~1430 | PARIS | FASHION SHOW VENUE
“Ahhhh, can you guys, like, hear me?” Sigrun’s voice drifted from her trademark stickers, this time cut into the shapes of Sanrio characters, fine script etched in shimmering ink on each one. “Okay, like, this job’s a little weird compared to normal. Like, the mayor’s lackey said we don’t usually run prevention like this, but Miss Death and like, even her grouchy old buddy said this might turn out pretty bad if we left it alone.”
Clearing her throat, the blonde continued.
“Anyways, like… the show venue is no big deal, but Celeste is a toooootal bad juju magnet. Creepy stuff follows her around like a bad odor. Last show had a few of her fellow models drop dead a few days later, which, like, is definitely a sign that she’s got some wispy fellas following her around.” Sigrun sighed, drumming pale blue, gingham-patterned nails on her desk. "Prevention might not be, like, totally possible, but if something starts to happen, there are way, way too many peeps at the show to sit back and wait. Like, first sign of trouble, definitely step in."
A pause and a chuckle.
"Also, like, enjoy the show? You guys can totally blend in, but I totes think that asking around about the stuff that's happened before can tip you off on stuff that might happen this time."
The venue loomed dozens of meters above the ground, glass windows reflecting a sunset sky streaked with thick painted clouds. It provided a serene image compared, but just behind the proverbial curtain, it was exactly the type of chaos that one expected from a fashion show.
Between frantic fixes and changes, the talk of the entire ordeal revolved around the potential merge between Jeunes Fleures and L'île aux fées following the engagement of their owners. It was, by and far, happy news. They came from money, but both had paved their way with their own styles–if they were to fully merge, it might be a sight to behold.
And yet, those whispers stopped when a particular pink-haired woman stepped in: the woman of the hour, as far as reapers were concerned. Eyes turned to her, a thick tension starting to muddle the air.
Celeste glanced away, brilliant blue eyes cast toward her feet for a moment. She gathered herself quickly enough, turning her head high again and moving through the crowd with deliberate steps to be fitted. It was admirable, if not for the evidently unseen individuals trailing after her. A teenage girl, too skinny and with hair cropped into an asymmetrical bob, a man in a suit following a few steps too close, a young child clutching a flower-shaped bag close to her chest–at least ten. Most didn't look out of place in Paris, but that was easy to say in an ugly city filled with beautiful visions.
A single one seemed to keep the others at bay, but it was far from human. It looked more like a skeletal dragon, approximately the size of a horse. Ghost lights burned in its skull where eyes should have been, lighting translucent bones with a glimmering radiance. When one stepped too close to the model, it moved between ghost and human with a single, fluid motion, ethereal flames brightening for an instant to force a backward step.
But at the very least, it didn't seem dangerous. Not yet, at least.
~???? | DECIBITUS | LUCEMA REGINI
The offices of Reapers R Us were always busy, a general hustle and bustle of movement and paperwork the norm for their duties. With that in mind, some commotions could be ignored.
Mochi sprinting full force through the halls with a few of HR's usual suspects scrambling after the mayor of Decibitus was surprisingly included in that list. Mochi was, after all, a dog that enjoyed his exercise, and the non-reaper workers of Reapers R Us were usually the unfortunate victims that simply couldn’t ignore the presence of a corgi sneaking off with someone’s cookie. It would cause no harm, so Elliot had learned over the years to let it be.
As the corgi sprinted as quickly as his legs could take him, Elliot knocked on the door of Miss Death's office and waited for the usual call to be let in.
Thumpthumptaptaptapthud!
Mochi made another round.
"Hm?"
The mayor’s assistant knocked again, this time with more force in case the woman’s attention was taken too deeply by some new spell. When the response failed to come after Mochi had made another two rounds, Elliot had little choice but to conclude that Miss Death wasn't in her office. A rarity when it came to someone like Miss Death. He had his suspicions on where she’d gone, but after enough meetings with the woman, Elliot was confident he had at least some knowledge of her mindset. Sighing to himself, the mayor’s assistant shook his head and knelt to the ground.
"Mochi." The corgi came bounding into Elliot’s arms, tongue lolling with each excited pant–whatever snack he’d stolen was notably long gone. The dog’s tail wagged excitedly as he tilted his head up at his owner, his snout nudging Elliot’s chin. "Let's go to the lobby and wait for some reapers. I'm sure someone must know where Miss Death is."
Stepping around the now-exhausted members of HR with a small nod of his head, the man went to do exactly what he said–wait.
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