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She threw the box of tissues on her side table at the liar. Ever since the first...incident, Fidel had made a point of always keeping a large supply of tissue boxes in her room. Just...you know, in case.
Not that she planned on breaking his nose again. Er...yeah.
"Hm? Oh, alright. Don't bleed on my bed." she warned her counterpart before teleporting out. "I'll be back in five minutes." she promised.
There was a somewhat eerie silence when she arrived at the Purgier mansion. It was like one of those obvious horror movies: a girl walks down the dark corridors of an old mansion where two crazy gorgeous madmen live...because she's trying to get her friend another shirt since she broke his nose.
Fidel wrinkled her nose at the incense and tried to wave away the scent with irritation. She could swear that stuff was what drove the two noblemen absolutely insane.
And then she could hear an unfamiliar voice from Lord Currise's room--a woman's voice--for about ten seconds, and despite the hideous situation it placed her in, she was the only female in the entire mansion--not that anybody but Emyrus knew. And hopefully it would stay that way.
If there was another woman in the mansion that either meant a) they had kidnapped somebody with an ability b) she wouldn't live very long because of Lord Evanescere, or c) the Tribulation earl was hiding someone.
Don't poke your nose in their business. It'll get you killed. You're here for his shirt. Fidel rolled her eyes at her soul and shuffled through her soul counterpart's wardrobe, pulling out a white turtleneck. All of his shirts were high collared for some...obscure, quirky reason, and that was vaguely irking.
She teleported back to the White Building quickly because the Purgier mansion always had that depressing, creepy sense of dread and misery, and empathic abilities didn't agree with those emotions very much. She stopped abruptly at Lord Vash's room and remembered Emyrus's request, and knocked tentatively at his door.
"Yes, Fidel?" She jumped as he teleported behind her, arms crossed. He had a strange expression on his face, like something at the back of his mind was bothering him.
"There's somebody you might want to interview, Lord Vash," she informed him casually. "She has a lot of potential for my department, I think."
He stared at her for a moment, and then he looked outright irritated. She blinked. "Lord Vash...?"
"Come with me," he ordered suddenly, grabbing her wrist and pulling her down the corridor of the basement. She stumbled after him. What exactly was happening again? The noble halted abruptly in front of her room and slammed her against the wall, knocking the breath out of her. "Listen," he said quietly.

"I'm going to kill you."

Everything was a jumbled mess of confusion as Fidel tried to comprehend what was going on. One minute Lord Vash was informing her that he was about to kill her, and the next minute he was leaning against the wall beside her, clutching his stomach and ******** you son of a b***h!" he snapped, and she looked up, startled, at Emyrus.
"E...myrus?" she blinked up at my counterpart. Was she still dreaming in bed? "I have your shirt." the subordinate informed him blankly, holding up the white turtleneck.
This was possibly the reoccurring nightmare she had, but dream or not, she would not have them fighting. It was obvious that, sooner or later, her nightmare would come true, and then they'd both be dead.
Lord Vash's leg swung past her and into her soul counterpart's stomach, and she let out a sob. Case in point.
She was really awake.
"Stop it!" she demanded, glaring at the two nobles. Here she was, 5'1", petite enough to pass for a little girl, and wearing a frilly blouse and skirt, demanding two nobleman, who were no doubt past 6'0", to stop trying to kill each other.

"Stop it now, both of you!"

"No!" she shouted stubbornly, eyes growing wide as they started attacking each other again. What was wrong with these men? Didn't they hear her?
Lord Vash shoved the girl out of the way roughly and grunted as the liar's heel shoved itself into his side. Fidel shivered at the realization that the Purgier was 6'5", taller than her counterpart, and the thought of him being capable of stealing Emyrus's soul caused panic to flood her vision. Or were those tears?
"Stop, stop--" A sharp pain caused her to fall to the floor, cheek numb, and she gasped, hand reaching up to nurse the wound. The taller man looked down at her with a slight smirk.
"Halycon says hello." he said, and she flinched away from him. Vash flashed a smile at the subordinate and turned away to face Emyrus, moving faster now that she was out of the way. All she could see was a blurred black movement, accompanied by the familiar navy hair swishing back and forth, and her soul began screaming a violent symphony of bells.
You see what you did, you silly girl? Now the two of them are going to kill each other, and it's all your fault.
Fidel let out another wail that vaguely resembled a plea for them to stop fighting, please, but it was obscured by her tears, which made her throat dry and choked up.
Halycon says hello. She replayed the sound of Vash's voice with a shudder.

This couldn't be happening.

