ShortShort chapter this time around, I'm sorry! It's just the last month of school for me, and you know what that means-

I AM GONNA DIE. D8

So yeah. Short chapter. I am so, so sorry.

John swallows, grunts, and tries to get a good grip on himself, fingers scrabbling to take a firm hold of the column of flesh between it.

He then fail, falls, and dies, having been strangled to death.

A thin, long-haired figure looms over him and smiles, lips stretching so wide they looks as if fit to burst.

...

Despite the routine, things start to grow quiet for Eve.

Or at least, they do during one part. It is not a terribly significant one; a few weeks ago, Eve would not had noticed the change at all. After all, Eve still has things to do.

She still reaps souls. The ones she are assigned are always difficult deaths- those who died desperately, clinging to life, trying with every once of their being to survive a fate long written for them by the reapers. Their records dance, and dive, and twist, and spin, and every time, the reaper is out at risk of one day being punctuated by one of those winding reels. Eve is always careful, however, not just because of the risks of contracting the Crown of Thorns- a fatal and painful disease, though only the later really applies to Eve, but also the fact that what she experienced with her own records had been hard enough to bear- she would rather not do the same thing with a stranger's memories. At least she is familiar with her own life, even at terms with it. Being forced to relive the unfulfilled life of a stranger? A strange sense of repulsion waves through her at the thought- it is a kind of perversion she wishes on no one.

She still submits paperwork. There's a steady stream of it always coming in, regarding regular reports about co-workers, scythes and souls. It mainly pertains to souls- the ones she reaps- but lately other things have been appearing: testimony forms and requirements for witness signatures. There had been another attack earlier that week and though Eve had an alibi, being that she and Undertaker had been inside the mortuary, the records of the reaper, John from the poker game Eve had played, had shown glimpses, not clear ones, but glimpses all the same, of a face eerily close to hers. The same day she had signed those particular form, she also happened to get a notice saying that her request to be transferred back into her previously assigned flat had been delayed.

She still spars. And though her opponents have gotten better, and more aggressive, than before, she still wins. Sometimes barely, though, and Eve cannot help but think how much she will have to practice to stay sharp enough to best so many people. She is starting to think that people are opting to practice fighting with her because the genuinely want to fight, to damage, not learn. Eve notices it, faintly, but is not too sure what to make of it.

Before and after, however, is the part of her day that has grown startling silent. If put up to give answer, she would say that peopled had started actively avoiding her. Ronald had just been the start.

She does not blame them. After all, rumours have been going around- about her and the recent attacks on the other reapers in the department. It does not look good for the girl. The other reapers- they have no way of being sure, of knowing whether or not she is a murderer of their kind, so obviously it makes sense for them to stay away. What bothers Eve is that none of them had the decency to wait until she had actually been convicted of anything to shun her so suddenly. Still, it is no longer as if she has any one aside form Undertaker to tell this- it had taken the course of a few days, but already, to Eve's disappointment, she has become a pariah. Again. Which is all the more reason to prove her innocence, if she can only find a way how.

...

It just so happens that throughout all this, from Felicia's faltering faith of mustering up the courage to talk to Eve at all, to Ronald's awkward avoidance, there is exactly one person, besides any co-worker who talk with her solely to relay something business related, or Undertaker with whom she is conversing even more frequently with, in fact, who even bothers carrying a conversation with her these days.

To her admittedly immense shock, it turns out to be Grell.

"Hmm, what do we have here?" The overly-flamboyant redhead peers over Eve's shoulder one day in a manner reminiscent of a certain mortician. Like before, the girl does not need to even move to realize who is speaking. Unlike before, this greatly irritates her. "Paperwork again? How drab."

Eve does not move, makes no response, and refuses to make eye contact with the man in stony defiance. This is one person she would rather not interact with, thank you very much. If she stays still, then maybe like a very dumb animal, he may leave her alone. Or, like one too smart for its own good, perhaps he will grow bored instead, and find someone else to bother.

No such luck; to her chagrin, Grell does not take this hint, and instead sighs a sigh of enough boredom to last a thousand summers, as he drapes his arm languidly across Eve's shoulders. "Tsk, so cold." The redhead mutters. Eve can feel her blood crawl and boil simultaneously. She also realizes at the same time that this man may be the one to evoke the most genuine emotion from her yet- it is amazing how much Eve can bring herself to be irritated when around him. How does he do that? "I'd find it attractive if you weren't so bad an actress. Or a looker." Grell pokes verbally with a laugh.

"You should be doing paperwork. You have overtime."

"You should be having fun. You volunteered to stay late. Who does that?" Grell leans in closer and his hair starts to fall over Eve's shoulder and tickle her neck, and it occurs to the girl that Grell is teasing her again, trying to rile a reaction through irritation and uncomfortable behaviour. Really? Of all people, just because William is not here, the bothersome man has to target her?

"What do you want?" She want him to go away.

"I'm curious." He wants her to feel uncomfortable, as he all but lounges on Eve's shoulders. The weight puts pressure and pins her down somewhat onto her chair. "What are you up to?"

A frown knits together Eve's brows. "What do you mean?"

"There are rumours, you know." The girl does know. She has heard them. That she had killed an entire group of people on her opening exam. That she had been the one to attack Brandi all those weeks ago. That she has killed John from the poker party two days ago. That she can fly. The laughable thing is, only the last one is true. "People are talking about you- a lot. I'd almost be jealous, but the kind of attention you're getting isn't very good, Hun." He is whispering in Eve's ear, picking up every click and clack of his sharpened teeth as the redhead speaks. The girl becomes all too aware of the hands snaking around and tightening around her neck, like a snake trying to starve its prey for air. They crawl up her throat and stay there, not choking, but not relenting either.

"What are you up to?" Grell repeats, and this time around, Eve has to concede silently that she feels a little more inclined to answer now. He is staring hard with his feline eyes, forcing Eve into looking at them as he holds her head to look upwards in her seat. She does not move- there is no current need to, and she knows she can fight him off- but the feeling is uncomfortable and her jaw tightens slightly. "Because if it does anything to harm Ronnie or Felicia or Willu- especially him, I won't forgive you."

The reaper does not know whether to be more taken aback at Grell's seriousness or his surprising competence at being intimidating when he wants to. "It's none of your business." She concludes. "And I assure you, it won't ever be."

"...Hmm. I hope you're sure." Purring like a cat, fingers dig like claws into the flesh of Eve's throat momentarily before withdrawing. Just like that, the danger is over, and Grell instantly reverts to his usual annoying self, immediately skipping off with claims of seeing if Ronnie may also be doing overtime.

Part of Eve cannot help but wonder the kind of work Grell could get done if he were ever to put so much effort into his work. Another part is in fact, a little scared.

Curse you, summatives! *shakes fist angrily*