Before I Fall
Standard Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix Co., Ltd. Used without permission but with a lot of respect.
A/N: I usually don't write more than one story at a time, but this idea wouldn't leave me alone. I will go back and finish "Undertaker Knows Best" (probably next week) but I just wanted to go ahead and write this chapter. This story will probably be a very BIG project.
Chapter 1:
The reaper realm had changed so much that it almost looked foreign to William. The shape of the buildings, the devices, and the technology; everything was so different and so new. There were times he almost felt out of place despite the fact this had been his home for over three centuries. Recently he had begun to feel old and a little tired, and even his reflection in his window seemed to agree. Once they reached a certain age, reapers could stop the outward appearance of aging, but they could also allow themselves to show the passage of time if they so desired. William had allowed just a hint of silver to grace his dark hair, and he rather liked the effect. Not only did it add a touch of senior professionalism, it stood as a testament that he had lived for a long time even among a world of immortals.
A soft knock at the door interrupted his thoughts, and he turned slightly to look in that direction. "Enter," he simply said. His tone was low, but there was no need to speak loudly. There was no noise for his voice to compete with in his otherwise silent office.
The door opened and a petite, slender woman stepped into the room. She was every inch the professional from her light brown hair that was curled in an exact bun on the back of her head to her smooth, wrinkle free attire. She was an attractive woman, but there seemed to be something lack in her personality and identity other than her office duties. William recognized these traits with irony since she was almost as much his reflection as his image in his window. "I have the reports from the dispatch agencies' supervisors," she announced in a regular tone as she held out a rather thick stack of files in her hands.
"Please set them on the desk, Miss Hager," he instructed.
She crossed the room, her legs scissoring beneath the pencil skirt that did well to emphasize the gentle flair of her hips and the way her legs tapered down gracefully to her ankles. Her outfit, however, was more than a uniform and a symbol of her position than one designed to make her look feminine and sexy. "I also have a letter here from the High Council," she said, laying the aforementioned letter on his desk. "May I get you anything, sir?"
"No thank you," William replied.
There was no readable expression on the woman's face when she nodded her head in response and quickly started to leave the room. Just as she opened the door, she almost bumped into a man who happened to be standing there with his fist raised to knock. He smiled and laughed slightly at the near mishap. "I'm not trying to hit you, Miss Hager," he said sheepishly, "I was just going to check on Will here."
"Hello, Maynard," William greeted, "Can I help you?"
"I told you before to call me Marcus," was the ready response. Marcus stepped into the room around the secretary who seemed neither surprised nor flustered by his sudden appearance. Wordlessly, she left and closed the door gently behind her.
"I don't typically refer to my coworkers by their first names," replied William.
Marcus laughed again as he joined William by the large window that overlooked the heart of their realm. He wasn't a big man and he had to look up slightly to look William in the eye. His shoulders were narrow and for the most part he had quite a slim build. However, it appeared that he carried all of his excess weight in his head so that it ballooned above his body. His cheeks were round and slightly ruddy, and his tiny, restless eyes seemed to rest in fleshy hammocks. He had a ready smile, but his attitude had always seemed a bit too jovial for the workplace in William's opinion. Hearing that William preferred to use formal titles, Marcus laughed loudly and theatrically. "Loosen up, Will," he said, "The next round of promotions won't be for a while, and I'm not someone you need to impress. He laughed again, and William felt his face color slightly. It wasn't precisely a secret that he was working towards another promotion, but he didn't like others thinking that he insisted on professionalism just because he only thought of his own career.
"I don't like to fall into bad habits," William answered, stepping away from the window and moving towards his desk. He hoped that Marcus would get the hint that he had work to do and leave his office, but his rather annoying colleague let out a whistle instead.
"Hey, Will!" he shouted, "Are you ready for a round of spot the red reaper?"
