.
.
"May I help you?"
.
What a terribly nice receptionist lady. Dolled up, made-up, puffed-up, smiling bright. Perfect hair, perfect suit, pretty little skirt and dutifully filed horns. Andy's hated Lungs ever since that nail fiasco.
.
"We're here to meet with the man himself, Mr Peak , is it? Peak's top, Mr Peak. Very classy." Andy assumed a simple tactic – tons of false moxie, a mountain of flairy and straightforward charm. He leaned his metal elbow on the desk, shot the receptionist a killer smile. "... I assume he's in?"
"Mr Peak's is in, that's correct, although I do not suppose he has any meetings on his agenda for today…" She responded rather skeptically, the boy's glamour washing off of her like rain down a softshell jacket. "... That is, unless I'm mistaken. Care to remind me as to who you might be? I may have omitted a few externalities."
"Awh, shucks, now 'at just won't do, will it?" Croissant cleared her throat and put on what Andy used to silently call her "bullshit" type of voice bending. That overly homey, incredibly sassy and saucy warble that sprung from her lungs whenever money or a con was at bay. "Say, 'aven't ya heard of Monster Siren Records, like… ever?"
"Monster Siren Records…?" She blinked behind her heavy-framed specs, giving them her undivided attention. "A... collaborator? A client? Perhaps considering the organization of the annual Sauin performance? Is that the case?"
"That's right." Andy politely nodded, finding Croissant's hand beneath the desk, out of the receptionist's line of sight, and softly hitting a mutual high five. "You see, me and my associate here were sent by the head of the label to discuss a few details concerning the opening ceremony and the like – which, I am afraid, I cannot freely babble about."
"Oh, but of course. Yes, go on right through." She smiled hastily, clambering up from her rolley chair and leading the two through the lavish corridor's underbelly. Lava lamps were the things Andy put his attention to most. "I assure you, Mr Peak doesn't usually take in visitors without a previous notice and a set date, but he's bound to make an exception for such a mutually bountiful and lucrative business partner." Her voice chirped for her. "Oh, he'll be delighted to see you, actually."
"I bet he will." Andy returned her professional affections with a gentle nod and exchanged a knowing grin with Croissant. "... Say, is Mr Peak's room monitored? Asking for privacy's sake, don't wanna dabble in NDA's."
"Oh, that – it is not." The receptionist girl lazily flicked a hand. "We know how much our customers value the provided benefits of ensuring their event organizing plans go under the competition's radars, so we don't keep any records anywhere. And the room is fully sound-proof! More than that, let me tell you, just between us, we don't even write up our income! Haha, we simply make up a sum at the end of each month and send it upstairs for consideration. I love working in Lungmen."
"Oh, we do too. Believe us, we do too…"
.
.
Ding-ding.
.
.
An elevator's metal jaw parted before the three. Andy and Croissant acknowledged the girl with a nod, and when she kept staring at them both with a silly grin, the latter let out an urging cough.
" 'As about as much assistance as we need, sweetheart. Thank ya."
"Oh! Oh, but of course." She blushed, chuckled nervously and stepped out of the elevator. "... Well, best of luck during your negotiations. Byeeee…?"
"..."
The two somewhat awkwardly waved her off, watching her figure slowly becoming slimmer and slimmer in the closing door. Once shut, they let out a bated breath.
.
"..."
.
"..."
.
"..."
.
"... She was kinda adorable though, no?" Andy finally muttered, slumped against a wall. Croissant sighed loudly in exasperation and punched in the top floor.
"Gonna murder ya someday, swear to gawd." She promised and waltzed over to stand next to the boy, rustling with the elevators starting movements, swaying with the idle music. "... But ya gotta point, she kinda was. All fidgety to high heavens, so professional too. Kinda reminded of ya."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. Ya used 'ta be like 'at, like… like, way back. Way, way back. The first week after we got home from Kazdel, oh bless yer heart, ya were like a kitten taken from a drownin' bag and put into a whole different world. Which… Which, I mean…" She hesitated for a moment, thinking the analogy deeply through. Andy raised a brow, waiting for her to finally reach the same conclusion. "... Which honestly isn't 'at far from reality, I guess. Just sorta fidgety and weird. And excited, sometimes."
"Sometimes, keyword. I was mourning a friend, okay." He murmured, arms crossed. Memories of a disappearing plane, flying high away into the clouds, they were still sometimes somewhat vibrant in his head… Still an inseparable part of the nighttime pity-puppet show.
"I mean– y-... Yeah, fair? Fair, but still?" She socked him in the arm, yelping quietly at the feel of tough metal under her knuckle. "Ow. But I mean, 'is just a comparison I was tryin' to make, yeah? No need 'ta be bringin' the dead into it all."
"Why not?"
"Why? Ruins 'a mood? There's not much of a mood here to begin with, but now ya gonna degrade it further, ya self centered kibble-brain?"
"Yeah?" Andy stared at her, deadpan. "... Weren't you the one who wanted me to start opening up more often?"
"Yeah?" Croissant stared back, equally as blank. "But it was before ya went and tried to play me like 'at with the whole Lateran biz."
"You're still hung up on that?"
"Yer already past that?"
"Yeah?"
" Yeah? " She raised a questionably disbelieving eyebrow.
"Yeah." Andy firmly stood his ground.
"Huh. Ah. 'As how it is." She dramaticized, falling against his shoulder with a hand over her fluffy fringe. "Yer hurtin' me heavy, baws. 'Ta be forgettin' already how much ya've crushed 'n mentally impaired lil' 'ol me? 'As somethin' I should kick yer ass for already. Like, right 'ere. In this elevator."
"Well. I mean, it's not like we don't have the time…" Andy annoyedly nudged the monitor that displayed the current floor number. Out of the twenty floors to be conquered, they've by far have only slain six – and the tin can piece of trash that was their lift, seemed in no hurry to pick up the pace – at all. "So go ahead. We'll test out the arm while we're at it!"
"Oh. Oh, nononono…" Croissant bristled, then slowly backed up into a corner. "I've seen where that arm's been, I don't want it anywhere near meself."
"Then what else do we do?"
"Talk? People talk, And-rew. Normal people like talkin'."
"Talking is my favorite past time activity. I talk to myself all the time."
"Not like that." She scratched her chin, thinking of a topic. "... How was 'a damn trip anyway? Ya never told me."
"You never asked?"
"Duh. I was pissed at ya, why would I ask? Actually, I still am."
"Then why're you asking?"
"Because I'm bored? Oh, Lordy, how dense are ya? Gawd, just spill it already!"
"Okay! Okay, Law…" Andy nervously rubbed his nape. The fingers, still a little unfamiliar and new, bit into his skin just a tid bit too firmly. "Ow."
