[Today he's being temporarily reassigned. It's not a reflection of poor job performance (quite the contrary), though he finds himself anxious over the decision. Unit 4 needs more manpower for their cases–they'd recently lost an enforcer in the field. Gino knows exactly how that is, to be a man down and expected to perform well. It reminds him of 7 months ago, Kagari missing (dead), Kougami on the run. His father followed suit, killed in action.
He didn't stay inspector after that. Anyone who'd seen the downfall couldn't really blame him. How was he expected to keep his hue clear when his father was murdered in front of him?
So here he is, an enforcer under the inspector he'd vetted and trained, bless her soul. Akane had managed to become the inspector he'd never been, outshining him and leaping straight to the status Kougami used to hold. But, the difference is that Akane is patient. She understands and doesn't show him pity. Instead, she waits or hands him work to keep his head clear. They work well together.
Which is why he's hesitant to help Unit 4, that kind of connection is hard to find. Akane had soothed some of his anxieties; the inspector assigned to Unit 4 is understanding, efficient, surprisingly gentle. If that's her read, he's willing to accept it. And he does, showing up to the Division 4 office early for his shift to complete the transfer.]
Inspector- I'm here as your temporary assignment. I'll be in your care.
They fall together like displaced sheets of paper.
The binding that held them together is gone, left a path of destruction like a twisting wind, left them to fall and flutter to the ground, all out of order. Shuffle them long enough, and they’ll show a semblance of correctness, of organization. Except no one’s taken the time to do so, probably never will.
Surprisingly (or not so), she takes the first steps. Her authority weighs her down, just on the edges of her shoulders, and he recognizes the posture. Knows very well the look in her eyes– a tired but sad acceptance of facts. He’s carried that pressure before, is as familiar with it as he is his own limbs. So when she reaches out to him one night, takes his hand in hers (timidly, unsurely, afraid) he can’t help but understand. She silently weeps, face tucked into his shoulder, and he lets her. No words of comfort because there are none that can soothe how much it stings.
An hour passes before they disentangle, a wordless understanding communicated in the small nuances of expression. She leaves him be, silently thanking him and apologizing all in one. The door shuts and he stares at the ceiling for hours afterwards– he’s cried his share over years.
It happens again, a week later. And then again, a few days after that. Before they know it, the outbursts become routine.
She takes up burning cigarettes (his brand, he knows without asking, the smell is mapped in on his mind). The sticks sit upwards on the edge of a plain ashtray; he thinks they resemble the incense placed by gravestones. Prudently, he doesn’t mention it, she has enough to think of as it is. Idly, he wonders if he should remind her of second hand smoke but dismisses it. They’re both so used to the scent by now that he almost never notices when the sticks are burning low to the filters.
Sometimes, that’s all they do– watch the cigarettes burn down to the orange tinged paper, shoulders touching, hands closed over each other’s. Every so often, she’ll rest her cheek on his shoulder (that becomes more frequent, and eventually, she’ll use his lap as a pillow). Neither of them talk about him by name. Most of time, not at all.
Just once, he kisses her on the forehead. It’s hesitant but comforting. The next few times, she kisses him on the cheek as she leaves. That turns into a greeting and a goodbye soon after. And that tumbles into them holding each other for grounding, kisses lonely and borderline desperate. Those hours they’d spent watching their own personal memorial incense burn away becomes less and less. Cigarettes still burn habitually, but they’re a background piece, no longer a completely centered fixture.
They both still miss him fiercely, but he knows (and she’s learned) that clinging onto someone who’s disappeared does neither of them good.
Now, they curl against each other, her back against his chest, legs fitted like puzzle pieces that are slightly off. He’s looped an arm around her waist, loose limbed and unrestrictive. She’s awake (they both are), eyes downcast in the silence. It’s comfortable, neither of them need to fill the quiet, they know each other too well for that. Her head tilts up and a small hand matches up with his mechanical one, fingers splayed as far as they can go. His own curl in between hers and soon she follows suit, hands clasped together as an assurance neither is going anywhere.
