[] The Morgue. Check the body. Part of you is honestly morbidly curious at the cause of death -- having the rope fused with the victim's neck; that's not something you would see every other day. On the other hand, you also need to check how that happened, and what better way than checking the body? You just hope the Coroner has not extricated the rope.
[] Of course. He's not your mother! And unless he's going to inflict excessive bodily harm on you, it's not like he could stop you.
-[] Ask him about his... swords (damn, that sounds dirty)
- 3 -
You frown in thought. "Let's go to the morgue, first. I want to see Amaya's body. See how..." you make a vague gesture with your hand. "It happened,"
Kotarou doesn't answer immediately, but the two of you are already moving down the street. The abandoned street of the Office soon gives way to the less abandoned street as people begin to become more common, until it finally forms into a crowd. Open shops, and hawkers on the side of the street. People ignore the both of you, scurrying, and skittering away from your path. Kids play on the side, chasing each other, and happily ignorant of your presence. Some linger around, staring at the both of you for a moment; curiosity, fear, and anger before they hurry away. There's an invisible, but unmistakable divide between you and the locale that's not easy to not miss.
"Remind me how he died," the man crudely asks. His green eyes are straight on the street, hands aloof at the hilts of his blades. You suspect he's the reason why people shy away from you. Well, more than usual, at the very least.
You shoot him a curious side-glance. "You don't know?"
He shrugs. "I know what everyone knows. Man got killed in a warehouse, and hanged -- but not the specific. The Chief sent me with you just to protect yourself from danger,"
You make an offended choking noise. "Really," you drawl, almost scowling. "I can protect myself, you know," you shake your cane-like staff to prove your point. Actual Magic is rare, and you've got it in spade.
"Feh," Kotarou dismisses.
You mutter several curses, vows, and oaths under your breath. "Well," you clear your throat. "I don't know much more than you do, but the Chief told me that rope used to hang him got fused with his neck,"
He hums. "Strange,"
"Yeah," you grunt. "No kidding."
The conversation sputters out soon thereafter. A relative silence over the two of you. Part of you wants to keep the silence. You don't dislike the man, but neither do you like him. Neutral is the word of the day. He's only here to 'guard' you --
much to your chagrin -- while you do your thing. The chance of meeting him, or even partnered up with him is rather low, other than in the passing. Besides, it's not like the man is going to return any of your effort anyway.
That other part of your head rears at that. So what if he's not going to reciprocate, or at at least attempt to be civil? He's not your mother. It's not like he could
force you to stop, anyway, barring the possibility of being inflicted with extreme bodily harm.
"So..." you start, and it occurs to you that you
don't know what you won't to ask. "Uh."
The man gives you a bemused side-glance. "What?"
Your eyes immediately slide to his waist, at the rough hands resting aloofly above two hilts. "Tell me about your swords," you nod at them. And
damn, that sounds better in your head.
He blinks, turning an entire head to look at you. "What? Are you hitting on me?"
"What?!" You choke, cheeks flaring. "No! But, you know," you gesture vaguely to the air. Honestly not really sure yourself. Silence descends to the both of you, more awkward than you would like. He stares at you like you're a particularly boring stain. You bristle a bit at that -- an idea flits to your mind, and you latch on it like a thirty man on a desert. "What you can do," you finally say, before you tack on, "I mean you are going to
guard me, aren't you? So wouldn't it be better for me to know what can you do with those swords?"
He lifts a single eyebrow. Then he turns his eyes back to the street. Eyes flitting through the crowd, picking out person after person. Sharp eyes lingering --
marking, you realize belatedly. "I wield swords," he answers simply.
You sigh. "You're going to be hard, aren't you?"
You see a smirk. "Naturally,"
You huff. "... so what style is it?" you try anyway.
He doesn't look away from the street, nor does he answer, but by the quirk on his brow, he's probably doing it in purpose. No. Not
probably, but
definitely doing it on purpose.
You pave on, anyway.
In for a penny, in for a pound, so the saying goes. You're curious now, and if he's going to...
protect you, then it's probably smart for you to actually know what he can do beyond the obvious.
Not that there's anything you could do even if you find out, but, well. "... Is it the Musashi-Style?" you look for his expression.
He looks like he's eaten something sour, if anything.
"Err, what other sword-styles that uses two swords? Oh, is it the Shinmei--"
He growls. You quietens. Green eyes narrow at you, and you wonder if he's going to inflict that extreme bodily harm to shut your mouth. You're unsure if he could do
that, but pride as you are in your magic, you're still an
average, and rather squishy without your barrier. There's Ki, but you've never bothered learning it. You'll leave that to the actual Martial Artists. Kotarou could probably inflict some damage into you, if he wants to.
So, in hindsight, pushing the man is not the wisest of ideas, but then again, you're never keen on being wise, and this won't be your first or last rodeo --
"Will it shut you up if I tell you?"
You lower your staff. "... Yeesss?"
He looks up at the sky for a glancing moment, before letting out a long-suffering sigh. "I'm self-taught."
You open your mouth.
He glares, letting out a low growling noise.