Despite his intentions of getting to work, William turned again and looked out the window. Even at this distance, Grell was impossible to miss among the crowd that looked like tiny, boring ants milling off towards their hill. In the dispatch office, dress code regulations were much stricter than they had in the past, so gone was Grell's beloved coat he had taken from that woman, and his unruly, crimson mane was pulled back neatly. Even wearing the same clothes as everyone else, Grell still stood out. It was as if something in his very nature refused to allow him to become just another member of the crowd. Unlike Will, Grell hadn't allowed himself to physically age, so his hair was just as vibrant as it had ever been. If he had seen a gray strand, he probably would have panicked and immediately had it dyed. A sudden, forbidden memory rose up in William of that hair spread out about Grell's reclined head like a scarlet halo, but he quickly shoved deep within a hidden recess of his mind as he turned away and returned to his desk.
"He certainly does stand out in a crowd," Marcus commented, apparently unaware that William felt uncomfortable. "They say he's a lot of trouble. His current supervisor, uh…What's the name of the chap that took over your old position?"
"Stepp," William answered in the calmest voice he could manage.
"Yeah, that's it. Anyway, I heard he's been complaining about that one almost non-stop. Says he's impossible to control and always finding some way to make a scene. Was he that way when you were his supervisor?"
"Sutcliff has always been a handful," managed William, but immediately regretted his choice of words as his mind conjured images of Grell in his hands and in his arms.
"Yeah he almost cost you this promotion with that stunt of killing those women, didn't he," Marcus said, turning towards William briefly, "Good thing for you the council decided that you weren't responsible for his actions, or you'd never had gotten out of that dinky office you had." He turned his attention back to the window, although Grell was undoubtedly almost out of sight by now. "Of course, he is easy on the eyes, and they say that's not the only way he's easy, if you know what I mean." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "If he was my subordinate, I'd be assigning him some overtime bent over my desk."
William curled his hand into tight fists as he used every ounce of his strength to resist the urge to punch Marcus directly in his fat face. "This isn't an appropriate conversation for the office, Maynard," he said in as steady of a tone as he could muster, "Besides, I have some work I need to do."
"You really need to develop a sense of humor, Will," Marcus admonished, but he turned to leave. Opening the door, he turned back to look at William one final time. "You almost act like you actually had a thing for the freak," he said, punctuated his statement by closing the door behind him with more force than was necessary.
Once he was gone, William slowly let out a long breath that he had barely realized he had been holding. Truthfully, most of his anger towards Marcus' comments had been out of guilt. When he had been fighting for this promotion, he was more than a little relieved when the council had decided that he wasn't to blame for Grell's actions. After all, William wasn't responsible – at least not directly. While it was true he had noticed that Grell had been acting peculiarly but did nothing to learn what might be troubling the redhead, and he might be partly to blame for Grell's weakened state of mind, he hadn't been the one to actually murder anyone. That was solely Grell, and, in order to obtain his promotion, he had been more than ready to throw Grell under the bus.
Of course, that wasn't the only thing that Grell had been under.
Plus, Grell was the subject of a lot of rumors. William had heard all of the talk, and while he knew that a lot of the gossip was untrue, Grell actually seemed to encourage the less than savory reputation he seemed to inspire. He purposely flirted with the very gossipmongers that so sullied his name, and every other word that seemed to slip past his lips was an innuendo. If he had been here just now, he probably would have cozied up to Marcus and acted flattered by the crude comments, despite the fact that William doubted Grell would actually entertain any of thought of being with the man. While Grell acted as if he was immoral, oversexed moron, William did know him well enough to realize it was mostly an act. Grell was far choosier over who he actually allowed in his bed.
But he had allowed William, and he was sure the redhead would have done so again if he was given a chance, despite the way that William had treated him.
He shook his head slightly as if trying to physically dispel the thoughts and unconsciously adjusted his glasses, but his mind was fixated. The sounds, smells, touch of skin on skin – it was all so real that it felt like all of his senses were on fire. In an attempt to regain control, he picked up the letter from the council and began to read.
