TACO Run

Chapter 25

Makoto wandered out of her bedroom at a bit before seven, dragging her fingers idly through the tangles in her hair on the way to the bathroom. The door was open and the water was running, so Nao must be up already, despite getting home after she went to bed.

I know I'm not one to talk, but he's working way too hard, she mused to herself, smiling wryly. "Morning, Bro!" she chirped, poking her head through the doorway. "How was—oh!" It wasn't Nao in the bathroom. "Good morning."

Naomasa's 'person of interest' was just as good-looking in person as he was in pictures. Not as tall or exaggeratedly built as, say, Captain Celebrity, but definitely a big guy, and muscular in that solid, not-quite-bulky way that was far preferable to the flash and glamor of many Pro Heroes. At least in her humble opinion. And maybe he had grey streaks in his dark hair already, but Makoto didn't think he looked much past forty, even with the sun-weathering his skin had taken. Makoto had caught him in the middle of shaving, which was kind of a pity since she appreciated a little manly stubble, but it was interesting too, because she'd never actually seen someone use a straight razor before.

He hadn't jumped when she said hello, so he must have heard her coming. Finishing his shave quickly, he rinsed off and tilted his head to her in a not-quite-bow that seemed surprisingly respectful, patting his face dry with a towel and saying something that she was pretty sure was a 'good morning' back.

Huh. Not English. It wasn't German either, because she knew a few words of that from watching foreign films with some of her college friends. But it did sound kind of similar, so maybe it was related? Like Dutch, or one of those weird Scandinavian languages?

"Tsukauchi Makoto," she introduced herself, stepping forward with one hand outstretched for a Western-style handshake.

He took it, rough fingers gentle and warm against hers as he gripped her hand back, firm without being hard. "Olberic Eisenberg," he replied, dipping his head again just a little. A thoughtful frown pulled his brows together briefly, as if he'd only just realized something that might be important.

Makoto just smiled at him, and reached up to tuck her hair back once he released her hand, taking the chance to get a good, thorough look at their temporary guest.

He hadn't put on any of the new clothes she'd gotten him yet, so this must be what he normally wore beneath that odd blue overcoat-tunic thing she'd seen in the picture Nao had sent her. A long-sleeved pullover shirt that looked like something from a European period piece, down to being what Makoto was relatively certain was undyed linen, instead of cotton or a more modern blended fabric. Heavy dark trousers that she was pretty sure were wool, meaning they'd be godawful hot in the summer, unless he was from somewhere relatively cool year-round. And really thick wool socks whose grey color could have been normal, or could have been because they were very well-worn.

"No offense, mister, but you kind of reek," Makoto grinned apologetically, waving a hand before her face. He didn't look dirty, and Nao had said they'd provided him with necessities, but if he hadn't had a change of clothes for a while, it wouldn't matter if he'd showered.

He seemed surprised, and then thoughtful, glancing down and picking at the front of his shirt, which, yeah, looking closer was badly sweat-stained.

"Let's see if we can't fix that, huh?" Makoto said brightly. "I'll be right back—wait here!"

Gesturing for him to stay put, she hurried over to where she'd left the shopping bags last night. She might have had a little too much fun picking out clothes for a good-looking guy, even if he hadn't been there for her to pick them, but it was fine. Hm… this, and this… and I'm glad I thought to pick up some socks too, I just hope they're the right size… It wasn't easy guessing what size shoes people wore from pictures. "Here you go," she said briskly, hurrying back to the bathroom and setting the pile of clothes on the counter. "Go ahead and take a shower—" She pointed to make sure he'd know what she was talking about, since Naomasa'd said he didn't speak Japanese. "—and get dressed for the day. I'll throw your old clothes in the wash once you're done." She'd have to look up how to clean wool clothes, though, because she had a vague recollection that using a washing machine was a bad idea.

If their guest was bothered by her brisk treatment, he didn't show it. Instead, he just nodded and started stripping off his shirt as Makoto retreated and shut the door between them.

Hee. Makoto leaned briefly against the wall near the bathroom door, smiling slightly to herself. Thanks, Nao!

