---

---

There was something decidedly wrong about someone who liked mornings as much as Sigrun. The blonde might as well have been chirping her greetings to the reapers making their way into the office in the morning with her clipboard in hand, her nails painted with cotton candy pinks and blues in stark contrast to her otherwise professional attire.

That one could practically conjure her exact image, down to the absentminded fiddling of her glitter-filled phone charm, was probably only partially due to her uncanny mastery over magic meant for communication. The rest was entirely because of her far-too-cheerful voice and the animated sounds of her own fidgeting coming through the spell far too clearly.

“Ahem, this is Siggy! Testing, testing… Gooood morning, reapers–or maybe it’s, like, gonna way past morning where you guys are going?” Her voice chimed brightly from the spell meticulously inscribed in sparkling, turquoise gel pen ink on laminated stickers of equally pastel shades carefully cut in the shape of rounded stars. Sigrun had been assertive in affixing said stickers to each reaper even before they’d received the news of their latest jobs. Her vice grip on the reluctant and unwilling had been surprising, as always. “Anyways, you guys are way, way, way in luck! Miss Death said these jobs are probably gonna be a snoozefest for you guys, and like, I totally believe her. And you have me as your totes super-duper operator for communicating to base today!”

Humming blocked the silence for a moment alongside a rustling of papers.

“Let me see… M, V, O, A… Yeah, Team Vamos! Okay, okay, we have an extra note for you on top of the information for the wisp hunt, and that iiiiis… ‘Miss Dupont, your pay will be docked for excessive collateral damage!’ Pfffff, hashtag warning, right? You should be over at Centenary Park Campground, but like, not directly at any of the sites. It’s defs the best place to not scare any mountain climbers off a cliff or end up right in front of the Wisp on accident.

And then–oh, wowee, we have real hotties working here now, huh? Anyways, Team Hot Stuff, Decibitus Hall hasn’t been able to get an image of the little lost guy yet, but once they do, I’ll zap the image right into your head! Bzzzt, just like that! Miss Death wrote a note on one’a the film crew guys too–apparently he’s been a pain in the butt recently in some Japan jobs ‘cause he can like, to-tal-ly see you guys even when no one else can. But, like, maybe he also saw the lost dude? Dudette? Whatevs. You should turn up in Genjiyama Park. Lotta nature there and like, no surprise shrines to accidentally trip a ward or something since you’re still kinda ghosties too. Mooooost likely the lost person is gonna be around one of those shrines though, so I guess just try not to cause too much fuss and make it a whole thing when you get to them.”

Sigrun flipped through whatever report was before her again, the pages rustling once more.

“Woooooow, and last but not least we have Team Oldie. Pluto, aren’t you like, retirement age yet? Like, take a break already, geeze. Anyways, I’m seeing that you guys might have to try and find out more about Dakotah, but like, they were pretty popular in that teeny town. Maybe if you guys finish early, you can like, chill out at the beach? Catch some sun? God, now I’m jealous. You guys should turn up at Milo’s Point, since that’s pretty close to where Dakotah probably went. They might have worked at this, uhhh, Walter Anderson Museum of Art place, so maybe check that out first.” Despite the words, it didn’t really sound like missing out on a beach town escapade really bothered Sigrun very much. “Anyways, if you have anything to report or need backup or to ask for anything, my spell’s gonna be up, so like, don’t lose it, okay? I like, laminated them and everything. Just call my name when you needa connect to someone, okay? Ciao!”

And, as suddenly as the storm had come, it too had passed, leaving the reapers in Sigrun’s care to figure out the remainder their duties themselves.

---

---

---

In a quiet corner of a cafe, there was a curious pile of clothes. There wasn't anything peculiar about the clothes themselves, really. An ordinary hoodie laid outstretched over an empty table, its frayed logo on the chest boasting some obscure rock band from decades ago. Its sleeves were stained with the occasional coffee spill, scrunched up haphazardly around its current obsession, a paper cup that had the colorful label of the "SunStags". On top rested a similarly rugged rain jacket that was two-timing as a blanket over a misshapen mass, its stripes fading against age and making peculiarly good match with the cheap off-brand pants that hung over the plastic bench. Like most other piles of clothes, this one was inert, barely moving against the gusts of the air conditioner that occasionally looked over to check if the pile of clothes were still there. And for a long time, indeed it was, contentedly shifting slightly as the lone attendant of the cafe lazily shuffled around the arrangements, straightening napkins and chatting up the few patrons for no other reason than to kill the time.

No, what made this pile of clothes peculiar was that there was a hand sticking out of it. It held a pen in its hand, the ink dribbling across charts that professed some fancy words to do with genealogy, the ink disregarding the pretentious wording as it marched over the letters. Still, this hand and the pile of clothes looked to be perfectly content with being left well enough alone to continue to bleed the pen dry until the end of eternity. Alas, this happy medium would have a tragic ending, for underneath the sheaves of paper was yet another peculiar object. A battered old pager whose digital screen lit up with a set of blocky green symbols. In the case of the pager, its peculiarity was expressed in its sudden insistence that whoever's job it was to acknowledge those blocky green symbols needed to look at them now.

BRRRT.

The hand freed the pen from its grasp, letting it jump down to its freedom on the cafe floor. The hand then proceeded to tap blindly around the table, nearly knocking the paper cup also off from the table before reaching further through the pages that now shuffled around to cover the whole table. The mass under the jacket released a deep groan, a sigh, then something incomprehensible to the mortal mind. With a cascade of unkempt pink hair, the mass made itself known as something approximating a woman, though distinguished by the utter lack of animation in its eyes as it took time to blankly stare ahead at the opposing chair, the table, the pieces of paper moist with drool before it, and finally, at its own hand.

