banjoanjo

Decibitus

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~???? | DECIBITUS | LUCEMA REGINI

---

"I'm glad to know we're in agreement. The issue, though, was not the particular location, but the city." Amelia's grin only widened, as she adopted one of her more common strategies and completely ignored Elliot's obvious sarcasm, taking it as the sort of compliment she was obviously due more of. "Such is life, I suppose."

It wasn't ideal to know Miss Death was gone, mind you. Amelia's expression became slightly perturbed, as she thought it over. "Are there any special occasions coming up? I was trying to introduce her to the concept of surprise parties, it now occurs to me that I may not have thought my descriptions through."

Amelia caught herself before she elaborated too heavily. She had the strangest sense that Elliot would actually be deeply upset at certain choices she'd made in that conversation. "I don't think involving Uchi is the natural next step, but I suppose I could follow the logic..."

Surprise parties? With... Miss Death?

Elliot felt the burgeoning headache start to take root at the thought. As much as he respected the pink-headed immortal, some things simply weren't gong to mix well with her mentality. Surprise parties sounded like one of those things.

"I..." The brunette sighed, removing his glasses with one hand so he could pinch the bridge of his nose with the other. Amelia was probably the last person that should explain the concept of a surprise party, especially to someone like Miss Death. "And what exactly do you think would have been the 'next natural step' based on what you told her?"

Amelia cleared her throat. "I believe my advice to her was 'the more surprising the better'. I may not have said what would constitute unacceptable means of achieving surprise. She didn't ask." She thought on it. "I'm sure it would take at least a little time to procure fireworks..."

Perhaps that pyrotechnics were Amelia's first instinct for 'surprise' was a problem in itself. Probably not, though.

That Elliot wasn't surprised spoke more to his experience in dealing with Amelia than anything else. Once again, the corner of his lips twitched up, an exasperated reaction that was becoming a reflex more than anything else.

"Not to rain on your parade, but Miss Death's concept of 'surprise' probably doesn't include fireworks." Because fireworks were predictable, even if their appearance was not. The faintest traces of strain appeared in Elliot's expression as a realization dawned upon him, the barely-there smile turning into something more akin to a grimace. "Right. I'm going to be borrowing a few reapers to look for her then."

A voice from the reception desk. "Sure, Mochi, but after I get this paperwork done, oka-- hey, h-hey!"

The great beast continued forward with its quarry, poor Aron left to clumsily hop wherever his abductor decided. A desperate prayer came unbidden to his mind when he saw who he was being led towards, as well as an outpouring bargain of, "youcanhaveeverythinginthebagjustplease-- oh, Elliot! Hi."

Aron crammed the bag back into his shorts, no doubt crushing the contents even further. Perhaps if he turned slow enough he'd make it back to reception with no further embarrassment.

"I am... I will walk that way now."

Amelia, halfway through putting together a justification, leapt on the opportunity to distract. Abruptly grabbing the nervous reaper (Aron, wasn't it?) by the back of his shirt before he could leave, she decided she probably had the power to conscript people.

"It would seem that the mayor has heard your plea." She smiled at Elliot in a manner that was less friendly and more akin to a cat showing him something she'd caught. "Assuming that you won't let me take care of Mochi while we--" she didn't bother continuing the request based on his expression, "yes, thought so. We'll have to discuss that later; for now, I'll help you! And so will... this one."

She shook Aron a little. Helpfully.

"Oh, I was actually gonna..."

He looked back to the receptionist, hoping for assistance, but could only watch her diligently attending to someone from HR. Traitor.

Elliot couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for the poor reaper Mochi dragged into the ordeal. That was an unfortunately familiar situation. Still...

"Well, two or three bodies searching is better than one," Elliot admitted with a small nod of her head. "Hmm... I'd like to ask one of you to ask Uchi if he has any ideas, but asking someone to head to Mulch alone is a little..." The brunette gave a slight grimace. No, probably not great. "But I guess taking shots in the dark won't get us far either."

"Shooting in the dark's fun! It adds an element of unpredictability. But if we must do our research," Amelia's smile widened, "then what about asking two someones to head to Mulch?" Her grip on Aron wasn't loosening.

"M-Mulch?"