"Ow? That's all ya've gotta say about Laterano?"
"No? No, it's the hand, the…"
"Andy." She said softly, and her eyebrows fell somewhat, unamused. "I'm askin' nicely. I'm curious."
"Okay. Well." The boy hummed in thought, recalling all the wild shit he's been through back home. Visiting his own grave, sleep-talking to a comatose Lemuen, traversing the depth of the city with miss police-woman by his side, running from her mostly pissed, albeit overall nicely-remembered partner, the gunning competition, the afterwards "talk", the Ricketts' visit, the severing of ties with his past self, the dead, the useless, the wild, the untamable – everything and nothing at all. There was so much material. So, so much to tell…
.
"... I met a friend. An old friend."
"An old buddy. That's all?" Croissant sounded almost disappointed. "Such a big trip, such a big city, and all you've done was meet a friend?"
"I guess." Andy smiled coyly. The ghost of Mostima's embrace still weighed warmly on his body, the feeling of her arms never forgotten and forever welded to the inside of his brain. Since then, no one's ever held him like that. Not once in his entire life, now that he thought about it. Croissant? Sure, maybe. But not quite like that. Not the same boat. "... I kinda miss her already, actually. I thought she turned into one hell of a bitch – Ow. One hell of a meanie, though."
"That bad?" She chuckled. "People change, y'know. I hope so, at least."
"Yeah. Yeah, they do." Andy deliberately hammered in, playfully nudging her ribs. "... I will, at least. I mean, I have , already. I just gotta make you see it somehow."
"Mighty honorable task. Good luck with that, 'cause it ain't gonna be easy." Croissant returned a grin, stepping on to meet the door head on. "... But maybe some other day, ah? We got 'at "Peak" personality to deal wiff' now."
"Together?" Andy stepped to her side, eagerly seeking her approving gaze. Croissant only sighed, however.
"Yer so hackneyed wiff' it, dumbass. Together, together. Together as coworkers, since yer so desperate."
"Works for now."
Before Andy could follow up with anything even dumber and embarrass himself any further, the elevator's door parted with a gentle hiss, evoking clouds of steam hailing in from both sides. In front of their curious eyes, a long corridor grew from the ground up, its walls darkened like ebony, laced with golden inlays along the top and bottoms, teeming with richly framed photographs of great events throughout Lungmen's history. Pictures taken from flying machines, pictures taken from pedestrian's view to appeal to the masses, pictures taken from the rooftops and pictures taken from the stages – the various hits and deals of PT-Event's life cycle documented behind glass. Somewhat impressed, somewhat dejected by the premise of being there for the purpose that's been given to them, Andy and Croissant wandered on through, passing all the ill-repeating lava lamps and concert photographs.
"This guy has a thing for lava lamps." Andy remarked, though neither really knew why. Croissant only shrugged and unceremoniously opened the door at the end of the hallway.
.
"Knockie-knock? Howdy, pard, ya home? Mr Peak, was it?"
.
She warbled sweetly as both her and Andy invited themselves inside. The interior, nothing short of "lavish" again, felt quite unwelcoming to the likes of the two. They were still used to the damp and dark chambers of the old library, as much as Croissant would've loved to disagree.
There were many luxuries put on display, obviously. The room was meant to "wow" on entrance, leave the brains of those who intruded toppling in wonder and awe. Statues of marble – painted black for some reason, sent them playful winks from the sides, the walls were sparkling with glitter and gold, those photographs from before returning with an intensity almost striking, and criss-crossed with various diplomas, event-ranking rewards, written bounties and overall accomplishments of the company – or, moreso, Mr Peak himself. And there was also a pair of golden golf clubs, crossed like swords, at the top of the opposite wall. Of course there would be. Andy never really understood the appeal of golfing, but so be it.
In the middle of all the richness and dark plentifulness a single desk stood on four chiseled legs, a gigantic leather chair behind. In its devouring embrace, a short man in a suit took the reins of this whole entire enterprise, apparently. Mr Peak, as he's had them call himself, shoved into an expensive suit – or so would Andy have assumed. He's seen enough suits to consider every single one "expensive" at this point. Suits generally demanded authority in his eyes, though he rarely ever bent and followed. Emperor's unknown rapper tee also demanded respect, and that one he was more than happy to abide by. Mr Peak, though? As the entrepreneur raised his sleek head of raven-black hair, his Feline ears perking, Andy found it difficult to regard him with even a meager ounce of the same respect he held for Emperor.
Still, he kept up the professional appearance. Croissant might've initiated something, but he was there to support. And eventually maybe slip the reins at some point. Who knew.
"Yes, hello? Were we scheduled for today, say? I don't remember any meetings on my agenda, say. I'd say I had a pretty clear and straightforward day, actually! Say." Mr Peak said it all quickly, far faster than either of them would have expected. Haphazardly closing a ledger of sorts, he shoved it beneath the desk and stood up to reach for their hands. "But, say, maybe it's Bellamy's mistake, that poor girl. Say, she's just a temp, don't worry about her performance, I've been thinking of giving her the boot for weeks now, anyway! Ah…"
"O-Oh. Um." Andy urgently shook his hand. "I don't think that'd be necessary, Mr Peak? I think, personally, that, uh… whatsername? Bellamy? That Bellamy did a fine job down there."
"Splenind jawb." Croissant quickly agreed, repeatedly nodding and shaking the other hand. "I think 'a poor girl deserves a raise, even."
"Ahaha!" Mr Peak nearly blew his back, curling outwards in laughter. "... No. No, she does not. Anywho, how may I help you, miss and mister? Any important matters at all, or should I perhaps, say, call for security…?"
"Oh, I don't think that'll be necessary at all, see…" Andy took a deeper breath, allowed his mind to slip an ardent mask of falsified gallantry onto his bare cheek. "See... I'm Mr. A, and this is Miss C – both from the Monster Siren Records label, sent here as, hm… as proxies, per say."
"Ah, Monster Siren, say…?" Mr Peak visibly grew skittish in excitement, fixing his ears and hair in place – dutifully slicked back. "About our record-striking deal, perhaps? About the Sauin performance, say?"
"About the Sauin performance – indeed, say ." Andy slowly nodded, parroting the strange verbal quirk. "... We've received some further instructions about the ins and outs of said event. Of the opening ceremony, especially."
"Oh, say…?"
"Say, say." Croissant casually sat on the edge of the man's desk. "... Ya see, there's been a misunderstanding within 'a label's management team, apparently? Ah, we – us, lowly proxies and organizers – we can't do much when 'a higher grown ups argue, ah?"