What was it called? Ah, right. Nine. Nines. Comprehension crawled into her mind piece by piece. She commanded her hand to lift up the pager two inches before her eyes, still squinting to block out the light. A croak recited what was lit up on the tiny screen, breath sour with a hint of coffee. "Lucema Regini. Sigrun."

An old feeling of disappointment calmly put on its coat and walked out of Nine's mind. Another job. It was beyond routine, at this point, but Nines couldn't help pressing the right arrow key hoping there was some kind of message appended afterwards. Nines creakily gathered her body, her few belongings, and finally the strength to get up from the table that had hosted her for the past...however long she had roosted in this place for. Jacket in hand, she stepped out of the cafe and took her last sip of the congealed coffee in her cup. Though her mind still ran at a slovenly pace, she still pieced together the one constant signified by the pager. Back to work.

---

---

Nines' punctuality was only really thanks to the early forewarning of her pager. There were a quite a number of procedures that Nines had to go through in the Arch. The first was to dump the cup into the recycling bin. The second was to say hello to the clerk that hurried to catch her from skulking off handing her a letter of disciplinary action for wandering off into "locations without prior authorization". The third was to empty her mailbox of other letters of disciplinary action, all equally worded and all equally looking pretty dejected next to the SunStags cup.

Her face, still sporting the squashed impression of the table edge, barely changed from her blank stare even as Siggy's voice brightly chirped from the sticker. Something about Dakota. And Missy PP. Weird name, Nines dully thought. It was again time for the creature named Nines to slowly revert to a pile of clothes on a chair at the waiting room, a fresh cup of cappuccino barely clinging unto its dear life in her loosening hands.

Lucian had pleasant memories of Japan. The occasional fashion show or gig brought to the island nation. Though, if asked what he did there beyond whatever job he was there for, he couldn't quite answer. His free time had been taken up by being approached for photos. Not that he had any issues with being approached on the street. After all, he enjoyed the attention. Plus, his manager always told him to pose for the camera. Who was he to deny people a few photos?

In that way, being able to experience Japan again without the attention was a breath of fresh air.

But what really was he supposed to experience?

Lucian couldn't tell an oak from a fir, so it was all trees to him. The wooden architecture and stone shrines were similarly lost on him. While an erudite would consider the craftsmanship and time period, Lucian could never quite think that hard about objects. To the model, he could simply buy things like that at the local garden centre. As such, Lucian went to experience Japan in his own way: with his back against the earth and eyes looking at the clouds. That begged an important question. Why was Lucian's first idea to experience Japan to look at the sky?

Well, obviously because Japan's clouds were different than England's. Thinking otherwise would be absurd.

Wait. He wasn't here on a vacation. He was here for a job.

Then again, it wasn't like it was a mission to hunt down a wisp causing trouble. Sure, if a soul overstayed their welcome, they would become evil. The process wasn't immediate, though. Lucian had enough time to slow down, take a breather, and think about what the clouds resembled.

Like the large foreboding cloud above him. He could swear that it looked exactly like another reaper. In fact, if he didn't know any better, he would have said that it was an actual person looking down on him.

---

---

The scenery didn’t have much effect on Maya. Maybe in life, it might have; Japan was a popular destination for a reason, it had beautiful architecture and gardens and culture or something, but it had never really been on her bucket list. Sure, it was probably nice, but weebs made way too big a deal out of it.

Nah. To her, Japan, like everything and everywhere else, was boring. Nothing special, just some weird arches and colourful trees for millennials to take selfies under on their backpacking trips to find themselves. That was why she hadn’t paid much mind to the park after a cursory sweep and some judgemental looks at 6am dog walkers - literally who - and was currently more concerned with the marble-carved moron laying on the grass.

Her hair tumbled down off her shoulders as she leaned over him, nearly brushing his face as she leveled him with a dead-eyed stare of distilled disappointment. She didn’t bother saying anything; there wasn’t much going on behind his eyes and she doubted he’d understand it. Instead, she heaved a heavy, long-suffering sigh and straightened up again, looking thoroughly inconvenienced.

For good measure, she held out her hammer, formerly resting over her shoulders, and let it fall head-first onto Lucian’s stomach. It wouldn’t feel good, but it wasn't like it would kill him. “Hold this.” There, he could make himself useful.

“Alright.” Stretching her arms and shoulders, now free from the weight, Maya sighed again, turning over Sigrun’s message in her mind. Lost kid, dude who sees ghosts, avoid the shrines, whatever. She looked around at her little assembly of mandatory compatriots and snapped her fingers at the one with the messy black hair and the wizard costume. God damn, this profession sure brought the weirdos out of the woodwork.

“You. Nerd. Wanna get us started? Tell me about buddy who can see ghosts. You know about that shit, right?” she dictated. “And you, Sparky,” she looked to the blond who was still upright, vaguely recalling the newbie’s tracking spells, but not his name. “I don’t know, start sniffing for clues, I guess. It’s not like this kid was covering his tracks.”

---

@Hero @dragonmancer @OwO

---

---

"It is as good of place to start as any," Vera agreed with a shrug, throwing a glance at Catherine and trying to discreetly catch her eyes. She was fond of the nun. For all their differences. From one thief to another, was a thought she seldom voiced.

