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Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

Also: Cool, sounds good. QUESTION -- if Daisy ends up saving the day, do I have permission to intro my post with a supercut of transformation scenes from Sailor Moon?

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

Hello there! I'm sure one of our lovely GMs can give you more helpful advice than I on that front, but we're glad to have you, I'm sure. =)

Heroes, I've just sent Daisy outside...to my knowledge, nothing is visibly changed, correct?

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

No edits owed!

But, oh, Grainsy, I am so in love with Veti. And your post made me think of this. So, I shall now watch Bridesmaids before I to bed. =)

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

Oops, Grainsy, you ninja'd me! Hang on, lemme make sure I don't owe anyone any edits...

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

She got lucky, maybe. Lucky, maybe, in the way a deer standing under the heavy glare of a pair of headlights gets lucky when the hunter with a double barrel shotgun catches her before the grill does. Dead, sure. But a quick death.

Daisy was vaguely aware the Ice Harlot and her boring human had joined the once tepid air space between herself and the wight. Mostly because she was cold. There was not very much that could make her cold. Leave it to the demon to fill that spot. It might have annoyed her, even unnerved her, in any other circumstance. But Daisy was currently a little pissed.

Grim was saying something, probably to her, about hatred, an open invitation to her, or rather to him, as if he needed on to become a guest at a party where the ever growing list of invitees found themselves on Daisy's bad side. As if she couldn't find fault with almost everyone in that room. As if she didn't know his demoness wasn't any better a gift to the world than the wight.

How fucking courteous.

Again, it was something that would have bothered her -- less the intrusion, and more the simple ignorance -- but strangely enough, she couldn't take her eyes from the wight's face. She wasn't sure why.

It felt like a thick mixture of loathing and disbelief -- was he trying to justify his actions? Just clear the air by saying, "Well, I didn't know, so fuck it!" -- tinged with a heavy dosage of fear.

She'd not missed him stepping forward, closing that space between. She didn't feel a threat. There was nothing in his eyes to indicate as much. But he had moved toward her, intentionally, deliberately, and it sure as hell wasn't to share secrets.

Like the teeth of a bear trap closing in around their prey, Daisy's arms sprang up to curl around her waist, directly over where the worst of the decay had rotted her waist away to something that might have almost been Teen Vogue appropriate. She hated herself for it instantly. There was no way to hide that. Her cards were on the table, her chips were on the floor. She hated herself for it, and she hated the wight even more.

Nestor stood between them, his arctic mistress hovering somewhere behind his head.

Daisy shivered.

"If you fucking touch me," she hissed, "I'll make sure hell is waiting when I send you back."

There was more to say, more to be said. It would all be typical Daisy stuff, petty, mean-girl arguments and insults, a witless way of showing how completely unfazed by the whole conversation she was. 'This means as much to me as a pre-prom skirmish between class periods.'

She would have come up with something, too. Something for Nestor, something for his bitch. Something for the wight, something she'd say looking just left of his head, in that fascinatingly empty space above his ear.

Everything else happened at once, and suddenly she was choosing from a buffet of convenient outs.

Somewhere near the fireplace, Atticus and Tiny Vamp were fast approaching their own version of a vampire sex den. There were newcomers, three of them, and one of them left almost immediately, leaving the other two, only one of whom Daisy recognized. She'd have said something -- anything -- to Jay-Jay, except not even the human spark plug could bluff her way out of this one.

Behind her, Henry seemed to have come back to himself. He caught her eye for a moment, then just as quickly went off to Veti, which sort of seemed like the best option, or would have, if she'd thought Veti even kind of shared her loathing of all things dead and mostly dead. Daisy wondered if that was irony, then abruptly decided it was too morose.

She turned back to Grim and Wight, her face carefully impassive.

"You crazy kids let me know when you've removed your heads from your asses. I'll be working on mustering up a fuck or two to give."

And then she turned and walked straight for the doors Henry had just bolted, making a "Let's chat later" circle around Jay-Jay and gathering up the tiny black boxer Artie had adopted on her way to the courtyard below.

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

Mm...gonna have to postpone that post til tomorrow afternoon. @Clumsy and Derren, sorry for the wait! D=

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

I'll have one up this evening.

NY -- Everyone loves Grainy. She is literally the best. Literally. The best.

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

He didn't leave, didn't even flinch, and Daisy knew deep, deep down it was better that way. She'd have hated him for his cowardice then, and even more for simply walking away, turning his back on her. Because there were many, many truths the young Reaper had yet to acknowledges, things she'd have called weaknesses if she'd been aware. And while she'd never admit it, not even to herself, she was loathe to be left alone, particularly by someone who might understand Death almost as intimately as she.

This, however, was all deep down. Really, really deep. And on the surface, Daisy was just pissed.

Her expression went from annoyed, to mildly surprised, to annoyed again, before swinging around to downright terrifying as the wight faced her down. She could read it in his speech, the cadence of his voice, even the way he stood -- he was being deliberate in his obstinance -- equal parts polite and obnoxious. Like he was being a dick just to spite her, and also because he was sincerely curious, which somehow made her even angrier.