"Ahem. I'm anything but a "lowly" organizer, Miss C, say." Mr Peak chuckled, though the sound – ehhh, it came out a bit wrong. It hinted at a needle. A needle that's been poked into his pride. "You, however, proxies – say? You, proxies – lowly as they come. Get to it, will you? Say, I'm a man of business, I've work to do."
"Cooking the books, say? " Andy chuckled, free of burden and boyish in the sound. "Can't it be done after hours?"
"Say, that's a scandalous claim, Mr A!" Mr Peak once more erupted into laughter, though Andy caught a glimpse of his knee shifting beneath – practically shoving the ledgers deeper into the desk. "A bold one. Say, I'm going to simply call security and have you shooed out. Please tell the "higher ups" at Monster Siren Records that if they wish to discuss business, I'd like to do it face-to-face, say, person-to-person, not proxy-to-person!"
"Oh, we're persons too. Legal persons. Person-persons." Croissant sighed lazily.
"Not person enough for me, say." The man gurgled a cold chuckle, reaching for a stationary phone by his side. The two allowed him to pick it up, dial a number and cough into the receiver. "... Yes? Arnie, say, if you will, please allow me a quick favor and–..."
"Ahem." Croissant politely intruded. Thrown off, Mr Peak then watched her rip the telephone from his hand and sassily cross her legs, tweeting into the microphone. "... Arnie, sweetheart? 'S Mr Peak's new assistant talking, considering your splendid performance as of late... Say, please call it a day for t'day dearie, will ya~? Ya will? Aw, yer such a sweetie! Bless yer soul, have a wonderful one. Yeah. Yeah, kisses to you, too. Mwah, mwah."
"..."
Mr Peak froze. Astounded beyond belief, he sat still and allowed Croissant to rip the entire telephone from his desk, mangling the cord along the way. She disposed of it into the nearest trash can.
.
"... Yeah. Is that "person" enough for you, Mr Peak?" Andy calmly asked, lazily sauntering past the desk and leaning his arm atop the man's massive chair. "... Care to discuss business now?"
.
"..."
He blinked. Neither of his eyes dared glance up into Andrew's, neither of his arms or legs even allowed themselves the notion of shifting or moving. His entire body sunk into the backrest, struck with a burrowing shock – tangled tight into the proxies' grasp.
"... Y-Yes. Say, yes, Mr A." Mr Peak nervously nodded. "Ahem. Say, what business was it, again?"
The "proxies" exchanged a somewhat satisfied glance.
"Well, 'as more like it, ain't it? Hell, I bet we're gonna get along just swell the three of us, dearie 'ol Mr Peak – was it? Mr Peak, hopefully yer live up to 'at moniker of ya's!"
"That's my actual name…"
"Oh, we never doubted it even for a second, champ." Andy soothed, cooed and was the balm to calm the distressed man's heart. He patted him on the cheek, the cold and unfeeling metal of his freshly new arm pushing just a little too deep for comfort. "Now, if you will – say, business, ah?"
"Say, business…" He nodded along, dejected and with his skin burning from the arm's touch. "... What business, say? What business might you, fine entrepreneurs have?"
"See, our label's undergone a few changes in, ah… say, call it ladder arrangement." Croissant giggled sweetly, falsely and deceptively. The sound made Andy's heart flutter in a rather dangerous frequency. That sound was doing things to him, he had to note it down and develop some sort of defense strategy for another day. "The top dawgs have been dethroned, and now we, lowly proxies, reign supreme! And us, 'a fruits 'a labor and scythes 'a harvest, we wanna have our voices be heard."
"Oh, that we do." Andy agreed politely, much to the girl's approval. She nodded and lent him a sweet smile.
"So… So, a hostile takeover, say…?" Mr Peak yelped, desperately trying to connect the pieces together into some cohesive pile. "You're here to do… to do what, say, exactly?"
"We want you to reconsider this year's Sauin opening lineup, per say." Andy finally cut to the chase, his voice firm and stable – as stable as one might've expected from a very unstable person. "... And by that, I mean we want you to remove the current opener and instead give the privilege of the first performance to a different person of our choosing."
"What…? Say, say– … What?" Mr Peak tried to argue but the confusion eventually took over. "... Why? I mean, w-... Say, does that even make sense? Why even discuss it with me, not the higher ups, say?"
"Why not? Yer our organizer." Croissant rolled over the desk, her tail flailing freely behind, trailing past the man's jawline with the tip. "And our dear Mr organizer makes up the performance order for the whole show, doesn't he…?"
"M-Maybe…?" He yipped softly, pressed fully into the chair to escape her appendage. "... So, say… say, you're serious about this? You just want me to shift a few performances down the line…?"
"As I said, the performance. The opening one." Andy crossed his arms, stating his ground outright. "We want you to throw out whatever lowlife you've got loaded in the chamber and organize a performance for one "Sora", an up and coming idol. Very sweet person, surely deserves the limelight more than whoever you've planned it for already."
"Oh, seconded." Croissant happily agreed, curiously eyeing the helpless Mr Peak's next move. He stared them both down incredulously, his lips parting and closing a few times as if to form a sentence but never actually going through with it.
"But–... But–... I mean, but… say, are you… say, really say, are you aware WHO exactly the current opener is?" He mewled desperately, trying so hard to garner sympathy. "I can't just… just, say, take away their right to the first performance of the night!"
"Oh, ya can't?" She pouted, sighed, hopped off the desk. "... Well, 'as just too bad, is it?"
"Is it?" Mr Peak directed to Andrew, pleading with his eyes. "Mr A, you have to understand, this would be a… a travesty and not only for me, but for everyone involved! The entirety of Lungmen!"
"Oh, would it?" Andy returned the gaze half lidded. "As Miss C said, that's just too bad, ain't it?"
"Hehe, right." She chuckled from behind the man's chair, glancing around the twin golf clubs inlay with gold. Her hand frolicked carelessly to the handle of one and found it surprisingly warm. "... But, ah… Perhaps ya just need som' more convincing."
"Pardon…?"
.
BANG!
.
Mr Peak ducked under the table when a rapidly spinning golf club skidded through the room and embedded itself into the nearest statue - a half-naked Caprinae holding a pair of scales. Lady Justice seemed to have taken one for the team.
"S-Say, what the hell?!" He yelled from beneath, poking his trembling ears out. "Why'd you have to do that?!"
"Say, do what?" Croissant shrugged while passing him, lazily crossing the distance and retrieving her golf club. "Just doin' some slight redecorating, don't mind it."
Promptly, she swung the club out of Lady Justice's side and smashed her entire head off.
"Lookie, now she's really blind! No head, no eyes, no thoughts, no worries, aha!"