Squatting low, Vera ran a hand through the grass below her, grasping dirt between her fingers, as she waited. Some of the magic of traveling was lost in the supernatural way the Reapers were transported to the realm of the living. Vera missed trains. She missed the grimy metro stations. She missed the old Soviet art. She missed the ugliness that had seeped through the cracks. She missed Moscow.

Memories, rarely welcome memories threatened her thoughts. Frowning Vera stood up, fishing out a fresh pack of cigarettes and her battered lighter. She looked around, fingers moving thoughtlessly. Australia. She had never been to Australia. Too far. Too warm. Too clean. She had always wanted to see a kangaroo. Maybe there would be time, but somehow she doubted it. Covering the flame of her lighter with a hand as she lit the cigarette, Vera studied the other reapers.

A strange mix, but not a bad one. She had known many people in her life like Amelia, adrenaline junkies, degenerate gamblers, and thrill seekers with a death wish. She did not mind. Such people were useful, so long as they were pointed in the right direction. And so long as you were not to close to them when they race out of control. Death had mollified many of her concerns. What was death to a reaper, other than a familiar condition?

There was something familiar about Ogawa. She did not know him well, but she felt she might understand him. They were the same. She thought she saw it in his eyes. She recognized the gaze, the watchfulness. She appreciated the suits. In life, they might have been cautious enemies, but in death, they were simply reapers.

Lena was a mystery. She was a social creature Vera knew. She had been to several of her work functions. Mixers as the motherly reaper liked to call them. There was a warmth to her that Vera found pleasant. And an excuse to drink was always welcome. Even in death, Vera found vodka loosened her tongue, and made her smile.

The nun amused her. Catherine was not what Vera had expected. The sisters of mercy she had known in her life were older, less pretty, and far less fun. She didn't pry. She didn't bother Catherine about her past. Some questions were best unasked. Some things were best unspoken. Midnight philosophy was a safe topic. Religion an oddly shared interest. Superstition came easy to thieves. Religion was not far from superstition, she had often thought.

The green of the landscape had faded into the burnt colors of fall, the shrubbery matching the color of the rock formation that loomed in the distance. Vera didn't get it. Rocks. Rocks didn't interest her. Climbing big piles of rocks smashed together across the eons didn't appeal to her. She preferred the seaside. She preferred the city. Covering the flame with a hand as she lit the cigarette, Vera relished the fire that burned her lungs. Tabachnaya Fabrika No.1 Leningrad had been a good place. A good time. Not better. Maybe simpler. The sides were clear. The stakes were obvious. Or so she liked to think. The old timers knew better, but she had found few of them in Decibitus.

Pulling on the cigarette and exhaling smoke Vera felt relaxed again. Fond of generosity, she held out the cigarette pack to the other four reapers and offered each a cigarette with a nod. There was no reason to be unkind. There was no reason not to share. They were comrades. Comrades of a sort. Trapped, perhaps by choice, perhaps not. Tied together by the strange gems they carried and common purpose. And death, always Death, Vera could feel the unmistakable hands of Miss Death conducting the symphony from afar.

Turning towards, Catherine, Vera offered a smile,"Shall we pray before we hunt down this wayward wisp, Sister?"

@Yankee@Lasrever@King Cosmos@canaryrose

---

The afterlife wasn’t as peaceful as he thought it was, Or at least, the last thing he’d think the afterlife was going to be like was being offered a job. Being more of a scholar, a job in life was just a necessary distraction from his personal studies for food and rent. But despite his apprehension to being a productive member of society, dead or alive, this job offered something to him like none other. This field was the perfect experience for his research after all, being so close to the nature of death and ensuring its cycle. It was unfortunate though that this ideal opportunity was squandered by co-workers. He wasn’t particularly fond of any of his current company, and right off the bat one of them seemed quite bossy.

“Nerd”. There was a faint but audible scoff at being addressed such. A word used by the dull. Nonetheless, for the sake of his ambitions he did his best to get along. It was his first time off the training wheels so co-operation was begrudgingly required.

The sorcerer had instinctively retrieved his tome at the question, digging through pages madly as he replied.

“Well, it’s always possible for mortals to see ghosts and whatnot through magical means; but if this is a more passive trait as the description implies, this instead suggests it’s just a natural gift of his. It’s rare, but every now and then there are people out there that can just, see them. A boring answer I know, I don’t have much notes on the subject, though I hypothesize it might have something to do with their souls being more attuned to themselves. Though keep in mind that’s just conjecture.”

He’d eventually stop flipping through the pages, as he had not found anything worth adding through his skimmed reading of his own book.

“In any case, he’s a good lead. If he can see ghosts we shouldn’t have any problems talking to him, and he’ll at least be aware enough to help us out with identification if he indeed has seen our lost soul. With any luck, he can give us a detailed description of who we are looking for.”
Edward closed his book, satisfied with his own conclusion, speaking in a manner-of-fact tone that suggested an unearned confidence- perhaps an instinctual pride of an intellectual that was nonetheless really out of their depths in experience.

He had taken the chance of his own pause to look at his surroundings; the park was pretty nice. Far from the city that occupies his afterlife, these woods sure were a peaceful sight. It would have made a great study location in his free time. He hadn’t thought of returning to the mortal world for such a pleasure before, but in contrast to a bustling city the reclusive bastard preferred the ambience of silent wilderness.

“I’m also interested in those wards. This spirit apparently has tripped through multiple instances, if we can find which wards had been triggered we might get a general foot trail of their path. It’s possible they might even be stuck at the end of the trail to make our job easier.”

