Dizzy's Bunny Hell

R&R Detective Agency.

One of the finest agencies of its kind in town.

The newspapers said that its owner, Crow Redress, was onvacation somewhere abroad.

That their partner, Felix Richards, had disappeared.

There were rumors that he was... somewhere in town.

Lotuspass was a large town, though.

Could've been a trick of the eyes.

All that was certain.

Was that R&R Detective Agency was dormant.

And nobody knew why.

- - -

373 Days Until Present Day.

Lotuspass, R&R Detective Agency.

"I believe that I've figured something out," Crow said, pouring themself a glass of white wine. "He said the kidnapping took place in the next town over." They were sitting at their desk, perusing the documents they had written up about the case by the candlelight. Felix had long since given up asking why they preferred candles to desk lights, though he still didn't want to accept 'It's aesthetically pleasing' as an answer.

The case presented to the agency was rather simple. One of their old clients from back when they were a defense attorney had come in a few days ago to request help finding his kidnapped daughter. The case was hard to crack, but putting the pieces together wasn't too bad once they gathered them all. The daughter was allegedly attempting to make some sort of illegal potion -- That was more than enough information if you knew where to look.

"Right, yeah, and we've checked those towns," Felix responded, laying on the couch near the entryway. He was absently playing with a paddle ball, unable to think of anything else to do.

"And yet, we haven't checked anywhere where Felicia would logically be," Crow replied. "We've neglected to figure out that she could be hiding in plain sight. I say we go over to Sandy Plains again tomorrow; I have a good idea, and I'm fairly sure I'm right about this one."

The monotony of the paddle ball stopped, and Felix got up to stare Crow in the eye. "Sandy Plains? Really?"

"Felicia should be twenty-three now. Where else would she go? I'm aware that the place is filled with gangs and rebels and crime, not to mention the mages that would likely abuse her for not sharing their gift, but given her troubles at home..." Crow sighed. "I see nowhere else that she would be."

Felix let out a drawn out groan. "When I get killed, you'd better give me the greatest funeral you can!" Crow chuckled at this, put down their documents, and leaned back in their chair.

"I'd be the only guest. Not much of a point in making it a big event, Richards."

"Fine! Be that way! You'll be sorry!" Felix shouted, jumping out of the couch and gathering his things. "I'll see you tomorrow, if I don't preemptively die just thinking of going in that town."

"Likewise," Crow responded, drinking the last of their wine.

372 Days Until Present Day.

"Fuck," Felix muttered under his breath, laying his boss to rest on the nearest couch. "Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck." His hands were stained with blood, though his tears seemed to be doing a good job washing them away. His breathing was irregular, and he scanned the room for something, anything, to help. Crow couldn't be dead! They were a living legend! They were notorious for their detective work, and goddamn it, it couldn't end now!

Felix got up shakily, and tried to slow his breath. Okay. So his boss was dead. Most of the books in the office were filled with either legalese or documentation only useful to detectives. Try as he might, Felix could only think of one thing that would be helpful to him here.

Crouching under Crow's desk, he felt around for the small door he knew would be there. The light emanating from the cooler he had opened helped him try to find what he was looking for. Pinot Noir, Sauvignon Blanc, Cabernet Sauvignon... Champagne? This wasn't necessarily a celebration.

Aha.

Straight vodka.

He drank as much as he could, then threw himself to the ground and sobbed.

371 Days Until Present Day.

Drinking as much vodka as possible was not one of Felix's better ideas. His head felt as though it were splitting apart, and the office... Dear god, what had become of the office? Papers were strewn about the floor, Crow's body looked like it had been tampered with in an attempt to bring it back to life, the blinds were open, and oh gods, the light was blinding! Felix slowly got up from the space on the floor where he collapsed and immediately gripped the nearest wall to steady himself.

Maybe he'd die too, and everything would be okay again.

Felix shook his head, then gripped it as the aching started again. His boss... What did they say yesterday?

"If... If you don't bring me back... I swear to the gods that I'll fire you behind the grave."

Then the murderers had gone back to finish the job, and he couldn't quite remember the rest. He was mostly preoccupied with not dying, after all.

Closing the blinds, Felix slowly walked back to Crow and knelt next to the couch, trying to steady his breath. Bringing someone back from the dead was illegal, but possible. It was easier for those with the inherent gift of magic, though that wasn't saying much. If one was caught performing necromancy, they would be given a fate worse than death. It was unclear what exactly that entailed, but Felix shuddered despite himself at the imagery. It wasn't a secret that the mages in power preferred to keep it that way, and did unspeakable things to those who went against their wishes. Someone like him performing necromancy, an already illegal process, would surely spell disaster!

His head was aching far too much for him to be able to think of a plan, much less carry it out. He had another day before the body would start to decompose, right? It was in pretty rough condition already, but...

Fuck.

Felix collapsed to the ground, held his head in his hands, and hoped, in vain, that he would wake up from this nightmare.

370 Days Until Present Day.

It was difficult to obtain the required potions for the preservation process. People would ask questions, and it wasn't as though he could stop by the local pharmacy for what he needed. He'd practically spent the whole day trying to even find ingredients, but he was finally given what he needed after some shady deal with a mage. Offering your first born child wasn't much of a threat to an infertile man, and Felix was pretty convinced that he couldn't have gotten a better deal.

He gently opened the door to the detective agency, thanking any gods that might exist that the smell of death had yet to seep into the office. He gently picked up Crow's body and carried it over to an air mattress he bought last night -- He figured he needed one, and he could think somewhat more rationally after the hangover stopped.

Crow's body... Good gods. The dried blood contrasted with their pale skin and their face was nigh unrecognizable. Their hair was a mess, with blood and dirt coating the entire length. Felix had always admired Crow's hair -- He himself was a redhead, and it wasn't too often that he found himself jealous of brunets. He supposed that it was the fact that Crow let their hair grow down to their back, something that they were rather proud of.

Not that anyone would be able to see that now.

Felix gently took off Crow's socks and shoes, and murmured a quick plea for forgiveness as he undressed them completely. "Good thing I'm over the hangover, huh?" he asked, though he knew there would be no answer. "Wouldn't want to vomit and make this shit worse."

He walked away from Crow's body for a moment, and returned with the preservation potion. "I can't really... Make out where your mouth is, or see if you can still open it," he said, letting out a false chuckle, "but the mage said that just pouring it on you will do the trick. I'll clean you up afterwards, okay?"

The potion gently spilled over Crow's chest, and the magic began to work. Crow's body was enveloped in a white light for a moment, which disappeared almost instantaneously. Felix let out a breath he was holding in, and went over to get the bag of first-aid supplies he got at the pharmacy.

"I know it's a little bit too late for first-aid," he said, his voice grim. He poured some rubbing alcohol on a cotton ball, and started cleaning up the dried blood. "Once we get all of this cleaned up, I'll work on getting you back. And don't worry too much -- I picked up dry shampoo and a shitload of detangling spray for the absolute mess those assholes made of your hair."