Daisy found herself wanting to punch him, which was totally not her M.O., and probably wouldn't be very pleasant for either of them. That, and she had no idea of what she'd answer, if he decided to stick around -- which apparently, he had. Certainly, she still had problems, several, with him. But she'd never expected to enumerate them. That wasn't how it worked. Daisy was mean and catty and just a downright bitch to people, and they left her alone, and that was how it worked. There was no other way it could go, Water was wet, grass was green, Daisy hated people, and they most certainly hated her. Especially the dead ones.

And yet here she stood, facing down one of Death's gray-skinned, water-logged, dim-witted tourists, and not only was he none of those things, but he sort of had a spine, too.

How very frustrating.

Daisy heard, rather than felt, her teeth come together with a click. Perfectly manicured hands bunched into perfectly manicured fists, and she carefully, quickly, stepped very pointedly away from Veti, because the werewolf was totally the sort to want to work things out over whiskey and wit, and that involved far too little physical violence for Daisy.

Sadly, physical violence was not so much her forte. Daisy had a tongue like a whip, and she planned to use it to its utmost.

"The only thing that would help," she said coldly, "would be you dragging your ass back to whatever dank hole you crawled out of, walker. You want to know what your problem is? Aside from making my job harder and defying the natural order of things? Aside from crowding the other side with your rotting corpses, dragging yourself through my fucking office spaces for no other reason other...what? Unrequited love? Aside from the fact that every time one of you comes back, you leave a giant, gaping hole in the world for more shit to flood through? Something one of us has to fix, like we have nothing better to be doing? Aside from all of that? Fine. In a word -- arrogance. You, and everyone like you. What the hell makes you so special, huh? No, please, tell me. You've got me here, you've got me talking, and fuck knows I've always wondered. Why thousands of people die all over the world every day, and it's the jackasses like you who decide you're too important to go away. Somehow, something you did, some fucked up notion in your life, whatever it was that gave you the idea that it was okay to come back."

Anyone who knew Daisy -- and there were not very many -- would sense that her tone had gone from annoyed, to angry, to...something else. Her tone was dark, black, undoubtedly tinged with a bone-deep loathing, yes, but there was something else, too. Fear. And beneath it, a horrible, carnal knowledge not even Daisy had sensed.

"You think I want this? You think any of us want this? Like we chose to be Reapers? Fucking dog walkers for the dead? Carrying fucking...mothers, babies, entire goddamn families back across Death, and just hoping denizens like you don't fuck shit up? What the hell makes you so important? Why do you deserve to roam wherever the fuck you want while people like him," she thrust a trembling, accusatory finger at ThadMax across the room, "fight like hell for something they don't even -- you don't even -- "

She broke off, realizing she was breathless, which was strange, considering breathing was completely not in the normal for her. She swallowed hard and folded her arms across her stomach, self-conscious, and furious with herself for it. She was shaking, too. When had that started? It's not like she got cold, got scared anymore.

"You're dangerous," she said, when she could speak again, and this time, she was certain to keep her voice low. "Everyone thinks Reapers are the ones to be afraid of, but it's bullshit. We've got rules. We've got standards. We get the orders, we follow them through, and everything stays good, healthy. You get a bad rap for it, you get the fuck over it, you finish the job, because that's how it's supposed to go. It's fuckers like you -- the arrogant, self-centered ones, the ones who think they're fucking Christ Almighty, 'Sure, I can come back, and you can all go suck a bag of dicks!' You're the ones who ruin everything. But we're the bad guys." Daisy scoffed, the anger having drained away to a more subtle disgust. "Yeah. Right."

She started to turn away, more than done with this conversation, ready to leave the building altogether, then stopped. The wight was an egotistical, self-righteous anarchist. They all were. But something in his gaze bespoke loyalty. Tradition. And Daisy wasn't above a little manipulation.

She glanced back toward Veti to make sure the werewolf wasn't watching. She'd never been so careful to hide anything from anyone in her life. She wasn't about to undo six months' worth of work just to get back at a conceited, needy, not-quite-dead thing. When she saw the werewolf engaged deep in a conversation on packs and promises or something, she turned back to Semyon, and, with a touch, evaporated the pink hoodie she was wearing.

The mini transformation didn't change much. She was still in a pink sundress, still the ideal amount of tan, with perfect pink curls tumbling down her back. But without the long sleeves, it was immediately apparent something was wrong. Flawless flesh gave way to an ugly, mottled blue-gray bruising that reeked with the essence of decay. The strange trails of dead flesh started at the Reaper's collarbone, twining around her neck before disappearing beneath her shirt to wrap around her waist, forearm, and wrist.

She let the wight have a face full of the mess before re-adorning herself in pink, head to toe, though her green eyes never left his.

"It hurts," she said stoically. "All the time. I went back to get Max, because he did deserve to come back. Him, and Veti, and even fucking Siya. I went back for him, and one of you attacked me." She stared at him a moment longer, then shook her head in disgust.

"You wanna help? Go back to where you belong. Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

Never Lose Your Hat!

Take your time. I was just rereading your last past, and you are absolutely right -- I am so completely smitten!

Animorphs

^This.