thedispatch | Forgiven

[ The silence between them is the most excruciating thing that she's had to tolerate, she thinks-- until the weight of finality in those final words bears down on her. Her breath quivers as she meets his eyes again. She isn't ready to, but she's always one to act before thinking. ]

I forgot, too. Somehow, I thought we'd always be together... even if part of me knew you'd leave me, I was too terrified to consider the possibility it could be true...

[ Her lips press to keep them from quivering, too. ]

It's selfish, but I don't... [ She swallows hard. ] I don't want you to go.

Everything's already been submitted. I have until Wednesday to gather what I want to bring from my flat and then I'm going.

[ Watching all the subtle movements she makes, it's obvious she's trying to contain all the emotions building up in her. Consoling someone is not something he does often, if ever at all, but he at least tries to soften his voice and sound sincere. ]

You're going to be fine.

You've-- already decided.

[ Without considering otherwise, it seems. Or perhaps her had, and the worth of thereafter outweighed whatever potential they could have. ]

What am I saying? [ With some half-hearted laughter, she shakes her head, picking herself up. ] Of course you have.

[ Because there's security in the definite. Because maybe the only potential there ever was lied in her fantasies. She's a dreamer-- no, crazy. Unstable, unpredictable, no good, worthless! Who was she to think that someone should ever sacrifice the Great Beyond for that? ]

And of course I will be.

[ But what was he? She thought he was different. She thought he wasn't like everyone else. She's disappointed. She's furious. She's heartbroken. ]

I always have been.

[ With a scoff hitching her laughter, she steps back once more-- until she's cleared his desk and can see herself to the door. ]

[ He doesn't go after her, not even another word before she's left the room. Alone again, he stares at the pile of belongings still waiting to be sifted through. Quietly, calmly, he returns to his task, attempting to push the entire conversation to the back of his mind. It doesn't work all that well.

Whatever he does now, it's no longer my problem.

He speaks softly while he works, defending his decision to no one but himself.

He's the one who latched on to me. I had zero control of that. He will just have to move on.

The thoughts linger with him for the night, slowly quieting themselves over the next few days. When Wednesday comes, William makes his final appearance at the office, giving the rest of his coworkers a firm handshake (and even allowing a saddened Alan to give him a brief hug.) He's not entirely surprised Grell is absent, but again, he tries not to think of what she might have gotten herself into in the last few days. Goodbyes said, he makes his way to the upper offices, where he expects he'll be shown to his new life. ]

[ A clamour of frenzied footsteps scale the steps behind him, the voices of disgruntled coworkers echoing through the lower levels. By the time she's reached him, her pace slows to a hesitated gait, until she pauses at the bottom of the stairwell.

For once, she finds herself tongue-tied. Everything she wants to say and everything she shouldn't becomes one mangled mess in her mind, and she has to wonder why she even came--

But she knew she had to.

Gripping at the rail, she chews at her lip. ]

[ Hearing the bustle down the stairwell, he knows it can only be one thing. Why he doesn't keep up his own pace, his isn't sure, but he halts at the top of the staircase, waiting for her to turn the corner.

The silence lingers there as he watches her. She's never been so quiet, he can only imagine what she's thinking. ]

Honestly, I didn't think you'd bother coming.

[ With an audible breath to steel her will, she begins the climb to meet him. It offers her the time to think. ]

I wasn't going to. It's just... too much.

[ But once she's close enough to see him, eye to eye, the truth is, she still doesn't know what the best think to do is. It's all painfully obvious in her eyes. ]

Right now, I wish - more than anything - that I could hate you for it.

[ So, she'll not think at all.

She reaches up to carefully take his face in her hands, and rises to her toes, so that she may steal a kiss. It's quick, forced, and passionate-- and gone in an instant.

Grell has teleported away, leaving the lingering taste of salted tears on his lips. ]

Edited 2019-04-23 07:28 (UTC)

[ He doesn't even have time to react - to shove Grell away or forcefully remove her hands from his face. She's gone before he can process it. With the briefest lick to his lips, he picks his briefcase up and continues upstairs.