As if summoned by her thoughts, her brother emerged from his bedroom frowning and rubbing the back of his neck. "Makoto?" He blinked. "I'm surprised you're not in the bathroom."

"Oh, your guest is using it at the moment," she said, waving that off. "I picked him out one of the new outfits you had me get him, since his old clothes were pretty rank."

Naomasa smiled wryly. "Yeah, he spent a lot of time in the PT room while he was staying at the department, so I'm not surprised. You introduced yourself?"

"Uh-huh."

Naomasa's brows lifted, just a little humorously. "Like that?" he asked, nodding to draw her attention to what she wore.

Makoto blinked, realizing that she was still in the black tank-top and striped cotton bottoms she used for pajamas, with clashing green slippers and an old stretchy headband pulling her hair away from her face. She hadn't put her contacts in yet, either, so she had on her glasses to see properly, and she didn't have on even a little makeup. Not that she wore a whole lot in the first place.

"Oh, you!" If she'd had a pillow, she would have thrown it at her brother. "He didn't stare, so it's fine," she said, maybe just a little huffy. "Why don't you go make breakfast, since you're up already!" She stalked back to her room to put on a bra. She'd shower and dress properly once their guest was done.

Olberic rubbed the amazingly fluffy towel over his head, getting the worst of the wetness out of his hair. When Kikuchi had first introduced him to the concept of showers, he had found the idea interesting, but not as much as the odd, soft towels used in this land. Rather than lying flat, the threads of the towel stuck out in innumerable little loops of fabric, which wicked away moisture far better than any cloth he had seen before.

Another thing he had discovered about this land was how enamored of cleanliness its people were. Olberic knew the principles of good hygiene, and as a soldier he had learned first-hand how keeping oneself and one's belongings clean could prevent a multitude of ills, but the men and women of this land took the ideas further. They bathed daily, or even multiple times in a single day, if they exerted themselves to the point of heavy sweat. And, too, they wore different clothes each day, regardless of whether their clothing had actually become soiled. It was… odd. A frivolity that some members of Orsterra's nobility engaged in, or the very wealthy who chose to imitate them as a symbol of status. For the common folk of this land, especially the city guard, to indulge in such behavior…

Well, if he was to stay here for a time, he supposed that it was only right to follow the standards his hosts set, as best he was able.

Besides, the bath oils available in the Truthseeker's bathing room smelled very pleasant. Like spiced sweet-rolls, almost. Though they were not oils, exactly…

Hanging the towel up again, Olberic looked over the clothes Makoto had brought for him. The trousers seemed normal enough, though made from a material he was unfamiliar with. A heavy, durable material, somewhat poorly dyed, with a texture that was coarse, but not rough to the touch, and woven in a manner he did not recognize. Not that he was overly familiar with weaving practices, but he could tell that it was somehow different.

A closer inspection revealed that while the outline of the trousers was fairly similar to those he was used to, it was there the similarity ended. For the waistband had been reinforced with an extra layer of fabric, and had loops of fabric sewn to it at regular intervals which Olberic quickly realized were meant to secure a belt. The pockets were designed differently and more securely than he was used to, and…

Well, he wasn't sure what the odd strip of interlocking metal bits at the front of the trousers was for, at first, but fiddling with the metal pull revealed that it was a rather clever way of opening or closing the stiff-waisted trousers for ease of removal. Olberic was duly impressed, even if the odd sound it made was vaguely irritating.

The shirt Makoto had provided him with was finer than those he usually wore, though not so fine that he believed it was meant for a formal occasion. It seemed to be made of a similar material to the trousers, but far lighter and better-dyed, a deep, dull blue color that he rather liked. The buttons down the front and at the cuffs were not made from wood nor metal nor even horn, but some other substance which felt not dissimilar to whatever the translation device he'd been given was made from.

Olberic found it interesting that the shirt's sleeve-cuffs were buttoned. He'd thought that practice was only common to the Riverlands.