Amidst her cheery giggles, Mr Peak was left terrified and desperately clutching to his desk, searching for any form of reason in Andrew's lazy gaze.
"Hm? What?" The boy asked, eyeing his metal fingertips. "... Mr Peak, you better give the girl what she wants. Miss C's a wild one."
"But that's…! I can't!" He yelled back, throwing his arms up. Just as he managed to express his disapproval, Croissant began smashing apart the rest of Lady Justice's marble bust, whirring up clouds of plaster and rounds of giddy chortles. "... Mr A! Mr A, say, tell her to stop!"
"Oh, she won't listen to me."
"She won't…?"
"Naw."
"Why?"
"I dunno. You ask her."
"But…" He thought about it for a moment, accompanied by the sounds of metal repeatedly striking marble. "... Miss C, say, I really can't give you what you're asking of me!"
"Why's 'at?" She lazily threw behind a shoulder, toppling the remnants of the statue over and prepping herself to start working on the next one. "Gimme one good reason."
"They'll be pissed at me, say!"
"Who'll be pissed?"
"The openers!"
"And who's that, hm?"
"It's… You're from Monster Siren, correct?"
"Yep." Croissant blew a spit bubble and put the tip of her club to the head of a great-great Minoan mythology hero's head. "... Hey, I know this fella. Gonna 'ave a field day with ya, hehe…"
"Yes! Exactly, you're from Monster Sire, say, so… so you gotta know the first opener pick, right?"
"Mmmm…" They both thought for a moment, eyes meeting in a mutual and apparent lack of knowledge. Andy simply shrugged. "Not really, no. Enlighten us?"
"You don't say…? It's, um… it's Mr Nuffer? Also from Monster Siren Records…?" Mr Peak spoke deliberately, assuming a somewhat mocking tone at their lack of knowledge. It all disappeared in an instant when Croissant lobbed the next statue's head off.
For Andy, however, the name made him frown.
"It's NUFFER? As in, Isaiah Nuffer?" He asked, nearly vomiting the words out. "... Loudest man in Lungmen?"
"Yes? Yes, say, you know him?"
"Personally."
"Great! Then… then I'm sure it's all one big misunderstanding then, yes…?"
"Naw." Croissant shrugged and kept massacring the statue. "Huff… Ain't no… Huff… Misunderstandin' 'ere."
"Put him on the phone." With a deep sigh, Andy reached out towards the man. "... We'll talk to him, tell him what's what."
"Um." Mr Peak awkwardly fiddled with his thumbs, then carefully nudged towards the trash can. "... The phone, if you would. Say."
"...?"
Andy turned and saw the phone, its cables torn out and mangled, lying pitifully in the bin.
.
"Oh. Oh, right…" He sighed again, pulling out his own cell. "... Just use mine. And you call him, not me. Up, up."
"Up, up!" Croissant warbled along, kicking the bust off its pedestal with a loud clang.
.
"..."
.
And Mr Peak gulped.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
"..."
"..."
"..."
.
Ring ring…
.
"..."
"..."
"..."
.
Ring ring…
.
"..."
"... Say, maybe he's unavailable…?"
"Miss C, please smash another statue."
"On it~!"
"No, n-no, I was just… Just assuming! Don't– p… Not that one, not Andromeda…? Please…?"
.
Ring ring…– Click-clack!
.
"Hello?" A disfigured, faceless (yet slightly hurried) voice arose from the cellphone, immediately drawing the unbridled attention of the gathered three. "... Andy? Andrew? You, uh… you there?"
Out of all of them, only the address found it familiar. It's been a long, long while since he's heard it in person and a good while at that. His face curled and soured the moment Isaiah spoke, and he nudged the Feline to do the talking for him instead.
"Huh? Oh, yes, of course. Say, AHEM." Mr Peak cleared his throat. "... Mr Nuffer, say? It's Mr Peak from PK-Events, Peak's Top, calling you regarding your appearance at the annual Sauin festival opening ceremony, as the organizer of the entire event, and…"
"A- um…" Isaiah bit in, sort of awkwardly, sort of unevenly. "... Um, that's nice, but… I don't mean to be rude, but excuse me, what phone are you using currently?"
"A-..." Mr Peak glanced around the two, his face turning milky pale. Andy gave him an encouraging elbow to the ribs. "A-Ahem. A borrowed one."
"Borrowed from whom, exactly…?"
"From me, dumbass." Finally, Andy grumbled rather disgruntled. Since his cover's been blown already, might as well. "You listen to the man, he's got some important things to tell you."
"Andy! Andy, oh Law, it is you!" Isaiah immediately erupted in an urgent and lively explosion of excitement "Andy, look, I've been trying to get in touch with you for the past… the, what, six MONTHS now?"
"Four months." Andy dryly corrected. "Give or take."
"Four months! Four months, and… Look, can we talk? Am I on speaker now? And why is the head of PK-Events borrowing your phone to call me in the first place…?"
"Later." He nudged the phone back to Mr Peak. "... Look, just listen to your organizer for now. We're discussing business."
"What…?"
"A-Ahem, yes. Say, as I said, I'm calling you to discuss the… the Sauin performance, yes?"
"... Yes? The shared one?" Isaiah carefully stepped around the topic. "What about it?"
"Well, it's just that, ahm… I'm afraid there needs to be a small correction done to the order of tracks being played and artists? Uuuuuunfortunately we might need to, say, move you down a notch and pick another artist as the opener…? If, I mean, if that is alright with you, and–..."
"Yeah? Yeah, that's fine, just…" He mumbled rapidly, seemingly almost entirely uninterested in Sauin or performing at all. "... Andy? You still there?"
"..." He glanced at Croissant, and she could only shrug. "Just do it head-on" She would've probably said, or should've, but ultimately no words left her lips. "... Yeah, I'm here."
"Did you, um… put him up to this? Or is this entirely disconnected?"
"... Somewhat." Andy quietly muttered, just barely for the phone to pick up and not disregard as background noise. "... It's just for a job, though. Nothing personal."
"Oh. Oh, no, no I understand that! I get that fully, don't worry, no." Isaiah began quickly backtracking, his voice full of nervous cracks. Or maybe it was just the connection breaking. "And… And how are you? Overall?"
"How… How am I?"
.
"How am I?"
.
"..."
.
"How am I, after you had your security crew beat me senseless and called my friend a whore for show? And after I discovered you used the death of our friend and drill sergeant, the whole entire PEACEKEEPING OPERATION to paint yourself a war hero and leave them in the dirt, taint them forever as cowards? Me included? How am I, after that?"
.
"..."
.
That's what he thought, quietly, and to himself. None of those words slipped past his lips.
.