Dispatch wasn't free of a manager for long. It'd been like pulling teeth, but they finally managed to convince someone to take up the position. It was odd, of course, William having been in charge for decades. But even if he'd been cold and closed off, he was part of their dysfunctional little family. The new guy would have big shoes to fill.

And William, finally in what was deemed the perfect world, couldn't help thinking on what he'd left behind. His time as a reaper had been exhausting, monotonous, and unforgiving when it came to his lingering depression - but somehow it'd grown on him and he'd accepted it. He was never fully sure if that was a good thing or not. But now, it seems like he has the rest of this new eternity to figure it out. ]

Edited 2019-04-23 20:11 (UTC)

[ As many had expected, Grell did not cope well with the transition. It was an already enormous challenge, maintaining a sense of regulation over someone so erratic; however, her behaviour had shifted to purely volatile in his absence.

During the transition, she'd been physically present at the job, at least - but her mind was clearly elsewhere. Withdrawn from the present, less reactive. The bit of silence that it afforded the office was jokingly regarded as a welcome change, but those that knew her better became weary. The outgoing and playful front was all that seemed to keep the reaper from teetering into her broad violent streak.

Performance on the field became spotty, her timeliness and attendance grew increasingly inconsistent, she rarely bothered with social events - to not showing up at all. Bold as ever, however, she didn't make any attempt as making excuses; more often than not, it was simply that she 'didn't feel like it'.

Their new supervisor was simply at a loss for what to do. Continuous reprehension fell of deaf ears, as she just short of ignored him. On top of unreliable performance, paperwork had been incomplete for weeks. The only sort of feedback he'd received from his coworkers was that she'd responded well to William's abrasive demeanour, but that they generally wouldn't recommend replicating it.

And yet, he didn't know what else to do, so he took his chances; losing his temper with Grell, he threatened disciplinary action. What he didn't expect was that the redhead would demand that he try and impress her - stating that there was nothing that he could possibly do which would faze her. She'd had him backed against the wall, and when she'd finally managed to provoke him into lashing out, she took the opportunity to fight him. While his immortality was barely threatened, he refused to return to the office for a good while.

In the meanwhile, that left the office especially short-staffed, and upper management felt they had little more power than to dock Grell with a hefty fine and restricted duties. That did little to reign her in, however; her temperament had escalated out of control, and many incidents later, with the complaints of several staff fearing for their well-being, she'd been docked with so many reparations that they'd given her the ultimatum to continue her position on severely docked pay until her fines were balanced.

Not long after, she simply stopped showing up to work. Disappeared from her flat. An investigative team had been dispatched to locate Grell, and upon finally finding her, were met with viscous rebuttal that left both parties wounded - but, somehow, she still managed her escape.

They've decided to give her a final chance. For certain, this time. If Grell would return, she'd face demotion and severe penalty, but would maintain her chance at gradual redemption; however, if she refused, they would see to it that the afterlife they'd afforded her would be eradicated.

But it seems that they'll need backup. For this, they must reach out to William, and request that he return, in a sworn temporary position, for this 'special assignment'. ]

[ For a few weeks William attempted to adapt to yet another new life. But being forgiven doesn't give you a smiling new optimistic personality. He remained in his home for most of the day, not being the social type. It could all be looked at as an overdue vacation, no more deadlines or corrections to be dealt with. But instead, it ended up feeling even more tiring and lonely than before.

For a brief moment he regrets trying to get here, at all. And that's when he's contacted.

Part of William hoped that Grell could learn to get along without him. That in his absence, she'd notice she only thought she needed him there to stabilize herself. After all, leaving was not meant as a malicious payback for all the headaches she'd given him.

Why he had any faith that that'd be the case was beyond him.