As expected, Crow didn't respond.

Felix blinked the tears away from his eyes, and concentrated his entire being on helping his boss.

338 Days Until Present Day.

Felix took a sip from his coffee. It helped keep him awake, which was rather important in these times. He began to keep a journal in order to collect his thoughts, which helped him keep his sanity when he knew he couldn't talk about this to others. It was hard enough to refrain from mentioning this to any of his friends, or really anyone he knew at all, and the journal was his only true outlet.

He put the pen down, and read over his first entry.

Log #1.

It has now been a month since the death of Crow Redress.

People have been calling to try to make appointments. For a while, I just said that Crow was sick, but I eventually decided to say that they're on vacation. A... Long vacation. I don't think that this will hold up much in the long term, but people are buying it for now.

I've cleaned up their body as best as I could. Brushing their hair took damn near a week, but I'm sure they'll be grateful when they wake up. Not sure they'll appreciate being nude, though there's not much I can really do about it now.

Creating a potion to bring back the dead seems nearly impossible. The illegality of it all really makes it hard to find any resources. The hell am I supposed to ask the librarians? The bookkeepers? To take me to the section where they keep all the illegal books? Goes without saying that asking mages would be pretty damn useless as well.

All I've gotten so far are rumors about which ingredients could potentially be used. I'll try to seek these out, and continue trying to find any sort of proper resource as I do so.

Felix decided that this was a perfectly good entry, finished up his coffee, and put the journal in his bag. He looked over the ingredients he had listed, and chuckled. "They think that finding this shit is hard?" he asked, looking to Crow. "Look, you'll be back within the week at this point!"

185 Days Until Present Day.

The smell of animal carcasses was rather disgusting, but Felix figured that he'd finally gotten used to it. He had amassed a small collection of potion recipes meant to bring back the dead, and they were all supposed to work on animals as well. So why wasn't this working?!

Felix slammed his head on Crow's desk after yet another resurrection potion failed. The animal's body dissolved, which was basically the opposite of what Felix wanted it to do. His eyes started fluttering, and he shook himself awake.

It had been, what, a week? He couldn't go to sleep now! He reached inside the desk drawer to get out a bottle of pills, and downed five of them with one of the energy drinks he always had lying around these days.

Once he felt wide awake again, Felix pulled out his journal to write out that month's entry.

Log #6

I've been looking fucking EVERYWHERE for these goddamn potion recipes, and none of them fucking work. I can't keep collecting dead animals to pour potions on them, only to watch them fucking blow up or some shit!

Worst part is my constant need to sleep. Good gods. I've taken to getting two hours worth of sleep every two weeks. Found some places to get some really good shit to help stay up. Say what you will about mages, -- and trust me, I have -- but when those guys start injecting magic into drugs?? Why don't they allow us normals to take this shit?? I had to fucking lie and bullshit my way into this just to offer to buy!

I could write for hours. Hell, I want to write for hours.

But I need to continue focusing.

I can't stand much more of this.

120 Days Until Present Day.

The front windows and door were completely boarded up. Felix had taken to using a back window to get in and out of the office, though he made sure to only exit and enter at night. He'd gone weeks without even returning, in part to find ingredients, and in part because he knew for a damn fact that they were watching.

He didn't know who they were. The government? The people who noticed he hadn't gone back to his apartment in months? The dead animals that he could hear the voices of when he went to pick them up? He'd taken to using the magic infused hallucinogens as a last ditch effort to stay up and to cope with all of the stress, and the oft-forgotten logical side of him acknowledged the possibility that the paranoia was somewhat influenced by the drugs.

Then the voices told him that wasn't the case, and he had no choice but to believe them.

It was just after midnight when Felix dared to enter the office again, with him a bag of illegal items he risked his life getting. Unicorn hair, bat wings, some part of an enchanted gemstone...

"You should really get some sleep," Crow said. Felix looked up at them, and backed into the wall, breathing heavily.

"I thought you were dead!" he exclaimed. Crow raised an eyebrow and adjusted their suit. Were they wearing that before?

"Don't think I'm dead," Crow replied, opening the shades to let the sunlight in. Would you go and get some tea going? I believe that we have a client coming in today, and I'd hate to be half asleep while hearing them out."

"What, you scared that they'll bore you to death?" Felix responded, turning to the stove and heating up some water.

"Obviously. The press would have a field day if they heard that I died." Crow turned on the television, which seemed to be playing some sort of horror movie. Felix could have sworn that the characters screaming sounded exactly like Crow.

After a few minutes, Felix sat next to Crow, two mugs of coffee in hand.

"Cappuccino? You shouldn't have," Crow said, taking a sip from the mug. "Clients are supposed to be here in ten minutes. How about I look through this book you've been reading when you're supposed to be looking over information?"

"My book?" Felix asked, turning off the radio. The sound of sand was starting to infuriate him.

Crow pulled out Felix's journal in response, smirking. "Don't think I haven't noticed your obsession with writing this thing. Thought it was a diary, but I figured that's not your jam."

"That's insane..." Felix muttered. "I think I'd remember if I was writing a book."

"Mind if I read a few chapters?" Crow asked, clearly intending to read either way.

"Log #2.

Enchanted items do a damn good job at disguising my lack of ability to do magic. Look, I take Adderall already, but I'm starting to run out. Can't really go to a psychiatrist for a while. Showing up in public is risky.

I've heard that they make magically enhanced stimulants. Of course, it's some big underground thing run by the snottiest mages I've ever had the displeasure of meeting. Also picked up some hallucinogenics, since I've heard they're useful for this whole necromancy shit. One of many supposed ingredients.

Getting involved in the mage black market does have other advantages.

I think I'm closer to getting an actual recipe."

Crow cocked their head and gazed at the paper quizzically. "Odd pacing, but the characterization is spot on. You're doing much better than I expected, Richards."

"Pacing?!" Felix said, standing up and pointing accusingly at Crow. "Look, if you want bad pacing, take one look at your diary. I've read that shit cover to cover, and lemme tell ya, it's not getting published any time soon."

This remark was met with the loudest laughter he'd ever seen. Felix looked past the cue cards and noticed the audience for the first time, and covered his mouth in shock. "Why are they all animals?" he whispered.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Crow asked, flipping some pages in the journal. "Get back over here. This chapter seems promising." They cleared their throat, and began to narrate.

"Log #7.

They're watching me.

I can hear them. They all know. Every last one.

I can't go outside. I can't let anyone know anything. The mages I go to... They probably know. They definitely know. They know. They know. They know.

People keep knocking. They know that Crow's in here. They know that I'm bringing them back to life. They're watching me. I can't go to sleep. I need to make sure that nobody comes in here to watch me and arrest me and put me to death.

I know that they know."

Crow laughed alongside the audience. Blood started streaming out of their eyes, and they wiped it away with a bruised hand. "You're actually a pretty funny writer, Felix! I'm afraid I'll die of laughter if I read the last chapter. You wanna give it a try?"

