So guess who finished writing 30 000 words in a month LIKE A BAWS-
And then pounded out a new chapter LIKE A BAWS-
And also is working on a new story LIKE A-
Okay seriously guys, if you haven't figured out that it's me yet, you must be like the worst fans EVER.
On another note... So it's just occurred to me that there are an awful lot of OC fics with Undertaker cropping up recently.
It's just occurred to me that I really don't like them.
It's just occurred to me that the reasons I don't like them may be exactly why not many people like mine.
I'm kinda sad now.
Records, thin and winding, almost lazy in the way they twine around Eve, display themselves to her and the members of the board. The latter is growing restless- after being called back by a retired reaper, who, in the words of one member, "is becoming far to involved for a profession he has left behind"; they are less than willing to be inconvenienced as to examine the same case within the span of two days.
Of course, despite the pressure for Eve to prove what needs proving with little trouble this time around (preferably none, really), the novice reaper shows no signs of caving, at least on the outside. For whatever reason, staying composed is a shade harder than usual- she is almost shaking- but she pulls herself together and manages anyways.
Breathe in, and breathe out, she tells herself, and everything will be fine.
Not wanting to keep anyone waiting any longer, Eve starts off by saying, "After examine the records of the victims of case 4738, I have found evidence supporting the theory of the existence of the doppelgänger, as earlier claimed, as well as my own innocence." Even listening to herself, she sounds insane. Importers of grim reapers who kill for the sake of killing- Eve in now way doubts exactly why her superiors are so disbelieving of her.
Nether the less, she presses on, and continues. One hand- still temporarily swathed in white cloth to hide the thin stitches of black thread embedded in her palm, draws a selection of thin reels, currently frothing out from several books laid out around her on tables, towards her, putting specific reels side by side and accentuating their events to her audience. "These events, recorded by two separate people, depict events happening at the same time. This," she points to the reel on her right, their left, "is the death of one Theodore Walters. This record here is a witness account of the same event by Beatrice King-sleigh."
The main issue with proving that there had been two Eves at the party that night is not one of inevitability- obviously after a thorough examination of the records, some concrete proof must arise- but a problem of time. Records are a tricky thing to piece together, especially with so many of them involved, and the Grim Reaper Association does not nearly have enough resources that it will complete said examinations and piecing together anytime soon. (Not too mention the chaos that had happened, the way the doppelgänger had stabbed so many people in the back, preventing it from being seen...) And soon is what Eve wants to clear herself by, considering her every intention of being assigned to the investigation itself. And if no one else has the time to do so, she may as well take it upon herself to present credible proof of her innocence.
"As seen in Walter's record, he had been killed facing his murderer, seen here." The scene in question play soon after she mentions this. it's a short one, with a blurred foreground, but still shows enough to Eve's audience that they can see the rough shape of the doppleganger through Theodore's eyes. "However, at the same time, King-sleigh's record show's this same event- only on the edge, but Walter's body, being pushed to the ground, is clearly seen."
"This confirms the killer's placement at the time as being just outside of King-sleigh's vision, but two seconds later, it can be seen here, in the reflection of a mirror on the wall, that there is a person identical to the killer just behind her. As such, there is reason to believe there was in fact an imposter present that day, there with the intent to cause trouble and confusion." Eve finishes, very conveniently glossing over the fact that about thirty people had died that night far ahead of schedule in an incredibly messy manner.
Nether the less, the board appears to be satisfied with her small presentation, and with a stiff nod and a notification that she will be contacted later, Eve give a curt, short bow, a terse thank you, and a quick exit.
That went better than I thought. Thinks Eve, with a feeling washing over her that she thinks is either exhaustion or relief. It had been well worth it staying awake the majority of last night perusing the records for evidence to help prove her innocence.
Of course, that alone is by no means enough to accomplish such a goal on her own, but at least should be enough to tide her superiors over as to decrease suspicion against her. Hopefully, enough to let her get to her true goal- being assigned to the case itself, although she is doing it for all the wrong reasons...
Because the matter at hand has become personal, whether they like it or not. (Whether she likes it or not.) And try what they may, if the end of the case ever comes, the conflict will end with Eve. Of that, she is certain.
Aside from. That, though, she has to try to make sure it ends as soon as possible, and with as little bloodshed needed.
...
"I trust your endeavour went smoothly?"
A set of thin, wiry arms wrap themselves with much fervour around Eve's shoulders, and she does not need to look up from her seat in her cubicle to see that Undertaker is standing behind her, looming above the girl in his usual faintly eerie manner. "Undertaker?" She muses with a slight head tilt upwards, mildly surprised but not in pleased to see him there. "What are you doing here?"
"You wanted to be alone earlier on, a request, I should remind you, that I gave with no resistance- none!- so I felt it was about time I agitated you some more, hmm? You've been awfully quiet lately." Undertaker says with a rather snarky grin, completely blatant in declaring his liking of causing Eve trouble.