It seemed that there had been an increase in demon activity being reported in other parts of the world. While it hadn't reached their area, it was still recommended that all dispatch supervisors report any demonic activity and take necessary precautions if needed.
William grabbed a clean piece of paper and quickly scribbled a note saying as much to the dispatch supervisors that were under him…
(Grell had been under him.)
…as it was his job as the vice president of supervisory affairs. He only hoped that everyone would take the warning seriously. While it may never actually affect anyone in their offices, it was still important to be ready. You could never be too careful when it came to dealing with demons.
Or relationship with coworkers.
((X))
Grell walked down the well waxed floor of the academy as she headed towards the broom closet that someone had the audacity to call an office. The tiny room had barely enough space for her desk, a chair for her, and a chair for any student wishing to speak to her. Despite this, she had been able to make the space truly hers with a couple of pictures to decorate her desk, a full length mirror on the back of the door, and a few other wall hangings that truly denoted this as being her office. Smiling softly, she stepped inside and shut the door behind her.
A reflection of a stranger greeted her. Jasper, the current dispatch supervisor, had really gone overboard with the new clothing regulations. Everything had to be black; black slacks, shoes, vest, jacket, gloves, and tie. The only exception was the white dress shirt, but the style and cut of was just as heavily regulated. It was as if the man was allergic to color and any sense of fashion. Every field agent even had to wear the same style of glasses and no extra trinkets or ornaments was allowed. Grell had tried to rebel in every little way possible in the beginning, until Jasper stated he could easily make a rule concerning hair length. At that point she decided it wasn't worth the effort to keep fighting the frivolous rules. Besides, no matter how plainly they made her dress, they could never fully hide her brilliant inner light.
She removed the plain black jacket and tie and laid both on the desk. A hanger suspended a nearby nail she had placed herself held her very special, red coat. Putting the coat on, she allowed it to drape just above her elbows as she always had before hanging up the drab jacket. Her red and white striped tie was in a desk drawer along with some makeup, and her favorite red and black high heeled boots were setting under the desks. Within minutes, was looking more like her old self, her real self, as she put on her signature red glasses with the chain and released her hair in a crimson tide. Thankfully, while the academy still had a dress code for instructors, it wasn't nearly as strict or monochromatic. She was free to dress as she had before, back when things were better – back when things were right. William had been close at hand and not holed up in some office she couldn't even visit without an appointment.
However, as she quickly ran a brush through her hair, she realized that just because she had been in close proximity to Will, she still had never been any closer to the actual man. There had been two times that she had manage to bridge the gap between them, but both times she had been pushed away afterwards. The pain had been very real and intense, especially on the second occasion, and her bruised emotions had were laced with anger. There had been a time when she thought she truly hated the man, but her real emotions always won out in the end. In a way, it was a curse to be able to fall in love with someone so deeply who seemed determined to reject her, but it wasn't as if she could change the way her heart felt.
"Oh, Will," she whispered to her reflection, "I've given you two chances. I'd be willing to give you a third, but you can't use me and reject me again. I don't think my heart could take it." Her reflection's only answer was to stare back at her with sorrowful eyes.
Blinking out of her thoughts, she made some last minute adjustments to her makeup and ended by blowing a kiss at her reflection. "There you are, gorgeous," she said to the mirror, "I knew you were just hiding under all that drab."
Leaving her office, she walked down the hall, the clacking of her heels announcing her arrival to all in the vicinity. After all, it would be the first day of classes for the latest group of new students and she had to make a memorable first impression. Fashionably late, she strolled into a room full of nervous students, and their conversations slowly tapered as she walked across the room and sat on top of the desk. The academy itself had changed considerably over the years, especially with the influx of newly reborn reapers. Classes were now broken up and specialized, and Grell actually rather liked the subjects she had been assigned to teach. "Welcome to 'Introduction to the Proper Use and Care of Your Scythe,'" she greeted, "I'm your instructor, Miss Sutcliff. Just so you know, I don't particularly care much for teaching, so I'll do my best to make this as painless an experience as I can for both of us."