"Right-o," you quip, before clicking your jaws shut. You make a zipping gesture across your lips, before throwing the imaginary key over your shoulder. You give him a quick thumbs up.
- 3 -
"Here he is,"
Tsunetomi Noguchi, the thirty-something years old coroner, gestures over to the dead body on the metal, clinical table. "Amaya Higaisha. Twenty-six."
It occurs to you that you have never asked anything about Amaya's age. In your defense, you're too busy with something else, and it's not your highest priority. You expected the man to be something of a grisly figure, something like your assigned bodyguard, but... it strikes you a bit unbalance realizing that Amaya is
pretty young -- a black-haired pretty face with a set of defined muscle. Not that you have any say about it, you're
six years
younger than him, after all. But still.
Disconcerting.
Nevertheless, you force yourself to take a deep breath, tasting the
clinical, and
preserved note in the air, and quell the churning in your stomach, reminding that this is the first time you see a human corpse left in such a state. There's an old scar on his chest, stretching diagonally from one side to another -- and an addition of a fairly recent one, forming an 'X' over his chest. More disconcerting was the lack of his arms -- cut cleanly. You can even see the bones, and you grimace.
You shake your head, eyes finally sliding to the main show. A length of cheap brown rope, one that you could purchase in cheap, tied into a noose. Most curious is how the bottom side of the noose, the part where the neck would usually hang on, is fused
into the neck. There's no scar, break, or even any sign of the rope has ever touched the skin of his neck. No blood either.
Gingerly, you give the rope a light tug. Feel it stuck, and see the head lolls back to you. You grimace at the face, shuddering, feeling all sort of goosebumps and heebie-jeebies crawling all over your skin. "It's stuck, alright," you say.
"Bastard," someone behind you growls.
You cringe, looking over your shoulder to see Kotarou. For a moment, you think you've
somehow done a great big mistake, and the swordsman is going to finish the job. But that moment passes as you notice that the man isn't looking at
you, as much as he's looking at
Amaya. Or rather, Amaya's cleanly cut arms.
You lick your lips. "What is it?"
"These." he points at the stumps. "Amaya was a Martial Artist. Coroner, did the arms got cut
before, or
after the death?"
"Before," comes the curt answer.
Kotarou glowers. "I see. Murders happen all the time around here, but not like this." he says the obvious. "Whoever did this was either a
sadist, or was trying to prove a point. And see the cut over his chest? Whoever did this did it deliberately. And it's not some amateur cut -- so they're either a
good swordsman,"
"Or a
good Mage with either Ice, or Wind Affinity. Or someone rich enough to buy a Magic App for it, at least," you add bitterly. You shake your head, taking a breath. "I'm going to check the neck," you say, stepping closer the corpse, and rest your hand on the neck.
You close your eyes, and concentrate. Magic is a wonderful thing, you always think. There is something majestic, and pure about it. A deep well of calming energy. Wind shudders over your hair, and you take a deep breath. What you're doing is simple -- one of those basic non-spells you were taught at the early year of Magic Academy before you finally move to spells.
Sense Magic.
There's a difference between the dead, and the living, some distant part of you notes. Before shuddering. The living is always there, like a light. Some hidden energy in them, flowing through their veins. Those who trained it glowed brighter, those who never bothered would be dimmer. Weaker.
The dead has none of that energy. It's pitch black. An endless, choking darkness -- clotting through your noses, drowning you in into a sensation of eternity.
You ignore that part, and focuses on something else you're feeling. A trace of... something. Not Magic. Not Ki. Something close,
sure, but it's neither. It's located right within Amaya's neck, where the rope should be.
You pull back out with a deep gulp of air. "There's something in the rope inside him," you say immediately.
"What is it?"
You shake your head. "I don't know." you chew your lips, stepping away from the corpse. "But it could be a lead -- a trace of magic that I could use to track whoever person did this, or,"
"It could be a trap." Kotarou finishes. "I see."
You note that the Coroner, for the first moment you've been here, shows something different than boredom. Alarm, you think. "What kind of trap?" he asks.
You shrug. "Don't know. I mean, I suppose we're just being overly paranoid, overestimating the killer, but... it could be anything," you chuckle nervously. "So, what do you reckon we should do?"
"You decide," Kotarou immediately says.
"What?"
He grunts. "You know Magic. Seems natural you're the one to decide,"
"That seems overly simplified," you point out dryly.
"Just fucking decide," he grinds.
"And, uh, I'll be outside," Tsunemoto hurriedly adds. "Bye!"
Then he's gone. Leaving you alone with your bodyguard.
You snort. "He's doing the smart thing, you know?" you tell him wryly.
"I'm here to protect you," he shrugs. "Chief's order,"
You shake your head. "Talk about dedication," though you certainly can't blame him. Who knows what kind of things she would do if you fail your own job?
Right. "Right," you repeat out of your mind. You pull the sleeves of your hands.
[] Open the neck
-[] Let Kotarou do it. He's the cutter of the two of you.
-[] You'll do it. Nothing that a Wind spell couldn't do.
-[] Write-in
[] Don't open the neck
-[] Don't let anyone know
-[] Call the Chief
-[] Write-in
[] Write-in
