“Oh, someone was killed bad,” Chisato says, and Takina is inclined to agree.
She steps neatly around a pool of blood on the floor and pushes into the open restroom stall to look over Chisato’s shoulder, hyper-aware of her own breath on the back of her neck. There isn’t much of a corpse left to look at. “Poor man.”
Chisato hums her agreement. Her hand strays towards the gun at her hip, a nervous reflex of hers from some sort of mission Takina wasn’t told to go on, the kind that lingers with you. She started noticing it a few weeks ago, and she still isn’t sure if she should bother pointing it out or not.
Instead of saying you should probably stop staring at all the blood and gore or step away and I’ll do the necessary identification or what else won’t you tell me? Why are you afraid of me learning about you?, Takina props her head on Chisato’s shoulder and rattles off what she already knows. “Victim was a Japanese man in his early thirties, likely killed by someone in possession of the guns we’re tracking. He was targeted for his wealth and connections. DA think it was someone close to him. His entire household has been locked down. Police haven’t touched the crime scene.”
“Ooh, someone memorised the file,” Chisato teases, but her hand strays away from the gun anyway. “I’ll, um — you check him out, I’ll —”
Takina squares her shoulders. “Stand guard by the door. We don’t know if the killer is still around.”
Chisato blinks at her once, twice, testing her resolve and finding no cracks. “Yeah, okay,” she says, and that’s how it should be, Takina thinks; this is what partners in the field are supposed to do.
FILL: Team Anime/Manga
“Oh, someone was killed bad,” Chisato says, and Takina is inclined to agree.
She steps neatly around a pool of blood on the floor and pushes into the open restroom stall to look over Chisato’s shoulder, hyper-aware of her own breath on the back of her neck. There isn’t much of a corpse left to look at. “Poor man.”
Chisato hums her agreement. Her hand strays towards the gun at her hip, a nervous reflex of hers from some sort of mission Takina wasn’t told to go on, the kind that lingers with you. She started noticing it a few weeks ago, and she still isn’t sure if she should bother pointing it out or not.
Instead of saying you should probably stop staring at all the blood and gore or step away and I’ll do the necessary identification or what else won’t you tell me? Why are you afraid of me learning about you?, Takina props her head on Chisato’s shoulder and rattles off what she already knows. “Victim was a Japanese man in his early thirties, likely killed by someone in possession of the guns we’re tracking. He was targeted for his wealth and connections. DA think it was someone close to him. His entire household has been locked down. Police haven’t touched the crime scene.”
“Ooh, someone memorised the file,” Chisato teases, but her hand strays away from the gun anyway. “I’ll, um — you check him out, I’ll —”
Takina squares her shoulders. “Stand guard by the door. We don’t know if the killer is still around.”
Chisato blinks at her once, twice, testing her resolve and finding no cracks. “Yeah, okay,” she says, and that’s how it should be, Takina thinks; this is what partners in the field are supposed to do.