Auuugh sweet Jesus I feel like crap. So. I'm sick. It feel terrible. But regardless, here is your new chapter! Enjoying the story so far? Yes? Good, because I'm going on hiatus.
Right. About that.
It's just for a month, mind you. I've got two reasons; one, I'm doing the Camp NaNoWriMo event (for April!) and I already know that to write even a 30 000 word novel in a month, you need a a daily average of 1000 words.
GASP WHEEZE I CAN BARELY MANAGE 500.
So yeah, I need to devote my time to that, so no update for the next... Six weeks? Sounds like a lot, I know. Tell you what, you want to see something happen in this story, I'll write a little one-shot just for you guys, eh? Hit me with your best shot.
If truth is her religion, then Eve had not been a very good disciple. After all, a lie is to tell what is not real, and is not what is not real really what she had been telling her peers this entire time? (Try to say that five times fast, she had once dared Undertaker in a rare moment of jest, a challenge the mortician had failed rather miserably to his, and surprisingly her, own amusement.) The grins, the laughing, the mindless agreement of opinions of aesthetics- over time, Eve has become better at acting, and therefore lying. But then again, given that logic, no doubt she is not the only 'liar' in the world- if everyone working at the association had been brutally honest with each other, most likely none of the employees would be able to stand each other. Still, the girl reckons she gives a false face more often than most, one, she is satisfied to acknowledge, that she has moulded into a perfectly respectable mask, and therefore facade to emulate, and possibly one day become.
Unfortunately, this carefully crafted mask of pleasant behaviour and sweet smiles soon starts to crack, and it all starts the day that William had called her to a meeting room to discuss what eventually came to be known as case 4738, or, the possession incident to those who heard snippets of stories and spun them into full blown rumours and traded them among peers during break time.
Really, he had come at the worst time possible; She and Grell, who had been stuck on what he called 'babysitter duty' and was sitting with the trainees complaining about it loudly too, had ended up getting into a rather catty argument on exactly what defined a lady. Aside from the obvious definition, Eve had always considered a lady to be someone who was dressed prim and proper, acted as she appeared, had intelligence, kindness and sensitivity, and knew well when to speak for herself and hold her tongue. The redhead, on the opposite side of the spectrum, insisted a really lady would never back down, period, or put any of her gifts, in mind or body, to waste at any opportunity, being a goddess like embodiment of confidence and strength. Not finding Grell's definition particularly to her liking, the bickering between the two had escalated into the subject of nicknames, whereupon Eve had labeled Grell with the moniker 'old man' (which, incidentally, Eve had discovered after some research could technically be translated from 'sempai') after he had tried to convince them how 'cute' and 'sexy' the butchered excuses names could be. The insult garnered a dramatic gasp and demand of "You will take that back!" From Grell, in response to which Eve had adamantly refused and called him 'old man' again, and somehow, five minutes later, Grell had found out exactly how much Eve hated the idea of sexual contact, and tried to pounce on the girl and steal a kiss, which she fought him off with both hands and feet and every single one of the trainees watched in the kind of shock and bewilderment they would have upon seeing Ronald turn down a date. Several hundred of them. Felicia, in particular, had a hard time trying to figure out why the hell the sight was giving her a nosebleed.
And then William showed up and essentially ruined Eve's life.
Of course, it was not so much his horrible timing that instigated the breaking of Eve's facade as it did what happened afterwards, when she had been made to go to a meeting room with several senior reapers inside, beyond her rank obviously, and from the way William bowed in respect to them (she had made sure to follow suit as well; always a good idea when with William T. spears) past his as well, and for some reason, Undertaker, who had been the only one not dressed in a crisp suit and not-not munching noisily on bone-shaped biscuits, spraying crumbs everywhere with each and every chomp and chew.
"'Ello, luv!" He chirps and greets Eve with a wave, ignoring William, but the others are not so wont to give a warm welcome to either of them. Immediately, one reaper, a grey haired one with horn-rimmed spectacles, issues an order to the two newcomers to close the door and sit down, a command they both obey instantly, Eve sliding into the chair adjacent to the one Ndertaker is perched on, William seating himself on the one on her other side.
There's a problem, isn't there? Eve thinks, half tempted to actually voice her wondering, or at least shoot it to Undertaker in the form of a quizzical expression, but she refrains, rather sure she already knows what the answer will be. After all, good things rarely come from being called up to a superior's office, in this case, five of them.
And, she the girl finds out via a long winded lecture about cinematic records, she discovers she is right. Quite unfortunately.
"According to all of those who examined the records, no alleged identical copy of you was found." Announces one man sitting at the end of the long table, opposite Eve. "And as such, the account you provided," Here he pushes up his glasses and refocuses on a stack of shuffled papers in his hands, "Evangeline Sonata Britford, of the existence of the doppleganger cannot be proven. As your partner Ronald Knox was not able to provide any insight, you are now the prime suspect in case 4738."
Waiting patiently for the apparent leader of the meeting to finish, Eve speaks up when he does so. "So, is this an interrogation?" She inquires. If that is the case, she should not have anything to worry about. After all, the saying is innocent until proven guilt- oh wait.