Despite his best efforts, Elliot couldn't find a real reason to deny Amelia's suggestion.

"I... it would be safer if you both went." It occurred to the man that he wasn't sure whether it was safer for the reapers or the surroundings, given the parties involved. "And it's just to Uchi's workshop. You two know the way, right?"

"Of course!" At least, she thought so. Pretty sure. She could ball park it. "We will get right to that. And then," she finally released her grip on Aron, squatting down to scratch the mayor behind the ears, "I can come back and walk Mochi!"

He was such a good boy. So clever, finding her a minion - sorry, coworker - to get through this task with. Once satisfied with that, she stood up, looking at her bewildered fellow reaper and holding out a hand for him to shake.

"So, it's you and I to Mulch. What's your name again?"

What just happened? "Um. Aron?" he said, tentatively taking her hand.

"Amelia! A pleasure to work with you." She shook his hand a little too fast, before dropping it and looking to Elliot. "We can go now, right?"

Were they going to be okay? Elliot didn't dare think on that too long, lest he give himself the obvious answer.

"Yeah, go ahead. I'll try and see if anyone else has seen Miss Death around in the meanwhile."

Decibitus

Aron Carvajal

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~???? | DECIBITUS | LUCEMA REGINI

---

“D-doesn’t have to be like right now but maybe, I dunno, there’s like a waiting list? Some request backlog?”

The receptionist’s gaze turned steelier, and though the logical part of his brain told him it was very clearly directed at someone behind him, Aron gulped.

“...if it’s not too much trouble.” He took a thick forearm off the reception desk to scratch at his beard sheepishly.

The lady muttered something under her breath (something about collateral reports?) and looked back at her screen. “I’ll put the request for a desk relocation in. For one Aron Carvajal… reason: …’the rats keep breaking in’. Is that correct?”

“I… wouldn’t phrase it like that exactly…”

“And these rats are coming from…?”

“The bloke next to me likes to collect - or he has this spell or something - well, he has a bunch of them. And he keeps losin’ them. And I guess there are snacks in my drawers and it’s hard to remember with all the papers in ‘em sooo…”

“You guess?”

“I. Yeah.”

She continued typing but brought a hand to knead at the bridge of her nose. “And you can’t just… clean your desk to prevent them from smelling whatever’s in there?”

“I. It’s.” He coughed. “I, uh, don’t come in very often?”

The ‘yip!’ of a noble saviour shook Aron from the awkwardness of the situation, followed by the pattering of corgi paws making its way through the lobby. At last, an ally in his quest for a rat-free desk. Aron took a moment to search his shorts pockets before surreptitiously shaking a half-crushed sleeve of cookies in Mochi’s direction.

“You know you’d have to clean your desk anyway to actually move, right?”

“Solid point. Yeah. …A-are you still going to put the request through?”

Decibitus

jump in the caac

Aron Carvajal

"Not my finest night."

Appearance

Aron is a man of large stature. Meaty, you could say. There was never much time for him to work on toning down in the later years of his life and while there’s plenty of opportunity now in the almost-afterlife, all motivation for it has been reduced to dust with the whole being dead thing. His hair is naturally dark and wavy, cropped on the sides and styled in the cut of his contemporaries - about as well-groomed as a mullet could possibly be. His facial hair varies frequently, sometimes going from a full mo to untrimmed stubble. His usual expression is a deadpan (or is it vacant?) stare out over the horizon.

As for his attire, Aron dresses in simple masculine fashion. Subtle, patterned button ups, his most reliable pair of Timbs. Whenever he’s heading ‘out’, so to speak, he’ll chuck a hoodie and thick jacket over it if needed. He permanently has a pair of Oakley® sunnies somewhere on his person.

On occasion, he’ll have some elaborate nail art adorning his hands. It is not clear where he gets them from.

Age: 28
Gender: Male

Weapon: An obsidian bo staff. Aron thought the bo was pretty flash back when they were working with that Chinese client. As a bonus, the staff can retract its form into something resembling a tablet pen-like baton.

Magic Branch: Motion, or at least Aron’s perception of it.

