So. Apparently I forgot February only has 28 days this year. And that this is the first of the month. But ehhhh, it's not midnight yet where I'm at, so I'm not late with this chapter yet.
Speaking of which, it's just exposition and fluff, since I need to get this plot moving before everyone gets bored, myself included. Be forewarned, the NEXT chapters are the really interesting ones...
It thus comes to be that Eve settles into a routine of sorts.
In the early mornings, she fights, or rather, practices fighting. Ever since her first defeat in a long time at the hands of Undertaker, Eve had gotten into the habit of challenging him daily. Though to her chagrin, he seems to give her the slip every time, no matter what they duel with or where it happens, and never pass up a chance to tease her about the fact, this of course is not about to stop her from trying, at least to improve if not to find a way to defeat him. There are slight mistakes in her defence and offence, she gradually notices; a split second in time when she lets her guard down whenever she deflects a blow, letting Undertaker hit her from behind, or a miscalculated strike at where she thinks her opponent will be that instead gives away her position. When the playing field is even or worse, tipped to the enemy's advantages, her chances of winning diminish severely. These are all mistakes the reaper intends to fix, no matter the amount of practice required.
Eve is not perfect, but she is one Hell of a perfectionist.
On the other hand, she also spends her time duelling others, as Felicia had made good on her promise to find more sparring partners, and very soon after she had received several requests to practice with. These battles she finishes just as quickly, but afterwards she is usually the victor and always willing to give advice on what went wrong- a weak stance or predictable fighting pattern- and tell them how to get better, and either way, it is a good method of staying sharp.
After this she has tea with Felicia and several of her friends, former classmates and current coworkers alike, (Undertaker at some point slinks away, apparently finding more joy in annoying William, probably by trying to molest him, or returning home than being squealed at or bowed to constantly because of his status, and Eve finds herself unable to blame him for this) where yet more people ask her to help them, offer gossip and conversation, and Eve finds herself practicing her smile. Bit by it, it becomes more convincing, though her cheeks feel a little tingly afterwards. Some people are not yet convinced, like Brandi and a few other slightly wary ones, by it, but she gets better every time.
(Speaking of which, she did make amends, for lack of a better way of saying it, with the pigtailed reaper-in-training eventually, their truce hastily sealed with a brief handshake. "You know what? I don't like you." Brandi had told her one afternoon, when Eve had caught her on the way out from a lesson and explained in a tone a great deal less flat and uninteresting than usual that she would like to clear any bad blood between them if that had been alright with her. "But I respect you. So fine, I guess.")
At nine o'clock sharp she excuses herself and clocks in for work. An average of three to five souls are given to her over the course of the day, all spread across London and the countryside of noblemen; if a certain place or person has a concentrated deaths around it, it (or he or she) may be designated as a 'post' and assigned to a particular reaper, but for the most part a collection of souls that happen to die on the same day but a few hours apart are given to each reaper to collect, and that is that. Though at first Ronald had been paired up with her, given her green status, she eventually is sent on there missions alone.
Sometimes, the blond-brunette finds her at the end of the work day, smiling perpetually and offering a place in a group date, or a party, or one of the many other gatherings he seems to be a part of. Of course, she accepts, despite never wanting to, and he grins happily at the prospect of having converted another fellow reaper into socializing and partying, never quite suspecting that her behaviour is (currently) completely false, though sometimes he does get suspicious. Like when she occasionally jumps away from physical contact, which Eve still has to work on accepting as a part of normal interaction with others. Either Undertaker and/or Grell, who both seem to enjoy makeovers way, way too much, rejoice in their chance to dress up Eve like a life-sized doll, and after being fitted in various outfits usually including corsets, overly complicated hairstyles, pink, red, and absurdly high heels, she eventually comes out looking like a proper English lady.
"You know, you should dress yourself up so much more often, why don't you?" Grell often whines and laments, though he at least seems placated by the fact that Eve has given up her stubborn grudge on him and lets the flamboyant redhead play dress-up with herI end indeed, touch her at all, regularly. This does not, however, stop her from feeling extremely creeped out and uncomfortable when he goes on one of his many dramatic speeches, the majority of which, she later discovers via a tip given to her by Undertaker, are heavily inspired by a playwright and poet by the name of William Shakespeare.
(Sometimes she thinks she recognizes the name from somewhere else, but can never seem to lay a finger on it...)
At the party/soirée/whatever it is she is attending, Eve blends in, with the people instead of the scenery as usual. Every time, she makes a little personal goal for herself to fulfill involving complimenting three different people and adding something constructive to at least two conversations. She finds them rather inane, always about crushes and overtime and relationships tangled more than a matted dog's fur, but she usually remembers something of say from an earlier conversation, at least.
Either way, whether she goes to a party or not, participates fully or not, or enjoys herself or not (it is usually not), her days always end the same: with Undertaker, his cookies and tea, and terrible cadaver related puns that Eve does not even pretend are funny. She does not have to, which is exactly what she likes best about being around the man: there are absolutely no expectations. Just occasionally laughter and eventually sleeping in a warm, comfy, coffin.