"Things have been quiet." Eve muses with a shrug, returning to her paperwork, which she is mildly pleased to find she is almost finished. She will be able to clock out soon at this rate. "I haven't gotten a response from the higher ups, about the cases or anything. I'm not too sure whether it's a good thing. It's been rather slow talking to Mister Knox and the others as well. I suppose the parties have been slowing down with the onset of work that has been coming in lately."
"Oh realllly? That's odd. (My, what's this? I want to see too~!)" Undertaker says, proceeding to lean very far in to look at Eve's most recent form. "Even in my day, there was always some celebration happening, not that I attended all of them. And I do mean always!"
Eve gives a faint nod, not quite fully focused. "Mm'm, but maybe not this time, I'll check." Tiptoeing and stretching her neck too look over the edge of her cubicle wall, the reaper calls out to Ronald, who happens to be two cells over from her, in a manner so casual it makes Undertaker's eyes raise with a certain kind of intrigue, "Mister Knox? Are there any parties happening tonight you might happen to want me to know about?"
Caught off guard even more than the mortician at the question, the blond leaps him his chair to look at Eve. Unlike her, he does not require scrimping or stretching to see over to the other side. "Oh." Is all he say at first, as if in a daze. "Nope, not really. Been quiet lately, I guess."
"I see." Eve says, a little more flat than before, as she plops herself down in her seat. "See?" She says, looking up at her companion.
He does, perhaps in more ways than she had meant.
...
Ronald feels guilty.
Technically, there is a party happening, but it happens to be Lily's birthday party, and she made a point earlier to tell Ronald that she only wanted closer acquaintances attending.
Technically, Eve falls out of this category, even though pretty much every other worker Lily has ever met does, and so had not been invited.
So technically, Ronald had not been lying.
But he still feels somewhat guilty.
There is no reason to be, really, and he should be enjoying the party- a low-key but still interesting venture in which the men dress up in period suits and the women in corsets and dresses as they all find a bar in London, where the humans there are already so drunk they will never remember them in the mornings no matter what they do anyways, and drink and talk about gossip and work. But still, being a perpetually honest guy, Ronald cannot help but feel a little upset at himself at lying (well, technically lying) to a girl that in his honest opinion is not particularly bad to be around with: she just needs someone to get her to open up, is all.
Of course, that does not mean in any way he is pouting. Seriously. He is trying very hard not to, in fact, and taking every measure not to contort his completely mature and manly face-
"Aww! You always look so cute when you pout, Ron!"
Damn.
"Lils." He greets as casually as he can, as a freckled redhead in a dress to match her evergreen eyes practically glomps him and proceeds to stretch out his cheeks. "I'd appreciate if you didn't do that- my face is still hurting from last time."
"Oh shush, you: It's my birthday, I'll do whatever I please, thank you very much."
"Aha, I know." Playing it up to his audience, the blonde gives a sheepish laugh and receives another coo and pinch. Despite Lily's willingness to play along, though, she is not fooled by the display, and at the same time demands to know, "So, what's bothering you? You're usually not so quiet... Spill! I bet it's juicy!"
So Ronald does. And when he is finished, Lily gives a kind of look between "Oh, so that's why", which she verbalizes, and "Uh huh..." Which she does not, but Ronald can still ascertain from her face. "Look, Ron, I know you feel guilty about it, but you know, this is a birthday party! It's only natural for me to only want to invite people I know!"
"You usually get to know people pretty well after a couple of days, especially when their cubicle is right next to you."
"Ha- you're right." Is Ronald too drunk, or did her laughter sound off? "But to be honest, I haven't gotten to know her very well- she doesn't talk much, she's kind of gloomy- did you hear those rumours going on about her?"
"What?"
"Never mind. Anyways, don't worry, I'll be sure to invite her next year." She vows, her tone completely cheerful once more. "When she has surely by then carried a conversation spanning more than five minutes with me. We're cubicle neighbours, after all!"
"Uh huh." Ronald agrees, satiated with this promise, but afterwards he still feels a little strange, and, blaming it on the stuffiness of the pub, excuses himself to go for a walk. Though with the cold season just starting up, it is a bit too cold to be walking very far, so for the most part he just stands, just outside the entrance, trying to clear his head, without much success- until he sees a vaguely familiar figure in the street and suddenly feels very, very sober.
"Eve?" At the sound of her name, the girl turns around, and Ronald sees the girl. It is her- but dressed like a boy running an errand, hair tucked into a cap, bags clutched to her chest, and for the first time since he first gave them to her, not wearing the glasses that her gold-coloured eyes turn green.
For some reason, they are also glowing faintly in the moonlight.