“Do you miss them?” Her voice is low, filled with sleep and emotion. He doesn’t have to consider his answer, because he’s thought about it every day for a year. It isn’t how he wants to answer, he thought he was done with holding onto people. Thought he’d passed that point in his life where he’d recognized it as futile–
[Because I can?! Drops it in here cos I dunno where else ANYWAY--
There's word around that it's Ginoza's birthday coming up soon. There's been a lot of buzz going around the offices whenever Ginoza wasn't looking (or they think he wasn't looking) of which they think it might be a fun (but more so hilarious) idea to throw him a party.
But that got Sen thinking. Throwing a party for him was something that all their colleagues had a part in. Sure, she was going to be involved (someone had to do the cooking and it sure wasn't going to be Akane) and homecooked meals could be considered personal, if it wasn't for the fact that dozens of other people were also going to eat it too. Giving him a gift would also be nice, if not for the fact that it seemed a bit too formal giving it to him during the party. That would be more like an obligation, no?
No, she had to go one better than this. She had to be creative, just to show him her intentions that he was important to her (n-not that it was anything special, what are you talking about).
Which was why she broke into his quarters while he was out on his routine checks, because she can (thank you, Inspector level access keys) and left a few things: 1. A note apologising for the break-in, and asking for his forgiveness. 2. A birthday card expressing her well wishes and for him to have good luck for the following year. And some of it in Vietnamese. 3. A chew toy for Dime with was shaped like a bone, as well as a nice doggy scarf. 4. A small herbgarden on his dining table. There's a ribbon on it (which he can get rid of), and she decorated the pots herself. It spells out his name.
Sen wasn't sure when he was going to discover this, but she sure hoped he won't accidentally destroy it. Either way, that was a job well done. Well done, Sen. Now go back to your inspector duties, goddamn.]
[Jade had made no secret of his intentions throughout the night.
...Well, that isn't entirely true. He's never overt about it; it's always in the little things: a seemingly-accidental touch, an odd turn of phrase here and there, a low-burning intensity in his eyes. Ginoza might not be the best company, but he's fun, interesting to needle at and amusing to watch. That's enough for his purposes.
It ends in the two of them on his bed, still mostly clothed. He has a leg casually wrapped around him, fingers tangling in his dark hair, lazily tilting his head from side to side as he considers where to begin. The neck, he decides, leaning in to press a kiss against his pulse point.
He's always found the heart rate to be quite fascinating - although, really, he's interested in all aspects of the body - for something so simple, it's a surprisingly useful gauge of a person's mental state. Ginoza's heartbeat is faster than usual. Jade hides a smile against the curve of his neck, catching the warm skin between his teeth just to see how he'll react.]
Theirs is an old house. An old bloodline. Not overly wealthy, but hard worked for. His father is one of an upstanding reputation– he's honest where the truth is becoming less and less. They live modestly, because neither of his parents have extravagance in their veins. Instead, they have the values of moderation, of control over oneself. His mother's jewels are simple and well crafted; they aren't gaudy or showy. Her beauty is something beneath the skin, he thinks, anyway. As for his father, he's straight backed, happy, proud. It shows in the lines on his face, the fine wrinkles at the corners of his mouth and eyes.
But like with all good things, they don't always stay. Gino isn't young when his father's arrested for conspiracy. For accessory to treason, for things he couldn't ever imagine Tomomi committing. All the years of perfect lineage is undone, unraveling like the tapestry the names of his ancestors are embroidered onto. He understood what it meant for him, for his mother, for their family. His father is exiled, excommunicated, a mercy from the King he'd been on good terms with. His mother is left to run the estate; he's still too young.
Even if he were old enough, he's inheriting a ruined name.
