Archive of Our Own ^beta

The call comes at three in the morning, after Levi has finally managed to drift into a restless sleep; has rescued his slacks from a trouser press that always threatens to overheat, brushed the lint off his jacket and hung it in his wardrobe, carefully starched his collar to perfection on his ironing board, carefully selected his tie for the next day. It’s one of his newer, more expensive acquisitions - a medium gray, that Zeke had sent to him a month ago - stating how sorry he had felt, for Levi’s lack of variety in his wardrobe. It was from a Paradis tailor Levi had vaguely recognised - could acknowledge Zeke’s good sense, because there was no way in hell he would have worn something from Marley. It had probably cost more than the entirety of the rest of his suit, he’d thought, as he’d looked at the box it had arrived in; hands carefully folding the brown paper that had wrapped it, a habit from his days of living with Isabel and Furlan. Besides - it was easy enough to make small evidence envelopes from it. 

Three seasons out of fashion still, but hopefully this might make you more of a modern man, Zeke had written, in that stupidly coached, florid style of his; Levi had promptly said piss off, aloud, could hear the not unkind, but utterly self-satisfied laugh that he’d receive in return. Besides, I think it would bring out your eyes. They’re one of your best features. And it was ridiculous - that Levi’s eyes had stayed on that particular sentence for a little longer than usual; not because of any personal vanity, but because it was an unusually non-backhanded compliment for once, oddly honest. It had been that sentence that had made him reach for the box in the first place, to concede, once he’d opened it, that it wasn’t horrendous - made a nice change from the usual blacks he opted for. 

It had cost more than his suit, he’d found out later - when he’d looked up the street the tailor was on; knew enough to know that it was the sort of establishment that would look down their nose at his off the rack clothing. 

And there had been no particular reason, he’d told himself, as he’d draped it around the doorknob, that he’d selected it to wear the next day - even if it was, coincidentally the first day of summer tomorrow; even if it was the day when Zeke would breeze into that stupid penthouse of his, would make a point of calling him up at an absurd hour to complain and muse about every small thing, the state of Paradis roads, how few suitcases he’d been able to bring with him, whether the first edition he’d been looking for in the bookshop he frequented had been sold already. And Levi would reply - what a shame it must be, to be rich, acerbically - and they’d promptly devolve into an argument if they hadn’t already - but still, he never slammed the receiver down, no matter how driven Zeke seemed to be to send him into a paroxysm of indignation about something he shouldn’t have even cared about, but conversely did - because if Zeke thought something was good, or bad, he was practically honor bound to disagree. 

So - when the receiver threatens to fall off its hook, with a violent ring that he knows his upstairs neighbors will complain about, if they run into each other the next morning, he knows exactly who it is. 

“Zeke, why the fuck can’t you start calling at a reasonable time? And before you launch into whatever bullshit you’re going to start with, this time - make it quick, otherwise I’m hanging up. And that isn’t an empty threat, this time, so you’d better get straight to the point. What stupid case do you want me to work on, this time? I’m not chasing down the theft of some fucking sandwich again.” Is the first thing he says - only for dead air to stretch for an interminably long amount of time.

“Actually,” the caller says, with moderate amusement, “It’s Erwin - ” and of course, it fucking is. Of course this would be the one time when Levi actually fucking try to preempt Zeke and it would turn out to be one of his closest friends; of course. And naturally, this is Zeke’s fault, too - for engendering that stupid sense of expectation in him; and causing that strange, sinking feeling in his gut. Shit. “It’s good to hear that you are getting cases regularly, though. Even if it is from someone who’s a figure of interest within our department. Is this a bad time?” 

“No - not at all,” Levi hastens to reassure him. “It’s just that I was - ” What, exactly? he thinks bitterly. Sitting around on my hands like some pathetic fool, waiting for some stupid call which was never a fixed certainty? For expecting too much out of someone who I’ve never actually had a set arrangement with? “It’s not a bad time,” he finishes eventually, frowns at how unconvincing those words sound, spoken into the stillness of his apartment. “You know it never is, with you.”

“Well,” Erwin says, “Mike and I got allocated the midnight shifts for the next two months - so I’m used to it now. Even if the most vile of crimes by the rich, or the powerful are never truly committed in the dark of the night - ah,” he clears his throat, and - now that Levi listens out for it, it’s clear that he’s not in the department office; it’s far too quiet, for one thing. 

When he’d been working there, it had been near impossible to hear the voice of the caller over the shrill ring of every other phone in the shared office, the loud conversations occurring around him, the sound of radio alerts, and the rolling news in the background. CRIME NEVER SLEEPS, had been the slogan on the fading art deco poster of a large eye that Levi’s desk had been placed opposite - he’d stared at it while killing time in the slower hours, while listening to the more inane complaints - of which there were dozens - until it had seared itself into his memory; was the first thing he sought out inadvertently, whenever he had cause to return to the department after he’d handed in his notice. But across the line - save for the crackling of what must be a payphone line, there’s nothing but silence - the occasional car drifting past, intermittently. “But - that’s by the by, in this case. Most probably, anyway. We wanted to ask if you’d be interested in picking up this case, actually.” 

And that catches his attention - because Erwin and Mike have always been friendly to him when they’ve been working on different threads of the same case from time to time, but never outright cooperative when watched over by their superiors. It’s always been Hange who’s been the unofficial intermediary between all of them, whose role as a forensic scientist leaves them some flexibility over which police leads they can unofficially share with him. And while Levi doesn’t quite have the same resources as his erstwhile colleagues at his fingertips, can no longer flash a badge emblazoned with PPD on it at the City Hall Archives - a genuine one, at least, he can’t help but feel as if he’s able to be a little more honest with himself, at least; he knows better than anyone, that just because something is legal, doesn’t mean it’s right. Still - he holds no qualms with that part of his past - or any of it; ultimately, it’s lead him to something which he does think fits a little better on him than a uniform.

“What,” he says, in disbelief. “You mean - there’s something which you’re actually giving to me?” And there’s a pause - over the line, he can suddenly hear a short burst of static; the sound of Mike, in the background, quietly murmuring into it. And Erwin’s voice, when he next replies, is studiedly neutral.

“Well,” he says, “I’m afraid we, according to departmental rules, deal in hard facts - not allegations of the supernatural. Apparently the owner of a restaurant a few doors down from our car has decided that after hours, it’s being haunted by a devil, and he’s refusing to come out, but he seems like he’d pay good money to have someone investigate. It’s close to the Underground district too, and we thought that - well. Our presence might be considered more of a hindrance to actually investigating the case, rather than actually helping it, too. We’re not exactly a happy sight around these streets, exactly.”

