#zimtescapism

[zimtphilosoph]

or Read On Archive of Our Own (AO3)

Earl Grey and Sweet Vermouth

Vermouth caught the apple in mid-air on her way up to the kitchen's peninsula. “You're throwing apples at me now? I guess the shotgun would clash with the apron quite a bit.”

Meandering over, it became apparent the woman fell almost two inches shy in height to the man in the apron.

Glancing up to the nearing actress, Okiya caught the overt smugness in a mildly amused smirk, which brought an infuriating dimple to the woman's cheek.

“Isn't it theatre custom to throw edibles in follow-up to an ill performance.” Okiya stated.

“Ah, so the music didn't suit your taste, Rye. I see.” Vermouth's fingertips strayed along the edge of the countertop as if still following the grand piano's dulcet sway. Before the actress settled on a bar stool vis-à-vis, one leg absently crossed over the other, a mellow hum still under her breath.

Okiya observed the woman's unusual light-hearted demeanour. This was Sweet Vermouth, not the aloof and callous one he'd been acquainted with. The infuriating woman, who didn't shy away from standing atiptoe with his koibito-san. This time, however, Gin had taken a hollow point closer to heart. Almost succeeding in killing Vermouth in the process.

“No. It did, actually. But it wasn't the first time I heard you play.”

“Not the first?” For the better it might've been, she'd opted to sit abreast the peninsula beforehand. The thought of what Rye might've witnessed on that solemn evening she'd played Chopin's Nocturne only further stoked her unease.

“Eat up. I initially throw the apple for you to actually take a bite, seeing as you're hypoglycaemic. If the migraine is the to go by. You squint your eyes markedly as the light invades, and your movements are more deliberate. I can assure you, it's neither poisoned nor rotten.”

Vermouth glowered and gave a disparaging scoff at the not quite late FBI agent but took a crunching bite of out of the fruit nonetheless.

“I might've to reconsider.” Okiya's gaze strayed over to the kitchen door and the adjacent parlour. “On the Rotten Apple front, that is.” The sly bastard, he must've ascertained whether matriarch was well out of earshot. Yukiko's late castigation ostensibly still fresh on his mind, then concluded. “A tamanegi suits you just as well.”

Vermouth, who still manducated on the honeycrisp fruit, choked awkwardly on the latest bite she'd taken.

That woman's stroke of ill luck enriched Okiya's cup of Earl Grey considerably.

“It seems words can kill you just as easily, woman. If I'd known before, it would've saved me a round of bullets.”

But contrary to his words, Okiya opted to place another cup of Earl Grey in front of Vermouth, who scowled and in a bid to quell her late conundrum deigned and took a sip, endeavouring to preserve a soupçon of dignity.

A tad more forceful than strictly necessary, the actress clinked the cup back onto its plate. “I abhor you.”

“The feeling is mutual, I can assure you.”

“So a tamanegi. Do tell. To be bested by a woman. Surely it must've made you cry, Rye?” Vermouth crooned in low contralto and cocked her head, idly resting her chin in her palm.

Okiya scoffed. “I've known your worldview to be severely compromised, but that's twisting the truth rather grotesquely. I scarred you quite well in New York, Silverhair. Whilst our shootout at the harbour parted with you fleeing with tantei-bouya. And on a final note, I could've ended you on the rooftops of the Mōri Tantei Jimusho.”

“I know. Lucky me, that you abhor our dear Gin even more. I actually felt your bullets passing.”

“I remember you meandering down from the rooftops at your own leisure. It's fortunate that my finger is not itching to put a bullet between your eyes.”

“Ah yes, I see the moral high ground yawning.” The bitterness behind her words seemed almost astringent.

“Yawning indeed. But Gin, you're not. You've got the devil's luck. You almost died at his hand this time.”

“My my, the almost part, I see. Well, I'm sorry to disappoint, Rye. The kitten told me you and him had a little spat after Angel and I fell. Is he... dead?”

There's a strange depth to the actress's voice. One that gave Okiya pause.

“No. Although he shall be licking his wounds. He played a lone hand this time. I don't suppose That person would connive even his third in command such an agenda.”

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[zimtphilosoph]

Raiha Falls

-I-

-後程-

A dark timbre hailed out into the courtyard as sharp and clear as a bullet dislodging into the night.

“Tch. It seems you're fair game to me now.”

As soon as Gin's hand disappeared beneath the lapel of his overcoat, as was his usual modus operandi, Vermouth in pursuit of both, the male executive and the girl, abandoned her cover.

The disguise of Kudō Yūsaku forsaken, and the mask forgone. To drew the noose ever tighter around the Kudō family, was something she'd shun till her last.

