So... You'll probably notice that I'm not updating on the first of the month.
To explain: I looked over the rest of the arc and think that the story from now on will flow better with shorter chapters but more frequent updates. I was going to do this changed eventually upon hitting the manga arcs, but now seems like a better time to do this. So yeah. Early update go!
She sits there entirely still, completely, perfectly, almost unnaturally still, slumping over in her chair with most of her face shrouded by the shadow of her bangs. The way she waits, as if barely alive, makes her blend in like she is a piece of furniture.
When Ronald walks out of the room adjacent to her to find this, he is rather unnerved. "Hey, are you awake?" He coaxes, hand reaching out, about to gently shake Eve's shoulder in prompt. It only makes it halfway before the girl moves, eyes glowing gently under the fluorescent light as she tilts her head up towards the ceiling, and reveals she is not asleep. The way she sounds, however, when she answers, is rather tired. "Yes." She says, but then yawns before asking, "What did they say?"
The blond keeps talking while his former partner lifts herself up from the chair and works tiny kinks out of her body. "Well, what happened was certainly a mess, but the good news for us is that technically none of it was our fault, since I was just supposed to observe and you reaped your soul successfully. The records will have to be looked through to see what happened, but the great news is we've got no more responsibility about it, unless they decide to tack on more paperwork for some reason."
"I see." Eve says, her voice more melancholy than usual. Eyes drifting down and head hanging low, she seems distracted, almost depressed.
To try and heighten her spirits, Ronald chirps "Oh, cheer up! None of it was your fault, and you've passed you final exam in the end. I can take you to pick out your new glasses, pick up your scythe, and then take you home, how's that sound?"
The girl merely nods, her mood not appearing to improve in the least, but when Ronald offers his arm, she takes it with no complaint.
...
The situation with her new glasses, Ronald explains on the way to the glasses department, is like that of her first pair- because of the unique lenses needed, she is to select a frame first, and when they are ready, pick them up at a later date. The reaper's voice sounds different, echoing off empty halls and ringing with a metallic taste for the ears, isolated but for the sounds of a pair of white Oxford shoes clicking on the tile floor. Eve, as usual, is not making any noise, and many of the other workers in the department are either done working or out with collecting souls.
There is one reaper left in the glasses apartment: Lawrence Anderson, the very legend said to be the crafter of every pair of spectacles each fully fledged soul collector wears, but he is concentrating on his work, barely grunting in acknowledgement of his visitors, and otherwise the two are quite alone.
"Go ahead, take your pick." Ronald offers, gesturing to the frames lining the many shelves.
She looks over the many choices, and immediately points to a frameless pair of glasses with thin, featureless grey matte stems. "There." She murmurs.
"That's it?" Slightly bemused, Ronald shrugs, quite used to the girl's blunt behaviour by now, and decides not to challenge her decision. "Okay then. 'Suppose now all that left to do is get your scythe-"
"Not quite actually."
...
She wants to get it customized.
"As much as the default design is efficient," Eve admits a little while later, sifting through the hefty pad of forms given to her by a secretary on the night shift with a short nap's sleepiness still left in here eyes, "I miss my old one. I can finish this and submit it later, right?"
"What? Oh, right, right." Ronald stumbles verbally, and swings his body upwards from the wall it had been propped up against. "Is that it? Wanna go now?"
"Yes." Perhaps it is the late time or quiet, secluded feel of the air, but Eve's voice is soft and less clipped then usual.
...
"May I ask you something, Eve?" The question pops out of nowhere, like the asker himself is so prone to doing, in the middle of the night. Well, not the middle per se; Eve had arrived back at the funeral parlour at about midnight, and it is now many hours after she had done so.
The girl, who is currently working through a stack of neatly divided stack of paperwork, ponders this thoroughly, lifting her bent head and tilting it, staring off into space. "Only if," She finally decides,"If I can ask you one too. And if you answer. Truthfully."
