raconteur

she could not be too lax. she usually wasn't on her toes like this, but it was a situation where she had to be. of course. she cherished her life. so, yes. be careful.

she turns the corner, flashlight strapped to her head as she walks around the abandoned house. she had told the paranormal activity members to scope upstairs, she's got it down below. they were far from each other, she could not even hear them rustling. let's hope they were okay

she comes across a figure - blinding. holding a knife, for protection? what?! jangmi is quick to whip out her knife, pointing it at the unidentified figure. "don't hurt me! i just want answers!" she squeals, but not out of fear. maybe, fear of being attacked. but she had holy water strapped to her jean pocket. if anything, salt as well.

The group on the upper floor were far too close together for his liking. Muffling a scoff in the shadows, Indigo left them to their devices. Humans bunching together didn't help create the atmosphere he was trying to go for. Not this time. Scaring one person was not only easier, but more intimate. If he wanted to taste multiple emotions at once, he would have conveniently wandered into one of five clubs he frequented. Tonight, Indigo's focus was on connection, not just a late night snack. He frowned, moving silently through the walls in thought. He could've sworn there was someone missing. Scratching the back of his head, his fingers lingered, tapping an erratic beat against the closely shaved hair of his undercut. Perhaps the missing person had split up from the group, showcasing their bravery among the students. Following this train of thought, Indigo allowed his body to sink into the floor, his frame translucent. Down, down through the cracked and creaking ceiling, he finished his descent, only to be startled by the very person he had been in search of. "Holy shit," he swore under his breath, the hand upon his head now shooting down to rest against the rapid beating in his chest. The black of is irises did little to humanize him, appearing as dark, empty holes in his current form. They drifted down towards the knife held in his direction. The woman's reaction threatened to pull a string of chortles out of him. Clamping his jaw shut was the only means of keeping his amusement leashed. "The answer you want is my name?" Indigo managed to speak without giving away how ridiculous he thought she looked. "That's pretty lackluster considering all that... stuff you've got on you. Is that pocket salt?" He spoke with an ease in his voice, his timbre deep, warm, almost welcoming.

he groans from agitation. usually, it's fine. but he couldn't use weapons here. just his bare hands, his feet. he wasn't too coordinated and when he was in a fight outside of school grounds, there was always something he looked for in the distance. all he could see where other teams, one on the ground as the latter has a proud smirk on their face. typical. he looks up at his partner, rolling over so that she wasn't touching his calf anymore. he glares. not too much of a people person, but he had to adjust. he shakes his head, a less aggressive way of declining her hand. he gets up by himself, grunting on the way up.

There was something about the look in his eyes that intrigued her. A glare. It didn't feel hateful. No, that would have set in motion a wave of amusement Chante knew she wouldn't be able to shake. The look was so straight forward, she wondered what was behind it. Retracting her hand as he declined the offer of help, her playful smile lingered, pale citrine colored eyes keeping a close watch on his. "Oh will I?" the words rode out on a gentle snicker, punctuated by a flippant quirk of her brow. The ground he declared she would become acquainted with didn't receive so much as a brief glance. Her gaze locked in on his, not just accepting, but welcoming the challenge. Chante lifted her chin, as was necessary due to the height difference, and raised her hands to secure a few loose strands of raven blue hair. Their current style of micro braids made for easy maintenance during combat, each bump from the hundreds of expertly woven plaits gently rubbing against the tips of her fingers, helping to keep her grounded and present for what may come. Chante began to take small strides to the left, circling him on the mat. Each step was silent, an easy feat with no shoes, and deliberate. "I don't think the floor and I are as good of friends as you are with it." Her hair now secured within the velvet band, she dropped both hands to hang by her sides, swaying with each switch of her hips. "In fact," the smile of spirited competition turned, honing itself into a taunting smirk, "you look really at home on your back."

but without failure, there is no success. would he be the one to take his own advice though? of course not. "take it easy. the more frustrated you get, the more you can't see clearly." physically, mentally. though he scoffs. they're just numbers.