"Sure," Felix said, his voice shaking as he picked up the book. "Log... Log #8. Help. I'm being watched, I'm being stalked, and everyone knows. I can feel their eyes looking at me whenever I do anything. I can hear their screams. Help. Help. Help."

Felix pulled the book closer to his eyes. "The rest of this is just covered in blood and ink stains. Am I supposed to make sense of this?"

No response.

"Crow?" Felix asked, nervously chuckling. "Come on, work with me here, yeah?" He walked up to the couch, and was greeted with their bloodied and destroyed body.

"What...?" he breathed. The animals started laughing. Felix's heart was pounding, he looked around the office, and screamed at what he saw. Dead animals surrounding him, all laughing and laughing and laughing because they knew! They knew what he was doing! They knew, they knew, they knew!

Felix jumped out of the office through the window and ran, not looking back once.

The Present Day.

Felix gently carried the dead jackrabbit in through the window. "Okay..." he murmured. "I have a good feeling about this one." He placed the corpse on Crow's desk, which he had cleared the previous day. The blood and ink stains seeped into the wood, but it was clean enough. He caressed the jackalope's fur -- It was a baby, and its brown fur was a thing of beauty. Felix had found it near the roadside, and he figured there was something wrong with him when he cared more that it was in perfect condition than the fact that someone had run over such a beautiful creature.

Five months had passed since the worst drug trip of his life. He used the hallucinogens to cope and stay up, though passing out for a week a few thousand miles away from the detective agency was not the best experience. He was still staying up for days on end, he still took the drugs when he felt they were necessary, but he'd rather not experience that again.

"Stop stalling and try the damn potion, Richards." Crow's voice was the most common auditory hallucination, though it was rare that he'd perceive them as being fully alive again. Felix shook his head to try to make the voice stop, but only succeeded in hearing their laugh ring through the office.

"Fine then," he muttered. He grabbed the elixir that he'd been brewing for the past month, and took a deep breath. "Here goes nothing."

He poured as little as possible from the glass onto the jackalope. For a while, nothing happened. Just as Felix began muttering obscenities under his breath for the umpteenth time this past year, the jackalope's tail twitched!

Felix's eyes widened, and he stared at the animal. Its fur turned white as snow, and before Felix could register what was happening, it leapt over to Crow, sniffing them wildly.

"Holy shit," said Felix, and his voice turned to laughter. "Holy shit, it's actually working!" He grabbed the elixir bottle and practically ran towards Crow, trying his best not to spill any while laughing himself to tears. He took a few breaths to steady himself, and the jackalope sat patiently, as though it knew this was a delicate moment.

The elixir was slowly poured onto Crow's chest, and their hair slowly turned from brown to white. Their eyes shot open, and Felix felt a twinge of guilt -- Their eyes were almost beyond repair after the murder, and it was difficult to make them look presentable. Their eyes had gone from a deep blue to bloodshot, and Felix's breath quickened at seeing the pupils actually move.

Crow tried to speak. You... You did it?!

Nothing came out.

The murder had left their face misshapen, and while Felix did his best, the interiors of Crow's throat were beyond repair. That was to say nothing of their mouth, which was permanently closed shut. Crow grabbed their throat and tried to touch their lips, but succeeded only in panicking. They grabbed part of their hair, and their eyes started quivering. Why was it white?

They walked over to their desk, and picked up Felix's journal and pen. After writing something down, they walked back over to Felix, gesturing for him to look at what they just wrote.

"Felix. What the fuck did you do?!"

"Ah... Ahahaha... Oh gods..." Felix laughed. His voice was almost indecipherable; he was completely out of breath and seemed not to be thinking straight. "You're actually back, I can't..."

He couldn't finish the sentence before collapsing on the ground.

"Well," a mage was saying, "it's not their fault, of course."

Huh?

Another mage spoke up. "Even so, they don't contribute much to society, do they? Now, I'm not saying that I agree with their methods..."

"Ridding the world of non-mages doesn't sound like a bad concept at all."

"Well, yes, but their propaganda --"

"-- is limited to pamphlets and MageCast videos that get removed. It's a net positive to rid the world of the weak."

"Comet..."

"... became much less dangerous when his girlfriend was cursed and killed."

"Redress?"

"That bastard's always somehow one step ahead. Fuck them."

Felix was staying another night at the detective's office, not wanting to look his moms in the eye for a while. He was... Hmmm. Not angry, but... He had feelings, and a lot of them. If he just focused on the current solitude of the agency (Crow was off doing gods-know-what with gods-know-who) and beating his old best score in Superb Marie's County, then the outside world might as well not exist.

Until the door slammed open.

"Gods. Damn. It," said a very agitated Crow Redress. Their eyes were unfocused and hazy, and they looked... Disappointed? Yeah, that worked. Either that or angry. Crow didn't seem to notice Felix as they stumbled to their precious wine cooler, and they especially didn't notice that Felix's jaw was agape.

"Crow!" he shouted, running over to his boss and trying to wrestle the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc (of which Felix only knew the name because Crow wouldn't shut up about the quality of white wines) out of their hands. "What the hell happened?"

"Got recognized. Give it," Crow answered curtly, managing to free the bottle from Felix's hands.

Of course they got recognized! They were like, a celebrity! "Why is that a bad thing?" asked Felix.

Crow downed half of the bottle before answering. "They called me fucking Dove in front of the whole fucking bar. I had to spend way too much money on one of those bullshit magic transportation systems to get as far away from here as possible, and I was about to get some goddamn action and this asshole," they chugged the rest of the bottle, "fucking outed me in front of fucking everyone."

Crow kept slurring their words and it seemed like they were about to fall over or something like that. They said that they were trying to quit the whole alcoholism thing like, a year ago when they started this agency, but Felix supposed that relapses happened. Well, his experience with the drunk was rather limited (his parents, ever the helicopter moms, prevented him from watching any media featuring alcohol, and they certainly did not care for him being in the vicinity of the actual drunk), but like, the stuff he learned from school relating to alcoholism mentioned relapses.

So, uh. That made sense.

"How about you sit down?" Felix asked, trying to remember the important aspects of health class.

But Crow was already passed out.

Huh.

This was a situation that Felix didn't want to be in, and he certainly didn't know how to handle it, so he picked up his Play Girl Pocket, went upstairs, and hid under the blankets of Crow's bed.

The outside world may as well not exist here.

And it was perfect.

"[At this point, I'd be grateful if I could even just have beer again.]"

"Alcoholic. Any reason why you're not suffering withdrawal? Speaking of which, where'd you put that--'"

"[Potions are in the back cupboard. Alcoholism doesn't have withdrawal symptoms, merely relapses.]"

"Guess it's hard to relapse when you can't open your mouth, huh."

"[Thank you for the astute observation.]"

"I notice that you haven't denied being an alcoholic."

"[I wasn't aware that such a baseless accusation would necessitate proper defense, Richards.]"

"Your wine cabinet is full."