"You drive a hard bargain," Undertaker chuckles breathily, "But I may as well take the offer. Why did you choose to go back to your old scythe? Surely the kids there have newfangled trends you'd like to make use of. Motors. Multiple blades. Handles." (The last one is a joke, obviously; even the earlier scythes had handles.) He is lounging in an incredibly relaxed fashion in one of his many plush coffins, and with each punctuated sentence ending flails his wide-sleeved arms wilder and wilder until he finally flops onto his back. "From what I've heard from popular opinion, scythes aren't really a preferred form of weapon. Not that I mind, of course~"
Of course, 'of course'; Eve still remembers the statue of the man before him in the library, death weapon curved and poised in all its and his unbelievable (and this is a very big 'unbelievable') glory. "Well," she mentally brushes the thought under an imaginary carpet to try and comprehend the possible existence of later, "You of all people know of the advantages of unpredictability, which the scythe utilizes often, but on a personal note, I trust it." The opinion is absolute. "The scythe was all I had for years, and I'm not one to break habits. I trust it." She repeats, underlining the fact. "And I don't give such a thing so easily."
"Like love?"
"!" If the newly-minted reaper had been eating or drinking anything, she would had choked. As she is not, the girl merely nearly violently gags. In the moment of time when there is completely silence, and nothing happens but Eve's soulless gaping at Undertaker, the larger mass of papers at her side is disturbed by an unseen force and tips over, sending paperwork sliding in several different directions over the floor.
"That's more than one question." Eve sounds strangled when she gain the proper control over her facial muscles needed to speak.
"Then we'll trade two for two." Undertaker is not letting this go; judging by the wicked glee in his face, the way he is crawling over the edge of his coffin (like a giant spider) like a gossiping old woman hungering for new rumours to exploit, he is enjoying this far too much to consider losing the chance. "But I ask again, you don't love very easily, do you? One can only wonder why; most humans and reapers alike are quite liberal with such things."
Watching the reaper seize up gradually, and knowing that he had just ventured into a rather sensitive area of the conversation, Undertaker's voice softens, though it had not been particularly harsh in the first place either. "You don't have to take the bargain, you know." He offers. "I've not so much curiosity in me that I'll pry into matters that you don't want me to."
The corners of Eve's mouth draws back as she tenses and slowly draws backwards, as if about to flee, but after a few seconds of internal conflict that her eyes fail to hide, she ultimately relaxes and chooses to speak.
She does not want to tell him- in fact, she is content to shut her own feelings inside of her for eternity, but Eve knows that to keep such a thing to herself forever is not healthy, and that given the path the relationship between her and the mortician is winding to, she will probably say these words to him eventually. It may as well be now.
"It hurts." The two word confession breaks out in a bleat, but quickly grows and bubbles out of her like water pushing against and trickling through a hole in a dam. "Loving someone else hurts so much, too much. Whenever you think you'll have someone by your side only to have them leave you or worse, it makes me feel sick. It's like I'm torn in half. Giving love freely just... I can't do it. Not anymore. I can't... It's painful, Undertaker." Thinking to the few people close to her, the family and fiancé that had abandoned her, the former lover, if that is what Kain can be described with, that had been using her from the start, the sister that had died because she had been too close to her, tears open a hole in Eve's chest that she had spent the past few years carefully sewing closed, chaining tight, and putting under lock and key. The thoughts wriggle their way into the surface of her conscious much like the way an assassin buries a blade in between a target's ribs, cold and none too pleasant. The hole fills with a sharp sadness that wells inside her and threatens to spill over. "Even more than being alone forever, it hurts."
Undertaker watches as his prompt chips away Eve's armour and reveals the scared little girl she really is, retreating into herself as she curls up into a withering ball with scattered papers at her feet, his smile dimming like a candle fading in the wind. Then he pads over to and wraps his arms around the child, cooing, "There, there... I have to apologize for that, Eve. I wouldn't have pushed if the subject was so hard for you to talk about."
"No." Welcoming the physical contact for once, the girl buries deeper into the warm folds of Undertaker's jacket, her voice slightly muffled. "I would have had to tell you eventually."
