just... listen to this. (I'm hamiltrash when I wanna be and Dear Evan Hansen is pretty cool too.)
https://youtu.be/2aQykuIaJVI
ヽ(*'∀')ﾉ┌┛
(つ▀¯▀)つ
At a knock on the door, Ran looked over her makeup one last time. No stray eyelashes, no odd smudges here or there. The eyeliner was smooth, her blush just bold enough to be noticeable, but soft enough to come across as beautiful instead of boisterous.
With a grin, Ran nodded at herself. She didn't often get the chance to dress up. Between school, taking care of Conan and her dad, and all the cases she found herself dragged into, she got out less often than she liked. Sonoko and Sera tried, but Ran cared too much about her grades and her family to go window shopping every weekend.
Her lack of a substantial budget was a factor, too. She determined long ago to never make Sonoko or any of her friends pay for her (Shinichi was an exception because he was a(n incredible) jerk). She simply couldn't pay for many of the outings that her friends wanted to do. She bore no grudge against them. It was a simple fact of life that they didn't have to worry about having enough for groceries, make sure the electricity is paid, set some aside for possible (rare) karate injuries and likely (common) case injuries, and hide money just in case To-san has a bad night and decides to go gambling.
Soon after he'd left, Hikaru texted her to say that she was not to be spared any expense, that she was going to be treated like royalty whether she wanted it or not. After fifteen minutes of deliberation, she settled on a simple 'thank you' and began getting ready.
Emerging from the bathroom, Ran double checked dinner for her dad and the note on it. 'I'll be home by midnight, but if that changes, I'll call,' she'd written. She's texted him the same thing, but knowing her father meant that she knew his phone must've died hours ago. Paper was reliable. It didn't randomly run out of battery.
She descended down the stairs to the Agency. At the front door stood Hikaru in a blazing white suit. A rich blue vest, a shirt black as night, and pale gold bowtie completed the ensemble, accented by a pair of white shoes on his feet. He heard her footsteps, looked up at her and smiled. "Ojo-sama, you look marvelous."
Ran had chosen a dark blue dress for the night, one that her mother had passed onto her. It fit like a glove, the dark blue complimented by her golden chain necklace and simple golden hairclip and earrings. She inclined her head in thanks. Meeting his eyes: "And you look an awful lot like a certain thief."
He raised his hands, half shrug, half surrender. "One can only have so many suits. Besides, Kuroha Hikaru is about ten centimeters taller and a few kilos heavier than our dear kaitou. Aside from the suit, no one will have any reason to believe that KID and myself are one and the same.
"In any case," he held out his arm to her, "ojo-sama, your carriage awaits."
"Thank you, KID-san." Mischief glittered in her eyes, humor waltzing with her words. She hooked her elbow around his, and they went outside together.
As he held the door for her, she took one look at the waiting car. her hands flew to her mouth. "Hikaru-kun—"
His grin never faltered. "Ojo-sama, I said that no expense was to be spared for our night of celebration. That would include our drive there." He took her hands from her mouth, guided her to the car door. "Now. Let's be on our way if I am not to disappoint your father in returning you home on time."
Furuya Rei warily eyed the black limousine outside the building. He knew the Mouri family didn't have near enough to rent a limousine for any reason. Mouri Ran had emerged only a few minutes after the limo's arrival, so she must have expected it. Her attire, as well as the attire of the man who she got into the limo with, suggested a formal event. Her Suzuki friend had never gotten a limo before and did not emerge from the car. The only silhouette Rei had seen was the driver's. Mouri Ran's only companion was the man in the white suit.
Thus, the question of the man's identity arose. Perhaps he was the man she'd come into Poirot Cafe with the past two mornings. A frown flitting across Rei's features, his hand slipped as he washed one of the last plates. It splashed into the water, hitting the bottom of the sink with a loud thunk.
"Amuro-san?" Azusa stopped sweeping for a moment. They had no customers and were closing up for the night. As he had no assignments, he'd insisted on washing dishes for her. It made him feel helpful.
He shook his head, tried to dispel her worry with a gentle smile. "It's nothing. I got distracted is all."
He began washing again, returning his thoughts to Mouri Ran. The man she had been with lately (he saw her leave with the man on eight separate occasions) was... odd. His interactions with Mouri Ran were a source of concern— he swung between flirting with her hopelessly and barely sparing her a glance. The shift between charming, friendly and cold, calculating was like flipping a switch, so familiar it was startling (Rei saw the change in the mirror often enough— he perfected it).