"[You don't drink much, and I am unable. Have you been relapsing in any way, or is there another reason why your brain functions seem to have lowered?]"

"... I haven't been sleeping much, if that counts for anything. Anyway, you're dodging the question: Are you an alcoholic? Or were you, rather?"

"[When I was a teenager, yes. Things settled down after the detective agency got set up. Don't you remember my relapses? Or that time when I explained to you what was going on?]"

"Can I use my current mental state as an excuse for not remembering important shit like this?"

"[You've already used that excuse twice in this past week.]"

"Fine. But you still kept drinking a lot, didn't you?"

"[Drinking one wine glass a day and only getting drunk in two scenarios -- Being out late at night, or after a particularly difficult case, is hardly worth classifying as alcoholism.]"

"Psh. Fine. Still told that one guy you slept with five years ago that you were extremely shitfaced."

"[Why?]"

"He was in the same room as me once and was talking to his friend about non-mages or some shit. Said some very fucked up things. Basically told him that you were an alcoholic mess, since I couldn't see why you'd fuck him otherwise."

"[Maybe I just have poor judgment.]"

"'Have'? Present tense? Do I need to start screening potential partners?"

"[I doubt I'll get any, but thank you for your consideration.]"

"Um... I... Are you guys open?"

"How long've you been standing there?"

"Ten minutes..."

"Good gods... Look, come back tomorrow. We're deep in some... Philosophical debate. Yeah."

"Really? Sounded more like--"

"I'm shit at making up excuses. Call us later, okay?"

"Fine, I suppose. Enjoy talking about your sex lives or alcohol or whatever."

"Oh, yeah, of course. Thanks."

- - July XX 20XX - -

The detective's office had been dormant for quite some time.

About a year, actually.

It was common knowledge around the area that, if you needed some investigating done, Crow Redress was your best bet. They could be snarky, they could be blunt, but they would get the job done. It shouldn't have been a surprise that people wanted them dead. It was, however, surprising that someone actually went through with it. Their right hand man, Felix Richards, would have none of this. He went through great pains to hide the death of his boss from anyone that asked, creating an elaborate lie -- Something about a vacation in Europe. People were skeptical, of course... Felix wasn't necessarily the best liar out there. But hey, it bought him some time. Crow's final words were begging him to bring them back, after all.

And he wasn't one to disobey direct orders from his boss.

Necromancy wasn't exactly legal, of course. It was possible, but you would be persecuted if you were found out. That's not even getting into the troubles that the undead had to go through... Nobody seemed to know what to do with them. But Crow... They wanted to find out who killed them. They needed to find out who killed them. For a year, Felix had preserved the mangled corpse, and worked through night and day to bring them back. To create potions, elixirs, something, anything!

Felix picked up an animal carcass from a corner of the office. Not many people even walked by these days, which was good for secrecy. The stench of dead animals was sure to get him found out.

"Okay..." he sighed, picking up the elixir. "Here goes nothing."

Crow's mouth was permanently shut, and their throat... Felix had repaired the body as much as he could with limited resources. It looked fine on the outside, but the throat was beyond repair. It was traditional for elixirs to be taken orally, but this wasn't an option... Perhaps that's why it took so long for a working one to be made.

Felix took a deep breath, and poured a teaspoon of the elixir on the animal. Its tail twitched, and Felix took a step back. Was it working...? Was it actually working?! Its tail turned white, and... It opened its eyes! Felix's heart was racing, his breathing was rapid, and the animal... It ran to the office door, practically begging to get out! Felix shook his head and tried to calm down, walking over to the door to open it as calmly as he could.

Another deep breath. He grabbed the rest of the elixir, his heart pounding out of his chest. After a year... A year of this bullshit...

He walked over to where he kept the body. Preserved as best as possible. Steady. Calm. You can do this.

Felix poured the rest of the elixir onto his boss's corpse. Their hair turned completely white. Their eyes shot open. Crow Redress was back.

They tried to speak. You... You did it?! No words came out. They grabbed their throat, and tried to gasp. It felt... Different. Everything felt different, as a matter of fact. They also weren't wearing any clothes, but that was the least of their concern. Only natural to be nude after being tested on for a year. They grabbed their hair, and stepped back in shock. Why was it white?!

Crow stared at Felix, slowly walked over to get a pencil and paper, and wrote one simple phrase.

'Felix. What the fuck did you do?!'

Felix grinned. His boss was back, and there was quite a bit of explaining to do. "I'll go get you your clothes first, of course... There's quite a bit to be discussed," Felix replied, walking out the door.

- - October XX 20XX --

The past few months were primarily spent being cooped up in the office. People had gotten far too used to Felix's appearance being sparse by now, and Crow was still "on vacation". They were caught up with what had happened after their death by now, though it seemed like the murderer's identity was still unknown.

"You're a detective, Redress. One of the world's best. If anyone can find them, it's you," Felix said, leaning up against a wall.

"[And how, exactly, do you expect me to do that? Exit my vacation as a mute with a new appearance? I'm practically a different person now, Richards. The other detectives... You know how thorough they are. They'll see through my situation in an instant,]" Crow replied through sign. The two had spent about two months religiously learning sign language, and it was Crow's primarily method of communication by now. They still tried to speak verbally on occasion, but sign language wasn't too bad once they got used to it.

"Look, it's fine, I can handle this," Felix said, walking towards his boss. "You got a new job on your vacation. Heavy metal singer. You dyed your hair white to stand out from the crowd, and lost your voice after doing shows every night."

Crow stared at him in disbelief. Stared at him with permanently bloodshot eyes. They weren't necessarily in their sockets when Crow died, and Felix supposed there were negative effects to trying to put them back in...

"... And you also wear glasses to... Look cooler?" Felix continued, sounding more unsure by the second.

"[... I shall come up with a better excuse. A more believable story. You can just go tell whichever newspapers you know of that I'm back from my extended break. And be quick. You've completely ruined the place in my absence, and I refuse to read another necromancy book.]"

Felix sighed, and walked out the door. "Of course, Redress."

The office was a bit of a mess. It hadn't really been cleaned since Crow was brought back to life -- Most of their time was spent trying to catch up to whatever happened during their absence, and researching sign language until complete fluency. While the dead animals were gone, necromancy books were still strewn across the floor... Where did Felix even get them?

Crow sighed. If they were truly back, they supposed it was time to do some reorganization.

Putting books away, opening the blinds and generally trying to make the place look like it wasn't abandoned, those were all easy, albeit time consuming. Surprisingly enough, it was reorganizing the drawers that was somewhat difficult, and not for any physical reasons.

One of the drawers was filled with reminders of Crow's life, and reminders of their death. Photographs of events they'd go to off hours, showing them enjoying themself. Drinking out with Felix. Going to social events... They wouldn't be able to do any of that again, would they? There were also Crow's various personal belongings, several of them completely useless now. While the current situation did make it impossible for estrogen to trouble them (thank God), the testosterone gel likely wouldn't have much of an effect, either.

They really were dead...

