"…Well, it seems like we're done here. I have to sort out my gains from this lil' excursion. You're free to join if you want?" Vere looked at Othello while taking stock of the slowly disappearing magpie feathers. The clear, pearly color was reflected in his eyes that were losing their mischievous glint.
They were in the process of reassuming the somber stoicism that had pervaded them just an hour before. The hints of black underneath his eyes further enhanced the overall tired listlessness of his mysteriously alluring eyes.
Othello looked at the fading expression with slight trepidation and slight excitement. Even if Vere lost his memories, the fact that he could deliberately change his very essence itself seemed to remain.
Besides, joking around was one of his favorite things to do. It's not as if the empty theatrics would fade—she'd probably see them as soon as she said something that would trigger his sarcasm to come into play. Still, she shook her head.
'What a loss.' If things were only slightly different, maybe that fake smile would be the brightest in the world. Bereft of all falsity, a pure testament to joy…unfortunately, those just weren't the cards Vere had the fortune of being dealt.
Keeping her thoughts to herself, she smiled at the waiting detective.
"Hmm…I have things to do~! Remnants to eat~! I'm…well, I don't want you to see me while I digest it. Come back tomorrow, okay?" Othello made off towards her designated area, seemingly deciding on something. Her very image blurred as she gracefully bounded towards the unfinished storefront with elegant steps.
"Wait—where am I supposed to find you??" Vere shouted into the empty area, his cupped hands on either side of his mouth made useless as Othello was no longer there. His gaze held askance for a while; he simply lifted his arms and shrugged.
"Guess I'll head back. I still need to name that bar…." He rubbed his chin in thought as he looked for the nearest escalator. Or even a staircase; it didn't really matter in his eyes.
——
Othello smiled as she put down the sloppily colored sign. It read [Happy's], and she was in the process of putting it in front of her new restaurant.
That's right, a restaurant. She didn't have the energy to make a grocery store or anything, and she assumed that Vere would want to eat at some point.
Othello decided to make it clown-themed—a decisive show of sticking to her guns. Without the need for makeup, her face decisively shifted, white paint adorning her face as she designed her look.
She then snapped her fingers, and a blue wisp materialized, shifting and morphing into a sign that read "Work in Progress." With that, she promptly strode into the place and laid down on the ground, her limbs akimbo as she mimicked a starfish.
Her energetic demeanor shifted seamlessly into a lethargic one as her head seemed to visibly bob. Not even a minute later, she was snoring away, faint white shadows drifting out of her mouth every now and then as she entered a catatonic state that would speed up the digestion of Remnants.
——
We open back in the Old Westwood Headquarters. Morrigan sat at her desk with a shocked look that seemed to pull her eyelids up and away from each other, the SAD on her wrist fluctuating with constantly shifting numbers and deep green light.
The Signature she left in the area of the fallen skyscraper seemed to have been altered. The only seeming cause was the constantly fluctuating numbers that described the average thought power around the signature.
The original 1,258 was rapidly rising and falling down. Typically, power readings would fluctuate…but Morrigan had never seen them fluctuate at such a high rate. The only reference she had were some old files flitted on the rectangular light panel sitting above her desk.
This was a Visual Interface, a device that had single-handedly taken the world by storm. Gone was the area of home personal computers and work computers; the VI could follow you anywhere and everywhere. Moreover, it was fully interact-able and could be customized in all manner, allowing anyone and everyone to get familiar with its usage.
Hell, some madman even implemented the Visual Interfaces with Virtual Chambers. Morrigan tapped her face as she struggled to remember the name of the innovator of the times—but all she could remember was the fact that they were a Warden.
She could visualize her mentor waving her down with patience right now. "It's okay," he'd say, "but you should try to remember these things in the future." He'd finish with no trace of judgment whatsoever…yet that seemed to make it all the more mortifying.
A keyboard composed of energy formed as she got to tapping away. Morrigan sighed to herself as she did this, but it was the only thing she could do. Someone had to investigate, someone from her jurisdiction, in fact.
If she reported this further up the line, she'd have to face some horrible bureaucratic warfare. Wardens and their political battles with each other were even more cutthroat than the murders they personally handled, and Morrigan was already tired of fighting them.
She pored through the database of Wardens officially recruited to Old Westwood. A faint green light flashed in the darkness of the room as she was struggling to make her choice, a vein bulging on her forehead until she settled on nearly the last option.
>[Niigata Koizuki. Rank: IM Grade III Affiliation: Morlund Year: 1]
Koizuki was good enough for this. He was a prodigy that graduated with top honors in Morlund Eastsand Warden Academy and was one of the newest recruits on Old Westwood's roster.
His most prominent Rami was that of the Inquisitor. He was even so skilled that he already unlocked his first Sensus, which was quite influential in its own right. He was like a shining star amongst the newbies.
Not powerful enough to cause too much trouble and not weak enough to be wordlessly trounced by any idle Suspect. As she sent a message prompt to his SAD, she sighed in relief, her thoughts drifting as she leaned back in her seat.
'Is Vere okay? The shifting numbers incident couldn't be related to him, could it?! …Hahaha, how am I kidding?' She mocked her conjecture and swiveled around in her chair, silently laughing.
Or at least, she thought it was silent. But, in reality, the whole building of Old Westwood Headquarters felt the rumbling of a raspy, frightening cackle. Some of the newbies revealed looks of terror, while the experienced Wardens simply shared knowing glances.
'The Wicked Witch of Westwood found something funny? Holy shit, we might go home early…!' Gunther thought as he shifted his face mask. Then, fixing the light hanging above the slab beneath him, he could finally look away from the body he was analyzing.
Blue paint with happy signs edged the body's fingers. It also flowed and gurgled down their mouth, somehow perfectly forming words that left some of the Wardens—including Gunther—staring in awe.
[What's so funny? Can you tell me the joke…haaa? I promise I won't turn you into the paint if you do. I'll at least respect your body enough to use it as a canvas! ;0]