Flood
words: 233
Vermouth's lips curved into a slightly more tense smirk before she spoke, "Just what I'd expect from you."
Conan tensed, unsure what she meant. She didn't seem to be making any moves toward him, and yet... He still didn't trust her as far as he could kick her.
"Why don't you call your sneaky little friend out?"
What?
A haunting, mocking laugh resounded through the building.
Kid!
In a rush of swirling white fabric the capricious phantom thief dropped from the ceiling, twisting over mid air to land, perfectly poised, on the balls of his feet like some tumbler. He was facing Vermouth but, as his cape settled neatly as ever around him, Conan could see the way one hand was gripping the brim of his top hat to pull it down further over his face. His other hand was held forward, card gun trained on the woman.
A quiet flood of tumultuous emotions and thought well up inside of the shrunken detective: Guilt, gratitude, fear, relief... All of it mixed into an interesting cocktail that threatened to leave him exhausted.
"Tantei-kun?" Kid's voice didn't show any sign of tenseness or agitation. He sounded perfectly aloof, perfectly calm, so damn untouchable that Conan just wanted to force him to stay nearby until he found a way to undo those annoying masks for good.
The thought was roughly disregarded. "What?"