He’d turn towards the group after his answer to see how they replied. One hand holding his tome and the other drifting back down to his side in a casual
manner.

@Obscene Symphony
@OwO
@Hero

---

---

The crisp sea air was a welcome respite from the afternoon heat, especially a few hundred feet above the shore, where a boy stood invisibly to the world with his feet planted firmly upon thin air. He stood in silent vigil over the town as the parameters of his mission were chattered helpfully from the star-shaped sticker affixed childishly upon his right cheek. Why did he have to be part of Team Boring Old People? Did they just need someone that wasn't woefully out of place in a vacation town? Well, Mateo wouldn't exactly call anywhere in Missisippi a true vacation town, but the little place seemed lively enough, judging by the figures scurrying about far below his feet. Unfortunately, their first stop seemed to be a lame ass art museum of all places, which probably explained why old man Pluto got invited - he dressed like he belonged in one half the time.

Looking out across the town, none of the buildings struck him as particularly museum-y. In fact, he was pretty sure most of the big buildings were either churches or grocery stores. It looked like he'd have to stoop to street-level investigations. With the living. Which meant he needed a cover story for his curiosity, and that'd be hard to do if he knew absolutely nothing about this Dakotah person. Maybe he could pass himself off as a reporter or something. Ugh, someone smarter could come up with an alibi for him - and speaking of, the pink-haired teen realized he probably needed to regroup with his team. He was too high up to peruse signs for a museum anyway.

The solidity beneath Mateo's feet disappeared the moment he willed for his descent, sending him into a brief freefall that slowed to a gentle glide as he neared the sand below. A moment too late, he realized his landing would definitely cause a scene, and upon touching the ground, the boy's head swiveled rapidly to check for anyone that happened to notice the phantom skidmarks he'd just gouged into the sand.

"Oops..." Mateo murmured, his cheeks reddening slightly in response to the astounded shouting of a nearby beachgoer trying to get his oblivious friend's attention. Unable to walk away without leaving more footprints and thus more evidence of his passage, Mateo opted to simply bound off to sail toward the nearest sidewalk in embarrassment.

---

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---

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.

---

---

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?”

---

---

Ogawa has been to Australia before, once while he was alive and another time after he was dead; the latter was for work and didn’t bear much thinking about or commenting on, he did his job and returned to Decibitus in a couple of hours. The first time had probably been back in ’85, a year or two after he became a yakuza and had enough cash on hand to thing about travelling abroad for the first time in his life; the country had been recommended by his Aniki, who’d said he’d had a good time there in the past and Ogawa had had no reason to distrust him and no better ideas himself.

It was shit.

The flight had been long and the airplane cramped, it was too hot, the language barrier was more severe than he’d been led to believe and the beer tasted like crap. He’d much preferred his trips within Japan before and after that; Osaka, Okinawa, Sapporo and so-on struck the right balance of familiar yet novel that he was looking for. Other people said he was boring when he told them he preferred staying close to home on vacations and Ogawa supposed they were right; he just liked things that were familiar.

Japan was familiar, even the parts of it he had never visited before; your home country always had a quality to it that you couldn’t always explain but which you could always feel. From Hokkaido all the way down to Okinawa, it was home. Cigarette smoke was familiar, the smell and the feel of it in his lungs; it was why continued to smoke the things even though death had blunted their impact somewhat. Working as a reaper was familiar; people always gave him odd looks when he told them that the jobs he was doing now weren’t all that different from the work he used to do when he was alive. For most people it was a bit of a change of pace, going from being an ordinary civilian to someone who tracked down wisps, hunted lost souls and sometimes fought for their non-lives; Ogawa had taken to it like a duck to water.

Same work, different boss really. Or at least similar enough that he had a leg up when it came to learning the ropes.

Not that any of this was relevant to the job at hand of course; he was just letting his thoughts wander unnecessarily. Australia wasn’t a place he would ever want to come back to in his free time, but work was work and he didn’t mind where it took him since what he needed to do never really changed no matter where he was. Language barriers had never been an issue since becoming a reaper either, so that was one of his major gripes dealt with too. He wouldn’t be staying for drinks though.

A pack of cigarettes was held out to him and he took one for himself with a thankful nod. Lighting it up with his cheap, disposable lighter, he watched as a familiar face walked up to join their party. “Yeah.” Ogawa exhaled a cloud of smoke that momentarily obscured Aron from view. “We’re here to back you up. Any idea where it went after you and Gali lost it, or should we just head to this Punk’s Rock and spread out from there?”

Lena still hadn't grown tired of Sigrun's specific brand of greeting, nor the way she handled her dispatch job at Lucema Regini. It was... "cute." Yes, Lena supposed that was the word for it. And it really did help to chase away the morning's weariness. At first, Lena had been completely confused by it, but quickly came to find it endearing. So as usual when it was Sigrun informing them of their missions, Lena gave her a smile and happily let her stick that little star to her shirt. With work to be done and Wisps to be found, their meeting was brief before the Reapers were ushered out of the doors.

Getting from the office to the Arch was a simple thing. Before actually going through it Lena hummed and stretched her arms over her head, lacing her fingers together as she did. Today may prove to be an interesting day, given the way that some of the groups were set up. She could only imagine some of the trouble the team sent to Japan could get into. Her own assignment was in the wild country of Australia. It wouldn't be Lena's first time going there. After so many years as a Reaper, she'd been to every major corner of the world at least once - and yes that included Antarctica, a trip she'd never forget. Australia though, that was an interesting country. She couldn't recall having visited the mountain they were being sent to, so as far as she was concerned the new experience would be plenty of fun even if the job itself turned out to be a quick and easy one.

