It was Vesdel's fortune that Bojan Myaskovsky had not been present at the inn when he arrived to eat breakfast. Such blatant display of ability would not have gone over too well at all and severe damage to both property and body would undoubtedly have occurred as a result of Vesdel's lack of care in concealing who and what he was. In one day, he would find his life had changed quite considerably - if he thought about it. Reapers were not to be taken lightly. Circumstances being what they were, Vesdel was just lucky that Basil was the one who had arrived to send him.



Those who traveled through the town of Duland today would find that odd markers had appeared all over the place; at first, they could easily have been dismissed as graffiti, a child or hooligan’s scrawls, perhaps accidental, even, but some were more refined than others, thicker in stroke and color. Most were a dash or curved line housed inside a perfect circle but others were more detailed; it was these that were most attention catching as simply trying to follow them with one’s eyes caused them to squirm and wiggle almost as though they were alive. Needless to say, these symbols were the topic on everyone’s mind - but not lips, if they were sensible and god-fearing - and nobody quite knew who had put them up. Nobody, of course, but Basil, who at once recognized the symbols for what they were, and knew, too, that this meant Bojan was just about done with his preparations.

How long would it be now? Tonight? A day or two? One thing was for certain: The town of Duland had already been written off as a necessary casualty in this secret war against their target. Disregarding those difficult thoughts, however, Basil had the strangest urge to sightsee before the town was reduced to rubble. Markets, stores, landmarks, and, of course, the seat of the local government; it wasn’t long after he neared the last sight that he felt a familiar, spiritual tug . . . Right, last night’s vagrant soul had vanished just before he arrived. Although there would be a lot of death in the coming days, his job, as a reaper, was to send souls on their way, and that made him responsible for this spirit. He’d just have to go and get work out of the way before returning to his sightseeing.

Because he was capable of feeling the spirit’s presence, it didn’t take Basil long at all to find it, especially since it was sitting right in the open, almost as though it were waiting for someone, and he approached it, apprehensively so. The thing was . . . Horribly scarred, and its features were burnt and twisted. Had he been a harsher person, he may have felt a sense of revulsion, but he wasn’t and, instead, he felt pity for the thing. It must have had a hard life.

“Um, hello? I need to send you.” Basil said as he stopped and cast his shadow over top Vesdel.

Vesdel noted the strange markings on the walls earlier today. He'd lived in Duland all his life, and he hadn't seen anything like it until the appearance of these reapers. Today he would have layed low even, and refrain from using any of abilities if he hadn't made an appointment with the young Basil. He had more questions to ask him, important ones.

Ah, there he was. He was thrilled to see he was there but tried to hide it, with a face like his it was hard to discern emotions, but he acted casual. If this was anything like last night's encounter he knew the guy wasn't aggressive and would even stop to chat a bit, and explain himself before he tried to send him, and that was really all the time he needed, especially with his instrument in his lap at the ready. Now let's see here..

"Hhello!" Vesdel looked up at Basil cheerily. "Sehend me whhere?"

Basil looked around for a moment and then leveled his gaze back at the spirit. He sucked on his tongue and produced a sharp tsk sound before holding up his left, gloved hand and blowing a few strands of his dirty blonde hair away from his face. He couldn’t risk the spirit up and disappearing this time, like it did last night, and there was no telling when he’d get another chance, either . . . Right, he hated being rude, usually, but it looked like there was no choice this time.

“Elsewhere.”

A faint glow surrounded Basil’s uplifted hand and he lurched forwards, taking a ‘small’ step that wasn’t small in the least, and fully closed the rest of the distance between he and the spirit. Basil’s arm extended and his hand and fingers were held oriented like a claw. One touch, that was all he needed and Vesdel would be out of Duland and Basil could leave, and Bojan and the Voleur d’ame could have the town to themselves. That’s how it would be in a perfect world, at least.

Vesdel was startled by the man's sudden no nonsense attitude, his personality was completely different from last time. This time around he was here to conduct business, he meant it. Now it wasn't a game, he needed to ask his questions now.

He thought long and hard about the question he would ask last night. He wanted to know exactly how to get to Purgatory, but he had other affairs on this plane to deal with first, and as Basil was demonstrating, Reapers were not to be messed with. He was foolish to underestimate him, and foolish to trust Bojan so quickly. Lately he'd really been slipping up, but he had been cleansed of his concerns for his own safety long ago.