The class murmured their appreciation as Grell twisted slightly and picked up a training scythe from her desk. "Has everyone been given their training scythes?" she asked.
Everyone nodded, but then one young man tentatively raised his hand. "Yes?" Grell prompted, pointing towards him.
He stood up nervously and ran a hand through his hair – which Grell noted to be soft red in color. Inwardly she smiled as she felt an immediate kinship towards a fellow ginger, although his hair lacked the vibrancy of her own. He even had pale freckles across his nose much like the ones she kept carefully hidden with makeup. "I was wondering," he began, "Why are we, uh, training with those. Once we graduate, aren't we given a different type of scythe?"
"Good question, Mr.…"
"Salyers," the boy offered, "Jimmy Salyers."
"Good question, Jimmy," she said, barely suppressing a giggle the way the boy's face had colored when she had opted to use his first name. "When, or rather if, you graduate, you will be given a choice of three basic scythe models to use, and one is quite similar to the training model. Besides, it's been shown to be the best to train new reapers like yourself. Of course, some of you may eventually qualify for my honors class, which is Scythe Modification." Smiling, she laid the training scythe and extended her arm so that her chainsaw materialized in her grasp. She saw the surprise painted on many of the students' faces, which only made her own smile grow. "One day you may have a scythe like my baby here. Not exactly the same of course. If you do want to customize your scythe, it will be have to be a design that best suits you." She laughed lightly. "I may be a lady, but I have a very large, powerful scythe," she couldn't resist adding.
"It doesn't look that big," announced a rather deep voice from the back of the room.
The speaker was a rather tall young man with a strong build. He had a dusky complexion and ebony hair that made his reaper eyes seem to glow by contrast, but there was a strength shimmering in those dual irises. Grell's smile widened and she allowed him full view of her razor sharp teeth to show that she was up to the challenge.
"I didn't realize you've had so much time to measure the strength and durability of very many scythes," she replied in a mock innocent tone, "What's your name?"
He crossed his arms across his chest, but his didn't shift from her direct gaze. "Robert Marcum," he said.
"Well, Bob," she began, "I assure you that I'm neither exaggerating its strength or its power, but I'd be more than happy to show you." She jumped off the desk and arranged her coat. "Come on, everyone. Bring your trainee scythes and follow me outside."
She led the way as they filed out of the academy building into a grassy area just outside. It looked as if it was a beautiful day, but the weather here was false as it was controlled completely by the higher powers. The sun shimmering in the faultless blue expanse of the sky was little more than a well-hung painting, and no one had any reason to fear the soft, green gas beneath their feet to trigger allergies. It was all a false beauty, but Grell didn't want to take time to consider that just now.
As everyone stepped outside, she quickly counted and saw that she had twenty-eight students, which was at least eight more than was the maximum number usually allowed, but it couldn't be helped. Quickly, she divided them into four groups and had them stand in straight lines of seven. "You can have the most magnificent scythe in the world," she began, "but it doesn't mean anything if you don't know how to use it. Allow me to show you." She returned her chainsaw back to where it was stored when not in use and took a trainee scythe exactly like the ones they were using from inside her coat. "You four who are first in line, I want you to try and attack me. You will have 7 minutes. If any of you can actually hit me, then we'll dismiss class early. After 7 minutes, the next group of four gets their turn and so forth."
"Do you really want us to attack you?" asked a slender boy with brown hair that seemed to determine to stick out in every direction. "What if we hurt you?"
"Oh, you won't hurt me," she assured, "Now when it's not your turn, please keep an eye on your watches and yell out 'time' when seven minutes have passed. We want everyone to have the same opportunity. Does that sound fair to everyone?" There were some nods, although several still looked unsure. "Then, first group, go!"
There was a brief moment of hesitation, but then the four stories leapt forward in unison. It was impressive they way they worked together so efficiently, but still none of them could really compare to Grell when it came to physical skill. Most held back too much, their scythes shaky in their grasps, and she only had to jump lightly to avoid their amateurish attempts.
