Chapter Text
It had been exactly one week since Steel Samurai Con. And in that brief time, Miles was thrust into another two cases, dealt with the P.I.C. threatening his badge due to extraterritorial rights, and started to seriously question the prosecutor’s path.
To say he was overwhelmed would be a bit of an understatement.
The Steel Samurai had always been a comfort for him, especially in times of stress. Detective Gumshoe kindly told him of a vendor selling Samurai Dogs down on Gourd Lake. For once, Miles didn’t deny his interest and quietly thanked the detective for the information. And for once, he went out for his lunch break instead of working through it—as was typical for him.
The beach at Gourd Lake was quiet, and he was the sole visitor there. Birds chirping, and the occasional bark coming from the nature trails off to the side, were the only sounds.
Did the staged presidential assassination attempt scare everyone off? It had only been five days since it occurred. Though no one visiting now would’ve been able to notice anything had been amiss; all the evidence from that day had long been collected by the police department.
Regardless of others, he was there for only one reason, and with that in mind, he approached the stall to order.
Unfortunately, he was greeted by the last man he ever wanted to see.
“Edgey! I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon!”
Larry Butz… the last time he saw him was the night of Quercus Alba’s arrest. It had only been just over two weeks since then, but Miles could’ve gone two years before the next Butz appearance.
“Larry… I was in the area—by a complete coincidence, of course—and decided to stop for some Samurai Dogs. F-For no reason other than hunger—I assure you.”
“Well, you came to the right place, Edgey! I have the best Samurai Dogs around!” Larry’s grin was as wide as ever.
More like the only Samurai Dogs around, aside from buying directly from Global Studios, that is. While that would be an invigorating visit, it would be much more difficult to explain away.
Several minutes passed by before Larry handed him a box of Samurai Dogs. It took longer than he liked to prepare (and the less time spent in the Butz’s presence the better), but he shouldn’t rush such a delicacy, he supposes.
Box in hand, he prepared to leave. And then…
“By the way, Edgey, you looked so cool wearing that Steel Samurai t-shirt. I never knew you were such a huge fan!”
Larry’s words halted his retreat.
“Larry! W-What are you talking about?”
“You know…” Larry paused, looking at him in anticipation. Miles could only imagine the horrified expression he was displaying instead. “Steel Samurai Con?”
“You attended that event!?”
Larry brought his fists to his chin and cried. “Of course I attended! Edgey, I can’t believe you—we have a picture together and everything!”
“Picture?” Miles crossed his arms before closing his eyes in thought. He certainly would have remembered running into Larry at the event, even more so if they’d taken a picture together.
He connected the threads of logic in his mind. The events of Steel Samurai Con soon merged with Larry’s meddling two weeks ago. Flashbacks of that horrible day overwhelmed him as he came to a startling realization. His disappointment that day was so upsetting, he had almost forgotten what Larry had done.
Miles recoiled, nearly dropping his box of precious Samurai Dogs. “Larry!? That was you!? I-I can’t believe this! Not again!”
How could he ever move past his joy over the Steel Samurai being ruined by Larry—not once, but twice? His photo from that day, currently framed and sitting on his nightstand, would have to meet the same fate that useless autograph did two weeks prior. Tragic.
He left Gourd Lake without saying another word to Larry.
Miles considered tossing the Samurai Dogs into the parking lot bin but reasoned with himself not to. He needed the comfort even more now.