“...I’ll be there in ten,” Levi says instantly; puts the receiver down, is already pulling his shirt and jacket over his arms, dragging his still warm slacks on, shrugging his overcoat across his shoulders, attaches his sheathed knife to his belt, heading out of his drafty apartment and down the creaking staircase, with its perpetually wobbling banister. It’s still illuminated - even in the early hours of the morning - by a naked lightbulb that makes his eyes start to sting, if he looks at it for too long; no doubt for any late night revelers who might inhabit any of the rooms. Or private investigators, he thinks wryly, who aren’t going to object to an erratic, but potentially lucrative paycheck. Although, quite honestly, he doubts it; there have been numerous attempts to gentrify the Underground by the city government, which have perpetually failed, and anyone who bandies around excessive wealth there is asking for trouble.

Still - he feels a distinct sense of familiarity, or possessiveness over the place; it’s his old stamping ground, before becoming a private investigator, before his brief time in the police department, and he might no longer live in it, but his presence still carries some weight - as does that of two of his childhood friends, Isabel and Furlan, both of whom had ultimately concluded that they’d be contributing far more to improving the welfare of the place by staying in it, rather than outside it. It’s a place that operates on its own moral code, its own rules - is a shithole, in many senses of the world, but follows a structure of its own; and one that had always made sense to Levi, even when the rest of his police colleagues had been both sneering and bemused, in turns by it. Even Erwin and Mike aren’t equipped to deal with it, it’s something, Levi thinks, that you can only know if you’ve been born there - or near enough to it, an innate understanding that’s bone marrow deep.

That at least - is what goes through his head, as he finally reaches the bottom of the stairs - heads to the front door. A flash of movement, of something new in his peripheral vision, and he can’t help but turn towards it with keen, quick eyes, finds himself facing his reflection in the hallway mirror; the unerring neatness of his outfit, the sharpness of his features in the stark light, the half-frown that creases his brow. His hair is askew, under the brim of his hat - he promptly rearranges it, adjusts the lapels of his overcoat; steps back, studies himself once more.

The tie does bring out his eyes, he thinks begrudgingly. Not that he particularly cares what Zeke Yeager says. Still - he thinks, hand rising to the neat knot he’s corralled it into; it’s a shockingly practical gift, from someone who has no fixed employment from what he’s seen, wafts around with their nose in a philosophy book half the time, that he can appreciate. 

God, if he wears it again in front of him - he’s never going to live it down at all. 

Il Tarassaco is located on a quiet commercial street; a little out of the way from the main city districts, and as Erwin had said - far closer to the Underground - on the border of Furlan’s unofficial territory, and Levi knows, from the prickling feeling at the back of his neck, that his presence has not gone unnoted. Furlan’s subordinates might be good - but Levi is better; knows which narrow side-alley to look down, as he heads to the restaurant, to catch the silhouette of a figure peering out at the disturbance. Most of the shops are closed, every window dark; although there is one building, almost directly opposite, whose proprietor appears to be burning the midnight oil, still, a small silhouette moving across the window in his line of sight.

The restaurant itself is small, and a little poky; the neon sign propped on the front wall of the shop is only half-working, five of the letters have blown out completely. Someone, at some point, has thrown a rock at the front of the window - a fine, medium sized spider’s web of cracks stretches out from one corner; the first thing, Levi, thinks, he’d recommend the proprietor invest in, is a shutter, regardless of whether it might be received as unwelcome advice, it’s practically common sense. The lock is in poor condition too, and laughably easy to open; the kind his half-absent uncle had given Levi for practice to try out lockpicking , when he’d been younger. 

There’s light on in the eating area - candlelight, Levi muses - but it’s clear that it’s closed for business. All the metal chairs have been placed on top of formica tables; a broom is propped against one of the unbroken parts of the window. The door is open however, when Levi tries the handle; he pulls it open gently, tries not to provoke the bell on the other side, as he hears a vague, murmured conversation floating from around the corner, one of the voices familiar, immeasurably calm - the other a little more fraught, slipping occasionally into a different, but familiar dialect, the more agitated its owner becomes. Levi pauses - door half open, in order that he might take in his surroundings, before causing a disturbance with his entry. The speaker is male - sounds young; probably in his early twenties, and the longer he listens, it soon becomes clear that he not only works in the restaurant, but is joint proprietor of it, too. 

“It comes in, like clockwork - every night at peak hour and runs straight through one end of the building and out of the other - it’s scaring the customers away, with all the rumors that get spread! Every time I walk around the streets - all the neighbors just start whispering, and the kids have started throwing mud at the windows - not that they weren’t already doing that, half the time, when we’d first arrived - although I admit that was partly our attitude to blame,” he says, frantically, distraught. “I work in the kitchen, most of the time; but when I come outside, half the tables are empty, and no-one pays the bill. We’re losing money, and if it goes on at this rate, we might have to shut down. We’re already losing to that ridiculous Porco’s shop, across the road, and they only serve grilled sandwiches. Every time I go into the store room - half of everything seems to have been consumed, if not taken already.”

And, Levi thinks, as he looks around the restaurant, squints at the small menu that’s placed on the stand near the entrance, the understated, but warm interior -  it would be a shame if it did close - it’s fairly evident that the enterprise in general seems to have had a lot of painstaking care poured into it, from the thick cushions on each chair that somehow manage to soften the starkness of the metal frame, the cheery looking, pastoral themed placemats stacked on a nearby table, ready to be wiped down, the finely decorated cakes that sit under glass dome tops on the counters; yet to be stored. Then again, if the young man’s claims hold any veracity - it’s not as if putting them away will actually do anything. A large broom is propped up in the corner of a mosaiced floor, next to the coat stand by the door, photographs of scenes far removed from Paradis are built into hollows in the walls in polished wooden frames - candid, grainy snapshots of a beach, a cornfield, low-lying farmhouses that make him feel as if he’s peering through a window, is somewhere else entirely, is almost glimpsing a fragment of someone else’s life. And yet - it doesn’t feel intrusive, somehow; as if the owner is welcoming others to share in the experience, to make it their own; every image is absent of the presence of other people. And yet, there’s something oddly desolate about the photographs as well - perhaps it’s the monochrome, perhaps it’s the bad quality of some of them; but something about the settings don’t quite sit right with Levi. There’s something oddly manufactured about them - and yet, he can’t quite reason why.

