she eventually shifted her gaze back up as he continued talking to her. As the collection profile was handed over, she flipped it open and gazed through it. James Turner, heart attack at age forty-five; it was no wonder he had went under the radar. Shutting the folder, she tucked it under her arm and listened as he continued. So she wasn't allowed to use such violence then? Very well, despite the body already being placed in a mortuary where it could be fixed properly, she wouldn't harm the body other than the extraction.
As he finally finished, she bowed her head once more, "You needn't worry, the name of the British Division is safe with me." It almost sounded sarcastic, but she was being quite honest, this was her first job in her transfer; there would be no need to slander any names today. Standing back to her full height, green-yellow eyes shifted from side to side to gain a better look at his office, before she let her eyes land back on him again. "Might I ask where exactly this Funerary is? London of course, but that's quite a big city from what I understand." At this point, she hated the way she sounded; it almost appeared that she was a tourist. It couldn't be helped.
One thing was for sure, her scythe would have to be gotten last before her leave, the thing was way too big for her to carry around the Library.
The first impression that he got, was that work was a very high priority for this woman. Perhaps this transfer would be less of a headache, and more of a help. In any case, the straight-backed manager nodded at her reassurance, ignoring any possible note of sarcasm. "I am a very busy man. The General Affairs department can give you more detailed instructions than I." Indeed, London was a large city. As it should've been, being the capital of England itself. "Oh…if you would, take these down with you. Hand them to Marlene."
There was a feeling of relief in the air; she noted it was ever so slight, so her impression was good then? Great, that meant she didn't have to worry as much considering what he told her about the other employees. A brief nod was given as she took the stack of folders and headed out, not another word uttered as she headed downstairs to General Affairs. After a few words with the woman at the front, the stack of folders was sent to Marlene and she was given not only a map to London, but the Library as well so she wouldn't get lost very easily. After signing a few forms, she was pointed toward the door where she would have to wait. Going toward said door, the woman leaned against the frame and closed her eyes. A few who were waiting for their turn began to stare, as the door had finally opened and she was handed the large weapon. The staff of the weapon was four feet in height, three inches around, wrapped around the staff laid what appeared to be yellowed bandage wrappings that had aged over centuries; the blade curved into a C, showing off her Death Scythe as an actual Scythe.
Leaning the scythe onto her shoulder, after she pushed off the wall, her free hand lifted to remove the spectacles on her nose. Her glasses were plain, black framed with some scratches across the lenses; though when they were changed, she replaced them with more feminine black glasses, these having a silver chain with one skull on the right side. She tucked the black framed glasses into her pocket, and then walked out. As she made her way out of the Library, she walked until the edge of the bridge, glancing back only once to the beautiful buildings. Then she turned and lifted the scythe, gently lowering it until it touched the split between realms; her shinigami eyes gave a soft glow of emotion as a rip formed, to which she stepped through and into the human realm.
The first thing that was heard, was the sound of horses clamping on the ground, she glanced to the right to note that a carriage was heading straight toward her. A swift turn and she was out of the way, a reminder set in place to practice shifting realms more often so to not get herself into danger anymore. A sigh and she pulled out the map, glancing to the street signs before making her way into the right direction. It took several minutes before she finally understood where she was going, then only a few more by her speed to make it toward the building with Undertaker hanging over the top. She thought of the irony of her situation for a moment, a Reaper collecting a soul at a Mortuary, with that amusement thought set aside she went to the door and knocked. It was the same knock she had given William's door, knuckle brush and all. This time though she only waited five seconds before making her way inside, the bell above the door a second signal to her arrival.
The place was quite messy, coffins stranded about, but surprisingly it was clean otherwise. Despite the dark room, she could see quite well with better lenses than the other pair, so even if a tiny mouse scurried across the floor, she would see it. "…Hello?" Her presence was obvious; having forced it out as soon as she entered so unless this creature was either out or hiding was the only thing that came to mind.
Well now, that was one particular way to enter the mortal realm that he hadn't felt for some time. Grinning widely, the aged mortician giggled quietly before ambling into a secret alcove that attached to his favoured coffin. The only one standing on its end, to the left of the entryway. He wasn't in any particular rush, as the aura had popped out somewhere a few blocks away. So…this was the one William thought would entertain him? If his memory served, the boy said that it was a female named Hecate. Snickering once more as her presence approached the door, he slid into place, peeking through a crack in the coffin lid.