Luckily for him, years of playing had his reflexes sharpened and perfectly attuned, and the fire hadn't robbed his fingers of their dexterity. As soon as Basil's hand began to glow, Vesdel put his own to work playing the intro to his song.

"Yehes and hhave you shhent an Annabelle Vivissan or Annabelle Lee Elsewhere son. Hwan ohf yohu Reahhheperssss mussst now. Fihind out ffhor me pleheasseee. Brihing your ahnssswer to Joe, the mahanger of the sssscrap hhhhheap. Now..." Vesdel picked up his playing "we don't wahanna disssahhpoint our haudience do we?"

Like usual, there was a crowd in front of city hall, and Vesdel had left his case open a bit farther in front of him to accept coins. If his playing was sufficient, he might even make some money today, and Basil might even sing along whether or not he spoke the language or knew the lyrics to the song.

Tension built somewhere in the back of Basil's mind and he knew something was wrong, but something distinct and familiar was holding him back from doing his job; he felt the glow fade from his hand and he immediately withdrew from his attacking pose to stand normally.

“Impossible,” Basil countered by way of reply. He wanted to help this spirit - he really, really wanted to help this spirit, nothing would have made him happier, in fact, and that was odd in and of itself, he realized.

“No, I can give you my answer now . . .“ Basil’s voice drowned off. He was just a cog, a part of the organization, really, and he had no idea how much record keeping was done by handlers like Noemi and Scott Thompson. Did they have some way to keep track of who was being sent? Normally, Basil didn’t even have a name to go by and nor did he ask for one. Vesdel was different because he had given his name to Bojan who, in turn, gave his name to Noemi and she to Basil. That was how it worked. Otherwise, Vesdel would have just been another anonymous spirit sent to the hereafter. Unfortunately, the Reaper who may have known or, at the very least, recognized a spirit that was sent from Duland or its surrounding areas, could no longer be counted amongst the living. Or the dead, for that matter.

“Only the Reaper who would have sent her would know and he no longer exists. A voleur d’ame, . . . “ Basil, distracted, turned his head away from Vesdel, almost entirely tuning out the enchanting music, and stared off into the distance, furrowing his brow and disregarding the people - the audience, as Vesdel called them. He did this for a long moment before returning his gaze to Vesdel and immediately forgetting why he had looked away in the first place.

“No, I guess we wouldn’t want to disappoint the audience.”

"Oho perhhhfect!" Vesdel said cheerily, he wasn't expecting such a swift response! The sooner he found out the sooner he could get to work, but the smile on his face slowly faded as Basil told him the news. "Oh..."

Nobody knew where she was, and the only one that would know was long dead. At least he knew a reaper was in fact after his Annabelle, which means she must have been dead. Had she passed though? Did someone else send her, or was she like him, long lost and floating around? Those questions would have to be asked another time, because Basil was right. For now he had an audience to entertain.

"Then sssing for mehee ssson, sssshare with the classs."

Vesdel continued playing his samba. If Basil sang along he'd surprisingly know the lyrics and the language, and maybe the music would even inspire a little wiggle in the hips.

It was unfortunate that Vesdel hadn’t felt it necessary to voice his thoughts out loud because Basil could have most definitely clarified that it was not his intention to imply that a reaper was involved with this Annabelle or whoever it was he was looking for. As it stood, Vesdel was in the grips of a potentially dangerous misunderstanding . . . Oh well, it wasn't like he appeared too concerned with his safety anyways.

Right, singing - this had happened before, hadn’t it? Basil could feel his inhibitions slipping as a haze drifted in over his thoughts and made him more susceptible to suggestions from Vesdel. Like an iron wrought trap, Basil’s mental defenses slammed in on themselves and for a second, he almost threw off Vesdel’s control once more as his attention wavered and shifted onto something else, a low thrumming of power, somewhere in town, but, like before, Basil eventually returned his focus to Vesdel and the control ensnared him once more.

The uniquely Basil-like tenor from before rose from somewhere deep inside the reaper as he began singing in non-sense lyrics; he was not quite incoherent and lyrics not quite idiotic, but they neither meant nor stood for anything at all. Each word was smooth and sweet, candied in a way that critics would have hated, but that fans would have loved and paid money out of the pocket to see in person. However, Vesdel, if he was paying attention, would find that the audience was not quite as riled up as one would have expected; in fact, many were collapsing, falling in droves, one after the other, some appeared to even be sleeping while standing, and a select few, the old and young, did not even look as though they were breathing in anything but shallow gasps.

