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[drabble] More crack
Dec. 22nd, 2009 12:37 pm“What do you know about solving crimes, anyway?” Yuuta was saying gruffly as Saeki fiddled with his cravat in the mirror, brows furrowed and tongue between his teeth as he attempted to tie the damn thing for the fourth time that hour.
“About as much as you do about medicine,” was Saeki’s muttered reply, and he tucked one corner under – wait, over – and then finally gave up, smoothing the excess fabric under his vest. “But I’ve read a couple mysteries in my day. Just interview the client, take stock of the person least likely to have committed the crime, and then stick to that until they crumble and confess. We’ll be out of here in no time.”
He lifted a bowler’s hat and plunked it unceremoniously onto Yuuta’s head.
“Huh, is that all.” Yuuta’s hands went to the brim of his hat, pulling it a little lower. “… except, don’t forget about the curve balls,” he warned. “There’s always curve balls.”
“We won a high score in an arcade and then woke up in the fucking 1880s. You don’t think maybe that’s enough of a curveball?” Saeki snorted, opening the door to the –what was it? – drawing room.
Inside, their clients waited, a tall slim man cutting an unbelievably sharp figure in a suit he seemed born to, the tips of dark curling hair and a faint smile just visible from beneath his top hat. Beside him, and currently commanding his attention, was a slim boyish girl who seemed as uncomfortable in her dress as her companion was comfortable in his suit. She had round, fine eyes, and looked damned familiar to Yuuta… maybe the great-grandmother of... wait...
“—what the fuck?!” Yuuta gasped uncontrollably, one hand clutching his chest as he nearly staggered into Saeki’s back.
“--- YOU!” Tachibana An cried in return, half-rising and pointing with an accusing, trembling finger.
From beside her, her companion removed his top hat and leveled a cool look at Saeki, Yuuta, and then Saeki again. Yukimura Seiichi heaved a long-suffering sigh, his shoulders drooping imperceptibly under the heavy wool of his greatcoat.
“I should be surprised,” he said distantly, “but for some reason, I’m really not.”
“About as much as you do about medicine,” was Saeki’s muttered reply, and he tucked one corner under – wait, over – and then finally gave up, smoothing the excess fabric under his vest. “But I’ve read a couple mysteries in my day. Just interview the client, take stock of the person least likely to have committed the crime, and then stick to that until they crumble and confess. We’ll be out of here in no time.”
He lifted a bowler’s hat and plunked it unceremoniously onto Yuuta’s head.
“Huh, is that all.” Yuuta’s hands went to the brim of his hat, pulling it a little lower. “… except, don’t forget about the curve balls,” he warned. “There’s always curve balls.”
“We won a high score in an arcade and then woke up in the fucking 1880s. You don’t think maybe that’s enough of a curveball?” Saeki snorted, opening the door to the –what was it? – drawing room.
Inside, their clients waited, a tall slim man cutting an unbelievably sharp figure in a suit he seemed born to, the tips of dark curling hair and a faint smile just visible from beneath his top hat. Beside him, and currently commanding his attention, was a slim boyish girl who seemed as uncomfortable in her dress as her companion was comfortable in his suit. She had round, fine eyes, and looked damned familiar to Yuuta… maybe the great-grandmother of... wait...
“—what the fuck?!” Yuuta gasped uncontrollably, one hand clutching his chest as he nearly staggered into Saeki’s back.
“--- YOU!” Tachibana An cried in return, half-rising and pointing with an accusing, trembling finger.
From beside her, her companion removed his top hat and leveled a cool look at Saeki, Yuuta, and then Saeki again. Yukimura Seiichi heaved a long-suffering sigh, his shoulders drooping imperceptibly under the heavy wool of his greatcoat.
“I should be surprised,” he said distantly, “but for some reason, I’m really not.”
... 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.
