The lady at the door bent down and stared at the blood soaked package next to the freshly dead body on her veranda, and picked the box up from the small river of blood coming from the victims' head, placing the rifle down next to an umbrella the the left of the inside of the door in the process. Her expression was neutral, like nothing had happened, not at all traumatised in any way but more like she didn't experience anything in the past few minutes. She stood back up and looked around before she was going to close the door, noticing the other body a few paces away from the one she just shot, and hesitated the action. "Fox, there's someone at the door!" she shouted into the house, trying to get someone's attention and failing. She closed the door and slammed the red stained parcel on the kitchen counter ferociously, trying to get at least one of the five other people that live in the house to pay attention to her. Everyone was in the living room, which connected to the kitchen area, and were having meaningless conversations, whilst all being slightly drunk, with each other to waste time and to forget about the troubling things in life. She gave up on her impossible quest and went back out onto the veranda, pushed the postman's cold body onto the grass which was also dead, and went back into the house, into the kitchen to retrieve a mop to clean up the blood with, before being stopped by a mildly drunk young adult known in the household as Fox, full name Phoxen Buetter. She and Fox were friends, even though she hated him, the friendship was more for ironic purposes. "You called, Arcana?" he said, trying to act smooth and failing, holding a green bottle in his hand and leaning against the wall with his elbow. "Yeah, about an hour ago," Arcana replied, "There's someone, asleep, out on our veranda. I have a feeling she's yours." Phoxen peered out the door, first noticing the large puddle of blood just outside, then noticing the young woman slumped against the wall in a deep slumber, almost dead looking. He was about to reply, but was disrupted by a tall figure behind him, shadowing over Phoxen's weak, underweight body.

Hsakia Niseki, also known as Saki, the so called 'alpha' and the oldest of the house at 25 Earth years, stood behind the two, silent. He was holding a navy blue notepad in his right hand and a pen in his left, and was writing down something, looking up from the notepad at Arcana and Phoxen. He stopped writing and with turned his head back toward the living room, signalling the designated person to come to him. The person, that being Wester Dedana, the only sober woman in the house at the time, quickly stood up from the couch and glided towards Hsakia's side, peering over to the symbols written in his book. She was the only one in the house that was trusted enough by Hsakia to learn the silent language of his scribbles, and was therefore needed by his side at almost all times as his personal translator. "Phoxen, who's that being out in the cold on our veranda?" Wester announced for Hsakia, "And Arcana, please clean up the mess you've made." Hsakia, around seven feet tall with antlers knocking the doorframe as he walked out, stood out on the front porch, in the bloody puddle, and crouched down to assess the sleeping body on their property. He checked her pulse in her neck, picked her up, and walked back into the house, making the two remaining people on the couch shuffle over and placed the body in the middle, which made the two uncomfortable. His movements were smooth and relaxed, as Wester followed his every move with eyes of innocents and loyalty. After picking up another notebook, Hsakia returned outside to the veranda, gently touching the shoulder of Arcana, who was mopping up all the blood that hadn't seeped through the wooden planks, who signalled him to the dead postman's body to the left of her. He walked over to the body and analysed the face of the victim and the bullet wound. He scribbled down a quick sketch in a blue and white book, different to the one he wrote in, and rested his hand on the forehead of the unlucky receiver. He pulled out his navy, pocket sized notebook and quickly wrote down more symbols. "I still don't really understand your fear of postmen, Arcana," Wester spoke for Hsakia.

"It's not that I fear them, I just can't trust them." Arcana replied.

"But they're innocent beings. Would you kill me if I delivered your mail?"

"Well...no. I trust you. I know that you won't kill me first."

"I appreciate that, but..."

"So you would kill me? Since you would've become one with the delivery boys and would be involved in their evil ways."

"No. I just wanted to ask you to please dispose of the bodies yourself so I don't have to keep getting my hooves and hands dirty burying them in the pit. And what's so evil about kindly delivering packages?"

"Never mind. You wont understand unless you've witnessed it." Arcana concluded as she finished mopping.