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mercuria... for that bizarre Holmes-style chibi picture I drew. Oh, crack!
*
“Oh, my God,” Saeki’s voice squirmed out from around the fingers currently curled around his mouth. “You look like you joined a fucking cult. A cult of – of truckers, and porn stars from the seventies, and … and…”
“Don’t be jealous,” Yuuta hummed back, his voice surprisingly cheerful as he twirled – nearly expertly, Saeki noted bitterly! – wax around the ends of his thick moustache. “And my brethren want to know if you’re friend or foe, so I’d grow one if you can, or at least cool the talk.” He eyed Saeki over his shoulder, sizing up the face that was currently shielded by two pale hands. “… not that I think you could ever aspire to my greatness, but you can always try.”
“You… you like it,” Saeki was plainly aghast, and his face showed as much when his fingers fell to hang on his starched white collar and elaborately knotted cravat. “That’s it.” His voice rang with a new, grim determination. “I am solving this goddamn case and getting us out of here, back to where you’re fucking sane again and your face isn’t being eaten by half of a fucking raccoon.”
“Yeah?” Yuuta’s voice still managed to be pleased as he returned to studying himself in the large bronze mirror. “Well, who knows how long we’ll be here,” he said soothingly to his reflection, quirking his mouth so his moustache ticked from side to side.
Through pained groans, Saeki gave himself an ultimatum: one week he’d solve this goddamn case and get them back to their own time. One week, or he really would take up cocaine.
*
“Oh, my God,” Saeki’s voice squirmed out from around the fingers currently curled around his mouth. “You look like you joined a fucking cult. A cult of – of truckers, and porn stars from the seventies, and … and…”
“Don’t be jealous,” Yuuta hummed back, his voice surprisingly cheerful as he twirled – nearly expertly, Saeki noted bitterly! – wax around the ends of his thick moustache. “And my brethren want to know if you’re friend or foe, so I’d grow one if you can, or at least cool the talk.” He eyed Saeki over his shoulder, sizing up the face that was currently shielded by two pale hands. “… not that I think you could ever aspire to my greatness, but you can always try.”
“You… you like it,” Saeki was plainly aghast, and his face showed as much when his fingers fell to hang on his starched white collar and elaborately knotted cravat. “That’s it.” His voice rang with a new, grim determination. “I am solving this goddamn case and getting us out of here, back to where you’re fucking sane again and your face isn’t being eaten by half of a fucking raccoon.”
“Yeah?” Yuuta’s voice still managed to be pleased as he returned to studying himself in the large bronze mirror. “Well, who knows how long we’ll be here,” he said soothingly to his reflection, quirking his mouth so his moustache ticked from side to side.
Through pained groans, Saeki gave himself an ultimatum: one week he’d solve this goddamn case and get them back to their own time. One week, or he really would take up cocaine.
