it starts like an awareness, like someone tapping their nails on the surface of a counter top. unflinchingly annoying, but something she could push down. SWALLOWED down like all things it seems. she was always stuck between two paths with who she was —– or WHAT she was. it had brought about so much trouble for her, so much devastation that she could have had an EASIER life without it. maybe deep down she believed that part of what she was, was the reason her mother was dead. SHE’D NEVER HAVE ANSWERS. but she’d bear the cross, that blame that was the most suffocating of all. it’s okay, she hasn’t been able to breathe unpolluted air in over five years. it’s deserved. the tapping then changes to words, normally muttered, and over time getting more rushed, more haphazard, more demanding to attention. once it gets louder, once it feels like needles are piercing her head, or that her skull itself is constricting her brain. is when her throat starts to ache. THE WORDS AREN’T ABLE TO BE MADE OUT.
it’s only then, once she feels the urge that the trance like state comes. it’s like having any sense of control, though she’s not got ANY control really, over her life —– it’s like having that ripped from her grasp. THESE LITTLE TRIGGERS, they are what have her in the town square, under shrouds of trees. it’s what leaves her unseeing, focused on one thing along. and then, she feels it, the need for CLARITY, the need to free her bones from an ice prison. and so she gives in, because she wants more than anything, to have the freedom. with freedom, comes the ability for her to TRY and save whoever is about to bite it. and so she complies with the more dominant side of herself, and lets out an earsplitting, window shattering shriek like scream. it ripples from her throat, through the entirety of her body. eyes become misty from it’s violence, her heart thudding so manically in her chest. IT’S STARTLING, it’s a reminder she’s alive. once it comes to an end, she takes a moment to suck breaths in, to compose herself. she KNOWS where the person is, her mind more clear. and it’s then that she turns around, and she sees him. SHE KNOWS WHAT HE IS. feels it in an uncomfy twisting of her gut before she regards his face. and her jaw sets. REAPERS, the kink in all of her plans. the biggest pains in the —- or her ass. and she’s scoffing, shaking her head. if he was here, he may stop her. she couldn’t fail. couldn’t let someone pass, when she had the ability to save them. “ as MUCH as i’m sure you enjoyed the show, clearly someone’s going to die, so i better go —- can’t be late when someone needs my help. and besides, you kinda make my skin crawl, with your stench of death. ” / @zcinx· .
he doesn’t ask for much. all he needs is a little consistency; that little whisper in his ear, direction on where he’s needed, and a list of names and faces that all need to meet their maker. reapers don’t make choices — that’s above his paygrade. he doesn’t ask, nor does he suggest, he just plays by the rules and does as he’s told. or he has been, anyway. lately the orders are few and far between, if at all, and he’s left playing guessing games whenever someone turns up dead. suffice to say, he’s not very happy about the state of reprieve. he could use a reprieve from reprieve. ha.
he’s wandering through the town square, munching on something called kettle corn, when he hears activity. there’s a dull rumbling, a sign that something — or someone — is about to disturb his quiet. judging by the unsettling feeling he has resting across his shoulders, he’d double down on it being a banshee. man, does he hate banshees.
as a rule, zain has no tolerance for supernatural creatures; especially the ones that defy the natural order of things. vampires, immortals, warlocks ... they should all have a shelf life, meet their final deaths in due time, but they cheat death and continue living far past their expirations. it’s annoying. banshee’s are worse than the rest — supernatural without being supernatural, but still managing to be a royal pain in his ass. this one especially, he notes when he finally comes across her; the wailing girl who wants to play HERO.
“ congratulations. i’m pretty sure every car on this block’s going to need a new windshield. ” he’s clapping slowly, voice deadpan as he sneers. there’s no respect in his tone; he hates her, she hates him. it’s the nature of their kinds. “ just think of their insurance premiums. that’s pretty inconsiderate of you. ” as she tries to leave, he teleports to block her. he shakes his hand, a hand held up to keep her from advancing. “ no. not this again. death has its natural order. this person is supposed to die. you can’t just decide you, an insignificant human, know better than D E A T H herself. ” he snorts. “ yeah, yeah, i smell like death, you reek of desperation. if you want to state the obvious all night, that’s fine by me, but it’s not going to change the outcome. ”
