Clowns were not funny.

Through years of intense research and psychological analysis and evaluation, Zane had come to this conclusion. He wasn't really scared of clowns. He admitted they could be a little creepy, but that was never what truly bothered the man. What really bothered Zane was their sense of humor. After all, he made way better jokes than them, didn't dress as creepy and had a normal nose - yet nobody went around paying him to attend parties.

But apparently, the clowns weren't just happy with being paid to attend parties anymore. Somehow, they were allowed to go on strike - a situation which definitely caused Zane to question the employment ethics of Fiore. Still, the fact of the matter was that the season of fall was fast approaching, and clowns were everywhere on the street in the past few days. Zane tried his best to ignore them, but the fact of the matter was that he would see some sort of clown every city block at this point, usually holding up some kind of sign supporting "clown rights" or something silly like that.

After a while, Zane wanted to just escape from this clown, well, clown world. It was like he couldn't go a single place without finding a clown somewhere. Maybe he just had to go inside, right? Zane decided to entire a nearby pub. It was about 3 PM right now, so maybe it wouldn't be too busy. Opening the door, Zane sat down at the counter, looking around. No clowns! Perfect. Sighing, he relaxed himself a bit, leaning over the counter. "Hey bartender, what kinda appetize-" Zane's words were soon paused however, having met face to the face with the bartender. While his outfit and hair was that of a usual bartender, his face was painted white like a clown, and his nose was the signature circular red that most clowns wore. "Oh my god..." Zane said, quickly getting off the stool to hastily remove himself from the establishment. Confused, the bartender went back to business as usual.

There was no escape. No matter where Zane went, it seemed like there would be at least one clown. It was taking a serious toll on his mind. He went down the streets, now unable to get his mind off of the clowns that inhabited them. Why was he so upset? Maybe he did have a fear of clowns after all... or maybe it was a hatred? A hatred for these, well, creatures! Zane's inner self stopped that train of thought. They were people, after all. Mostly.

Still though, it seemed like there was nowhere to go. He was convinced that everywhere would just lead to more clowns. Hell, even if he went back to his hotel, who wouldn't say that Kaiser would knock on his door and reveal that SHE was a clown too?! As his wild ride of thoughts and emotions continued, he noticed a sign in a nearby noodle shop.



Despite the fact that it was clearly a stupid excuse, Zane noticed something. This was clearly a safe haven: a place for people like him. Those who could not stand the sight of the many clowns on strike. Quickly entering the noodle shop, Zane very immediately noticed the lack of clowns. There were a lot of people here too. The booths were 100% filled up. More than half the spots at the counter were taken.

Quickly moving to sit at the counter spot near the middle of the whole stool setup, Zane spoke towards the chef, a middle aged Joyan man who was really doing his all to serve the many people ordering from their booming business. "I'll take your most expensive dish. I don't care what it is... I just want to thank you all for what you've done for the people of Era."

The God of Death.

His epitaph. His title. It was a name that people would recognize before even recognizing him. The idea of ones reputation proceeding them was made for men like him. His physique was not imposing, at least not visually. He was not taller or bulkier than the average man. He was not someone who one would immediately assume to be powerful or dangerous. Despite the sword on his back, he seemed almost completely harmless. Perhaps those who were trained to the brink would recognize something different about him; Maybe in the way he spoke, or the way he surveyed his surroundings. Even so, they would never guess that this young man had a title that warned of such ferocity.

The entity of Death itself. One who presided over life. One who feared no man, beast, demon, or God.

And yet, here he was. In the corner of a noodle shop, idly tracing his utensils through a bowl dripping with steam and flavor. His eyes were downcast, his lips purse, and his shoulders stiff. He was staring into the bowl as if it were his only escape. It very well may have been, with what had began to seep into Era. The home of the Rune Knights... He scoffed. They were weak. They couldn't protect anyone. He had thought, upon meeting Xandra once more, that they may have changed. But they were still oblivious to the dangers they allowed freely under their noses.

A sound startled him, at first sounding like the otherworldly gasps of noise from those red, spherical warning signs that the heathens wore upon their face.

Turning his head, hand going to his blade, the death of every single person within that building flashed through his mind as an option. He hadn't even stood when he realized that it had only been the creaking of the door, opening to a new patron. Finn turned his attention back to his dish, ready to eat, when the new arrival made his way in a hurry.

Finn's ears perked up, eager to hear of news of the outside. Of if it was now safe. Instead, what he heard was a declaration. A proud declaration, one that spared no expense of moral or economical recompense, to thank the heroes of this noodle shop. The heroes of Era.

The heroes of these two.

And with that, Finn stood proud and walked over. He had lifted his bowl, barely holding it above the bar as he slowly walked over to the newcomer and sat beside him. "Two drinks as well. For the man who has survived..." Dipping his head in acknowledgement, Finn looked forward and away from the blond man.

"How is it out there? Is it... Safe?"

The entity of overthinking itself. One who presided over anxiety. One who feared every man, beast, demon, and also clowns.

And yet, here he was. Walking into a noodle shop, being bought a drink by another guy. Blinking over at him, Zane had a nervous expression on his face. Oh no... was he finally going to have to clear that up after all these years of never explaining it? "Ahhh... thanks for the drink, but I don't swing that way." After all these years, Zane had finally said it. He had finally cleared up the one answer that everyone had been asking. Or did he? "And what I mean by that is that I'd prefer to buy you a drink. I like to buy things for others, after all! It's on me, don't worry about it!"

Now that the very obvious and far too easy joke had been dealt with, it was time for the real part of the story to begin. Zane's tone of voice grew much more serious. After all, what in the world was more serious than clowns? "Nah. They've pretty much covered a large, large amount of Era. I was in a totally normal, no-clown bar earlier, and guess what? I see this normal looking bartender. Then, the man turns around..." pausing and pointing to his face as if he was telling a super insanely scary horror story at summer camp, Zane would say his next few words spaced out. "His. Face. Was. A. Clown." Shortly after getting rid of the intense disappointment Zane felt from hearing absolutely no gasps of dramatic tension from the crowd in the establishment, Zane moved on.

Grabbing a pen from his pocket and a large napkin from the counter, Zane began drawing on it. "I'm going to draw us a map of the neighborhood. We can use this to get a good idea of what the situation is looking like out there." His focus on this napkin was insane. He looked like he was drawing the masterpiece of maps, the epiphany of cartography. But really, it was the opposite. "This restaurant really needs to buy more expensive napkins..." he thought to himself. As he finished, he looked at it. Should he really show the man this...? Was it really good enough? Zane shook his head, reassuring himself to stay strong. It wasn't his best map. It was his worst ever, actually. But desperate times call for desperate measures. Grabbing the napkin, he dramatically handed it over to the man who had offered to buy him a drink. "Here you go. This should give you a good idea of the situation."

OOC Note: