[closed] should i try to hide

[sizeofyourbaggage]

CHARACTERS: Rust Cohle, Ryohji Kaji, Damon Salvatore, Sam Wilson, Shepard
WHERE: Hyrypia - The Road
WHEN: early morning after the Night of Dread
SUMMARY: an investigation into what the hell and also the best first impressions ever
WARNINGS: none at the moment

[ catch all for day time investigation, threads in the comments! ]

Comments

[ryohji]

All that's missing is my morning cup of coffee. [ he is apt to be ten times as inconsistent than what would be considered reasonable. spry are the useless mental impressions of his preference: canned coffee containing so much sugar that the 'coffee' part seemed to be included only in jest. what immediately follows is the the meat, the burden, the thrust, sedate and dry as a bone: ] ( From beginning to end. One of them, a young boy, instructed that they turn back before anything could be found. Apparently he has precognitive abilities. Take that as you will. )

[ a signficant inference, one that kaji trusts rust to make, even as his mind seemed to him a distant star. his expression softens into something resembling nostalgia. ]

What about you? Sensing something, or was last night too much fanfare for your tastes?

[aluminumandash]

[ He makes the leap readily: finding something might prove fatal. It gives Rust pause only in that it's new information, about his self-appointed task and his unsolicited companion both.

He takes a little time with precognitive (none with young boy, not now), teasing out the difference between that word and what they'd all felt abrading their nerves the night before. A question flickers in his mind, winks out. Later. Time. ]

I hate crowds is all. [ That perversely slow speech, running its course. ] ( You know the way? I— ) [ —Alaska, the memory sharp enough to draw blood: tracks in fresh snow, the tension in a bow just before the arrow flies. Visible breath. ] ( All my life. )

[ryohji]

( Follow me. )

[ he sets down a path, obedient to what remained of the footsteps, meanwhile alaska grips him by the ankles and refuses to let off. kaji hadn't seen snow in fifteen years. second impact had shifted earth's axial tilt and left japan with the parting gift of cicadas and the eternal overhead sun. ]

That's a long time. It explains that troubled mind of yours. [ kaji's idea of 'self-deprecating humor' is both smarting and unequivocal in description. rust's brain was the north pole to his south pole, both uninhabitable, gelid and sterile. ] I guess you're a gumshoe through and through.

[ he could smell one a mile away. all in all this man looked like the kind of investigator whose name rarely found its way into print. an investigator, any observer would conclude, who earned his promotions through an absence of screw-ups, rather than any particularly noteworthy achievements.

the only ones worth listening to. kaji feet falter. ]

What am I doing? You take the lead, Mr. Holmes. [ the innuendo that follows evinced a practiced insincerity: ] I'm better on the rear.

[aluminumandash]

[ He listens to the sound of their steps, the wind blowing through scrubby grass. And the night before: the noise six, seven sets of feet must have made stumbling in the dark. Kaji's voice primarily a matter of depth and volume, the words taking a moment to cohere.

When they do, surprise and regret drift through the link, a heady compound. Rust's feet plod at their same pace but he's taken aback—it's generous. Wrong as much as it's right, wrong in a way that feels like a gift. ] A cop's cop. [ A badge flashed, a punch to the gut, a high. The sky over Lubbock, dishwater gray.

He doesn't look up. Wouldn't expect to see anything if he did.

At the last remark, surprise comes as more of a jolt. Speculative, not quite amused: ] Seems you're intent on further troubling my mind. [ Rust steps past him, picks up a little speed. ] ( We better keep quiet, here on out. You armed? )

[ryohji]

[ not to put too fine a point on the matter, but on a list of potential comedians, rust might have ranked slightly higher than ikari gendo. and that was mostly on account of his first name.

kaji follows in blithe pursuit, hands still pocketed, one fist slowly closing around the gun he'd packed with him, squared deep within the pouch of his jodhpurs. the outline of it, the trigger kaji teases with the pad of his glove, the feeling of that hollow barrel, kaji broadcasts forward. that is his answer. ]

( That's your way of saying you won't protect me in a scrap? )

[ he will oblige rust's suggestion, in the end, because they did not have any choice. behind him, kaji looks around with the expression of a person admiring the view and trying not to admit that they're completely lost - but everything, down to the gold tipped blade of grass, strikes familiar. ]

( Message received. I don't much enjoy this telepathy business. It's not you, it's me. )

[aluminumandash]

( That your way of saying you need protecting? ) [ The only weapons Rust carries are the knives they'd been given, his assurance with a blade nothing he can project. Bedrock. ]

( We don't have to talk. ) [ Unperturbed, incurious: there are a thousand reasons it shouldn't sit well with someone. About a thousand more if that someone is a liar.

Without sparing Kaji a glance he continues on—slowing gradually, almost imperceptibly, as the trail loses coherence. Sets of tracks breaking off, prints shortening, weight shifting. Broad smears in the dirt.

Rust steps to one side, agile. Drops into a crouch. ] ( What was there—some kind of scuffle? )