"So you admit it!" The mortician accuses with immovable conviction in his partially sheltered eyes. A long-nailed finger is directed at Eve with the claim.
The girl in question freezes. Had she just said that out loud?
With a cackle, Undertaker jumps up to Eve and decides to have another 'up close and way too personal' moment with her, causing her to nearly spill her tea, which she narrowly avoids by swinging her beaker to the far right. "Don't try to fool me; I know that look on your face. I know what you're thinking..." Farther and farther he leans in, his knowing smirk widening to the point of lunacy.
"Uh..." So I hadn't said anything? To avoid bumping into the mortician, Eve gradually starts to sway backwards, becoming a bit unbalanced but at least avoiding any awkward head-banging of any kind. The mortician's claim colors her slightly curious, but she is not about to jump to any conclusions. (She swears Undertaker has probably never heard of personal space in his life...) "What are you talking about?"
"You have a crush on someone!"
"..."
What was that I don't even-
The tableau, him craning his neck forward, her almost laying on the coffin door if it is not for the elbow she has now resorted to to prop herself up, is broken by the crash of Eve's beaker as it falls to the ground and the conversation's train veers randomly into crazy town. Miraculously, the tea beaker merely spins for a few seconds about the bottom rim before steadying, avoiding even a minor spill, but Eve is not so lucky, trembling and staying upright (as much as she is at the time anyways) for just a moment before she falls backward, laughing.
And laughing and laughing and laughing, while for once Undertaker is the one with the confused look on his face.
She is surprised herself, really. To think that she is still capable of more than empty smiles and harsh chuckles is an action she had thought quite impossible for her. But Undertaker had seemed so sure of making her admit something that is not even remotely true, and she had been thinking of something else entirely, that she cannot help but laugh and laugh and laugh (again), holding her stomach and rolling to her side. "What!" She chokes before succumbing to giggles. "How did you even get that... No! That'd never happen!"
"Hmm?" Uncharacteristically caught off guard, the information broker is for the first time that Eve has ever seen him at a loss for words. "In that case, then care to explain the change of appearance?"
"Eh?" As quickly as it comes, the laughter stops as Eve contemplates the question. "What are you talking about?" She questions, eyes snapping open and flickering upwards, back to the mortician.
Back in control of the conversation, Undertaker settles back into his old leer. "Surely you've noticed, Eve!" He claims. "You've gotten quite a, ah, livelier complexion nowadays! Does you good in my own humble opinion- you always looked like a guest before I prettied them up... Pale skin is seen as an asset among the noble ladies these days, but you can only go so far, you know."
"...Show me." She asks, getting up from the coffin top. What is he going on about, Eve does not know, but she is definitely going to find out.
"Just a minute!" The funeral director chirps and rises, a relief to Eve as she regains her personal space again, and starts to rummage through piles of equipment near the back of the shop. "I haven't used it in a while, now where has it gone...? Ah," Dragging something heavy out from underneath a pile of sotobas with many a wooden clang, he brings out a mirror- suspiciously shiny and newly minted for something Undertaker supposedly just had lying around, at least when the man wipes a grey sleeve over the surface in a makeshift cleaning job to remove the firmly layer of dust upon it. "Seeeee?" He says, drugging up the apparatus for her to do so.
Finding it wiser to not ask about what a mortician who does not even cut his hair or seem to care about his appearance in the slightest would be doing with a mirror, since he would probably refuse to indulge her anyways, Eve peers into the polished surface ... And finds nothing out of the ordinary.
Which, in itself, is something quite unusual for her; the last time she had seen herself, she had looked dead, blood-drained skin and and soulless eyes being her most active features. And yet now, she sees herself like a completely normal girl (almost, actually; her eyes are still a tad too light to be considered completely average). Her cheeks have a flush. Her irises have a shine to them. She looks normal, Hell, she looks alive. "Now isn't that curious..." She murmurs, tilting her head and staring somewhat cautiously at the face showing in her reflection, as if she still does not accept that it is really hers.
"Curious indeed." The man holding the mirror muses, adopting an austere temperament, albeit a temporary one; no sooner than he says this does Undertaker literally throw aside the matter, along with the mirror itself, and cheerfully bound onto what is practically Eve's lap. "But now what I'd like to find out," he purrs, his hands gripping and weighing down on the girl's knees as he pounces forward to whisper right into her ear, the hot air of his breath fluttering on the sensitive flesh, "Is whether I can make you blush even harder."
There is a soft thump as two bodies fall onto the coffin, as Undertaker uses his momentum to send them both crashing down. Eve, caught off guard by the surprise action, as unpredictable as she had come to know Undertaker as, finds herself able to push uselessly against him but effectively trapped by a cage of grey-swathed limbs otherwise. "Hey!" She yelps, only to clamp her mouth shut, gritting teeth hard enough that she can feel the tension in her entire skull, when she catches Undertaker's eye.
