Her heart is pounding, it hammers in her ears; it feels as if it is going to tear right out her chest and onto the cobbled streets. The city around her is silent; as if someone has hit the mute button, and she is the only one who can make a sound. It fills her with fear, this unnatural quiet in a city so immense- in a city that is never supposed to fall asleep. Her footsteps echo in the vacant streets as she anxiously walks toward the gleaming spire at the center of the town. Not knowing why, she walks on- feeling in her gut that if she doesn't reach the tower in time something horrendous will befall her. The alley opens up to a courtyard and suddenly she can see what is wrong with tonight. She sees blood leaking from carnage and pooling in puddles on the streets. She sees fire dancing in the reddened skyline of the city, sees it feeding on charred bodies and blackened buildings.

She has never seen that much flame and death. She has never seen that much red.

The air reeks of urine and smoke. This is what death smells like- pungently sweet and sickening, she realizes in shock. Trembling arms wrapped around herself, she takes a shuddering breath to calm down and lets out a choked sob instead. Shaky legs inch forward and she pushes through her terror to keep her body moving. With every person that lays dead around her, every bloody footprint she leaves in her wake, something inside her cracks and splinters- embedding itself deep in her bones. She's hyperventilating with every step she takes, choking down gulps of oxygen and gagging on the metallic taste that is dragged into her mouth with every gasp of air. Her knees hit the ground with a thud as she heaves her stomach's contents onto the stained streets of York New.

"It's beautiful," someone breathes out,"like art."

She scurries to her feet in a panic; the dread inside her whispering that she is caught in a spider's web and that she has no hope of getting away.

"Depending on how you interpret things, it can be something else you know." They taunt as they approach her. She pushes her hysteria down and distracts herself by reading a poster that has fallen to the ground ahead of her. 'AUCTION INSPIRED TEN-DAY SALE' it says across the top in bold letters.

The stranger- a man, she absentmindedly notes- embraces her and moves his head so his chin rests on her head. Blood seeps into her clothing from where they are pressed against each other and he shifts so his mouth is next to her ear. "If you listen really closely, you can hear the singing," He murmurs quietly, as if worried someone might overhear him. "The dead are singing."

"You're insane." She spits back at him. He ignores her insult.

Cold steel presses firmly into her throat and he whispers a final thing to her. "I'd like to hear you sing a Requiem for me too."


Clementine sits up with a gasp. Just a nightmare, she thinks and takes a moment to calm down her frantic breathing and racing pulse. She pulls a small notepad and pen from inside her pillowcase and dutifully writes down details from her dream while it's fresh in her mind. She tiredly rubs her eyes and lets out a loud yawn. Blearily squinting at the clock by her bedside she lets out a long-suffering groan at the 4:33am that looks back at her. Not even the sun is awake, it's the moon's turn to rule the sky and it lazily hangs outside, bathing the apartment building with its silver light. It leaks through her thin curtains, scattering upon the floor and ceiling in an indiscernible pattern that she slowly traces with her gaze. Clementine yawns again and sluggishly sets the notepad aside, a chill lingering on her skin as the sheets remain pooled around her waist.

"I'll go shower in a bit-" she declares to the empty room, wrinkling her nose before adding with a cringe, "-and brush my teeth while I'm at it."

She untangles herself from the blankets and shivers as her bare feet meet the wood floor. Making her way across dimly lit room, Clem nudges the bathroom door open and flicks on the light. Her brown eyes narrowing at the sudden brightness.

The grumble her stomach makes bounces off the bathroom walls and she pats it good-naturedly. "I'm starving," she announces to the empty bathroom and turns on the shower.

Clementine takes her time in the bath and steps out of the tub with a satisfied sigh when she's done. Wrapping herself in a fluffy towel and wandering out of the steamy bathroom; she makes her way into the kitchen, picks up her phone from the counter and dials the number to the only restaurant she knows that's open at 5am. Clem orders and hunts down her wallet, counting out the Jenny she'll owe before setting the money on the kitchen counter. Shuffling back to her room, Clementine rummages through messy drawers for clean clothes. She pulls a black hoodie over a white shirt, tugs on a pair of sweats and stuffs her feet in mismatching socks.