To be frank, it looked to him as if a wand had been waved, and a now female William stood in his doorway. This thought caused a loud cackle to escape him, and he almost crumbled against the lid. Knowing that to try and hide would be futile, the long, pale digits of the Undertaker slid out to wrap around the edge of the lid and slowly pull it to the side, as well as to aid in keeping balance. The sound emanated by this action would grate against mortal ears. "Ehihihi…I was told I would be getting a visitor in the next few days~" The amusement and mirth that laced his tone always made him appear…cracked. "Would I be correct in assuming that you are 'Ms. Hecate'?~"
The sound of Undertaker's giggle made her vision snap to the coffin where he rested, she nearly lofted a brow as the coffin lid slid open in an almost creepy manner, his voice causing her lip to twitch in attempt to grin in amusement. No, don't break structure. The twitch ceased and she blinked twice, as if bewildered. Hecate had assumed beforehand when she first met William that he was always on top of things, which was not only someone to try and outdo in work ethic, but also someone she could count on when it came to getting and giving information when needed. Though she didn't expect him to have this entire retrieval as a test, surely this man was to make sure she not only was kept in line, but test and push her buttons as well? Assuming the former more so than the latter; a bow of her head was given.
"You are correct, but please just Hecate." She hated anything along the lines of 'Ms.' Or 'Miss.', especially when it came to her name. "Although I regret to say that I haven't been informed of your name, William simply called you the Funeral Director, what may I call you by?" Since he was an informant for not only the Underground but an ally of the British Division, his name would be placed to memory, even if she were to never see him again. "I'll also assume you know why I'm here? I hate to press the issue, but I'd like to see the body of John Turner." The large scythe was shifted on her shoulder to a more comfortable position, her gloved hand holding the scythe seem to handle it with the utmost care, as if it were a child instead of a weapon.
The facial twitch was not lost on him, as he had plenty of years under his belt in observing William. Nodding whilst wearing his eternal grin, the Undertaker chortled once more, as if her simple inquiry of his name was amusing. "Very well, miss. Call me Undertaker~ I am but a humble mortician…" Turning to walk away towards the body freezer, he hummed with obvious amusement. "It certainly is rare when an event such as this occurs~"
The last time a shinigami had to come and retrieve a soul in his funerary, was nearly fifty years ago. Ironically, it was around that time that William began rising in rank. Bringing himself back to the present, the Undertaker began to fiddle around inside of his cloak. The key to the freezer hung on a chain that remained close to his body, along with the various keys to the restricted areas of the Shinigami Library. "Hecate…named after the goddess of witchcraft." A short chuckle, and the door was unlocked and open.
"I shall leave you to your work…perhaps afterwards you'd enjoy some tea and a biscuit?" After a moment, he held up his right index finger, his tone suddenly became chill, and there could have been a potential threat in that inch and a half of blackened keratin. "…Though do be careful. I do not at all enjoy repeating work…and even less do I enjoy the desecration of corpses. Even the dead deserve respect." His grin never left, and when he turned to walk into the small kitchen, he was giggling softly.
Light conversation would always be used with Hecate, especially with allies if for nothing else than to create a bond. "I would hope so, from what Mr. Spears has said, the British Division is just about as tightly run as the Italian Division." She followed behind him to the body freezer, giving a heavy glance over to his clothing. Compared to what she had seen, the man was dressed the most strangely, yet she actually liked it in an even stranger way. Being brought from her thoughts by the sound of her name, she blinked lazily as he mentioned the origin of her namesake. A soft nod came, "Yes, I find that my parents were quite ironic for that, since my last name also includes the origin "Death"." Hecate Morte, the Goddess of Witchcraft and Death; it sounded as if her parents were trying to make her an irony statement.
With the mention of tea and biscuits, she finally broke face to give a soft smile, "Yes, I'd enjoy that if it's not too much trouble." Then a threat, even she could tell it was, but just to toss something back at him a grin curled her lips. "No need for worry, even if I did make a mess, I'm quite good and making my messes disappear; but, sadly, I've made a promise to be a good girl~" It seems the closer she got to the freezer, the more she broke away from the cold and calculated woman that stepped inside the Mortuary. Letting her staff lean against her by itself, she removed one glove and stuffed it in her pocket, her own nails having a tint of grey that was just beginning to form. Lifting the other gloved hand, she slipped into the freezer while shutting the door behind her. A grin formed, without a distraction she could concentrate more on her own power. Her bare hand pressed against the wall of the freezer, a pulse formed before a veil of grey consumed the room. This was a simple barrier to keep the cinematic records from escaping and hurting someone else, nothing more to hurt anyone else; with that done she turned to the body lying in front of her.
