Offtopic: I felt inspired to write a short scene the other night, so I sat down and wrote this about a couple of my characters--Scott Thompson and Etsu Hikane--and one of Manda's, Addison Draugr. She accepted this short piece as canon.





“Two points. Lucky bum.”

“Your fault for calling light.”

"Okay,” there was a shrug and a passing of pen and paper, “Your word next.”

Addison Draugr and Scott Thompson were positioned across from the lonely, lengthy table from Etsu Hikane, a very recent inductee into their organization: the Dirige. They were best known as Reapers, though. Addison is a tall woman, nearly five foot ten, and is genetically gifted with the luxurious curves of the body with which a woman could dazzle any man into submission. It might have taken little more than the right twitch of the hips and puffing of her bosom, and she could have a man melting in the palm of her hands. Of course, that was just a game. An idle fancy when in the presence of sufficient liquor, one best played with her companion in this game: Scott Thompson.

Unlike Addison, Scott does not wear a surgical mask over his lips. Also unlike Addison, he is sans most of that which may permit him the right to seduce a woman. He stands at Addison’s height and is of perfectly average build, though having a desk job has done little good for his waist line. He wears mostly baggy clothes, compared to Addison’s tight shirts and skinny jeans, and always wears a pair of thick framed black glasses. A beanie is wrapped tight about his skull, hiding most of his short mess of (almost) oily black hair, and a cigarette hangs unlit between his lips.

Etsu Hikane, the new inductee into the organization, stands out just as much as her would be educators. Were it not the crimson color of her eyes that attracted the attention of others, then it would have been the light azure color of her hair, and the way she fashioned it so every strand of hair that comprised her bangs fell before the left side of her face only. She is eleven years younger than Addison, twenty-five at the time of her loss of body and induction into the Reapers, and almost twenty years younger than Scott Thompson, thirty four as of his official date of death and induction.

Unfortunately, Etsu does not understand Scott and Addison’s language. Coming straight from the orient, she knows one language and one language alone. It has since become the passive job of Scott and Addison to teach her to understand the Common tongue of the Reapers. Somewhere along the lines, this job became something of a competition.

With a sagely nod, Scott lowers himself to the cafeteria table, across from Etsu, and announces the most intellectual, most necessary word for any non-native speaker of their language to learn:

"Orange."

Etsu tilts her head. "Or-an-ju?"

Addison grumbles behind her mask. "Scott Thompson, you simple bastard."

Scott smiles victoriously. He is well aware that colors, especially colors on particular indicative objects, are some of the most difficult of objects to pantomime. It has become a game amongst them. Scott and Addison compete to charge Etsu Hikane's understanding the fastest without outright showing her the object in question. They are present, however. In the Dirige compound's cafeteria, there are oranges. For now, that is the prerequisite.

Neither Scott nor Addison even pretend to believe that Etsu is aware of this game. They are well aware that it is fun half at her expense--and only half, maybe even less than half, as she needs to learn the language anyways.

Addison paces behind Scott, picturing the fruit in her mind. It's orange. Yes, of course it's orange, but she can't at all convey color, not without something orange in the vicinity. She looks to her left, she looks to her right. Nearby, there is an orange chair. Addison ceases her pacing.

“Orange,” she says as she points to the chair indicatively. Etsu looks to it, looks back to her, and tilts her head.

Yes, of course it’s orange. It’s an orange. Oranges are orange. But it is also round.

"Orange," she says again with her hands put together to indicate roundness.

Etsu blinks confusedly.

Yes, of course it's round. It's round and it's orange. But it's also a fruit. It's meant to be eaten.

“Orange,” Addison utters again as she holds her hands up in a roundish fashion again, only to bite at her hand in display. Unfortunately, she is wearing a mask, and it makes the task cumbersome.

Etsu stares confusedly.

Yes, of course it is meant to be eaten. It’s meant to be eaten, it’s round, and it’s orange. But what else? What other inherent flaw has the disastrous fruit?

“Orange,” Addison utters again, already feeling a bit tired of this game—after this, roughly the second hour they’d been playing it, she might be calling it quits. But it was best to go out gloriously. Addison pantomimes the holding an orange, and with her right hand, the act of peeling it.

Etsu blinks. Initially, Addison rues the idea that she is still very much confused, but . . .

The newly inducted Reaper holds out her hands in a circle. “Or-an-ju . . . daidai?” She asks like something of an attentive and self conscious student.

This time, Addison tilts her head to the side. “Daidai?” She asks.

The girl nods. She pantomimes the exact peeling that Addison chose before. “Daidai—or-an-ju.”

“Aha! Yes, daidai is orange,” Addison replied proudly—proud, of course, of numerous aspects of her achievement. “Good job, little Ets.”

As Addison takes her seat next to Scott, Scott checks the tallies on the paper before him. It’s set upon the table, and Scott has been jotting down tally marks with each of Addison’s guesses that go wrong. Likewise, Addison has taken every care in the world to make note of his failed attempts to convey linguistic understanding.

“Three points?” Scott asks. The nature of the game is to have as few points as possible. “That puts you at . . . fifty four. And me at forty nine. You’re still in the red here, babe.”

“All right,” Addison nods calmly. Scott cannot see the coy smile upon her lips, hidden so wondrously behind her surgical mask. “How about this one?” She pauses. “Dick.”

Scott doesn’t even hesitate; not in the least. He stands up, and for a brief moment, Addison considers the possibility that she might have to brain Scott Thompson to preserve this poor girl’s innocence. It is, however, not to be. Scott wastes no time making his intentions clear:

“Well I think it’s about time we called this game done for the day,” he declares awkwardly and without pause, before swiveling on his feet and marching the other way.

It takes every fiber in her being for Addison to suppress a laugh. Instead, she motions for the new Reaper to stand. “Well, little Ets, I guess we should head out, too.”

The girl stared confusedly at Addison until the woman motions for door at the other end of the cafeteria. Etsu immediately understands and stands from the table. Addison’s surgical mask can barely contain her victorious smile.

“Phrase,” Addison mutters mostly to herself as she takes the pen and paper, jotting down one dash for herself, “Try and beat that one, Scotty.”