Description: In the aftermath of The Butcher's attack on the Southtown General Hospital, his primary victim, Honoka, recovers in a room of her own. Ravaged not just physically, but spiritually as well, Daniel Jack watches over her, uncertain of her fate... and his own.
The young lady was in quite a bit of trouble.
As it turned out, Kino Matsubara, the young fresh graduate from Seijyun University... wasn't. In fact, as the detective in charge of guarding Officer Louis noted, she looked very similar to the woman trying to get past him earlier. It seemed that the mystery woman had snuck into Officer's Loius room, for purposes unknown. That itself would have gotten some minor trespassing, maybe civil disobedience charges. It was a troublesome act that should be punished. But there was a complicating factor.
She nearly died.
Shortly after she had gotten past the posted guards, her curiosity was rewarded by an attack from The Butcher, the terrifying serial killer seizing the city. The end result, while Officer Louis escaped with his life, was that she was found in a coma, clutched by the Interpol agent investigating the case.
And same agent was now guarding her.
The detective sits on a small, uncomfortable chair, beside the hospital bed where the mystery woman was laying down, still unconscious. He was alone here; he requested it with the Southtown Police Department. The STPD wanted to have have the offended detective keep an eye on her, but as Daniel was careful to point out, he had saved the woman's life. And whatever her motives could be figured out... would be best done without the threat of legal consequence.
And now he was alone with the woman.
He was half-dressed in the Interpol greys, the government slacks and shoes being the only things he was wearing. His chest was naked, and bound in bandages. His hands, as well, were bound as well. His left hand was in a gauze mitten, having needed to be reconstructed in a rapid trip to surgery in the aftermath of The Butcher's attack. His right hand, though also bandaged, only needed some stitches, and right now, it was clutching a pencil. On his lap was a notepad, and there, Daniel was dilligently taking notes. Recording what he could remember from the encounter.
And waiting for her to recover.
The beeping of a heart-rate monitor is pretty easy to tune out. For the comatose woman, it's steady, reliable -- the pace never speeding up or slowing down.
Even when sleeping, it would seem that the Twilight Star performer has a flawless sense of rhythm. She'd always appreciated music, and had a fairly good sense of how to move along with it, but actually producing the music wasn't her forte.
Managing a beat, however... is one of her talents. The detective would likely understand what the acceleration of the beat portends -- his attention would be rewarded in a furrowing of the performer's brow, her lips parting to draw in a sharp intake of breath, her hips shifting awkwardly beneath the starched sheets of the hospital bed.
And, of course, the eyelids parting, revealing her brown irises to view. Consciousness is slow to return at first, graciously giving her time to adjust to the dim light of the hospital room.
And then, as her eyes settle upon the agent, consciousness yields the stage to the full realization of her predicament, hitting her full-on like a hammer. Honoka tries to sit up, and realizes that's not the best of ideas -- her arm is fully bound by a shoulder brace., and IV tubes trail from her arm. Thankfully, no external aspiration devices were necessary for her condition, lest it be even more uncomfortable for the juggler.
Mocha brown eyes scan the room once more. This is not the room she was last in. This room has two intact windows. As her eyes settle back onto Daniel, she addresses him, "... Agent." Her left arm shudders, and she draws her hand out from under the sheets, patting herself upon the sternum, satisfied that she was at least provided with a hospital gown. "... How long have I been out?" she asks him, her voice quiet and subdued, nearly inaudible beneath the beeping of the monitor.
She was waking up.
The increased rate from the EKG pulls Agent Little from his note taking. Pulling away from his writing was a struggle, it was almost like waking up himself. Writing his thoughts down, putting them into words was an excellent way to keep focused, to keep his mind and soul together. As the EKG continues to beat rapidly, the detective folds over the notebook for a moment, turning to face the woman when her eyes open. Daniel's expression was calm, but grim. The relaxed visage hanging on him in stark contrast to the iron resolve and grim and gritty presence he carried before. Finally, those eyes open up, those big brown eyes.