Of all people to interrupt then! Vash seethed, fists clenched, and kicked a hole in his ********>" he swore, fist slamming into the wall right after. Why the hell did that b*****d care in the first place! Last he knew, he didn't give a s**t about her, and now he was gallantly rescuing the girl like he was...
The noble paused, fist hanging just an inch from the wall. Apparently the liar knew Fidel was female--that much was obvious, so was there a possibility that he loved her? He frowned.
This romance business was pointless and didn't mean a thing to him, aside from using it to persuade the petite subordinate to get information for him. Vash let a long, shaky sigh, attempting to get his temper under control. He discarded his shirt on the bed and rubbed his side. A bruise. Go ********' figure.
It goes along nicely with those scars, don't you agree?
At least you tried...
"Remind me to work on saying 'no' to Halycon." he thought sourly. If the boy hadn't insisted on killing Fidel, then none of this would have happened, after all. Then again, that nightmare his counterpart had before was more than a little alarming. There was no way in Hell he'd transform into what Halycon had dreamt of before, but apparently the boy thought that Fidel was capable of yanking out his fingernails with pliers.

Not unless she wanted to die.

He wouldn't run after Emyrus--not yet, anyway. Killing Fidel first offered some very promising ideas, however. If the liar cared enough to stop him from killing Fidel before, well then...
The noble smirked and moved to sit on the edge of his bed. His body was numb and aching all over, and he rubbed at the nasty bruise at his side again.

Now how to tell Halycon that he can't kill Fidel right away?

((D: I can't believe my account was raped.))

Sometimes, but not always, the man wondered how his counterpart managed to fit all the words that came pouring out of his mouth into one sentence. He was reminded consistently when the boy was trapped inside his head. Shivering slightly, he stood and slipped his black shirt on again. One sigh and a glance at the clock ticking loudly in the corner (the one that Halycon usually complained about and was not overly fond of) before vanishing from his dark room. Sometimes, but not always, he could hear the faint fluttering of wings when teleporting from one place to another, and this time he could. He closed his eyes for a moment, uncaring as to whether the newest candidate witnessed the supposed feat. But in a city like this, was it really so disturbing anymore? Maybe to the citizens crawling around in the slums, where the sight was most likely less common.
Or perhaps he was just searching for an excuse to not be labeled as a "feat." Disturbing was already on the list, wasn't it? No need to add to it anymore.
The interview room was sticky and bright, the reasonably sized window behind the desk allowing light to pour in and bathe everything in a rich, warm sunlight. But it was uncomfortable for him, and the dust motes distracted his eyes so that they weren't resting on the girl's face. He had teleported behind the desk, one slim, pale hand waving away at the cloud of butterflies. Wordlessly, the noble took a seat in the large leather chair behind the interview desk, emerald eyes moving away from the distracting dust motes and over to the cushioned chair across from him. He didn't bother looking at the girl as he addressed her.
"Are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to take a seat?" He lifted an eyebrow, lips twitching almost into a frown.
Sometimes, but not always, Vash found interviews to be an irritating experience. He hoped this wouldn't be one of those times.

He could've sworn that he had hired somebody else to do the interviewing, but nobody came to mind except for Fidel, though that wasn't saying much, as he knew very few by name and didn't bother to organize the departments, or at least, he didn't put forth too much effort into it. The whole White Building seemed to run by itself, kept under him due to the constant threat that he could take their souls at any time.
It was a warming thought.
Vash folded his hands and crossed his legs with a smile that barely nudged at his lips. Another one of those moments--he had them quite a bit, and the acknowledgement of instability always posed that question: did acknowledging your own madness make you more sane, or less?
He looked up at the interviewee for the first time, half smile still present. "Name?"

Vash raised an eyebrow again and made a soft noise of acknowledgement. There was something nagging at the back of his mind at the name, too, and it was more irritating than alarming in any way. The girl's last name was not a noble family's--at least, not one that he could remember. More than likely she was a commoner, or maybe even a street rat. Neither were surprising, considering those two types of people made up the entirety of the White Building. Fidel was perhaps a bit different, however, since she knew the courtesy and manners of a noble. In any case, it didn't matter. In fact, if a noble did happen to apply to White Building, it would raise a lot of questions. So, all the better that the girl was a nobody.
"Do you happen to have any experience in the field you're applying for?" he asked indifferently. Like Halycon had said before, the Science Department was seriously lacking in competence, and Fidel was the only one who was a true expert in the science of souls--which, now that he thought about it, was a bit surprising. People in Pendant couldn't be that oblivious to the special souls roaming around the city, could they?
...Also, where did Halycon say he was going again?