As for her own group... well, she had plenty of thoughts about them.

"Okay Team Vamos~" Lena said as soon as she was through the Arch and on the other side, standing at the dusty campground. "I hope you all enjoy rock climbing, or can actually fly."

She found it endlessly amusing that the powers that be (that is, Reapers corporate) had chosen Gali and Vorya for a job at a mountain famous for it's cliffs and climbing. Poor things, it was probably pretty embarrassing to be recovered and sent home like this - but that wasn't going to stop Lena from poking a little fun at their expense. Besides that she was sure they wouldn't have the same issues with this new group.

"Make sure your 'freebie' isn't me, alright, Amelia? The view here is gorgeous, so I'd hate to be sent back prematurely without getting the chance to take it in as much as possible..."

Although if possible Lena would like that none of the Reapers ended up as collateral damage, they'd probably be fine in the long run. Amelia was always a fun wild card; humorous, out-going... buuuuut truth be told Lena's opinion of her might change if she was ever on the receiving end of that bullet. As it stood, Lena quite liked her.

She suggested starting their search at the place some of the campers, oblivious to their presence, were gossiping about. Vera chimed in, mentioning it was a good a place to start as any. "Mhm~ I agree."

Lena liked Vera too. She was more stoic than most, but not unkind nor unfriendly. Silence that happened to fall around her was of the comfortable type, at least in Lena's opinion. Whether it was working together or meeting up after the day was done, it was time well spent. Especially in regards to the former, Lena found her to be more reliable than most. She declined the offered cigarette with a polite wave of her hand, but smiled at Vera in return all the same. An expression that widened as Vera teased the Sister. Ah, now Kathy was quite the surprise. In life, Lena had been Catholic, though not as devout as her parents had been. It was so long ago now that it was funny to think about. In death, she had shed most of her theological assumptions. Her first meeting with Sister Catherine brought all of those memories to the front of her mind and she'd been on her best behavior only to find that the good Sister had been living in Decibitus for a long, long time and was more laid back than was to be expected from a nun. She, too, was surprisingly funny with some of the things Lena had seen her pull.

There weren't any among their group that she disliked really. Even that stuffy Ogawa had his merits, for example his fashion was on point. She didn't know much about him compared to the ladies other than he was efficient at his job, which didn't come as a surprise. And who knew, maybe today was the today she would learn a little more about him? Only time would tell.

The sound of another voice, a familiar one, perked Lena's ear. She turned to the tree that was currently housing another Reaper.
"Oh, Aron! You didn't go back with the other two?" She gave him a playful tut tut with a wag of her finger, but it was obvious she was only joking. In reality she was pleasantly surprised that he hadn't gone right back to work - now he could join them! ...at work!

---

---

The thing about being old is that one gets to see many different places at many different times. As a self-described dicentenarian, Catherine had seen Australia evolve from its conception to the present. Even if the mountain she sat on was lovely, she was unimpressed. Even their winter was too warm, and, in her opinion, there was an awful lack of culture in this country. It bothered her on some level, but, at the same time, she didn’t care.

Mt. Arapiles, though, was lovely- excepting the wisp currently squatting atop it. That was the problem they had been sent to solve. Catherine listened to Sigrun quietly with a faint grimace, standing amongst the others in the grass. She had been annoyed when she had been made to apply the silly pink star to her habit but had complied despite herself. Sometimes, we must do things we don’t want to. It was as true a mantra as any prayer, and it had always soothed her. It was the definition of her life and her death, pretty much.

She met Vera’s eyes with a smile, nodding at her and Amelia’s suggestions. She had heard people murmuring about the ghost, of course, but it wasn’t as though she was inconspicuous and could ask more. People noticed a nun in their midst. Already, people had come up to her asking if she was going to perform an exorcism and, if so, could they please watch? She just told them she was and made up some Latin words. It worked and it was funny, and those were really the only things she cared about.

She shook her head at Vera’s offering, and then smiled at her suggestion. Catherine quite liked the younger woman. She was amusing and made good conversation- something she felt people lacked nowadays. “You pray to Lenin,” she said, wryly, “and I’ll pray to Jesus. We can double up.”

Just then, the Australian boy entered. “Yes, the… little ghoulie.” A smile quirked at her lips. An odd term. She glanced towards the mountain, casting grey eyes upward. “It might be a good idea to start at Punks’ Rock,” she said. “That sighting’s more recent, isn’t it?”

---

---

Stifling a small yawn, Chase had nothing of importance to add to the conversation. He might've if he had been paying any attention, but that required effort and it was too early for that. Why were they out here so early again? Even spirits had to realize that there were better things to do at this time. Maybe if he wasn't so sore he might've been more open to these early missions, but he supposed it was for...something. He didn't recall much of the debriefing, either, though considering the team, he was sure to be reminded one way or another.

Rubbing his neck, Chase forced himself to listen into Whats-His-Face's rambling about...some gifted dude. Is that what they were looking for? The sooner they finished, the sooner Chase could go home and nap--unless he still had company over. He was usually good at shooing away people before breakfast, but they had to get here early so he didn't get the chance. Well, he supposed he wouldn't entirely mind a repeat of last night. So long as that one chick didn't do that weird tongue thing, she could ride him just fine but she had this weird tendency to open her mouth and wag her tongue around, it wasn't as sexy as she thought it was. He didn't like trashy girls, though her ass was so fine he didn't pay much attention to her personality. Then again, she was the consolation prize, he really wanted that cute bartender but he kept complaining about working late and...