Rei knew a disguised face when he saw one, too. The man had molding clay on his face, blended near to perfection. It was close to Vermouth's standard— emphasis on close to. Rei could see the lines where the clay stopped and the man's skin began. His nose, ears, chin, and forehead were all altered. The man never touched anything without a cloth. Either he was a germaphobe with an odd master of disguise hobby, or he was someone who hid his identity closer to his chest than a magician does his secrets.
Paranoid as he was, Rei's first inclination was another one of Them. He had no justification for such a thought, however. Sending agents 'undercover' was largely Vermouth's job, and Bourbon knew all of the agents deployed on infiltration in Tokyo. From what he'd gathered, Mouri Ran was to be completely left out of the organization's dealings or face the wrath of Vermouth.
So, of course, the man couldn't be one of Them. He was far too skilled to be in the Organization and not have a code name (and if he did have a code name, Bourbon would know exactly who he was). The man could disguise well and, from what Azusa had said a few hours ago, had the intellect to determine where a missing Conan was. He'd won over Mouri Ran (granted, she trusted easily) and Rei was positive the man was (posing as) a police officer. He couldn't be one of Them. No one had been recently assigned to infiltrate the Tokyo Police, especially not in Division One.
The limousine outside pulled away. Rei suppressed a shiver as he remembered another thing about the man with Mouri Ran. Two things, actually.
The first: the man had an intensity in his eyes. When he and Rei met eyes once, Rei had to tear his gaze away from the man's. Something powerful motivated this man. There was nothing anyone could do to dissuade him. The second: a distinct bulge on his black trench coat.
Conclusion: This man had a gun. He was not afraid to use it.
ヽ(*'∀')ﾉ┌┛
The drive was an hour long, but it only felt like minutes. Hikaru pulled countless magic tricks on her, explained a few of the simpler ones. He threw in a joke or two when silence snuck into the limo. She laughed heartily at a few, groaned at most, and it was the most fun she'd had in nearly a week.
When the limo stopped, he took her hand and led her into a restaurant. Extravagant, gorgeous, glittering, it was absolutely incredible. When Ran said so, Hikaru nudged her playfully. "You deserve it, ojo-sama."
As they finished eating, Hikaru began asking her questions. How was school, what was her favorite subject, what got you into karate, how much do you want to punch Kudou-kun? She answered each question with earnest, every bit of Hikaru's attention on her (She felt energized by his eyes on her— she knew he wanted to listen to her. It was refreshing.).
School was going well. Thanks to her weekly study sessions with Shinichi, he was keeping up as well despite being gone for almost a year now. Her favorite subject was English because the language was a complicated challenge and she loved it, but her best was math because she'd needed to learn how to do it early on. (What math are you taking?) She was in Calculus, university level, but she wanted to take Trigonometry and Statistics next year. The tests at the end of the year were too expensive for her to take both unless she decided to get a job herself. That was against school rules, so she was stuck taking Calculus 2 next year.
Her dad got her into karate. A little girl got kidnapped and almost killed while he was still an officer. He sent her to a dojo as soon as he found one, but she dropped after a while. Four years ago, Ran got herself back into karate because of Satoru Maeda, the karate champion.
And as for wanting to punch Shinichi? "If he shows up and doesn't apologize, he knows exactly what I'll do to him. Faces are softer than lampposts." Ran cracked her knuckles, looked out the window at a lamppost outside. Were it not for her sly grin, she'd look like she was about to heavily incapacitate someone.
Hikaru laughed nervously. "You're quite the comedian, ojo-sama."
She beamed. "I try."
He rose from his seat, signaled to a waiter. "Well then, I'm going to get a drink. Care to join me?"
"I'm underage." She shook her head, murmured an 'arigato' to the waiter picking up their dishes.
Hikaru took Ran's arm, gently pulled her towards the bar. "They've got the best hot chocolate here. I'll get Sayaka to make it for you. Is that okay?"
The tension slid off Ran's shoulders as he wrapped his arm around them. "That'll be fine. My dad drinks so much— I've seen what alcohol does to people. As much as I'd like to enjoy myself, I don't want to get drunk."
She cringed inwardly at her lengthy explanation, but he simply nodded. "I understand." He helped her to one of the stools, sat beside her. "Sayaka! One Toresu and a hot chocolate, please."
A woman with blonde-almost-white hair raised her eyebrows, picked up a glass from beneath the counter. "Keiji-san. I was wondering when you'd come by. I suppose you want the hot cocoa with a kick?"
A good-natured smile, shake of the head. "The hot chocolate is for this lovely lady. She's a minor, so not tonight." He gestured to Ran who gave a little wave.
Sayaka smiled back. She took out a cocktail shaker and began concocting Hikaru's drink. "Pleasure to meet you, love. I'm Sayaka."
