Kuroe sipped his large glass of absinthe and stared at his prize. It hadn’t had been as large a task as he had thought… The bribery and smuggling were a drop in the hat, really. Compared to not simply walking out on the snide remarks of Underby.
Smoke wafted from his nostrils. The pile was large and varied. Bound ledgers of reports, diplomatic cables, arrest warrants, hastily scribbled notes, and even a marriage certificate lay piled on his desk. The furnishing spilling the documents over away from the rabbit. It was, to the newly minted captain, almost everything of his past years. The pirate raid, his getting shot, the bombing spree, the capture, the trial, the faked death. Armada, Obolensky, Emerald, Vash, Chess and the rest. There was even a torn page from a recipe book.
His good eye clenched shut. The brass one still casting its gaze upon the pilfered paper. The clockwork in the rabbit’s skull still ticking away. His hand trembled, shaking his glass. His leg started burning. And with each tick of the mechanics of his eye and skull his teeth clenched ever tighter.
With a practiced hand, he patted his chest pocket. Pulling the silver pillbox from it. And plucking a tablet from it. His toes curled as the trembling pair of fingers pressed the medicine against his lips. With a sound of pain and frustration, he opened his jaws, placing the pill on his tongue and taking a long drink of liquor with a jerking twitch of his arm. His stomach churned and rumbled at the arrival. The rabbit, more so his body, had been suitably trained by the drug.
He waited… And the warmth came as it always did.
His eye opened again. Gazing at what he had assured himself to be every document, every copy, every single bit of paper that contained his name save his freshly acquired commission. The rabbit smiled. The bottle sloshed as it was raised, the trickle of a small stream filled the room and the papers were stained a familiar emerald hue. The rabbit opened a drawer to his desk and performed an encore of the performance. Even dropping his class’s contents on the floor. He placed the bottles and the glass neatly back, and reached for his coat.
The rabbit struck a match, and stepped out of his stone manor home. He could rebuild. It would be easy, he had a knack for recovery and salvage, after all.
That was an afterthought, nothing to be concerned about now. He strolled onto the street. Resting on the building across from his home. His hand moved to his brass eye. Fingers fidgeting with dials, the emerald light darkening. The soft ticking ceasing. He bent down, repeating a similar action to his leg. Letting the metal anchor him to his spot if just for the moment.
He looked up to his house, the dancing orange reflected in the windows spreading and pouring out. His ears flicked. Listening to the crackle and hissing of the growing blaze. He closed his eyes, making sure the scent of the fire filled his nostrils. His tongue darted out. A grin to his face as if trying to catch a snowflake. His eye opened again. He would stay there and gaze at the fire in awe and savor it. Every sense and detail of the fire he started.
Savor every bit of the moment he took a bit of himself back.
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