Unable to provide personal tutelage with her attentions now elsewhere, his mother sends him to a neighboring family. A friend, of sorts. Nobuchika's played with their son, Shinya, before. However, with limited funds, he won't be getting his schooling paid for without some kind of work. Instead, he's to take the role of a servant of sorts. Temporarily, until he's old enough to take the estate under his name and can be groomed to live up to his title. At first, he resents it. It's awkward, because he and Shinya are on technical uneven footing.
Years pass though, and it takes the sting away. He resents less and less, and somewhere along the way, he gets used to it. Shinya is smart and surprisingly easy to get along with. Gino doesn't feel like he's being talked down to, regardless of their switch in station. When all this is said and done, he'll count him as a true friend again.
Until then, though, he's got work to do.
Which is why he's standing at the foot of the bed, attempting to wake Shinya up without giving into dumping a bucket of water on his head. ]
I've known you this long and I still wonder how it is you can sleep in such an ungainly fashion.
As with most of their cases, because for some reason, he always ends up dealing with people who dig their heels in. Kougami had the bit in his teeth over Makishima, and that stubborn streak seems to have rubbed off on Akane. Not that he didn't think she had it in her, honestly. But his ex...friend (???) certainly had been an influence before he left. It was the one thing he couldn't stop thinking about through the entire case; he'd been worried over Tsunemori's hue. Afraid of watching it climb and darken just like Kougami's had before.
Of losing someone else he cared about.
That isn't what happened, naturally. Akane has always been sure of herself in that regard. Her hue is as clear as ever, even with all the upheaval (and mourning). It's been about two weeks since the end of the case and they're still cleaning up. There are a million reports and details and transfer papers to write up. They've taken on a new Enforcer (Ginoza is glad, he likes him) and the Bureau is at work trying to fill the spots that opened up in the other units. All in all, Kamui had left large holes with his work. Gino doesn't know if that's totally what he'd been aiming for, since a lot of those people had nothing to do with the overall scheme (Aoyanagi had gotten caught in the crossfire– he still misses her). What's done is done, though.
Because at the end of the day, he has this. This being his apartment, with Dime asleep in his crate and Akane leaning on his shoulder, dozing. They've both had a long day, as has been the case for a while now. It feels nice to just relax. ]
[ Sleep, Kogami reflects, is one of the greatest necessary evils there are. It's an essentiality that puts all men on their backs, and Kogami has always been predisposed to be on it as little as possible. As a practical reflection of that philosophy, a couch has always sufficed for Kogami's needs -- it's efficient, multi-purpose, and of late, quite the pain in Gino's ass.
The problem with a couch is that it's too small for two full grown men -- it's barely even enough for Kogami, who has to sleep with his legs dangling off the side and has long made his peace with it.
Gino has made peace with precisely nothing in Kogami's apartment. While the man has been exceptionally tolerant with a lot of Kogami's shit, the thirtieth time of sprawling on a blanket on the floor after sex may have taken its toll, the idea of a bed surfaces with all the alacrity of a partner too damn tired of grinding his bones against the cold hard floor. Blankets can only insulate so much, and Kogami should consider a proper bed because the whole randy teenager blanket sex aesthetic is sexy once in awhile, but not when it becomes a staple in their (lovemaking) ...this. Whatever this is.
Kogami holds out for exactly sixteen and a half days.
Day sixteen and a half, Kogami contemplates the new presence in his room critically. It takes up too much space, this bed, and it's barebones, Kogami not actually inclined to get sheets and covers and other accoutrements for it quite yet. It's an invasion of his sanctum sanctorum, a glaring anomaly in the otherwise strictly utilitarian nature of his study room. Day fourteen and fifteen had been Kogami making space for it, trying not to think about what it means in the grand scheme of romantic development, and the half of day sixteen had been Kogami hard at work on assembling the bed frame himself, finally setting the mattress atop of it. If he's going to be here for the long haul to take Sibyl down together with Akane and Gino, might as well make the best of it.