They looked through another drawer. This one contained Felix's things, ranging from those silly cartoon figurines to journals full of nearly insane rants about the journey to bring his boss back. Crow lazily flipped through this, making a mental note to look through it properly if they ever had the time. Morally unethical? Sure. Not as unethical as what their partner did for a year.

The newspapers about Crow's vacation, disappearance, and potential death caught their eye too, of course. Felix had already showed them the papers, but Crow didn't find themself enjoying them all that much. The theories from the tabloids were always amusing, at least.

Just as Crow was almost finished reorganizing the drawers, they heard the door open. Right. It'd been well over an hour; of course Felix was back. He didn't really note that Crow was looking through his stuff... Seemed like this was a common enough occurrence.

"I've informed various publications of your arrival. They're very interested to speak to you personally, of course, though I managed to convince them to wait until we have clients again. More dramatic that way," Felix said, walking into the office and immediately sitting on a couch, completely ignoring the white jackrabbit that had followed him in. "Didn't disclose anything about your whole... situation. Figured that'd give you some time to come up with a convincing story."

"[Much appreciated,]" Crow signed, closing the drawer they were organizing. They walked over to Felix, and looked towards the jackrabbit. "[Who's your little friend here?]"

Felix's eyes opened, and he got up from the couch upon noticing the unexpected visitor. "That's... That's gotta be the animal I resurrected! Why'd it come back here?!"

"[Maybe it just recognized you. You brought it back to life, of course it'd want to come back here,]" Crow signed. They picked up the jackrabbit, who seemed to be okay with this. Alas, you can't sign while holding anything, and they soon put it on the couch. "[It looks like a baby. Christ, Richards. I didn't expect the best of you, but killing a baby animal?]"

Felix grimaced. "I know this may sound like a shock to you, but I don't enjoy killing animals. I found its corpse while doing some investigative work for, you know, bringing you back from the dead."

"[We're keeping it,]" Crow signed, sitting next to the jackrabbit and not really paying attention to what Felix was saying. "[Not like we'll have to feed it, at any rate.]"

"Having both an undead animal and an undead human is a recipe for disaster. Do you want to get killed again?"

And the banter went on as they awaited their first client.

The skyline truly was beautiful.

Running away to the nearest city and putting on the most basic civilian clothes that existed in an attempt to blend in, was not.
They were unfitting.
He was unfitting.

Rogue Comet... Dave? Who was he, really?
You spend your life in war, and your sense of identity gets lost.
He couldn't figure out why he was on a balcony, in the first place. What floor was this?
Did he make this reservation when he was drunk?

He lit another cigarette.
It's not a quick suicide method, if he truly thought of it as one in the first place.
It was just a habit he picked up out of self-loathing a decade ago.
They're cheap. Addictive. Poisonous.

He threw the still-lit cigarette off the balcony and walked back in to the hotel room.
The too-expensive hotel room.
Fuck, what was he thinking?
What was he doing?

He grabbed the nearest bottle of whisky he had brought with him, and passed out an hour later.

Maybe, he could see her in his dreams.
Not like he could in real life, anymore.

It wasn't "making love". This was an assignment, nothing more.

It wasn't sex, not really. It certainly wasn't fucking. Jack had a condom and Rose had an IUD put in before taking this mission, so it wasn't reproducing.

It was clinical copulation, and when Jack came and pulled out and cuddled - cuddled! - Rose, he murmured, "I love you" into her ear. An hour later, and he put on his clothes and hastily left her apartment, as he always did during these sexual encounters.

Rose didn't sleep at all that night.

2: With Gifts

When Rose first started catching feelings, she tried her best to ignore them. Falling in love wasn't in her job description. This wasn't what she was meant to do. Wake up, observe Jack, take notes, report. Months of this process, this schedule, this daily life, falling in love was decidedly not an option.

Jack bought a DVD for their weekly movie date nights, where they'd sit in front of the TV, put in a disc, and end up talking (and arguing) about movies all night. He chose The Truman Show; Rose plastered a smile on her face when Jack asked how Truman didn't ever realize that his "wife" never loved him.

"She's a terrible actress," said Jack, a slight smile reaching his lips. "You'd think he'd realize the first time they had sex, right? Do you think that she tried her advertising shtick in the bedroom?"

"They don't record that part," Rose found herself saying, without even realizing what she was saying. "Those... Those cops, they mentioned that they just cut to an ocean or something."

Jack opened his mouth as if to argue, then thought for a moment. "Shit," he said, laughing, "I forgot about that. Imagine. Rose, getting a movie detail right."

"I've gotten more right than you!" Rose answered, laughing and before she knew it his mouth was on hers and she could feel him reaching for something and he pushed her away and --

"I got you something," he said, a small box in his hand. Rose took it and examined it.

"It's not an engagement ring, right?" she asked. She saw... Something in Jack's eye, a flicker of some sort of emotion that she knew she would have to report.

"Just open it."

And Rose did.

A necklace. Jack had gotten her a necklace. "It's beautiful," said Rose, putting it on. The design was nondescript, though she recognized it as one that she had complimented once when they were out shopping.

Jack didn't respond. Rose looked at him and noticed that he was avoiding eye contact. Did the engagement remark really get to him? The notes that she had taken over the past year or so made it clear that he avoided most personal things, and marriage was quite personal, but...

Was there another woman? Was that it?

"Be right back," said Rose, "got to do something." Jack nodded without looking at her, and Rose quickly walked around his apartment, silently opening and closing doors.

When she found a room that was empty, save for a bed and a desk, she covered her mouth, gasped, and somehow didn't notice the footsteps behind her.

3: By Making an Effort

Jack -- no, have to call him by his codename -- Raiden was an idiot, as Rose quickly figured out. It'd be adorable if it weren't so frustrating.

"Don't you need to save the mission data?" she asked. Important to remind him.

"Oh yeah," Raiden answered, "thanks for the reminder." His voice sounded... Hmm.

Well. Best to ignore that for now.

"Jack, do you remember what day tomorrow is?" Another attempt. Jog his memory.

"That again... I'm sorry, but I still don't have a clue." Damn it.

"That's okay." It wasn't. Well, in the grand scheme of things, it was... There wouldn't be much to celebrate if he died on this mission.

"What is it, Rose? Talk to me."

His voice.

Rose cursed herself for falling in love with this man. This dense, intelligent, harmful, harmed, emotional, stoic, this living contradiction of a man. "I'd rather you figure it out yourself," she said. "It's important."

4: ...

Their relationship had been mutually toxic since the beginning, but Jack's repressed memories being brought to the forefront of his mind led to the breaking point.

She held their son, their perfect, perfect son. He was crying, unable to comprehend why Dada was so angry all the time, why he couldn't see him again.

This isn't forever, she told herself. Raiden -- Rose needed to call him that; this Raiden wasn't the Jack that she fell in love with -- was hurt and needed help, but he hurt her and she couldn't help him when she was part of the reason why all of this was happening in the first place! Was she not the person who told the Patriots everything?! What he ate, what he did, what he said and how he said it, she was awful to him and now the tables were turned and she had so many emotions and didn't know what to do with them.

