#*a raku doll is a lot like earth russian dolls; dolls that file inside one another and rock from side to side like those weighted bean toys

[forvalor-blog]

       Perhaps he should have twigged sooner, but at a single listen, the report to his office had seemed opportune.

       ‘’Sheriff, someone who matched your description came waltzing in earlier.  I couldn’t convince him to stay.  He bought a coffee and not much else, but I know which way he went.  It’d be in your best interest to come as soon as you’re able.’’

                                                                                                  In his best interest, indeed.

       The cafe door is pushed open, the familiar jingle of the bell signalling his arrival.  It’s past midnight, but everybody has come to expect that.  If there’s one thing Sheriff Braav seems incapable of, it’s taking breaks.   ❛❛ Mel? ❜❜   His head turns to the left, then to the right, brow pinching with confusion when he doesn’t see her immediately.  The lights are still on and the quiet radio is still playing, so where is she?   ❛❛ Hello-ooh?  I got yer call.  Sorry ‘m so late.  Work. ❜❜

       As far as he can see, the diner is empty.  He takes a moment to take in the somewhat familiar surroundings, scanning them slowly.  Huron doesn’t use animals for products so the supposed ‘’leather’’ that her booths are clad in is most definitely artificial.  It’s cute though, homely, and that’s the main appeal.  The tables are snug and rectangular, like rows of perfectly adjacent dominoes, the chequered linoleum floor alight with a glossy clean finish.  He remembers crossing this same floor centuries ago to meet her halfway behind the counter, his body moving like a pawn on a chessboard.  Really, that’s all life is, isn’t it?  One big game of chess.

       He comes to lean against the counter, briefly standing on his tiptoes to see over the cash register properly.  Not there, you dumbass.  She’s always been small, but never that small.

       ❛❛ Oh!!  There you are!! ❜❜

       Kuro can do nothing to keep himself from jumping at the sudden arrival, a trained hand balanced against his hip, where his trusty firearm lays.  A long sigh leaves him, expression flashing even more deadpan than usual.   ❛❛ Dear Gods. ❜❜

       She can’t stop herself from giggling, a hand curled in front of her lips.   ❛❛ Did I scare you? ❜❜

       ❛❛ Just a little... ❜❜   he admits, clearly disgruntled as he shifts his weight to rest against the counter.  He’s definitely more mellow now.  Centuries ago, he would have been effing and blinding until the sun rose for being caught off guard like that;  he’d have ghosted her for a solid twenty-four hours before coming back for coffee;  he’d have been angry.  As much as she hates to admit it, she doesn’t miss that side of him much at all.   ❛❛ ... where even were y’...? ❜❜

       ❛❛ Takin’ the trash out, ❜❜   the woman replies, filing behind the counter with an air of grace, washing her hands beneath the tap before she turns back to face him.  He’s so beautiful...  he’s only gotten better with age.  I have to do this now, or I’ll never bring myself to do it.  It’s for his own good.   ❛❛ Anyway.  I’m glad you’re here.  This guy’s a real creeper. ❜❜   Without asking, she begins to prepare him coffee.  It’s the central piece of this plan, after all.   ❛❛ Figured it’d probably be best t’report it.  Even if he turns out to not be your guy, he could do with bein’ put on a register regardless. ❜❜

                                                                                 ❛❛ Yeah?  Wha’d’y’got fer me? ❜❜

       ❛❛ Weeell... ❜❜   She’s recited these lies over and over in her head for the past few weeks now, to the point where lying to his face isn’t difficult this time around.  So rehearsed is she that she goes through those run-of-the-mill descriptions with ease, as if reading script lines, and he seems all too happy to go along with it.  He even pulls out his notepad, capitalised scrawl noting down her false leads dutifully.  He’s hooked on her word, just as she was hooked on his all those years ago, and though she feels guilty for misleading him, she can’t help but feel happy to be the reason behind such captivation.  He keeps looking up at her when she pauses, like a puppy eyeing its owner for more treats, and she’s all too happy to feed him more.  Sometimes she stops deliberately just to watch the faithful incline of his head, that focus in his eyes shaking her to her core as they make the briefest of eye contact.  She isn’t obsessed, but had she been this attentive of his face for the decades they’ve spent apart, she may have snapped much sooner.  At some point, she hands him his coffee--  laced with sleep-powder and all--  and watches as he takes intermittent sips in between his feverish jottings.  The poor man is so addicted to the stuff that he doesn’t even think to question it--  even though he hadn’t asked for a cup.  At one point, he does pause, glancing at the rim of the mug, though whatever had caused him to think twice clearly isn’t enough to stop him from taking another sip.  It’s a habit she’ll try to help him kick once she’s been able to get through to him.

        They continue this way for a while, the minutes seamlessly threading together as he asks more questions and notes more things down.  She gives him a fake outfit, a false order  (  accompanied by a random person’s receipt* that aligned with her story  )  and fabricated fear, seeking desperately for his assurance.  He’s big and strong...  anybody would feel sheltered with him by their side.  Is it really so bad of her to want him to tell her that he’ll keep her safe?

