[Now that the University's Halloween party is over, and doors no longer seem to be teleporting them randomly into the haunted house, Brook has ditched the Easter bunny outfit. He has, however, kept the bright pink letterman, and he puts his hands in its pockets after entering the bookstore.
He stands there uncertainly, looking around for something not immediately visible.]
[ It's a nonchalant greeting from an equally nonchalant-looking Gebura, who is just leaning against the wall as though she's acting more like store security than anyone who could recommend a story or such.
Which is probably true, but she nods a greeting anyway. ]
It's kind of why I came here, though. I used to keep a blog to help me remember things, but I don't trust these phones. I was hoping I could get something to write in...
Sure, we've got some blank ones. You'll probably have to trade a story for it so Angela doesn't complain about me just chucking one at you, but if you're fine with that, it shouldn't be too hard to work out a deal.
To start, a Reaper is what I am: one of Satan's agents, sent into the human world to kill sinners and deliver them directly to hell to be sentenced. They're rare. Last I knew, there were only three of us. And each of us has unique circumstances.
What we all have in common is that we were once human. Then, at some point after each of us died, we struck a deal with Satan. In order for us to do our jobs, he put our human souls back into physical flesh containers, like this one--
[He taps his chest.]
--and stuffed a demon in with us, to give us powers. That's what makes us Reapers. Does that much make sense?
[ She honestly doesn't even look that surprised, even as she starts writing. ]
I was human, got killed, then got my soul stuck into a physical machine, then wound up with a sort of human body after that. It's complicated, but I get it. So does the demon only provide powers or are you roommates in there?
[ Wryly. Because it really is just like that, isn't it? Everything's suppressed here, to some extent. So what he's describing is more like wielding Mimicry, which is easy enough to understand. ]
I'm guessing you don't get too many vacations from the job?
None. At least, not till now. There were a couple times I missed my deadline, but...
[Brook trails off. At the time, it hadn't mattered. The consequences for him were mild at worst. If he were home now and missed the midnight deadline, it'd be different.]
...Those don't matter to the story. Guess I'm getting ahead of myself. [A breath.] It all started when I died and was sent to purgatory.
Yeah. It wasn't bad. In my world, purgatory's an endless stretch of nature, full of all the other morally unremarkable people who've died. They just wander around and talk about their lives. There's nothing else to do... but nothing else you have to do, either.
For me, that was unbearable. The longer I stayed there, simply existing with no structure or purpose, the deeper I sank into melancholy. The thought of that being all there'd ever be, for the unfathomable span of eternity--I couldn't do it. I need reasons to do things. I need direction.
I'd learned from the others in purgatory that we couldn't get into heaven from there, but that it was connected to the first circle of hell. Those damned souls couldn't get through to us and escape their sentences, but who was to say I couldn't cross over to their level?
So I decided to try. Because I knew, without a doubt, that my only remaining link to the purposes I'd had when I was alive... that the person I needed to see would be in hell.
[ Damn, that's edgy. She is actually muttering this word for word, actually, as she jots that down. ]
I mean, I get it. Sometimes even I get tired and want to just nap for a hot second, but I'd lose my mind if what waited for me after death was just endless wandering in a field of flowers or whatever.
So, did they just let you into hell or did you actually have to prove you were some kind of asshole?
It's not the kind of thing I could prove. At least, not to Satan. If you're a sinner, he knows. I died without doing anything particularly bad, so he let me know there was no place in hell for me.
But my case intrigued him. He found it amusing, that a non-sinner like me wanted to trade places with someone in his domain. So he made me an offer: as long as I'm completing my duties for him as a Reaper, that person can serve my lighter sentence instead of their own.
After walking all that way for something like that, I agreed. So. That's my story, I guess.
And you've been a Reaper since. I guess you're good at your job?
[ It's a lot to process, but she's learned to roll with a lot, after everything. One thing to be said for Brook, he's apparently dedicated to his convictions. ]
...It's not like I have a particular talent or interest in killing. Like I said, I've messed up a few times over the years. It's just that sending me back to a boring existence in purgatory wouldn't entertain Satan as much as keeping me on as a Reaper did.
[Again, silence. His gaze wanders out the bookstore window.]
I dunno. For most of it, I wasn't happy or sad. I just was. And that was fine. Whether it's "worth" anything... [Brook forces a shrug.] I don't even know where to start measuring something like that.
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Action, 11/5, at the bookstore
He stands there uncertainly, looking around for something not immediately visible.]
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[ It's a nonchalant greeting from an equally nonchalant-looking Gebura, who is just leaning against the wall as though she's acting more like store security than anyone who could recommend a story or such.