"Mister Knox?" The girl is question asks, and Ronald decides to shrug it off and think that it is most likely just a reflection of light, like the fat snowflakes that are drifting around them, scattered like dancers on the wind. If that is not it, who cares, he is drunk, is he not? "What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same thing... Me, I was just out for a walk, is all." The blond smooths his hair back with some degree of tension. It's not untruthful, per say, but, unused to lying or deceiving, saying it still makes him slightly uncomfortable. "So what brings you here? In that outfit?"
A bit of hesitation slows Eve's response. She is unused to being asked these kinds of questions. "There was a bakery. French, I think, down the street from Undertaker's. I went to buy some food, is all. It's the only shop open this time of night, apparently. As for the clothes, I sewed them. It's easier to pretend to be a boy than drag an escort with me every time I go out on the streets."
Ah. That makes sense, the cross dressing, that is. (To be honest, from what he has seen, Ronald does not see much of a stretch for Eve to pull it off...) But staying in a morgue? "You're living with him?" He wonders aloud, referring to Undertaker, who, truthfully, Ronald has heard less than flattering rumours about.
"Hmm. I didn't feel my board to my liking then. Though I'm considering moving back now..." The girls confesses, drawing her bag of goods closer to herself as if embarrassed.
"That sounds like a good idea." Ronald says good-naturedly, and the stiffness in the conversation slowly begins to melt away. "You'd be closer to all your co-workers, too; I should introduce some of my friends from the other divisions. They'd like to meet you!"
"Oh?" Eve looks genuinely surprised at this prospect, suddenly alert. It occurs to the blond that she may actually be shy. "No- yes, that'd be nice. Maybe after all this is done."
"Huh?" Now it is Ronald's turn to get confused. "What do you mean?"
"I've been trying to get assigned to the most recent case. Remember my exam? The massacre? I feel... Responsible, so I want to find out exactly what happened. It's rather important to me. Nothing particularly important."
The strange tension that comes with every conversation with the girl up until this point starts to creep back into the atmosphere, and Ronald is suddenly struck by a somewhat staggering blow of intuition. She is hiding something, an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach tells him. And even if she does so frequently, this time, it is something serious.
Of course, Ronald is drunk, so for all he knows, it may just be an urge to vomit. Or a completely inaccurate premonition that people sometimes have, like when they bet on things that turn out exactly the opposite of what they had thought it would. It may be nothing at all.
But it would not hurt just to make sure.
"Why's it so important?" He tries to find out, doing his best to keep it unconcerned, keep it casual. The moment he does this, however, he knows he has done something wrong, and Eve's face flashes with a paranoid kind of distrust and her feet suddenly take a step back.
"...It's personal." Eve mumbles, almost too quietly for Ronald to catch. There is a brief moment of silence between the two, in which the blond reaper cannot help but wonder exactly what kind of personal Eve is referring to. Does she mean it is a private matter, or a secret vendetta?
Not taking any chances in case the answer is the latter, Ronald grasps Eve's hand, managing to take a hold of it just before the other reaper moves to whip around and walk away into the darkness of the London streets. If he can do anything to prevent her from making a bad decision, even if she is about to make one at all, he wants to do it. "Wait." He implores, glad that he is not so inebriated that his speech is wants Eve to hear him crystal clear. "Promise me something."
The girl's hand jerks slightly, and Ronald can feel her fingers twitch against the palm of his hand, but at the very least she does not make any further move to shake him off. When Eve does not answer, the blond takes it upon himself to keep going. "I want you to say that you'll be careful- wait, look at who I'm talking to, of course you'll be careful- but promise you won't do anything rash, alright? Not as a co-worker, but a friend, too. You've got some, whether you're aware of it or not, and they can worry about you."
A slow, tension-filled silence stretches out between them. Despite their close proximity, Ronald can feel it expanding, pushing the two farther apart. "Eve?"
More silence.
And then, "I have to go." The quiet murmur is not unkind, but there is a strange pang in Ronald's chest when Eve takes back her hand and starts to leave, for real this time.
"Wait!" He starts to follow her, to try to stop her, but suddenly the sounds of coy calling and whistling reach the man's ears.
Alice is waving to him with a swish of the handkerchief. "Yo hoo, Ronnie, are you going to come back in? It's freezing outside, you know! We're cutting the cake!"
"..." Gaze switching from Eve to Alice to Eve and then Alice, Ronald tries to juggle his options. Go after her, or return to the bar and avoid suspicion. Suspicion of what, exactly? What does he have to be afraid of?
Favouritism towards one girl, maybe. A voice inside his head sneers. Who knows, following her might cause more trouble than it's worth.
With this in mind, Ronald makes his choice. "I- I'll be there in a second. Save some cake for me!" He says with a crooked kind of smile, like a painting on the wall tilted the wrong way.
...
"He lied to you, you know."
"I know."
"Really? And you're not bothered at all?"
"...no. I lied too."
I love the last bit of this chapter. There's no declaration of love trampled underfoot, no chilling monologue of hopelessness or despair, but all the same, I hope reading it hurts.