Chapter Text
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Down on her luck would not even begin to describe her business.
She never went to school for this, but it's not like Redwick University is an astounding achievement. No one brags about a degree from there. Any classmates she had got swallowed up by the police force. She’s glad she doesn’t recognize any of them. She’s glad, every time a police baton strikes her in the side of the head, that she feels no emotional attachment to the people in charge.
She’s left on the side of the road. Clinically, she knows she should be getting home and patching herself up. She’s got blood gushing from her nose like a faucet and it’s sticky in her hair. She can feel herself becoming an unsightly bruise. Her arms are throbbing. Her right eye was swelled up. Rain is pelting her in the face and stinging at her cuts.
“Ouch.” She croaks. She pries herself off the ground and stands on unsteady feet. Her coat is messy. One of her fingers is broken, she can feel it, but she doesn’t want to look at it. She limps her way down the street, aimless for the better part of ten minutes. She avoids puddles to the best of her ability. She’s soaked by the time she’s even made it to a building that looks habitable.
She stops in front of a window. It’s an empty cafe, which isn’t surprising, considering it’s going on midnight. The most surprising part is that it’s open. She knows they won’t serve her when she looks like a bar fight loser. She tucks her hands close to her chest. Hopefully, the rain had taken care of most of her damage. She pushes her shoulder against the door and it gives for her. There’s a little ringing above her head as she enters. A blast of warm air hits her. It makes her cough, all subtly lost on the noisiest entrance she could ever make.
“Welcome.” The girl behind the counter greets. There’s jazz playing on a radio on the shelf. All along the walls of this establishment are flowers and plants. Along shelves, on the windows, in potted plants on the tables. It’s fragrant. There are fairy lights strewn up around the ceiling. On the other side, there’s a door that goes out to a balcony with more tables. It looks like it has a view of the river nearby.
“Just getting dry,” Amelia says. She stays tucked into the door, not daring to go further. She’s trying valiantly not to make eye contact.
“Want to warm up with a drink?” The woman offers.
“No, thank you.”
Another voice from the back of the cafe, “Order?”
“No order.” The woman calls, but there’s something in her voice. Amelia can feel her eyes drilling holes into the side of her head, “... Hey, do I need to call an ambulance or something?”
“Don’t,” Amelia mutters. She risks a glance up. The girl is cute. Navy hair is pulled back into a ponytail. She has a flower tucked behind her ear. Her apron is black with blue stars sewn into the hem. She’s got on a pair of glasses. From behind the frames, blue eyes squint in Amelia’s direction.
Amelia adds, “I’ll be gone in a bit.”
“Sure.” The woman drawls. There’s a cautious look on her, understandably, but it’s sharper than the usual suspicion Amelia deals with. “... You’re getting blood on the floor.”
Amelia hisses, glancing down. Her shoe had a little bit on it, but the marble white floor reflected that. A perfect bloody footprint.
“Shit,” Amelia says. “I’m so sorry.”
“Busy on the streets?” The woman asks stiffly.
It’s better not to mention why she’s in this sort. It’s better for her very specifically if no one else gets involved. The woman is stepping around the counter tersely. Amelia bristles, frightened for a moment, and the woman pauses. She’s eyeing Amelia in a new light.
“Your coat.” The woman says.
“Er, yeah,” Amelia says. “Don’t worry about it, I’m off duty.”
“So I can assume you were crime-fighting, detective?” The woman asks.
Amelia sheepishly scratches at her neck, “Something like that.” If getting the daylights beat out of her by law enforcement was crime fighting. She figures, in this essence, it might be.
The woman stares at her lengthily, putting together pieces in her head that Amelia can’t see. Amelia feels put on the spot. The rain is looking better than being in here.
“Sit down.” The woman orders. She gestures to a nearby booth.
Amelia winces, “No, I’ll just- I’ll be going. I’ll just get blood everywhere.”
“I’m not kicking you out, detective.” The woman says. “Sit.”
Her voice is intimidating. She’s the commander of an army but she’s just wearing an apron. Amelia obeys, even as her shoe squeaks with blood over the floor. She sits down slowly. She doesn’t want to and she wants to make that known.
The woman stands in front of her with her arms crossed. She’s still scrutinizing Amelia, tearing open her skin with her eyes alone.
Amelia tries for a cheery smile, “Uh, seriously, this is weird. What are we doing?”
“ I’m being courteous.”
“I was just-” Amelia stutters. She just wanted to dry off. She doesn't know how to fight this without blustering her way out the door.
The woman takes off her apron. The action alone silences Amelia. Her teeth clack together tightly. She couches before Amelia, her brow pinched. Amelia can’t breathe cause, wow, there’s a pretty girl kneeling in front of her.
“Hold still.” The woman says.
Amelia resists the urge to say yes ma’am. Without the apron to cover it, she can see her name badge. Kronii. That’s certainly a name.
Amelia’s jaw tenses as the cloth is dabbed below her eye. She hadn’t noticed the cut there until touched. She’s throbbing with pain all over. The touch of the apron makes her flinch.
“Don’t move,” Kronii mutters.
“Uh.” Amelia stammers. “I mean it. This is weird.”
“Is it weird to help someone?” Kronii retorts.
Amelia doesn’t know what to say. The attention was making her twitchy. It’s ridiculous to be using napkins from the table dispenser to clean up blood on her hands. Despite all this, the woman doesn’t flinch. Blood isn’t startling to her. Amelia notes this quietly.
From behind the counter, a handleless door swings open. A shorter girl steps out, a black cap on top of her hair and a ponytail wound through it. Her expression is pinched as she scans the counter and then looks over the cafe.
“Hey, what-?” The woman starts and immediately stops when she spots them at the booth. She looks surprised. “Woah.”
“It’s not that bad.” Amelia tries to dissuade the situation from escalating further. She thinks she’s well beyond that when the girl bounds over the counter in one single leap and saunters her way over. Gura, her name tag says.
“Did something happen?”
“Nothing,” Amelia says quickly, too quickly. Kronii had opened her mouth, but Amelia’s response made her stop. Her gaze levels on the detective. Amelia clams up. Shoot, I panicked.
“A little tight-lipped on the circumstances,” Kronii says over her shoulder to Gura. “... but nothing involving us.”
Gura eyes Amelia warily. She’s shuffling closer, her gaze passing over her appearance. Amelia squirms, not used to this feeling, nor comfortable with it.
“Listen, I appreciate this,” Amelia says, “Really, I’m fine, I’ll just go.”
“You sure you don’t need an ambulance?”
“I’m sure.”
Kronii purses her lips. Gura hovers, eyeing the both of them. After a long moment, Kronii stands up, bundling her apron into her arms. Amelia moves to stand as well, wincing at the squeak of her shoe. She doesn’t even wanna look at what she did to the seat.
“Sorry about the mess.” She mumbles.
“Just don’t get beat up like that again,” Kronii says. Something about her tone makes Amelia antsy. She wouldn’t know about that, so there’s no reason to worry. The idea of someone witnessing it had a little more gravity to it, but she kept her doubts.
“Thanks.” Amelia offers, with as much of a smile as she can manage around her hurts. “I’m gonna go, sorry again, yeah.”
Gura is crossing her arms. She’s not saying anything as she glances from Amelia and drills holes into the back of Kronii’s head. Kronii says have a good night and Amelia greedily takes that chance, squeaking her way out and back into the rain. It’s an immediate cold chill down her spine that makes her mourn the warmth of the cafe, but she’s well past the point of caring for her health when her heart is pounding against her lungs.
Near mistake. She thinks, limping down the sidewalk as fast as she can. Gotta do better.
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