God.

She held Little John and sobbed.

She sobbed and screamed and cried and it started raining and Rose could have sworn that she heard thunder in the background.

If she knew that she'd just be creating an orphan (she knew that Raiden wouldn't come back for a long while), she would have chosen death.

5: With Actions

Raiden and Jack were one and the same. Rose just needed to mentally combine them.

Therapy helped. Being a therapist helped.

Hal was a good mediator when they needed one, and accompanied them to marriage counseling when they felt as though they needed a third party.

He listened; Hal was a great listener. Listening was the important thing. Listening and communicating. To hear and to be heard.

Rose and Jack were pleasantly surprised when, after a year of all of this, -- the therapy, the medication, the counseling -- their marriage counselor said that she didn't believe that they needed her services anymore, that they had made great improvements and would be a far happier couple if they continued their honest communication.

"I thought we'd have to get a divorce," Rose said as she got in the driver's seat of their car after visiting Hal and Snake (Rose could never call him Dave; it sounded so wrong). Jack didn't yet feel too comfortable driving; he was still getting used to his cybernetic body.

"You took the first step into fixing this thing after I become a cyborg," Jack said with a laugh. "Anyone with the balls to do that is stuck with me."

"Neither of us have balls," Rose said, buckling her seatbelt. It had taken such a long time for her to be comfortable with this stuff -- banter and offhand remarks.

"What I lack in biological genetalia--"

"Hal and Sunny are coming," Rose warned, and she pulled down the windows.

"How about we continue this at home?" Jack asked, his voice falling into that seductive one that was simultaneously amusing and effective.

Rose laughed. "I'll hold you to that."

You've been thinking about this moment for weeks now. You want to tell him, you need to tell him, but every time you try, you can't seem to get the words out. You've been officially dating for a couple of months, why is it so hard to just... Say it?

Gavin's coming over tonight. He finally has his own car, in part thanks to his parents. His dad's boyfriend was more than happy to help out, though his mom needed several days of agonizing about the potential danger Gavin would put himself in before she chipped in. He told you last night that it wasn't the best car, but you told him that you didn't care. He seemed pretty relieved at that, then asked if you wanted to see something the next night.

Now, you're patiently awaiting his arrival, and mulling over how you want to convey your secret. You only told Rain because she was in a similar boat, and you were scared that she'd clock you somehow. She's the first person in a long, long while that you've told, and you know that it's time for you to tell Gavin, too. He'd be okay with it, he'd support you every step of the way, but... You still feel anxious. Just when the anxiety starts to boil over, you hear the doorbell.

"I've got it!" you say, walking to the door and opening it. You see Gavin, who's trying to look cool and not at all nervous, twirl his keychain and smile at you.

"Ready to go?" he asks with a chuckle.

"Of course!" you blurt out. You're more than a bit anxious about the possibility of telling Gavin about your secret, and you're having trouble acting like you're not nervous at all. Gavin reaches out for your hand, and you grab it. You're so preoccupied with your thoughts that you don't even notice that you forgot to close, let alone lock, the front door.

"Have fun, you little lovebirds!" you hear. You turn around and see your dad waving at the two of you, then he winks as he closes the door.

"Dad..." you mutter, your face feeling hot. You hear Gavin's nervous laughter, then he gently grabs your hand.

"Um," he says. "Am I supposed to open the passenger door for you? Is that normal boyfriend behavior?" You giggle at this, then shake your head.

"Contrary to popular belief, women are, indeed, capable of opening doors," you reply, walking over to open the passenger seat. Well, try to open, at any rate. ... Well, we are when they're unlocked, at least." You hear the car beep twice, then you try opening it again, succeeding this time.

Gavin gets in the front seat and takes a deep breath. "Make sure I don't get into any car crashes," he says as he starts to drive.

"No promises," you say.

"Should I turn on the radio?" he asks, not taking his eyes off the road.

"Sure, why not?" you answer.

"What station?"

"NPR. I'm boring!"

"... NPR it is, then!"

As the familiar sounds of public radio fill your ears, you lean back in your seat and close your eyes. Maybe it'd be better if you just rip off the Band-Aid right now. It could be so easy. Just say "By the way, I'm trans! And intersex! Hope that's not a problem!" and then it would be over and you'd never have to think about this ever again. Gavin's nice, he's accepting, but your anxiety... You open your eyes and are surprised to find tears swelling up there. Gavin's nice, but you can't help but remember the incident that ended you up in St. Hallvard in the first place.

It had been eleventh grade, and you took your then-boyfriend to your house one night. Your dad was away on business, and you planned to take full advantage of it. You led him up to your room, both of you giggling and kissing each other. You were making out with him, and you started to unbutton his shirt as his hand made its way to your skirt. You immediately pulled away and grabbed his hand, your heartbeat racing. "Wait!" you exclaimed, your breath erratic. "There's something that I need to tell you."

When your dad got back to see you bruised and crying, he made plans to move immediately.

"Ana?" you hear Gavin say. You snap back to reality and look at him, trying to give him a faint smile. He looks back at you briefly with concern in his eyes, then turns back to the road. The car's stopped, and you briefly wonder if you've already arrived at the mysterious location Gavin had only hinted at the previous night. One look out the windshield disproves that -- You're just at a red light. You hear Gavin repeat your name, and you clear your throat and gather your words.

"What?" you say, trying to sound casual.

"I was just wondering if you were okay. You kinda zoned out for a minute."

"Oh!" you exclaim. "Sorry, just... Got lost in thought."

"Right, right," Gavin says. "Don't worry. Say as much or as little as you need. I've got the radio if I need to hear someone's voice." You laugh at this, then the car starts up again as the light turns green. You quietly reason that you should wait until you get to wherever you're going before you tell Gavin your secret. The environment and mood here just aren't right. Maybe you're just stalling for time? You gaze out of the window, tears starting to stream down your eyes. It seems like your brain wishes to torture you tonight, as images of your mother start flashing in your mind.

She asked you to put on boy clothes and go by your boy name whenever you did anything in public with her. "We don't want them to think you're one of those," she said. You kept trying to ask what that meant, but she'd shush you and go on pretending that nothing was wrong. Aaron got love from his mother -- Presents, gifts, candy, and affection. Anastacia got vitriol. Orders to put on different clothes, constant lectures on the differences between men and women... You didn't understand back then. You loved your mother, and you wanted her to love you. You can still remember one night when you were in the second grade. You were trying to sleep, and you could hear your mother screaming. You could hear your dad trying to keep his voice leveled, though even he ended up shouting. You heard the front door slam open and shut, and your dad was at your side soon after, with gentle footsteps and a soothing demeanor going against what you had heard just moments earlier.

"I'm sorry, Ana," he whispered. He reached out to hold your hand, but you just got up and hugged him instead. You were sobbing and barely coherent. Your dad held you and gently combed through your hair, letting you cry until you could speak again.

