She's taken up a seat at the dining table in the house, doing nothing but gathering her thoughts. Then suddenly her seat jerks, spinning her to face the door frame as she gasps and rakes fingernails over the table.
There's a lanky kid standing outside. Camille locks wide eyes with him, white-knuckling the table's edge.]
[Lavi is at least no longer dressed like a GHOST wearing a MIDSOMMAR TOGA... He's back in his red and black uniform now, which might seem ever weirder in comparison to the toga, but it's fine. at least he's not ghostly white? though it looks like camille is?
he tilts his head as he enters the house, boots echoing against the floorboards, which probably helps not even a little bit with the freaky atmosphere this house has going on,]
Well, I'm technically an Exorcist, but not the ghoul or ghost kind. Or sword spirit kind. I fight demons called Akuma, and they're as subtle as a bullet.
[he's standing outside the theater reading the plaque..... figuring out who the resident clowns are.... then he turns to Camille,]
...At least it's not the haunted house?
[he's actually covered up really well and would be safe if these words weren't PROJECTING THEMSELVES, so the phrase "becoming the 49th" is inscribed across his chest, which he hasn't noticed yet... tch]
[Though in this place she might have no choice but to pack bond with a bunch of teenagers...horrific.]
Right. And what might an Akuma look like? In case I see one around. [Dubious, considering how cosmically middle of nowhere this town seems to be.] I'll have to you two a ring, so you can swoop in and save us all.
[Thank you for leaving the assholery to Kanda and Karma.
Camille's brows meet in a slow crawl, matching the glacial pace of her lips parting to a disdainful gape. Of all the miracles that magic might make possible, this is the one they get stuck with?]
What piece of shit thought this was funny? [Death, War, Pestilence, Famine? Someone working higher than all four.]
You don't have to explain anything, okay? Not to me or anyone.
[So she speaks, but then lettering blooms in a poetic paragraph across her neck.
a child weaned on poison considers harm a comfort.]
[She laughs a little, clapping him on the shoulder.]
Well, seeing as how no one so far has turned into a demon at the sight of you two, I'll sleep a lot easier at night. I take it basic chair haunting is below your paygrade?
[This place is spooky but ultimately not very threatening.]
[It's a natural reaction to have, he thinks, but the adamant way she says it 'you don't have to explain' takes him by surprise all the same. He opens his mouth to reply, probably something light -- just to take the edge off a situation that Camille is right to be upset by, but doesn't have to be -- at least not for him. He's totally fine!
And then his eye darts to the letters forming across her neck. after a bit, he taps his own neck in the same spot,]
...You don't have to either.
[even though he's curious, even though the words spark in his mind and remain there.]
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