Time was up, and the next group had their turn, followed by the next group. It was the same story over and over again. Grell saw a few that had raw talent and potential that could definitely be molded, but none really stood out. In a sense, it was about the best she could have expected, but she couldn't help but be mildly disappointed.
Someone yelled it was time and the last group jumped forward for their turn. She dodged the first three students with ease, but suddenly a scythe came far too close to her ear. She jerked her head back in time to avoid losing an ear or having an impromptu haircut. Turning quickly, she saw the grinning face of Robert Marcum, and she wasn't terribly surprised. The strength and aggression in his eyes only intensified as he swung his scythes. His arc was deadly but wild. If he made contact, he would have done some serious damage, but he hadn't really learned to control the tool.
"I thought you knew how to use that thing," she quipped, "or was it really all for show after all." She effortlessly knocked the other students away and saw them sitting back in the grass in something of a daze as she faced off against Robert.
He truly was the best of the class in this arena, and some part of her saw a younger version of herself in this student. She had been angry and more than a little aggressive during her academic career. It was a time when she was confused about her own identity, and she took this confusion out on other innocent students until she had been viewed as a bully and a troublemaker. Almost no one even remembered that particular phase of her reaper life except for her…and perhaps William.
Robert lashed out; jumping forward so that he landed his weight clumsily on his right leg and leaving his entire abdominal region open to attack. Grell took the given opportunity by hooking her scythe behind the curve of his own and then kicking the young man in the stomach. She could have easily hit him hard enough to have sent him to the infirmary, but she held back so that it only knocked him a few feet away. His scythe dangled on the curved blade of her own and she grabbed it in her right hand and twirled it effortlessly. Like most naturally left-handed individuals, Grell had learned to be quite ambidextrous over her many, many years.
"And that's time," Grell said, turning slightly away from Robert to face the rest of the class. "As you can see, even the most basic tool is powerful in the hands of a capable reaper. Now, you can go. I believe we have about five minutes of class time remaining, but I don't care to release you early. This is your first day after all."
As the students began to walk away, Grell called after them. "Now, don't go losing your scythes and practice using them. Just don't hurt each other. We don't need any one-armed reapers roaming around." She giggled at her own joke as she walked over to Robert, who was still sitting on the ground. "Not bad for your first try," she commended, holding out her hand to him.
He looked gruffly at the offered hand for a moment before finally accepted the help. With a strength that seemed in direct contrast to her own lithe form, she lifted him to his feet and handed him his trainee scythe. He rubbed at his stomach with his free hand, as his eyes, almost hidden by his dark brows that hung low in frustration, stared at her intently. "I will be better than you one day," he growled.
Grell cocked her head to the scythe. "You can try," she returned, "but only two reapers ever bested me when it came to fighting with scythes, and I doubt you'll ever be able to compare to either of them." She sighed softly as thoughts of William invaded her mind.
Robert looked at her strangely for a few minutes before finally turning and walking away, grumbling to himself with every step. Despite his attempts to actually cut her, Grell had to admit she liked this feisty young reaper. If he learned how to control that temper, he would undoubtedly be good at his job, especially now that they were dividing up the workload. Students about to graduate actually handled the majority of the paperwork to allow field agents, like herself, to focus on the physical aspect of gathering souls. It was an arrangement that suited her quite well.
"Senior! Senior Sutcliff!" a familiar voice called to her.
Turning, she saw Ronald running towards her from the front doors of the academy; his tone toned hair bouncing as he moved. Like her, he had been roped into teaching a few classes this semester. It was strange that he was now considered one of the senior reapers because, to her, he still seemed like a kid fresh from the academy. "Ronnie!" she yelled back, throwing up her hand to wave.
He wasn't even out of breath as he reached her. "How are you doing?" he asked.
"Fine. I just finished teaching my first class of this semester," she answered.
"What are you teaching this time around?"
