"So," Vere continued, flourishing a hand towards his black cloak wrested from the draconic gangly Suspects in the junkyard prairie.
"As you can see, I'm in need of some new threads. The sooner, the better, no?" He arched his eyes into closed crescents as he gave an even smile, donning his amiable demeanor once again.
Somewhere, someone felt a shiver down their spine. A chill that wanted to leak out from Vere's own body, no less. Something felt…off.
Still, he ignored it and kept up his act.
Morrigan laughed quite loudly, blushing a bit as she looked over what the normally stoic-looking man was wearing. "Hey, I think it has some type of appeal. You look like one of those comic book characters or at least the more eccentric Wardens around little ol' Westwood." She briefly experienced a couple memories as she cackled on, prompting Vere to retort amongst the noise.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm not the one wearing a catsuit for desk work. Is commissioning new clothes still on the menu, or do I need a full course meal of ear-blasting first?"
"Whew…okay, okay. Come down with me; we have people for this exact purpose." The two got up and left Morrigan's office, walking through the simplistic and relatively bland-looking walls of Old Westwood Headquarters—at least it had a somewhat eye-catching gradient.
They talked as they walked, passing by the odd Warden every now and then as they emerged through the various openings and hallways of the place.
"You have people just for ripped clothing…is it that common of an issue?" Vere made a note of some of the Wardens as he moved, taking extra care to scan over the current state of their attire. Many wore quite individual outfits—very few having a central sort of uniform.
"Yeah, it is. A lot of clothing can repair itself, though! Just only the more expressive ones do it instantly. And it's a little bit more special than just an image change…."
Vere's pupils slid downwards, catching the sly smirk burgeoning over Morrigan's face. Then, instead of asking for her satisfaction, he stayed quiet for his own.
Whatever it was, the answer wouldn't elude him for long.
They passed the central welcoming area, and Olivette didn't even look up. Instead, she hurriedly typed away with an expression that grew ever bleaker, the panel hanging before her eyes rapidly scrolling down a series of images as her brows scrunched together.
Vere saw them, just barely glancing as they passed a darkened hallway. They were several images of dead bodies, most stricken and drenched in dark blue paint and feathers. Only a few seemed torn by a powerful energy source, the edges of their scorched wounds showing slight yellow burns.
The most striking piece of this image is? The painting on the house behind them in the distance. The style itself seemed very reminiscent of that same painting he saw in the Quantum Subway Station…
They also moved through a corridor with scratched dark grey walls. Finally, a platform buzzed with a neon haze that spread from its border.
Then, a sudden feeling of weightlessness preceded a sudden drop.
The two Wardens held firm, though. Unable to be affected by what felt like a weak upending sensation to the two, one had a look of frustration and the other a look of amusement.
They shuttled down the passage, coming to a stop in 30 or so seconds. Then, with a suppressed slam, the platform stopped, steam flowing off it and dissipating as it curled along the walls.
A series of rooms extended before them, various people shuffling in and out carrying multiple things. A surprising amount of corpses were being moved, almost as if this place was more of a morgue than anything else.
"Welcome to our 'Basement.' Every Warden HQ has one, you know; we process things here as well as perform autopsies. So here's where we'll get your clothing." She unfurled her fingers and pointed towards one of the furthest rooms—it had a grungy metallic exterior apart from the overall chic and…sanitized…vibe of this place.
"Oh, fun. Are you gonna give me legendary dragon gear? What about mythic drops? I would suuuure 'hate' it if it was just bloody flesh. The horror! Pfft." Vere couldn't take himself seriously at that point, breaking his exaggerated facade to chuckle. Fixing his body position to his expressionless neutral after a fit of exaggerated theatrics, he peered down at Morrigan affably.
"Huh. You spoke like my cousin after 12 hours of playing video games or something. You should check them out when you have time—who knows. Maybe your past self was a massive game-"
"Don't say that word." Vere covered her mouth with his left hand and shook his head grimly. Something about that word in particular incited irritation enough to make a vein bulge…
A life without hearing the word gam*r was a lovely one indeed. Too bad it would be ruined. Just like now!