It certainly does look, however, if there’s been some sign of foul play; notably, the long track of dark, muddy footprints that cover the floor. Half of them have already been mopped away, but dirt is smeared so thoroughly across the tiles, that it’s no small task, runs into the small crevices between the tiles - although Levi can already feel his eye developing a tic, is seized by the compulsion to barge straight through to the back of the restaurant in search of a bucket and mop, to clean it himself; can already feel that latent residual irritation that always lingers in him, at other people’s disorganization start to stir from dormancy. Still - that’s not the reason he’s here; is hopefully going to be remunerated for his services as a private investigator, rather than as a janitor, although his expectations are low, considering the fantastical nature of the whole case. Levi doesn’t hold much truck with most forms of superstition in the conventional sense - in his opinion, it’s simply exploitation of the gullible; but if Erwin thinks that it holds enough potential for him to take up, then he trusts him. He’s never led him wrong, whenever he’s been following a hunch - both as a coworker, and as a friend - enough that Levi’s long since learned that it’s very difficult to question it. But even then, his mind supplies dryly, you don’t follow his advice all the time, do you - 

- he’s learned all he can, from standing on the threshold, he determines firmly; pushing the door open the rest of the way, and this time - the bell does chime, can hear the clatter of chairs being pushed back against the tiled floor, the startled noise the current speaker makes.

“Who’s come in? Is it a burglar again, too?” he says querulously - when Levi rounds the corner, he’s met with the sight of both Erwin and Mike; both dressed in plainclothes, half risen to their feet. Or, at least, while Erwin has, Mike is still sitting at the round table they’ve gathered around - he’s always been quieter, more the kind to observe silently, before taking decisive action. Both of them look far more at ease than their companion, however, who seems to have both armed himself with a spatula, his entire body rigid with anxiety. Levi had been right in his assessment of him - he’s young, with middle parted blond hair - a square sort of face with a particularly stubborn set to it; still wearing chef whites. 

“If I’d wanted to break in furtively,” Levi says gruffly, watches as indignation washes over the other man’s features. “I wouldn’t have walked in through the entrance. Which is poorly secured anyway - the lock you’ve installed is appalling. I’m surprised you’re not the laughing stock of the Underground, by that alone. No wonder your devil has such an easy time getting around - especially if a spatula is the only thing you’re going to try to stop them with.” 

“...it’s alright,” Erwin says, placing his hand on the young man’s shoulder with a firm grip, eases him back down into his seat. “This is no enemy. This is Levi Ackerman - a private investigator. If you remember, at the beginning of the evening - after you’d told us about what had happened, we said that while we’d try to help you as much as we could in an unofficial capacity, it might be better to employ him, in order to ascertain the precise nature of this Devil, before we can open up an actual file. Levi, this is Niccolo - the sous chef, and part owner of this establishment. Although,” he adds, the vaguest trace of knowing good humor creeping into his voice, “I imagine you might have heard some of that already.” On the other side of the table, Mike waves unhurriedly, nods in greeting - seems to be more content to keep his gaze trained on any of the possible exits available. 

Niccolo’s shoulders slump, as soon as he hears those words, arm dropping to his side - buries his face in the palm of his other hand. 

“...you don’t believe me,” he says grimly. “I knew it - Griez told me not to contact you about this, when I said I was going to call all of you in, because I’d had enough. He told me if I waited for the hubbub to die down, then we might be able to resolve things by ourselves, that maybe the devil would stop visiting the restaurant. That calling the police might bring about unwanted attention. And now what - I’m being foisted onto some private dick, who’s probably going to extort money from me that I don’t have, as consolation.”

“...your friend wasn’t wrong there,” Levi says, recalling the silhouette lurking in the nearby alley - wonders if the news has been relayed to Furlan yet; makes a mental note to visit him, as soon as this business is over, if only to forestall the inevitable call he will get, about daring to visit the Underground after so long, without even dropping by. And it’s true, he thinks with an acute sense of guilt - in between running around on other cases that have mostly been in the main city, it’s been far too long since he’s actually had time to catch up with Furlan, or Isabel - or both, save for in passing, whenever their paths have crossed momentarily. “This isn’t exactly a neighborhood that’s entirely friendly to Paradis law enforcement - and on that note,” he adds, tone sharpening. “I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, over your comment on my abilities - and my character, considering the situation you’ve found yourself in - but I’m good at my job, and if you make another remark like that, I’m not obliged to help you at all.”

“I thought,” Niccolo says, with still lingering rancor. “That the whole point of the police in Paradis was that they were supposed to help, not pass off civic duties onto someone else.” He sighs deeply, face still buried in his hand, practically mumbling through his palm. “Move to Paradis and make it big, Niccolo,” he murmurs - although to whom, is uncertain. “It’ll be easier to make a name for yourself, after everything that’s happened - and everyone in Paradis will appreciate your good cooking. That’s the last time I listen to - ” he breaks off, fingers cracking open, the glint of his eyes visible through the gaps between his fingers. “Ah, sorry - I’m - getting distracted. I’m - sorry. I would say I’m not normally this standoffish, but I guess there’s a reason I’m more of a behind the scenes worker.”

“At least you’re honest about your opinions,” Levi says shortly, “Which I can appreciate.”

“If it’s any help,” Mike says quietly - Niccolo startles again, as if he’d forgotten the other had been there at all. It’s easy to do, despite his height; and has long been one of Mike’s greatest strengths. While most individuals tend to make their focal point Erwin, with all his convincing certainty and authority, it’s actually to the pair’s benefit, if only because Mike is so unassuming in comparison, besides his propensity to sniff individuals when he meets them. It allows him the liberty of scrutinizing the environment; of gathering information about the surroundings, while Erwin prises information from the individuals they’re questioning. “Levi used to work for us - and he was one of the best individuals we had, until he decided to go independently. And - we aren’t passing civic duties off, so much as actually expanding your opportunity to find out what’s happening. After all - there’s a lot more flexibility, where Levi’s concerned, with what he can do.”

The explanation certainly doesn’t lessen Niccolo’s skepticism; he opens his mouth, as if to rebut Mike’s reference, and Levi can already hear the if he’s so good, then why did he leave? retort, that seems to be the first recourse many choose, when provided with this particular scrap of information. He promptly closes it again, under the scrutiny of three heavy stares, settles for giving a sharp, disgruntled sigh instead, as he rises from the table, flings his towel over his shoulder.

“If this is what I’m dealing with, and all I can get,” he says, woefully, “I suppose I can’t complain. God, I miss Marley. At least the police there were efficient. ” Which, Levi thinks, is a biased, thoroughly undiplomatic byword for generally intrusive, in all aspects of life; when he’d been an active detective on the force, the rare intercity interactions he’d had with them had left a sour taste in his mouth. Erwin and Mike remain stonily silent, their expressions neutral - clearly used to these sorts of attitude; Niccolo promptly doubles back, holds his hands up placatingly, a nervous expression crossing his face. “Ah - not that I meant…I really can’t go back on that, can I? Well - I suppose I’d better show you around,” he says, pushing a hand through his hair, shoulders hunching once more - before he tries to step past Levi; only to find his wrist caught by the other. Levi keeps his grip firm, but not tight. It’s enough to imply the strength he’s refraining from using, more a light caution than anything serious. It is enough, however, to make Niccolo’s nervousness increase threefold.