       By the time he runs out of things to ask, a solid forty-five minutes have been and gone.  With the end of his pen pressed against his lower lip in a contemplative fashion, he speaks up once more, though his voice has a quieter quality to it.   ❛❛ Okaaay, so... ❜❜   She listens to him flip through the pages of notes he’d made, back-to-front, before he puts the pad down.  Every now and then, he blinks a little harder, as if trying to rearrange his line of sight.   ❛❛  Y’said he went upwards towards the No-Man’s-Land? ❜❜

       ❛❛ Yup. ❜❜

       ❛❛ Mmkay.  Doesn’t surprise me too much.  This guy’s originally from Vide, so it’d make sense if he’s tryna circle round so he’s back in familiar territory.  Out here in Huron, he’s kinda defenceless in terms’a hidin’ spots. ❜❜

       You’re so intelligent.  Were you always this clever?  I want that smart mouth in places I’m not brave enough to say out loud.  Sheriff, I’m listening, but I can’t stop daydreaming about you.  You understand, don’t you?  I just want--

                                 ❛❛ Uh... Mel? ❜❜

       The woman blinks quickly, coming back to reality.  He’s there, still, his brow creased slightly with concern.  Oh damn...  I really zoned out.  She crosses her legs discreetly, trying not to focus on the aching heat spreading between them,.  If she had even a little less control over herself, she may have blushed upon realising what she was thinking about.   ❛❛ Uh, y-yeah... ❜❜   A meek laugh leaves her.   ❛❛ S-Sorry, it’s just-- long work day.  Y’know how it is. ❜❜

       ❛❛ Don’t work yerself t’death, girl, ❜❜   he replies, some of the concern fading from his eyes.  It’s funny, the longer he stays here, the more tired he feels, and in a way he barely recalls feeling before;  a kind of tired he’s only felt with the aid of medication after being grievously stabbed...  the fleeting sensation of floating, as if the lead that seems permanently embedded into his blood has dissolved and allowed his awareness to wander.  He should get back home...  it’s approaching 1:30am and he didn’t even noticed.  Nana will be livid--

       ❛❛ Oh, shit... ❜❜   he mutters as he stands up, body teetering wildly to one side.  Vertigo hits him like a freight train.  Even Suka is thrown off, its shadowy form lumbering like a moving mountain behind him as he braces himself against the counter.  It’s at this point that he’s slowly realising that something is amiss;  that despite his keen wit and his sharp senses, something slipped past his radar and is about to render him useless.  How long has it been since I last slept?  Is it really hitting me that hard?   (  Kuro, what’s going on?*  )

       ❛❛ Gosh, Sheriff--  y’should sit.  You’re rockin’ like a little Raku Doll*. ❜❜

       ❛❛ Uh...  n-no, it’s fine.  I need t’get back home... ❜❜   Despite the hands she tries to meet him with, Kuro turns tail and begins his dizzy stumble towards the diner door.  He barely makes it before his vision begins to blur, an exhaustion somewhat akin to Suka sitting on top of him dragging him towards the floor.  He resists for as long as possible, trying to force shaking knees to cooperate, and his whole body flinches when Mel’s hands wrap around his torso, guiding him back towards the counter.  This is wrong--  everything’s wrong, and I missed it.

       ❛❛ Sheriff-- ❜❜

       ❛❛ ... wha’d y’do? ❜❜   Despite the way he quivers and sways, his words bite.  The accusation in them is almost as heavy as his body feels, a layer of ice garnishing the question like an appetiser;  as if it’s only the first of a series of cold-hearted digs he’s about to serve her.   ❛❛ ... y’did somethin’.  Wha’d y’do? ❜❜   His words are beginning to slur together, and in an instant do his legs give out.  Despite the way his brain screams in protest, he finds himself unable to get up again.  His vision swims as if he’s been permanently submerged, surroundings hazy and uneven before his eyes are weighted shut.  He should have known that this was too good to be true;  how convenient that she wasn’t willing to give him any details over the phone;  that it had to be in person.  But why?  Why is she doing this?  And if it is personal, why did she wait this fucking long?  With the single ounce of strength he has remaining:   ❛❛ ... knew yer coffee was off... ❜❜

       Something about the statement warms her up, despite the harsh chill accompanying it.  Of course he’d notice that her perfect coffee wasn’t quite perfect this time around.  She’s the only person he trusts--  besides his wife, she assumes--  to make it for him.  Despite how foolishly simple he may seem for meandering into such a quintessentially executed trap, the case is not so.  In fact, perhaps the only reason that she was able to succeed was because of her unassuming track record, and she knows that.  She hasn’t been involved in his life since their final night together really, and she hasn’t made a habit of acting crazy.  They spoke like old friends every few years or so, drinking coffee and sharing smokes before he went back to work.  Not once did she give him any reason to suspect her of anything.  As far as he was concerned, she was just the tasteful lay he’d had some centuries ago.

                                                                      It’s this thought exactly that she hopes to dispel.

       Kuro  (  will you let me call you that finally?  ), you know why I’ve done this.  You must’ve known that I’d come for you at some point.  There’s only so long I can watch you destroy yourself like this.  You’re selling your life away.  This woman...  she doesn’t love you, and you don’t love her.  How could we have had such explosive chemistry if you did?  I’ve been here this whole time...  didn’t you see me?  I’ve always seen you.

       Thank the Gods that it’s dark out, otherwise the huge open windows might have been a problem.  Dragging him by his feet behind the counter is the easy part, as heavy as he is--  it’s getting him down the cellar stairs that’s going to take time.