A/N: O-kay. Drabble!AU again. This one will last all through February, so that should be a one- or two-day updating basis. Likewise, one day or two will have elapsed in the story each time. Clear enough?
Space-time location–umm, well. Time setting is February, and whatever year that has cell phones and laptops. Actually it could be now. The actual setting is more difficult, since they'll move around a lot. I used the USA as symbolic basis, but since I don't know much about its geography–well, any town name or county or highway will be entirely made up. Any resemblance to actual places will be coincidental etcetera.
Disclaimer–No owning on my part, no sueing on yours, all is well with the world.
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0.1
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The snow turned slowly to an icy drizzle.
The subway was crowded, and stiflingly hot; it seemed that the entire west district was gathering here, swarming ant-wise in the twining corridors, rushing on moving walkways, blocking alleyways in their wait for slow-taking elevators. So many businessmen and businesswomen dressed in the same formal, dark-clothed attire, carrying the same tight suitcase, walked at the same hurried pace, that Aoko was certain she would not have been picked out of the throng.
She disliked her clothes –high heels she could deal with well enough, but her skirt was too narrow and enclosed her stockinged legs in an uncomfortable clasp– and her suitcase she had to grip onto so hard the handle was digging in the flesh of her palm.
She wished she could take off her black jacket. Underneath she had a white blouse, and if she could untie her pale blue cravat from her neck she'd feel one hell of a lot better. Instead, she was bundled from one place to another, stumbling onto elevator steps as she directed herself from sign to sign to find her train. The horde pressed hard around her.
"Sorry," she panted as she stepped on the toes of a middle-aged woman, avoided the flailing arms of a toddler in a stroller, and fled towards her quay.
It was, if possible, more packed than the corridors had been. She selected a corner near the drink vending machine and peeled her jacket off her shoulders, sighing in relief. The air was sultry and oppressive, but at least she could breathe it freely.
Nice consolation, she thought wryly, and the train rushed into the station with a metallic whoosh just as her fingers fluttered up to the blue fabric wrapped around her neck.
It was crammed with more people, and for a minute she considered taking the following one–but it was a five minutes wait and the quay was only likely to get more crowded. She picked up her suitcase. The doors swished open.
She was shoved breathlessly aside, and ended up by the threshold, waiting for an opening in the lines of travellers. Two youngsters in black glasses passed her with a leer of appreciation, an exhausted-looking woman of about thirty, an old lady with huge grocery bags, a young man behind a newspaper. As he passed, the slow scent of cherry wine reached her.
"… ah."
The heavy MURDER IN SOUTH DISTRICT headline lowered, and blue eyes glanced at her.
It was short. The man's mouth twitched and smiled, and he gave her a curt, amicable nod before pressing away. The closing doors signal trilled, strident, and Aoko dived in, and escaped only by an inch a rather sad death by subway beheading.
The inner crowd and a crocodile handbag digging in her side ground her back against the glass doors. She was breathless. The train plunged back into the black void of a tunnel.
It had grown dark when she emerged again, and February dusk was grey and dizzy with confined rain. She bought a newspaper at the nearest store she could find and leafed through it as she walked back to the hotel.
MURDER IN SOUTH DISTRICT was on page one, and underneath, in smaller type, Serial murders continue. The twisted mind of a criminal.
The picture beside it was that of a yellow-tape-strewn room; a white-clothed heap that could only be the body of the deceased. Aoko wondered vaguely how Megure-keibu had accepted journalists in. He usually was much less tolerant.
He was probably having a hard time of it, she thought, and said good evening to the receptionist at the hotel counter. The bright elevator lights shone oddly on the newspaper picture. She folded it slowly, watching the red numbers change from one to two to three to four.
She ended up heating up instant ramen in the kitchenette and then stopping in mid-microwave calculations to grab her cell phone. On hold. She sent a message instead.
Hakuba. We're back on track.
She considered adding she'd won their bet, but much as his manners and he were gentlemanly, her superior was known for rather difficult fits of temper. She resolved upon I'll need money, and as much as you can get on the west district. Train line 5.
The answer came two hours later, while she was flipping through the TV channels. The weather. Cold and rainy. Snowfalls. Storms on their way. Lovely. Her phone buzzed in her jean pocket.
Nakamori. Glad to hear it–I was starting to think you were losing your touch. I sent out ten grand over to your account. Information will not be up until tomorrow, noon at best. I'd recommend checking cafés and bars.
Short and to the point–typical of him. Aoko grinned, switched the TV off.
Her dreams that night were blue and raw, pouring blistering water in the dead of winter.
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… and if any of you readers, except maybe katie-chan and ami-chan, understand what is going on here, I'm willing to eat my… I don't have a hat… striped cap here. –holds out cap– With salad and salt. I'd love to hear guesses, though. Cookies?
See you in two days.