'Tis no secret who Sernine is, thankyou. You made that clear enough xD reviewers are very much adored. Cookiessssss.

Disclaimer—I don't own Kaito, Aoko, Ruby Jones, Paul Verlaine's poems, or the Paul Sernine and Tout-Va-Bien names. All clear? good. Now read on.

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hourglass

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Prompt:—

I would save everyday like a treasure and then I would spend them with you

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(a story is—)

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Tout-Va-Bien is a black and white shepherd dog, hairy and tall and licking Aoko's fingers with unsuspecting friendliness. He moves around the expensive restaurant with more ease and grace than she ever could.

"What does it mean, Tout-Va-Bi-en?" Aoko asks, her accent stumbling across the two vowels, allowing the dog to nuzzle her knuckles some more.

"'All is well'," replies Sernine, in a smooth voice that is only impeded by the thick underlying French. "I found the name in a book." (A smile here, swift and secret and it sounds a little familiar, Tout. Va. Bien, Wonderful Tout-Va-Bien—and she wonders if she hasn't read the book.)

"He likes you, Aoko-san," Ruby laughs in her laugh, and leaves it hanging about—without further specification.

"Perhaps," Aoko admits, and smiles, and rubs Tout-Va-Bien behind the ears. Outside the tall windowpane, shifting on the very corner of her vision, the bulky silhouette of the Madeleine outlines itself across the ever-tumbling evening.

"Verlaine, you said?" Sernine demands, however, extending one manicured hand for the envelope.

(He carries it across with the greatest reverence.)

"H'mm, oui," he ponders, later, pouring over the short lines. "Paul Verlaine. French poet, turn of the 20th century. These are the first four verses of his poem Les Soleils Couchants—The Setting Suns. If I recall well, it is part of his Romances sans Paroles—Romances Without Words, it means."

Ruby smiles winningly. Sernine mock-bows, and Tout-Va-Bien nibbles on Aoko's fingers.

The other patrons, who likewise dine at the restaurant, cast intrigued smiles onto the table of those three musketeers, whose three amount down to four. A few offer Sernine a nod, which is gracefully returned. (The jewels shine and glow—facetsfacets—under the tempered lights.)

"A poor, spur-of-the-moment translation would go thus: 'A weakened dawn/Pours among the fields/The melancholy/Of Setting Suns.' Very belonging to the symbolist movement. The marked plural of the setting suns—your friend has good tastes, mademoiselle."

"So I notice," Aoko smiles.

"Dare I hope my help is of any consequence?"

Here a pondering is necessary. The Setting Suns. Paul Verlaine. Une aube affaiblie… a weakened dawn. Kaito may like riddles, but riddles in French—well, it might be going just a little too far. As it is, however, those four verses have done nothing more than bring her in Paris; as for further hints—they might come in later.

"Of course," she says, therefore, slowly, "but I may fell the need to claim it again. If Kaito is, as I suspect, in Paris, he will most probably not stop at just this. He'll most likely lead me all over the place in a wild goose chase," she adds, sourly.

"Most likely indeed. I would advice, ma chère, looking up data on Les Soleils Couchants and Paul Verlaine before you undertake any course of action. It might give you some basis to start on—more at least than my poor memory exercises can afford in a restaurant."

—and just like that, for the first time in the evening, Aoko is conscious of where she is. This is not the most luxurious restaurant in Paris, but it certainly is expensive and fashionable—not the kind of place a local Japanese police officer, with such tastes as hers, would frequent, at any rate—and—

(she looks and sees jewels and gems and their glistening slide, as though light on water, and she realizes that)

—she is dressed in a black skirt and blouse.

She apologizes for this, immediately, and they laugh and don't come quite as far as patting her shoulder, but near to.

"Besides," Sernine adds, and the wisp of laughter that furls and unfurls in his voice makes him sound almost as young as she, "if you are to feel awkward every time we meet in such a place—for I assume you will again ask my help in the near future?—I might as well provide you with fitting clothes right and spare you the embarrassment. I do not care much myself, really," he adds, dramatically, rubbing above Tout-Va-Bien's collar.

Aoko blushes all the faster that the calm lamps highlight her blood-rushed cheeks.

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(a story is words.

words and words and then you start thinking someone is someone else.)

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That might have cleared things at bit. If not, just wait for more—I'm dropping hints at lightspeed here. :3 Ta!