Spells

Scale

A verbal spell that manipulates the time scale of an object or being’s intended motion. It affects only one target, either speeding or slowing it down. ‘Intended motion’ can be a difficult concept for Aron to decide upon, especially when it comes to a living target with potentially dissenting ideas, leading to some potentially unpredictable results. This spell merely changes the time taken to get from Point A to Point B, it does not alter the force behind a motion.

Scale... 2 (“The, uh, the up and down of it, y’know?”)

That’s what Aron’s second spell is for. With this one, he can manipulate the force behind a motion. Verbal to increase it up to twicefold, written to increase or decrease it up to fourfold. A-okay when it comes to inanimate objects, but when it comes to living targets and their physical limitations…

“Look, how was I supposed to know his bones were so brittle?”

Frameshell

With this spell, Aron can copy-paste the actions of a target within a four second timeframe back onto the target, essentially making the target repeat the exact action. The verbal spell affects just physical movement, while the written extends to other spells or magical effects. The more Aron forces a repeat of the same action, the more unstable the spell becomes.

When frameshelling spells, Aron can simply make the target recite and recast the spell in the four second timeframe. When it comes to written spells however, since they would have their inscriptions eaten up on activation, they would not be reactivated/refreshed outside of circumstances like "the target had multiple prepared copies of the spell on hand" or "the target had a very simple written spell that could be written and reactivated within the timeframe".

Keyframe

The creation of motion. With the verbal spell, he can manipulate an inanimate object in a manner akin to telekinesis, translating its components in five second bursts. The written spell manipulates a living or magical unit for five seconds. With a puppeteer’s precision, Aron can twist and translate the movements of his target as he wishes.

However, the written spell has a chance of “breaking the rig”, a possibility of exceeding the physical and logical limitations of the target and leaving them to reap the consequences of that when the spell wears off. Since a living being's form has a natural state to return to, such injury can be avoided with enough concentration on Aron's part. For the most part, the aftermath is a severe dislocation. In extreme cases - "...Ripping. That's really the only word for it."

Beings with a higher volume of flesh find it easier to avoid these accidents.

why reaper

“So why’d I say ‘yes’?”

The man scratched the back of his head and cast his eyes into another corner of the room. Gave a loose shrug.

“I’d, uh, never been to Portugal before.”

Hm. Right, he was meant to elaborate here. Context, he almost always forgot.

“The board. With the jobs ‘n all. I saw, uh, Portugal. And Chicago, maybe…? The orientation guy pointed it out, said you’d have to go all over, rounding up ghosts or whatever you do.”

No response from the other end of the table. Just continued staring, pen poised over the clipboard and… oh, that was a nod. Keep going, sure.

“I was meant to go with some mates last year.” That sounded right, unless time was all dogged in this city. “But work – my contract and shit – y’know. No annual leave approved ‘til the screener’s done. So yeah, didn’t go.”

Pen scratched across paper. Oh, this was being recorded. Fuck, he just swore too. Uhhh. Did this place have a HR department? This evaluation session wasn’t important, was it? Oh no. No way he was gonna get written up in his first week here.

“It’s also cos I’m so good at…” Remember those job interview tips, Aron. “Getting bossed around…? And grunt work. I mean, lifting and all that. I had a summer job at a classmate’s uncle’s tradie company for a bit, hauling stuff. And quotas. I did those when I was alive.”

He nodded.

“Hitting them. Yeah.”

The interviewer’s pen had stopped. That… that was good, right?

“That’s why I said yes to the Reaper gig. Because I’d be so…” He straightened his posture. Like a professional. “…so good at it.”

Decibitus [Moved to a new thread]

Aron Carvajal

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~8:30AM | MT ARAPILES | Punks Wall

---

Uh.

“Uhhh…” Aron reported eloquently, pointing a thick finger at the drone rounding the corner. There was plenty to worry about on the ground but what could he say? Long-term thinking could be considered a strength a lot of the time! Unfortunately, apart from a few stray rocks and his questionable aim, there was very little he could do to deal with the surveillance and possible exposure of reapers’ existences to the world. He needed to focus on what could actually contribute.

The ghoulie or the civilian. From the vague memory he had of his teammate’s skillsets, there were a few who had spells specializing in containment, or at least, firepower. Which meant he had to pull his weight and take care of things outside of that.

