#reaperdispatchsupervisor

( @reaperdispatchsupervisor )

( this is connected to our verse with Mey and Sebastian)

"Pardon?" she asked, her head tilting to one side as she regarded the unknown man. "Is this something serious?"

( @reaperdispatchsupervisor )

With blatant disregard for both the boring amounts of filing Will was doing and his claim at being busy dealing with it, Grell draped herself over the full length of his desk.

Listen. 

In all fairness, he didn’t intend to end up with four extra demons on his property, evidently and yet, inexplicably in his servitude until such time as he passed, thus ending his actual contract with the single demon he had meant to use–

Yet, there he was. 

The fake inheritor of a real fortune, and the real inheritor of a fake house staff. 

It had its perks, certainly; it wasn’t all bad. 

It wasn’t wonderful, either, though. In fact, it was quite unsettling most of the time, to know one to be the only human present for more kilometers than was reasonably comforting, on top of which was the further knowledge that he was a delicacy to such creatures; a source of sustenance and power, luxury and need. 

At least he’d chosen a good one to promise himself to; something about the triplets implied a splitting of his soul, which aroused such images as a pack of rabid coyotes or a swarm of needle-fanged vampire bats, and something about Miss Hannah Annafellows implied, aroused…

Nameless agony he shuddered to imagine even in his worst of nightmares, the ones whose ebony claws left behind wild eyes, shot instincts, and a hoarse cry for help, only to realize that nobody had overheard because he’d choked on his own air from screaming himself ragged. 

Yes, he’d prefer Claude Faustus any day. 

…Claude Faustus, whom he was currently… avoiding to the best of his ability. 

It wasn’t as though he fooled himself to believe that the demon wasn’t well-aware he’d left the confines of the manor approximately thirteen and a half minutes ago, naturally– it was just that confrontation would only result in an order that afforded him the privacy he was after in the end, so there was a sort of unspoken stalemate between the two, wherein Alois was allowed to pretend like he’d slipped away, and Claude would mercifully play along with the delusion, acting as though he had no idea where his sacrificial lamb had wandered off to before the slaughter– and this way, no one had to be pissy with the other for the afternoon. 

It was an easy routine, lackadaisical and familiar. 

What was far, far less familiar was the man in the suit who’d somehow appeared onto his property as if from nowhere, given the lack of cab or carriage present or retreating, and who made Alois’s hackles rise on pure, unadulterated compulsion alone. 

"... ... You're too tall."

Fully aware, yet the reaper marches on through anyway. "Feh."

Shiro follows behind, unwilling to let a stranger do as they please while unsupervised and uninvited at the same time. There's nothing to hide in the dorm (except Lewin, of course), and thus no real need for such tight security (unless someone is a part of the Vatican authority, in which case they can fuck off), but he's never done well with strangers either - especially pushy ones. With so many precious lives in these four walls too, he doesn't dare risk any of their well beings just for this being's comfort or ease.

It was quite the turn of luck that she loved the battlefield so much– or, usually it was. Most of the time, her ability to process and respond to the violence and shock of a fight with things that ate souls, that lapped at their heels like hungry dogs, that caused overtime and headaches and troublesome incident reports, was unmatched, was her best trait on her performance reviews. The department didn’t have to like it, didn’t have to like her, but she was one of their best field operatives, and very little could change that. 

However, in contrast to her mess and bloodlust, William was unshakeable in the field, never the type to make mistakes or falter in his work, nor spend time on unnecessarily flashiness, coldly and flawlessly performing his job the way every reaper should have coveted to. There was a reason, after all, that he’d ascended the management ranks while no other reaper in their graduating class had. He was the absolute paragon of Death, the perfect Grim Reaper. 

It seemed they were each in rareform that evening.

Will had gotten hurt. 

And Grelle was terrified by it. 

"No touching, got it. Kiiinda hard to ignore The Stick but I'll give it a- Oh! Is it a mic stand? We got one for the show already but never hurts to have spares."

Shuffling some papers around revealed a pink binder that's seen way better days. "Alright, I'm sure corporate gave you the rundown but look. We've never done a show this big before, the other two musicians have full time jobs so it's just been me sorting things out, and there's only two days left. Which is where you come in!" Presumably, there's some sense to be made of the writing inside the binder, but the most intelligible thing inside was a half-decent drawing of a stage surrounded by an awful lot of fire.