"Scythe basics," she replied, "And an honors class in scythe modifications."
Ronald wrinkled his nose. "I got stuck teaching Ethics."
"I hated that class!" Grell exclaimed, "The instructor tried to fail me even though I had a passing grade."
"Why'd he do that?"
"Well, it wasn't a secret that I didn't like him or the way he taught the class," she began, "Before every test he'd tell us exactly how many we needed to get right to get a C, so I would get exactly that many right. I'd just give the most ridiculous answers to the rest of the questions. I remember once the question was what to do if you were working with a partner and your partner was attacked and outnumbered by demons."
Ronald nodded. "I remember that question. I got it wrong because I wrote that you should try and save your partner."
"The correct answer is that you're supposed to evaluate the situation and make sure the soul you were sent to collect has been safely gathered before you do anything else," she explained, "but I wrote it all depended on how good looking my partner was and if he owed me any money."
Immediately, Ronald burst into laughter that would make Undertaker envious. "I would say that I don't believe it, but that sounds just like something you'd come up with." He draped his arm loosely about Grell's shoulders in a friendly, familiar manner. "Are you heading back to dispatch now?"
"Well, first I need to change my clothes – again. But, I do need to hurry so I'm not late again. I don't need for Jasper, I mean Mr. Stepp, to yell at me."
"He does yell at you a lot," Ronald agreed, "I think he's worse for that then Willia…" Ronald's voice trailed, and it was obvious he hadn't meant to bring up that particular person to Grell. "I'm sorry," he quickly apologized.
"That's okay, Ronnie," Grell said, wrapping her slender arms around her chest as she looked up at the faux sky in thought. "I know you didn't mention him on purpose. I really don't understand William though. I mean, it's the maiden who's supposed to be up in the tower without ever coming down and not the prince."
To his credit, Ronald seemed to realize there was nothing really he could say, so he simply stood by Grell's side as she considered the matter in her mind. The situation with William hurt, and she could feel minute twitching in her eyes that warned of tears, but she held it in. The one thing she didn't want to do in front of anyone was cry, at least not for real. She could let a crocodile tear loose if the situation demanded it, but she wouldn't actually cry – not in front of Ronald.
Not in front of anyone.
((X))
The dense smoke hung heavily on the air as the sickly sweet smell of burning flesh intermingled with the smoke and warned everyone in the vicinity that a great tragedy had occurred. A shell of a once rather plain building stood in the middle of scene; belching smoke as if it was an active volcano that had been previously thought to be dormant. There were no more screams from inside. After the initial explosion, screams had erupted from within the flames of all those who had been trapped inside. A few had made it out of broken windows to wander out towards the gathering crowd; bleeding from countless wounds and their skin blistered and blackened. Now, there was no noises from inside the building except for the crackling of the fire and occasional crash as something disintegrated and fell.
Outside the former factory there was chaos. There were feeble attempts to put out the fire, but the blaze had already gone on for too long. Now efforts were being focused mostly on not allowing the fire to spread. Outside of caution tape, people gathered and shuffled about in uneasy groups. Some were crying, hanging on to others like the only security they had on earth, while others screamed for loved ones that had been lost. More than few were praying – some asking for miracles for ones already given up for dead by the crowd while other prayers went up requesting strength and comfort for those left alive. Other people had gathered simply out of morbid curiosity and were flittering about gawking and taking pictures.
Inside the building, cloaked from all human eyes, Alan and Eric made their way through the wreckage. Although the flames couldn't touch them, the smoke and the smells of chemicals mixed with burning skin, made Eric's eyes water and itch from behind his blue-tinted glasses. Bodies were strewn about randomly, it was obvious which ones had died from the initial explosion and the victims of the following fire. Eric wrinkled his nose in disgust before turning his attention to Alan, who was calmly viewing a cinematic record. "It's a mess here, isn't it?" Eric asked.