That was the greeting from Daniel, as he delicately, gingerly places his right palm on his knee. Glancing up at the clock hanging over, he mutters lightly to himself. "18 hours, 45ish minutes." He states calmly. "You've been out for a while, miss. I'm Agent Daniel Little, of Interpol, but you probably know that." The detective pauses, looking towards the door. He didn't have much time. Turning back to the woman, he looks into her with his own brown eyes.
"How're you feeling, miss?"
The young performer nods back, lifting her heavily-bandaged arm to brush purple-highlighted bangs out of her eyes, smoothing the wispy tendrils of hair to either side of her face. She draws in breath, taking in the new information with half-lidded eyes, trapped within a groggy haze that she just can't seem to work her way out of. The urge to fall asleep is tremendous -- though she's unsure whether that's due to the state of her ravaged body, the copious amount of pain medications, or something even greater.
This isn't the first conversation the Twilight Star performer has had with Daniel, nor the second. But it is... more difficult now than before, for there are several trains of thought, simultaneously coexisting and all fighting for the control of the young woman's vocal chords.
Firstly -- she desperately wants to come up with something snappy to say. The fact that nothing is coming to mind troubles her -- the fog permeating her thought processes makes her feel slow, groggy, dim-witted. She should at -least- acknowledge the detective's presence -- surely, she knows him from -somewhere- other than that Niigata warehouse, right? Where did she know that name from? ... Or was his self-introduction the first time she'd heard it? So... confusing...
Secondly -- she has no sense of time or space. She's disoriented. She'd like to ask any of over a dozen competing questions regarding her status, Daniel's status, the Butcher's status, the current location. One such question already managed to escape her lips; prioritizing the questions remaining is beyond her current capacity for rational thought. In her mentally fogged state, the answers would be irrelevant, anyway; anything pertinent would need to be presented within a rationally constructed framework to make any amount of sense in Honoka's current mental state.
Thirdly -- she knows she's at an extreme disadvantage. The detective has had almost nineteen hours to collect information about her. More, as information from the other parties involved -- the STPD detective, the officer she'd managed to get evaculated from the room. One thing is assured: anything she says can, and likely will, be used against her. She can already surmise that speaking in her current fogged state of mind will unleash a tide of incriminating information about her organization -- something that the criminal ringleader cannot allow to happen.
She reminds herself: the best course of action is to remain completely silent. But inaction is a choice that threatens her very existence; inaction is the primal force that destroyed her family's culture. To sit and say nothing in the face of a direct question, when answers are the very things she seeks most right now, would be anathema to her.
%In small doses, she decides, honesty can be beneficial. "I... feel terrible, Agent Little," she admits. The words come out slowly, slurred; the voice she hears is barely recognizable as her own, a near whisper. She closes her eyelids, seething in frustration at the inability of her mouth to form the proper words.
And one more panicked thought occurs to her, as her eyelids pop open again. Worry creases her brow, as the words zip past her mental defenses before she can stop them: "Am... am I in trouble?"
For Daniel, this was the first conversation in his mind.
The man is patient. He has been in the same place as the mystery woman. He didn't take so long to recover, however; she may be much more frail... or she had lost a greater piece of her soul.
The thing was, Daniel didn't see any reason to dig into who this woman was.
Daniel's concept was that this was an investigator, likely an amauter one, who wanted to learn more details about Officer Louis's attack. She was almost certainly not expecting to be ravaged by that creature, and was very likely traumatized. Daniel Jack was treating this as a victim of assault, not as a criminal or a suspect. She was at a disadvantage, certainly.
But Daniel didn't want her to feel that way.
The Agent of Interpol cracks a smile as she begins to talk. "You look terrible, ma'am." The detective half-jokes, pulling up his notebook, and opening it. "You were the victim of some kind of mental assault, or aura assault. I'm not clear what it is, but I had the same thing done to me... but not as bad as it was to you. But you are alive. And that's what's important." The detective sticks his tongue out the corner of his mouth, looking at how to put his notepad somewhere where he could work.
And she asks that question.
