“Sir! Excuse me, so sorry to intrude, but-“<br/><br/>“Ah, Reaper, begging your pardon, but I believe you should see – “<br/><br/>“Den! Den, please take a look, this is a – “<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">”Enough.”</span><br/><br/>The word was only a fraction of the volume that clamored around him, but it was enough to provoke an immediate silence. The apprehensive little goslings crowded through the door to his office, forming a fidgety little group around the side of his desk like some sort of oddly fearful intervention committee. Their faces held varying degrees of familiarity for the Supervisor, but the one thing they all had in common today was their mob-mentality air of unease; most of them were new, but he fancied that at least two of them should be familiar enough with the DMS to know better than to worry about trifles. Den suspected that something had been altered in the Tapestry Database. No matter how often he explained the Free Will virus, and how it could very easily corrupt the files they spent their eternities inputting, some of the flighty little clerks always seemed shaken to their very cores when it truly happened. It was all he could do to not place his forehead in his fingers and massage, right there in front of the gaggle of concerned faces.<span style="font-weight: bold">”Is it Tapestry?”</span>he asked in an expressionless voice, only barely tinged with exasperation.<br/><br/>The collective silence caused his butterscotch eyes to narrow, pupils shrinking. Not the Database?<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">”Arjâa,”</span>he said quietly, his empty voice causing a single female Reaper to cringe as though physically struck. She didn’t step forward to answer the summons, but the rest of her nervous mob took a giant step backward and left her in the forefront, a few of them hurriedly shoving folders or pieces of paper into her already-burdened arms. She started to visibly tremble.<br/><br/>“S-sir… “ her voice was even softer than his own, but with a gulp she managed to grip one of the papers in her shaking fingers and extend it to the seated Supervisor. “It-it-it’s… there’s two of them. They<span style="font-style: italic">just</span>reached Level Nine. One is the mortal we were watching, the woman, but the other… “<br/><br/>Den had smoothly snatched the papers as she stuttered an explanation, his sharp eyes scanning the pages with the ease and speed of someone who was merely refreshing their memory. His flawlessly maintained brow tilted downward in a rare (like once a decade) demonstration of emotion, and he scanned over the file again. He switched the papers in his white-gloved hands a few more times, scanning both of them at least twice more before turning his head once more to the flock of employees.<span style="font-weight: bold">”Leave.”</span>They didn’t even have time to move their feet before the high-class office was empty yet again, save for the trembling Intern and the Supervisor. Den set the papers on his desk slowly, crystal-clear eyes staring intently at nothing in particular as he crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair.<br/><br/>This would be a bloodbath if nothing was done. If the Reapers were the first to learn of the growth spurts of these souls, then perhaps it would be manageable, but if some unsuspecting force of a Realm were to happen upon one and see the magnitude… it would not be long before the word reached the rest of them. Angels and demons had no sense of propriety when it came to discreet matters such as this, had no sense of decorum as to how such a delicate situation should be handled. The potential for mayhem was already higher than it had ever been, and no one even truly knew<span style="font-style: italic">why</span>; Den wondered if his luck had finally run out after almost five thousand years. For two souls to reach this level, at this time, one of which thoroughly unexpected…<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">”Bring me all of the data on both subjects, Arjâa. Do not miss anything. Do not talk to anyone. Move quickly.”</span><br/><br/><br/>-----------------------------------------------<br/><br/><br/>“And here’s your change. Thanks again, Ollie.” The woman’s smile was warm, if a little motherly, but the young man returned it all the same and accepted the cup.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">“Yeah, no problem,”</span>he murmured, voice nothing more than a dulcet tenor that often faded into his surroundings. He turned casually around, eyes immediately bouncing towards the sky as he lifted the hot beverage to his lips, seeming unaware of the billowing steam rising from the opening of the lid. He did like the drinks at that particular street stand, but his favorite part about it was its location; the museum to one side, the theatre to the other, and an art gallery just a block over. Not to mention his own apartment, no less than a half-mile south. For a man who enjoyed looking at and hearing beautiful things, it was no wonder that the lower stretches of the city had become his regular areas; most people avoided them for their “lower economic” status, despite the tourist attractions, but Oliver always did have an affinity for finding beauty where most overlooked it.<br/><br/>The autumn wind tousled his wavy hair, pushing it into his line of sight and forcing strips of chocolate into his view of the evening sky. He absently brushed it back as the scalding liquid rushed over his tongue (ignored; heavy scarring on his tongue from long years of doing just that had made it not so much a problem anymore) and stared walking down the crowded sidewalk, his steps slow and hips adopting something that could only be called a “sashay” as he moved. His face remained void of worry or concern, a stark contrast to literally everyone else on that particular sidewalk, as he moved toward a rather narrow alley way just before the museum.<br/><br/>“Hey, there you are. Tai said you would be late, but the rest of us were taking bets on whether or not you’d show.” The young man who called out waited at the bottom of the stairs, his spikey red hair and punk-rock clothing striking an intimidating visage… right up until the goofy grin and amicable chuckle. He stood next to a single door that desperately needed a paint job, complete with a sign overhead that was no longer readable. A single electric lamp was stuck in the brick in the left corner of the entrance, but it flickered frequently and gave the alley a very ominous, horror-movie feeling.<br/><br/>Of course, that was what had made it so popular, particularly among a very specific type.<br/><br/>Oliver offered a smile as well, a comparatively soft one.<span style="font-weight: bold">”Sorry I’m late. I – “</span><br/><br/>“ – got distracted, forgot, tripped and got knocked out for a bit?” The red-head’s words were biting, but the patient and good-humored expression on his face lightened them. “Doesn’t matter, just go. Everyone else is already set up. Oh, and… don’t get nervous or anything, but I think there’s at least three demons in there tonight. Sexy ones, too.” He clapped him roughly on the shoulder as the musician stepped off the last stair, black-and-white running shoes tapping with an echo as he almost stumbled.<br/><br/>Oliver paused as the other man opened the door. Three of them? He knew the<span style="font-style: italic">Moon Cat</span>was a popular place, particularly for people who didn’t mind a seedy appearance and location, but he hadn’t known that so many immortals would frequent such an establishment at the same time. He gulped. He wasn’t sure if he had every knowingly played in front of a crowd like that before… his hesitation must have shown on his face, because the punk-rocker reached out and grabbed the end of Oliver’s weathered gray scarf, then promptly dragged him through the door with a nonchalant “Too late now, Kitten!”