"Now why-"
"Because I'm going to fall in love again and it's going to be with you." The words come out in a rush, but there is a pause in which Eve lifts her head out of the fabric and blurts, "I know what I'm like. I try to be independent, and I fail. I'm not nearly strong enough for it." Her most recent encounter with the doppleganger confirms this. "No matter how hard I try. But I never want to be close to people at all, so I latch onto one person, just one, to be my crutch. Before, it was Kain. The night I killed him and you saved me, it became you. That's what I do." After this declaration, her voice becomes a great deal more quieter and self-loathing. "Always needing someone by my side to feed off of- it's a pitiful way to live."
"Not at all, actually." Sensing the distress, Undertaker runs a hand through the girl's hair. "We're sociable creatures. It's difficult to be truly alone for any amount of time. To want someone with you," His embrace tightens just enough to rustle the chain of pockets hung perennially on his person, "Is completely natural."
"...What would you say if I asked you to be that person? Would you hate me?"
"Oh." That wry grin of his returns, quick as a flash. "Does that count as the answers to your questions?"
A nod.
With the way she is now, so vulnerable and soft and open, Undertaker feels that a straight answer is appropriate for once, so he gives her exactly that- at least, as much as one a kiss can be.
The taste surprises her. Though she had expected something sugary, her lips are met with the flavour of honey and darker chocolate; and while still sweet, it is more mellow and melancholy than she had thought it would be.
"Ah..." The gasp rushes out from Eve's ribcage before she can even register it when the chaste contact of her lips against his is over. "That was sudden."
"Feeling better?" Undertaker grins cheekily and prods her in the face with a fingernail, ending the brief moment of comfort and intimacy just as quickly as he had initiated it.
Feeling? What is Eve feeling at the moment anyways? She had spent so long being pushed along by the flow of time and the events of her life passing by that she had never taken the time to asses herself. For so long the girl had been dead to the world, mind drowning in numb distance from the outside, but now, she realizes.
"Yes, I do."
There is a stirring in her chest, but instead of aching tears, there is a shining warmth, like a newly birthed star.
"I truly do."
...
The paperwork for the scythe comes through rather quickly, at least, according to Ronald, with more haste than usual, even compared to when he had filled in the forms necessary for his own scythe's customization and used a favour from a friend working in General affairs. (Though she wants to think that this is perfectly normal, it is most likely that a certain former legendary reaper had pulled some strings or threatened a few of the right people, possibly both.) As such, she is able to collect it soon after picking up her newest pair of spectacles, and by noon she is reunited with her old scythe. Or at least, a copy of it.
Even given the fact that it is a mere imitation, Eve must admit that her now-customized death scythe looks remarkably similar to the very weapon she had been forced to give up upon beginning training to become a reaper; The smooth texture of the shaft, the cut of the blade, the matte black sheen that reflects with no light, pitch black even when viewed through the green film of her glasses, are all the same as how she remembers it. Only on the end of the weapon that does not have two and a half foot long blade attached to it is there a slight difference from before: a low relief carving of the words "DEATH SCYTHE" is emblazoned down one side.
"Wooow." Felicia has stars in her eyes as they shine in awe of the presence of sleek blade. "I knew you could customize a death scythe, but I never guessed they could look like that! That's so cool!"
The death weapon's owner then casts her eyes upon her, rolling to the far right from their angle towards the curved structure and the ceiling that is serving as its background. "Do you need something?" It is not an unkind question, but not exactly brimming to the edge with friendliness and acceptance, either. Truth be told, Eve no longer sees why the petite redhead has anymore reason to speak to her.
"Oh!" As if remembering something important to her in the span of two seconds, Felicia perks upward, alert. "I wanted to say congratulations for passing your final exam! So," with this, she thrusts a carefully fabric-wrapped box towards the sitting girl, standing on tiptoe to prove her point of eagerness, "Please accept this!"
Without even knowing what it is, Eve feels obliged to do so, but still asks "What is it?" Even as she takes the box by the knot on top with one hand. It does not feel particularly heavy, but still swings from her limb with a weight.
"It's sushi!" The little Lolita gleefully chirps."A whole set too, I promise it's really delicious! Actually," She admits with a sheepish smile, "It's from everyone else in the class, but they were all busy with something, so I was the only one left to give to you. Anyways, I hope you like it! Bye!" And with those parting words, Felicia turns around and skips away, humming as she goes, leaving behind a slightly bewildered Eve.
