Author's note: So I decided to continue this fic, whoopee! But I got ideas to take this fic in a different direction, so bring it, yo!
Chapters from here will be in anachronistic (non-chronological) order. The chapter titles will make it pretty clear where it all fits in the timeline, though. Except for the italicized text, although the purpose of it will probably become clearer to you as you read along. Btw, I'm referring to Rhyme's partner in the chapter titles, not Neku's.
She giggles.
"Whatchu laughin' for?" he demands, even though he's not frowning at all, really.
"You're not so good at keeping secrets."
"Awww, what? No way!"
"Yes way. Hee hee. Mind telling me what's on your mind?"
"… I can't."
"Oh."
"It's not like… not like we're siblings, yo."
She smiles.
"That's okay. We're a lot like siblings, aren't we?"
Beat, Day 5
Beat was erased yesterday.
Today, Rhyme is with a man named Mr. Hanekoma.
Mr. Hanekoma doesn't seem to do much. He pushes up his sleeves and wipes dirty coffee cups that no one except he seems to drink from. To his credit, he does happen to play the same sort of music Rhyme listens to in his café (Indie Rock; Rhyme thinks 777 is amazing), and he has a fair few number of CAT designed posters hanging up in the back room.
When Rhyme first arrives at Mr. Hanekoma's café, she doesn't look at her surroundings at all. Instead, she slumps down on the nearest table, puts her hands over her face and sits still for a while, thinking.
Mr. Hanekoma doesn't say anything to her. Or maybe he does. He asks her if she can help him mop the floor. And maybe that's how she ends up with a mop in her hands, staring at the water slowly seeping out from its ends. She's not really mopping at all.
"What am I doing here?" she asks aloud.
She barely even registers Mr. Hanekoma's response at first. "You're helping with the shop," he says, as he puts down his dirty glass and picks up an equally soiled one from the sink.
Rhyme pauses, lets the words wash over her. She has always liked words, how they can be pretty, how, when they are carefully chosen, they can mean the world. Right now, she has lost her faith in words. It takes her a while to even figure out the meaning of Mr. Hanekoma's words.
"Yes," she says finally, "but why am I helping you, exactly?"
"Gives you something to do," Mr. Hanekoma replies. "Until the end of the week, that is."
Rhyme gives him a look, not a sharp look, but a look nonetheless. "Then what?"
"That's for you to decide."
Rhyme is surprised when, reaching into her pocket in a moment of pensive silence (she needs something to do), her fingers close around her player pin.
It's warm to touch because it's been stuffed into the depths of her pocket for all this time.
Even dead people must eat, and Rhyme peers with interest at her food (she's assuming Mr. H can cook since he owns a café but still).
"Bouillabaisse?" She's never eaten it before.
"Picky eater?" Mr. H says with a knowing raise of his eyebrow. He turns around to fix the cutlery on the table. When he looks back, he stares at Rhyme's plate for a while before roaring with laughter. Life has enough surprises to astound even an angel.
The bouillabaisse is gone. Rhyme has eaten enough for two.
"I run this café here," Mr. Hanekoma explains to her once they close up business for the day. "My other job is watching over the game, make sure things go smoothly."
Rhyme thinks about that. "My partner was erased by Noise," she says. "That's not technically against the rules."
"That's why he's not here," Mr. H says.
Right, Rhyme thinks glumly.
She wonders why she even asked.
Poor Beat. He'll never have his price returned to him. Or his dreams.
"Someone who's erased…" She gulps. "He can never come back, right?"
Mr. H scratches the back of his head. "I wouldn't say that exactly."
At that moment, Rhyme regains her faith in words. Only they would have the power to bind her to the spot and leave her tongue-tied and hoping… maybe…
She chooses her next words carefully, because in this tiny, chaotic world she's in, they mean everything. She's never been more conscious of the power of words.
"Is there something that I can do to bring him back?"
And Mr. H replies:
"Yes."