Or rather, his eyes, which are now uncovered and looking at Eve with the most focused, serious expression she had ever seen the mortician wear, period. The dual-ringed irises looking at her right now are drawing her gaze to them, no, demanding it, and Eve finds herself hopelessly frozen, unable to move, save for an eternal tremor that threatens to shake its way to the surface of her skin, or look away. The man probably is not even touching her directly. So why- why can she not move?! No longer the smiling funeral director, Undertaker looks more like he did in his active career as a reaper, and the pictures she had seen in textbooks that many seniors Eve had talked to during soirees had sworn did not do justice to convey his aura. They had been right.
Fuck, she is actually scared.
For these few, absolutely bone-staying terrifying moments, the girl is certain Undertaker is going to follow up on his casual promise- an escalation of his curiosity, no doubt- and she too is going to find out how hard her skin can flush, heat drawn to her cheeks by touches and teasing. That whisper, echoing so deep into her ear, had already made her shiver with some emotion she is not sure had even existed before; how is she going to react to this? She is about to find out, whether she likes it or not, it seems; even if she wants to, the kind of attachment she haves to Undertaker is not one that lets her so easily refuse a request, however loosely implied, by him.
Expression clinical and expressionless, Undertaker dips down closer to Eve...
And then his mouth curls into his usual, easy-going, completely lax, unserious, laughing smile.
And then he straightens himself and distances the two again.
And then he chuckles at Eve's bewildered, hard-staring expression and chuckles, "Only joking, Eve." As though he has never intended to do anything in the first place. (Which apparently he had not). "Haha- if only you-"
And then, not letting him finish, Eve strikes lighting fast, lurching upwards and curling her fingers around his shoulders, swinging without warning (and surprisingly violently) to the left, slamming him onto his back and to the ground. The thump here is somewhat less hollow here, and certainly louder.
"You don't joke about that!" Her thick, hissing voice is one part exasperation, three parts hurt, and seven panic. Hands still gripping Undertaker's shoulders, it is her turn to look directly down in him, only Eve's expression is anything but tranquil "Never! Not about that..." Not about something as intimate and personal as touch. Feelings that barely get through to her, yes, the action of metal clashing on metal and flying fists and intersecting kicks, yes, but never touch. Precious, uplifting, vile, defiling touch. What she secretly longs for but fears too much to seek- of all things, Undertaker should never take touch lightly with her, and he should know that. Not after all it has done to her, or could still do to her.
Of course, Eve is in no condition to actually say this, limbs shaking and chest heaving with more emotion, far more volatile than usual, than she has felt in a long time, that she has to cringe back with a muffled, choked whimper to contain within herself, but her posture and face convey it all for Undertaker to comprehend anyways.
Blinking owlishly in a rare moment of shock, it dawns on him exactly what impact his actions had done, and immediately, he tries to compensate this, propping himself upward with an arm so he can hook the other around Eve's waist and draw her in. "I'm sorry." He apologizes softly, hugging the girl a bit tighter in an attempt to stay her shudder, though this turns out to be futile. Undaunted, he keeps talking, "I suppose I've need to learn when far is too far, hmm?"
Eve, meanwhile, is struggling to push visions of cruel, fierce, smirking faces and claws and poisoned honey voices sprouting morbid poetry in her ear out of her head. Trying to cycle through her mind, her body stays tense and unresponsive. Why did he do that? The bitter thought rings. Pushing her down like that and nearly... Even Undertaker should had known not to do something like that to her after what she had gone through. After all...
"I know everything!"
He had told her. Surely he knew.
But then again, she starts to rationalize, perhaps he did not, and only thought so. Her former life had been a vaguely terrible thing, loosely defined by the words 'revenge' and 'monsters'. 'Sister' and 'death'. Even with Kain, the conversations they held about her (for there were never any conversations about Kain and she had never questioned it either) never used to describe her pain monikers like 'rape'. They never went there. She never went there.
Maybe Undertaker did not either.
Even so, it takes a deep breath that fills her lungs slowly in stops and starts for her to calm down enough to talk, and despite that, her own "I'm sorry." Comes out weak and crackled, like she is about to cry. (And that is another thing; neither of them, her or the information broker, knew this- not the over zealous teasing, but the reaction an action Eve offered in return- would happen. She had been revived in this very building with next to no emotions or opinions about anything. Since when did she have so many emotions inside her? Had they been hiding?) "I just... Can't. Please. Promise you won't ever do that again."
"Promise." Undertaker vows, now sitting upright and holding Eve in a warm, comforting embrace. "Am I forgiven?"
Engulfing in warmth, and now suddenly an urge to sleep, Eve merely nods, burrows deeper into Undertaker's chest, and gives into a dreamless rest.
IT'S SO FLUFFEH.
And yet incredibly angsty at the same time. Apparently I have a talent for that?
Oh, and this chapter officially makes this my longest story ever. About 65 000 words and we're just getting started, yay me!