The doorbell rings, and Clem rushes to the door. The person outside knocks on the wood without a moment of rest and Clementine reaches for the doorknob. She's on the verge of turning it when a thought rears its head. She pauses and thinks for a moment.

There's no way that her food is already here, she orders enough takeout to know that it takes more than 10 minutes for the food to be ready much less delivered. She stands on her tiptoes and peeks through the peephole suspiciously. Martha's scowling profile greets her through the glass and Clementine makes a face.

"Martha, why are you at my door at 5 in the morning?" she asks.

Her co-worker glares at the peeling paint of the door as if she can burn it down with her eyes alone, "Just open the damn door, Clementine.I need to talk to you and it's hard to do that if I'm stuck out here in your crappy hallway."

Clem lets the fuming woman in and hastily retreats into her kitchen, telling Martha over her shoulder that "she better have a fucking good reason for bothering her on her day off and would she like tea or coffee while she's here?"

Martha's lips twitch and she tries to maintain her serious demeanor. "Coffee. And don't be rude, Orange-girl, heaven knows where you'd be without me." Clem snorts. Martha ignores her and continues, "I need you to do me a favor and cover my shift today and tomorrow. I got a call from my cousin last night and long story short- I have a funeral to attend."

Clem spins to look at her and her face is one of shock and concern. Martha waves her off with a roll of her eyes. "Relax Orange-girl, a great aunt of mine finally kicked the bucket. I wasn't close to her or anything but I gotta go to claim the inheritance I've always deserved." Clem visibly relaxes with a grin. "Awww, Clem was actually worried 'bout little ol' me-" Martha sings, "-I'm quite touched that you actually care about my well-being, Orange-girl. But considering who I am, I'd be shocked if you didn't."

"You're a narcissist, Martha."

Martha walks into the kitchen and looks around with undisguised curiosity. "This is your apartment then? How… quaint." She teases and barely ducks fast enough to dodge the soggy teabag aimed at her face.

"Don't be a dick, Martha." Clem says evenly and pulls out two mugs from a cabinet. "And you wonder why I've never invited you over. Red or Blue mug?"

"I just assumed you lived in one of those little huts inside the junkyard." Martha retorts, "Why are you even asking me- obviously I want red. It's the only color bold and sexy enough allowed to touch this mouth." She smiles at Clem's amused chuckle and wanders out the into living room. She eyes the bookcases spanning the walls and moves to get a closer look at the items atop of them.

"Why do you have all these books? And what the hell is this random shit you have out here?"

"Martha, with your IQ being what it is you may not know this, but usually when people have books in their home- it's because they read them."

"Oh Clem, I didn't know you could read!" The blonde woman exclaims in mock surprise. She picks up a heavy tome from the shelf and squints at the cover, flipping to a random page in curiousity. She reads a sentence, closes her eyes and slams the book shut. "Why in the hell do you have a book about magical children and their talking animal friends?! Fillory and Further? Where did you even get a book like this from?" Martha places the book back where it was and feels her blue eyes widen in horrified fascination as another object catches her attention.

"My dad brought it back from the Kakin Kingdom a few years back." Clementine says nonchalantly as she walks into the living room with two steaming mugs in her hands. "A town there is pretty big on magic and folklore so he brought me a cool souvenir when he came back." She sets the mugs down on the coffee table and gestures to the shrunken head Martha is enraptured by, "That's a real head by the way, I wouldn't suggest messing with it unless you're up to have your ass cursed by it accidentally."

Martha quickly backpedals from the wrinkled item, nearly tripping as her foot gets caught on a rug near the bookcase. Despite Clem's best attempts to muffle the sound, a loud cackle escapes her and Martha spins around with crossed arms. "A HEAD!?" She shouts indignantly, "WHERE DID YOU GET A HEAD!?" She stomps to the couch and throws herself onto it with a huff, flipping Clem off as her laughter grows louder.

Arms holding her sides as she struggles to stop laughing, Clem breathlessly replies, "My mom gave me the head as a birthday gift when I was twelve. She told me if I didn't go to school my head would shrivel up and end up looking like that one. I was scared to skip school for years after that."

The doorbell rings and Clem frowns a bit. "Damn, I was hoping you'd be gone by the time my food got here so I wouldn't have to share." She gets up and walks to the front door, scooping the counted out money off the kitchen counter and letting out a sad sigh as she reaches for the door handle. She's already mourning the food Martha will most likely steal from her.