He was a lithe man, though with how bad his diet was it wasn't a surprise an artery clogged up to ninety percent and stopped his heart; brown hair laid a mess on top of his head, his dead skin perfectly covered by the Mortician's hands. From the looks of him, he was quite the looker for a human. Biting the cloth tip of the glove on her hand, she pulled it off with her teeth and let it rest there. With both hands free, she grabbed her scythe, and with one quick motion James' chest was pierced by the tip of her blade, her head tilted as a cinematic records shot out to nearly impale her face. It was expected that the soul would fight; she figured being trapped in a body would anger him. Removing her scythe, she slid back to keep away from the attack strips of soul, this one was particularly violent. Her bun had lost its hold, allowing black strands of hair to drop down to her ass; a black ribbon dropping to the floor, a grunt left as her hand lifted on the staff, allowing the yellow wrappings to unravel as it seem to act on its own accord. The yellow strand tangled itself into the cinematic record, forcing it to cease its attack long enough for Hecate to form the all too familiar ball of blue light, attracting the cinematic record into its light as she watched his life pass before her eyes. He was pretty much a good man, though sadly died two weeks before his wedding was scheduled. The woman must've been heart broken, a snort, her husband was deemed to die.
The wrapping was tugged on, forcing it to let go of James' cinematic record as it was sucked into the ball, her blade piercing and absorbing James' soul as finalization. With everything finally done, she retrieved her book from inside a jacket pocket and leaned her scythe against her shoulder; a pen appearing from her jacket as well as she wrote Complete next to James Turner's name. Behind his name laid a list of other names, the book had at least two thousand names in it, and she would be in need a new one soon enough. Setting both pen and book back in their place, the glove between her teeth was placed back onto her hand, opposite glove fished out from her pocket and placed on as well. Turning around, a snap of her fingers shattered the barrier consuming the room. Stopping just as she got to the door, Hecate had to think of anything she might've forgotten, her face scrunched in thought, unable to figure out what it was. Standing there for several seconds, she eventually sighed and figured it to be nothing.
So…her Death Scythe was an actual Scythe blade? His grin widened as he entered the kitchen and pulled down the iron kettle. The file that William sent mentioned that her idol was…him. A short cackle and he eventually got water on the stove. So that is why the boy sent her for entertainment. Humming in curiosity as a pulse of magic slid over his senses, the Undertaker turned the heat to medium, and swiftly, yet completely silently, made his way to the freezer. She was indeed amusing. If not for her nearly identical appearance to William, then for her wit.
She cleaned up her messes, or so she said. Had she cleaned her messes, than she wouldn't have quite such a…nasty reputation in Italia. Even behind his thick curtain of silver, his dual-toned hues caught every motion made, from the initial puncture of the corpse, to the detainment of the rather nasty soul. James had been laying there for quite a time. It was truly no wonder. Undertaker was only faintly impressed at her ability to handle such a situation. If he read the few pieces of paper right, she had held the same rank that William currently did, so honestly, it was to be expected.
As soon as the black ribbon fell from her hair, he knelt to grab it. The motion was done with speed, in order to avoid being seen; a prank of sorts. Something done to amuse himself until he was able to sit down and speak with her. Closing the door, he remained standing in front of it. One of the many creepy gestures that he loved to do. As soon as the door opened, he grinned widely and held the thin accessory between his right index and thumb nails. "Ah…that looked nasty. Forgive me, but I think you may have lost this~" A short cackle, and then a gentlemanly flirt. "Of course…you don't really need it. It seemed to be hidin' somethin', eh?" A short hum, and he turned to lead her into the kitchen.
As the door was pushed open, she nearly collided with black; her mind nearly went haywire before she gathered herself and took a step back. Looking up to the crazy grin adoring his features, and then to her black ribbon, Hecate had a nearly blank look on her face; as if she were trying to decide exactly what to do. Then he had turned to go somewhere else, she silently followed behind, unable to form words. Well her previous assumption that he didn't know that much was immediately snuffed out, William had told him a few things obviously, but she was becoming suspicious that he knew about some things that even humans would go insane knowing. …Could that be the reasoning to his cracked ways?
Pushing all of that aside, she found her voice once more as the monotone returned from previous; a light pink forming across her cheeks in embarrassment from his words only several moments ago. "May I have my ribbon back please?" Her head lowered slightly, thick black hair curtaining most of her body save the front; the shift was not only caused by Undertaker's closeness, but also the fact that she didn't particularly care for asking nicely. Seeing as he was an ally, and her promise, she was forced to do so anyways. She could always lie…but that was out of the question, it went against everything she stood for, strangely.