Were Cyrus here, I am certain he could speak with more certainty on the subject. After all, the scholar's appetite for information was insatiable, and he had a particular interest in the history and culture of the various city-states, nations, and regions that made up Orsterra.

After pulling on the trousers and the short-sleeved undershirt Makoto had provided—a very soft, flexible grey material that fit comfortably despite being closely-fitted to his frame—Olberic put on the dark blue overshirt and buttoned it up carefully. It had been bought for him by someone who had not yet met him at the time, after all, and it was difficult to find second-hand clothes for a man of his build.

To his pleasant surprise, the clothes fit relatively well. The trousers were somewhat stiff, but he thought that they could be broken in after a few days' hard wear, much like new boots. The bathing room wasn't large enough for a great deal of movement, but he could twist his shoulders and waist to make sure the shirt would not interfere with his movements overmuch.

It will do.

The socks Makoto had provided were of very good make, and likely of a similar material to the undershirt, he thought. They would not be nearly so warm as the woolen ones he was used to, but as it was edging towards mid-spring now, and this country seemed warmer than the Highlands, he thought them warm enough.

Tugging them on, Olberic cleaned up the last of his mess, and picked up his discarded clothing, which he'd folded neatly from sheer habit. He wondered if the Truthseeker or his sister had a proper washtub in which he could launder them, or if they utilized the services of a professional laundress, as was often the case in larger cities, where there was little space for clotheslines to be hung.

Olberic glanced in the mirror one last time—these people used so much glass; Cyrus would surely wish to question how they tempered it—and dragged a free hand through his hair to shove it back into place. Then, clothes bundled under one arm, he left.

Naomasa had just finished cracking the eggs into the frying-pan when the door to the bathroom opened. He glanced over his shoulder and called a greeting to Olberic, who returned it with a solemn nod. Apparently, Makoto had bought him jeans and a light denim button-up, and they looked like they fit him reasonably well. Or at least, he wasn't uncomfortable in them.

Naomasa didn't usually make breakfast, but there wasn't any reason he couldn't today. Scrambled eggs and toast with jam was simple enough, and Makoto had apparently shopped for groceries as well as clothes, because they had juice in their fridge as well. "Makoto!" he called out without turning away from the stove. "Bathroom's open!"

"Thanks, Nao!" she called back, emerging from her room with an armful of clothes. "I'm going to take a shower and I'll be right out, okay?"

"Make it a quick one; breakfast is almost ready."

"Gotcha!"

Naomasa heard the bathroom door close and the shower start running again almost immediately. Makoto was more fashion-conscious than Naomasa was, but she could be very quick getting ready in the mornings when she wanted to be, so he wasn't too worried. Grabbing a plate from the nearby cabinet, he slid a slice of toast onto it, and waited until the first round of eggs were finished scrambling to flip them onto the plate as well. Grabbing a jar of jam and a knife from the drawer, he took the whole ensemble over to the table and set them down.

Olberic had sat down at the kitchen table while Naomasa'd been cooking, and was looking around the apartment with the same kind of low-key curiosity he'd shown when he'd first arrived at the police department. When Naomasa put the plate in front of him, he murmured something that was probably a thanks of some kind, and started eating almost absently.

Naomasa left him to his existential moment, and went back to scrambling the next batch of eggs. Makoto liked hers with pepper, as well as salt.

He was just finishing up that batch when Makoto emerged from the bathroom, hair brushed, makeup done, and fully dressed.

Naomasa raised an eyebrow at her a little. "I thought you were working from home today?" She was wearing one of her smarter outfits, with a light blazer thrown over a blouse and flattering slacks. Usually, if she was staying home, she just wore something comfortable like shorts and a tank-top.

"I might go out later," she shrugged. "And someone pointed out that I probably shouldn't hang out in pajamas with a guest in the house."

She wasn't lying, but Naomasa still gave her a skeptical look. After that text conversation last night, he was a little suspicious of her motivations.

If she felt at all self-conscious about his scrutiny, though, she didn't show it, because she slid into place at the table easily. Not right next to Olberic, but at the nearer end of the table to him, propping her chin on one hand and smiling a greeting which he returned with a solemn nod.