Which is probably true, but she nods a greeting anyway. ]
Brook, right?
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Uh, yeah. And you're... uh.
[This is why he needs a journal. At least he manages to look a little embarrassed about the failure to produce her name.]
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[ She truly isn't offended, promise. ]
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[He lets out an irritated sigh.]
It's kind of why I came here, though. I used to keep a blog to help me remember things, but I don't trust these phones. I was hoping I could get something to write in...
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[ She glances at the shelves. ]
Sure, we've got some blank ones. You'll probably have to trade a story for it so Angela doesn't complain about me just chucking one at you, but if you're fine with that, it shouldn't be too hard to work out a deal.
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Okay. I'll tell you what I told the people I work with now when they asked me why I became a Reaper.
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Sure. [ She's pausing to grab a book, flipping it open to a blank page. ]
Go ahead, whenever you're ready.
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To start, a Reaper is what I am: one of Satan's agents, sent into the human world to kill sinners and deliver them directly to hell to be sentenced. They're rare. Last I knew, there were only three of us. And each of us has unique circumstances.
What we all have in common is that we were once human. Then, at some point after each of us died, we struck a deal with Satan. In order for us to do our jobs, he put our human souls back into physical flesh containers, like this one--
[He taps his chest.]
--and stuffed a demon in with us, to give us powers. That's what makes us Reapers. Does that much make sense?
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[ She honestly doesn't even look that surprised, even as she starts writing. ]
I was human, got killed, then got my soul stuck into a physical machine, then wound up with a sort of human body after that. It's complicated, but I get it. So does the demon only provide powers or are you roommates in there?
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I know how much stress I need to put myself under to bring out the power I need, but I never let it take over. Not every Reaper can say the same.
That energy you saw me use in the haunted house--that's the demon. Of course, normally it's a lot stronger than that.
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[ Wryly. Because it really is just like that, isn't it? Everything's suppressed here, to some extent. So what he's describing is more like wielding Mimicry, which is easy enough to understand. ]
I'm guessing you don't get too many vacations from the job?
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[Brook trails off. At the time, it hadn't mattered. The consequences for him were mild at worst. If he were home now and missed the midnight deadline, it'd be different.]
...Those don't matter to the story. Guess I'm getting ahead of myself. [A breath.] It all started when I died and was sent to purgatory.
[Purgatory. Not hell.]
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[ It's a very simple response, but she's not here to question every single thing he says. She's here to hear his story. ]
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For me, that was unbearable. The longer I stayed there, simply existing with no structure or purpose, the deeper I sank into melancholy. The thought of that being all there'd ever be, for the unfathomable span of eternity--I couldn't do it. I need reasons to do things. I need direction.
I'd learned from the others in purgatory that we couldn't get into heaven from there, but that it was connected to the first circle of hell. Those damned souls couldn't get through to us and escape their sentences, but who was to say I couldn't cross over to their level?
So I decided to try. Because I knew, without a doubt, that my only remaining link to the purposes I'd had when I was alive... that the person I needed to see would be in hell.
[DUN DUNNNNN.]
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I mean, I get it. Sometimes even I get tired and want to just nap for a hot second, but I'd lose my mind if what waited for me after death was just endless wandering in a field of flowers or whatever.
So, did they just let you into hell or did you actually have to prove you were some kind of asshole?
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It's not the kind of thing I could prove. At least, not to Satan. If you're a sinner, he knows. I died without doing anything particularly bad, so he let me know there was no place in hell for me.
But my case intrigued him. He found it amusing, that a non-sinner like me wanted to trade places with someone in his domain. So he made me an offer: as long as I'm completing my duties for him as a Reaper, that person can serve my lighter sentence instead of their own.
After walking all that way for something like that, I agreed. So. That's my story, I guess.
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And you've been a Reaper since. I guess you're good at your job?
[ It's a lot to process, but she's learned to roll with a lot, after everything. One thing to be said for Brook, he's apparently dedicated to his convictions. ]
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...It's not like I have a particular talent or interest in killing. Like I said, I've messed up a few times over the years. It's just that sending me back to a boring existence in purgatory wouldn't entertain Satan as much as keeping me on as a Reaper did.
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[ She heaves a sigh. She doesn't really take any joy in killing, either. ]
Is it worth it? Now that you've been stuck doing it for a while.
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I dunno. For most of it, I wasn't happy or sad. I just was. And that was fine. Whether it's "worth" anything... [Brook forces a shrug.] I don't even know where to start measuring something like that.
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[ And she waves a scarred hand at one of the shelves. ]
The ones on the left are blank, so take your pick.
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Thanks.
[Important question: Do they come in pink?]
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