"I knew I should've just kicked her out. I shouldn't have offered her that damn coffee." She grumbles to the door and pulls it open, giving the cash to the cranky-looking delivery-man and maneuvering the front door shut with arms full of takeout.

"Oi, you blonde bimbo! Come and help me with these boxes if you want to eat."

Martha's head pops from around the corner. "You ordered food Clem?"

Clementine rolls her eyes, "No Martha, I like holding empty take-out containers whenever I'm hungry." Shifting the styrofoam boxes in her arms, she walks to the living room, shooting her air-headed friend an amused glance at the bewilderment on her face.

"It's a good thing you're not ugly Martha." She says, setting down the food and flopping onto the loveseat gracefully.

Martha's glare is frigid. "At least I'm the nice looking one in this relationship, Orange-girl. I don't even need a brain with a body like this! Anyway, my blimp leaves at 6:30, so tell me if you can cover for me or not."

"Fine, I'll do it. But you're lucky it doesn't interfere with my plans." Clem says; the scent of pasta wafting out of a box as she pulls one onto her lap.

"You're a lifesaver, Orange. I'll let you know whether or not I inherit everything the old bat left behind. I mean- yeah, sure- my cousins are her children, but how could anyone die and not leave me all their fancy crap?" Blue eyes appraisingly skim the room. "And Clem? That means that you have to write me into your will later and leave me all your nice furniture for when you die in that weird exam you're signing up for."

Clem sighs, "Yeah sure, Martha, in the very unlikely possibility that I die during the Hunter Exams, you can keep all my fancy furniture. Make sure that I leave you that shrunken head in my will. I'd hate for you to get lonely if I die" She stirs the food on her lap calmly and suddenly snaps her head up to look at the blonde woman on her couch. "Wait, Martha. Actually, how in the hell do you know where I live? "


The casino is bustling with activity by the time she arrives. Guest weave in and out of the gambling area while slot-machines fill the massive room with spinning clinks. Blackjack tables line expanse of the gambling hall as casino workers call out to the passing people to play a round of cards for a chance to hit the jackpot. Hidden lights are angled to strike the crystalline chandeliers hanging low from the ceiling and the stained glass covering the expanse of the ceiling; the beams of light split into small patches of rainbow color all over the room. It makes for an interesting atmosphere, Clem notes and thinks that if she weren't an employee, she would also be entranced by the shifting lights. She strides to a worker's entrance and types in the pin into the keypad, pulling the door open when the small light turns green with a beep.

The employee's side of the hotel isn't as effervescent as the guest side, but that isn't to say that it doesn't have it's own energy. This is the inside of the casino, with the life of the business making it's way in and out of the lavish doors. Here, workers scurry through the arched halls with one-minded focus, each having a place to get to and no time to bother with much else. It's a fast-paced and energy consuming workplace; one which tests its employees every day in patience, skill, and drive.

There are six main offices in the hotel, all separated into different lounges by department and size. The largest of the six is the housekeeping department, which is responsible for the cleaning of each hotel room and the stocking of necessary accommodations for every guest. The custodian department is the second largest- responsible for the sanitation of the casino as a whole. The significantly smaller but equally important department of casino workers and waitresses makes up the third department; and while every department is vital to the smooth function of the casino- it is this third department which makes up the life of the business. The other departments are made up by the department of security; the department of human resources; and the department of business management; which tend to be part of the majorly overlooked offices. Regardless of this fact, all departments are necessary for the hotel to run efficiently and successfully.

Clementine herself is on her way to the third department; the department that both she and Martha fall under jurisdiction of. She cheerfully waves at the bustling co-workers that rush past her, grinning at the manager that blinks in confusion and falls into step besides her.

"Not that I'm not happy to see you or anything Clementine, but today's your day off. Whatcha doing here?" Amara asks, heels softly clicking on the linoleum tiles. "Last time I checked, you were against coming anywhere near this place if you didn't have to."

"Well, you know Martha. She didn't bother to try to find another replacement before she asked me to cover for her. I'm still not sure how she figured out where I lived." Clem pushes the doors to the employee locker rooms open and they both step inside. "So I guess you could say I'm here since I've got nothing better to do." She scrutinizes Amara curiously. "What are you doing in this side of the Third anyway, Amara? This is the waitress's side, you know. You're supposed to be managing the other side."