Naomasa finished making Makoto's plate, and slid it onto the table in front of her.

"So!" she smiled up at him. "Is whatever case mister Eisenberg's involved in something I can know about, or do I need to keep my nose out of it?"

Naomasa sighed. "I'm going to regret this," he said, "but the Chief gave me permission, since you'd worm something out of one of us anyway…" As he went back to the stove to fix his own breakfast, he gave her a brief outline of Olberic's situation and story. As he did, he tried not to feel too self-conscious about how crazy it sounded. Makoto's Quirk required physical contact for her to verify whether someone was lying or not, but he was a bad enough liar that she didn't even need to use it with him. Not to mention that she knew him well enough to know he wouldn't make up a crazy story like this one.

"Wow."

A glance over his shoulder let Naomasa know that Makoto was actually wide-eyed with surprise and genuine interest, rather than cheerfully dismissive, teasing, or shrewdly looking for an opening of some kind.

"I'm amazed you're not questioning this," he admitted, switching the stove off and moving over to the table with his own plate.

"It's you, Nao," she pointed out, proving his earlier thoughts correct. "But still. Another world? Wow."

"It's not allowed to be made public knowledge," Naomasa said warningly, earning a surprisingly rapid nod from his sister. "I mean it, Makoto."

"I know, Nao," she agreed, serious despite her lighthearted smile. "Between the two of us, who's got more reason to be cautious of public opinion and governmental oversight?"

Naomasa grimaced, knowing she had a point. Makoto was very skeptical of the current state of Japanese and world affairs, and while she might be an expert in working the system, that didn't mean she agreed with how it worked. This might not have anything to do with the world of Heroics that she'd focused her studies and career on, but that didn't mean his sister would be any less sharp about it. "Thanks, Makoto."

"You're welcome, Nao." Her smile turned a little apologetic. "I know I make trouble for you a lot, but I promise I won't this time."

Naomasa snorted, but couldn't help smiling wryly. "Thanks."

Makoto laughed a little at that, and sat up straighter. "So!" she said brightly. "You said you've got a way to communicate now?"

"Yeah. Actually…" Naomasa frowned, thinking about it, and then sighed and rubbed a hand over his head. "…it's a translation program one of our records people worked on. I'll install it on your phone once we're done eating." If Olberic was going to be staying with them for the foreseeable future, it didn't make sense not to give Makoto a way to talk to him, especially since she was in the know.

"Thanks, Nao!"

Naomasa eyed her warily. There was more to her cheer than 'Makoto wants to be able to talk to someone'. A kind of shrewdness that had nothing to do with how Olberic was apparently her type. "What are you planning?" he asked suspiciously.

"Nothing bad, I promise!" she said, waving her hands, and he knew it was true. "I think it'll make your day, even."

"…alright," Naomasa sighed at last, trying to set his suspicion aside. "You'd let me know if it was something dangerous, right?"

"Definitely, Nao. You can trust me on this."

"Alright," Naomasa repeated, deliberately setting aside his doubts and stabbing his eggs with a fork. "Let's finish eating, then. I don't have to be in until nine, so if we make it quick, I should have time to get everything set up." He didn't think Olberic would object to being left at the apartment for a day. Not with as bad as his carsickness had been. And with Makoto present, and it being Naomasa's apartment, the requirements of 'on affiliated property' and 'under observation' were technically fulfilled, even if it was a slapdash workaround that Naomasa really didn't want to have to try to justify, if anyone besides the Chief questioned it.

Breakfast passed quickly, with Makoto outlining her plans for the day in a little more detail—working from home, as he'd surmised, and mostly fielding phone calls related to Captain Celebrity's upcoming event. She'd thought she might go out for dinner this evening, she said, but was perfectly willing to order in instead, since Olberic couldn't be left alone.

Naomasa felt more than a little guilty about foisting part of his responsibilities onto her, and said so.

"Don't worry about it, Nao!" Makoto dismissed his worries with a wave. "I don't mind at all!"