Daniel settles on putting the notepad on a small table beside the mystery woman's head. He doesn't answer the question immediately. "Eh. The STPD is more embarrassed than anything. Detective Onishima is real mad at you outsmarting him, but he's not really explaining how you tricked him. He's probably gonna try and charge you with a lot of crap, I think he wants to get revenge on you. But as long as you're with me?" Daniel Jack raises his bound left hand, a real smile now coming across his face.
"You're not in any trouble, ma'am."
Honoka considers herself extremely lucky that Daniel is here, and not that other detective. He's a good cop... would that make this Detective Onishima the bad cop? The Twilight Star performer then is forced to recall a conversation with Elise Harkness -- one in which the juggler was cautioned that it's possible for a -really- effective sweet-talker to show no signs of deception, even to a prodigious psychic like herself. ... But is Daniel -that- good?
Honoka blinks. Precious seconds have gone by, and she's missed some of what Daniel was saying. Mental assault. Aura assault. Right... the Butcher. She has a distinct memory of her soul being lifted out, akin to entire layers of her being were stripped off, torn away like outer layers of flesh and thrice as painful. The pain was extraordinary -- the last thing she remembered before blacking out.
But you are alive, he'd said. And that's what's important.
"I don't see why, I've done nothing worth--" Words spill out, again unbidden. Her brow knits again, her eyes screw shut, strongly enough to pinch out tears. Her free arm wraps around her body, curling the sheets tightly. Freezing cold... and still that damnable fog, simultaneously stifling her thoughts and loosening her lips. Why is it so... hard to control herself?
Daniel's voice is the only thing providing any clarity at all, any direction to her thoughts. Without confidence in her voice, she says nothing, and saying nothing just traps her in more circuitous, overlapping trains of thought that go nowhere fast.
He's talking again, she notes, opening her eyes once more to focus on his mouth. His eyes are pools she could lose herself in right now, the mouth is moving too fast, keeps her thinking. Did she miss anything this time? The STPD is embarassed... but she's not in any trouble -- oh, Daniel's /good/. Honoka likes being flattered. She usually likes rewarding that with a smile, or a playful barb. Something, anything to show that the remark is appreciated -- a sign to continue. Nothing comes to mind. It frustrates the hell out of her -- and instead of the smile that should be on her face, only the frown works its way out.
"... A-agent... Th-thanks. " she stammers, screwing her eyes shut again. "My m-mind is not... not working right now. I... I need... I helped... Officer Riley. I... I need help. Like..." Her hand presses to her forehead. "Help," she states. It seems like a request -- or at least it would, until she questions herself. "... Did I help him?"
She closes her eyes, clenching her fist tightly. She draws in, then exhales, three long breaths. Honoka feels completely worthless, but she defiantly -refuses- to remain silent, refuses to stay trapped in the prison of her mind. "... Please... talk. Tell me how you... how you... got better. Just... just talk. You're..." Tears flow freely from her eyes. She never, -ever- admits her feelings openly, and it's killing her -- but not as much as the confused silence she's experienced since waking.
"-- you're helping me," she affirms, her moist eyes blinking open, like those of a scared child. Lucidity is elusive... but his words seemed to have done the trick so far...
"Officer Louis" Daniel corrects.
The detective puts down some notes. He was listening. Analyzing. Studying. He liked the notes. It was structure, and a fixed pattern. Words never drift, they always stayed in place. "And he is fine. Still in the same condition as you and I. But you saved his life, hell, you saved my life too." He jots down her reactions, her behavior. Those strange, drifting eyes. She asks him about how he got better. And the answer was... well.
"I'm not better."
"I am doing fine physically." The detective states evenly, adding on to that. "He messed up my left hand pretty badly. But I've had my skin pulled off before, so it isn't too bad." He dismisses the flaying as anything major. He walked away from that, technically. He tries to be a warm, stable presence.
When it was clear that she was increasingly unstable.
"Mentally, though, I'm not better. I keep losing focus, where my mind drifts, and my body goes with it. I've documented it in detail how I feel; I don't know if there has been anything written on it before." He pauses, looking up from his writing to look the mystery woman in the eye. "Like right now. I keep going back to the notebook. I can focus more than anything else in a notebook. And when I don't..." Daniel Jack closes his eyes, the smile fading as his brow furrows. "I have to work hard. Whatever that creature did to you... did to me... did something to our minds." He pauses again, a brief spasm coming over his body.
"Why did you stay to help us?"
"Ri-right. Officer Louis." Where did she get Riley from? Was it another officer's name? It doesn't matter, she convinces herself. She's worthless. He thinks she's crazy. Everyone thinks she's crazy. Zach thinks she's crazy. Sudo thinks she's crazy, but he's too nice to say anything. Elise even thinks she's crazy. It's easy to lie, it's easy to lie when you can't--
Honoka looks back at Daniel, wiping the tears from her eyes. Her eyes focus upon him intently, her mouth parts, her breathing goes shallow. Honoka frowns with disappointment as the moment passes... but then she asks, abruptly, "... Agent? I... what number am I thinking of...?"
And then she notices the notebook -- perhaps she prompted the discussion, perhaps not. Time is losing meaning to her now, but it doesn't matter now -- she's jealous, and the envy is clear in her expression as Daniel speaks.
"... Did something to minds, yes. I... " Suddenly she blurts out, with a raised finger, "Write this! I know, I know what he did... I know what he--"
The finger drops, slowly, as the thought evaporates. She draws in breath once again, and the question of Daniel's returns to her. "... I sta-stayed to help... because I knew I could. Your de-detective, the guns... if I left, your Officer Ri... Officer -Louis- wouldn't b-be able to tell me what he felt. Tell /us/ what he felt, what he knows." She points between herself and Daniel. "What -we- know. Th-that we're linked, now. You... you and I, and him, and... and -him-."
She pauses, tapping her temple. "I... I can't. You... you don't get in here, you hear me? You t-told me. You told me to keep h-him out, and... I... I need Elise. I need f-family."
She clamps her mouth shut. Physically, with her hand. And leans back into her pillow, shutting her eyes tightly.
After a few moments of shallow breathing, her eyes open again, and she looks back at Daniel. Her hand slips down again, gripping tightly at her blanket, her upper body shivering from the intensity of her focus. "... Agent... I... have lots of things to tell you. And lots of things... lots of things I don't want to. I... I want a notebook. Like yours. And I... I want to g-go back to the circus. If th-that's okay."
Again, the elusive moments of crystal-clear lucidity pass. She's still shivering, curling the blanket about her once again. "It's... it's cold. I'm c-cold. I'm t-talking too much, Agent...? I want to go home. People can help me there."
Daniel Jack is patient, writing down her words.
This was undue stress on the woman. He knew this. Even the detective's gentle approach was still a lot. But Daniel had to get this information now. He had to keep investigating. He would be on the prowl again once his hand healed. He needed to talk with Daisy, he... he needed to talk to others. Experts.
Maybe a certain pair he met in the underworld...
The mystery woman continues her nervous bantering. Her reaction was... a lot worse than Daniel's own. The link, yes. A link they shared. A mark, for the detective. The Butcher wouldn't leave them now. She was likely to be a victim at the end of this. A victim again. She gives a name. She gives a request. The name was something he would hold. But the request? Daniel gives a toothy smile, as he puts down his pencil for a moment. Resting his left hand, he reaches into his pants pocket with his 'good' hand.
And he pulls out another notebook from his pocket. This one was spiral bound, flipping top and over, with a weathered pencil stuck between the tarnished wire. "This is an older notebook." He explains, wincing a bit from the pain. "You might have some of my old notes from previous cases. Don't mind them though, you can rip them out." He puts it by the mystery woman's hand, smile still on his face. "You don't need to tell me anything you don't feel comfortable telling me." The detective says, though he makes a note. A circus. Hm. As she begins to shiver, though, she gives the next request.
She needed a home.