Thin lips purse and Amara lets out an aggravated sound, running her manicured fingers through burgundy hair. "I'm here because our dear Lareen wanted to have a discussion about how 'impressed' she is with how the card dealers are dealing with the budget cuts; which I actually think is a whole bunch of bullshit, and an excuse for her Royal Bitchiness to brag about her half of the department's new funding." Amara huffs as they walk towards the waitressing manager's office. "As if we're less important that those skanks just because we refuse to alter our uniforms to show our freaking ovaries when we bend over."

Clementine laughs and pokes Amara in the arm. "Now, don't let Lareen catch you talking like that, or she'll call a board meeting to complain about how 'unprofessional' the other half of the Third is being. Again." She shakes her head, "And don't insult the waitress uniform, I'm gonna be wearing it for today and tomorrow."

When they reach finally reach Lareen's office- they're both greeted by her unfriendly sneer. Clementine rolls her eyes at the waves of animosity rolling of the greasy haired manager and Amara, scrawling her name in the emergency shift sheet on the desk. She snatches a uniform from the rack besides Lareen and flees the office in a hurry; slumping on the closed door in relief as shouting erupts from the room behind her. That was close, she thinks and lets out a dry chuckle. She pities whoever manages to come between Amara and Lareen during one of their famous 'discussions', especially considering the entire third department can always hear what the argument is about despite the shut door. Clementine heads to the restroom to change into the waitress attire, snickering as Amara calls Lareen 'a useless cockroach' and the insult resounds through the third department.

(Clem gets through that first day without much trouble. It's nearing the end of that second day where things begin to go wrong.)


"What ya' mean no, sweetheart? Don' be like that." The drunk man purrs, giving the skirt in his grip a sharp tug. "We can have all sorts of fun."

"I'm not your sweetheart." Clementine hisses at the man. "Now get your hands off my uniform before I break them." The serving tray in her hands trembles in her anger, the drinks atop it sloshing and dribbling over the rim of the mugs they're served in.

He leers at her, "What a damn firecracker." He looks at his companions with a grin, "Makes you wonder how good she'll be in bed, doesn't it?"

Clementine's patience snaps, and through the fog of rage she hears Lareen screaming out her name in a shrill voice. Clem snaps her attention from the cowering man on the floor, leaving him in a puddle of broken glass and alcohol before turning to meet Lareen's eyes dead on.

"Well it looks like my shift ended five minutes ago." She comments in a mild voice after glancing down at her wristwatch. "It's a pity this incident happened when I was off duty because now I can't get in trouble for it, right Lareen?"

Lareen nearly goes cross-eyed in her anger. "CLEMENTINE, IN MY OFFICE NOW!"

Clementine sighs and ambles towards the third department. "Yes, your Royal Bitchiness."


Across the street from the extravagant York-New York-New Hotel and Casino, stands a small but popular tavern. Luther's Tavern is known to the locals as a place with great service, friendly staff, and an extraordinary selection of drinks from all over the Republic of Padokea. The owner, Luther Daniels, is man with a strong passion for his business. One of the things people appreciate about Luther's Tavern is the fact that the owner is willing to serve customers himself; it is said that he never turns anyone away, as he is firmly set in his belief that everyone deserves a good drink no matter their circumstances. It's for this reason that the building is always filled with a mixed crowd of people from all over the country.

Clementine is currently moping on the black marble countertops at the famed Luther's Tavern. She's talking (read: bitching) to the bartender about her shitty day with Lareen, speaking loud enough to be heard over the soft hum of classical music playing in the background. "Who does she think she is!? 'I'm going to have to report this, Clementine'" She angrily mocks. "I'm disappointed in your customer service, Clementine. We don't threaten bodily harm or throw drinks at customers just because we feel 'personally attacked', Clementine. "

Her waitress uniform is rumpled from where the handsy man grabbed it earlier and there are stains where alcohol splashed on her after she threw the tray of drinks at his face. She sighs and turns sad eyes to Mike the bartender. "There's a reason I'm not a cocktail waitress you know, I'm not made to deal with stupid people. It was my day off today too and this was just a favor for this bimbo friend of mine-"

"Clem, we've been over this- for the hundredth time, you can't just loiter in my bar without buying anything whenever you have a bad day." He interrupts without preamble.

