Cool-headed Commander

Progress on a thing I’m working on. Gonna start on Death either tonight or tomorrow, depending. 

“I’ll believe zat ven I see it.” she told him before it lessened some. “Zat sounds gute. Can’t sleep lately.”

No surprise there. Thankfully, she could tell the difference between tones in what was innuendo and what wasn’t. Therefore his genuine offer was met with the near-usual genuine acceptance. Besides! She missed him as her warm spot. Mike was nothing short of a miniature sun in terms of warmth production. He always had been. 

However, even she knew his own penchant for falling asleep once comfortable and safe. A glance was shared with Death at that, he returned it. There didn’t need to be any words between them. In the inevitable case the Burner fell asleep, the Haitian shaman would keep an eye on her.

Death snorted. “Considerin’ she’s ‘ere…” He jerked a thumb in War’s direction as she grabbed the bucket for the orange blossoms. “…An’ you only show up when there’s nuttin’ else t’be doin’? Is obvious. Jus’ glad y’managed t’stay outta the Duke’s clutches t’is time t’rough…”

The last time the taller boy had a run-in with the Duke, he’d come back almost torn apart. Patching him up and making sure he’d be alright was all Death could do to make sure War didn’t fly off the deep-end and try to flay the limo lord in public. As entertaining as that would have been, the Haitian begrudgingly acknowledged that the ever-obnoxious Duke helped keep the precarious gang balance in the city under control.

Up the stairs and out of the greenhouse, he went, setting his bucket in the deep service-sink in the back alcove of the shop. He would tend to the contents in a moment, turning about to grab a small pot from a shelf nearby.

“First, I needja t’grab m’press ‘n’ miniburner,” He chuckled a little at realizing his own pun, but didn’t dwell on it too long. “How I keep puttin’ it up outta reach’s beyond me. Good t’in’ I got some’ne tall t’day.”

He turned about after that to reach under the sale counter and pulled out three decent-sized bins filled with plastic baggies. Various dried concoctions were in each, pieces of paper stapled to them. He set the bins on the counter and unloaded them in rows, setting one aside once empty.

He’d taken the eight months of quiet after the last massive assault to actually learn territory boundaries and easements of the gangs throughout Motorcity. Knowing those had helped keep conflict between the Burners and the others to a relative minimum. It still happened from time to time, but not as frequently as it had in the past.

On returning to the main floor, he shut the door to the greenhouse behind him. Courtesy to Death, who always asked that door keep shut. A chuckle escaped him at the first request. It didn’t stop him from walking to the shelves in question and reaching up to pull the equipment asked down.

‘I see. You only like me for my tallness.’

‘Might be your brand of magic, how you get things up there. Explains how you can reach this high.’

It was a joke, obvious by the jovial lilt on his voice.

‘Maybe we should rearrange the shelves to avoid this problem in the future?’

That was only a suggestion, though. He didn’t expect it to be taken seriously in any manner. The press and burner were set on the counter within reach of Death and he turned around to see what else was in store. A small huff of breath escaped him at the news. Looked like getting things down from the shelves was about as exciting as it was going to be for a while.

Admittedly, Mike hovered a moment over the Haitian’s shoulder (although that wasn’t hard) before he realized what he was doing and took a step back. He nodded his head as the information was relayed, stepping around Death as they went about their separate ways.

He bent over the counter, looking over the baggies splayed out. Eyes flicked over the labels, paying close attention to the dates after the title-field P/U: and putting them in one or the other bin as asked. He couldn’t help the inaudible tap of one boot heel on the floor. Tedium did that to him, fidgeting was all he could do to keep still. But, it was something to do and by the substantial amount the overdue bin was accumulating, it was definitely necessary that it was done.

He’d been at it for a short while, having managed to move through half the second line before a thought occurred to him. He stood up straight to stretch, turning his head over his shoulder.

‘Hey, uh...Do you want me to arrange the overdue ones by name or date?’