Daniel Jack reaches out, placing his hand on the mystery woman's. "I can get Elise. You just give me a phone number, or a contact, and I'll give her a call. She can come here and work things out with the STPD. They still have a bone to pick, and while I can do a lot for you, I can't release you, medically or otherwise. But this Elise can." The detective fondles in his other pocket, pulling out a smartphone. He motions it towards the mystery woman.
"Do you want to call her, or me?"
Honoka's starting to get the hang of this, actually. She's been wavering back and forth between lunacy and clarity -- with focus and determination she's able to pierce through the fog and speak exactly what's on her mind. Not as quickly or as clearly as she'd like, but enough to be understood.
And as Daniel produces another notebook, Honoka opens her eyes, reaching for it like a greedy child reaches for candy. Impulse control -- that's /tomorrow's/ recovery goal.
Her hands shaking, she manages to remove the pencil after some duress. She places the pencil into her right hand -- but realizes, from all the piranha-like bites up and down it, that's just not happening. "... S-so I write left-handed then..." comes the voiced thought, as she flips through the pages. The notes are interesting, but she flips past them, finding an empty page.
And she writes a number. It's a cellphone number from the Hokkaido area -- whenever she focuses on writing, it seems she's lost no acuity at all, for she continues to write. Elise's name does -not- get written, but rather the name of a legal counsel (judging from all the suffixes listed), as well as three more contact names. She gives time ranges for each person's availability. And she's about to write more, when she stops.
And rips out the page, handing it to Daniel. "Lawyer. He's... remainder. Reta... retainer. He will... help you. Elise is... my friend. She'll help -me-." She blinks, frowning somewhat. "C-can you call? I'm not... " She makes some vague hand gesture that vaguely resembles a bursting firework. "But first, I owe you this..."
She begins writing again. She draws a crude diagram of a humanoid form. Doubles over her lines, triples over them. Then she draws faces inside -- nothing as dense or bold as the original outline. Frowning faces, screaming faces.
She looks back at Daniel, setting the pencil down for now. "... The... Butcher. He's... collecting. Not just... not just one. Many. Is that... that what you feel too?"
That's how it worked, really.
The drifting. Feeble minds ended up only drifting, only trapped away in dark dreams that was their life now. But stronger minds could force the clarity... for moments. Daniel himself, as his second encounter with the Butcher showed, was too easily lost within the insidious ennui that was crawling through him. It was a rot, a wasting rot.
One that ran through this poor woman worse than the detective himself.
And yet, the Agent of Interpol was calm. Collected. Balanced. Or more likely, he didn't care. Caring was something that was part of the sickness. And it really was a sickness. He lets her have the notebook, a smile on his face as he patiently lets her write. He himself goes to his own notebook, and writes in it as well. He is only interrupted as the woman tugs on him. Turning back over, he looks at the notes, the written down number. A lawyer. Understandable. And some friends; though no Elise. That would be a person he may need to followup on, when he isn't burdened with more important missions. "Don't worry about it, ma'am. I'll give your lawyer a call first, and I'll explain things best I can. Then I'll get one of your friends over." But that wasn't the thing that makes his smile fade, no. As he takes the numbers, to jot them down on his notes, there is a picture shown to him.
And that picture makes his eyes widen in terror.
Daniel listens wordlessly, reaching out to clutch the notepad in his good hand. It trembles in his grip, as the image sinks in. The pink energy. The strange... presence. The strange technique. This woman... this woman must be an empath of some kind. And this is what she saw. Pieces that were formed twice before suddenly fall into place. The soul eating. The sensation. The link. Sweat forms on the brow of the detective, as he drops the notepad on the bed.
"He is taking me away from me."
The Twilight Star circus travels -- a permanent landline is practically useless. Though, for right this moment, the circus is stationed outside Southtown, waiting.
And last night, the circus likely had to go live without their feature juggler and their best fighter. It must have been quite a downer of a performance. And while one might expect her crew to come looking for her, their standing orders are to reconnoiter only if in a secluded area. And only then... after the coast is clear. The hospital is definitely not clear.
So the Agent would be the first one calling -- which would set off definite alarm bells. And that would probably mean Elise would get pulled in -anyway-.