"... I'm fine. Doing fine. Thank you."
"That's, uh… that's good to hear."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"... Listen, Andy… I was wondering, I've been actually thinking about it for a longer while, but… could we meet up someday? Talk, face to face? Maybe off speakerphone…?"
"..."
"... Andy?"
"... I dunno. We'll see."
"Oh. Oh, of course! No, don't worry, just, uh… Just let me know anytime you can, okay…? Anytime that's good for you."
"Yeah. Yeah, sure."
"Okay."
"..."
"... So… I'll… I'll hear you later, then?"
"Mm."
"Okay. Okay, thanks. And, uh… and good luck with work, I guess? Or whatever else you're doing. Just… Just stay safe out there."
"Yeah, thanks."
"Yeah…"
"..."
"..."
"..."
"... I'll hang up now. Okay, Andy?"
"Mm."
"Okay. See-ya!..."
.
.
Click.
.
.
.
Quiet.
The room fell quiet.
The fowls outside, the usual bustle of the city, the windy gales and lively conversations – none of them remained. Just Andy and his phone.
Mr Peak opened his mouth to speak, but Croissant firmly put a hand on his shoulder. With a shake of her head she mouthed a little "no" and exchanged a knowing glance. Mr Peak nodded back, more confused than nervous.
.
"..."
.
"..."
.
"... Alright." Andrew spoke after an unbearably long minute. He cleared his throat and the life seemed to seep back into Terra. "That's that, then? All's done? And dusted?"
"U-Uh… Say, Mr A, not quite…" Mr Peak mumbled, fiddling with his tie and finding it uncomfortably suffocating at the thought of handling the second party involved in this supposed deal of theirs. "You see, Mr Nuffer was just one of the two performers who were contracted for the opening ceremony, and the other, um… And the other is more of a, say, a "freelance" persona. Not associated with any label, definitely not Monster Siren Records…"
"Yeah?" Andrew couldn't quite grasp what was so unnerving about a lone rockstar or whatever. "Then it should be even easier, right? You just call him and tell him you're shoving his performance down."
"B-But, you see…" His voice, shaky, hands itchy and scratching at the silk suit, ears fluttering, nerves strung like a tight washstring, Mr Peak was beginning to sweat profusely. "... U-Um, the thing is that this other performer, he might, um… he may not, say, take too kindly to such changes in t-the contract I've already discussed with h-him…? S-Say, with Mr Nuffer, he was, um… he is held back by a label, b-but this one, he is a– a–"
"...?" Both Andy and Croissant confusedly watched the man stumble over words in search of a proper explanation.
"... He's a bit of a different caliber of person than, say, you and me, o-okay…? Do you understand what I'm trying to say, Mr A?"
"A different caliber of person? What's 'at mean?" Croissant piped in, distrust spread in her gaze. Whether someone would be below or above herself, that was for her and her only to judge, and definitely not for the likes of Mr Peak.
"He's a bit… He's a bit more persuasive , say…? A bit more…" The man stammered on, tap-dancing a whole show with his fingers on the desk. "... Scary?"
"Scary?" Andy frowned. "More scary than Miss C and her golf club?"
"My golf club, you mean, say…?"
"Oh, naw, 'tis mine now." She chuckled heartily, hugging the club and making Andy feel jealous over an inanimate object. "And we're 'boutta rough up some more of yer marble pals here."
"Then… then rough up as many as you want! Say, blow them all to pieces, but I'm not handling that guy! He's a menace!" Mr Peak stood up, desperately waving his arms out and about. "He'll, say, have my head, I swear! Look, I've been contracted by the city itself and a few collaborators to organize this event, but not even, say, Mr Yenwu can control that wild card! He's just… he's just, say, loose! He's absolutely insane!"
"..."
Croissant stopped, over on her way to acquaint her golf club with the head of a marble Thanatos who wept over his crumbled, fallen comrades. Tears of stone ringed a quiet rhythm as she tapped the statue, one time, two times, three times. Mr Peak just stood and watched it happen – let it commence.
"... No? Nothin'?" She asked after a while. "Yer seriously not gonna call 'at guy?"
"No! No, I told you." With his wits buried somewhere, Mr Peak managed to stand his ground. "I've already shoved Nuffer down the line, but I'm not, say, removing this guy. Take it or leave, have your, uh… your Sora, say, perform alongside him or something. Though.. no, that won't work either…"
"Of course it won't." Andy scoffed. "The spotlight's supposed to be hers, that's why we're here. You either make it happen or else, I guess."
"Or else what?" Mr Peak perilously pleaded. "Look, do what you gotta do with the office, but I seriously can't, I just can't, alright? Say, that's just the rule…"
"Say…" Andy got to thinking, scratching his chin with the cool, soothing metal. "... Say, Miss C, what did our employer say about this arm's capabilities? An… An oil barrel, was it?"
"Huu… I suppose? I suppose I might've put in a little effort of dear 'ol meself in during the, ah… the "re-imagining" process of 'at arm 'a yers." She hummed, looming over the steel carapace. "... Y'know, from sex-toy to war-machine…"
"T-The what…?" Mr Peak mumbled incoherently, falling back into his seat. It swallowed him whole without question.
"The dontcha-worry-bout-it!" Croissant said in a giddy tone, then wrapped her pointer finger around a tiny ring sticking from the arm's upper wrist. "Say, Mr A, that oil barrel ain't a lubricant delivery machine no more, quite very different actually. Mind givin' me the open palm?"
"Oh, please. By all means." He smiled in compliance, asking nicely for the hand to open. The arm listened without the slightest hesitation, honoring the brain's request and spreading its fingers into a blooming flower of padded metal and carbon.
"Tch, tch, tch, here." Croissant trailed a finger to the very middle where a sort of "nozzle" protruded. "This here, this used to be 'a lube delivery system."
"Hm. How, uh… how disgusting." Andy politely nodded, thinking about all the warm, wet, moist and disgusting places his now-obedient fingers must've brushed past in their former life. "... And that's important, why?"
"Oh, don't be jumpin' 'a gun, Mr A, silly." She scolded playfully, then pulled on the ring – hard. A whirring noise of a string being pulled, followed by a deep, bellowing hissing began filling the room, seeping from the nozzle. "Now, please stop pointin' it at us."
"Oh?" Andy whipped the arm forth, aiming at Mr Peak curling behind his massive desk. "And what should I be expecting to shoot out the hollow end? Not lubricant, I assume?"