Lithe pianists' digits played idly with the black accessory as he approached the stove to check on the water. As he had left it on a lower setting, it wasn't yet boiling; and so he left it to grab two beakers from the cabinet. "As I have said, you don't need it." To accentuate the genuineness of his statement, his tone had calmed. It no longer sounded like he was going to burst into riots. Instead, he wrapped the ribbon around his fingers and placed his hand in his pocket. Pulling out his hand, the ribbon was nowhere to be seen, instead a scalpel was precariously balanced in his fingertips.
A flick of his wrist and the surgical blade imbedded itself in the baseboard near Hecate's feet, holding a now dead attic mouse in place. "And here I was told that the problem had been taken care of…" The intonation was of idle observation, however the Undertaker was rather incensed. Rats and mice ate at corpses…and business was lost if even one was present. "Ah…that can be dealt with later…" The chirp had returned, and he gazed through his fringe at the woman sent by William. "It seems we'll need to wait on the water~" Motioning with his left arm to a coffin, he chortled. "Would the lady like a seat?~"
By this point, Hecate had turned a dark red as her ribbon was placed in his pocket; her irritation rising to a slightly new height, she wasn't going to kill him over a ribbon, that would simply be ignorant. No, instead, she'd try to keep from reaping his soul by mental exercises. Deep breath, then suddenly; thunk, green-yellow eyes glance down as a dress shoe stopped from stepping on a dead rat impaled by a scalpel. Blinking lightly, she glanced up to him as he went to offer a seat. Instead of answering, she simply nodded and waited for him to turn around. A single hand floated above the scalpel, and by the amount of light in the room, strand of silver wire had dropped down and wrapped itself firmly around the blade. A single tug and it was in her hand, taking a few steps toward a coffin, the blade was thrown with precision and speed toward the mortician's hand.
"How am I going to be professional without my hair pulled back from my face?" Her question almost seemed innocent, if it wasn't laced with slight ire. Her scythe was placed against the wall before a seat was taken, her legs crossed as she patiently waited for her tea, features schooled back to neutral as the blood that had previously rushed into her features faded away quickly. If this was a test by William, then congratulations to him, he had not only startled her and caused her to rethink everything she stood for, she had to keep from chopping off this poor man's head in her ire and mirth. "From what I heard, Italia is getting infested as well, they usually poison some old food and place it in the back of their stores where mice migrate; its kept the population down for the most part."
He knew that look, and the fact that he had accomplished the feat of having it aimed at him so quickly made him snicker. Aged yet honed ears caught the sound of wire, and the slight squish of the mouse as the blade was removed. Normally he wouldn't pin-point his senses over such a trivial event, but women could be unpredictable. Also, this woman's reputation preceded her. Upon sensing his own blade flying towards his hand, the Silver Mortician grinned, and caught the instrument with his fingertips; giving a twirl of flourish before placing it back inside the pocket it came from. Not a beat was missed, and he pulled the kettle off of the burner before it could whistle.
"You ask that of a man that runs a business with an eternal fringe in his face~!" A cackle, as if she hadn't just tried to impale his hand; but simply handed the blade to him. "There are times when a more relaxed look does more than one of rigidity~" How many years had he tried to drill that into William? At least twenty. Shaking his head, the Undertaker spooned the tea leaves and sugar into the pot. Pouring two beakers, he held them by their edges. Handing her the one in his left hand, he grinned. "That actually sounds like splendid advice…perhaps I should visit Italia more often." He might actually learn something new. It had been several centuries since he had settled in Great Britain after all.
"I know another who is about as rigid as a coffin lid. Might I ask why you are so anxious about your appearance?" The Undertaker loathed only a few things. Those were; the Nobility of the world, cruelty to women, children, and the dead, and false praise. The words that came from his lips were not at all insincere; Hecate was an attractive woman. One would have to be completely blind not to see it. "…I simply wonder why you deem it…appropriate to hide away."
"...L'inferno?" That was certainly startling; he had caught that almost…too flawlessly. Staring at him as he continued his work, she began to study him more closely than before, from his pale visual to the scar across his pinkie. Luckily her Italian was mumbled, else he probably would've given her another grin and laugh, he seemed to have visited once before, he probably already knew the language. Taking the beaker in her hands, she looked down to the tea as he mentioned William. There was no mistaken that he was speaking of the reaper, the man was just as ridged as she was, maybe even more so. The reflection of herself in the tea caused a moment of softness in her eyes; Hecate had done well so far to avoid mirrors and any reflective image.