"... That's ... that's the main line for the circus. If... if they get flustered and the lawyer's not... not around, j-just ask for one of them to get in touch. Or Elise..." Did she write Elise's name down? She forgets -- and Daniel has the paper.
So she's cool with Daniel calling. She nods quietly, wrapping the blanket about herself. Ennui... Honoka starts to feel that. Feels like she shouldn't care, shouldn't bother. It's in marked contrast to her... everything. She's been fighting diffidence for so long that it's practically second nature.
But he'd asked a question... and she at least owes it to him to answer it. "This is what I felt." She nods back, as he mentions his own thoughts on the matter. She draws a person -- correction, she draws an outline of a person, but leaves the left fifth of the outline undrawn. Same with the face -- one eye missing, half of the smile. "... I am... a terrible dancer, but not as.. bad as my artwork."
She looks back at Daniel, frowning somewhat at his expression. She is empathic -- she responds to emotions just as surely as the sun rises, and she's unable to hide that from him in her current state. Reaching out to place her hand on Daniel's. There's no pink glow there, no special warmth -- her hand is cold as ice. "... Agent, I... know this is probably just a job for you, but... thank you." Her face is... more difficult to read than normal, but a smile is definitely among the features upon her face. "I'm g-glad you were here to talk to me. To help me." Beat. "... and not live up to your name."
It's not even clear from her face if she was making a joke at the Lady-Killer's expense there, really; she almost immediately looks away, starting working on her picture again. Scribble, scribble, scribble.
Musing aloud -- half to Daniel, half to herself, she says, "Maybe... maybe someone else will get... get our pieces back. B-break the pinata... let our souls spill out of him."
Or maybe she will remain prisoner in her own mind forever, is the unspoken alternative.
He was making him.
The thought runs through Daniel, making his blood run cold. If The Butcher was consuming his essence... he was slowly becoming a part of him. A part of the collective. And if Daniel refused to back down, to collapse into a useless heap... then the monster would grow only stronger. And stronger.
Strength beget strength.
"I don't have Elise's number." Agent Little idles mindlessly, staring ahead. Groping for his other notebook, he brings it. "Just... just your lawyer, and some of your friends." He mutters, shaking his head. As she reaches out to hold Daniel's hand, he too feels cold. Ice against ice. He looks at the drawing, as it slowly forms. And she explains. She thanks. And she... she realizes his nickname. Daniel Jack pauses a moment, unsure of how to respond at first. "What's in a name, right? Your name doesn't make you who you are, right Miss Matsubara." The detective manages a mischievious smirk. But she suggests that some one else will get the monster.
And Daniel's face hardens.
"No." Was the Agent's answer. "This isn't someone else's problem. I am going to track down that monster." Daniel states with intensifying resolve. "And I am going to stop this. I don't know if you can bust him like a pinata, but I know this, ma'am: I am not going to rest until I reach the end of this. I don't need a soul to save people." Daniel Jack's focus solidifies, strengthening to a head.
"And I am going to save you, ma'am."
'Miss Matsubara.' It's enough to elicit a small smile from Honoka -- she got the joke, but... well. What -is- in a name?
She doesn't get time to dwell on that, though. The intense look from Daniel is enough to send another round of shivers down Honoka's spine. She's got a chunk missing out of her shoulder, several contusions marks along her arms, torso, and upper thighs... she hurts. The sudden movement in her spine aggravates all those wounds -- such that there's an aftershock to the shudder: a wince of pain knitting across her forehead.
The Butcher took a lot out of the psychic -- part of it, the control filter she'd established for dealing with tidal shifts in emotion. Daniel's sudden resolve... didn't empower her. It hurt.
"I... I believe you. I'll... fight. Fight with you. But it... it can't be just us. We... we need help. Just... a few people. You know people, maybe... maybe they can help." She clutches her hand tightly, looks at the numerous bandages upon it, feels every one pulse. "We... we can't fail again, Agent..." She shakes her head somberly, then stabs her finger at the drawing. "Every time he hits us, we lose twice -- once, our own strength, and again, our p-p-passion fuels him. What... what enemies have you ever fought that got stronger the more you hit them?"
