He Sells Bombshells By The Seashore (Keza)

The warm sand against her bare feet always had such a calming effect. It was strange, having managed to actively avoid all three of her captors/roommates/companions for as long as she had, but between hiding away in her bedroom, sneaking away whenever they left the apartment building, and of course, the classic... going out her bedroom window... Keza had managed to not see a single one of them in days. She used to think this would mean freedom, that she would be able to finally take a breath and remember what it as like to be a Traveler in a strange and new land.

She was wrong.

She felt even more like a caged animal, lost and directionless and a little more than afraid. However, very similarly to an animal, she kept it all bubbling and boiling inside. One day, it might explode... and if it ever did, she feared to see the consequences. Already, she noticed the day to day difference it made in Amon'i and even in Dymtre, who was significantly less overbearing in his attempts to win her affection. Every now and again, she would open the door to find flowers, or chocolates, or a new book... Something to let her know he was thinking of her. But gone were the nights where he'd sit outside her bedroom door at the church and talk to her, especially when she would refuse to talk back. It was... almost nice, what their little "love affair" had turned into. If nothing else, at least he was taking the time to understand what she meant when she said "space."

That morning, when she had dressed herself, she had felt the gaping hole that was homesickness. She missed her family, her people, her culture... She missed being a Traveler, and all of the things that entailed. So, in order to combat that, she had pulled free her traditional scarves - the ones handmade by the people of her Caravan, passed all around, so much so they still retained some of the smells of the Romani. She covered her head and tied it in the way of a married woman, despite the fact that she and Dymtre were not married. She considered herself unavailable, even if she knew she would never be able to love him as a wife loves a husband. Or at all, for that matter... She wore large bangles on both wrists, and coins and trinkets dangled from the sash she wore around her waist.

She would have looked like every single "gypsy" woman ever shown in the media, if it weren't for her wispy, pale hair and her bright, red eyes. Romani people were generally dark skinned, dark haired, and dark eyed... and she was the exact opposite of all of those things. Yet, as she crossed the beach, a lifetime of walking with the jangling jewelry had obvious taught her how to keep it all quiet. By all intents and purposes, she should have made an absolute WRACKET and disturbed literally everybody on the beach... and yet, so far, no one had complained. She managed to somehow shift across the sands with making barely a noise, and she looked like a damn superstar doing it.

When she saw the stranger selling seashells, she found herself... more confused than anything. She felt the stirring of her Angel within her chest and actively attempted to coax him back to sleep as she approached this man, watching him closely and seeing how he interacted with people around him. How was it that such a dapper, chipper young man felt so... off? She had no way to put the sensation into words, but staring at him felt like... opening a book and knowing pages were ripped out. It felt almost sacrilegious.

"Why would I buy when I can find one of my own?" Her voice was surprisingly low for such a waif of a girl, timber cool and calm, but it was her accent that caught most people's attention. It was thick, and possibly Romanian? But even that didn't fit properly. It was like a hodge podge of different accents, all rolled into one lilting, unique vernacular. It was the accent of a girl who had refused to learn English as a child, much preferring the language of her own people. She tilted her head to one side and thin, pale blonde hair caught the light, making it look almost white. "Do you own these shells? Are they from a different beach?" She seemed genuinely curious, though the deadpan look, the emptiness in her gaze, all seemed as if she really didn't care about this man and his answer. Or anything at all.

She could read his stillness with a general ease. The tension in his tiny frame spoke volumes to her, the way his eyes darted across her, the absolute rage that he could barely contain. She didn't need her Angel to tell her that this stranger was bad news, but that annoying, nagging voice pierced the back of her head with some old, archaic, cryptic warning... that she didn't bother to actually pay any attention to. Ever since she had "found her wings," so to speak, this otherworldly being had deemed it her duty to talk to Kisaiya like a child, to tell her things that even the strange Romani woman found obvious as if she were the least perceptive individual in the room. It bordered on overwhelming some days... and on most, it was just downright annoying.

Still, she had quite a bit of practice with not letting that - or any emotion really - show. Her face betrayed only calculation and calm. Her eyes didn't dart over him... They didn't need to. She had plenty of time to observe him from afar, back before she had captured his attention, and she had used that time to determine a plethora of different things about him.

At the end of the day, without her Angel, Keza wasn't a very good fighter. She had the attention to detail, the reflexes, and the muscle control to be GREAT at it... but training with Amon'i taught her that she just didn't really have the drive that most great fighters needed. She didn't have the absolute conviction that she was going to win, or the desperation that told her she needed to. She was a dancer, a storyteller... She was many things, but a fighter? Not physically. That had led her to paying significantly more attention to a person than before: she needed to know if this was somebody she needed to approach only if Amon'i were with her, or if she could get away with a tiny scuffle, or dodging them into oblivion. Those seemed to be the things she was best at, anyway.

The creation of the tiny device would have sent chills down Dymtre's spine, made him sick to his stomach. While she might not be able to see it, she could definitely feel the absolute disgust, rage, malice, and HATE that filled his Nen... Or perhaps filled him? She couldn't quite tell. Yet, looking at her, it was obvious that she just didn't... care. This stranger, whoever he was, was bothered by her... And to make it even worse for him, she was absolutely indifferent to him.

