Jay had resumed his trek down the street, lost once again in thought. He had always been a heavy thinker, but now he found himself increasingly absorbed in thought. The nature of his speculation had been altered as well, and since finding himself in his new apparel he had already invented the basic melody and lyrics for two and a half songs.
Jay's body was changing just like every other person under the wave of changes, his lanky build becoming more feminine and willowy. His hair had darkened to black, growing long and straight with a heavy fringe that formed a point at the center of his forehead. The extensive knowledge of various trivia and other such 'geeky' knowledge had been largely forgotten, though he now remembered miscellanea of much more morbid sorts, such as the quickest method to drain the human body of blood or the last words of nearly one hundred famous persons.
Jay paused at a street light, realizing that he had been going the wrong direction of the Spiked Pit for the last ten minutes. He looked around, noticing a blonde girl with an impressive bust standing next to him, waiting for the pedestrian light to change.
"What rhymes with self-mutilation?" Jay asked, getting a odd look from the girl.
"Um... Asphyxiation?" Karyn Black offered, a little wary of the gothic boy.
"Oh, that's good. Allows me to get back to the gallows imagery from the first verse," Jay muttered, before wandering off in the direction he thought was the Spiked Pit.
Gretchen, meanwhile, had delayed her journey to stop outside an abandoned home at the edge of the suburbs where she had recently called home. She stood studying the dilapidated building, not seeming to move or even blink as she did.
Gretchen's changes had progressed as well, having now lost thirty of her original seventy six years already. This regression showed most prominently in the woman's face, which had become smooth and ageless. The right side of her hair had returned to its original black, while the left remained white. She emphasized this duality by pulling her hair into a pair of pigtails, which hung on either side of her face. Her eyes had faded to a colorless grey, and her face seemed to have lost the capacity to show emotion.
Grace Littleton, who had also been regressing from her advanced years and had added some rather unwomanly bulk besides, paused from her journey from Jon and Sarah's house to see what this peculiar woman was doing. "Um... can I help you, ma'am?" she asked, her voice sounding quite hoarse by now.
"How many?" was all Gretchen replied.
Grace was confused. "Pardon?"
"How many people died here. It has the look of death about it," Gretchen asserted with conviction.
Grace took a look at the building. "Oh. Yes. That's the old Jenkins home. Tragic, that. Wife went crazy, smothered her two children and shot her husband before turning the gun on herself. Happened when I had just joined the force."
"Four," Gretchen said, a hint of disappointment edging into her dispassionate tone. "I was going to guess five. That will be all, officer," she said, before turning and wordlessly heading back down the street.
