' oi , jiji . ' it's no cinderella-smooth carriage ride in the back of a cop cruiser, and yet the great phantom thief still remains lounged, postured arrogantly along the back seats as nonchalant as any other sigh-inducing brat who had in fact been picked up by his better to be brought immediately home after making some trouble.
he isn't exactly worried despite his circumstances, and he's sure zenigata can tell, too - the two of them exchanging glances, or the occasional charming, glittery-eyed grin on dark's part in the rear-view mirror. a cuffed car ride like this could've been taken in gloomy sulk or plain silence, yet what's disgrace to him by any other person almost feels a privilege, a reliable comfort when it's zenigata.
the opportunity for conversation between them was already rare enough, and so dark breaks the silence with a little demonstrative jingle of his cuffs. for once, the low carry of his voice doesn't curl with a tease; only curiosity. ' ... what do you get out of this, exactly? ' his eyes half-roam, half-roll about the car's interior; the claustrophobic cage of it trapping and squashing not just him, but the bulky rhinoceros of a man in front, too.
' i'm not talking about just me, obviously. i mean all of ... this . '
βοΈ γ πΈ π²πΎππ»π³ π°ππΊ ππΎπ ππ·π΄ ππ°πΌπ΄ ππ·πΈπ½πΆ. γ He's half tempted to bite back, fiery eyes watching Dark lounge about from the rearview mirror. It's criminally late, the full moon their only companion in an otherwise inky black sky. The ride had been quiet up until now, almost peaceful, though he should have known that wouldn't last long. Nothing ever does around ππ·πΈπ΄π
π΄π. γ The whole world at your fingertips and this is how you choose to pass the time? Whatever happened to keeping hobbies? Or are you too interesting for that? γ
But what does Zenigata get out of this..? Broken bones, is what. Concussions. Bruised knuckles. Sprains. Too many close calls to count. After 27 years on the force, it's a miracle he's still standing, let alone alive. (To say nothing of the times he's flatlined... Literally.) π²π°π»π» πΈπ πΊπ°ππΌπ°; π²π°π»π» πΈπ π΅π°ππ΄. He's at the mercy of both.
γ .. I wouldn't expect you to understand. γ He's never been keen on talking about himself, least of all to those riding cuffed in the backseat of a police car. ππ΄π π·πΈπ ππΎπ½π΄ ππΎπ΅ππ΄π½π π°π»π» ππ·π΄ ππ°πΌπ΄. It's admittedly strange seeing Dark like this. And though the thief is by no means his own, there's something almost familiar about the position they've found themselves in. π½πΎπππ°π»πΆπΈπ², even. Cops and robbers were, after all, a tale as old as time. γ ππ·πΈπ πΈππ½'π π°π±πΎππ πΌπ΄. γ
Never has been, never would be.
