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"It's... all a bit of a blur, really, ahaha... um. I er... tried to blow the place up. More or less. Apparently," He shifted uncomfortably, happy to stare at the girl in chains rather than his friend's battered face and bandages. "I... I'm sorry. I.. I should have made sure you were patched up first. Or... or stayed by the stairs to cover our escape route," Even his ears had gone red as his eyes dipped down to his shoes. "I wasn't.. really thinking clearly. Not a good ah. Quality in a leader, really. I'm sorry."

At the mention of comics Bix's head spun. He waited until Jerry was done stuttering his apologies and gave him a finger point. "You read comics? Was it the DC Death? If only everything was like Sandman comics.." He gave a grin and noted that he still didn't know Jerry very well and as a Sun hunter, though should hang out socially some time.

There seemed to be a few worried faces and he couldn't disagree about it being worrisome but he was discovering a streak of apathy within himself lately. Perhaps it was some 'stage' of becoming a hunter? Becoming immersed in the work and trying your best to just ignore how gross and scary and dangerous it all was?

If they were trying to get that response from him then it was working.

"Er... no.... no I was um." Jerry was saved the awkwardness of his irrational decision in the shadow-ensnared school house by Bix's sudden finger pointing. "Oh! Er! Not... not too much *lately*, but I read a lot when I was a kid! Ahahaha, yeah ah... DC Death," He laughed weakly, very happy for the subject change to something familiar and harmless. "I had a bit of a crush on her, really, ahahahhaa... But you know, when you're thirteen and um. Part of the varsity robe choir in school, comic book girls are a lot less terrifying than real girls."

The horse-woman chained in the room did not remind him of the smiling-faced goth chick with an umbrella he had spent many nights smiling over under the blankets in his youth. It was a lot nicer to think whoever was left to escort you into the world beyond at the end as someone to give you a nice hug and encouraging words than this sour-expressed young woman who looked more likely to insult your taste in shoes.

But, he remembered, this was Reality, not comics. He had been this close to becoming intimate with this "Death" horseman's domain, but there had been no smiles nor encouraging words. Just a lot of.... blackness.

He was sick of the Dark and the Shadows. She could keep them.

There were so many unhushed whispers floating around the room-- The room was a room. A small room and it echoed. She didn't have those dulled senses these humans had. They had yet to hone their senses, their sight, hearing, smell and touch had yet to be in a situation where they could only rely on one or the other. Even Amytiville students held those natural abilities, coursing naturally through their veins .. What ran through humans and their crimson blood was pitifully little. Except their mind and capacity to learn was not proportional to their limited abilities.

But abilities were enhanced through whispering traitorous weapons that Aisa couldn't hear.

However, she could hear the trainees just fine.

She tugged at her twin ebony black tails of hair as she spoke, freeing one tail from it's crimson flowery bind, her hair falling against the table in elegant waves. Her black hair snaked after her as she moved her head to finally glance at the trainees around her.

"I can hear you. Now that you have established who I am, none of you can't work up a meager shred of etiquette to even bother to ask--"

Her skulls turned on her belt to face the trainees, although her back was now faced towards them because she went back to staring at her crimson glove in Dr. H's hand.

"---Those feeble and wretched representations of my lineage .. Pink. Frills. Umbrellas. Butler suits." The human representation and reference to Death had been almost amusing at first, when found in the human world. But now, not quite. Although, some members of the clan might purposely lean towards such manners .. However, Aisa would not be labeled as such. Her dark expression indicated her mood had only grown fouler, the rattling tension, like the sharpened glance a snake gave towards a prey, emanated from her back, the purple feathers raising and lifting, bristling.

Did they think her hands, feet, and ears was just for show?

Observation. Well. That seemed.. simple enough he supposed. Deryk wasn't really sure what to make of this though. When Death herself spoke up, he cringed a bit. Right. She could hear them all. Though something else caught his attention. One of the other trainees just called the X-Men DC.

He was about to say something, but Bix had beaten him to the punch.

"How do you get those mixed up? Very different."

To Harrison, it didn't make much of a difference if Death came for him as a shining smiling angel, or a pink butler, or a menacing and upset lady in chains. Because whoever was the messenger, he assumed after that it was THE END, all outta lives, game over.

It was weird for the ultimate portrayal of not-being to have a face.

"Uh, sorry Miss Death," Harrison said, not sure what else to say at a time like this.

Aisa did not allow his touch to linger on her through her will but out of reluctance, knowing that repelling herself from hunters and their pristine white gloved hands was useless and only gave off the unnecessary appearance of victimization. She was not a mistaken and misled ghoul, placed in a dangerous herd. It was opposite, the hunters were placed with a precariously difficult quad of heirs. The consequences of their choice to go with Caelius was painfully clear, being a victim was never a position that the heirs would find themselves in.

"They didn't tell us to come here and chat with you."

No, it was clear she was not a friend of these inadequate trainees. Nor was she here to chat, mingle or anything remotely related to anything regarding affable emotions. She wasn't entirely receptive to them either. However, that didn't detract from the fact that such behavior from humans at the bottom of the ladder could not be tolerated. A truce with the hunters did not mean that they could treat them like their own, like a detestable equal to insult and banter with. They were not equals. Her shackles would not stop her when they crossed the line. Her feathers seemed to calm down, unruffling with Dr. H's authoritative manner.

Insincere flattery or meek obedience did not win over the heir of Death. But one thing was clear through the obstruction of insanity-- That was respect. One that could not have been phrased any better. A most consistent concept .. as consistent as the waxing moon. The glove remained limp in her palm, her adept mind vaguely fluttering suspiciously over the definition of "begin shortly."

Harrison's apology was accepted with a tense silence, an unnatural stillness. At the very least, it was a respectful apology. But it came from a human, lowering it's value. But it was more than she would get from the other trainees. Her eyes briefly closed, tipping her head back. " 'Miss' makes me sound like a screaming banshee hag."

She mulled a little longer over Cassandra's question. The wrinkle in between her eyebrows furrowed just a little bit more, questionably.

"Death will be appropriate today."

Today?

Bix gave Before the usual brofist of greeting and then recrossed his arms. He still watched the 'heir' through unaffected scarlet eyes.

"She's the heir of Death. So I guess she's like Apocalypse Horse Jr. I think we traded these guys for all those kids we caught." She would probably be really offended by that but when he heard 'heir' he always just assumed there was a daddy or a mommy who did all the real work. "And we are supposed to observe her with the good doctor."

Bix was a little weirded out by Dr. H but at least his sick attitude was better then the constant derision dished out by Caelius.