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"Okay, but you do have a name, right? Your name isn't Graverobber, is it?"
"Depends on who you ask."
"Come on."
It was their old game. Or, Graverobber thought, a game for Shiloh. He had gotten quite tired of the same question day in and day out. Sometimes he really missed just working with the dead and the addicts.
"Yeah, kid, I have a name."
"Besides Graverobber. For example, my name is Shiloh, not 'kid'."
"Okay, kid. Pack the goods so we can get the hell out of here, it's almost daylight." He looked around the graveyard, checking and double checking for police, while Shiloh gathered their tools.
He had taken Shiloh on as an 'apprentice' a week after the Genetic Opera. In return for telling her the cure to her blood disease, Shiloh allowed Graverobber to stay in her dad's old room. He had repurposed Nathan's old repo room into a clinic for zydrate addicts.
The neighbors thought it was sketchy that a man ten years Shiloh's senior had moved in, but on the list of things that they could know about Graverobber this was the least disturbing.
"Alright, how about this. If I guess right, will you tell me?" Shiloh asked.
Graverobber rolled his eyes and pulled his hair up so that he could put his bag across his shoulders. "Yeah. You guess it, I'll tell you."
"Really? Um... Let's see..." Shiloh went so deep in thought that she didn't realize that Graverobber was walking away. "Hey!"
"Shh! Not so loud."
"Sorry. Ethan?"
"No." Graverobber mentally smacked his forehead. 'Dumbass. Now she'll never shut up.'
"Paul?"
"Hell no. Paul? I don't even look like a Paul!"
"Right, you look like a mess."
"Very funny, Queen of the Dead."
"Ew."