"Gamer. G-a-m-e-r. Video. Games." She leaned back from his palm and near whispered these words. Although she wasn't tall enough to just lean into his ear…his sense of hearing was unfortunately pristine.
A corner of his upper lip upended into a snarl, his eyes narrowing above the darkening of the scrunched beginning of his nose bridge. Even his eyebrows furrowed, and his eyelids twitched so intensely, even the faint hints of black underneath his eyes jostled about.
"I detest you right now."
"Will a present make up for iiiit~?" Morrigan waggled her eyebrows provocatively with a demure grin growing from ear to ear. Vere's expression faded into blankness but quickly morphed into one of upbeat friendliness.
It was unnaturally friendly, as it also gave off an icy feeling. His eyelids were open a little too wide, his smile a little too steady, and his eyes a little too keen—lingering in their gaze a bit more than they had to.
"Sure thing." He said, following behind her as she started moving. A man with blonde hair and a face mask walked past them, though he took his time to stare at Vere's back as his eyes revealed a look of recognition.
'Wow, there. Guess I did well if he's allowed down here all of a sudden. If only he could take my place with this shitty case, yeesh….'
Gunther walked off, wiping his smudged hand on his cardigan. He had a lot more work to do, so he couldn't pass by and say hi…
Besides, that "witch" was already eyeing him sidewise with a pointed glance. The sharpness of her glare was enough to send the message loud and clear to the smooth-talking detective.
Get to work, it said. Before I cut off your-
The last part was more of a mental transmission from Morrigan as imposed to Gunther's interpretation. He squirmed in his clothes, visibly jumping as he scurried off.
The two arrived at the door without much fanfare or event of significance. The grungiest place had a massive door, one more similar to a garage door than anything else. The chains rustled and jingled as they were hoisted upwards, and steam rolled out from underneath the widening gap.
A figure stood there, dressed in what looked a bit like a hazmat suit. It had several stickers on it, and their gas mask was even more striking than their clothing.
Various caution signs were strewn along the walls, and a mangled heap of monstrous bodies sat in the center of the room. The figure in the hazmat suit was wielding a chainsaw, sparks dancing off of the whirling blade as it struggled to hew through the flesh in front of it.
"Donovan~! How's work been for you?" Morrigan cheerily sat atop the plated chair in the corner of the room, speaking over the buzz. The figure promptly stopped their work, their body language almost apprehensive as they turned towards the woman.
A bright and lively face on certain people worked wonders for those who felt at ease with overt friendliness. But, unfortunately, this person didn't seem to be of that crowd, instead putting down the stained chainsaw and sighing as puffs of oxygen emerged from the sides of their mask.
Donovan nodded and pulled down his rough sleeve. The beads on his wrist shone into life as he mobilized his thought power, texting Morrigan instead of using his words.
>MadCrazyYO: Is there somethin' ya need, boss? I got some samples I hafta process...
Morrigan took a cursory glance at the message before speaking. "You see that man over there? Could I trouble you to make clothes for him...? You owe me a favor, anyways," She gestured with her thumb and then smoothly waved, flexing her digits as she slowly squeezed the chair handle.
>MadCrazyYO: 'Kay. Am I allowed to just make whatever? He's not one of those eccentrics that likes to wear bathrobes or smth, right?
"Uh...Vere. You have anything in mind for what you want?"
He thought on it, clasping his chin between his fingers. Then, with a brusque shrug, he shook his head, unable to decide on anything.
"As long as it ain't this, it's fine," Vere remarked, leaning against the nearest wall while gesturing up and down. "Ah, and some pants would be nice too. Just make whatever you feel would fit on me."
Donovan visibly shook, their movements becoming more erratic due to that tingly feeling they felt when they heard those words. That feeling...was eagerness. Quickly shuffling over to Vere, the light bounced off of their rubbery seaweed green hazmat suit as they bent forward.
They weren't very tall, only being around 5'4 in height. This was perfect, though, as it allowed them to quickly match their bracelet to Vere's, sending him a request.