Wait, what was he thinking about before?

Chase closed his eyes, letting out a slight hum and he knelt down to the ground. Alright, find the gifted dude, get things done, and then go home. Easy. He muttered something under his breath, holding back another yawn before opening his now glowing eyes. The world around him was no longer as it was, instead it was draped in near-complete darkness. Anything living or dead was barely illuminated, but he wasn't interested in any of those as he looked around. He did, however, show more interest in a glowing individual--there was the man of the hour.

He shook his head as the spell ended, blinking a few times to let his eyes adjust to the light difference. Standing up straight, he stretched his arms above his head, letting them drop as he turned to the rest of the crew. "Southwest is the way," He stated. "Let's go find him quick, got a warm bed calling my name."

---

@Obscene Symphony @dragonmancer @OwO

---

There was something about being at Jufuku-ji before visitors were allowed, even if it was an arrangement approved for the sake of the film. Unfortunately, any mystical or awe-inspiring effects that the hour might have given were ruined by the fact that the crew was running on little more than fumes at that point. Though everyone busied themselves with their own tasks, that might have been the only thing they could manage.

When people talked about show business, they didn’t often acknowledge the brutal hours of the on-season.

”Ah, DFI, the runners haven’t come back with the hot bricks yet…”

”Huh, are we missing people?”

”Hang on, let me run through the blocking. There are some lighting issues.”

Kazuto deftly wove his way through the groups, a few extra shirts with dull colors underarm and three outfits hanging from his forearm by the hangers. He couldn’t say he was tired, but shots in Kamakura always kept him more alert than he needed to be, and that went double for any old shrines filled with superstitious elders and tourists. Now, there normally wasn’t any issue with that, but the ones that turned up in places like Jufuku-ji were usually confused. That was above his pay grade, and it most certainly wasn’t in his job description.

Not that the old fogies believed that to be the case.

”Ugh. It’s too early to be thinking about them,” the man muttered beneath his breath with a shake of his head. Focus. He was on the job now, and that meant making sure everyone had their costumes for the martini… shot…

’You must be joking,’ Kazuto thought.

”You must be joking,” were the words that came from his mouth.

The man all but stormed his way across the set, the scowl on his face the result of equal parts exasperation and exhaustion. Coming to a stop before the late arrivals to the set, he didn’t bother waiting for introductions. They were late, they’d have to get acquainted after they got into something better suited for the production. Which might be impossible, given that not a single one looked natural enough to fit into a scene in Kamakura–unless they were meant to be tourists?

”You lot missed the cast call. Luckily, we haven’t started yet.” Another quick onceover. They weren’t unattractive–quite the opposite, if he was being honest. The problem was that they didn’t look anything like they were in place, and did one of them bring their own prop? Over-eager newbies. They had to be. ”Geeze, they didn’t give us a second thought when they cast you guys, did they? Whatever, see that girl over there with the blonde highlights? She’ll set you up with a place to change. I’ll get you guys some spare sets from wardrobe so you don’t stick out so mu–”

”Hey, Hayashi, you talkin’ to yourself again?”

The color from the brunette’s face drained as his gaze darted to his colleague, then slowly drifted back to the group he’d approached. A breath that might have been a sigh or a hiss escaped through clenched teeth, but he put on his best work face, a tired grin and a sarcastic joke fired back to the assistant director with a dismissive wave. The look faded as soon as he turned his attention back to the group, running his hands through his hair as he did so. The action earned a second hiss as a few unruly strands caught on the edge of an earring, a simple piece adorned by a small gem with a familiar, dark cloudiness revealed for a moment before it disappeared beneath rose brown hair once more.

”So, you guys know what’s up with your situation, right?”

---

@dragonmancer@OwO@Obscene Symphony@Hero

---

Whether plans were concocted or prayers were spoken, the consensus of Team VAMOS was to scout out Punks Wall, chasing rumors of freak accidents and frenzied howling, and so they did, departing with variable swiftness and leaving more than a couple spooked campers in their wake.

After all, Catherine had opted to remain visible to humans. Between her humoring of mortal bystanders with Lathin chants and conversing with her very invisible colleagues, those who weren't amused were fairly unsettled, a couple of them taking surreptitious snapshots with their phones of the nutjob Catholic who popped up. Maybe she'll go viral by the end of the day or at least make it to imgur's front rows for a couple of hours.

That, of course, was not a concern for the reapers as they continued down the quiet trail to Punks Wall. Shriveled trees flanked them from both sides, the brush of the Australian outback hardy but warped, while the sky itself bloomed with brilliant blues. It was a good day for climbing, but the trail itself saw little of hikers and climbers. Freak accidents warded off those there for leisure, while for those seeking a supernatural adventure, it was far too early in the the day to get into the mood. It made for quick traveling, at least. No one had to dodge around hikers who couldn't see them.

A good half hour later, Punks Wall loomed before them, a slab of mountain broken off from the rest. Orange stone, its faults and ledges marked with chalk dust from hundreds of top ropers, stretched upwards for over one hundred meters. Perhaps it would be a sight worth marveling at. Perhaps it would be even more worth marveling at from the top.

But...


"Ohfuckfuckfuckfuckfuc-"

A banshee-like cry, rippling out with a static undertone.