“I charge two hundred dollars a day, plus expenses,” he says flatly. “And I’m being generous, considering you’ve just insulted the three of us.”

“I can’t afford that much!”

“From what I’ve already heard so far,” Levi returns sharply, “You won’t be able to afford your restaurant, if you continue to let whatever you think is a devil, run around in it. So between your own short term personal finances, and the continued longevity of something you clearly have invested a lot of time and effort into, then I think the answer is fairly clear.” And finally, the message seems to get through; Niccolo sags in his grip like melting buttercream in an overly warm icing bag with a sigh.

“...fine,” he says, bitterly. “ Fine. I agree. You’d better be good.”

“I am, ” Levi says simply - not a boast, just a statement of fact. “Now, take me on a tour of the rest of the building, and tell me the same story you told the other two while you’re doing it. I need to hear it again, and you might benefit from a different ear.” 

“We’ll stay on the lookout,” Erwin says encouragingly, when Niccolo chances another sideways glance towards him. “In fact, we’ll dedicate our hearts to it, while you’re showing Levi around; although I have to assure you, he’s an expert in protection as well. In fact, you might be as secure as we are, if not more so.” And with that, Niccolo grudgingly complies - other hand rising to rub at his wrist, after Levi’s loosened his grasp, refrains from informing him that he’s being far too dramatic - and leads him away from the table, and outlines the setup of the entire establishment. 

Il Tarassaco only comprises one floor, and constitutes a small office stuffed wall to wall with bursting files on the shelves, the seating area Levi had entered through, and the kitchens, all of which somehow manage to fit inside what is otherwise a cramped layout, and look spacious; the other two storeys are residential. Niccolo lives in one of the said rooms - more of a poky, reconverted attic than actual accommodation , he says, with a helpless shrug. I’ll show it to you after the rest of this, if you like - not that I think that it’d help much. Nothing, or no-one ever goes up there aside from the landlord and me, and even then, I think the landlord’s more of a ghost himself. 

It’s not exactly a new phenomenon; considering the recent uptick in Paradis’ population, courtesy of both other residents of other cities seeking to relocate, and the recent boom in the iceburst fuel industry. NEW JOBS CITYWIDE, the papers had declared, only three months ago; and all Levi could think about, when he’d bought one from the newsie on the bridge by the river, had been of dark, squalid apartments, of deprivation and starvation, because of a governmental inadequacy to provide sufficient baseline care, to see everything in numbers, rather than as human. Of having to grow up in those conditions, and scratching and bleeding and fighting to survive barely. 

The restaurant itself is small; but as Levi had noted before, well-kept, save for the muddy footprints that trail through the eating area, and the kitchens - cool and sterile, in comparison to the seating area - once Niccolo pushes through the swing doors that lead into them. The aroma of freshly cooked food still hangs in the air, overladen with the acrid scent of cheap coffee; the source of that smell is obvious, when his attention turns to the nearby, industrial sized pot of it, which sits on the counter next to his elbow, along with several mugs. His companion seizes upon it immediately - pours out one mug with trembling hands, closes his hands around it tightly.

“Do you want one?” he says - tone implying the question is more out of courtesy, than an actual desire to cede any, face even more paler in the cool lights of the kitchen. 

“I don’t drink the stuff,” Levi says, unable to keep from wrinkling his nose. “And you look like you’ve had too much of it already.” 

Niccolo laughs wryly. 

“It’s cheaper than alcohol, which I would be drinking right now - if I hadn’t been the one to call in the police, and if I could actually afford the stuff we buy in - or to write it off, at least. But - there’s really nothing else to see, aside from these three rooms. Everyone else just lives here."

“How long have you been running this?” he says, as he examines the well-scrubbed equipment, the near-new, sparkling gleam of the cabinets and surfaces, the neatly organized utensils with muted approval. And through that - like smeared ink across blotting paper, the footsteps continue, dirt strewn across the white tiled floor. As they walk, he takes care to step around them; as does Niccolo, who, despite his standoffish demeanor - although even that seems to be waning, seems far more inclined to common sense than some of the clients he’s been employed by before, seems to understand the importance of preserving the scene of an incident. Unbidden, his fingers press against the knot of his tie briefly - to smooth his hand down the length of it, to ensure it hasn’t escaped from where it’s been tucked into his waistcoat, as he crouches down - peers at a rare, particularly distinct one; the treadmark, he thinks, is more akin to the sole of a worn plimsoll - the perpetrator is clearly used to work that requires a great deal of agility. He reaches into his pocket, pulls on the spare pair of gloves he keeps stored inside, and a small roll of measuring tape. “You said you came from Marley, earlier - when you were talking. And I can hear it in your voice.” 

He glances up as he asks this; watches as Niccolo startles from his intense scrutiny of the coffee in his mug, as if it might hold all the answers to this case, if not the universe, in it. Some of the liquid splashes over the sides, and onto his hands - he’s quick to put it back down, onto the counter. 

“Oh? How long - ” he starts, before a contemplative expression crosses his face. “Well - since we moved here, probably about three months. We’re fairly new. It’s - I used to work in a restaurant, in Marley, and I received offer from a backer who said they’d been interested in my own specific work - I used to do the specials, when I was a chef there, on the days they’d come in - and they wondered if I’d like to set up my own shop in Paradis. They offered the resources, the money, even the location, and it all sounded like a good idea at the time - if a little too good to be true. And it was a good place to start - the cost of running a business is horrendously expensive, for smaller owners. And - well,” his mouth twists downwards. “In that city, any opportunity you’re handed, is an opportunity you should take. I was still living with my immediate family - and there are a lot of them, in the center of the city; the walls could barely contain all of us. It was also a chance for autonomy, even if limited.”

“Considering your attitude towards this city,” Levi says dryly, as he folds one arm across his knee, rolls up his tape - eyes still narrowed at the footprint in front of them, “I’m surprised you’d want to even live here.” Niccolo, at least, has the decency to look somewhat chastised; his hand rises to the back of his neck.

“Well,” he says with a shrug. “A paying customer is a paying customer, and - I know I’ve complained a lot, but it’s not all bad here. There are people who really do appreciate my food - the backer I had was right. And my suppliers are kind, and some of them…” he trails off, a soft, fond smile appearing on his lips briefly. “Well, some of them have been more friendly than I know I deserve. It’s been a little harder for my coworker - I think he misses Marley. Anyway, that’s - beside the point. Is there anything you’ve managed to find, already, Mr Ackerman?”