William remained silent and unreadable as he listened to the explanation of the situation they were in. It was similar to the three years she'd disappeared, going on a murdering spree with that woman, but at least then, no one at the headquarters had suffered injury. It'd taken a lot of bargaining on William's part to get management to allow her back with little repercussion, something he never let Grell know. This time, though her actions were worse, things were more in his favor. And as they concluded, William stated his demands and stipulations quite clearly. They needed him, so all they could do was agree to his terms. ]

[ Grell could have travelled very nearly anywhere by then-- and yet, she decided to stay in London. She might've been very nearly broke, but money is easy to come by when you've no qualms against violence. There was also the option of teleporting onto any given vessel, or using the same methods to steal what was needed. Instead, she had this masochistic need to remain where ghosts her of memories could haunt her.

It would be easier to find her, of course. But she welcomed them to try. It made her otherwise pointless life a bit more interesting.

The reaper hasn't been able to go out much, since they last found her, as healing has been a chore. When she does, it's in disguise, for sake of ease; humans are much more compliant when faced with the familiar. She's back to wearing the round spectacles, hair a blackened brown and worn tied back - although, it's much shorter now, barely brushing her shoulders. ]

Good evening, Gertrude.

[ Grell heaves a sigh as closes the door behinds her, barring out the cold winds. The woman's flat is rather small and dreary, illuminated only be the overcast skies poking through the curtains.

Setting down her bagged food, she takes a seat across from Gertrude at the small table, exhaling a pained sigh. ]

I didn't bring you anything. I'm sure you understand.

[ It wasn't as though Gertrude needed to eat. She's dead, and has been since Grell found the place a week ago. Already reaped, by the looks of it.

Gingerly removing her coat, Grell gives a groan as she shrugs it from her shoulders. Unbuttoning her shirt, stained through, she sighs. ]

Really, I'm too sore to bother covering you. We're both ladies, anyhow, aren't we? It's fine.

[ As she thought, her stitching popped again. Puffing her cheeks with frustration, she stands to hobble herself over to the bed, where she's left her medical supplies at the nightstand. Used bandages litter the floor at her feet, beside a bloodied basin of water. Even the sheets are stained. ]

I'm not doing to a doctor. There's no point. [ She mutters begrudgingly, uncorking the hefty bottle of alcohol to take a swig. Then, eyes pressed shut with dreaded anticipation, pours some over the gasp at her chest. ]

[ The office officials may have lost track of her again, but William's more knowledgeable of where she frequents and flees to in the city. And, as good an actress as she believes herself to be, William knows her mannerisms far too well. And so he watches her for awhile, observing how she's getting by, and most importantly, where she's taken up residence.

That night, he watches her return to the flat, giving her some time to settle down before he raps at the door. ]

[ Having only just shouted in pain, Grell's breath hisses through her teeth whilst she attempts to gather her composure. She can only assume it's some concerned passerby, or less likely, a neighbour. ]

We're fine, thank you! Good day--!

[ Ooh, that made her rather light-headed! Best to take one more drink and set the bottle aside, before she loses hold on it! ]

[ The response she gets is another knock. This one louder and far more forceful. He'll open it himself if she insists on making this difficult, but he's attempting to hold back his frustration with her already. ]

[ Groaning, Grell grasps at the end of the bed, eyes pressing shut as she wills herself to stand. Grabbing a throw draped across the footboard, she pulls it across her shoulders to cover herself while making for the door - gait heavy and clumsy.

Had she more sense, she'd just tell the stranger to sod off. Instead, she opens the door a crack, intending to keep them from seeing the rather concerning setting behind her.

Immediately, her expression snaps from murderous irritation to near horror. Reeling back, she stumbles over her own feet, falling to the floor and leaving the door to sway free.

She doesn't get up, instead pulling the blanket up around herself with a whimper. ]

[ As William looks down at her on the floor, quite a few things are different about him. His glasses are gone, and rather than vibrant yellow-green eyes behind them, an almost iridescent violet pair glare down at her. Somehow, despite the cold look that remains on his face, there's a luminosity to his skin that almost brightens the dreary room as he steps over Grell to enter.

He'd already seen the state her body was in while he watched her, but the flat was another matter. A stench that can only be associate with death lingers in the air - something he didn't miss in the slightest. He scrunches up his nose, moving his glare from her, to survey the room. ]

You've been living with a corpse? I honestly hope you didn't take the woman's life just for a place to stay.

