After she had done the deed so to speak, she had washed her hands in the simple, white, fake marble sink with the scentless sterile hand soap, cupping the cool water into her palms and lifting it to clean her face. She rubbed away the excess liquid from her eyes as she squinted toward the mirror, her mouth pressed in an annoyed frown. She briefly examined her appearance as her thoughts consumed her, her expression carefully blank, but just HARDLY reading close into her inner fear.. She was clearly not in America, let alone her home state, and at present, from the blurry, vague tidbits she could recall of first her room, and then some sort of police interrogation scene, she was far from being comfortable or ecstatic.. That coffee would be nice sooner rather than later..
She heaved a quiet sigh before she left the bathroom, the blanket knotted firmly around her like a long, dragging beach towel as she maneuvered her way back into the main room. She had hardly sat back down onto the sad excuse for a standard issue hospital mattress (and really, it was criminal to even have such low padding, more so with the ill or dying) before the door had given a soft, polite knock, a brief reprieve from the suffocating silence that allowed her to dwell within the darkened confines of her mind.
The cough hunky cough doctor appeared as the door open gently, and beside him were two men in smart grey and tan business suits. One wore an expression of extreme trepidation and caution as they entered politely, his knuckles nearly white as he clutched his leather briefcase near his hips, while the other appeared more experienced, subdued, and downright bored. The latter had on a fedora, his crisp grey suit matching it perfectly as he waved the doctor away without a care and walked up to hover a few feet from the foot of her bed. At this point, she had sat up in the bed, for a near completely ninety degree position as she faced them, her hands in her lap as her fingers entwined themselves in the blanket, unfurling slowly in the dreary silence, before repeating the process, until she was kneading the fabric between her palms as a baker would to dough.
"Hello Miss, my name is Asakura Neji.. and this is my partner Yamanote Rei.. If you're completely confident in your ability to do so, we'd like to ask you a few questions.." his time was firm, and demanding, and the girl had a pretty good idea that he wouldn't leave even is she had said "no". Nodding her head slightly, she raised her right arm toward the two guest seats. "not sure how accommodating a hospital room can be, but please don't stand on my account." The two shared a brief look, before slowly complying, Mr Asakura bringing out a cliche leather flip book and a pen while his partner fumbled with a big case, pulling out a big now with two wheels and a long cord attached to what she could guess was a microphone. "we'd like to take your statement," Asakura stated blandly, eyeing her with pure neutrality, and who could really blame him? She was a suspect for an attempted bombing.
"Asakura, sir," Natasha spoke slowly, thankful for the silence of her mind as she nodded toward the dominant investigator, "I have nothing to hide. Record of you must. I'll tell you exactly what I told the doctor." Yamanote took a few more moments to set everything up, his partner visibly growing impatient if the tightening of his jaw was anything to go by, though he did remain mostly blank. The tapes started to record with a soft thrum, and Asakura didn't miss a beat, pulling his own to his flip book with practices ease from many times use. "First, if you could give me your full name."
"Wolfe, Tsukino, Natasha," She spoke calmly, knowing in Japan that it was last names first. She was decent at the language due to high school classes, private tutors and anime, but was silently thankful they were speaking pure English with little to no accent. Thank Karma for small favors…
Asakura scribbled the name down briefly, and looked back up at her with a narrow, but apathetic gaze. "What do you remember of the bombing incident on October third?"
"What?" She deadpanned, face blanking when the two detectives shot each other a look and snapped their eyes back to her. "October..What the hell are you on?"
"Excuse me..?" Yamanote spoke for the first time, shooting her a mildly insulted, but mostly confused look. Thinking faster, however, Asakura jumped in with his own question. "Could you tell us the date, miss?" he asked pleasantly, though their seemed to be a curious tension in his tone. "July eighteenth," Natasha narrowed her eyes at them, "What do you mean by October..? I can guarantee to that I wasn't in Japan on that day last year.."
"Miss," the man tried again, lifting a hand to placate her, though it was slightly robotic, having done it a few too many times, "What is the last thing you remember?" he blushed then, her shoulders caving in when their eyes narrowed at her, though she refused to look away, even when her face flushed in embarrassment.. "That would be.. I was reading manga in bed.. and I got tired.. then.. the next thing I know, I'm in handcuffs strapped to chair in a room with a guy I didn't know and a different language around me.."
Yamanote eyes briefly flashed with pity though they'd immediately hardened after a glance to his partner. Asakura, however, looked conflicted, slowly lowering his flip book and keeping his eye contact steady with the small girl. "Miss. I need you to relax. Can you take a few deep breaths for me..?" Natasha hesitated, but did as she was told, taking two slow, deep breaths before turning her attention back to the men. "What's going on..?"
"We're going to need you to talk to the doctor, Miss," Asakura waved for Yamanote to turn off the recorder, and the other did so promptly. "From what I can gather you have amnesia. You show no signs of lying, so either you're an expert, which I can highly doubt, as you clearly still have morphine in your system, or you have a mental issue that needs to be immediately examined. I'll call in the nurse for you, but I will be receiving the results of this test later," he spoke as if he were listing off her rights, and if she thought about it, maybe he was, "For now, you aren't an immediate suspect for the bombing, due to the injuries you had sustained and the precise way you had been strapped to the bomb, there had been signs of struggle, and from evidence shown, you have absolutely no recollection of the being at all. Either you had been put into a sort of coma preceding the bombing or a psychological trauma could have blocked the memories.. Either way, you should be immediately examined, and we can decide what to do from there."
Well that was a mouthful, She idly mused, nodding her head slowly as they gathered up their equipment, not having stayed even five minutes before they were ready to find the red headed doctor she never got the name of.