Misplaced arrivals.

[Nayt]

"Purple?" Talis asked.

He thought about it for a moment, ran the details he remembered over and over through his head. He thought his answer to be unfortunate, but it would actually be quite insightful to Myrria . . .

"No," Talis shook his head, "He was wearin' this black sorta . . . cloak getup."

Deciding to comment on what she felt a poor fashion choice for antagonistic folk, Z asked rhetorically, "What kinda bad guy wants to wear purple, anyway? It's the ugliest color ever."

"Bad guys who don't wanna get 'et by li'l black beasties, that's who," Talis answered, regardless.

"Eaten by . . . li'l black beasties? What?" Z asked with a wrinkled brow.

[Zach Kaiser]

No one had apparently told Circe yet, which was odd, as while it wasn't common knowledge in general it was the kind of thing most of the Reapers should have been informed about, just in case of emergencies. Then again, organization was not exactly their strong suit at the moment; the End had seen to that.

Still, that McCarthy knew earned him some respect in her eyes; he was better informed than most bounty hunters. "Shades don't attack anybody wearing a lot of purple," she explained to both Z and Circe. "It doesn't register as a threat or potential food to them, for some reason." There was probably some very scientific reason for this, but she, at least, didn't know it.

[Paroxysm]

“Seriously,” Circe nodded in agreement with Z. No self-respecting villain would be caught dead wearing purple! Well, no self-respecting villains that weren’t a little rock and roll--er, “guess that’d be useful. Never heard of a person controlling shades though, but I guess I haven’t heard a lot of things, eh?”

Granted, Circe did have a somewhat worthwhile excuse. Ever since the whole ‘The End’ thing, she missed a lot of Reaper-oriented things, even while fulfilling her role as one, and may have missed a few updates on certain things. Well, she figured that’s what it was, at least. It didn’t matter so long as Myrria was in the know.

“Looks like this might get even more complicated,” Circe sighed in defeat.

[Nayt]

Odd. Z was feeling a lot more in sync with Circe than she was Myrria. Shouldn't it have been the other way around? Myrria was Circe's size and age and whatnot-- but whatever. This just meant that Circe had everything going for her. Strong, attractive (according to Talis, at least), intelligent, and totally relate-able.

"Still stupid," Z said with a shrug, "I mean, why purple? Why would shades hate everythin' but purple things?"

Talis rolled his shoulders. "Dunno. S'just how it goes, though."

Z folded her arms over her chest. "So horrible fashion senses saves your life. Go figure."

It was high time they got off this topic, though, lest these girls risk ragging on the heroic properties of green. That just would not fly. Not in Talis McCarthy's hut. Anyways, as far as Talis was concerned, purple was a greatly diabolical color and did not in any way look ridiculous.

Talis cleared his throat. "Anyway, we're goin' out after Kerington come mornin'. He should tell y'all a li'l bit bout yer task, like where he's gone an' all that. And hey, ya never know-- he might be the guy behind the shit that's got a price on yer guy's head. Ya might get a bonus, ya never know."

[Zach Kaiser]

"Perhaps," Myrria responded. Well, a bonus was unlikely; this was their job after all. Hopefully if this Kerington turned out to be a Voleur d'Ame, though, helping to take him down would make up for apparently losing their target in the dust.

One thing still bothered her, though: if their target was long gone, who was it they'd run into in the desert before passing out? If she was right, and that person had somehow knocked them out, they were another potential threat. Or what if that had been Kerington after all? If so then he may be more trouble than McCarthy was giving him credit for. And she still didn't know how or why she and her partner switched bodies either. As much as she would have liked to blame it on Thompson, he was competent enough that it seemed unlikely he'd bungle something that badly.

Circe was right, in any case: things were getting complicated. There were too many unknowns about their situation for her liking.

[Paroxysm]

"A bonus, huh? That'd be nice," she said with feigned interest and then shrugged: "Guess we're sleepin' in the room we woke up in, right?"

Like any sane person, a drafty room and a tarp was not her first choice of dwelling, but there was little room to be picky and she wasn't going to offend Talis and Z's hospitality, either. They didn't have to come to the rescue and such. Still, tonight's sleep was probably not going to be the most comfortable.

[Nayt]

"Yeeeeah," Talis replied with a frown, "S'bout the coziest place here."

"Weeeelllllllll, not really," Z added, "The coziest place is dad's room, but you don't wanna sleep there. He snores like a mad elephant."

Talis cleared his throat. "Z, ya don't even know what a wild elephant sounds like."

Z put her hands upon her hips. "And you do?"

"Well . . ." Talis trailed off. "There was that time I went huntin' in southeast Zalion . . ."

If the girls stayed for any longer, they were bound to hear a truly bizarre story of Talis McCarthy's, about when he was a young man. It was a time between awkward sexual conflicts and personal tragedies, when he could actually take time out of dealing with things he barely understood and go bow hunting in the most dangerous wilderness in the known world.

Good times . . .

[Zach Kaiser]

Not wanting to be drawn into an irrelevant conversation, Myrria interrupted the two. "We'll retire for now then; I think we could use some more rest before we're fully recovered." Well, as recovered as they could be, in any case; there was a limit to how well they were going to be while in the wrong body.

Was meeting Talis going to be a blessing or a curse? He certainly seemed nice enough, and if Circe's reaction was anything to go by he could handle himself in a fight. But at the same time there was no telling what his attitude would be if he discovered they were Reapers; people were often misinformed about them, leading to the belief that they killed living beings and took them away rather than just pass the dead onto the afterlife. There were plenty of stories of a Reaper's identity getting out while on a mission and having to deal with a suddenly unhelpful if not outright hostile community.