Alan glanced at him and shrugged slightly, but it was obvious he was more upset than he was willing to admit. "These factory accidents are always terrible," he agreed, pausing to run a hand through his feathery brown hair.
"I'm not sure if it's the sight or the smell that's worse," Eric added, moving over to Alan. "Are you okay?" he asked, "You're looking a bit pale."
"I'm fine," Alan replied, moving on to the next body.
"I know we were both assigned to this collection," Eric began, "but why don't you take a break. I can finish this by myself."
"I said I'm fine," insisted Alan, but then he sighed. "I didn't mean to speak so sharply, but if Stepp finds out that I didn't work as hard as you, he'll see it as a reason to transfer me. You know that he would."
"Yeah," Eric agreed with a slight growl. Their new supervisor, Mr. Jasper Stepp, made William look both pliant and gentle. William had always allowed Eric and Alan work together just in case Alan had an attack from the Thorns. They both had always worked hard, and Alan actually had the best completion records in the office. In fact, if he hadn't been sick, there was a strong possibility that he would have been made supervisor after William's promotion despite him being so much younger. Eric and Grell had actually worked longer as field agents, but neither one was seen as supervisory material, and Eric honestly agreed with that assumption. After Stepp had been promoted to the recently vacated position, he had done everything he could to assert his authority. He had gotten much stricter about the dress code and had come up with a whole list of unnecessary rules. When Eric had made a point to say that Alan and he had always worked together, Stepp had coldly replied that if Alan was unable to do his jobs on his own then he had no business being a field agent. Stepp simply wouldn't listen to reason, and Eric had gotten to the point that he was curious how long of a suspension he would get if he slugged the man. Finally, Alan had actually made a point to see William who had went to talk to Stepp on their behalf. In the end, they were allowed to work together, but they had to do two complete workloads because Stepp seemed convinced that the other agents would be jealous. No one had ever been jealous of them working together before, but Eric was smart enough not to argue with the arrangement. While they had to work harder, at least he got to stay with Alan in a vain attempt to keep his lover safe.
Staying near Alan, Eric also got to work. It wasn't a particularly hard assignment, but there were enough who had died in the accident it was time consuming and tedious. The fire had all but died down as they set about collecting the last few souls that remained, but then something caught Eric's attention. There was a demon in the vicinity and, judging from the smell which had managed to permeate the stench of burning corpses, it was very close. Immediately, he turned to Alan and the smaller reaper nodded quickly to say that he was also aware of the demon.
After they finished with the last soul, the two left the building, still cloaked so that they were invisible to all mortals, but they didn't immediately create a portal to the reaper realm. Instead, they both took a moment to see if they could spot the demon they had both sensed and smelled. Night was fast approaching, but Alan still spotted a pair of glowing eyes watching them from a nearby tree, and discreetly pointed it out to Eric. There appeared to be only one, and it seemed to be only watching them at the moment. Relieved that there was no immediate danger beyond the demon's presence, Eric created the portal. He allowed Alan to step through first before taking one last look in the demon's direction before walking into the portal.
The portal had taken them outside of dispatch, so they quickly walked inside and made their way to their shared office. In the hallway, they ran into their new supervisor, who did not appear to be in a good mood.
Jasper Stepp was a tall, slightly lanky individual with dark hair that was clipped short and precise. His icy eyes, like shards of green glass, pierced the two, as if he had expected them to be doing something that they shouldn't be at that moment. Eric felt a surge of anger when he came face to face with him, just as he always did, but Alan was able to speak rationally.
"We just finished the assignment at the factory explosion, sir," he said respectfully.
Jasper tugged at the lapels of his perfectly tailored jacket. "You're only finished now?" he asked, "With two of you working, that job shouldn't have taken nearly as long. When on the clock, I expect all workers to completely their jobs efficiently and in a timely manner."
"We saw a demon by the factory," Eric suddenly said. It wasn't what he wanted to say, but he just wanted to shut Jasper up before he went off on a self-righteous tangent about employee standards that both unreasonable and unrealistic.