“I-I got the guy!”

His finger moved to the fleeing hiker and he began to chant his speed spell. Shouldn't boost him so fast that he would lose control and crack his head open on the rocks, but enough for a speedy exit. At the same time, Aron shifted his position a few steps, getting ready to intercept the guy and drag him away from the reapers if he moved their way. It wouldn’t be good if he ran right into the Sister and interrupted any of her big moves. Aron would simply have to be prepared to go into flesh mode and intercept if that happened

Decibitus [Moved to a new thread]

Aron Carvajal

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~??? | DECIBITUS | LUCEMA REGINI

---

There was a time in his life where upon waking up, Aron would spend ten minutes staring at his patchy ceiling, silently convincing himself not to call in sick to work. To not skip the commute, to not take the day off to catch up on prestige TV or footy or some shit.

These days, things were… well, ‘better’ was a word up for hot debate. He was dead. His dear friends and family were on the other side of a crossable but unconquerable divide. On the other hand, no rent. Or utilities. No need to eat or sleep either. And, among a myriad of other hobbies, he’d taken up quilting. That was fun.

It had been two or three years since his passing but every now and then, he’d get a nostalgic little tickle of that workplace exhaustion returning. Like today, with his phone pinging incessantly during the last two squares of his latest quilt. Aron closed his eyes and breathed - wrestling, throttling the urge to ignore the message for another half hour to finish his crafts project. But sensibility won in the end, and he headed out.

Someone once described his afterlife skillset as ‘hauling ass real hard’. That, and the assumption that he’d be familiar with the area, apparently made him the perfect candidate for this retrieval. Fairly broad assumption, he would have said. A correct one, but still broad. Australia was a bloody big country. Being the good employee he was though, Aron kept his mouth zipped. And so, he headed through (not without a quick compliment to Siggy’s nails, of course) and charted a course up the mountain.

The search process ended up taking up most of the time compared to the retrieval. Arapiles’ routes didn’t go too high but it sure was a lot of surface area for one guy, even with his walking speed. At least his mission targets were cooperative. All Aron had really done was mentioned the time to Vorya, which was apparently very close to the pilates appointment he was about to miss, and the bloke practically zipped up the wall himself. Gali accepted his boost, because she was thoughtful that way. As Vorya hauled his own ass back to the campground, Aron and Gali enjoyed the leisurely route, talking of wisps and ghost hunters and proper abseiling methods.

Another job well done. With another assignment under his belt, it was just a matter of getting the little report done before he could head home and finally get that quilt done.

---

~8AM | MT ARAPILES | CAMP GROUND

---

Okay, that didn’t happen.

Sunnies on. A chilled Coke in his hand, snagged from an unattended esky. Aron was sat in a tree, taking a refreshing sip and watching over the morning bustle of the campgrounds. It wasn’t like he intended to slack off but, well, it was like his seniors always said. Do you know what hard work gets you? More hard work. If he went back now he’d probably just be handed another task, and that would keep him away from his quilt for even longer. No, he was going to space these things out.

Besides, it wasn’t every day he came back here. It was… nice. The familiar accents, the bustling campground, and that beautiful, wide open bush. For a moment, he could pretend he was back on vacation. As he hopped down to dispose of his empty drink though, he caught sight of a familiar gothic outfit.

Ah, there they were - another team scoping out the tents. The ones that looked like they were here for either a costume party or a conference. For a moment, Aron, in his cargo pants and Bintang singlet, felt underdressed, before he remembered he was at a campground. Ahem. Thanks to Lena’s work parties, he at least knew their names and faces, though some had reputations that preceded even those. Ogawa, Vera, Cath – all model employees. Dressed the part too, depending on what decade you wanted to refer to. And Lena. Everyone knew Lena. It probably would have taken Aron another several months to get to know everyone without her organised get-togethers. He could appreciate someone that took the initiative where he was too awkward to. Could appreciate them a lot, actually.

