>part one<
“Please, Detective,” his painted lips curled almost obscurely. Leon paused momentarily before him and glared down. “Have a seat.”
Leon’s mouth tightened, but he reached into his coat and pulled out a worn looking paper bag. D raised his eyes and studied it, smiled slightly. Leon simply dropped it in his lap and took to pacing again.
“O!” the Count exclaimed as if he had not been waiting for that exact moment. He set his tea down and delicately pried the bag open, his long nails doing nothing to hinder him. Leon didn’t bother watching his face for a reaction, it somehow always unnerved him. Instead he watched that strange bat-rabbit-thing flit to D’s shoulder for a better view.
“So,” Leon cleared his throat, “What did you sell to Alissa Owens?”
“You…made these for me, Detective?”
Leon lowered himself onto the sofa, stared at the quickly cooling tea he was expected to drink. “Alissa Owens, Count. What did you sell her?”
“I didn’t realize that you could cook---“
“Damn it, D!” Leon snarled, sitting up with nothing short of shaky aggravation. “What have you got on Alissa Owens?!” He hesitated, realized he was shouting but almost didn’t care. Except that the Count dropped his double chocolate cookie back into the bag, placed it lightly on the table and folded his hands neatly in his lap. His face regaining all its elusiveness.
Some part of Leon was urging him to apologize, to cast those so sorry eyes that he had no idea how to portray. But he couldn’t, he didn’t know why.
“Bribery tastes best when disguised with honeyed-words, Detective. Here.” D fished out a cookie and held it out to Leon, his eyes softly amused. “Perhaps a little chocolate will sweeten your tongue.”
Leon frowned, taking the cookie from between the Count’s fingers gingerly. “So, what you’re saying is that you refuse to answer me.”
“What I’m saying, Detective, is that you should try some of the cookies you made. They’re quite delicious.” D picked up his tea once more.
After a long moment of debate Leon finally bit into the cookie, the deep chocolate momentarily shocking his taste buds. They were good, so good he decided he would finish it and get another…
“You know, Detective, it is said that chocolate is a powerful aphrodisiac,” the Count’s amusement seemed to warm as Leon’s hand retreated before coming in contact with the wrinkled bag.
“O, is it?” he muttered conversationally, finally picking up his tea.
“And that tea is a blend of my own, that I made especially with you in mind.”
Leon almost choked. He set the tea down, realizing that he had already swallowed half of it. The Count leaned forward, concern peaking through his eyes. “Has it grown cold, Detective? Should I warm it up for you?”
Leon debated on how badly he wanted answers about Alissa Owens. For some reason he felt like the Count was baiting him. “No,” he focused on the table before him. “I’m fine.”
“Then you don’t like it?” D pouted, appearing as if the thought wounded him.
Leon sighed, “It’s fine, D,” he picked up the small cup and downed the rest, “I like it.”
D snatched up the tea pot and re-filled Leon’s cup. “Then you should have some more, Detective. It pleases me that you like it.”
Leon bit down on an annoyed huff, tried to smile thankfully. Liked it? Truth was…he hadn’t bothered to notice the taste. But if it pleased the Count…He’d be damned if he drank anymore! Sitting back against the sofa, he regarded the Chinese man with heavy eyes. This ‘small talk’ was bearing on his nerves, if the Count would just answer his questions. But, of late…sometimes an hour or two would slip by before D even addressed the words initially spoken.
D rose, causing Leon to jump slightly, he turned glaring eyes up to him.
“You seem tense, Detective,” the Count spoke, his voice like velvet falling through the air. Leon watched suspiciously as D slid into movement, his black hair falling over his gold eye, tinting it with green. He came to a stop behind the sofa, his hands resting lightly on Leon’s shoulders in an almost friendly way. “Relax,” he whispered, his fingers kneading the tight muscles, “and I will tell you what you wish to know of Ms. Owens.”
Leon’s eyes narrowed, but he remained as he was, with his arms crossed over his breast. “Fine.” He ignored D’s hands on his shoulders…if it got him to talk then he was willing to let it slip by. Still, he did feel somewhat uncomfortable.
“First, tell me why you come now seeking information about Ms. Owens, it has been months since she first appeared in my shop.”
“She’s been missing for two weeks now and we have no leads…other than the fact that she was seen leaving your PetShop.”
D sighed, “Detective, how many times will we go through this?”
Leon, who’s shoulders were actually beginning to loosen, suddenly jerked away. “Until I can get enough evidence to expose you for what you are!”
The Count smiled slightly, grasped Leon’s shoulders and intently pulled him back. His hands tracing once again their previous patterns. “And what am I, Detective?”
“A slippery son of a bitch!” Leon snapped, but oddly enough his voice lacked the force it contained before.
“And here I thought I was your friend. My mistake, I suppose.” D looked to Q-chan as he perched upon a nearby lamp, presented him with a completely conspiring smirk that the babbit did not return.
Leon’s eyes opened, he hadn’t even realized they had closed. Was the Count his friend? At first he thought it was a completely absurd idea. One didn’t befriend the suspect. But it then became painfully clear where he was and what was going on. D was gently easing the muscles in his shoulders, serving him tea…and good god, he *had* made those cookies for him. Leon sighed, his head falling back as his eyes drifted closed again. Who was he trying to kid?
“So, what did you sell to Ms. Owens, and any theories to where she is?”
“My,” D laughed softly, “Your accusations are growing weak (it must be the Valerian Root and Chamomile). I know exactly where Ms. Owens is, Detective.”
“Where?” he whispered, not really understanding what he was asking, or what had been said to prompt his question. He was two breaths away from sleep, and sinking fast. Like a voice coming to him through the skin of a dream, he heard the Count laugh softly.