He threw the control in her direction, and she - without thinking - managed to catch it in one hand. She was careful not to let any of her fingers so much as brush the button on the top, and glanced at it for the briefest of moments. It was something he had created, therefore it seemed to ooze the very repulsive energy that he did. And yet, she grasped it with ease, obviously unbothered. Her Angel, on the other hand, did the only thing that she could do.... She reached her spiritual hand out and wrapped it around Keza. The vessel's mortal flesh protected her from the damage that could be caused by such a vindictive creation... but it did not protect Ezrai.

He would feel the pulse as the Angel of Eclipse touched something that had once belonged to him. He would see the sky, the darkness as it crept along the glow of the sun. He would feel the purity, and the impurity, that made up the Watchers. He would feel it all as if she were touching him directly, though only for a moment. And when he looked up, he would be able to read absolutely nothing from the almost-Albino looked blonde.

"I'm not in the business of taking anymore orders, thanks." Still, she kept ahold of the cylinder... If only because her Angel had no interest in letting it go.

She should have known. The moment he threw the weird device at her, she should have known that he was up to something... She felt a shiver of disgust pass through her and was just about to respond, just about to get emotional for the first time in what felt like ages.. just about to let go... when she felt that presence again. For her, it was almost like a physical, living person that simply shared the same space as she did, all the time, no matter what she did to try to appease or rebel. And she had tried everything, just to get the Angel to leave her alone.

Kisaiya... the Angel whispered, her voice a mimic of Keza's own. It was a rare moment indeed when she dared to use the girl's full first name. It was rare to name her at all, to call her anything more than "Vessel." Perhaps she did not appreciate having to humanize the mortal she used like a puppet... Who knew... Stop. Breathe. This... creature... He feeds off of response, off of reaction... You may just be the perfect adversary, but you must stay calm...

That... was the biggest crock of bullshit that she had ever heard. A person that fed off of the emotions of another? Emotional vampires. They were whispered about in the stories the Caravans passed from one group to another, but rarely, and most often in the Old Country. Here, people were far more frightened of physical pain. She had her own theories regarding that, but now was neither the time, nor the place. The Angel had caught her with only moments to spare, and it was with that divine assistance that she managed to pull her knee-jerk reaction down. Not once did her face shift, and even her brilliant, red eyes remained dull and lackluster as she glanced at the death that surrounded them.

"Well. This is going to be on the news... Causing a scene in broad daylight. I can't tell if you are brave, or just stupid." Her tone was utterly bored, and as she finally managed to peel her gaze away from the carnage, she realized... She would destroy this creature. There was no if, only when, and that awareness brought with it a wave of control and calm. He had destroyed countless lives here, today.... not only the families that he had murdered, for no reason, but also the people who loved them... They would be cleaning the pieces off the beach for weeks, but it would be a far longer amount of time until any of the victims were able to wipe the sight from their mind.

Eszrai Isgrim. She looked at him for a long moment, holding the detonator out to him with an unspoken challenge. Take it. An Angel had held it, and while Keza would be hard pressed to call Eclipse "good," she was still a divine being, limited only by the mortal realm... What could she have done to the detonator? The possibilities were endless... and this was just the beginning. Kisaiya had his name now, and she had intent: she would see him destroyed. And yet, the Angel's comment about Keza being the perfect match was given the opportunity to prove itself...

She would kill him. More than kill, she would find a way to destroy him, and do so with such completion, such finality, that he would have no chance to return... in this world, or any other. And yet, even with that determination, that goal in mind... Not an ounce of malice dripped from her. Kisaiya did not know this, but her neutrality and numbness would be her greatest weapon.

Move.

The Angel's voice so rarely spoke so clearly in her own mind. It was a strange thing, to hear her as if she were standing right behind her, as if the two weren't the same person at all. She felt hands touch her shoulders just as she saw Eszrai raise his weapon... and suddenly, she moved, slipping a few feet to one side. The sound of the gun going off pinged through the scream-filled air. Somewhere in the distance, an emergency vehicle chirped and cried as first responders began to make their way to the dead and the dying. Kisaiya, however, had eyes only for this stranger in front of her.

She tilted her head to one side slowly, almost-white hair cascading across her cheek and shoulder. She looked - and honestly, felt - rather bored. She raised a hand to brush the tendrils of hair away, and it looked as if the detonator... simply ceased to be. It was gone, just as quickly and suddenly as it had appeared. She didn't seem to notice as she continued to stare at him, both of their eyes gleaming with the strange red too tinted for even the Albino. She blinked slowly, like a lazy cat. The bullet had flown so close to her hand, she felt the way it stirred the air... and yet, she didn't seem to care. Whether that was because she had no fear of death or dying, or for some other strange reason... was beyond everyone. Could it be that she simply knew that he wouldn't manage to hit her? Or did she know something about his Nen that even he might not know, something that challenged the reality of what he could do?

Something that could counter it, so perfectly, as to make one of his creations her own... and then make it simply not exist, altogether?

Kisaiya shifted her weight ever so slightly as soon as he asked his question, not quite turning her back to him. If she had pockets, she would have slipped her hands inside them... but the harem pants made popular by her people had nothing to allow that. Instead, she loosely looped her arms around her slender waist, shifting so she could begin walking across the sandy beach.

"Angel thing, hm?" she murmured thoughtfully, contemplating his question without giving him a direct answer. "Does she look like me?"