"Did the demon try to take any of souls or attack either of you?" inquired Jasper.
"No," Alan replied, "It appeared just to be watching us from a tree."
"Make sure you include it in your report," Jasper said in a distracted tone, his attention obviously drawn to something down the hallway. "Sutcliff! Sutcliff, what are you wearing?" He hurried away to confront Grell about some apparent dress code violation, and Eric led out a sigh of relief. Hoping not to draw any more attention to themselves, they slipped quietly into their office.
"Sometimes I really don't like that guy," Eric said under his breath.
"He can be abrasive," Alan agreed, being far too generous.
Eric walked over to him and wrapped his arms around the smaller reaper's shoulders to pull him close. "You're too nice for your own good," he commented, "So, why do you think that demon was there?"
Alan rested his head against Eric's chest, closing his eyes in apparent satisfaction. "Probably just all the souls in the area," he replied, "Still, I hope we don't run into any more."
Nodding wordlessly, Eric looked down at Alan and felt as if he wished this moment would never end. At the same time, he couldn't help but still that tiny voice of worry that nagged in the back of his mind that the appearance of the demon was far much dangerous than anyone could have guessed.
((X))
She moved through the night with agility and grace without bothering to cloak her form. Any humans who happened to glance her way would have only seen an impossibly beautiful, nude woman moving and jumping in ways that were as equally impossible and fantastic to the eyes. Some of the poor fools might have even thought she was an angel.
The demoness smiled to herself at the irony.
She stopped at the base of a tall tree in a grassy clearing, and stood for a moment as the breeze danced about and caressed her unclothed body. Even the Earth itself seemed to be in love with her and her glorious appearance, even if it was all a lie. For now, she appeared to be a tall woman with long golden tresses, ice blue eyes, and the kind of figure that upon which many a fantasy had been molded. The sweet smell of smoke and death still clung in the air like an exotic perfume, but she had not come to view the beauty of the destruction. "Mist?" she asked, "Are you here?"
"I'm here, Lilith," answered a breathy voice that wasn't clearly identifiable as male or female. Following the voice, a black, vapor-like figure twisted around the trunk of the tree until it hovered above the ground. Mist had no discernable physical attributes other than the black void that comprised of the body and a chalk white, featureless face.
"I sensed divine beings in this place. Have they come?" Lilith asked as eagerly as a child asking for presents on Christmas.
Mist made a noise that might have been considered a chuckle. "I came for the same reason, but I was mistaken. It was only two grim reapers."
Lilith pouted, pursing out her full lips. "When do you they'll be here and where will we meet them?" she asked.
"Dragon did not tell us the time or location," came the steady answer, "We must be patient."
"Patient! How can we sit by and wait? We need to know what are next step should be before it's too late." Lilith crossed her arms across her chest and moved to the edge of the clearing so that she could see where the recent factory explosion had occurred. On the outskirts of the group, she noticed a rather tall, handsome man who was neither crying nor praying. Perhaps he was a reporter or simply a curious bystander, but it didn't particular matter to her. Simply stated, she was hungry and he looked like a suitable meal.
Giggling she waved her right arm to cloth herself in a modest white blouse, blue skirt, and high heel shoes that were the same shade of blue as her skirt. The outfit wasn't too revealing, but she filled it out well and she knew that the man would probably be quite enthralled by her appearance. Besides, she had learned that bait is often most effective when there's just a little left to the imagination. "I'm not going to take a chance at going hungry," she said, "I'm going to feed while I know that I still can."
"We wouldn't actually go hungry," Mist offered, "We would feel hunger, but we wouldn't be able to starve."
"I know that," Lilith hissed, "but I don't like feeling hungry." A serpentine smile took hold of her features as her eyes took on a glow that rivaled the very fires of Hell. "No," she said again, "I don't want to feel hunger, and I'll do anything to keep from it."
With an icy laugh, she skipped towards the throng of people that was still gathered and towards the man she hoped would be her unsuspecting victim.