"Why doesn't she love me?!" you shouted through deep breaths. "When's she coming back?!" You started to sob again, clinging to your dad even more. He seemed to be at a loss of what to do or what to say, and he kissed the top of your head and took a few minutes to collect his thoughts.

"I'm sure that she doesn't hate you," he muttered. "Maybe she'll come back when she understands you more?"

You looked up to him, hope in your eyes. "Promise?"

"I promise," your dad replied, holding you gently.

Remembering this causes your tears to come down faster, and it's getting harder to keep your crying discreet. "Ana?" Gavin asks gently, touching your shoulder. You turn back to him and fake a smile.

"Sorry, got lost in thought again. You know how it is," you say, trying to act natural. Gavin raises an eyebrow, and you sigh. "Look, Gavin. There's something that I need to tell you."

"I don't think you're in any position to talk about it now," Gavin says, fumbling around in his pockets. "Are you okay with being blindfolded? I promise that it won't be for too long."

"Didn't know you were into that kinda stuff," you snark, your lips forming a smile, which turns into a grin as Gavin's face turns beet red.

"No! No! It's not like that!!" he exclaims. "I just... Wanted to surprise you, is all!"

You laugh at this and reply. "Don't worry, I was only teasing." Gavin seems relieved to hear this, then exits the car. A few moments afterward, you can hear him open the passenger door, and before you can turn to look at him...

"Close your eyes, please," he instructs. You comply and soon feel a blindfold pulled over your eyes. He grabs your hand and leads you somewhere, walking carefully so you don't trip or fall. "I'm going to remove the blindfold now. You ready?"

"Mhm!" you say. With that, the blindfold gets removed, and you finally open your eyes. You squint for a while, getting used to the lighting, then cover your mouth in surprise. "It's... It's beautiful!"

Gavin took you to a serene lookout spot overseeing a beautiful lake. You could see Centerville in the background, though you can't help but wonder how long you were in the car. Reminiscing seemed to speed up time. "I just thought it'd be nice," Gavin says sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. "I took Maria here once, back when I was her cover. I'm surprised her parents didn't flip their lids at seeing their daughter go out with her boyfriend alone at night, but I think they were just happy she had a date."

"Guess you're glad to finally come here with your real girlfriend, huh?" you ask, relishing Gavin's immediate blush at hearing the word "girlfriend."

"I-- Yeah, it's pretty nice," he says. He sits on the ground and motions for you to sit beside him. You do so and look back at the lake. The moonlight reflecting off the water is so beautiful, and the lights from Centerville complement the scenery quite nicely.

"Listen, Gavin, I..." you say, choking on your words. "I've been putting this off for so long, not knowing how you'd react. But you've always been rather accepting, so." You take a deep breath, then another. "I'm, well, I'm..."

"Listen, Ana," Gavin says, moving closer to you. "Unless you're secretly some alien intent on destroying humanity, I don't care what you are. You're Ana, and that's all that matters to me."

You can feel the tears coming down your face again, and Gavin embraces you. "It's just that, well, I'm tr..."

"Transgender?" Gavin whispers, his hand smoothing out your hair.

"And intersex." It's one of the rare moments when you use that word to describe yourself.

"Then that surgery..." Gavin says, putting the pieces together. You nod against his chest in confirmation. "Look, Ana." Gavin lets go of you and helps you up, then holds your hands before he speaks. "I meant what I said earlier. You're Ana. Cisgender, transgender, pre-surgery, post-surgery, I don't care. You're a woman, and you're my," his voice turns into a squeak, "girlfriend..."

You chuckle despite yourself. "You goddamn dork!" you exclaim, kissing his cheek.

"Takes one to know one," Gavin says, grinning. You grab both sides of his head, pull him towards you, and kiss him under the moonlight.

Redacted until proper content warnings can be writen.

The divorce was, thankfully, as amicable as it could be, under the circumstances. Clair even seemed perfectly fine with Chuck taking his movie collection with him, and it provided much needed entertainment for the new apartment. The landlords seemed mildly suspicious of the relationship between Chuck and Geoffrey ("C'mon, Chuck, just tell them! It's legal here, you know." "Isn't it more believable for you to be a milkman that needed a place to crash once people stopped ordering milk?"), but the fact that they could think he was gay didn't even bother Chuck as he flipped through his movies while lazily ruffling Geoffrey's hair.

"Psycho's a good one..." he muttered. "Also got Nightmare on Elm Street, if you're into that." He could feel Geoffrey shudder next to him, and Chuck lowered the hand reserved for hair ruffling down to grab Geoffrey by the shoulder and pull him in closer. "Not into horror?"

"I'm scared enough of the dark as it is. What makes you think I could handle horror movies?" Geoffrey asked, gazing at the binder where Chuck stored the discs. "Ooh, that one looks good." Chuck squinted at where Geoffrey was pointing, and let out a small laugh.

"We are not watching The Last Unicorn," he said.

"Then why do you have it?" Geoffrey replied, smirking as he noticed Chuck purposefully avoiding his gaze.

"Titanic's definitely out. Remind me to give that back to Clair." Geoffrey sighed at this, took the binder out of Chuck's hands, and flipped through himself.

"Ooh, Disney movies?" Geoffrey said in that adorable voice that made Chuck wonder why he didn't divorce Clair the second that truck stop restroom meeting happened.

"Most of those are Seamus's. Did I already mention that Clair's taking him here every other weekend?" Chuck asked, going back to tangling Geoffrey's gorgeous hair.

"The discs aren't even scratched up, either," Geoffrey noted, taking out The Little Mermaid and examining it carefully. "Did you get new movies for Seamus?" He could hear a cough next to him, and he smiled to himself as he noticed Chuck attempting to go back to 'cold and unfeeling man with no emotions towards his family' mode.

"Clair mentioned that my treatment of him was a pretty damn big reason for the divorce."

"You mean, aside from cheating on her with the sexiest art teacher you've ever seen?" Geoffrey added with a laugh. Chuck chortled as he continued.

"She at least understood once we talked about it. You told me to treat her like a human instead of that walking pound of flesh I coexist with, and imagining you holding my hand was the only way I made it through without retreating back to my workshop. She was still pissed, obviously, but she at least understood that I..." His voice trailed off after this, his eyes staring at nothing and his breath slowing.

This wasn't entirely unexpected -- Chuck had been slightly more open after the divorce, but he was still waist deep in decades long repression and self-hatred. Geoffrey knew this, he knew that getting Chuck to admit he was gay would still be an uphill battle. He had already helped Chuck get comfortable using the word "love" around him, that was progress! He hummed to himself as he picked out a film (Mulan, specifically -- Geoffrey adored seeing Chuck pretend not to know the lyrics to every damn song by heart before he gave up all pretenses and started an impromptu concert in... Whichever private area they could watch movies.), walked over to the DVD player, and stuck it in.

He made his way back to the couch, snuggling next to his lover. "Hey, Chuck?" he whispered.