A man, turning the corner, his climbing shoes clapping loudly over stone and his hands waving at the nun just 50 meters away.

And behind him, a human-sized monstrosity, its shaggy hair blowing wildly in its pursuit, three-inch long claws carving into the air. From its throat, yet another roar sounded, scraping against the ears like a scream through blown-out speakers!

...

And behind it, whizzing with that mosquito-hum, a drone followed after, capturing all this in 4K.

Seven seconds before impact.

Now, what was a good reaper to do?

With a clunk so refined it sounded like the forge of a blacksmith, Lucian recoiled as the hammer met the anvil he called a stomach. Immediately, he rolled as an indescribable noise escaped his lips. The strange mixture of bwuh, gehk, and puooo was all he could muster as the large mallet met his abs.

"Hey, that's not very nice." He said as he clutched Maya's hammer. Even though it was so rudely dropped on him, he still carried Maya's hammer. Maya's ability to keep it as a smokey gem was, however, something that Lucian didn't really think about. His ability to just not carry it was also something that he didn't quite think about.

With the bookish Edward formulating a plan, Lucian listened intently. The entire spiel went a little over his head. Lucian thought that a ward was like the trophy you won for being voted the most attractive man in England. It'd be pretty weird to trip over it. Nonetheless, Lucian replied the only way he knew how.

"Yes," he said as he gave Edward a thumbs up.

Unfortunately, Chase's directions were... not suited to Lucian. He could tell where east was in the morning and where west was in the evening, but he could never go beyond that. It was the morning so the sun was in the east. But since this was Japan, would the sun rise in the west? Was southwest clockwise or counter clockwise of the east? If it was the west, wouldn't it be the other way around?

Well, no sense thinking about it. He could just follow the rest of the gang instead.

And so they arrived to immediately be cast in whatever production was in progress. Wait, but Lucian was already decently famous. At least, to those who were in the know about fashion shows or looked at the covers of magazines. Well, he wasn't about to spoil a production date. Lucian had already began walking towards the girl with the blonde highlights. Something in his body just caused him to beeline to the nearest makeup artist/wardrobe dresser at any given moment. Thankfully, him immediately not being the centre of attention reminded him that his day job was no longer model and so he double backed towards the group.

"We do," Lucian said as he returned with a smile, "we're here to bring you to the afterlife."

It was apparent that Lucian was skipping a step in who they were looking for.

Maya's big ass mallet he was still carrying didn't help clear up any misunderstanding.

---

@Obscene Symphony @dragonmancer @Hero

---

---

Stepping into Mississippi felt like stepping into Hell.

The cool breeze coming in from the Gulf did little to hide the humidity, the uncomfortable warmth hanging in the air. He could not suppress the shiver that ran through him though in spite of the heat and his own eyebrow raising layers of clothing. Slowly he began to walk forward in order to keep his mind in the present, not lost in the past. Memories of yellow fever. Of the slaves. From what he knew of America it was appropriate in more ways than one that where he stood now should remind him of Saint-Domingue.

Hell on Earth.

Pluto tightened the blue scarf around his next and made his way towards the town proper, kicking the sand beneath him as he went, as if trying to physically force his thoughts away. It was much more important to think about the mission in front of him, or at least it should have been. A thought had been nagging at him ever since he had accepted this posting.

Was he truly needed here? If the others were all new recruits he could see the wisdom in it, but Nine? They had worked together many times, and he knew that either one of them would have been more than enough on their own to make sure a mission like this reached a successful conclusion. While he had not worked with Mateo nearly as much as some of the older Reapers he did know that the young man’s magic lent itself much more to annihilation than investigation.

As did Nine’s. As did his own.

“Merde. Fuck.”

He swore under his breath as reached the edge of town, seemingly ignored in spite of his ridiculous appearance. Hopefully this mission wouldn’t conclude with any collateral damage, but as he went over the list of present reapers in his head that seemed increasingly likely. It was always hard to find the right balance between entering a fight with too much strength -causing unneeded damage- or too little- potentially allowing things to go horribly wrong- and Pluto usually preferred the former to the latter. An inclination that usually led to more paperwork than he cared to stomach, and more “performance reviews” than he cared to listen to.

Still…

Hopefully this wouldn’t turn into another Munich. It had been decades, and yet people were still slow to forget it. City Under Siege had been airing the last time he stepped foot on Earth, and while the “Based on a true story” flick could not have possibly been farther from the mark with its conclusions, it was a constant reminder for the need for restraint. Though whether restraint was even possible during that situation was a debate that Pluto tried to avoid mulling over.

Trying yet again to keep his mind in the present time and the present place, Pluto pulled his notebook out of the pockets of his trench coat and reviewed what they had been told about the current target.

Dekotah.

Mississippi.

Milo Point.

Walter Anderson Museum of Art.

So, fuck all.

Still, he’d worked with less. Hopefully he could let the newer members run the investigation and gain some more experience, but he would at least try to help how he could. The city was small enough that he shouldn’t need to ask for directions to this Museum, wherever it was, and the extra time spent walking there might actually allow him to get a grip on mind’s insistence on staying in the past.

The sound of his wooden sandals hitting the sidewalk soon silently echoed down the street, ignored by the passerby’s as surely as the giant of a Frenchman garbed in his trench coat, tracksuit pants, wooden sandals, scarf, and rose-tinted Windsor glasses. With any luck, by the time the mission was over they won’t have cause to notice anything at all.