And then there was the one with the gun. Aron didn’t want to give anyone a bad rap but… the gun. More specifically: the bullets, and the subsequent furphies and complaints (mostly complaints) he’d hear around the office. They were… very difficult to miss. He was sure Amelia didn’t mean for most of those to happen. Hoped, at least. So there was no reason to stress about anything! She was grouped with four other very capable, very sensible agents who would rein her in and boot her down the right track. There would be no need to recount any tall tales of her bullets exploding trees, or buildings, or other Reapers, or herself, or telephone poles, or beloved natural monuments…

…

“H-Heyyy,” he greeted them with a raised hand, moving as naturally and speedily as the situation would allow. “ ‘s goin’ on? I, uh, guess you guys showed up for the lil ghoulie ‘round here?”

Decibitus [Moved to a new thread]

jump in the caac

Aron Carvajal

"Not my finest night."

Appearance

Aron is a man of large stature. Meaty, you could say. There was never much time for him to work on toning down in the later years of his life and while there’s plenty of opportunity now in the almost-afterlife, all motivation for it has been reduced to dust with the whole being dead thing. His hair is naturally dark and wavy, cropped on the sides and styled in the cut of his contemporaries - about as well-groomed as a mullet could possibly be. His facial hair varies frequently, sometimes going from a full mo to untrimmed stubble. His usual expression is a deadpan (or is it vacant?) stare out over the horizon.

As for his attire, Aron dresses in simple masculine fashion. Subtle, patterned button ups, his most reliable pair of Timbs. Whenever he’s heading ‘out’, so to speak, he’ll chuck a hoodie and thick jacket over it if needed. He permanently has a pair of Oakley® sunnies somewhere on his person.

On occasion, he’ll have some elaborate nail art adorning his hands. It is not clear where he gets them from.

Age: 28
Gender: Male

Weapon: An obsidian bo staff. Aron thought the bo was pretty flash back when they were working with that Chinese client. As a bonus, the staff can retract its form into something resembling a tablet pen-like baton.

Magic Branch: Motion, or at least Aron’s perception of it.

Spells

Scale

A verbal spell that manipulates the time scale of an object or being’s intended motion. It affects only one target, either speeding or slowing it down. ‘Intended motion’ can be a difficult concept for Aron to decide upon, especially when it comes to a living target with potentially dissenting ideas, leading to some potentially unpredictable results. This spell merely changes the time taken to get from Point A to Point B, it does not alter the force behind a motion.

Scale... 2 (“The, uh, the up and down of it, y’know?”)

That’s what Aron’s second spell is for. With this one, he can manipulate the force behind a motion. Verbal to increase it up to twicefold, written to increase or decrease it up to fourfold. A-okay when it comes to inanimate objects, but when it comes to living targets and their physical limitations…

“Look, how was I supposed to know his bones were so brittle?”

Frameshell

With this spell, Aron can copy-paste the actions of a target within a four second timeframe back onto the target, essentially making the target repeat the exact action. The verbal spell affects just physical movement, while the written extends to other spells or magical effects. The more Aron forces a repeat of the same action, the more unstable the spell becomes.

When frameshelling spells, Aron can simply make the target recite and recast the spell in the four second timeframe. When it comes to written spells however, since they would have their inscriptions eaten up on activation, they would not be reactivated/refreshed outside of circumstances like "the target had multiple prepared copies of the spell on hand" or "the target had a very simple written spell that could be written and reactivated within the timeframe".

Keyframe

The creation of motion. With the verbal spell, he can manipulate an inanimate object in a manner akin to telekinesis, translating its components in five second bursts. The written spell manipulates a living or magical unit for five seconds. With a puppeteer’s precision, Aron can twist and translate the movements of his target as he wishes.

However, the written spell has a chance of “breaking the rig”, a possibility of exceeding the physical and logical limitations of the target and leaving them to reap the consequences of that when the spell wears off. Since a living being's form has a natural state to return to, such injury can be avoided with enough concentration on Aron's part. For the most part, the aftermath is a severe dislocation. In extreme cases - "...Ripping. That's really the only word for it."

Beings with a higher volume of flesh find it easier to avoid these accidents.

why reaper

“So why’d I say ‘yes’?”

The man scratched the back of his head and cast his eyes into another corner of the room. Gave a loose shrug.

“I’d, uh, never been to Portugal before.”

Hm. Right, he was meant to elaborate here. Context, he almost always forgot.