Her olive eyes narrowed into judgemental slits, threatening to cast aspersions in his direction. But he was right. Gold shimmer danced in the florescent light of the library as her lids closed. Not having to see the numbers on the page gave her momentary reprieve, long enough for Quinn to draw a deep breath in, hoping to pull any semblance of peace in along with it. It filled her lungs, lifting her shoulders and chest with reassurance. Determination then took its place upon her exhale. His words were able to reach her, though they barely made a difference from the prior three explanations. Nothing was different from what had already been stated. Between him and their professors, she felt as if she were in a loop. 'There. That was it,' she realized. The method and its steps didn't register -- not completely. However, his strategy had. The pencil was now in his grasp, giving Quinn the chance to think clearly, without the pressure of writing literally in her hands. "I'm not mad at the the test. I'm mad at myself," her lips pursed, preventing a sharp addition to the statement from escaping. A moment further was taken and she sucked in the hollows of her cheeks, gently biting on the flesh, rethinking her phrasing. "What's frustrating is the way you're trying to rush me into understanding. You're not presenting any of this," delicate hands motioned towards the papers and textbook, "in a way that's different from the way it's taught in class. How do you expect me to catch on if you're just repeating the exact thing that isn't easy to digest in the first place? Let alone in a way that would leave an auctioneer at a loss for words."

               ･ﾟ° ☾ ✧ △   𝑺𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒆𝒂𝒕, fingers brushing the petals of the nearby camellias and roses, their early blooms damp with morning dew. The city beneath them was waking slowly — a few cars moving along the streets, scattered pedestrians tracing paths she knew only from brief glimpses out her window. The sky was clear, painted in soft washes of gold and rose, a dawn she had admired countless times from countless hotels, yet somehow it felt different this morning.

❛ I’ve always loved moving ❜ she said softly, tracing the rim of her coffee cup as if grounding herself in the warmth. ❛ Every city, every hotel, every sunrise from a different window… it’s been thrilling. I never felt tied down, never felt the need for permanence. And I liked it that way ❜.

She let her gaze drift over the quiet streets below, imagining the lives moving through them. ❛ But now… with the baby, it changes everything. Someone will need me in a way I’ve never needed anyone... someone who will rely on walls that remember them, on spaces that feel like they belong to them ❜.

A soft breeze carried the scent of the flowers to her, and she inhaled deeply, letting the moment steady her. ❛ I don’t know exactly what home looks like yet. I’ve been moving for so long that I never stopped to picture staying. But I know I want to build it — a place full of warmth and constancy, for them. And… I hope I can learn to do it with you... if that is something you'd like to do together ❜

Travis drew a long sip, the coffee within now growing lighter the closer it came to the bottom of the mug. His gaze followed hers as she spoke, lingering on the delicate petals she treated so tenderly. Everything had been so informal until now with her. To sit and hold space for such a discussion felt new, yet not wholly uncomfortable. The way she spoke, he began to wish they had taken the time to speak at length, to get to know each other as they were attempting to do so now. She sounded so willing to cast aside her current life, the freedom of it, for someone she didn't know yet. Granted, they grew inside her, forging a specific connection he would never personally understand at the level she did. But he would try. A few quiet moments pass by, his amber gaze fixed upon the warm hue of hers. He had seen her before -- completely bare at that -- but not like this. Physical vulnerability could never trump its emotional counterpart. The realization tugs at the corner of his lips, threatening to break the placid demeanor of his resting face. In his eyes, anticipation and excitement danced amongst the gold now committing the moment to memory. "I'm honored that you would consider me as someone to join you in this," he finally spoke, a closed smile managing to break loose and allow a dimple in his cheeks to form, peeking over his carefully trimmed beard. "We come from a similar background, in that our lives have revolved around freedom, and a lack of a home." His gaze shifts towards the skyline, that smile now beginning to fade ever so slightly. "What would matter most to you in a home, Minah?"

                ･ﾟ° ☾ ༓ △  𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒈𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒃𝒐𝒕𝒉 𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒏. Growing up with supportive parents allowed her to see the world, get acquainted with diverse cultures, cuisine, languages, she knew little of sufferings, little of sorrows other than feeling unhinged at times, not knowing where she belongs... not quite fitting in anywhere. Now she ought to settle down, make roots for the new life she is about to bring into the world.

❛ I don't know what I need... ❜. With sincere intent, she speaks. ❛ It's the first time I'll have to stay in one place and actually settle... I've never had a home, don't know how that'll work out ❜. Fingers play with the cup she brought for herself, but she does not dare take a sip thinking her eating habits might have to change too. Isn't it bad for the baby, if she drinks coffee? Darn.