With any luck.

---

---

If nothing else, with Ocean Springs being a hot new find for people averse to the crowds of more well-known coastal cities, it wasn’t difficult for even the most mismatched people to blend in if they needed to. Whether they were trying to be invisible or not, the reapers didn’t come across any incidents on their way to their first point of interest.

The Walter Anderson Museum of Art was considered to be a must-see place in Ocean Springs. At the least, it had enough of a reputation to stand out even with the allure of the coast within walking distance. It was busy, but that was to be expected with the number of tourists in the area. Those that felt themselves too cultured for only heading to the beach always found themselves drifting toward the painted walls of the Walter Anderson Museum of Art, after all. What the facility lacked in grandeur, it more than made up for in its vibrancy–a fact easily seen through the glass walls even before entering the building.

The liveliness of the museum didn’t match the gloominess of a child sniffling in the corner of the lobby, clearly separated from the rest of a class outing. A staff member knelt beside the girl, speaking in a soft, soothing voice even as tears streamed down the child’s cheeks.

”There, there, I know you’re disappointed.”

”I want to see zabby…” The girl’s cheeks puffed out as she rubbed the back of her hand against her eyes. ”Mommy said zabby is here when I’m at school. How come they're not today?”

To the staff member’s credit, the flicker of pain that streaked across her features was hidden away quickly enough. A tired, gentle smile was all that she could give the young child before her.

”Your zabby isn’t here today, but you know, they wouldn’t want you to miss the rest of the visit with your friends because of it.” The blonde did her best to give a cheerful grin and a brightened tone. ”And I know today they have a special surprise at the end, and I know you’ll like it! Can you go with Paula to get washed up?”

A teary sniffle was followed by a small nod before the girl was brought by another staff member away from the lobby, leaving the initial alone to release a heavy sigh when she thought she was finally alone.

"Poor thing… I guess she doesn't understand that what happened yet,” the woman murmured with a shake of her head before muttering under her breath. "Not that Anne's doing better these days. That 'haunting' bullshit's gonna mess the kid up."

---

@Snagglepuss89@Scribe of Thoth@PigeonOfAstora@Dragonfly 9

---

---

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

---

---

As soon as the nerd started talking, Maya regretted asking; not only did he give a few paragraphs when a sentence would probably do, but she realized as he spoke that his insight probably wasn’t gonna be all that helpful. After all, even if this dude could see ghosts, how did they know he’d be helpful? He might not be able to tell the difference between a lost spirit and a lost tourist, and hell, he might not even want to talk to them.

Meanwhile, the rock star-looking one seemed to find something more concrete, pointing them towards the Southwest. Where, as it happened, some guy with clothes over his shoulder was making a beeline straight for them.

Not sure if Sparky should be credited with his quick work or if he just pointed out the guy obviously walking toward them, Maya stared at the dude skeptically as he made his way over; she’d been dead long enough by now not to expect anyone to see her, let alone approach, and honestly, it felt a little weird to be picked out of a crowd. But he was definitely coming for them; there was nobody behind them he could have been going after, and his eyes were set right on them.

Placing a hand on her hip as he went into his spiel, Maya’s expression returned to one of abject boredom - the novelty of being seen and spoken to wore off when he started giving bland directions. Jesus, if she wanted to be dictated to like an employee she would have just stayed at the office today. She’d admit it was kinda funny when the realization hit him that he was talking to dead people - by the looks of it, not a new realization, but unwelcome nonetheless - and then, even funnier, he tried to give them tips. Ha!

Of course, Achilles the Brainless piped up before anyone else got the chance, with something more liable to make buddy panic than to help. Rather than scold him, Maya simply shot him a sharp look and wrenched her hammer from his grip, begrudgingly accepting her new apparent role as the Team Mom as she let it dissipate into smoke. Bless his heart, it seemed like he was doing his best, but pretty and dumb were a better combination at a frat party than on a field mission.

“Don’t listen to him,” she excused offhandedly, rolling her eyes. The ghost-seeing dude’s comment that sparked the whole thing was kinda funny, though, in a fucked up way. What, was Miss Death hiring the living now, too? The dude just got here and he was already doing a better job of Reaping than anyone on the job today. Or hey, maybe he was a Reaper who decided to take an extended vaca--

Her thoughts were stopped dead in their tracks when the guy did his little hair flip, the strangely familiar gem on his earring - ohmygodwhothefuckwearsasingleearringanymore - catching her attention. Brow furrowed and looking more pissed than confused, Maya stepped forward and waved her hand out in front of her, phasing right through the guy’s chest as if he wasn’t there. Or, rather, as if she wasn’t there - he was definitely mortal, so what was he doing with that?

“Is that a… where the fuck did you get that?” she asked incredulously, pointing at his suspiciously weapon-core-looking earring. Was she imagining things? She didn’t know a mortal could possess a weapon core - not that there was any reason she knew of that they couldn’t, but it didn’t seem right.

Staring for another moment, Maya finally closed her eyes and took a breath, resolving that that whole debacle was above her pay grade. Right, she had some confused asshole to find, and then she could go make sense of that paperwork nightmare later.

“You know what, whatever, I don’t care,” she sighed, waving the thought away. She put her hand back on her hip, gesturing lazily with the other. “Don’t worry, we’re not here for you. We just wanna know if you’ve seen a confused-looking dead guy wandering around by the shrines, and then we’ll be out of your hair. Ring any bells?”

@Hero @OwO @PapiTan @dragonmancer