Gin at least, would've seen through one of her games, as the man had the keen sense of a bloodhound, able to sniff her out, even when no one else seemed to glean the truth beneath.

“I beg to differ. Lay off her, Gin.”

After tailing both, the male executive and the girl to a corporate building whose premises are bordered eastwardly by the Teimuzu river, Vermouth's voice still held an ounce of breathlessness within as it carried out into the courtyard.

Intercepting his line of fire, the actress drew her Belstaff coat closer to her lithe frame, missing the trusted weight of her gun, more than she would care to admit. And yet, her steps betrayed none of it. The almost meandering yet self-assured poise clad the woman in a habitual veneer of cold composure.

-後程-

Ran stood pale and unmoving, her back flush against the rails, and a vast escarpment just beyond. Torrents of glistering black cascaded into one of Raiha-no-taki's sunken pools and further onward into the river itself and left a constant roar in her ears.

A gaze of inquisitive indigo bore into the actress only in passing, but after a merest moment of indecision, seemed to come alight with recognition.

Her ever so quietly uttered “It's you.” so genuine in its sentiment, yet so profoundly wrong to the woman who struts upon this worldly stage in the guise of her own daughter.

If this evening was to steep in a grand drape of blood, at least this abhorrent lie shall take its last bow with her.

“Our traitor coming out to play. It shall be your undoing, woman.”

A heavy-booted prowl conquered its path on the concrete pavement.

Gin licked over his canines with decadent relish, tasted out on his words like a connoisseur would savour a comet vintage. He finally had her, the grande dame of deceit, no longer untouchable to him.

“We'll see.” she crooned in a low contralto.

Vermouth tilted her head to one side with an air of coquet aloofness, a lazy cavalier smirk thin on culpable quirked lips. All but acting the Agent provocateur she was.

It reaped her nothing but a contemptuous scowl.

Calloused olive iries seethed, narrowed in utter distrust, as Gin considered the little karateka to whom Vermouth seemed so unequivocally drawn.

“Far from that sleuth, it has been the Mōri girl and the bouya, you were drawn to. Our line of work should've ridden you of such foolish sentiments. It doesn't become you, Vermouth.”

The defiant gleam in vibrant turquoise bedimmed into guardedness. “Is there something you're looking for, Gin?”

The man ground his jaw, a low baritone deepening further till it bled into a growl. “Tsk. Doesn't matter. She'll merely precede them. That brat and dilettante tantei will be disposed of soon enough.”

The silver blond executive flared his nostrils, keen to mete out the coup de grâce, now that his game was afoot.

“No, yamete.” a soft outcry, followed by a cascade of lightsome footsteps, draw the immediate focus of both syndicate members.

The muzzle trained to the high of Vermouth’s heart aligned its aim in a split second.

Her attention never to stray far from Gin, she read his intention not a moment to soon.

Acting on a desperate momentum, Vermouth lay one gloved palm to the small of Ran's waist, and spun them both around. Outmanoeuvring the muzzle until it no longer trained on the girl, but left the elder woman vulnerable in its stead. Negligent to her own, Vermouth took utmost care to coax Ran's head into a protective dip against her own sternum.

Mere seconds later, a shot rang out into the courtyard like a bell tolling.

-後程-

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[zimtphilosoph]

Nemuri no

The car door fell close and drowned out the lively din of Buroku-Chūōbyōin`s underground parking lot. The actress sunk back into the seat. Eyelids fluttering close over vibrant turquoise, straining against tiredness that weighted on her bearing, far more than she'd care to admit.

“The world is no stage of yours now, isn’t it?”

This little quip caught the bouya a louring scowl.

“Ara, little Holmes. I seem to have left my poise and panache in Beika-chō, along with my Colt Government and five inch Louboutins. It clashed horrible with Yūsaku’s Belstaff tweed coat and overall cockiness.” The ‘A shared family trait, as it may seem, dear.’ was left unsaid, but not lost on his son.

With an air of petulance, the bouya slumped back into the bench seat with a scowl of his own.

Reaching out towards the sulking detective boy, the elder tousled his hair up even further. Only to have her hand slapped away amid a surly grumble. “Sheesh! Ano on'na... .”

Twin sets of eyebrows rose as the bespectacled gazes of both FBI agents strayed in unison into the rearview mirror to watch the woman and the bouya in the back.

In the passenger seat of her superior`s Mercedes, Jodie`s lips quirked minutely, but schooled back into a hard line in the next.

-後程-

“You should take the mask off, Vermouth. You're still running a slight fever after all. Yukiko-obāsan always complains, how it makes it harder to breathe underneath. But I guess, you're more used to it, than she is, ne?”