Everyone in the class? Is that completely accurate? She wonders, recalling those she hardly talked to or did and then did not get onto good terms with, one ponytailed blond especially. I find with hard to believe.
Still, this looks good. Eve thinks with approval when she opening the box itself, lavished with paper fans and gold symbols as decoration, to reveal neat rows of wrapped rice and various fish with seaweed. One row looks like a rainbow, each piece paired with a correspond coloured food. She plucks out a roll and pops it into her mouth, pleasantly surprised by the taste of soft fresh fish and slight tang of sea salt. Tastes good too. It does not take her long to finish, but she enjoys every morsel.
Huh. The reaper contemplates when she is done, leaning back along the bench, head towards the sky, scythe by her side. A friend by my side, a weapon in my hand, and free food in my stomach. She lists her newest and most precious possession. For once, I can't find anything to complain about at the moment.
Alas, her good mood is regrettably spoiled by one William T. Spears, who soon after approaches her with swift measured strides and declares to her, adjusting his spectacles simultaneously, "Miss Britford, you are to come with me. There is an irregularity with your latest assignment."
Ah, there it is.
...
"Are you familiar with these people?" Eve and William are the only two in the room, but this all the more makes this feel like an interrogation for a crime she may well be guilty for, set as they are dead against each other, William facing the door, his suspect in her chair. The senior reaper slides a glossy embossed sheet adorned with several faces, blank and neutral in expression and liveliness, across the table. "Do any of these look familiar to you?"
The girl to give but a glance, a fleeting one where after her eyes flicker back to the man standing before her, to find an answer. "Yes. They were at the party last night." She remembers those humans, albeit vaguely. Some had been ladies, some lords. They blend together for her; none hold any particular significance, but yes, she recognizes every one.
"They also had partial cinematic records depicting you killing them." William adds. He is pacing now, hands clasped behind his back, his ever-serious face pinched to look slightly more serious than usual. "Killing souls not on the death list is quite an offence, especially for a newcomer." 'Especially for an outsider' are the words he appears to want to say. "You better have an explanation for this, lest you wish to be demoted." The man does not need to mention her rank for her to know that being demoted at this stage is the equivalent of going back to being a trainee.
Despite the grave situation at hand, which Eve alone knows but is not about to tell anyone about since it only concerns her, and maybe Undertaker, the newly-minted reaper remains as calm as a lake surface on a windless day, and explains clinically, clearly, "Simple. that wasn't me."
She then proceeds to tell her superior of the concept of doppelgängers, of how this particular one no doubt wanted to cause trouble, mischievous beings as they are, and took her shape to cause great ruckus, not expecting William to listen to her talk of mythical creatures and pranks that involve killing countless humans and framing innocent reapers and believe her in the slightest.
He does not believe her in the slightest.
"Given the evidence, we will look into it." William states in that stiff way he has when he is displeased. "But should we find no records proving such, you will need to prove your innocence in some other way."
"Yes sir." She complies. Eve dislikes constantly having to go through the motions of murder, accusations, and finding evidence of innocence, but at least William is letting her leave now, and she has time to let her mind and legs wander and find a solution to her issue.
The problem had been hanging over her like a cloud, but she had long since known that she has limited time before she will be struck by lightning. Regardless, it is not the business of William T. Spears. Or Ronald Knox, try as he might to pry any information out of her after no doubt noticing something wrong what with his acute sensitivity to the state of others. And not of Felicia, or whatever few of her former classmates may find out that something is amiss. No, this issue is hers to deal with an hers alone. They have no requirement to know of her personal feud with the doppleganger. They certainly do not have to be enlightened to the fact that it has grown abnormally strong, much faster than the usual rates. And Eve most definitely will not tell a single one of those people that it may well try to kill her.
Fluff fluff fluff! I actually wrote some, holy crap. I'm incredibly squeamish about anything like romance, so for me to actually write it... Feels really weird.
FEEL THE FEELS. ESPECIALLY THE WEIRD ONES!