“Actually, I’d say that identifying other individuals might not be beside the point at all,” Levi says - gestures to the footprint, as he tucks the measuring tape back into his pocket. He keeps the gloves on; after all, trying to gather clues will be far more obstructive if he’s contaminating the scene, too. “Unless creatures from hell have taken to actively causing panic and disruption in sportswear, I don’t think you’re dealing with the supernatural at all. Take a look for yourself.” In fact, he wonders why Mike and Erwin haven’t picked up on the issue either - if they’d had the chance to look around, or if they’d been preoccupied with calming Niccolo. And that’s a thought he stores away for later - focuses on explaining his initial reasoning to the young man who’s crouched down beside him. 

“Well,” Niccolo says, as he squints at the footprint. “I don’t know about you - but devils can still take all sorts of shapes and sizes. There’s actually a bedtime story about that, in Marley, that they use to terrify you when you’re younger. Apparently, if you’re not good, there are these creatures, called titans, that can take on a human appearance, and be deceptive enough to lull you in a false sense of security before devouring you alive. That haunted me, when I was younger. But - I don’t see why Griez would lie about there not being what he thought was a devil, anyway. Then again,” he pauses, tilts his head - eyes still fixed on the print. “...I suppose at night, everything has the ability to warp in perspective. And if it has been caused by a human - then who? I know I’ve been abrupt to a lot of individuals - but surely never enough to merit… this. ”

“Well,” Levi says, “As you say, everything can warp in perspective. Was there any other damage caused, in this part of the building?”

“...only that the pantry was being raided,” Niccolo says, contemplatively. “I come in every morning after this has happened, and half the charcuterie is always missing, and the potatoes I use, for some of the dishes.”

“...alright,” Levi says, getting to his feet - brushing whatever dust might have accumulated on his coat off. “We’ll take a look at your office, in more depth, too - there might be some paperwork which could provide clues; angry letters, the threat of blackmail, for example. It could be possible that there’s something you’ve missed. Who deals with the correspondence, between the two of you?”

“Whoever gets to the post first,” Niccolo shrugs, as he follows suit. “But we’re expected to reserve all of it anyway - after all, our backer needs to look over our finances, as well; she’s very particular about that sort of thing, and well - it’s not,” he glances around furtively, before pulling a face; voice dropping to a murmur. “She’s not the kind of person who I really want to aggravate. I’ve seen what she’s like, when she’s calm and someone’s messed up.”

Yet - the study yields little in the way of information, either; most of the paperwork in the intrays seems to be invoices, which all seem to be above board. Cutlery deliveries, shellfish deliveries - practice menus with dishes that Levi’s only tried occasionally; once, when he’d been with Hange, Mike and Erwin, celebrating their appointment to the same department, and Hange’s triumph with their forensics exam, and after that, mostly when Zeke’s dragged him off on some trivial reason - like bemoaning the dearth of Marley cuisine, as part of a case, if it takes longer than a day, and they’re both in proximity. His eyes can’t help but linger on one particular dish listed - which he remembers he had disliked the sound of; but had ordered, if only to be contrary to Zeke’s suggestions, on principle, and promptly regretted even consuming. The only upside to that entire meal had been the fact that Zeke had as much of a miserable time with his supper - and the company, oddly. And that, he thinks - had been before he’d become aware, exactly, of how he felt about him.

He can’t help but frown - the action catches Niccolo’s eye, as he glances across, from rifling through another overflowing intray. 

“Not a fan of Marleyan cooking?” he says, quizzically. 

“Not a fan of one dish on here, more like,” Levi says, shaking his head to dispel the memory - taps the trial menu against the palm of his hand. “Marleyan food is fine, if a little too creamy or rich, sometimes.” 

“Then,” Niccolo says, “Wherever you’ve been eating, they’ve clearly been making it wrong. That’s the issue with a lot of Marleyan restaurants around here. I’ve tried out a few - when I’ve been able to. They think they can get away with plating all of that stuff, because they think no-one in Paradis will know any better - that as long as it comes from a different city, it’s automatically elevated - but it isn’t genuine. In fact,” he says staunchly. “ I’ll cook you something, and prove you wrong about that. There’s far more variety to Marleyan cuisine than what gets sold as the popular dish to tourists.” 

And for a moment - all the apprehensive nervousness melts from his shoulders, as he warms to his theme; and for the next five minutes, Levi is treated to an exacting overview of the different districts in the sprawling city of Marley, and their approach to food - is even starting to enjoy it, before Niccolo promptly realizes exactly what he’s been doing, seems to lose all momentum entirely, laughs sheepishly as he refocuses on the task at hand. “Sorry - I just. Food’s important to me, I think you can tell. It’s just - always been something that I’ve found relaxing, and exciting; being able to create and synthesize new flavors, knowing that people like them. It’s trial and error, naturally - but the rewards when you succeed sometimes exceed the risks you take if you fail. But I was serious - I’ll cook you a meal tomorrow, if you’re still here. It’ll save you having to find something else for lunch.”

“Like going to Porco’s diner?” Levi says dryly, prompts a sharp, surprised laugh from the other; Niccolo looks at him again, but with a renewed sense of warmth, rather than the suspicion which had previously characterized his dealings with him. 

“...like going to Porco’s diner,” he says wryly. “Although I can assure you that the quality of the food there isn’t that great, either, when it’s all basically variations on sandwiches. It’s not exactly very innovative, and they always seem to be made in a rush - ah, ” he says, pausing as he flicks through another few documents. “That’s - strange. I was wondering why supplies had been running low, but Griez told me that it was just because they were outsourcing to too many restaurants already - but - ” he pauses, expression hapless. “Ah, I should explain. One of our main suppliers for meat for a special dish is the Blouses. They’re normally rather consistent with their deliveries, but for the past few weeks, they’ve rarely dropped anything off, recently. In fact, they haven’t dropped anything off - and despite what he’s said, there’s no letter they’ve actually written, and no invoices either. I don’t know if that’s of any help but…”

“...you seem to be reliant on Griez a lot,” Levi says cautiously, as he glances around the room once more; the framed photographs that mirror the ones set in the walls in the seating area. But there are additional ones too; of two young chefs in a kitchen, one of whom is clearly Niccolo, the other a young man with a cropped head of hair. There are some other locations too - a party in some brightly lit room, the Marley skyline, and cards of well-wishes pinned to a corkboard on the far side. He walks across to the photograph of the two young men, menu still in his hand. “Is that him? You must be close.”  