This dryly dished out bon mot was an overt jab at her predilection to hide beneath masks. The little one had grown much too cheeky for her liking. Although she had to concede him a point, she was quite uncomfortable beneath. But did she truly want to lift the mask, with Black being there?

“These masks of yours, you can no longer remove them without removing some of your own skin, don’t you, kawaii-ko?”

Abusan`s'¹ words made her skin crawl anew.

“Fine.” she conceded. A fine manicured hand wandered to her neck, deft fingertips sliding up just beneath her jawline to unmask with habitual expertise.

As the trusted requisite fell, the actress couldn’t eschew but breathe a content sigh. An askant glance to her little Holmes wasn't even needed to ascertain smugness was abound. Not that his ego was in dire need to be panegyrized. 'You're your mother’s child, aren’t you?' Fondness crinkled the corner of her eyes, a certain softness that stole away from hardened aloofness.

Black`s gaze was involuntary drawn to the whole scene unraveling in the backseat. His grip on the steering wheel stiffened as the actress ripped off the mask, and the woman who reappeared beneath, was no older than Jodie herself.

Three days afore, as he had first lain his eyes on the actress, he'd last seen in person almost twenty years prior, he dared not to let his gaze waver in fear of what he would be met with, if her face was the one he would seek out. Not after seeing the carnage the hollow-point had wrecked as it had torn into the cavity above her heart, nor the gory trench just shy of her carotid.

To him, the woman Jodie had held onto, might've been closer to death than life.

Following thereafter, he was preoccupied to ascertain she would not be killed whilst recovering. And yet, an attempt at her life had been made and almost successfully executed. As Jodie briefed him in, on what had transpired the night afore.

And now, the same woman whose life seemed stuck in a broken clockwork, was living on borrowed time.

Vermouth caught Black`s gaze in the rearview mirror. Stoic green met conflicted amber for a mere moment ere the actress averted her eyes to glance outside the passenger side window. The dull hubbub of the nightlife outside, passing her by with a strange kind of estrangement at large.

If this world was none but a stage to her, she would gladly take her exit through the wings. An all too well known world-weariness settled, a tiredness far beyond morpheus reach.

-後程-

Three kōsokudōro later, the woman and the bouya in the backseat were fast asleep.

“Oh my…” Jodie had to chance a double take as she peeked over the her seat back. A pinprick of curiosity alighting at the lull in conversation between Cool kid and Vermouth.

The bouya had leaned into the actress, whilst sleep had claimed him. Ostensibly quite content there with his glasses slightly askew.

But it was the elders hand, lain shy of the little tantei`s temple, which gave Jodie pause.

Tousled strands stood in evidence, where not long ago Vermouth`s fingers must've carted through, but now lay idle amid the bouya's unruly fringe. This sweet gesture of hers, held such a stirringly maternal sentiment, Jodie had to avert her eyes as the mirror to the past crack'd from side to side. Made even more palpable by the woman untouched by time itself.

The grief lay so raw now.

-後程-

21 years ago. Starling Residence.

The little girl tugged her knees up to her chest and nestled her cheek against their caps. All huddled in upon herself, for a time she didn’t stir, but thereupon trembled with a minute shiver, soon to be superseded by another and onto the next, till her small frame shook under the weight of held in sobs.

Her knuckles strained white against her stuffed jackrabbits rich brown fur. A threadbare lagomorphian solacer, whose velvet nose nuzzled up to the palm of its owner. Now bearer and witness as Jodie`s quiet sniffles carried out into the night.

The door to the nursery, afore slightly left ajar, yawned open and a soft tread fell on carpeted floors.

“Little Miss.” a warm feminine lilt inquired softly.

Halting mere steps before the huddled up child, the elder crouched to met the littlest Starling at eye level. A gesture further accompanied by the rustling of silk and a faint trace of wintersweet.

Without lifting her gaze, the little girl know who had come. It was a woman she'd met as the fiancée of a gentlemanly Englishman, who'd been a dear friend to her father, even back then. A year had worn on since that day of winters past, and his fiancée likewise had proven a trusted friend to her family.

Tucking a wayward strand of platinum blonde hair behind her ear, the elder observed the child before her with overt worry.

“Do you mind if I stay?” she queried genially, careful not to impose her presence onto the toddler.

The little girl shook her head, tousled honeyed curls spilling to the tip of her chin as a pair of azure eyes shyly peeked through.

“Please.” a word of plea and a bright-eyed appeal for her to remain.

The elders voice softened until it sank to a mellow cadence. “Then I shall.”