"Thanks again, Makoto," Naomasa sighed, standing to collect their plates. He blinked when Olberic stood too, and gave the warrior a puzzled look as he gathered up the dishes in Naomasa's stead. "You don't have to do that," he said, baffled, as Olberic moved over to the sink and started washing them—without soap, and maybe Naomasa should've realized that liquid dish soap wasn't something he'd be familiar with.

"Here, let me help with that," Makoto said, standing up. "Nao, why don't you install that program on my phone? You've only got so much time before you have to get ready for work, right?"

Naomasa shook himself. "You're right," he agreed. "Where's your phone?"

"On the charger by my bed.

"Right, thanks." As Makoto moved over to help show Olberic how to properly wash dishes in a modern world, Naomasa retrieved her phone and his own from their respective rooms, and copied over the translation app and the associated database. Come to think of it, he probably should've made sure that Olberic knew how to do everything he needed to with his phone as well. Though he thought Kikuchi had shown him last night…

A quick check showed that while Olberic hadn't plugged in the phone to charge it—likely because he hadn't known to do so—it still had enough battery life for a few hours. Since the dishes were already sitting on the rack to dry, he helped Makoto show Olberic how to make up the pull-out bed in such a way that it could be folded back up into a couch without stripping the sheets and blanket off first.

Olberic seemed very impressed by that, brows up and arms folded over his chest appreciatively, but when Naomasa held out the phone to him, he took it with a steady nod and prodded gingerly at it with one large finger, frowning as he got the translation program started again.

Once he was all set up and had the earbuds in again, Makoto beamed up at him and greeted him properly. "Nice to meet you," she said, holding out her right hand. "Once again, I'm Tsukauchi Makoto."

"Olberic Eisenberg." Olberic shook her hand very gently, a thoughtful frown on his face. "Am I correct in thinking that Su… Tsukauchi is your family name?" He only stumbled briefly over the 'tsu', despite the fact that Naomasa realized he'd never actually said his name before. He'd always referred to him by title.

"That's right!" Makoto said cheerfully. "Did no one explain that to you? We put the family name before the given name here."

Naomasa scrubbed the back of his neck a little guiltily. "That's my fault," he admitted sheepishly. "I never even thought about the fact that you wouldn't know already."

Olberic shook his head. "I am only glad I have not spoken rudely in the time we have known each other."

Naomasa wasn't sure that Olberic was capable of being rude. "If it helps, most people refer to each other by title or surname here unless they're close friends," he said. "Kikuchi said that your people probably don't, since you seem to prefer going by your given name."

Olberic nodded solemnly. "That is so. Even those of noble birth oft prefer the use of their given name, for one's surname and title indicate what one is, rather than who."

Oh. Huh. That was an interesting way to put it.

Makoto laughed a little as Naomasa thought about that. "I know I've met a couple people who think it's weird that foreigners put self before family."

Olberic's brows rose, and he crossed his arms thoughtfully. "I had not thought of it that way," he admitted. "Cyrus would find the idea fascinating."

"Cyrus Albright?" Makoto said innocently. "He's a history professor you're friends with, right?"

Olberic frowned. "Indeed."

Naomasa was frowning, too. He remembered mentioning the other three men who'd potentially been brought here during his explanation, though the police hadn't yet found any evidence of them. But he didn't remember saying anything about Olberic's scholar friend teaching history.

Makoto's thumbs were busy with her phone. "Is this what he looks like?" she asked, turning it to face them both.

Handsome, was Naomasa's first thought, looking at the young man pictured on Makoto's phone. Then, dark hair, light skin tone, grey eyes, thin build, age likely late twenties, followed by flamboyant cosplay-style clothing, no distinguishing marks. A distant last came the realization that the man in the picture was surrounded by young women in maid outfits who were very clearly enjoying his presence—some even openly fawning—and seemed to have absolutely no clue that their excitement had anything to do with him, if the impossibly innocent smile on his face was any indication.

Oh. Olberic's description had been spot-on.