It could've been totally possible that she had forgotten what she looked like, though that was neither here nor there. Looking back up to Undertaker, the softness had left. "I don't believe its hiding my hair; it's long and nearly impossible to get all the tangles out, especially when it comes to fighting souls. Not only that, but I'm not use to having hair in my face during the middle of important work." Her head tilted slightly to the right, boredom written across her face as if she had explained this nearly a thousand times. Because of the flawless catch he had pulled, she was a bit more inclined to keep her annoyance down, and instead use it as a way to possibly revisit him in the future. Hecate found him an interesting creature, anything would be good enough to use at this point...as long as it made sense. "Since you're so keen on keeping my hair down, I'll leave it as such."
Well, there wasn't really a point in fighting him anymore; he obviously wasn't going to give up the ribbon anytime soon. Lifting the beaker, she took a few sips of the steaming tea.
Glancing back at her mumble, the Undertaker felt his brow rise in curiosity. Did William tell her nothing, or did the boy simply insinuate he was human? The grin that climbed onto his lips at this possible revelation was almost wide enough to touch his ears. If that was the amount of amusement William was going to give him, then perhaps he'd reward his former student with a more detailed report than normal. Perhaps even go to the Library himself. Shaking himself from his thoughts, he sat and sipped his own tea before replying.
"While I completely understand…there are ways to manage extremely long locks…and do one's work well~" His right hand motioned to his shop – the counters, coffins, and the freezer. "I've had these strands since I was but a boy. Not the best time growing up, I assure you~" Laughing at his own joke, he mused silently as to why she would leave her hair for essentially, a complete stranger. "To solve detangling and split ended issues, I do advise coconut oil…" Gripping the end of one of his forelocks in between his fingers, he frowned as he looked at it. "Perhaps I should take my own advice here soon."
After a moment, he decided to poke at her even further. But how to broach the subject of…himself? Perhaps a harmless question would do. "Now…pardon my
potential obtuseness. But why do you carry a scythe that perhaps belongs to Death itself?" He wasn't really at all a vain creature, but he had a feeling that it had something to do with him. "From what I see, most 'Death Scythes' are more…of the Gardening variety~"
Here she was taking advice from someone she had just met; about her own hair no less. The black locks were well taken care off, appearing as if she got it trimmed every three weeks to a month. Coconut oil, it would be an interesting substitute until she found a proper barber. It wouldn't be odd to take advice from a man that had hair longer than possibly her Mother by now, would it? Deciding not, she nodded and placed that to memory, taking another sip of the tea. Then the subject of her Death Scythe was brought up, and she was once again reminded of how much William could've told him.
Glancing at the dangerous weapon, she turned back to Undertaker and sat there for at least a minute, deciding how she could explain it, if she should explain it at all. Finally, the words seemed to form in a line that made sense, even for a human. "A while back, when I first started working, I had begun to look up to a man who worked the same line as I did. He had already retired by the time I started of course, but he was considered legendary by even the people of Italy. I use to just look up to him, but lately I've been striving to have at least a bit of the glory he had." By this point, she looked slightly troubled, as if reminded of the reports of all the violence on her profile. It was likely going to be a stone she wouldn't be able to pass for quite some time.
"He owned, from what I heard from my superiors, an actual Scythe that was quite beautiful by description. I didn't want to mimic his blade, but I did want something like it." A small shrug, it wouldn't hurt to reveal this bit, would it? "Today you can't really smith your own blades, you have to get approved for any sort of equipment as far as I know, but a few years back-"More like a few centuries, but hey. "If you had the skill and time, you could. I spent nearly two weeks just creating the design and perfecting the blades curve." That was the most annoying part of the entire scythe, that blade was hard to curve even with her talented hands. "Though, sometimes I do wonder what his scythe actually looks and feels like, from the description it had to be pretty heavy..." On a closer look, someone could easily tell the awe and admiration in her eyes, the tiny pink dusting her cheeks as she nearly began to daze off into space.
Forcing herself out of said daze, Hecate looked at Undertaker once more; her question would seem innocent and small enough. She would build up over time though, "How long have you been working here? It seems you're well settled."
As he waited for her to figure out how to phrase an answer, the Undertaker gazed over at the scythe, admiring the craftsmanship. Particularly the large curve of the sickled blade. It was not only elegant, but efficient in its' form. Of course, his line of sight could only be guessed at, as his hues were hidden completely behind his fringe. Upon her vague, yet still revealing start, his grin widened a titch and he took a sip of tea. "Retired? You mean to tell me that this idol simply…quit?" She may not have said that particular word, Idol. But it fit.