[ Shaken, laboured breathing wracks her body as she listens to him. Having seen him, in what she assumes to be a ghostly appearance, is jarring enough-- but to hear his voice so clearly in her ears is an entirely other matter! She actually whimpers in fear for her sanity.

It's one thing to be called insane, but to actually face the realisation that it may be true is an entirely different matter. Visions of things that aren't there could be attributed to the pain, the alcohol, the fatigue... murmurs of conversation could be the nights without sleep... not this. This is more real that she's used to. ]

N-no, she was--... [ Why is she talking back to it? Goodness, she's hopeless! ] No, nonono.......

[ Rolling over, she keeps the blanket draped over her head as she scoots along the floor, to swing the door closed. ]

Just ignore it... It will pass...

[ Collapsing back to the floor, she stays curled onto her side, closing her eyes to steady her breathing. She murmurs to herself. ]

What may this mean, that thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel, revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon. Making night hideous; and we, fools of nature, so horridly to shake our disposition, with thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls? Say, why is this? . . .

[ He pays little mind to the mantra she's reciting, instead stepping further into the room to observe things. He kicks at the bandages that litter the floor, then picks up the bottle of alcohol from the night stand, reading its label. ]

Is this all you're treating your wound with? You received that injury days ago. Obviously it hasn't healed in the slightest. [ Regarding the stain that reddens the bed sheets. ] You need to see the doctors and get it stitched up properly.

Of course it hasn't. [ She mumbles. ] It's a deathscythe wound.

[ The apparition - or whatever she should call her imaginary friend - still speaks, despite her attempts to will it away. Despite how resolute she'd been moments before, this falls in line with what she'd been thinking before he appeared. It's easier to go along with. ]

The doctor would wonder why I'm still walking... It will heal, anyway. Eventually.

[ Her voice is small, tired. As though she's merely muttering to herself. ]

Not that it matters.

[ Replacing the bottle, he paces over, stopping at her side to look down. She really is a pathetic sight there on the ground, but what's most concerning is the way she's speaking. They're both all too familiar with those sorts of phrases. ]

Stop. Get that idea out of your head. You've lived that part of your life already, we don't need it resurfacing. Now, get up. I'm taking you back to headquarters.

[ He'd normally kick her to get her to pay attention and do what she's told, but that wouldn't help her wound. So for now, he extends a hand. ]

[ Blearily, she peers up at him from beneath her throw. While her focus shifts to his hand, she doesn't take it, believing it won't actually do anything to help her up, all considered. ]

I'm not going back there.

[ Torso teetering back, she cups a hand over her wound, eye travelling wayward and settling nowhere in particular amongst the expanse of the ceiling. ]

This is much more preferable. And that's saying something, I imagine.

Yes, you are.

[ Huffing, he takes a firm hold of her upper harm, yanking hard enough to pull her to her knees. ]

I didn't come here to deal with your uncooperative attitude or back talk. We're going, now.

[ Grell's shriek of surprise dulls into a groaning whimper, her free hand clutching the material over her chest. Her eyes are a mixture of confusion and terror, as she cowers under him-- and yet, she clutches onto him. ]

Yo--you're real...? [ Shaking, she reaches out to lay her hand over his. ] No-- no, I can't be imagining this...

You aren't imagining anything. I am really here, and that should be saying something. Now, get up.

[ Another tug, and a bit of help hoisting her up by the back of her shirt and she's on her feet. He immediately lets go of her arm, and gives a slightly concerned look at her wound. ]

[ The blanket's fallen from her shoulder and pooled onto the floor, leaving her hair messy and half-pulled from her ponytail. It's doing her no favours, considering the state she's in-- she's a right mess.

Her wound has been stitched up no better than that old red coat she'd kept around, and it's apparent that isn't the only one she has, just the worst of them.

That's the furthest thing from Grell's mind right now, though. Despite being hoisted up like a dumb pup, she's looking at him with some incredible wonder. Reaching up, she cautiously touches her fingertips to his cheek, just below his eye. ]

I-- don't understand what in Death's name is going on.

Edited 2019-04-24 04:23 (UTC)

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