It's a shirtless, sweaty Kogami (because moving a queen-sized mattress through the building and setting up a sturdy bed frame is a bitch) in the doorway of his room that greets Gino when he turns up.
[He doesn't remember a lot, honestly. There are flashes of varying length and detail: killing the thug that ambushed him in the underground with a nailgun. The voice that came over the two-way radio and offered to let him join Makishima in taking Sybil down. Finding that voice before he finished cracking the last door to the core of the Sybil System. The vicious struggle that ensued. Bleeding out on the floor and no way to call for help. A dominator and a spray of viscera in the corner of fading vision.
Kagari Shuusei regains consciousness in a world like and unlike the one he left. He's been drifting in and out for two weeks, they tell him. The terrorist responsible for the escalating riots is dead. They're curiously silent about Makishima, but he hears the whispers in the halls. Kogami's gone, fled the country, and the only thing he can think of to explain that is that Makishima got the end he so richly deserved. The vicious part of Kagari hopes the fucker suffered.
What's less clear is what happened to the man in the underground; he's sure he saw a dominator down there in that anechoic chamber somehow, but he's told the man was lying dead beside him when he was found. For his efforts in restoring peace to the area, he's told, he's getting an increase in his monthly allowance--all purchases pending approval of an Inspector, of course. It seems overly convenient, but he's not going to complain about having extra money for video games and candy and fresh vegetables to cook.
There sounds like there's one less Inspector in town to do that approving, though. Kagari's not so sure how he feels about that. Kogami was once an inspector, sure, but Kagari had only met him after his demotion, and his preconceptions of the man were proved wrong in that first fight. Gino, on the other hand ... well, Kagari knew how he felt about latent criminals. Irony sure was a bitch, wasn't it.
...Speak of the devil, huh? Kagari pushes himself up on the bed at the appearance of his former superior. They both look different than they last saw each other; Ginoza without his glasses and Kagari without hair gel, brunette roots having grown out from behind the red-orange.
He smirks, a little too sharp. On some level, he's grateful that Gino came to see him. But pettiness is an easy urge to succumb to, and what little filter he might usually have is out the window with the pain medication percolating in his system.]
Well, well, well, look who it is. How's the hunting dog life treating you, Gino-san?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Amy - viet/gino
He didn't stay inspector after that. Anyone who'd seen the downfall couldn't really blame him. How was he expected to keep his hue clear when his father was murdered in front of him?
So here he is, an enforcer under the inspector he'd vetted and trained, bless her soul. Akane had managed to become the inspector he'd never been, outshining him and leaping straight to the status Kougami used to hold. But, the difference is that Akane is patient. She understands and doesn't show him pity. Instead, she waits or hands him work to keep his head clear. They work well together.
Which is why he's hesitant to help Unit 4, that kind of connection is hard to find. Akane had soothed some of his anxieties; the inspector assigned to Unit 4 is understanding, efficient, surprisingly gentle. If that's her read, he's willing to accept it. And he does, showing up to the Division 4 office early for his shift to complete the transfer.]
Inspector- I'm here as your temporary assignment. I'll be in your care.
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(frozen comment) [you] were always faster than [me]
The binding that held them together is gone, left a path of destruction like a twisting wind, left them to fall and flutter to the ground, all out of order. Shuffle them long enough, and they’ll show a semblance of correctness, of organization. Except no one’s taken the time to do so, probably never will.
Surprisingly (or not so), she takes the first steps. Her authority weighs her down, just on the edges of her shoulders, and he recognizes the posture. Knows very well the look in her eyes– a tired but sad acceptance of facts. He’s carried that pressure before, is as familiar with it as he is his own limbs. So when she reaches out to him one night, takes his hand in hers (timidly, unsurely, afraid) he can’t help but understand. She silently weeps, face tucked into his shoulder, and he lets her. No words of comfort because there are none that can soothe how much it stings.
