Survival is Crucial

The Acrid Corpse

"Cheek to Cheek" by Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald started playing, a man dancing about in a room overdesigned to an insane degree, plopping himself down on a chair before pouring himself a glass of champagne. The scratching sound of a record going through a bronze speaker. He took a deep breath of dust from an array of books nearest to him as he took a sip of the champagne he had just poured himself, letting out a bright smile, bobbing his shoulders back and forth as the song went on, singing along with Ella Fitzgerald, "When we're out together, dancing cheek to cheek!" He yelled, bursting out into laughter.

Someone entered the room, nodding to the music with a smile on their face. "When are you gonna upgrade that thing?" He pointed to the record player, "It's ancient."

The man still sitting and drinking champagne looked to the one at the door, "It's the sound, I don't know how to describe it since I'm not a musician, but that sound really just pleases the ears," The man paused, "Y'know, music back then, around the early 1900s and so on -- that's where it's at. None of this new boom bap bullshit, just nice smooth jazz goin' through your ears, it really makes your body feel at ease as that toothy smile comes across your face, indulging in the slow beautiful melodies of the... whatever time Louis Armstrong came from."

The man at the door walked to the record player before taking out the record that was playing, the instant it ended, before putting another one in, "Love Me As Though There Were No Tomorrow" by Nat King Cole.

The man drinking champagne put his glass down to clap, screaming out a joyous, "Yes!"

The other man who switched out the records slowly traditions into a waltz, dancing with an invisible figure before spinning into a chair, laughing to himself. "That's embarrassing but... this is where it's at," He paused, "Maybe you're right, though, I still prefer modern music over this stuff."

"I like it too, but this is the classic s**t, though I'm more of a pure Jazz guy rather than a singing Jazz guy."

A rendition of "Fly Me to the Moon" by Nat King Cole began playing, a smile creeping across the champagne man's face. The other man listened to the song closely with his eyes closed, laying his head on his hand, propped up against the armrest of the chair he sat in. The man who had entered the room and sat down had long black hair running down his shoulders, some of it tied up into a bun -- an Asian man with rough features wearing a dress shirt with black dress pants.

The other one is still sipping on a glass of champagne. His left eye's iris was almost a pinkish color, pointing off in the other direction to his other eye, being as black as night while his short, slicked back black hair sat atop his head, wearing a similar outfit to the Asian man who had just entered, but instead a black vest sitting on top of his white dress shirt.

The Asian man's face had become depressed, before putting one hand over his nose. The other one noticed, looking over to him with his one good eye before leaning forward in his chair, "What's wrong?"

The Asian man shook his head, "It's nothing."

The other one smiled, "It's fine, you've always had a good nose, so, I have a question. To be honest, when I think back on it, I'm surprised that I haven't asked this until now."

"What is it?"

"Do all of us have our own different smell, can you tell what they have by that smell? What do I smell like?"

"You made it seem like it was only one question." The Asian man laughed.

"Well?"

The Asian man paused before taking a deep breath, sighing loudly before looking over to a fire sitting next to the record player they had, a painting hanging over the fire, a thick lining of rubber blocking the way so that the sparks wouldn't get onto the painting. "Some smell like..." The Asian man looked over to the record player, trying to think of the words, "Well... I'll go with your second question." The Asian man leaned closer to the other man, still sitting on his chair while licking his lips in thought. "I can tell, and it's only those who have, y'know?"

"Yeah."

The Asian man pressed his lips together, "Can't I just say what it is?"

"I'd prefer not, we're quite infamous after all, someone will always be listening."

The Asian man sighed, "Alright, back on topic." He sighed again, "It's only those people wherein I get that smell from so from here, let's go back to your first question. Uhhh..."

"I'll just name someone and you'll tell me what they smell like."

"Okay." The Asian man nodded.

"Vincent."

The Asian man licked his lips before spraying something onto a cloth, putting it up to his nose, "Well, he's able to...?"

"Yep." The other man nodded."

"Okay... well. He smells humidity, it's very hard to breathe around him sometimes."

"Okay, what about Danai?"

"She smells cold... a mixture of velvet and what I would imagine the cold to smell like."

"Okay, what about me?"

The Asian man hesitated, "I'll keep you for last."

The other one nodded, "Okay, I'll ask for the others then," He paused to think for a moment, "Actually, I have one more question."

"What?"

"How are you able to tell the difference between the smell of that, and normal smells?"

The Asian man licked his lips again, "It's a disembodied smell, something unnatural that had latched themselves onto the person."

"Alright... so, what does Ivo smell like?"

"Iron, metal in general, not like blood though. Not that smell, that smell is almost unbearable."

"Okay, what about Aless?"

"A sickly sweet smell, I don't really know how to describe it."

The other one pressed his lips together, "What about me?"

The Asian man hesitated again and the other man noticed.

"You can tell me, I know it's the reason why you have that cloth up on your nose there."

The Asian man took a deep breath, "You smell like... death. You smell like a corpse."