"Not quite." She simply stepped away, allowing the mechanism to work its magic. Mr Peak, with both his ears rapidly darting around the tip of his head, managed a peek through the shutters of his fingers – right before a whooshing, hissing mess of a deeply orange, smoke-like gas shot from the barrel at a remarkable velocity, enveloping him and his desk whole. The clouds of rusty hues spread over nearly half of the room at a record speed, engulfing the whole thing in their all encompassing and suffocating embrace. Andy felt his whole right side shaking, nozzling and guzzling out the eye–scratching gas right from the depth of his own self. It was almost like his soul was being sucked out along with the fumes.
"W-What the hell is that?" He asked, covering his face with a hand to fight off the scorching gas. "W-Why is it so… Ah, why's it feel like that? Why's it wet?"
"I… Khe, khe! I d-dunno! I dunno, it w-was supposed to b-be… khe!" Croissant buried her face into his shoulder, coughing her lungs out from the sudden exposure. "... 'Twas supposed to be just mustard gas! We asked 'at techie fella t-to fill 'at chamber with bitey-fumes!"
"Is mustard gas supposed to be so thick?!" Andy could barely even see anything, let alone hear and perceive things as they wanted to be heard and noticed. Mr Peak, drowning in the pile of gas, lost completely beneath the surface, could only be heard violently retching air from his lungs, maybe possibly also blood and eventually torn parts of his respiratory system. Andy didn't know because he couldn't even see him.
"I d-dunno…" Croissant mumbled, groping blindly around the arm to find the pulley-string. "Just… shut 'at off, please?! I think he got 'a message, shut it off!"
"How?!"
"How?! How–... I dunno! Just pull 'at damn string again!"
String…
Andy noticed the string. It retracted itself back to the resting spot mere seconds after Croissant had pulled it. Without thinking much, he bared his face for the gas to gnaw on and latched onto the ring, pulling behind nearly hard enough to dislocate his own shoulder.
.
Tsk.
.
Big mistake.
.
"...?"
.
The last thing Andy saw was a tiny, miniscule glint of a spark being ignited at the very tip of his index finger. A gentle, slightly sharp, yet overall soothing electrical current serpent-skidded down his spine, from the brain and into the arm, aimed for that extended, gas-licked finger.
.
Then, the gas caught on fire.
.
Then, the whole room followed.
.
The oxygen circulating between them all, the life giving air – it simply erupted into flames.
.
A split-second beginning of an ear-shattering explosion was the last thing he heard before everything faded into a dark and warm bleakness in an instant.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
"Hey? Heeeey-o? Woo-hoo, cowboy? Giddy up? 'Ay? Hellooooooooo…? Helloooo– O, there ya are."
A jumbled mess of sounds managed to break through the darkness. The hue on is eyelids, murky and unsurprisingly disinterested in leaving, it felt sticky and heavily binding. It really didn't want to part.
"W-... What happened?" He his lips mumbled, disconnected from the brain. The entirety of his body, it all felt like its own construct for some reason. Like his mind was simply a passenger along for a very long and winding ride that's been running for ages already. The musings about his condition and bodily status were all promptly cut short when something hit his cheek, hard. Very hard.
"OW?!"
"Hehe, there ya are!" a very soot-y, dirty and toasted Croissant gleefully patted him down, the first sight to grace his eyes after awakening. Andy found himself lying in that same office, off his legs and on the floor. A strange smell wafted about the chamber.
"Why'd you… forget it." He grumbled, lifted off the floor by the girl's familiarly strong arms. "The hell happened?"
"The hell happened?" She repeated while checking out his head, through and through. Inconspicuously, as if avoiding his eyes, she made sure his pretty little dome stayed completely intact. "... Ya tell me. Stirred up quite 'a shitstorm."
"But… but how? I mean, you told me to…"
"I told ya to get 'a gas off, that's all." She shrugged, pointed behind herself. Andy loomed over her shoulder and saw something truly sigh-worthy – the whole entire office, desecrated entirely, the dark wainscots and wallpapers caked with soot and remnants of smoldering embers. The other golden club was nowhere to be seen, a puddle of molten gold sprawled lazily across the floor near the opposite wall – and the decrees of PK-Events' grandeur were all also reduced to nothing but a few crispy scraps riddling the corners. Everything must've simply gone to shit.
"Oh, Law…" Andy rubbed his head, nearly caused himself a third degree burn at the way his metal fingers still scorched with heat. "God, all this, like that? What the hell did that techie put inside of this thing?"
"Yeah, about… about that, I might've a theory, but, uh…" Croissant chuckled nervously, crossing his way and leaning lazily on Mr Peak's (who, say, himself was nowhere to be found) desk. "Yer not gon' like it."
"I've just blown the guy's entire office to smithereens, possibly even the guy himself." Andy shot her an unamused look, nothing much else left to do. "So just say it."
"Well." She crossed her legs, leaned on forward and then backwards, possibly somehow trying to work her charms on the boy's dull and hollow eyes. Seeing no effect, she just shrugged. "Ori gas? Like, y'know, Originium in gas form?"
"Ori–... Originium? You packed this thing chock full of Originium of all things?"
"Maybe…?"
"Oh my god…" Andy covered his face, utterly befuddled by her masterful train of thought. "Why?!"
"Why? Why not! Emperor asked me for somn' big and explosive, so I jokingly – again, JOKINGLY, told 'a techie guy "aye, sweetie, ya know, pump 'at thing full 'a ori-fumes, how 'bout that?" But that was BEFORE tellin 'im to actually put in mustard gas! But obviously 'at freerider didn't catch 'em sarcastic tunes 'a my voice…"
"So you just had me walking around town with a ticking time bomb strapped to my side?! And you slammed a hammer into this thing earlier…?"
"Hey, Originium's not shock-reactive, thank ya very much! 'S flammable, and… and artsy, I guess, but it ain't gon' go off with a punch!"
"That doesn't matter! We blew a guy up!"
" YOU blew a guy up! I didn't ask ya to send his whole entire office sky-high!"
"YOU TOLD ME TO SPRAY HIM!"
"I THOUGHT IT WAS MUSTARD GAS!"
"WE JUST MURDERED A GUY OVER NOTHING! IN SECTION FIVE OF ALL PLACES!"
" YOU MURDERED A GUY!"
"YOU'RE ALSO PART OF THIS!"
"I AIN'T PART OF IT! I WASN'T PART OF LATERANO, I AIN'T PART OF THIS!"
"LATERANO AGAIN! LAW, CAN YOU DIFFERENTIATE PERSONAL BUSINESS FROM WORK? THIS ISN'T THE TIME!"
"THIS IS THE TIME! HOW DO YA THINK I FELT AFTER YA JUST… JUST LEFT ME OUT LIKE THAT?"