"Mouri Ran." Ran shifted so that she could better see over the counter. It was a beautiful mahogany, polished to perfection with intricate carvings on the opposite side.
Returning her attention to the drink, muttering, "two thirds, one third," Sayaka closed the shaker and began mixing it up. "Keiji-san, aren't you a little old for her? Her school probably doesn't allow dating, anyway."
He grinned (a KID grin). "She's only a few years younger. And her school allows dating— she's with someone already."
"Keiji-san, for shame." With a flair, Sayaka poured out the cocktail into a glass, slid it to Hikaru. She looked at Ran. "What's he got on you, love? I know he's police, but blackmail won't fly by me. I've got a few guys who could talk with him outside if you need it." She nodded to the back of the restaurant.
Ran shook her head, frantically waved her hands in front of her face. "No, no, no. This is nothing like that! He's a friend. If he weren't—"
"I'd have a black eye and a broken bone or two," laughed Hikaru. "Ran-san takes karate," he explained. "We're celebrating tonight. She found her missing brother after days of searching. We know he's safe thanks to her."
"That is a reason for celebration. You're one of those kid detectives, aren't you," said Sayaka admirably. "Congratulations, Mouri-chan."
Ran shook her head. "My dad is the detective, not me. Even Conan-kun is more comfortable solving crimes," she tried protesting.
Sayaka shrugged, pulled the mug under the counter. "I don't know anything about your family, but it takes some serious focus to track down people. Take credit when It's given, love." She put the mug back on the counter, now filled to the brim with a dark, sweet-smelling liquid. "Here's your cocoa. Don't worry— I didn't spike it." She winked, pushed the mug carefully towards Ran.
Ran smiled, gratefully took the cocoa. "Thank you." She took a sip and it burned her tongue. Carefully, Ran set it back down on the counter
"Anything for you, love. Now, Keiji-san, you treat this girl right or I'll make sure you get flung into the pits," Sayaka threatened with little malice.
Hikaru grinned over the edge of his drink. "Yes, ma'am."
Sayaka got three steps away before the bar burst into flames. The windows crashed in. Glass shattered, someone screamed. Ran's hands flew to cover her head as the ceiling collapsed in on them. A prayer escaped her lips before the world went black.
●-●
A black phone buzzed in the back pocket of a short, stocky woman. She answered the call without looking at the ID. "Prata. It's done." Her sunglasses reflected the fireball that arose from the other side of the street. "The flames just reached the bar. Soon it will collapse."
The man on the other end could not speak as calmly or quietly. "I'm almost in position," he shouted over the crackling of the fire, the occasional rumble as rubble shifted. "You gave the signal too early."
"I did," she conceded. "But it was necessary. The target was about to pay for his meal. Another minute and he might've been only wounded."
"That's why I'm going in," hissed the man. He ducked under a fallen support beam, navigated through abandoned (charred) meals and broken plates. "If he's still breathing, I'll fix the problem."
"And what of the other objective?" She eyed the paramedics as they pulled up. The fire truck sirens in the distance began to get louder.
"I assure you that the Objective will be achieved. No matter what he may fancy himself, Kuroha Hikaru is human. I will remind him of that," he said menacingly. "I've had enough of his games."
"We all have." The woman watched as one man ran back into the building. "Speaking of a phantom, he thinks he can save the target. Take care of it."
The man coughed, presumably from too much smoke. "You're not above me, Amburana. You're no higher than I am. Don't order me around."
A smirk on her face was devoid of warmth. "If you have a problem with it, bring it up with Cachaça. I operate off of his orders, as do you."
"You and I share a partnership, nothing more." It was almost a threat. "I found the target."
"Over and out. You know where to meet."
"Of course."
Ending the call, the woman stared at the scene for a few moments more. The flames danced through the burning building, showing to the world that they were just as lively as the humans who ambled through the streets every day, who spent hours at a desk, performing tasks that brought little money and less happiness. The flames swung danced and waltzed and did the Charleston, dancing the night away like they'd never live again.
The fire trucks showed up twenty minutes later, long after the phantom thief emerged empty-handed. The firemen put out the flames, killed them without a second thought.
The woman watching the display couldn't help but smile. How hypocritical humans are. They are allowed to ravish the landscape, but Mother Nature cannot retaliate?
She spun on her heel, disappearing into the night. The sirens reverberated off the surrounding buildings as dozens fought for their lives, stricken with weakness from the smoke and flames and explosion. No one shed a tear for the magnificent fire that had died and sputtered without so much as a sizzle, yet they bemoaned the loss of even one of their own.
Hypocritical indeed.