“Mm,” Niccolo says thoughtfully, still leafing through invoices. “We grew up together. It’s quite a long, boring story - but we’ve always been fairly good acquaintances. Not always friends, maybe - we’ve had our differences in the past over the way in which I think we approach life, and some individuals, but I do know him. And he’s always been nothing but cooperative with me, at least. Still - I don’t know why he would have - he must have mislaid them somewhere, or forgotten to tell me about the invoices, somehow.”

“...for two weeks?” Levi queries, can’t quite help an eyebrow from rising. Niccolo flushes.

“...for two weeks,” he says quietly. “But I’d much rather talk to him about it, than let it remain unsaid, between us. He’s - always spoken his mind, about things to me.” Which is, unfortunately - exactly what most people say, Levi thinks, about individuals who invariably turn out to be the culprits behind something; has already formed some of his own conclusions about Griez. But - he thinks; what’s lacking is a motive. Niccolo is right. After all - why would Griez go to such lengths to fabricate a devil, when there’s clearly something human running about the restaurant floor? To move back to Marley? If they are as close as Niccolo suggests, that certainly doesn’t sound like the smartest method to instigate it; not if it means losing a restaurant. And if they had grown up together - then there might be some element of respect for Niccolo, that would prevent such a direct sabotage. Then again - people are odd; especially when pushed into situations they dislike so thoroughly. And if Niccolo is lying - then what would be his rationale? He certainly seems to care about his trade. 

Still - there seems to be little else which they can find in the way of anything that might implicate some sure indication of a perpetrator, and Levi calls a halt to the search reluctantly.

“I’d like to look inside your room,” he says. “As you suggested earlier.” 

He receives a firm nod from the other in response - any dissension which he might have offered earlier seems to have dissipated entirely. Niccolo’s room also offers little in the way of results - it’s sparsely decorated, for one thing. The same photographs which take residence in the restaurant, have also found a home there. It’s clear that he’s the one behind the camera - one of the older models of one of the more high-end brands Levi’s seen around, mostly on press journalists, rests on one of the dressers in the room. There’s a long mirror that hangs on one side of the wall, as well - and tucked behind it; in place of any picture frames, are other photographs. A small, rickety desk is pushed up against one wall - the only thing on it is the formation of a letter that reads – Dear Miss Sasha Blouse - the rest of the paper - thin and inexpensive, is blank. Although - not for want of trying, if the scrunched up balls that fill up a wicker basket by the side of the desk are any indication. That, too, Levi catalogs, but does not mention - remembers Niccolo’s softening tone, when he’d talked about kind suppliers; can’t help but have a hunch that all of these issues are interlinked. It’s also no wonder, he thinks, that Niccolo has plastered so many photos up against the eaves of his room; as with most buildings in the Underground, built rapidly to accommodate as many individuals possible in the most minimal spaces, there are no windows, or skylights, as if the contractors are perpetually anticipating having to build another level on top of the highest one. There’s nothing of particular import here, he thinks - aside from the letter; tucks it into the inside of his coat pocket, when Niccolo’s attention is diverted elsewhere. He’ll have to return for a closer examination, when his client is preoccupied, he thinks - their sojourn, however, is interrupted by the sound of the creaking staircase - instinctively, they both draw together, the louder the steps become.

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to head back,” Mike says - after a cursory knock on the door; waves his radio in one hand as he peers around the edge of it. “We’ve been called back in - and if we spend too much longer here, our superiors are actually going to send other people out. And, well - you know how it is, Levi,” he adds - looks somewhat abashed. “Ever since you left, you haven’t exactly been considered in vogue, with the department at least. It was good seeing you though - are you still coming around for that barbecue at Hange’s in a few weeks? Permitting none of us - you know, end up in hospital or incapacitated before then? Although - ” he pauses, glances at his watch, “ - that being said, I think we’ve got time to set up a few vantage points, if you’re planning on staying on lookout, for the rest of the early morning, at least. It would be good for security - but you’re calling the shots, here, of course now.”

“...no, I’d appreciate your help,” Levi says - glancing at Niccolo’s quiet, genuinely hopeful expression. “...I’ll stay.” After all - he has a service to provide, which he refuses to half-ass; there’s a reason why he’s rapidly gaining a reputation for commitment and duty, in his profession, is becoming a little more respected than he had been previously. Besides, he thinks ruefully - what else is there for him to do, at this point - if he returns? After all; he’d have to come back to the restaurant the following day anyway, far earlier than opening hours, and in the grand scheme of his inability to sleep, for more than a couple of hours a night, what loss would it be to skip one night entirely? 

Niccolo lets out a long, loud, sigh of relief.

“ Thank you, ” he breathes out - looks as if he might collapse at the burden being lifted from his shoulders. “ Thank you so much. ” 

“Only,” Levi says pointedly. “While I’m here - and while I’m observing, you’ve got to follow my exact instructions, if you want to catch this devil of yours. Obviously you’ll have to tell Griez that I’m here, but - limit exactly what I’m here for. Say that it’s something to do with a customer that’s been loitering for too long, and that I’m extra security more than anything else. In fact - just say that I’m extra security, and nothing about private investigation. And we’re going to stay up tonight, just in case this individual makes a reappearance again. As for vantage points - ” he narrows his eyes, recalls the floorplan of the restaurant. “Well, there’ll be no need for anything up here, considering we can’t actually see . But - down in the kitchen and the restaurant - if we tucked ourselves behind an emergency exit in the kitchen, and underneath the counter of the bar in the restaurant, I think we’d have covered most of the scope for entry there.”

“I can deal with the kitchen, seeing as I know where everything’s kept - just to prevent any disturbance,” Niccolo says, nodding. “Although - are you - sure, about not telling Griez? I’d feel bad about it, considering he’s just as affected as I am.”

“Absolutely not,” Levi says flatly. “And not just because of that, either - but also because if more people learn about my presence, it lacks the element of surprise. Our devil might account for extra security, but they’re going to think twice if they hear about the investigation; and it’s better if Griez can be believably astonished. After all, as you said - you won’t have to even try to pretend, because you hardly ever serve at the front.” That seems to appease the other at least - even if that expression of skepticism returns briefly. 

“...alright,” he says, nodding again; with more firmness. “Then I’ll go down to the kitchen.”

“I’ll help,” Mike says, inclining his head. “Erwin’s still waiting in the restaurant, Levi, so you’ll have help there, as well.” He steps aside as the other two men leave the room - lets Niccolo go, with a courteous inclination of the head, and as Levi brushes past - he feels a small, compact square press into his palm - when he glances up, Mike expression remains utterly friendly and gives nothing away. “...I took the liberty of scanning the premises around the restaurant, while you were looking around inside. It might be useful to do the same, tomorrow, rather than tonight, seeing as everything is closed up around here.”