"I DIDN'T MEAN TO! I… OKAY, IT WAS A MISTAKE, OKAY? I'M…"
"YA JUST PLAYED ME LIKE SOM' CHEAP TOY AND SCUTTLED OFF TO SNUGGLE WITH YER PAL LEM–... LEMUEL, WAS IT? 'AS HER ACTUAL NAME?"
"THAT'S NOT…"
"ISN'T IT?!"
"IT IS! IT'S LEMUEL! IT'S LEM! AND I... I F-... IT'S NOT LIKE THAT, OKAY? SHE LIED TO ME ABOUT A LOT OF THINGS, - A LOT OF THINGS - SOME OF THEM LIFE-DEFINING, OKAY?"
"W-... What?"
"NOTHING! OKAY, I'M SORRY! I APOLOGIZE! I'M SORRY. IS THAT WHAT YOU WANTED TO HEAR? THAT I REGRET IT? THAT I WAS BLINDED BY LEM? I WAS! THAT IT WAS A COMPLETE PIECE OF SHIT (ow.) MOVE ON MY PART? I KNOW IT WAS! I KNOW I SHOULDN'T HAVE, OKAY? I'M SORRY. I'M SORRY, IT WAS A MISTAKE, I HAD THE WORST AND THE BEST FEW DAYS OF MY LIFE THERE, AND I WISH, I GENUINELY WISH FOR NOTHING MORE BUT FOR THE POSSIBILITY TO HAVE EXPERIENCED THEM WITH YOU BY MY SIDE."
"..."
"... Really. I'm really… really, really sorry, Crossie."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"..."
.
"O-... Oughh… Ouufggh… S-Say… Say, m-my head…"
.
The two of them immediately jumped at the sudden intrusion. The sound, muffled and clearly pained, was coming from beneath the charred desk Croissant was leaning on. With an urgently exchanged look, they quickly shoved the remnants of the leather chair away and kneeled down to glance under.
"... Huuuh…?"
There, a pair of somewhat familiar Feline ears, poking from a fully soot-covered slick-back welcomed their sight. Mr Peak, curling defenseless beneath his desk, all smoldering and smoking from the explosion, lay in a fetal position, darting his horrified eyes all over their confused faces.
"Y-You… S-Say! Say, Mr A, Miss C, MERCY! SAY, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, PLEASE! I'LL… FINE! FINE, FINE, FINE, SAY, FINE!" He gathered himself, bucked his legs away from the two and curled into a ball in the corner. "FINE, I'LL CALL HIM! I'LL GET IT DONE, I SWEAR! I'LL MOVE… I'LL MOVE MR NEWMAKER'S PERFORMANCE DOWN THE LINE, I'LL TALK TO HIM, I'LL, SAY, GET HIM TO UNDERSTAND – JUST PLEASE, PLEASE DON'T DO THAT AGAIN! A-AND MY POOR OFFICE! PLEASE JUST LEAVE IT BE AS IS! P-Please…?"
.
"..."
.
"..."
.
Andy and Croissant exchanged a bewildered look. Gradually, it softened into a sort of satisfied, sort of still-confused sense of mutual accomplishment.
.
"... Of course." Andy cleared his throat and spoke. "That's all we wanted Mr Peak. I'm glad we managed to reach a mutually beneficial agreement."
"Quite swell, quite, uh… quite bountiful." Croissant nodded along.
Mr Peak, heart racing out of his suit, yelped loudly as Andy shoved his metal arm up to his face.
"... Shake on it?" He asked.
.
"..."
.
And Mr Peak gulped.
.
"S-Say, shake on it. P-Pleasure doing business w-with you."
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Ding-ding. The elevators' door parted, breathing a much needed gale of fresh air into the "proxies'" lungs. Almost immediately, a bleary-eyed receptionist with her massive pair of framed glasses ran up to welcome them.
.
"Ah, The Monster Siren Records representatives! I hope everything went just… say, splendid?" She warbled almost excitedly, rubbing her hands.
.
"..."
.
"..."
.
Andy and Croissant, both covered from head to toe in dirt soot and crushed marble, exchanged a look and grinned affectionately at the girl.
"Of course it did, dearie Bellamy! Ain't ever had such magnanimous business negotiations befo' in my whoooooole career!" Croissant chirped, patting the girl's cheek on their urgent way out.
"Never have we ever assumed a person could be so cooperative and communicative in terms of deal-breaking and revenue harvesting!" Andy regarded her lovingly, bowing politely as they ran past. "... Mr Peak said something about needing a quiet moment to savor the deal, so don't bother checking up on him today, ey!? Just leave 'em be, let him taste the day!"
"Let 'em taste victory!" Croissant yelled past her shoulder, dragging the boy forcefully out the front door.
.
And the blissful receptionist Bellamy was left squealing in joy, watching the two run out onto the street and disappear behind the nearest corner.
.
.
"... See? See, everything's worked out in the end. Whatever I say, 'at goes." Croissant proudly patter her chest, stomping through the sunset-bathed streets with a deep sense of accomplishment burrowed in her lungs. "Ori or mustard gas – don't matter! I'd go as far as to say it was even BETTER this way, since 'a mustard stuff just would've made the guy more jumpy and itchy!"
"Yeah, you really hit the nail on the head with that one." Andy chuckled along, scurrying past all the suits still roaming the streets. While Croissant took them all head on, parting their silks and cashmere like a towering icebreaker, Andy preferred to scuttle around their knees and soles, unnoticed. Like a little rat – maybe, possibly scurrying around a battlefield, like Ines had once said. "... What's next on the agenda today anyway?"
"The agenda?" She promptly stopped, causing the boy to bump into her back. "... I'm not sure, actually. Is there an agenda, even?"
"Dunno?"
"Dunno either. I guess 'at means we're free…?"
"I guess that means we're… left to our own inhibitions? Our own do's and don'ts?" Andy asked with a hint of something hopeful in his tone – like a slight nudge towards a destination he wasn't brave enough to state outright. "Guess we can do our own stuff now. I think. Like, you can do your stuff, I can do my stuff. Separate and all."
"..."
Croissant stared him down, deadpan.
"... Yer wondering, right?" She asked. "Yer wondering if I accepted the apology or not."
"What?" Andy felt as if someone had suddenly stabbed him. His face filled with warmth, spreading a blanket of red all over. "I mean, I... I... I suppose? I don't really... I don't really know what to say, to be honest..."
"I do." Croissant took pity, gazing half-lidded.
.
"... Do ya wanna go out together?" She asked bluntly, hands on her hips. "Or better yet, ya wanna go on a proper date for once? NOT anywhere near the slums, NOT a night in som' dusty attic. At some nice place. A normal one. And myabe... maybe there I'll consider your apology."
.
And Andy nearly fell to his knees.
