People tell me all the time that I’m too young to be in the Reaping business. I’m not that young, to be honest. Physically, I guess I’m around….uh…fifteen or sixteen, I dunno, human ages confuse me.
One of the first things to know about me is that yes, I am American. From Manhattan, to be exact. I’m here in London on a reaper exchange and training under Ronald Knox as his junior.
Because people ask me often: Yes, the green in my hair is real. I don’t think past-me was born with it but it never fades or washes out, so I’m guessing it’s permanent.
My Death Scythe is a rapier. Y’know, like…the swords they use in fencing? Yeah, a French Rapier. The Manhattan district has strange regulations on these kind of things, I know. Even so, the blade is tough and can cut through stuff most rapiers couldn’t. I’m pretty handy with it…not to brag.
And the last thing: Outside of my job, I’m quite the hemophobe. Go on, laugh at the one Reaper who can’t handle blood off the job. You don’t know how many times my superior has chewed me out for spazzing out at papercuts.