"No, this is a trial."
No, this is very bad. Horrifically so.
The next monologue to come does not make things any better.
"Killing those not on the death list is a serious offence." One man on her left sniffs. Immediately Eve gets the sense that he does not like the idea of spending any length of time inside the same room as her. The feeling, she spontaneously decides, is mutual. "And given the circumstances of your involvement with the Association in the first place, the consequences of your actions may be severe punishment."
"Now, now, Antony, she hasn't been convicted yet! There's nothing to worry yourself over, Eve; trials don't work quite like human ones." Undertaker says to mollify the girl just as she stiffens in her chair, causing her to turn her head sharply with an expression that physically portrays, in almost frightening accuracy, Worry myself? You think I won't do that after finding out I'm being out on trial for mass murder! Though she does not seem convinced in the slightest, he presses on to further explain in detail, "It's nothing more than the simple viewing of the cinematic record, really. I know you dislike the thought, but you can humour them, won't youuuuu? Then, of for whatever reason that strategy doesn't work, well, at least they have to note that you cooperated, right?"
Gradually, Eve slows down her breathing, realizing just how close to hyperventilation she had just went. Show these men, complete strangers- with the exception of Undertaker and William, and even then the latter has no personal connection with her- her record? The very thought of exposing everything about herself like that poisons her stomach with a sickness that threatens to rise with verbal bile. She had just arrived, and already she is being stuck between a grave violation of her privacy (her memories! Her mind! Those are not the kind of things she ever wants to make privy with strangers!) or being possibly charged with a crime she did not commit because a supernatural creature that had followed her from another dimension framed her for it. This is no 'rock and a hard place'; it may as well be a mountain and humongous death scythe.
But of course she can't overreact- in fact, such a response would be highly characteristic of her. Taking in the facts, Eve lists the pros and cons of each choice. Saying yes will expose herself to these people and quite possibly give them more reason to be prejudiced against. However, they cannot freely be discriminate against or her divulge details of a trial to anyone not actually involved, so she does not have to worry about gossip... Unless one of them talks. And she can always take steps to make sure the culprit is reprimanded, no matter how far fetched the idea is. Saying no preserves her privacy, but then again, the word of a retired reaper, legendary or not, is not enough to confirm the existence of a supposedly supernatural creature with a previous vendetta with her. If she remains a suspect, Eve will not be able to request to be put on the investigation team for the 'demon' attack on Brandi- especially since she is the one insisting that the same thing is the committer of both crimes...
"Fine." She blurts, pushing the words out of her mouth before her teeth clamp shut on them with a grit, like a wolf snapping up prey into its chops. "Do what you need to and get if over with."
The reaper sitting at the opposite end of the table nods off to William, who grasps Eve's arm with a clinical, business-like coolness, stretching out the arm onto the table, palm facing up. Rising from his chair to attain a more convenient position, he clicks his death scythe once, and then promptly slices the blade across Eve's hand.
He is instantly blown back with such force that his head hits the wall behind him and there is a clatter as a set of spectacles clack against the ground. This fact is not much of a concern to anyone else, though, because Eve's cinematic records have become rampant and wild, lashing out furiously like a hurricane with knives and daggers, sharp serrated ones that cut so roughly and efficiently through flesh, caught and spinning around in its relentless wind. The reels of memories spread out like ink in water, dispersing but whipping about much to fast for anyone, not Eve herself, much less anyone else, to catch a single flash of of any memory. Instead of trying to see or decipher them, the majority of people there are actively avoiding the records, lurching to avoid the winding spinning reels as they lash around violently, threatening to impale those who come to close to them. As the mass of records is steadily expanding as the reels themselves spread and more leak, no, it is more like bursting from a dam with the pressure of an entire train pushing through to the other side, from the wound. Shouts of surprise rise up over each other's din; nothing like this has ever really happened before.
However, no one there is quite as panicked as Eve. The fact that her records are spilling so profusely out of a mere cut on the palm is enough to unsettle her- after all, this kind of reaction is not normal, not this severe, not from a laceration so small- but it is when she starts to relive her life, a flickering screen stealing the place of her regular line of vision, that the paranoia sets in. Everyone else in the room disappears, unable to see much of the reels as they fly by too fast to see at a glance, too close to properly examine without possibly being impaled, and she is left with her inner nightmares and demons to face on her own. Victims of terrible trauma, the kind that makes people shut down or throw up or scream or give up belief in God, have different ways of coping with their lives. Some shut themselves off from the outside world, like Eve had effectively done, with the exception do one or two people at a time. Others take their anger out on those around them. Still more will drown their sorrow in alcohol and drugs.
None of them, however, no matter how they fight or run from their problems, can ever really face whatever scars they had received without an undeniable fear. None of them can can ever truly say they are completely recovered, and that it will not affect them for the rest of their lives. None of them, none, can ever relive that they had already suffered through once and simply shrug it off like it had never even happened to them. Without screaming. Without paralysis. Without the return of that choking dread that tells you that you are about to suffer deep immense pain, and that there is nothing you can do about it.
Eve is not an exception.
No. She can almost feel it happening to her all over again, and all attempts to close her eyes fail miserably as she finds herself pinned to her seat by some unseen force, not letting her move, or look away.
Stop.
Stop!
How do I stop this?!
She cannot for the life of her find the answers, and in her current state she is in no position to look for any of them. Eve finds she cannot even speak; try as she might to warn everyone to leave the room, to get out before they risk being stabbed and infected with the Crown of Thorns, her throat can only let through enough air for a rather pitiful feeble choking noise. Eyes unable to close, blink, or even squint the tiniest bit, she is paralyzed with horror, not wanting to be anywhere near where she is, not wanting to see, but unable to look away.
"Peekaboo, I seeee yoooouuuu~!"
Until a certain pair of long black-nailed fingers close over her eyes, and a familiar voice whispers into her ear. "Listen to me, Eve. Take a deep breath and count to ten. Yes, that's it." He advices, praising her as she swallows a series of gasps and mouths the number backwards. "Now breathe out, the in... clam down, shush." When she is done, the hands remove themselves from her eyes, and Eve sees the room empty once more, save for four very flustered, furious reapers and William, frantically searching for his misplaced spectacles. Chest heaving, eyes shot wide like thrown open windows, and head craned back where Undertaker had forced it from above, having risen drinks seat to stand behind Eve in hers, the trainee reaper just stares straight ahead.
Everyone else, save for William, does the same.
"Undertaker! What was the meaning of that!" The most senior reaper of the lot, whose name Undertaker has not learned, or even tried to, really, sputters with a rage he is not entirely sure whom to direct at, as he leaps dramatically to his feet from his far away chair, having recovered first from his stupor. Almost everyone in the room is disheveled and seems to be recovering from quite a nasty shock, with the funeral director being the only exception.
He practically sing-songs his response. "I did tell you it wouldn't work!" He declares like a little boy gleefully rubbing into a younger siblings face of how he had been the one in the right of some squabble. "You keep forgetting, she's no regular case, hmm? Or even reaper, for that matter. For someone whose main characteristic is survival," He summarizes rather concisely, the fact punctuated with a mere wave of the hand and flick of the hat, "It's natural such a thing would happen, don't you think? I'm afraid your results are still inconclusive."
Appearing to be quite satisfied with foiling the 'higher-ups' evil plan to invade Eve's privacy, he grabs the aforementioned reaper's uninjured hand, and says, "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a guest to tend to urgently." Before dragging a rather burned out looking Eve out the door.
...
"Now why the long face, luv?" Undertaker wants to know, craning his neck to try and get a better look at Eve's down turned face. It is not an easy feat, what with them sitting side by side on a coffin and him trying to see her hand shut simultaneously.
"Nicknames again?" Eve mumbles, trying to avoid the subject.
No such luck; Undertaker is not letting her go that easily. "Hmm, you didn't seem to mind the few times I called you that. Or is it that you didn't notice?"
The conversation serves back onto its original path as Eve narrowly avoids the subject of Undertaker and his nicknames and the possibility of *gasp* her actually getting used to them, as she responds in turn, "They didn't see my records." As something heavy seems to weigh down her eyes, "They couldn't see them, at all."
"I thought you'd be relieved."
"I'd be more so if I could clear my name!" Eve snaps slightly. "That was supposed to be how, but now that option's gone... It's not even the second time that thing's pulled the same trick, but unless I find a way to prove it even exists, I'm still a suspect in that case. I won't be put on any investigations at this rate, so what am I supposed to do- ahh!" Her rant is killed off by a surprise wince as she feels her skin being drawn together, and is caught off guard by the intensity of the pain. It is not much, but more than she had been expecting.
"Hush- you'll tear your stitches." Her makeshift doctor warns, though not unkindly, tying off the aforementioned thread and snipping the ends short with a pair of scissors that appear to be composed of bone. "If you ask me, I'd concentrate on proving you weren't the one going all Grell Sutcliff on those people and then request to be assigned to the investigation. There's no need to worry, really." He adds, in an attempt to ease the girl's stress. "Even if you are convicted, the punishment isn't all that severe. Demotion and overtime and several months probation, if my memory serves correctly."
Undertaker lists the terms off rather non-chalantly, totally ignoring the fact that Eve had already known that, and that such a punishment could last up to about a year and most likely would ruin all her chances of blending in with her peers, who, as far as she is aware, do not go about slaughtering those not on the death list for absolutely no reason and then get convicted for it. (Now that she thinks about it, the penalty described sounds an awful lot like what Grell had been complaining of suffering the past few weeks...)
"Oh my. Thank you. I feel so much better thanks to you." She ends up droning.
The man beams. "Happy to help." He says with frightening sincerity.
Eve half scoffs, half sighs. The first time in years she had used sarcasm, and it just so happens to be the rare occasion that Undertaker takes her seriously.
The ending's not really an ending, but meeeeh, I'll leave you with somthing cute.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm about to faint.