Man, woman, and child fell to the street in unconscious piles of limbs and, as though drawn, more were showing up to replace them. None so much as batted an eye at their fellow townsfolk.

If Basil wasn't such a spectacular singer, the audience and even Vesdel might have found the gibberish lyrics comical, but Basil sang in such an impressive tenor that the words hardly mattered, it was how he presented them. He'd done so well that Vesdel was quite enjoying the performance (and the view) and he was almost completely 100% sure the crowd would feel the same. He kept his ears open for the sound of falling change, and when he heard nothing he peeked his head out from behind Basil to see his accordion case absolutely empty and the crowd in some sort of coma.

Well that was one way to do it. He could make his money and have a meal all at once. Did this mean that his music no longer hypnotized people? It didn't seem to be the case with Basil who was still singing his precious little heart out. But with the crowd incapacitated, there really wasn't any point to his little show. He'd empty their pockets and relieve them of their pesky souls, but first he'd have to send Basil on his way. It was sad, he performed so well that he felt he should get at least half of what he earned, but he didn't want to give any evidence of their encounter to the guy either. He'd make it up to him for sure.

"Forget our encounter and forget me, but show up at Biscoto's Restaurant at three."

Basil managed a small, albeit unconscious, nod of acknowledgement and began to sluggishly turn around and walk away to carry out Vesdel's commands, but, just as he was leaving, he was stopped by the sound of clapping - what may have counted as applause, perhaps, had its source been a crowd rather than the single man standing amongst the fallen audience with an entertained look on his face. Jagged scars were worked into the man’s skin, his clothing was ripped and tattered, smudged dirty and wrinkled, and his hair was an oily, knotted mess with enough length to show it had been some time since it saw any sort of care or attention.

Cutting his applause short and hissing out his breath, the man raised a hand and tugged at his cauliflower ear with a bony finger and thumb, and smiled with bright, shining eyes.

For the better part of a minute, Basil stared at this man in what was waning confusion, synapses that had been dulled by Vesdel’s music fired once more, thoughts twisted and churned in his head, and there was a familiar tug of anxiety in his chest. Something was wrong - no, something was very, very wrong. Not just with this man, who he at once recognized and was deathly afraid of, but with the soul behind him, too.

“V-Vesdel Vivisan,” Basil said suddenly. First, unsure of himself, but he redoubled his efforts and said again: “Vesdel. Vivisan. Vagrant,” Basil’s voice grew strong and venom surged in his tone. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? --- Oh Gods," his tone went soft again and he took an instinctive, nervous step to the side, "T-this is bad.”

The man’s smile grew broader.

Finally some well deserved appplause! The slow clapping belonged to the person who was no doubt, the owner of the strange glyphs about town. He was a reaper alright, since all reapers (excluding Basil of course) seemed to be in terrible shape. This was was doing better than Bojan by a long shot, but sure could use a bath, and a tailor. Of course Vesdel wasn't one to talk, he looked worse than both of them combined.

"Yheess hun?" Vesdel turned around and addressed Basil. He was using pet names now, as if he was a good friend that visited him frequently. It was a little too close. Vesdel even looked hurt, as if he was being chastised for something he did wrong, as if he had no idea that he'd done anything in the first place.

"What? Do you nhot lhike Bissscoto'sss? We can go somewhehere elssse if you lhiiike. Wohould you lhike to come?" He was hoping he could go alone, but if Basil wanted to bring a friend he could. The feeling of doom or dread he felt during his first few Reaper encounters wasn't there, and was unconcerned with Basil's uneasiness. Amidst all the impending doom and the treachery smiling right in front of him Vesdel seemed perfectly calm and placid. Not out of confidence of his own ability, or reassurance of his safety, but out of nothing at all.

Something was wrong with this man, and maybe everyone would find out what.

Quietly, the man grabbed one of the unconscious town folk, lifting them away from the ground without any visible effort, and then dropped them carelessly atop another nearby person; he repeated the process twice more and then sat down on top of the pile as though it were a throne.

"Yer know, I right can't say that I'm surprised by this," the man said suddenly and in a tone that was as pleasant as the smile on his face. "Could only be lucky for so long, right, yeah?"