The brunette cocks a brow at him. "Sure I can, Mike. Look- I'm doing it right now." She drawls in amusement. "Plus, considering the bouncers keep letting me in I'm guessing you don't mind my visits as much as you say you do."

"Y-You don't even come in through the front like a normal person! If you did you'd know that all of security has a picture of your face so they know who to keep out of my bar." He yells indignantly.

Clem frowns at Mike. "Not that I'm not flattered or anything, but how did you get a picture of me? Wait, no way! Mike, are you-" She looks around nervously and leans close to him to whisper. "Are you stalking me?"

The bald man is red in the face as he splutters out a reply. "O-o-of all people w-why in the hell would I decide to stalk you, you damn she-demon!? You're the one who loiters in my bar when I've told you millions of times that YOU'RE BANNED FROM HERE, CLEMENTINE."

"Aww, don't be like that Mike." Clem says. "I came to see you to tell you that I was going on a trip soon and wouldn't be around for a while. Besides, is it still considered loitering if I'm here to see a friend?"

"WE'RE NOT FRIENDS! AND I HOPE YOU DON'T COME BACK ANYTIME SOON!" Mike shouts in despair.

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. "Umm, Mike, I'm pretty damn sure I can tell when someone is my friend or not. Why in the world would I come visit you if you didn't like me anyway?"

Mike mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like "to my make my life a living hell" and storms away from her. Clem stifles a grin and spins around on the stool. Her back presses against the counter, and her eyes flit across the patrons of the bar.

She has always found it a source of comfort to see people absorbed in their private world and go about their business. There are millions of events that led for these strangers to be assembled in one place, thousands of reasons for these people to stumble into the same place as her. Everyone is a walking mesh of stars living a life of their own.

Clem thinks it's a beautiful thing.

She watches as a group of five men toast to a new job; as the table trembles from their laughter and creaks with mirth of it's own. She observes as a near the door a woman hides her woes behind a mug of ale; as the man sitting on the stool next to her chokes down sobs as he nurses a still full cup. She peers curiously at the people sitting apart from the rest of the crowd in the tavern; people with loneliness so heavy she almost tastes it.

Clementine is content in simply seeing and wondering how these people made of stardust happened to come together in one place. Her attention dances between the forlorn and the delighted; between the groups of friends and the loners in seclusion; when suddenly an anomaly catches and reels in her interest. The anomaly comes in the form of a man with the aura of a predator, and even without her mother's warnings of trusting her instincts when it came to strangers- Clem would have known there was something dangerous about him.

He isn't doing anything particularly spectacular. He seems comfortable in his solitude. An untouched drink sits before him as he nimbly adds a third tier to a house of cards on the table. Crimson hair is gelled back into careful spikes, the porcelain of the man's skin nearly glowing in contrast to the vibrant color of his hair. His lips are quirked in a private smile and Clementine can't help but be intrigued by how it does nothing to lessen the waves of danger he radiates. An azure teardrop is drawn on his left cheek- the side currently facing her- and the outfit he's in reminds Clem of a jester.

She can tell he's someone with more mysteries to him than answers- a man made of puzzle pieces that may not fit together to form a full picture of what he is.

Clem watches him for a moment longer and wonders what kind of man he is; the question buzzing in her head as she turns away and waves Mike down for a drink.

"Give me your strongest whiskey," Clementine tells him, pushing the jester out of her mind and resting her chin on the palm of her right hand. "I want to end my last night in this city with a bang."

(She misses the vibrant amber eyes that flicker to her curiously a second after she turns away; misses the way a clawed finger taps against curled lips thoughtfully at her reaction to his presence- it's not often a prey notices the predator before it's too late, after all. Clementine does not notice the way the beast in him snaps awake and stirs at her drunken display of violence half bottle of whiskey later; nor how it howls at her brazen actions before she manages to slip away in the chaos she created.

Later in the darkness of an alley- when the blood drips from the edges of his cards onto the dirtied ground where the body of a stranger lays deathly still- he thinks about what the girl could grow into if given the chance, and whether she is worth giving that chance to.

And when answer comes to him at last; Hisoka and the beast turn to the waning moon and smile.)