Bitting her upper lip, Minah adjust her form on the chair she is seated on, fingers brushing through the top of her hair, nervous fidget perhaps. ❛ We never shared much about our lives, let alone our family... we should start there ❜.

It's a basic thing is't it? knowing about each other's lives, upbringing, beliefs... they had skipped most of it and now they are bound to one another for life in a way.

❛ I want to know you better, let you know me better... see if we could work out before things get more complicated ❜. Not that things aren't already very muddled, from zero to a hundred in less than six months since they commenced their acquaintanceship. Goodness, they should've known better, alas, there is no other alternative than to move onward and chose how to weather with their latest predicament.

He was old, experienced a plethora of dangers, battled threats born from humans and those beyond that. Helping bring a child into the world? Truthfully, he never imagined it happening to him. Not for a lack of desire, but due to doubt that such a gift would ever be bestowed upon him. Travis' hold on the mug alternated between anticipatory tension and conscious relaxation, matching the deep breaths in and out he focused on. Minah's admission caught him by surprise. It seemed they had more in common than he thought. Their shared lack of a home or reason to return to a single place provided him with a sense of ease. It relaxes into his stiff shoulders, traveling down his arms and into the fingers that now rested idly around the warm cup of coffee. On one final, long exhale, he gave a curt nod in agreement to her proposition. Getting a better understanding of one another was the most logical place to start. His only fear was how much of the truth he should divulge, without sounding utterly insane. "That's fair," he announced, vocalizing his confirmation to press forward. "We could start with you not having a home. That sounds like a fairly major change for you with-" Travis paused, realizing -- then accepting -- not saying aloud their situation would not make it any less real. "With the baby on the way, and after."

When was the last time he'd chosen to actually tell anyone? He closed his eyes for just a second and, quite expectedly, an image of Seraphine, the late mother of his child, popped up. Her long, luscious dark hair, penetrating dark eyes, and her nearly menacing, toothy smile. A familiar pang in his chest reminded him of all the chaos that the truth could wreak.

Nevertheless, Amiah was owed the truth. He clenched his jaw, inhaled a breath longer than necessary and, when he finally spoke, he did not dare look at her. Jitae, no, Death, kept staring at the city, the place of the doomed.

And as all familiar (and some would say cliche) stories begin, Jitae's own started with the Word. And the Beginning. "My name is Death," he was nearly whispering, as if saying it any louder would cause the seams of reality to start stretching apart. Death. He felt the word on his lips, his mouth, his brain. It itched. But, now that he had began, he could not stop.

"Religions are all rivers flowing from the same ocean," he repeated her own words, now with a smile stretching the corners of his mouth. "And I-we are the source of that ocean. My sisters and brothers." He could hear her. Pestilence, pestiferous in her insistence that, if he was willing to share the truth, he might as well damn do it without all the drama. Hearing this fictional scolding of their oldest sibling nearly caused him to laugh - at himself.

"It's been a long time since I have ever told anyone any of this. To be fair," he looked at Amiah, "you're the second one. I was never much of a talker, you know? What is the point? To meet someone like you, who knows deep down there's more to this world than what is presented...Let's just say you come one in billions."

Visibly relaxed, Jitae sighed and continued. He told Amiah nearly everything. The world and its beginning. The practical truths of all religions and tales. But when he got to the most important part, he began to hesitate.

"The creature we saw on that video, I believed it could be one of my reapers, as I'd already told you, but none of them can go rogue. It's funny, they have all the free will they want to and yet," he lifted an arm, squirmed his fingers and then clenched his fist. "They cannot do anything without me."

"I am assuming a-" he paused. Friend? Really, was he going to refer to Babylon as a friend? That creature could not wrap their mind around the concept of fealty if it crawled right up their—

"I'm assuming someone I know could have created the, well, monster I guess. That's the most practical way to describe it. The problem is that if I am right, then I cannot do much about it. Not me, at least," he sighed. "I was hoping, you know, to take that tape and take care of it myself, somehow. I did not want you involved in this. Especially not now."

That last one slipped and he did not manage to hide that fact. "If I'm right, that thing will not stop with that man. As it appears to me, it is a soul-eater. It would explain why the man's soul never passed through Hades, or the Purgatory. I checked." He sighed once again and look back at Amiah. "Soul-eaters, as...a category I guess, typically consume to survive. This one feels different. Which is why we need to get rid of all instances of that tape. Something is wrong with it, too."