The man appeared to be disregarding Vesdel entirely - and, honestly, why shouldn’t he? To him, Vesdel was nothing . . . The only person who mattered here, at this moment, to this man, was Basil, and Basil, in turn, was keeping his attention almost entirely devoted to the man, taking more nervous, small steps to the side, inch by inch, in an effort to put as much distance between he and the man as he possibly could.

---Wait, what was that? The man turned from Basil to Vesdel, and squinted; it had said something, hadn’t it? Things sure were strange lately, weren’t they?

“Eh, wot’d yer say? Didn’t quite cotch that: Would yer like ter, wot?”

Basil turned, too, turned to face Vesdel, but, unlike the man, he wasn't smiling; in fact, he almost looked disgusted, like he was seeing Vesdel for the first time, and the experience didn't quite agree with his stomach.

"How... St--Y-you really don't understand, do you. . .?"

Basil had heard of Voleur d'ame being a bit off, sometimes downright crazy, in fact, but how could Vesdel be this passive in the presence of a Devorous-class spirit eater? Furthermore, he had tampered with a Reaper and prevented said Reaper from fulfilling its duties. Vesdel was marked for death and didn't even know it.

He would make a break for it first chance he got, Basil decided in an instant. Fighting spirit thieves was way outside his duties. Vesdel and the man could go at it over territory or something and Bojan could come in and mop up whoever remained.

"Hahahah!"

Lucky! To Hell and back and the man was accusing him of being lucky! The idea caused him to suddenly laugh out loud, when the laughter died down Vesdel was holding his aching sides and shaking his head.

Did he think this was a joke? How couldn't he when the man was casually sitting himself on top of a pile of people like that? Today had an entirely different turnout than he expected, and while it was all hilarious, it was time to wrap it up now.

"Wasss gonna asssk if you'd lahke to hit up Bissscotosss for dihnner. Hm? Underssstand whhat hun?"

There were lots of things Vesdel didn't understand, heck he only found out a day or two ago that he wasn't even alive. He certainly was behind, and it might cost him. One precaution he did take, was to not take his accordion off, he'd carry the empty case in his other hand. Something about this guy gave him a bit of an unusual feeling. Oh well, if they didn't want to go to Biscoto's he'd just be going home.

For all of half a second, the man's face grew serious and he looked at Vesdel with the fierce, discerning eye of a man who trusted no one and hadn't for a long, long time. However, finding his initial impression of Vesdel accurate, his grin and relaxed demeanor returned, and he wordlessly labeled Vesdel under 'sap'.

“Dinner, eh? Speakin’ of dinner, shouldn’t yer be takin’ care of fings ‘ere?”

The man lifted his arm and pointed a long, accusing finger at Vesdel and then opened his hand flat, and gestured around to indicate the fallen, unconscious townsfolk. Basil, on the other hand, after having moved further and further away, inch by inch, and, seeing this as his moment, turned around and sprinted with an obvious limp in his stride; he fumbled a small device out of his pocket as he moved. Unconcerned, the man continued staring expectedly at Vesdel.

“Really, don’t mind me! Take yer time,” he said with a comforting smile and a knowing look in his eye.

Take care of things? If the man's train of thought was following the dinner theme, then the implication would be that he was taking care of his meals, or feasting on souls, and Vesdel would have been very very concerned. The man was insinuating that he had been caught but that hadn't been Vesdel's intention in the first place.

He was here to collect information and to put on a show, his audience was asleep, and his star performer was leaving.He had to go. Besides there was no way he could pick their pockets or devour their souls with this guy breathing downhis back. Dinner would have to be elsewhere.

"Yhou knohw whhat? I thhhink Ahm good." He said grabbing his case and nodding, turning to go catch up with Basil.

The muscles in the man's face tensed and knotted as he tightened his jaw and narrowed a cold, hard stare at Vesdel. All pretense of friendliness vanished as he stood from his would-be throne of townsfolk and pressed an invisible, powerful force onto Vesdel. While pain was not accompanying this force, taking even one more step away form the man would prove to be a daunting (although not impossible) task indeed.

"Oi," he spat. "Wen did I say yer could leave?"

With slow, deliberate steps the man began closing the distance between he and Vesdel. Each step he took would increase the pressure on Vesdel and the closer he got, the less likely Vesdel was going to find the resolve to break the 'spell' and escape.