An hour passes before they disentangle, a wordless understanding communicated in the small nuances of expression. She leaves him be, silently thanking him and apologizing all in one. The door shuts and he stares at the ceiling for hours afterwards– he’s cried his share over years.
It happens again, a week later. And then again, a few days after that. Before they know it, the outbursts become routine.
She takes up burning cigarettes (his brand, he knows without asking, the smell is mapped in on his mind). The sticks sit upwards on the edge of a plain ashtray; he thinks they resemble the incense placed by gravestones. Prudently, he doesn’t mention it, she has enough to think of as it is. Idly, he wonders if he should remind her of second hand smoke but dismisses it. They’re both so used to the scent by now that he almost never notices when the sticks are burning low to the filters.
Sometimes, that’s all they do– watch the cigarettes burn down to the orange tinged paper, shoulders touching, hands closed over each other’s. Every so often, she’ll rest her cheek on his shoulder (that becomes more frequent, and eventually, she’ll use his lap as a pillow). Neither of them talk about him by name. Most of time, not at all.
Just once, he kisses her on the forehead. It’s hesitant but comforting. The next few times, she kisses him on the cheek as she leaves. That turns into a greeting and a goodbye soon after. And that tumbles into them holding each other for grounding, kisses lonely and borderline desperate. Those hours they’d spent watching their own personal memorial incense burn away becomes less and less. Cigarettes still burn habitually, but they’re a background piece, no longer a completely centered fixture.
They both still miss him fiercely, but he knows (and she’s learned) that clinging onto someone who’s disappeared does neither of them good.
Now, they curl against each other, her back against his chest, legs fitted like puzzle pieces that are slightly off. He’s looped an arm around her waist, loose limbed and unrestrictive. She’s awake (they both are), eyes downcast in the silence. It’s comfortable, neither of them need to fill the quiet, they know each other too well for that. Her head tilts up and a small hand matches up with his mechanical one, fingers splayed as far as they can go. His own curl in between hers and soon she follows suit, hands clasped together as an assurance neither is going anywhere.
“Do you miss them?” Her voice is low, filled with sleep and emotion. He doesn’t have to consider his answer, because he’s thought about it every day for a year. It isn’t how he wants to answer, he thought he was done with holding onto people. Thought he’d passed that point in his life where he’d recognized it as futile–
“Yes.”
–he hasn’t.
november 21st 2XXX (surprise?!)
There's word around that it's Ginoza's birthday coming up soon. There's been a lot of buzz going around the offices whenever Ginoza wasn't looking (or they think he wasn't looking) of which they think it might be a fun (but more so hilarious) idea to throw him a party.
But that got Sen thinking. Throwing a party for him was something that all their colleagues had a part in. Sure, she was going to be involved (someone had to do the cooking and it sure wasn't going to be Akane) and homecooked meals could be considered personal, if it wasn't for the fact that dozens of other people were also going to eat it too. Giving him a gift would also be nice, if not for the fact that it seemed a bit too formal giving it to him during the party. That would be more like an obligation, no?
No, she had to go one better than this. She had to be creative, just to show him her intentions that he was important to her (n-not that it was anything special, what are you talking about).
Which was why she broke into his quarters while he was out on his routine checks, because she can (thank you, Inspector level access keys) and left a few things:
1. A note apologising for the break-in, and asking for his forgiveness.
2. A birthday card expressing her well wishes and for him to have good luck for the following year. And some of it in Vietnamese.
3. A chew toy for Dime with was shaped like a bone, as well as a nice doggy scarf.
4. A small herbgarden on his dining table. There's a ribbon on it (which he can get rid of), and she decorated the pots herself. It spells out his name.
Sen wasn't sure when he was going to discover this, but she sure hoped he won't accidentally destroy it. Either way, that was a job well done. Well done, Sen. Now go back to your inspector duties, goddamn.]
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...Well, that isn't entirely true. He's never overt about it; it's always in the little things: a seemingly-accidental touch, an odd turn of phrase here and there, a low-burning intensity in his eyes. Ginoza might not be the best company, but he's fun, interesting to needle at and amusing to watch. That's enough for his purposes.