Still and attentive, Amiah's pit black eyes didn't stray from Jitae -- Death's visage. Greedy, she took it all in with no hesitation. The image of him, each syllable uttered, the cadence of his words, the extensive detail of a world she knew existed but was always just out of reach. Awe was but a sliver of what shimmered in her gaze, twinkling much like the stars overhead, burning with white hot intensity as they did. Her hands gripped her knees through the tattered blanket draped across her legs. They steadied herself, urged Amiah to remain as grounded as she could, despite the threat of elation and relief erupting from within. It was now her turn to remain silent, to sit in the discovery, the confirmation of all the theories that had stolen her sleep for decades. And not just her, she recalled with an almost bittersweet taste sprinkling itself on her tongue. She gasped, her first breath taken since he had spoken. So many of her old friends had been confined to padded rooms devoid of color, to daily schedules sucked dry of the spontaneity of life, all due to believing what she did. The things they saw, things she knew she shouldn't desire to glimpse but remained quietly jealous nonetheless, were they real? As real as the man sitting beside her, or the entity caught on camera? Her fingers dug deeper, the tips of her magenta nails pinching her skin through the fabric of the blanket. The longer she sat with her thoughts, sorting through the information he gifted her, the less she moved. A statue now, frozen by the rushing current of her thoughts, her worries, her anger at society for condemning people like herself and those she loved for being 'different'. How was she to respond when there were an overwhelming amount of topics to be broached? "You said 'we'," she began, her gentle voice remaining somewhat composed, if not for the subtle twang of indignation lying in wait. "I have many questions, many... grievances, with what you've shared." she only hoped he did not take her frustration as directed towards him and those similar to him. "But from what I can tell, the priority right now is helping you find that thing. All I ask if you answer my questions once we've finished." As fascinating as it was to know a being was roaming about stealing souls, Amiah had enough empathy to acknowledge it was a curiosity that needed to be left to those who understood it best.

Countless possibilities involving the telling of truth, the circumvention of more or less critical facts. It all rushed through his mind while Jitae, nigh mesmerized by the determination in Amiah's eyes, endeavored to make a decision.

And then, when that second passed, he did. He moved swiftly, inhaling a long, deep breath as he once again inched closer to Amiah. As well-arranged and comfortable her apartment was, Jitae believed this was not the best place to lay out all the cards on the proverbial table.

"If you don't mind," Jitae was nearly whispering as he stood right in front of the young woman, eyes locking once again with hers. His left arm moved and wrapped itself around the middle of her back - not quite touching and not quite separated from her. "Close your eyes," he told her.

By the time she would have opened them again, Jitae had taken them to the rooftop of the building. Fresh, chilly evening breeze acted as both nurturing nectar and a slap of reality. When he let go of Amiah, Jitae immediately spoke, choosing no more delays.

"At first, I thought it was one of my reapers. I cannot wrap my head around it, but something about the video make me think that for a moment," Jitae said, inviting, with his hand, Amiah to walk over and sit with him. He'd bound two cardboard boxes, abandoned. Who knew how they could there, or who put them there. Maybe the Universe was having a practical joke.

A wave of heat rushed to her cheeks, staining them a dusty pink as he grew closer. Most kept their distance from her once near enough to almost tangibly feel the unsettling aura about her reaching out for them, yearning for contact. Ever since she was a child, Amiah was reminded there was something off about her. Anyone in her adult years who enjoyed the sensation, often harbored morals matching said energy surrounding the woman. This made life...confusing; true or healthy connection of any sort remained difficult, always just out of reach. Flustered, she managed to maintain eye contact with Jitae, not daring to shy away from what he was offering: answers. Unsure as to why she would need to close her eyes, Amiah did as she was asked, her limbs stiff within the ghost of his grasp around her. Carefully, her own arms snaked their way around her chest, hands resting atop her shoulders in a reassuring embrace to prepare for what may come. Familiar, fresh air greeted her only moments later, coaxing her to open her eyes. The relief initially born of Jitae not treating her presence as a burden -- or plague -- shifted to gentle awe. She looked around, recognizing the rooftop as that of her apartment complex. A few feet to the right of where they stood, she caught sight of an old blanket she had left for her evenings staring up at the endless sky. His words were quick to peel her attention back to the matter at hand, leaving the idea of sitting upon the plush fabric in favor of the truth he offered. Before joining him, she dashed to her blanket, dusting it off with a few solid smacks of her palm as she returned to his side. Taking a seat, she draped it over their laps, her movements slowing to ensure a more ginger placement over his legs. Amiah paused to wonder if the warm comforts of a blanket would matter to someone who has created reapers, these messengers of Death, as he put it. She listened intently, earnestly drinking in the information as if living in the mundane world of humans had cause her to grow parched of truth. His eyes shifting pulled a sudden yelp of confirmation and reassurance. Resisting the urge to literally point in the direction of Jitae's now grey eyes, she settled for a wide grin. She wasn't crazy. She hadn't been seeing things. And now, she was able to stare into the very eyes she had beheld in his reflection. "I believe in everything," she replied simply, still basking in the small display of his true self. "Religions are all rivers flowing from the same ocean. Their only differences, fundamentally, are the cultures they poured into." "Why do you ask?"