She shakes her head, frowning down at her drawing once more. "This is bigger than just you, me, and Officer Louis..."
She's despondent, hopeless. Part of her thinks Daniel's right -- but that part is beginning to get dragged down by the ennui.
But then she sees the notebook. He'd mentioned that he doesn't have Elise's number. There was... there was some reason she didn't write it, she realizes. Why? She's... she's the public... relations officer. And one of the ringmasters. She reaches for Daniel's piece of paper -- a bit more controlled than last time -- and inscribes Elise's name and number upon it. She'd really like to talk to Elise.
"... Your hand is cold too," she notes, looking back up at Daniel. She recites the drugs the anesthesiologist prescribed. "... They say that's good... for dealing with shock."
She shakes her head. It's no good for them.
A nurse knocks lightly on the door, before entering. Honoka is likely overdue for a check of her vitals, among other things."
Daniel's bursts in emotion were what kept him moving.
It was like pushing a cart. Once the cart slowed down... that was what the Butcher left on him. But every surge of passion, of emotion kept him going. It wasn't meant to empower the mystery woman, no. It was meant to empower himself. And yet, he could see that fear. He could see how it was breaking him, crushing through to him. An empath from the circus.
He should be more gentle.
The detective's glower fades into a softer gaze. "Sorry about that." He says, looking away briefly. "You are right. We need help. We need people who... who are smarter at this then us. More experienced. Resolve isn't going to win this. I..." The detective pulls away his hand, and pinches the brow of his nose, wiggling his mustache. "I..."
"I need to be less pig-headed."
A knock rings on the door. The detective groans, standing up. "Sounds like the nurse needs to see you, ma'am." The detective states flatly, collecting up his notebook. Deftly retreiving his phone, he looks at the new number, nodding his head. "Thank you, ma'am. I'll start talking with your lawyer first, then Elise, and then anybody else. You'll be taken care of, and before you know it, you'll be right back at the circus." The Agent of Interpol smiles once again, before heading towards the door. And there, he pauses. "Oh, before I forget."
"What's your name, ma'am?"
Honoka would love for Daniel to keep talking, to tell her more and more. Anything to keep her from falling into the haze of indecisive self-loathing that she'd been in when she first awoke... but given the psychic impact of even that, she probably wouldn't be able to take much more. A little... insanity will probably be good for her finding a new equilibrium.
When his emotion fades, there is a direct response: Honoka breathes more easily. Tension she didn't realize was there, releases. It's one thing to feel a strong emotion when you're the source of it, but when there's another around to feel it... one -not- on the same wavelength? It's different.
"... Thank you, Agent. For... for everything."
Well, not 'thanks for drawing the Butcher to the room I was standing in,' probably. But that goes unsaid.
"I... I think we could all use some rest, Agent..." she says, drowsily. After all that sleep, she should be wide awake. But after the emotional toll she's taken, she feels like she could sleep for a few more days.
After answering the Agent's question, of course. She could give him her real name. But after eight years... it's all but forgotten.
With half-lidded eyes and an appreciative smile, she replies, "Honoka Kawamoto." That's the only name he'll get, and in this instance, it happens to be the one that will open the most doors.
The nurse waits by the door, with a clipboard in hand, smiling patiently at the detective.
"What a pretty name."
That is the last word from the detective, as he opens the door for the nurse. In time, the nurse would give her diagnostics. And soon, the rest of the STPD will dive upon the mysterious woman. And for good reason. But Daniel Jack had an obligation, as he lets the nurse inside. Stepping out, he tucks away his notepad, and then frisks around his phone. A complicated task. Punching in the numbers, he brings the phone to his ear, and waits for a moment. Waiting. Waiting.
"Hello? This is Agent Daniel Little of Interpol."
"And I am speaking on behalf of a Honoka Kawamoto..."
Log created on 16:12:11 02/04/2015 by Daniel, and last modified on 00:26:34 02/06/2015.