It ends in the two of them on his bed, still mostly clothed. He has a leg casually wrapped around him, fingers tangling in his dark hair, lazily tilting his head from side to side as he considers where to begin. The neck, he decides, leaning in to press a kiss against his pulse point.
He's always found the heart rate to be quite fascinating - although, really, he's interested in all aspects of the body - for something so simple, it's a surprisingly useful gauge of a person's mental state. Ginoza's heartbeat is faster than usual. Jade hides a smile against the curve of his neck, catching the warm skin between his teeth just to see how he'll react.]
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GINO... "ordeal" really
LOOK....THIS IS DIFFICULT FOR HIM
would you say it's.........hard
i wasn't going to make that joke but now here we are........
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i almost forgot this thread was meant to be smut
ah......well, jade's nerd is full on here so i can't blame you
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approx 400 years later i'm gomen
you were on the other side (like always) || kougami/gino; AU
Theirs is an old house. An old bloodline. Not overly wealthy, but hard worked for. His father is one of an upstanding reputation– he's honest where the truth is becoming less and less. They live modestly, because neither of his parents have extravagance in their veins. Instead, they have the values of moderation, of control over oneself. His mother's jewels are simple and well crafted; they aren't gaudy or showy. Her beauty is something beneath the skin, he thinks, anyway. As for his father, he's straight backed, happy, proud. It shows in the lines on his face, the fine wrinkles at the corners of his mouth and eyes.
But like with all good things, they don't always stay. Gino isn't young when his father's arrested for conspiracy. For accessory to treason, for things he couldn't ever imagine Tomomi committing. All the years of perfect lineage is undone, unraveling like the tapestry the names of his ancestors are embroidered onto. He understood what it meant for him, for his mother, for their family. His father is exiled, excommunicated, a mercy from the King he'd been on good terms with. His mother is left to run the estate; he's still too young.
Even if he were old enough, he's inheriting a ruined name.
Unable to provide personal tutelage with her attentions now elsewhere, his mother sends him to a neighboring family. A friend, of sorts. Nobuchika's played with their son, Shinya, before. However, with limited funds, he won't be getting his schooling paid for without some kind of work. Instead, he's to take the role of a servant of sorts. Temporarily, until he's old enough to take the estate under his name and can be groomed to live up to his title. At first, he resents it. It's awkward, because he and Shinya are on technical uneven footing.
Years pass though, and it takes the sting away. He resents less and less, and somewhere along the way, he gets used to it. Shinya is smart and surprisingly easy to get along with. Gino doesn't feel like he's being talked down to, regardless of their switch in station. When all this is said and done, he'll count him as a true friend again.
Until then, though, he's got work to do.
Which is why he's standing at the foot of the bed, attempting to wake Shinya up without giving into dumping a bucket of water on his head. ]
I've known you this long and I still wonder how it is you can sleep in such an ungainly fashion.
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tags this to Selena Gomez's "Good for You"
whispers gaaaaaaaaaay
how is this surprising in the least
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in just a little bit, when you finally understand the answers || gino/akane
As with most of their cases, because for some reason, he always ends up dealing with people who dig their heels in. Kougami had the bit in his teeth over Makishima, and that stubborn streak seems to have rubbed off on Akane. Not that he didn't think she had it in her, honestly. But his ex...friend (???) certainly had been an influence before he left. It was the one thing he couldn't stop thinking about through the entire case; he'd been worried over Tsunemori's hue. Afraid of watching it climb and darken just like Kougami's had before.
Of losing someone else he cared about.