The eyes which would have told him all; an amateur mistake, really, for someone like him.

He waited and when the bubble of anticipation broke, it did so with an abrupt ending. It inflated right before his very eyes until an imaginary pin, forged in acceptance, determination and a pinch of bravado, caused it to burst.

Her touch followed, somehow gentle and firm at the same time, drawing Death back from the relative safety of his ceaseless wondering. Her fingers gave his shoulder a little squeeze and his entire body froze, his dark eyes darting at Amiah.

For a moment there, he was motionless like a statue. He didn't even breathe, blink or perform any normal function. Jitae just stared, then took a deep breath and lowered his voice when he spoke to her, without bothering to move away.

"The first thing to do is make sure that video does not resurface anywhere online. A little mystery here and there doesn't hurt when it's actually a mystery." He'd seen it all too many times: human minds, the likes of which had surpassed the most prolific and creative of writers, had the capability of conjuring the wildest theories, many of which remained in their respective, fantastical realms.

Every now and then, though, their morbid curiosity turned into their own demise once they bit far too much to chew.

"The next thing to do is find a way to understand what that thing is. I can tell you everything it isn't, though."

What she saw could have easily been brushed off as a daydream or hallucination due to severe lack of sleep. The case -- and Jitae -- had been keeping her from finding any rest. Insomnia had become dance partners with the distractions, keeping Amiah awake for over twenty-four hours now. If not for the well placed concealer beneath her eyes, the shadows growing there would have given her away. Jitae's visage had returned to what it once was, any semblance of the other man having vanished completely. His words were quick to grab hold of her attention, draw her focus towards what mattered more than what she thought she had seen. Amiah gave a slow nod, eyes briefly glancing towards the computer on her living room table. "That's easy enough. Those I borrowed it from won't care to check if it's missing now that they've dismissed the case as being a one off." Bitterness crept into her tone, weighing down her soft words ever so slightly. But if not for their willful ignorance, she would not be here with him, discussing the reality of what transpired on the tape. A wicked smile bloomed voraciously at the mention of danger. Her dark eyes deepened with a primal desire, all manner of life threatening situations passing through her mind at breakneck speed. "Very," she confirmed, positively giddy. "Tell me everything."

Death had seen quite literally countless souls come and go; every new generation had brought with itself their unique sets of talents, wasted and applied. Very few were like Amiah's. He did not even need to reach out too far to know.

From the start, from the very moment he'd met her, Jitae had felt a sense of familiarity in Amiah; one that had arisen from the fact that he could see her, grabbing and reaching in the same darkness that all mortals unknowingly resided in to see the light.

Peeling his gaze away from her, Jitae pushed himself away from the desk and looked toward the window. A soft rain, not much more than a drizzle, was tapping against the window, leaving elongated, vein-like stains across the otherwise spotless glass.

"Because you're right," Jitae said. His eyes were still fixated toward the outside, as if avoiding eye contact was supposed to make this rare moment of utter honesty any less...excusable; at least in his eyes.

After all, he was the one who kept warning his oldest sister to keep her mouth shut.

"It is the work of something inhuman."

With the pin drop, the air around them appeared to tense. He stopped blinking and nearly paused his breath as he waited for Amiah's response. Perhaps he would regret the honesty; but perhaps, he would be able to, at least with her, shed the hundreds of eons of secrecy that Death had to cloak himself in.

