"…Did you hear? Did you hear? The Playroom has opened again." The long, dragged-out voice squelched like a boot treading upon the mud. Another insect replied, bending over the guard rails as it whispered in turn.
They seemed unable to see the black cloaked figure walking underneath the flickering lamps.
"Yeah, yeah. Isn't that old fogey dead?"
"Mhm…but he has his apprentices. Green Sugar…"
"Kekeke."
'That's interesting. I haven't heard anything that isn't a Suspect or person speaking. They don't seem hostile. I wonder if they can see me?' Vere deliberated on whether or not to speak to them.
As he turned on his heels, they slithered down the acacia trees. '…Probably for the best,' He thought.
His feet beat against the paving as he moved further down the highway, stopping abruptly. The tops of buildings lurked beneath his feet, and he simply shrugged and hopped down.
He felt as if he was at a much higher altitude. At least the rooftops were bunched together—only separated by a couple foot long crevices at best. With barely a sound, he hopped across them.
The buildings he left seemed a lot further away as the gaps between them widened. Looking down from the rooftop's edge, he noticed that some of them appeared to be twisted and curled.
Many Suspects in office paraphernalia mulled about the streets. Clusters of them grouped up as they occasionally fought—thought power fluctuating about the group as it happened.
'Hmm. I haven't seen this happen before. Most of these Suspects look somewhat similar to others like them, allowing me to designate them as a race. Even so, I haven't seen the different groups attack each other yet. Or fight amongst themselves. Is there something precious there?'
There was quite a high amount of thought power coming from that area. As if it was being constantly generated…something that only occurred if there was a cognitive force.
Whatever it was, our detective only had a passing interest in it. Greed without cause would only lead to ruination…at least he thought something along these lines. He was simply curious about the inner workings of the B-Side, especially since he had time to explore.
Many things garnered his attention, but none particularly allured him. However, he was a bit interested in using Artillerize to make more armaments…most notably firearms.
Still, too many options weren't always a good thing. Vere at least wanted to have a couple of specialized forms of attack, though he was beginning to feel that wouldn't work. Maybe he could set up different types of approaches depending on the situation? He didn't want to be overwhelmed with too many ways to deal with something, after all.
He alighted the scene, taking off as the lavender light brightened. It felt more like a day now.
Soon, there were no more rooftops to move to. His eyes swept over the area, the ceiling seemingly empty. There was a fluctuation, however—a surface rippling like water.
Perching over the most irregular patch of ceiling, he prodded at it. He felt a strong [Hunch] that something was there.
His hand was outlined in flowing purple strands of thought power. His hand punctured right through the wrinkling plane—revealing a depression.
In this depression was a door with a starry handle and a set of stairs. The door was quite…familiar.
An image reappeared in his head. It was one of the doors inlaid in the ceiling of Ragtime Paradise!
'Hm. Certainty, a waste of time, or an intriguing prospect with uncertain time. Well…'
Vere clenched the handle and turned it. Yep.
He felt as if the world folded over as he moved through the opening, and his sense of gravity shifted entirely.
Hanging from the doorknob, he clutched—he righted himself in the air. Beneath him was the floor of Ragtime Paradise.
Which he promptly plopped down onto. The door quickly shut behind him, and the breeze coming through it abruptly stilled.
Vere pulled a table, lifting it and stacking it upon another. Then, turning the doorknob again, his gravity tilted as he walked out from it, appearing on that same roof again.
'That confirms that.' He promptly entered his bar again, patting the dust off his clothing. A welcoming feeling arose from his surroundings as if the whole place accommodated its owner after a long time.
'Ahah. Is this place even sentient? I'll learn it eventually—it would be interesting if so.' He sauntered down the room and hopped over the counter.
Admiring the new sticky notes plastered atop the conspiracy board on the wall, he mixed himself a drink.
——
Othello wiped her hands clean, blue mist encasing her palms before being absorbed into her flesh. A speck of paint slid down her face, streaming past her tongue.
It was drawn out of the lip, sticking to the upper corner. She gave herself a mental thumbs up as she wiped it away, psyching herself in order to still her rapidly beating heart.
She finally left her place—Happy's, she called it—and took an elevator to the second floor. She pouted while looking at the unfinished storefronts, but she didn't have the energy to mess about with them for the time being.
In the furthest corner of the second floor, that sparking neon sign subtly glowed—distinct from the usual light of Shattered Skyscraper Mall. Her eyes shone with an azure hue as she peaked at the glass, piercing through the one-way pane.
'He's in! Okay, okay…calm down…keep your composure. Alright. Just as I've practiced….' She pushed upon the door with a swelling chest, her blushing blue cheeks eliciting Vere's amusement.
"Well, hello there, Miss Othello. Is there anything you might like today?" His eyes formed crescent moons curtained by the union of his eyelashes, his face blooming into an even smile. Even the hints of black underneath his eyes seemed just a bit lighter.
"Mm…yeah, actually. Um, what happened to your clothes, though?" She took a seat upon a ripped barstool and scooted close to the counter, leaning forward as she placed her elbows on the desk.
"Hm? Ah, it's nothing much. Just some issues during the case I just took. I'd like to ask if you know someone who could make me replacements if that's not too burdening." Vere finished as he pulled the cloth of the cloak, his gloved hands playfully tugging at it as he opened his eyes.
A faint hint of dissatisfaction seeped into his body language—his fingers becoming rigid and threatening to tear at the cloak. This lasted for but a second, however.
"Hehe…if I knew someone that could help, I would love to tell you. The cloak isn't bad, though! Reminds me of back home~" She smiled even broader and prodded at the texture of it. Then, satisfied, she quickly withdrew her finger and tried to still her hands.
She did NOT want to allow herself to panic and start forming hand ballerinas. That would weaken her confidence, which she really needed right now. Significantly.
Vere didn't make any comments about it, simply shrugging his shoulders. Instead, he replied to something else she had said.
"Great. Forgive me if I don't really see a comparison with them as a compliment. Most people consider them the epitome of evil, you know." He jested as he arched a brow, leaning on the counter. The two exchanged a sidelong glance as Othello puffed her cheeks, her transparent horn pointing towards the door.
"You know I didn't mean it like that. It's just nice to see something familiar every now and then. Anyways, I have something to show you. Are you busy?" She barely mumbled out the last words, but it didn't matter.
Vere could easily hear her, even over the jazzy tone emitting from the worn record player.
He left from the bartender's side the proper way for once, opening the door and gesturing for Othello to depart.
"Let's go, then." He said, halfway out of the door as he let the structure lean against a gloved palm. He looked over his shoulder at her, snapping once when she seemed to be in a daze.
"Well?" His deep voice reverberated in the demoness's ears.
"R-right! Let's goooooo!" She abruptly got up and ran out of the door as fast as her feet could carry her.