"Hm?" Chuck responded, not looking up from the screen as he felt around for the remote control.

"Look at me."

Chuck grabbed the remote, paused the current trailer for whichever movie Disney was advertising, and gazed into Geoffrey's eyes. Those beautiful, beautiful eyes that Chuck could get lost in for days, and he was getting lost in them, and those soft lips, and he barely even noticed when Geoffrey softly grabbed his face and leaned into it, their lips gently touching. Chuck returned the kiss, arms draped around his lover. Geoffrey ended the kiss sooner than Chuck would've liked, but the bastard just smiled at him.

"Why'd you do that?" Chuck asked.

Geoffrey shrugged. "Because I could. Because we're together, Chuck, and we can kiss any damn time we want. It's okay, we're okay."

Chuck stayed silent for a bit, then pulled Geoffrey closer to him so that they were both sitting on the couch in a feasible 'couple watching a movie' position. Then I guess you won't mind if I start singing along to I'll Make a Man Out of You?"

Geoffrey giggled. "Chuck, you silly goose, that's exactly why I chose this!"

Redacted until proper content warnings can be written.

Lassiter wonders how he got into this mess.

Spencer's complaining. Well, not quite. He's talking about how his motorcycle went missing, how Gus is out of town, how he needs a lead, and how it was so nice of good ol' Lassie to help out a bit. Good Christ, Lassiter wants to shut him up.

"... And obviously, my dad's no help. 'Why don't you just get a car already, Shawn? You know those things are harder to steal.' Gee! I dunno, Dad! Maybe I prefer the personal freedom a motorcycle gives?" Spencer's saying. Right. There was the classic complaining.

"Can't you just psychically tell where your motorcycle went?" Lassiter asks, not taking his eyes off the road. Spencer gives an exaggerated gasp, and Lassiter already sincerely regrets asking.

"Lassie! You know that the spirits are very... Temperamental. I can't just ask them to help me out here," Spencer explains. "Wait... Waitwaitwait..."

Lassiter can't see what Spencer's doing, but he can only assume it's that dumb psychic stance. He groans and rolls his eyes, and pays even closer attention to the road in front of him. For a few glorious, silent moments, things seem pretty decent, until...

"Lassie. You need to turn around," Spencer mutters. "The motorcycle. I see it... I see a woman doing... Something with the ignition. Not sure yet. Either way, it starts, and she's going off. She's turning right at that coffee shop, the one with the really good banana nut muffins, and if she's going in that direction..." He claps and points at Lassiter. "Dude! I totally just solved this thing! Let's go!"

"The spirits had better be right about this..." Lassiter murmurs, making a U-turn as soon as he can.

"You liberals want men to marry men, women to marry women, those undecided lunatics--"

"Nonbinary. They're called nonbinary people, Stephen. We've been over this."

"And they're neither men nor women?"

"That would be correct."

"Like I said! Lunatics! We're at war, pick a side! This is that "bisexuality" fiasco all over again. I'm onto your tricks, liberals!"

The older man smirked at this. "And what do you make of asexuals, then? If bisexuals are on both sides..."

"Neutrals," Stephen muttered, gripping his desk furiously. "If this were the War on Drugs, they would be in the corner, talking about how both sides are bad, and shouldn't we stay out of the personal business between drugs and Americans?"

"Not a real war, Stephen."

Stephen rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair, sighing. "Jon, Jon. You really don't know anything about how the world works, do you?"

"I suppose I don't," Jon replied, wondering why he let himself get roped into this.

"I accept your apology! Now, as I was trying to say... You liberals will let the gays get married, but you won't accept a perfectly good marriage between me..."

"Stephen..."

"And my darling lover..."

"Don't tell me..."

"Sweetness," Stephen finished, pulling the love of his life (a simple handgun) out from under his chair. "I just don't understand! She's a woman, I'm a man. Leave it to liberals to be hypocrites."

Jon sighed, but opted to play along. Not like he had much of a choice; he was in too deep.

"Okay. Let's go over this. Maybe there's another reason why you can't marry Sweetness?"

"Other than you gun control obsessed--"

"Stephen, you're already married!"

Stephen paused. It seemed like he had... Well, not forgotten. He was in a happy, stable relationship, Lorianne just... Had to go on vacation! For a few weeks! While taking the kids, and bringing them over to his house every weekend, and roping him into those boring legal meetings with some lawyer... The point is that she loved him very much, and no amount of "legal separation" would change that. And they were still married. Which is why he never told Jon.

He cleared his throat.

"Well... Don't you liberals support polyamory, anyway?"

"You would have to clear things with your wife. You can't just go off and marry every gun--"

"She's a lady, Jon."

"You can't just go and marry every lady that you come across. That would be cheating."

"... Aren't cheating and polyamory the same thing?"

Jon groaned. "No, Stephen. They aren't."

"Oh," Stephen replied, putting Sweetness back in his desk (but not before kissing her! He was a gentleman, after all.). "I... Suppose that I'll call Lorianne, and..."

"You do that, Stephen," Jon sighed. "You do that."

"So what, are ya gonna be King Vergil? Has a nice ring to it!"

"I would rather not."

"Lord Vergil? Vergil, Prince of Darkness? Vergil the Almighty?"

"Pretentious."

"Yeah, unlike you at all."

"It would be best to stick with the Prince label for now."

"I'm just saying that you're passing down a really good opportunity!"

"Says the one that insists on not using a title in the first place."

"Can't help it if King Dante or Prince Dante sound like shit, Verg."

"The coronation is merely a formality, anyway. It was bound to happen, since our predecessors have left our earth."

"It's okay, you can call them your parents."

"..."

"Look, how about you go get everything set up. I'll stay here and think of a damn good title for you."

"You're not skirting from your responsibilities that easily, Dante."

"Coming up with a title is a very important responsibility, Vergil, Ruler of All That is Unholy."

"That's not even accurate."

"But it rings fear into the hearts of your enemies!"

"... I can't imagine why they didn't make you King."

Karuma cracked the whip on her desk, and eyed Kiryu maliciously. If he hadn't dealt with someone far more violent on a daily basis, he'd almost feel threatened. His lawyer seemed similarly ambivalent, as he just let her speak.

"You have proven that Kiryu has not killed, but you are forgetting the incident with Dojima!" she stated, chuckling.

"Yes," Naruhodo began, taking out the records of that old case. "And it was later proved that he had taken the fall to protect Akira Nishikiyama."

Karuma harrumphed. "His sworn brother. He is a yakuza! His reign of pacifism is bound to end!"

"Objection!" Naruhodo shouted, pointing at Karuma indignantly. "Wasn't it one of your witnesses who said that he had left the Tojo?!"

"That foolish fool..." Karuma muttered under her breath.

"Even if Kiryu was still a member of the Tojo, that's not why he's on trial!"

The judge seemed to take this as good enough, and banged his gavel down. Kiryu-chan, yer innocent. As it turns out, bein' a judge is fuckin' boring."