Deciphering his compliment grew more and more difficult. An overactive mind like her own struggled to simply take it at face value and resist the urge to dig deeper, to discover what exactly he meant by having surpassed these others he spoke so highly of. The track her mind sped so hastily along suddenly changed course, redirected by the guiding confirmation she had been correct. Amiah's onyx eyes became alight, her excitement shining like so many stars in the midnight sky she admired as a child. A blood red smile bloomed onto her painted lips, an expression she knew should not face graced her face; something inhuman had utterly decimated a human. On camera. But she had been right. There was more out there in the world. Her intuition hadn't led her astray, she wasn't crazy, she knew the truth. She knew the truth and he had confirmed it for her. This strange man whose presence consistently pulled her close, tugging at her curiosity without a word. That same magnetism drew her in now, lifting her feet swiftly across the ornate rug and to his side by the window. She extended a hand towards his shoulder, gazing at his reflection in the rain specked glass. That hand paused at what she saw. Pale skin, paler than anything she had seen on a living human, made the man appear as a ghost in the reflection. His eyes, the dark gaze she had become familiar with, lost in at times, were gone. In their place, irises of silver mist. Jitae was...different, yet even more familiar than before. In awe, Amiah had forgotten to blink. Oh, how she wished she hadn't remembered to. One mystery had been solved, only to be replaced by another. Humans were not alone, but perhaps she may still be crazy, as his appearance returned to that of the older detective she originally invited to her home. Flustered, her hand finally found his shoulder, fingers squeezing slightly as she sought something to ground her. Funny it should be him she attempted to steady herself with. "What do we do, Jitae?"

The nonchalance with which Amiah presented her - to many - scandalous views nearly caused the Horseman of Death to burst into a deeply bemused laughter. He took note of each of her words, weighed it with great care and watched as her eyes lit up the more she spoke.

Chaotic, greedy and impulsive.

If any three words pieced together had ever managed to described the perennial state of affairs of the immortals then it would be those three. As he was washed over with the refreshing frankness that Amiah had to offer, Jitae wondered if he should tell her the truth.

With such beliefs firmly embedded into her core, Amiah was capable, Jitae was convinced, of handling any sort of truth. Even this one - this one bit of the universe's true nature that he'd always yearned to be able to share with someone; even if he was unwilling to admit that out loud.

That one bit of truth...

Jitae sighed. He squeezed his hands into fists and heard his sister's voice: it's not going to kill you to try to be open sometimes. But the weight of what he would have (or should) tell Amiah was wearing him down. Theoretical excitement was one thing. But as he looked back at her, with his eyes darkened by just a tone this time, Jitae wondered: if she knew, what would she say? Would her determination be unwavering?

Fuck it.

"You know, they used to hang and burn people for saying such things." That was his attempt at a joke. He took the liberty to sit on, or rather lean himself against, the edge of the desk. He rolled up his sleeves, up to his elbows, and then crossed his arms as his gaze not once left Amiah's eyes.

Waiting with bated breath, Amiah's fist relaxed as his own formed, her hand sliding down her hips and over to the front of her thighs, dampening the fabric of her long pencil skirt with beads of nervous sweat. With most, her admission she knew would be rejected. With him? Oh, how could she anticipate his response accurately while mystery seemed to cloud her vision of him at all times? His opinion, his thoughts on the case, they meant more to her than she expected. Just as the silence became unbearable, nearly prompting her to tear it away, to interject with a change of subject, their eyes met. Her chest had grown tight, reminding Amiah to exhale. His words and her breath intermingled in the space between them, and she relaxed. A familiar tilt of her head appeared, giving the woman the air of a pup trying to translate what its owner's demands were. "Gifted...?" she repeated faintly, searching Jitae's eyes for clarity. "I'm flattered you consider me to be similar to them." Gradually, a frown tugged at her sharp features as she continued on, "Though it says more about the lack of growth in our society than my 'gifts' when the hanging and burning of outspoken women has been traded in for public embarrassment and isolation instead," her words led with bitterness, trailed by melancholic yearning. "Why do you ask, Jitae?"

He huffed. His eyes revealed possibly almost everything that was coiling through his mind — including the fact that he'd caught that. One did not need to be a genius to understand the slip and what the young woman had wanted to say. It was clear in the way he glanced at her, with the corner of his mouth twitching into a knowing and rare smile hinting at the fact that he knew.