Downing the rest of his beaker, he set it beside him and gently tapped the lid before continuing. "For someone as 'legendary' as you say he was…I would expect him to enjoy the attention~" A cackle, both at her expense, and his next question. He gave a Cheshire grin. "I haven't heard of personal smithing in at least a decade or two, if not more. Where did you accomplish this piece of weaponry?~" It was obviously a rhetorical tease. Though it insinuated an age on his part. Though, it surprised him to hear that the Italian Dispatch had admired his blade. Most places he travelled, he usually got that it was much too macabre, or too large for sensible use.
Blinking out of his reminiscence, the aged Mortician damn near fell into a fit of chuckles at her awed expression. Settling himself with another nearly Cheshire grin, he hummed lowly before answering her own question. "You mean an attendant to the dead? Ehihi~ It's been that way since I can remember." He folded his thin fingers and tilted his head to the right. Vague, yet completely truthful, like her own responses. "Despite this, I've only been in Great Britain for a short period." Compared to the long expanse of time he has been in existence, it was indeed short. She amused him, so he would give her slight answers.
Did William not warn this man that she admired Demitru so much that she placed another reaper in the infirmary for slandering his name? Her jaw twitched as she attempted to calm herself, what did this human know anyways? It was probably just a series of questions asked to know more about Demitru anyways. "Well, eventually even a celebrity gets tired of all his fame, and goes into hiding to take a break." She left no room for questioning on that, the statement was almost a bit to firm, she realized this and continued to push herself to calm down.
At least she was getting better at controlling herself, her stability being a work in progress since her fiancé's death. Shifting as she finished her own beaker filled with tea, the glass was set off to the side. Her glasses were removed from her nose, brought down to her free hand which had brought out a crimson stained cloth, a speck of dirt removed from the lenses before being placed back on. Her eyes did match William's to a tee, without the frames in the way at least, but the yellow in her eyes seemed to shift from a florescent yellow to a pure gold with each emotion that passed by her features nearly undetected. As of right now, they were a brilliant gold mixed with a forest green.
She then answered his previous question, having not looked up as she was cleaning her glasses while saying so. "This job is a hard one, I imagine he got tired of the continuous and relentless paperwork; there is also the field work, which isn't any easier when you know that this person or that could be a mother, a daughter, a sister, wife, cousin, it hardly matters. It takes a toll on you no matter how detached you are from this job, even if it's just a niche. I've been working as a field agent for quite some time; I'm surprised I'm not as cold as my father was." That much was the truth, especially for Hecate; it didn't matter how detached reapers were supposed to be, and even William probably had some trouble for a split millisecond. Most said she was full of it, or that she was nearly human in her emotional range, which is why she would hide it so well; she remembered the bullies from her school quite well, they were a constant reminder of what she couldn't do.
Glancing up as he mentioned her blade once more, she looked back to it with a small grin, "I smithed that blade in Italy, I had a favor from the blacksmith who worked with our company, he let me borrow his forge until it was done." And trained her on how to curve that blade that he admired so much, but he didn't have to know that, and neither did she know he was truly admiring her weapon. When he answered her question, she nodded softly, so he had been to other places as well? That caused a tilt to her head, "Your accent is British, I would've never assumed you weren't native." He never insinuated that, but she wanted to try and make a jab at where his nationalities lied.
A relatively calm laugh escaped him at her defense. She was calmer than what he had expected, as William indeed insinuated that insulting himself may cause a few injuries. "Forgive me~ I am used to dealing with haughty nobles…one thing I despise about this country in particular~" The English had a pride that was about as big as their country, if not larger. Snorting at his mental metaphor, the Undertaker allowed his face to fall into a more serious expression.
"You have never met this creature. You have not seen his legendary feats for yourself…why idolize something that is as substantial as air?" One thing he always taught, not only to prevent unnecessary bias against other supernatural creatures, but to lessen the drama between young reapers; 'Believe nothing of what you hear, and only half of what you see'. The laughter had almost left his tone. Yes, it was a field that had the constant danger of having to collect someone you love, but also did it have a large and bearing burden on one's sanity.
Pushing the more serious thoughts from his mind, he once again took in her appearance. Her eyes caused a curious hum to leave him. It was certainly a strange colour to see in the eyes of a reaper, not one that was at all common. Several eons ago, a partner of his had it in reverse, molten gold on the outside, forest green within. The Undertaker hadn't seen such a case since. Perhaps he would ask William to send her more often. While she was amusing to no end, her intelligence was refreshing to be around. Even the Crimson Lady got grating…though he'd never say that to her face.