That isn't what happened, naturally. Akane has always been sure of herself in that regard. Her hue is as clear as ever, even with all the upheaval (and mourning). It's been about two weeks since the end of the case and they're still cleaning up. There are a million reports and details and transfer papers to write up. They've taken on a new Enforcer (Ginoza is glad, he likes him) and the Bureau is at work trying to fill the spots that opened up in the other units. All in all, Kamui had left large holes with his work. Gino doesn't know if that's totally what he'd been aiming for, since a lot of those people had nothing to do with the overall scheme (Aoyanagi had gotten caught in the crossfire– he still misses her). What's done is done, though.
Because at the end of the day, he has this. This being his apartment, with Dime asleep in his crate and Akane leaning on his shoulder, dozing. They've both had a long day, as has been the case for a while now. It feels nice to just relax. ]
Not going to fall asleep on me, are you?
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The problem with a couch is that it's too small for two full grown men -- it's barely even enough for Kogami, who has to sleep with his legs dangling off the side and has long made his peace with it.
Gino has made peace with precisely nothing in Kogami's apartment. While the man has been exceptionally tolerant with a lot of Kogami's shit, the thirtieth time of sprawling on a blanket on the floor after sex may have taken its toll, the idea of a bed surfaces with all the alacrity of a partner too damn tired of grinding his bones against the cold hard floor. Blankets can only insulate so much, and Kogami should consider a proper bed because the whole randy teenager blanket sex aesthetic is sexy once in awhile, but not when it becomes a staple in their (lovemaking) ...this. Whatever this is.
Kogami holds out for exactly sixteen and a half days.
Day sixteen and a half, Kogami contemplates the new presence in his room critically. It takes up too much space, this bed, and it's barebones, Kogami not actually inclined to get sheets and covers and other accoutrements for it quite yet. It's an invasion of his sanctum sanctorum, a glaring anomaly in the otherwise strictly utilitarian nature of his study room. Day fourteen and fifteen had been Kogami making space for it, trying not to think about what it means in the grand scheme of romantic development, and the half of day sixteen had been Kogami hard at work on assembling the bed frame himself, finally setting the mattress atop of it. If he's going to be here for the long haul to take Sibyl down together with Akane and Gino, might as well make the best of it.
It's a shirtless, sweaty Kogami (because moving a queen-sized mattress through the building and setting up a sturdy bed frame is a bitch) in the doorway of his room that greets Gino when he turns up.
He grunts, by way of greeting: ]
You got sheets?
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the one where kagari didn't die
Kagari Shuusei regains consciousness in a world like and unlike the one he left. He's been drifting in and out for two weeks, they tell him. The terrorist responsible for the escalating riots is dead. They're curiously silent about Makishima, but he hears the whispers in the halls. Kogami's gone, fled the country, and the only thing he can think of to explain that is that Makishima got the end he so richly deserved. The vicious part of Kagari hopes the fucker suffered.
What's less clear is what happened to the man in the underground; he's sure he saw a dominator down there in that anechoic chamber somehow, but he's told the man was lying dead beside him when he was found. For his efforts in restoring peace to the area, he's told, he's getting an increase in his monthly allowance--all purchases pending approval of an Inspector, of course. It seems overly convenient, but he's not going to complain about having extra money for video games and candy and fresh vegetables to cook.
There sounds like there's one less Inspector in town to do that approving, though. Kagari's not so sure how he feels about that. Kogami was once an inspector, sure, but Kagari had only met him after his demotion, and his preconceptions of the man were proved wrong in that first fight. Gino, on the other hand ... well, Kagari knew how he felt about latent criminals. Irony sure was a bitch, wasn't it.
...Speak of the devil, huh? Kagari pushes himself up on the bed at the appearance of his former superior. They both look different than they last saw each other; Ginoza without his glasses and Kagari without hair gel, brunette roots having grown out from behind the red-orange.
He smirks, a little too sharp. On some level, he's grateful that Gino came to see him. But pettiness is an easy urge to succumb to, and what little filter he might usually have is out the window with the pain medication percolating in his system.]
Well, well, well, look who it is. How's the hunting dog life treating you, Gino-san?
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:o !!
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