He did not address it further, however, instead choosing to focus on the crucial matters. Such as: what in the world was going on?

If he'd taken the time to notice the way the hairs at the back of his neck were standing the whole time, he would have been able to draw a better conclusion. If he'd paid attention to his corporeal form, something he seldom contemplated about, he'd take note of the way a minuscule chill was settling in the pit of his stomach.

Death was not scared. He was concerned, but the way he took a step back and gave Amiah a serious look could mislead anyone into thinking he was hesitant. "Some information is best kept to yourself," Jitae finally replied to her question. He took the computer mouse once more and dragged the cursor over the screen, replaying the video once more before giving it a rest. "I can't really say I trust anyone else at the department with this."

Relief gently settled into the put of her stomach at the sight of his smile, the subtle acknowledgement not only of what she had nearly said, but that her feelings on the matter were valid. She imagined what comments he may have himself of those in the department, wondered what sort of draining interactions he may have had to deal with in the past. Just as her curiosity was about to get the best of her, the detective successfully pulled her back to the conversation at hand. What comfort his expression previously provided her with was quickly snatched away. Her back straightened once he took a step away, his tone and visage making way for the rare tingle of fear to shoot down her spine. With furrowed brows, she closed the small gap he had made between them, watching carefully as he replayed the footage one last time. His comment regarding the reliability of the department didn't come as a surprise. Considering they had the tape themselves, seen it, and deemed it a simple technological glitch, omitted their ability and desire to help to begin with. The latter of the two questions he posed was what stilled her breath. A simple, idle nod was given in response to providing a copy, a hand reaching out to close the laptop and drag it closer to the edge of the table, a flat palm as its guide. "What do I make of all this?" she repeated, softly, flattered he had bothered to ask. "I don't believe that it was the result of the footage being tampered with," something the department had come up with. It was too pedestrian of an excuse, too simple for such an execution. "I do believe that whatever was captured by that camera was something inhuman." The hand resting upon her laptop balled itself into a determined fist, preparing her for any ridicule he may unleash. "Humans aren't the only beings skulking about in the shadows. Others dance, observe, interfere," her tone grew soft with each 'activity' she listed. "And some are just as chaotic, greedy, and impulsive as those the waking world refuses to acknowledge. That is what I believe."

Brows furrowing together, Jitae found himself free to practically tower over Amiah as he leaned forward and pressed his right arm on the cold, wooden surface of the table, though no less cold than his icy grip. Eyes transfixed on the figure, Jitae stared at the image for a long time, assessing its shape, its size, its action before a cold sensation ran down to the pit of his body's stomach.

It was a reaper.

likely.

His head tilted slightly, almost like a predator watching its pray in absolute silence. A rogue reaper? It was not soul collection, Death knew that. Death was also increasingly frustrated at the fact he could not provide - not even to himself - a definitive answer. He knew, by heart and soul, every reaper, every human soul whose expiry date was nearing.

The deceased as well as the shadow belonged to neither group. And it bugged him. It worried him, too.

Her dark eyes flitted back and forth from the screen to his strong profile. The look on his face, the way he didn't immediately turn away and scoff at the idea that a shadow could have caused the murder, invited sparks of excitement to dance in her gaze. The longer he stared at the footage, the less time Amiah found herself giving the screen any attention. What was going on in his mind? What wheels were turning, piecing together what had be captured? Her head slowly began to tilt to the left, exposing her growing curiosity, not only of the crime, but the man investigating it. Both her breath and thoughts stuttered to a sharp halt the moment their eyes met. Lips barely parting in anticipation of his assessment, their corners threatened to curl into a smile. Ingrained professionalism was quick to take hold as he asked his query. She shook her head firmly, a hand motioning towards the laptop, its palm up. "This is all I managed to ste-- borrow," she corrected herself as quickly as she could manage, continuing on as if it never happened. "If there are more tapes, I can return tomorrow to ask, but as of right now, this is all I know of." A scoff pushed itself forward at the thought of anyone else listening to her even attempt to broach the topic. "I'm just a mortician," she stated, her words lightly laced with bitterness. "No one up there that has seen the tape thinks it's worth anything, nor do they think I have anything of value to add outside of cause of death." Her eyes squinted, gently taking in his body language. "Why do you ask?"