Chuckling after a moment, the wide smile returned to his face. "I understand your situation, and your stress. As a mortician, I must live with the possibility that I must preserve a body that is close to me…" Standing to once again make his way into the kitchen, it had just occurred to him that he forgot the biscuits. Head tilted Hecate's direction to show he was listening; Undertaker opened the top cupboard and grabbed a medium sized urn. "I thank you, miss~ I have been told I am rather talented at imitation." Making his way to her coffin, he opened the urn and lowered it in offering. "Bonemeal, sugar, and a hint of vanilla." On the subject of his true ethnicity, he pondered how best to explain.
"My roots originate in what you'd know as Ramnicu Valcea. It's the capital of the Valcea County of Romania." Said county was also inside of Oltenia, a rather historical location. An accent bled through as he spoke the native name of the city, and for a moment he remained silent after, if only to re-obtain the Lower Sussex lilt he favoured.
A nod was given, she accepted the…apology? It was hard to tell with the amusing laughter and smile, though she was surprised to find it drop at the next question to leave his lips, almost stunning her in silence. Why should she admire someone she hadn't met nor seen? Only one answer seemed to scream back at her, and she found it almost too cheesy to say. "Because even if I haven't seen it, knowing that the accomplishments he has made are achievable by someone like me is something I admire and strive for." It always seemed like that, Hecate had always put herself two steps below everyone, to try and be three steps above them when a challenge was made.
As he explained his stress with his job, Hecate adjusted her glasses to cause a glint to hit the lenses and shield her eyes in a mirror of light. "Not to degrade your job, nor cause any disrespect, but I much rather trade jobs with you. To make a person, even if they are a loved one, beautiful at their final closing of life…instead of taking away their life; it's a pleasure I'd much rather have." Did she regret taking on the job of a reaper? Of course not, it was a pleasure to do so, but the stress did crash down on her at times. Then she was offered a biscuit, at the ingredient list, she tilted her head curiously and took one. Nibbling at the end, Hecate found a pleased hum leave her lips. As much as she enjoyed her job, cooking was also a passion that relieved a lot of stress, licking the crumbs from her lips, half the biscuit still in her hand, she looked up to him. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd love the recipe to these." They were quite delicious.
As he spoke of his origins, the immediate thought was that he could've been a vampire; Romania was known to have a problem with them. It would explain his quick reactions to the scalpel, along with the reasoning as to why William freely allowed information to slip to him. "Ohn, I see." A small nod, "I was born in Sicilia, as it's known today. I found that it's grown and flourished quite beautifully as a city. I found myself missing it as of lately." Homesick would be the best word, but the tiny grin on her face proved she didn't regret leaving. Hecate knew that this man would want some sort of information from her as well, as she was slowly figuring out more about him; so it was only polite that she share some information on herself before being asked.
Nibbling some more on her biscuit, Hecate eventually spurred up the courage to finally ask the man the question that has been bothering her since the scalpel. "…Not that I'm trying to boost my own ego here… but how did you manage to catch that scalpel?" The biscuit was now devoured, long since forgotten as she brushed the crumbs from her lap and lips.
"No offense is at all taken, m'dear. It's an understandable desire. Perhaps you share the same opinion as I, that a Funeral is simply the last party of one's life?" He was on his second biscuit, the urn sitting beside him on the coffin. After finishing the baked good, he let out a hearty cackle at her pleased hum. It was a reaction that he never got tired of seeing. Her explanation for why she admired him would sit at the back of his mind, at least for now. Giving a nod to acknowledge it, he continued to her request for the recipe. "Although it is simple, I prefer to keep that secret~ Though you are more than welcome to come again, to have another sitting of tea, should you like~"
Italia was one of the countries that he had not travelled too extensively. He may have passed through Sicilia at some point, but nothing came to him about such. "If I may be so bold, though you miss it, you don't seem to regret leaving… ~" The eternal grin was back to a 'normal' level. Grabbing the urn, he offered yet another biscuit, the unvoiced question hanging at the end of his sentence. What reason was there for no regrets? Though he was somewhat surprised by her question. He didn't think she would actually ask.
And it would be only because she gave him such amusement, would he answer. "You are familiar with General Affairs, the Glasses Department, and of course Dispatch?" His grin widened, as she was sure to either be surprised he knew such terms, or furious that William didn't enlighten her to his specie. "Consider what I do to be another sort of Department if you would. I rarely do field work, as my job is simply to gather information." A loud cackle escaped him. "I take it…William forgot to mention my race? No. More than likely, it was to entertain me." The grin worn almost turned sadistic. Holding up his finger, he continued; "You see…I despise the Queen, and her dirty money. Shinigami currency doesn't interest me. Payment for my services is simple; bestow upon me the choicest of laughter."