On a side note -'¹ Abusan

„And with him, the world was her oyster.“ Wife of Karasuma Renya and a godparent to Vermouth. She holds a MD-PhD in Pharmacology and focuses mainly on translational research. She’s of Japanese American ancestry.

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[zimtphilosoph]

Earl Grey and Sweet Vermouth

Vermouth caught the apple midair on her way up to the kitchen's peninsula. “You're throwing apples at me now? I guess the shotgun would clash with the apron quite a bit.”

Meandering over, it became apparent the actress stood almost two inches shy in height to the man in the apron. Albeit counterpoised smoothly with a high of sophisticated smugness, evident in her usual aloofness and a mildly amused smirk.

“Isn't it theatre custom to throw edibles in follow-up to an ill performance.” Okiya stated jejunely, whilst he glanced up to the nearing actress. As a sudden coruscation flickered through the garden window and caught onto the high point of his glasses. Not unlike the mocking glint, Vermouth conceived lay within Okiya's eyes at this juncture.

“Ah, so the music didn't suit your taste, Rye. I see.” Vermouth's delicate fingertips stray along the edge of the countertop on its own metrical lay. Before she settled on a bar stool, abreast the peninsula, one leg absently crossed over the other, a mellow hum still under her breath.

Okiya observed the woman's unusual light-hearted demeanour. This was Sweet Vermouth, not the jaundiced one he's acquainted with. The mischievous felid trait bent on vellicating the rabid hounds muzzle. The provocative kitten, who didn't shy away from standing atiptoe with his koibito-san. This time, however, the black hound had mauled and took a hollow point closer to heart. Almost succeeding in killing the actress in the process.

“No, actually, it did. But it wasn't the first time I heard you play.”

“Not the first?” For the better it might've been, she'd opted to sit beforehand. Her head throbbed, and her eyes stung. The thought of what Rye might've witnessed only stoked her unease.

“Eat up. I initially throw the apple for you to actually take a bite, seeing as you're hypoglycemic. If the headache is anything to go by. You squint your eyes markedly as the light invades, and your movements are more deliberate. I can assure you, it's neither poisoned nor rotten.”

Vermouth glowered at the FBI agent, under the guise of one redheaded engineering student, but took a crunching bite of out of the fruit nonetheless.

“I might've to reconsider.” Okiya's gaze strayed over to the kitchen door and the adjacent parlor. “On the Rotten Apple front, that is.” The sly bastard, he must've ascertained whether the matriarch was still well out of earshot. Only then, he concluded. “A tamanegi suits you just as well.”

Vermouth, who still manducated on the honeycrisp fruit, choked awkwardly on the latest bite she'd taken.

That woman's stroke of ill luck enriched Okiya's cup of Earl Grey considerably.

“It seems words can kill you just as easily, woman. If I'd known before, it would've saved me a round of bullets.”

But contrary to his words, Okiya opted to place another cup of Earl Grey in front of Vermouth, who'd taken a sip from the offered brew before endeavouring to preserve a soupçon of dignity.

“I abhor you.” a tad more forceful than strictly necessary, the actress set her cup back on its platter. What did this man have upon him that let him get under her skin, time and time again?

“The feeling is mutual, I can assure you.” Rye's frown bore a darker nuance to it.

Yet, the actress seemed unbothered.

“So a tamanegi. Do tell. Bested by a woman. It must've made you cry, Rye. No?” Vermouth cocked her head, and idly rested her chin in her palm.

Okiya scoffed. “I've known your worldview to be severely compromised, but that's twisting the truth rather grotesquely. I scarred you quite well in New York, Silverhair. Whilst our shootout at the harbour parted with you fleeing with tantei-bouya. And on a final note, I could've ended you upon the rooftops of the Mōri Tantei Jimusho.”

“I know. Lucky me, that you abhor Gin even more. I actually felt your bullets passing.”

“I remember you meandering down from the rooftop at your own leisure whilst double tapping your temple. It's forunate that my fingers are not itching to put a bullet between your eyes.”

“Ah yes, I see the moral high ground yawning.” The bitterness behind her words seemed almost astringent.

“Yawning indeed. But Gin, you're not. You've got the devil's luck. You almost died at his hands this time.”

“The almost part, I see. Well, I'm sorry to disappoint, Rye. The kitten told me you and him had a little spat after Angel and I fell. Is he... dead?”

There's a strange depth to the actress's voice. One that gave Okiya pause.

“No. Although he shall be licking his wounds. He played a lone hand this time. I don't suppose That person would connive even his third in command of such an agenda.”

#vermouth #subaru okiya #akai shūichi #dcmk #meitantei conan #detective conan #dcmk fanfic #zimtescapism #unbeta'd #culinary references #sweet vermouth #fanfiction #fanfic