It didn't help her attitude that he'd apparently scared off their target, which was not going to make tracking him down again easy.

[Paroxysm]

Circe yawned and excused herself from what could have a long, unnecessary, and drawn out story by Talis. She wasn’t fond of being spoken for, but ignored it none-the-less; it wasn’t that big of a deal, she decided, and it helped in getting out of Talis’ tale of Elephants, too.

Like Myrria, there was a bit of apprehension about Talis scaring off their target, but he had not exactly done it on purpose and even if he had, what could they have hoped to do about it? Their target was gone and Talis, rather Talis’ target, was their only lead towards relocating their own target, and that made him an ally, even if only for a short time. The situation could have been a whole lot more bleak!

Heading to their improvised quarters and away from Talis and Z, Circe signed to herself and folded her arms against her chest.

[Nayt]

"'night, then," Talis said with a slight wave.

And with no hard feelings, of course. Not many wanted to hear about hunting elephants and such. He'd once scared off a lady at a bar when he brought it up. She shuddered for the poor, defenseless elephants, and really started loathing Talis for killing twenty wild, angry elephants with nothing but a short bow, ten arrows, and a short hunting knife. But really, after the first, they were all mad and bloodthirsty. At that point, it was just a matter of self defense!

That night was relatively eventful. In as much, a sandstorm struck their location with excessive force. It was a good thing Talis picked this spot to squat, though. This house seemed built to handle the worst of sandstorms. Chances are, Talis didn't just pick this spot on accident . . .

The following morning, the two would be awoken-- if they were even able sleep through the god-awful cold of a Xexorian night, mixed terribly with a horrendous sandstorm --by Talis McCarthy's would be "daughter." She sat in her wheelchair, just feet away from them.

"Hey," she said, and definitely could have been a bit more gentle with her words--but she'd slept horribly and wasn't too terribly thrilled about it. "Dad said he's plannin' on movin' out soon."

[Zach Kaiser]

Myrria, at least, was already awake. Well used to the way of the desert, she'd slept fine despite the sandstorm. This place was built to last, she could tell; there was little danger of it being destroyed.

She occupied herself by trying to sharpen his swords as silently as she could; there was no helping the way she wasn't attuned to her body at the moment, but that was no excuse for letting her equipment wear down.

Acknowledging Z's comment with a nod, she stood up and stretched. There was one thing she wanted to take care of before they left though; in the hurry to not get wrapped up in a story the previous night she hadn't had the chance to ask. "Is it possible I could get a change of clothes? Men's are fine," she added; she was likely too big for anything that would fit Z, so if she got anything it would probably be something of McCarthy's.

[Paroxysm]

Sometime during the night, possibly during the sandstorm, Circe had moved to a corner of the room and wrapped a tarp around her body; she sat with her knees to her chest and her arms around her legs. For a while, her only thought was about how the desert was supposed to be hot, not cold, but eventually even that wore thin and she decided the desert sucked, period. What she wouldn’t give to be in tropical Greoul, the humidity, the heat, and the sandy beaches that weren’t needlessly infuriating--

It was not until Myrria had said something about clothing that Circe broke her silence and muttered something about the quality of Scott’s heritage and lack there of. Likewise, she also, silently, committed to memory to set some clothing after all this was over and done with.

“What time does he wanna to leave?” She managed to say between seething hatred and mental notes.

[Nayt]

"Oh! Sure," Z said.

She didn't know Myrria had any clothing problems, but--well, actually, that wasn't too out there to think about. The first time Z was here, she sweated way too much. Completely ruined an entire outfit. Maybe that was Myrria's problem? Z completely understood, then.

"Don't think dad's clothes will fit ya, though," she said, "I'll see what I got. Do ya mind shorts?"

Z didn't have much other than shorts . . . for obvious reasons. And if it wasn't a pair of shorts, it was a pair of pants that had a leg cut off at the middle.

"And, uh, he said he wanted to head out in 'bout a couple hours," she said, "Leaves time to wake up, eat some breakfast, all that stuff."

She pulled on her wheels to wheel herself backwards, smiled slightly, turned her chair towards then pushed on the wheels to propel herself slowly down the hall.

[Zach Kaiser]

Myrria shook her head, indicating she did not mind. Beggars couldn't be choosers, after all. She only hoped whatever shorts the girl had stretched enough to fit a more or less grown woman. "A shirt too, if it's no trouble," she added. For that, at least, a larger size wasn't as much of a problem; a loose shirt was much easier to deal with than loose pants or shorts.

A glance at Circe told her all she needed to know about how well she took the night. Clearly it would take a little while for her to get used to the desert. It was a little disconcerting to see her own body looking so bothered by it, though. If this Kerrington turned up no leads, the next priority would be getting in touch with Scott and figuring out a way to get back in the right body.

"...How are you feeling?" she asked at length. It was clear she hadn't slept well, so she was worried she wouldn't have enough strength to fight.

[Paroxysm]

“Couple of hours? Alright,” she flashed a smile and emerged from the makeshift covers shortly after.
Returning her attention to Myrria, Circe sighed and folded her arms.

“I’m fine ... enough,” she reassured. It wasn’t her first sleepless night and it probably wouldn’t be the last, either; it was something to be expected in their line of work, really. What was a sandstorm and a body-switching-mishap, after all? Just another day in the life of a reaper, that’s what.