"Actually, yes I am." She wasn't surprised, morticians usually found comfort with that sort of thinking, as she had found comfort in the same aspect. A small smile was given once more, and she found herself doing so more often around him. Maybe Hecate found a bit of comfort despite his irritating questions on her idolizations? It could be true; his laughter was contagious in some ways, as she found herself trying to contain a smile every time he did laugh. It almost felt as if…no…she wouldn't bring those thoughts back again. "I'd love to come back, you're certainly entertaining." If only she knew how entertaining she was to him right then, her words would've been eaten the second they left her lips.
As her home was brought about, she took another biscuit without a second thought, a small scoff leaving her lips as she nibbled on the edge. "Of course I don't, the city was beautiful, and the people were rotten…" Were details really needed? Her gaze rose as he spoke about the shinigami dispatch, despite her emotions coming out, she had an iron grip on the surprise that clamped down. So he was…a shinigami? Now everything seemed to fall into place for her, though the surprise didn't show, relief did. Her words wouldn't need to be carefully watched, and she could speak as freely as desired. "Well then…having a scythe in his ass seems the least of my worries concerning his humor being so cruel." It was slightly mumbled, pink flushing her features. "I understand, though Italia doesn't have that in their Division, I don't see why Britain shouldn't."
Then the last sentence spoke cause a brow to lift in an almost bland curiosity. "So I assume the reason as to why you've been answering my questions is because I amuse you to no end?" She almost looked annoyed, if not for the amused grin on her lips. She was laughing at her own embarrassment, when the truth was so blandly placed in front of her. Hecate almost felt dense, almost. "Excuse me if it's intruding on personal history, but that scar on your pinkie, it doesn't look like something a scalpel would do. What happened?" The scar was peculiar, and she couldn't help but glance at it every once in a while.
So she was one of those. That was refreshing to hear. At her statement of him being entertaining, he chuckled and shook his head. "Then I think, that you are entertaining yourself~" He was of the assumption that it was his giggly and mirthful nature that brought her amusement. True, he was always amused at something or other, but perhaps it was his amusement at her, that entertained. The more he thought about it, the more he went in circles, and eventually he dissolved into a fit of giggles.
Eh? Coming back to his senses, Undertaker went back over what Hecate had just said about her homeland. "Ah…that sounds like Liverpool…except for Liverpool has a nasty chamberpot smell…" A short snicker and he was finally able to sit straight. He did so mainly to catch her reaction to the first part of his answer. …No shock, eh? That was a little disappointing, if he were to be honest. Perhaps the next time William sent him someone, he'd tone it down.
Although it was mumbled, he heard her statement of ire, and it sent him tumbling to the floor in full, body-shaking cackles. For a couple of moments, he couldn't breathe. The way he had fallen, the collar of his coat moved away from his throat, exposing the scar that wrapped completely around. Laughter drowned the third part of her reaction, and it was several more minutes before he pulled himself to rest his torso atop the coffin.
Finally able to breathe and respond in some fashion, he nodded and tried his damndest to quiet his mirth so he could communicate. "Hehe…heh…HEHEHAHIII~" It seemed that he was failing, and doing so spectacularly. Planting his face into the coffin lid, he made a little twirling motion with his finger, and his cackles were once more renewed.
His fits of rowdy laughter had ceased any thought process she had, watching as the man tried to contain himself with complete failure. For once, Hecate let a smile crease her cheeks, the shine of perfect teeth as she chuckled and nearly laughed herself finally entering the air. His laughter was contagious, and she eventually found herself calming despite his renewed laughter. Standing up to pick up five more biscuits, she kneeled down next to him, appearing as if she was checking for a pulse when she instead was checking his scars. She was respecting personal space at least, instead of examining them as she desired too.
They were certainly interesting; the design of the scars is what caused her to become so interested. She'd probably ask William about them, as he would surely know about it, and explain that he was in a fit of laughter and thus couldn't answer or else she wouldn't have bothered. Deciding that it would be best if she left him now, a rather amusing thought played in her head; should she play it out? It would be funny, at least to her, and a part of her wondered if it would stun him. Her words were spoken with such a tone that even if she spoke loud enough for anyone else in the room to hear, it would sound like nothing but a whisper to the listener.
"Consider that payment for any disrespect I might've shown you~" Then, her full and soft lips pressed against his cheek; her lips would feel surprisingly warm, then she was suddenly up, with her scythe, and out the door with a nearly cheeky wave thrown over her shoulder. "Until next time, Undertaker~"