[Nitori carefully pushes open the door, and peeks inside the office. He doesn't really need a detective - he seems to just be going around curiously, trying to find all of his friends.
Interestingly though, Nitori is not as he usually appears. Instead he is a young girl, with long, flowing hair and an old fashioned dress. Nitori peers around...it looks like an old movie, sort of. But then he...she spies Naoto, and speaks up.]
[ Naoto's leaning back in her chair, her feet propped on the desk. In the real world, she would never take such a self confident, disrespectful action. But here was different.
So when Nitori walks through that door, Naoto glances up from her current (unfruitful) newspaper search. A spotlight shines on the young girl with flowing hair and classic dress.
It's like a final ray of innocence has graced the detective before all Hell broke loose. ]
[Nitori jumps a little when the spotlight shines on her, but she eases. After a second of peering at Naoto, it dawns on Nitori that he might not recognize...which is a little fair, given the gender-swap.
But that makes it a little awkward to be there. Oops. Maybe she can run away and no one will remember. ...But no, that's not right either. She shifts a little.]
[ Bhamba enters the room with slow and deliberate steps. He has adapted to the dream more than is healthy, wearing a black cocktail dress and matching elbow length gloves. His long, curly wig is a fiery red... or would be, if the scene wasn't sepia.
Bhamba Fatale saunters closer, surveying the mess in the room through critical, half-lidded eyes. He opens his purse and with a swift motion throws a photograph onto Naoto's desk. The photograph of a long lost crocodile.
His brown eyes gaze into the far off distance as he clutches both his hands to his chest and moans: ]
[ Cue the appropriate music for inner monologuing.
I knew she was trouble the minute she walked through that door. She was dressed to kill-- almost bursting at the seams, like a crooked cop's pockets. But with her was the faint smell of mystery, of danger. I couldn't resist.
Naoto sighs, reaching for the photograph.
Crocodile. Family: Crocodylidae. A loner that gnaws at the lost innocence that once believed in truth beneath the city's sewers. A predator. ]
[ What seemed like two years and a day passed in tense silence. Linda, revealing her civil-man's bloodlust, crushed optimistic youths in a debate tournament. Naoto examined the dame with her cigarette. ]
I'll take the case. [ She speaks after a dramatic pause with apropriate music. ]
Wonderland. [ The answer's quick. If she took a moment to think about what she said, she might realize that "hey, this doesn't look like the mansion oh my gosh event." But this is a dream-- there's little thought involved. ]
Comments 34
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But today was different.
Naoto looks up from her work to see a dame in the doorway. ]
May I help you?
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[The military woman enters, her face serious and hard, betraying nothing.]
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What's there to know?
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Interestingly though, Nitori is not as he usually appears. Instead he is a young girl, with long, flowing hair and an old fashioned dress. Nitori peers around...it looks like an old movie, sort of. But then he...she spies Naoto, and speaks up.]
Um...Naoto?
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So when Nitori walks through that door, Naoto glances up from her current (unfruitful) newspaper search. A spotlight shines on the young girl with flowing hair and classic dress.
It's like a final ray of innocence has graced the detective before all Hell broke loose. ]
Yes?
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But that makes it a little awkward to be there. Oops. Maybe she can run away and no one will remember. ...But no, that's not right either. She shifts a little.]
...Do you remember me?
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Arrived where? The name "Wonderland" came to mind. The image of a Mansion with green, green fields.
Wonderland. ]
Nitori-san. Yes, I do. [ Naoto stands, actually examining the scene. She seems kinda surprised. ]
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Bhamba Fatale saunters closer, surveying the mess in the room through critical, half-lidded eyes. He opens his purse and with a swift motion throws a photograph onto Naoto's desk. The photograph of a long lost crocodile.
His brown eyes gaze into the far off distance as he clutches both his hands to his chest and moans: ]
Help me, detective.
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I knew she was trouble the minute she walked through that door. She was dressed to kill-- almost bursting at the seams, like a crooked cop's pockets. But with her was the faint smell of mystery, of danger. I couldn't resist.
Naoto sighs, reaching for the photograph.
Crocodile. Family: Crocodylidae. A loner that gnaws at the lost innocence that once believed in truth beneath the city's sewers. A predator. ]
Your name?
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Her name is Amy.
[ Bhamba lights the cigarette. ]
My name is...
[ He takes a long drag. ]
...irrelevant.
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I'll take the case. [ She speaks after a dramatic pause with apropriate music. ]
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He's really not used to this whole 'trippy dreaming' thing. How did everything turn sepia ohgod]
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May I help you?
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...What are you doing here?
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She knows this boy. And he doesn't fit with this setting. ]
...Kite? [ Mansion. Wonderland. Events. They had all been so tired. ]
Is this an event?
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[ > You wanted to say something but your [Courage] isn't high enough! ]
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I'm sorry, I think I've become lost...where is this?
[He feels this scene is somehow familiar, but the boy is a music buff and thus Film Noir is lost on him.]
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