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Ava's up in the library.

Presumably, she's been quietly working shifts this whole time. But now you might actually catch her-- going through the stacks reshelving books, or at the front desk reading.

She has three books of her own: a bright-yellow Nancy Drew, a star-covered hardback called Depth, Silence, and one that looks a lot older.

It's a book of seventeenth-century demonology.

[ooc: Hey friends! Ava is taggable at the front desk or wandering through the aisles. PM with questions/plots/schemes/dreams.]

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"Neither."

Although it's not like she could have killed people using demonic powers without someone giving her those demonic powers in the first place, if you dig.

"Just that I don't actually know much about how anybody becomes a demon. Just rumors. And since those are from demons ... they're not the most reliable sources."

Death smiled, and not his nice smile, either.

"You do know that the soul can be warped, tortured, and mangled in many ways, but never broken," he said, " Not even by me. What do you think a demon is?"

She wasn't responsible for the demonic powers, but she was responsible for how she used them.

Why he decided to actually tell her this is beyond him. He put it up to being cross.

That's nice to know, she guesses. It's immortality of a sort.

"Not a ghost, not a monster, but a little of both?" Ava answers with a shrug. "Although hellhounds are kinda monsters, as far as I know."

"Something like that," he said, "Because instead of Hell monsters go to Purgatory. You don't want to go there, believe me."

Not if you are afraid of pain.

"I thought Purgatory was for Catholics," she says, nose wrinkling.

Ava has no particular loyalty to the faith she was raised in-- she pretty definitively switched teams, after all. But its influences resurface from time to time.

Death shook his head.

"You do know they got a lot of things wrong," he said.

"Well, I know now."

"They got a few things right," he said, "Ava, how many people know about your demon side, here? Do any of your friends know about what you did?"

He had moved closer to her, the smell of dust mingled with the smell of books. There was also just the slightest smell of death, a sickly sweet smell of a dead body.

Edited 2015-01-07 02:17 (UTC)

Ava doesn't move-- just holds the stack of books in her arms.

"Some of them do," she answers, quiet.

"Not many."

"How do you intend to atone?" asked Death. It wasn't that it mattered at all in the long run. In reality, atonement was all a cop out.

"I didn't realize I was supposed to be atoning." Pause. "Figured it was a little late in the game."

Death grinned, she was smarter than she looked.

"At least you understand the game."

After as long as she's been playing, she figures she should.

"Hindsight's twenty-twenty."

Death really wanted to reap her, get her to the correct destination, but he knew that at least this time it wasn't up to him. He wondered for a second why that was, why was it that he restricted himself.

"And yet the game is still not over," he said.

Maybe this is why the Slenderman had her write SOLDIER on the garage wall-- this irritated wish that she could just say yes, sir and be on her way.

She gets so uneasy. Nothing she says seems good enough for these supernatural types.

"You mean for me? Or ... back home?"

Death stepped closer and reached for the stack of books she held.

"Both," he said softly.

Ava's shoulders stiffen.

"I can do it. Thanks."

Likewise quiet, trying to keep her tone empty of-- anything.

(OOC Can Death touch her? ping me, I think we need to talk permissions and such. I don't want to make any moves that will make you uncomfortable.)

"I insist," he said.

It wasn't that he wanted to help her, but he realized, as a mortal, her arms must have been tired. There was more talk about, and he would prefer if she didn't end up dropping a stack of books.

Sometimes, when she's really paranoid in the library, Ava will summon a demon or two and send them scouting around strange corners.

She doesn't need to do that now to figure out she's alone.

Slowly, she extends her arms, making it incrementally easier for Death to take the books from her.

Death took the stack and proceeded to put them away. Being alone with Death was a right reserved for every human being in his world, if not him at least a reaper. Being the creature he was, and the knowledge that he possessed the job was not hard. He worked in silence but was done quickly.

Ava watches, relaxing slightly when he moves away from her.

"Thank you," she says quietly.

"Don't thank me, Ava," he said with a whisper in her ear, appearing behind her from the place he had been down the isle. The smell of decay and dust overpowering the smell of books. "What should I do with you?"

He slipped around to the front of her and held her face in his hands. They were soft, but cold, and he didn't hold tightly. He did not intend to harm her, she was a soul.

Ava goes utterly, absolutely still.

"I can scream really loud," she whispers.

"And what would that accomplish?" asked Death, "I would get cell time for asault, and you would still need reaping. I can't reap you here and now, but I can make sure I am the one who does in the end."

He moved a hand to her forehead and pressed a thumb to it.

Ava only gets as far as this is really really not--

Before she's burning.

The thing about Cold Oak is ... sure, she sprained her ankle once or twice. She was exhausted and cold and terrified a lot. She got blasted into walls by stray psychic powers. But she never felt this kind of pain-- inevitable, devouring. The scream gets stuck in her throat.

It doesn't even occur to her that she's not actually on fire.