“The board. With the jobs ‘n all. I saw, uh, Portugal. And Chicago, maybe…? The orientation guy pointed it out, said you’d have to go all over, rounding up ghosts or whatever you do.”

No response from the other end of the table. Just continued staring, pen poised over the clipboard and… oh, that was a nod. Keep going, sure.

“I was meant to go with some mates last year.” That sounded right, unless time was all dogged in this city. “But work – my contract and shit – y’know. No annual leave approved ‘til the screener’s done. So yeah, didn’t go.”

Pen scratched across paper. Oh, this was being recorded. Fuck, he just swore too. Uhhh. Did this place have a HR department? This evaluation session wasn’t important, was it? Oh no. No way he was gonna get written up in his first week here.

“It’s also cos I’m so good at…” Remember those job interview tips, Aron. “Getting bossed around…? And grunt work. I mean, lifting and all that. I had a summer job at a classmate’s uncle’s tradie company for a bit, hauling stuff. And quotas. I did those when I was alive.”

He nodded.

“Hitting them. Yeah.”

The interviewer’s pen had stopped. That… that was good, right?

“That’s why I said yes to the Reaper gig. Because I’d be so…” He straightened his posture. Like a professional. “…so good at it.”

Decibitus [Moved to a new thread]

@PapiTan tyty, have tweaked the spells a bit as per your bobbles, let me know if I should change it further. Rest of the sheet should be done now too.

Decibitus [Moved to a new thread]

jump in the caac

Aron Carvajal

"Not my finest night."

Appearance

Aron is a man of large stature. Meaty, you could say. There was never much time for him to work on toning down in the later years of his life and while there’s plenty of opportunity now in the almost-afterlife, all motivation for it has been reduced to dust with the whole being dead thing. His hair is naturally dark and wavy, cropped on the sides and styled in the cut of his contemporaries - about as well-groomed as a mullet could possibly be. His facial hair varies frequently, sometimes going from a full mo to untrimmed stubble. His usual expression is a deadpan (or is it vacant?) stare out over the horizon.

As for his attire, Aron dresses in simple masculine fashion. Subtle, patterned button ups, his most reliable pair of Timbs. Whenever he’s heading ‘out’, so to speak, he’ll chuck a hoodie and thick jacket over it if needed. He permanently has a pair of Oakley® sunnies somewhere on his person.

On occasion, he’ll have some elaborate nail art adorning his hands. It is not clear where he gets them from.

Age: 28
Gender: Male

Weapon: An obsidian bo staff. Aron thought the bo was pretty flash back when they were working with that Chinese client. As a bonus, the staff can retract its form into something resembling a tablet pen-like baton.

Magic Branch: Motion, or at least Aron’s perception of it.

Spells

Scale

A verbal spell that manipulates the time scale of an object or being’s intended motion. It affects only one target, either speeding or slowing it down. ‘Intended motion’ can be a difficult concept for Aron to decide upon, especially when it comes to a living target with potentially dissenting ideas, leading to some potentially unpredictable results. This spell merely changes the time taken to get from Point A to Point B, it does not alter the force behind a motion.

Scale... 2 (“The, uh, the up and down of it, y’know?”)

That’s what Aron’s second spell is for. With this one, he can manipulate the force behind a motion. Verbal to increase it up to twicefold, written to increase or decrease it up to fourfold. A-okay when it comes to inanimate objects, but when it comes to living targets and their physical limitations…

“Look, how was I supposed to know his bones were so brittle?”

Frameshell

With this spell, Aron can copy-paste the actions of a target within a four second timeframe back onto the target, essentially making the target repeat the exact action. The verbal spell affects just physical movement, while the written extends to other spells or magical effects. The more Aron forces a repeat of the same action, the more unstable the spell becomes.

When frameshelling spells, Aron can simply make the target recite and recast the spell in the four second timeframe. When it comes to written spells however, since they would have their inscriptions eaten up on activation, they would not be reactivated/refreshed outside of circumstances like "the target had multiple prepared copies of the spell on hand" or "the target had a very simple written spell that could be written and reactivated within the timeframe".