Tufts, rivers, spillings of apricot beauty, fluffy clouds of orange veiling her perfect grinning face, tinged with the hues of a bleeding sunset from behind, passed by over and over by the shapeless and faceless suits of Lungmen – none of them mattered at the moment. they were there, they were hollow and they were lifeless – dead, or as good as dead, for they never mattered in his world. His world was currently staring him down, smiling with dampened enthusiasm, hiding the giddy excitement behind her sleeve. She, with her hands on her hips, her devouring oversized jacket and shorts, the laziest of lazy tank tops – was perfect. Utterly, unquestionably perfect. The unmirrored image of an ideality in the flawed and disgusting world that was Terra, she herself made up a new order. A pretty, perfect, spotless one – one just for Andy. One in which he knew he truly belonged.
.
Slowly, his lips parted to answer.
.
"I'd… I'd love that. I'd really, really love that, actually."
.
And Croissant sparkled with life, beaming to light the evening a-bright.
.
"Yeah? No excuses, no nothing?"
.
"I can't even think of any." Andy grinned back, reaching out to take her hand. He touched her skin with his left one, greedily enough to feel her warm flesh under his lively fingertips.
.
"Then…" She began…
.
"Then…" Andy hummed along…
.
"... We should just go… right?"
.
Their eyes met. Pure, glistening joy.
.
.
Andy squeezed her hand.
.
"Yeah. Yeah, lead the way."
.
.
.
And lead, she did.
.
Croissant, gigglish and giddy as ever, began dragging him down the street, swimming past all the gray and dull bankers, the stockbrokers and suits, the corporate world sieving through her fingers…
Until a familiar voice cut through to them.
.
"Ahem."
.
Someone sharply cleared their throat. Andy, as in on command, stopped dead in his tracks.
"Huh?" Croissant turned back, confused. "What's up?"
"The sky."
Texas lazily murmured, leaning back on the hood of her magnificent, two-hundred-ninety horsepower Columbian export. With a cigarette between her lips, a pair of shades flung over her forehead and a drastic (crimson) change of wardrobe, she hogged a sizable chunk of the pavement, driving a wedge between the current of Lungmenites hurrying towards a raise.
"... Texas?" Croissant asked, confusion omnipresent in her low tone. "Uh… Hi? Ya need somethin'?"
"Mmm." She only hummed back, then lovingly kicked the passenger's door. "Just gonna pluck Andrew for tonight. Laundry day shifted schedules."
"It did…?" Andy mewled quietly, nearly curling in overbearing disappointment.
"Yup."
"I, uh… Sorry, pard, I don't mean 'ta intrude or be mean, but were ya, uh.. were ya waitin' on us here the whole time?" Croissant pointed to the parked car, her cheeks already tinged with that reddened hue of letdown and annoyance.
"No." Texas shrugged, took her sweet time in savoring the cigarette, then blew out an attempt at forming a smoke ring. "... About an hour or so. I'd overestimated your efficiency, apparently, but it's alright. I didn't mind the wait."
"Ah. Aha." Croissant pouted. There really was nothing much else she could've done, the three of them knew – each to their own benefit (or disappointment, rather) "... Then, uh… laundry day's important, I reckon?"
"Very."
"Mhm. Well." With a slight sway to her tail, she awkwardly sent Andy a wave. "... Then… Then I'll see ya 'round som' other time, I guess?"
"Yeah… Yeah, some other time." Andy mustered a weaken smile, fingers fiddling with them hem of his stringy sweater. The whole thing was beginning to fall apart from all the chemicals they used at that damn laundromat…
.
"..."
.
Texas sized them both up, gaze sharp – yet soft and unassuming.
.
"... Yup." She hummed softly, tapping the door again. "Laundry's waiting. C'mon."
"Yeah, yeah…" The boy, dejected as all hell, walked Croissant off with his gaze, watching her tumblind down the streets, sending him crestfallen looks over the shoulder every few seconds or so. With an apologetic shrug, he clambered into the car and shut the door a bit too hard.
.
CLANG!
.
"..."
.
Click.
.
The driver soon joined his side, delicately and attentively closing her door.
.
"..."
.
"..."
.
"..."
.
"..."
.
A strung-up, tense silence filled the small cabin. When Texas inserted her keys and woke up the engine, neither the violent coughs or rapid whirring of pistons could soothe and pad-put the palpable strain weighing between them.
Only when she began fiddling with the radio, and when Sora's somewhat distorted voice began cooing from the speakers did Andy finally snap.
.
"... What the HELL are you doing?" He asked accusingly, buried in his seat. "Why'd you do that for? Like, like–... just… WHY?"
"Why, what?" Texas, one hand on the steering wheel and merging into traffic, another on the cigarette out the window, seemed completely unbothered by his outburst. "Elaborate."
"Why did you do me like that out there?! Like… Things were going so unbelievably good with me and Croissant, and you just… just blew it all!" His fingers gestured a massive explosion – perhaps an explosion they've once seen W produce. "All of it! Every last bit!"
"Apologies?" Texas shot him a look. "I wasn't anticipating your grand plan of making up with her coming along today of all days in the week. It's not like it was targeted."
"It sure as hell felt targeted!"
"It wasn't." She repeated firmly, blowing a sizable cloud of smoke out the window. "... Besides, I remember you agreeing to help me with my problem ."
"Y–... Yeah?" Andy had to rack his brain for a moment, a moment too long. The diner from a few weeks back, the taste of peach cobbler scratched his mind. "Yeah, I did. What's that have to do with laundy, though?"
"What laundry?"
"Laundry. You said you needed me to do laundry today."
"..."
Texas took her eyes off the road and gave him a long, good look.
"... Andy, I said we're going to do laundry because I didn't want to outright admit we're going to be murdering Siracusan mobsters off the clock in front of an uninitiated co-worker."
And it all fell into place – clicked, like the sound of a door's lock whipping itself into order.
.
"Ooooooh…"
.
"Yeah." She took them off the busy street, skidded past the blaring klaxon of some taxi sod and sped off down the elevated highway. "Managed to score an address, don't ask how. It's a classic house-call type ordeal, and we've the element of surprise on our hands, provided you don't blow it. Got your toys in the trunk, packed up more lead than necessary, methinks. Back then, that evening – you said you wanted to "punch back" the moron who's nearly done you in at the laundromat?"
"Yeah?" Andy perked up almost immediately, completely forgetting about Croissant and the concept of a "date." If he had a tail, it'd be wagging like a metronome of a modern techno ear-worm.
"Yeah."
.
She smirked back, stepping harder on the gas. Andy felt the leather sucking him in.
.
.
.
"... Then you're gonna have a pretty good shot at it tonight."
.
.