“...Thank you for the tip,” Levi says, can’t help but feel a surge of warmth for his friend - who’s clearly applying an incredibly flexible interpretation to the rules that guide him about cooperation with non-official sources. He closes his hand even more tightly around the object; which feels very much like a neatly folded piece of notepaper, tucks it into his pocket. “I’ll be sure to do that.”

It doesn’t take long to organize the different stakeout locations; mostly because the way that they’re built provides adequate shelter and concealment. There’s a large knot in the wood of the bar that Levi can peer through already - it’s constructed out of cheap chipboard, he realizes, as he tests it for weaknesses. Useless in a gunfight - although he suspects it might not come to that at all; after all, the devil in question has only ever shown a propensity for stirring up a ruckus through it’s sheer presence, rather than being prone to aggression. It’s easy to fall back into a synchronized, efficient working pattern with Erwin as well; they’ve always corresponded well to each other’s work ethics, and habits, and they’re able to scout out the weaker points in the shelter, and strengthen them exponentially. Their conversation drifts from work - only in the most abstract terms, considering their relative adherence to privacy, to their own lives, to having to rescue the food from Hange, when they’ll all gather at their house. The topic of the phone call earlier never arises - for one moment, Levi thinks he might have avoided any mention of it whatsoever; realizes instantly that naturally, he’d be a fool if he ever thought he might be able to dodge that particular line of questioning whatsoever. 

“Well,” Erwin says, as they finish setting up the last vantage point. His tone is mild; but that’s enough to make Levi still, fingers half clenched around the chairs that they’re using as makeshift fencing around one side of the counter. That voice has never boded well for anyone - not his coworkers, when he discovers them trying to cover up some mishap they’ve created; not the guilty suspects he’s ever apprehended, because it usually portends that the next part of any conversation which occurs will be extremely, incredibly uncomfortable. “Zeke Yeager calls you up at two in the morning.”

“To solve cases he wants me to do - and always trivial ones, and only in the summer,” Levi says gruffly, as he finishes adjusting his own piece of furniture and tries to avoid glancing at his reflection in the mirror behind the counter - if only because he’s absolutely certain that if he does catch a glimpse of himself, his face will twitch - or some other tell that Erwin will seize upon in an instant. “He’s a piece of shit.” Honest, to the point - and not exactly lying by omission, when he’s sure that’s all it really is from Zeke’s perspective. Objectively; these are all facts. What his feelings are, are of no concern to the matter at hand.

“I’m not suggesting you need to justify your work, to me, Levi - after all, employment is employment - and you should have no compunction about taking it up, if you think it’s a wise idea. It sounds like his behavior is something you’re very familiar with. That’s all I wanted to say.” 

“He pays well,” Levi says, still on the defensive. “That’s all. And I always make him pay me extra, whenever he calls me at that hour of the night - it’s not as if I’m not benefiting from this.” 

“...just,” Erwin says contemplatively - frowning, as he gazes down at the top of his chair - has to realign it in order that the back of it actually covers most of the space it has to. “Levi, you know what we might have on him. He’s not exactly a harmless denizen of Marley society, if all the information that we receive is to be believed. I’m not going to tell you to be careful - you’re very adept at that, but I just wonder if you know what you might be letting yourself in for. I’ve met him before - once, when you made a citizen’s arrest, those years ago, and in passing at some events. He’s - very charming, when he wants to be. I can concede that.” 

“Well,” Levi snorts, “It’s not working on me, that’s for sure. It’s under control,” he says flatly - although he’s not entirely sure whether that reassurance is for himself, or for his friend. “It’s fine. I know when not to get too deeply involved - not that there is anything going on. Besides - you know I’ll have heard the same rumors as well. It’s not as if we don’t have similar contacts.”

“...alright,” Erwin says, dubiously, as he steps back, views his handiwork. “But - don’t forget, we’re your friends too, even if we might not work together anymore. And - I’m sure, that just as you get worried about us - we get worried about you, too. It’s only human.” 

“That should be good enough,” Levi says, mostly because it’s true, and partly because he’d rather not be having this conversation with one of his closest friends; especially because he has no idea exactly what Erwin’s heard about his and Zeke’s involvement with each other, in any capacity apart from casework. And quite honestly - any of his friends knowing even the vaguest hint about the physical aspect of his personal life makes him want to shrivel up on the spot; wonders vaguely if this is precisely how snails feel, when a thrush is trying to break their shells against a hard rock. “Thank you - I really am grateful. For putting the stakeout spot together, with me.”

“Hm,” Erwin replies with a frown. “I suppose it’s passable. I get the feeling Shadis would be having several strong opinions about this, if he were to see it right now. Just try not to let your right side get exposed, if there is an incident tonight, and you should be fine - and, on that note, I really should be going now - tell Mike, when he’s probably stopped exchanging recipes with your charge, that I’ll be in the car, waiting for him.”

“Tell me one thing,” Levi says, as his friend is about to cross the threshold of the restaurant. “I don’t doubt you or Mike didn’t have a chance to look around - and it’s bullshit, that you wouldn’t have seen what the tracks were like - and the fact that they were caused by a human. And I know how you work; if you’re not actively involving the police with this, aside from the closeness to the Underground, that might engender any sort of obstruction, then this is part of something bigger, isn’t it? Part of - your grand vision of something else, that you think is going on inside the police.”

“I notice,” Erwin says, neutrally - half-turning back, “That you’re not actually asking me what it might be? ”

“...I trust your judgment, if you’re deciding not to tell me - which isn’t exactly new,” Levi says, eventually, slowly. “You know that. But - how bad is it, exactly, would you say?”

“...I wish I knew,” comes the eventual reply. “It feels as if we’re on the cusp of discovering something - but every single time, something falls out of place that confuses everything once more, and we have to start from the beginning again. But - Levi, I have complete confidence that you’ll be able to solve this case - as an individual one, even if it’s not entirely a part of a wider network of coincidences. And now,” he says, as his own radio starts to crackle again, “I really should get back to deskwork. We’ve spent far too long enough out here that my superiors are going to take far too much interest in my exact whereabouts. Let me know if anything comes up that you think Mike and I should look into - and remember, we’re always there if you need extra backup.” 

And with a final hand, raised in farewell - he exits, leaves Levi standing in the center of the room; eyes narrowed at the space he’s previously occupied. He promptly shakes his head - he’s not getting paid to decode whatever his erstwhile colleagues are involved in; should be focusing on tracking down the elusive devil - but he can’t help with that rising, nauseous discomfort once more, he sincerely hopes that Isabel and Furlan aren’t going to be dragged into it - there’s enough unrest in the Underground, without anything else to complicate it.

Still - there’s a restless curiosity that starts to take root under his skin. 