Keyframe

The creation of motion. With the verbal spell, he can manipulate an inanimate object in a manner akin to telekinesis, translating its components in five second bursts. The written spell manipulates a living or magical unit for five seconds. With a puppeteer’s precision, Aron can twist and translate the movements of his target as he wishes.

However, the written spell has a chance of “breaking the rig”, a possibility of exceeding the physical and logical limitations of the target and leaving them to reap the consequences of that when the spell wears off. Since a living being's form has a natural state to return to, such injury can be avoided with enough concentration on Aron's part. For the most part, the aftermath is a severe dislocation. In extreme cases - "...Ripping. That's really the only word for it."

Beings with a higher volume of flesh find it easier to avoid these accidents.

why reaper

“So why’d I say ‘yes’?”

The man scratched the back of his head and cast his eyes into another corner of the room. Gave a loose shrug.

“I’d, uh, never been to Portugal before.”

Hm. Right, he was meant to elaborate here. Context, he almost always forgot.

“The board. With the jobs ‘n all. I saw, uh, Portugal. And Chicago, maybe…? The orientation guy pointed it out, said you’d have to go all over, rounding up ghosts or whatever you do.”

No response from the other end of the table. Just continued staring, pen poised over the clipboard and… oh, that was a nod. Keep going, sure.

“I was meant to go with some mates last year.” That sounded right, unless time was all dogged in this city. “But work – my contract and shit – y’know. No annual leave approved ‘til the screener’s done. So yeah, didn’t go.”

Pen scratched across paper. Oh, this was being recorded. Fuck, he just swore too. Uhhh. Did this place have a HR department? This evaluation session wasn’t important, was it? Oh no. No way he was gonna get written up in his first week here.

“It’s also cos I’m so good at…” Remember those job interview tips, Aron. “Getting bossed around…? And grunt work. I mean, lifting and all that. I had a summer job at a classmate’s uncle’s tradie company for a bit, hauling stuff. And quotas. I did those when I was alive.”

He nodded.

“Hitting them. Yeah.”

The interviewer’s pen had stopped. That… that was good, right?

“That’s why I said yes to the Reaper gig. Because I’d be so…” He straightened his posture. Like a professional. “…so good at it.”

OBLIVION

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SARA ZHOU █ act one: way down we go ▸ ritman high ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

The keg was set down, and while Jack caught her breath, Sara stood back and did the same more discreetly. While Billy seemed to be the most enthusiastic about her gift, she averted her eyes as to not make eye contact. She waited a bit for everyone to get a chance at the drink before partially filling her own cup. That would be her limit for the night. Her attention was obviously more divided on keeping her profile low and the object in Meir’s hands. Although the get-together had been marked on her calendar for months, she still had no idea what she was going to do when she finally got her time capsule keepsake back. Tear it up? Frame it? The most likely was that she was going to toss it to the back of an old drawer, to be forgotten and unused forever like the rest of Willard’s belongings. She didn’t even get the chance to have it in her hands. Instead there was some old tome – some Necromicon, as Dante put it – and Sara felt her fist clench in her pocket. Another piece of closure whisked away. Stolen from her. Fucking bullshit. She didn’t respond to Mel’s suggestion for Truth and Dare at first, still slowly sipping her half-filled cup with an unreadable expression. Truthfully, there was a low, rumbling annoyance in the pit of her stomach. A lot of people had important memories in there, pleasant or not. Judging by the outer state of the capsule, it looked like the actual insides had been pilfered many years back. What reason did anyone have to steal an old sack of high school junk? “I guess it’s some treasure hunt clue?” Was the first explanation that came to mind. Maybe the book held some dumb, longwinded clue to where the actual time capsule was. It seemed a possible, if contrived, theory until Meir opened to its blank pages. Whatever. At least this would serve as some diversion. Sara couldn’t remember the last time she watched National Treasure, but this was some bullshit. What were they meant to do with this? “… no one here would happen to have a UV light on them, would they?” ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

OBLIVION

@Salsa Verde

Sara's time capsule item would be a particularly cursed recipe she 'confiscated' from her brother to lock away, where it would bring no suffering or tortured tastebuds to anyone else in Delton ever again. Or at least until the capsule is opened. It was a 'remix' of something they'd eat for Lunar New Year.