A quiet breath, and Olberic's legs gave out, the big man hitting the floor on his knees hard enough to make it quiver under Naomasa's feet. He buried his face in his hands, fingertips digging into strands of grey-streaked dark brown as another ragged breath escaped him.

"Sir Olberic?" Naomasa said, alarmed, cautiously going down on one knee beside him. "Are you alright?" He was literally shaking, broad shoulders quivering as one hand left his face—

Naomasa blinked. Olberic wasn't shaking with tears. He was shaking with laughter.

"That," the warrior said in a choking voice, wagging one impotent finger towards Makoto's phone, "is so very Cyrus!"

And then he lost the battle, and laughter rolled out—not the quiet chuckles Naomasa might have expected from him, but rich and booming, as if a small mountain shared its merriment.

Oh. Naomasa found himself smiling almost without realizing it, and looked up to see Makoto smiling as well.

It took a few minutes for Olberic to calm down, but even once he had, his smile remained. Naomasa couldn't blame him, because this was the first irrefutable proof they'd seen that at least one of his friends was in Japan. That there might actually be some chance for him to return home.

"So that kind of thing happens all the time?" Makoto asked, once they could properly converse again. "Professor Albright being surrounded by pretty women, and having no clue why?"

"Surrounded, no," Olberic chuckled, wiping his eyes. "But for him to draw the attention of young women, and remain ignorant despite the obviousness of their interest… yes. Though in this, I think the barrier of language has only strengthened his unwitting charm, for he cannot bore such women with endless talk of history."

"I don't think he was that boring," Makoto laughed, "but yeah, I can see what you mean."

"Wait, you met him?" Naomasa started, because the picture she'd shown them had been a social media post, not a personal photo.

"Yeah." Makoto raised her hands in an apologetic gesture. "Sorry, I didn't make the connection until you told me everything during breakfast—"

"You should have said something right then!" Naomasa scowled, rising to grab his coat and hat from the rack. "We really need to locate him—where did you meet, and when, and what were your interactions like?"

"Calm down, Nao!" Makoto said, hands still up placatingly. "We met on my school campus the day before yesterday. I was filing some paperwork with my advisor, and we bumped into each other while he was looking for the library. I showed him where it was, and helped him get set up, and we talked for a little bit, that's all."

"Talked?"

"He speaks Latin, Nao. I don't know how, considering he's from another world apparently, but he does. I found a talk-to-text translator that supports it."

Naomasa sighed, rubbing his face. "Well, at least that means we have a way for the officers to communicate when we find him again." He looked up at Olberic, who had fully sobered by now, and risen to his feet again. "I have to go. I'll see if I can get some people looking for your friends, now that we know at least one of them is here, and if I learn anything else I'll let you know."

Olberic smiled faintly, though his brows were pinched in concern. "Do you not wish me to accompany you?"

Naomasa hesitated. "I thought you'd rather stay here, since riding in a car doesn't agree with you. And there's not much you can do at the precinct anyway, other than haunt the PT room."

"Ah." Olberic's expression went wry. "I had thought to meet with the training-master again, and thank her for her consideration in lending me a practice blade. But I can see how it would be impractical, especially as Kikuchi will not arrive until the evening."

"Miss Kamiya won't be there today anyway," Naomasa agreed, just as wryly. "She comes on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. But I'll give your regards to mister Kikuchi when I see him, and ask the Chief for an update on getting you a permit for your sword." He still wasn't sanguine about that, but he had promised to make an effort. And just hearing him say that had obviously left Olberic heartened, because he gave Naomasa a firm, accepting nod.

"As you say, Truthseeker. I have no objections to remaining here this day. Especially since, as you have said, your carriage does not… agree with me."

"Right." Naomasa looked over at Makoto, who'd been watching their conversation with interest. "Stay out of trouble," he said, "and I'll try to be home a bit earlier today, if I can."

A cheeky salute. "Got it, Nao! Good luck with work today."

Naomasa just sighed, and smiled slightly as he opened the front door. "Thanks," he said wryly.

He'd probably need it.

A/N: I have Done the Research, and so did Makoto. Yes, she washed and cared for Olberic's clothes properly.