Nothing happens immediately that night - or the day afterwards; the restaurant opens as normal, and a steady stream of customers seems to flow in and out, as Niccolo busies himself in the kitchen, clearly no stranger to having to discipline himself, when it comes to cooking. Levi commandeers one of the secluded corners of the room; his back to the wall, where he can observe both the entrance, and the kitchen doors, to the chagrin of Niccolo’s coworker Griez, who serves him an endless stream of complimentary tea, nevertheless; of varying flavors. If it’s an apology from Niccolo, for his early behavior the previous night, it’s certainly appreciated - although the actual sentiment is somewhat marred by the indubitably morose expression on Griez’s face, every time he returns with a fresh teapot. Not that Levi lets that bother him - he has larger fish to fry, than having to deal with Griez’s attitude towards him.

The shop across the road has finally lifted its shutters too - it’s a bookshop, with golden lettering etched onto the wooden front; one of the older buildings in the district - as the morning draws on, Levi can see the form of a man in his late middle age shuffling around the shopfront, constantly adjusting and readjusting the display tables he’s set out. His dark hair is thinning on top of his head, and he seems to languish in the summer heat; his pace slow, as he shifts from one end of a table to another; at one point, he stops to bury his mouth in his sleeve, body wracked by coughs. He turns around to glance across the road, briefly - and for an instant, the late morning sun catches against the lenses of his spectacles. He holds up a hand and waves - for a moment, Levi almost thinks it’s at him; only to see another passer-by walk across the sidewalk closest to him.  

“ It might be a good idea if you did the same.” Mike had said to him the previous night - causes him to remember the small square of paper tucked into his pocket; he retrieves it surreptitiously, unfolds it carefully behind the cover of his teapot. 

Mike’s writing is small - and impeccably neat; easy enough to read, even when squashed into a scrap of paper. Bakery, butcher’s, general supplies, it reads - a list of all the different shops that are on the same street, and details about the design of the buildings they’re in; their potential ability to see the comings and goings of the restaurant. Nearly all of them are useless, bar one - the bookshop - the necessity to visit, expedited by the fact that it had been the same building, where the light, Levi recalls, had been switched on, even during the early hours of the morning. He chances a look around the restaurant - it certainly seems devoid of anything particularly suspect; although his gaze lands on a young woman with brown hair - about Niccolo’s age, pulled back into a messy bun, who seems to be staring at him rather intently, a potato stuffed inside her mouth. She’s accompanied by a similarly aged, long-faced man, who seems to be far more interested in the magazine he’s reading, Levi can vaguely make out the photograph of a dark-haired woman who seems to be on the society page. The young woman swallows the potato whole entirely; reminds Levi of a cobra with its quarry.

“Oh,” a voice says grimly - causes him to glance up; fingers closing slowly around the piece of paper Mike’s issued to him - nothing is more suspicious than a reflex reaction, after all. It’s Griez, who looks decidedly unhappy at the sight of the two individuals within Levi’s line of vision. “Not those two again. They aren’t causing you any trouble, are they?” 

“Are they regular?”

“Semi-regular,” comes the short reply, as Griez starts to collect Levi’s teapot again; it had been a light white tea, this time; a little too floral for his tastes, but still pleasant, nonetheless. Whoever had been behind the selections which the restaurant stocks clearly has sophisticated taste; and an expensive one. If he weren’t working on this, Levi thinks - it would cost him far more to try to obtain these by himself. “They’re a regular pair of hoodlums, most of the time. I’ve banned them from coming in, but they always find a way to undermine that. Maybe I should start firing some of the servers - I’m sure they’re taking bribes for this.”

“Would you like me to deal with them?” Levi returns easily. “After all - as extra, hired security, I should be able to help.” There’s no flicker of suspicion on Griez’s face at that; clearly Niccolo is a fairly able 

“No,” Griez says shortly. “It’s fine - I’ll deal with them. They’ll just spread rumors about us, and the presence of extra security would make us even more high profile, in the worst way, around here. All the customers would go - it would almost be acknowledging that we have a problem, at all. Now - is there anything else I can get for you? Niccolo already has another tea lined up, if you’d like that; it’s yet to brew, however, but I can fetch that for you as well.” 

“I should be fine, for the moment,” Levi says, “But - I wanted to talk to you, for a moment.” The effect of those words is instantaneous; Griez’s features, which had been decidedly neutral, promptly become stony in a split second, his posture stiffening. 

“I don’t see why some temporary Paradis thug for hire,” he says, in a measured tone. “Should have any questions. You might look smart in that suit of yours, but we both know that you’re being paid to knock some heads together, not to ask anything.”

“All I wanted to know,” Levi returns, equally evenly - tries not to let irritation seep into his tone. “Were fundamental questions about the way this place is run, so I can fit in better, than if you just left me to - my thuggish ways, as you’d put it. And I’d suggest you don’t use that sort of phrasing,” he says, “When you’re clearly in the middle of the city.” And there’s a pause - Griez’s eyes narrow; as if he’s contemplating the situation at hand, eventually relents begrudgingly, puts the tray back down onto the table and slides into place. 

“Alright,” he says, “What do you want to know? How we were formed - how we run? What are the security measures in this place? I assume Niccolo took you through all of them before we opened up.”

“I wanted to ask you,” Levi says, “Who’s normally in charge of overseeing who’s blocked from entering and who isn’t - all those sorts of questions; how the situation would be handled, if it was escalated. After all, Niccolo told me that you aren’t - keen on the police being involved. As someone who comes from the Underground, I’m not unsympathetic - after all, disputes should be solved between the individuals involved, without some external force sticking its nose where it doesn’t belong. That’s how we deal with things. I just wanted to know why you’re equally unwilling to do the same.”

“Well,” Griez says, confidently. “It’s the same for us - after all we’re from Marley, so it’s not as if anyone is predisposed to treat us very well, here, considering the tensions between the cities; especially those two younger individuals on that table. And as you said - we’re near the Underground; I’d rather not invite more controversy by calling the police in, when they’re clearly unwelcome here. That’s all - the rules of survival.” There’s a vaguely condescending edge to his words; it’s odd, Levi thinks, how quickly attitudes towards an individual can change, when they’re working under the assumption that the individual in question occupies different stations in life that might be considered higher, or lesser. Although - if Griez is any example; it’s that he clearly thinks that he’s above everyone in this restaurant, resents having to work like this, if not Paradis in general.

“...and you,” Levi says carefully, “Don’t seem entirely too keen to be in this city, either.”

“I don’t think someone from Paradis would understand,” Griez snaps, “But comparatively - this is a backwater. We got told we could make our head start here, but it feels more as if it’s a backfoot. There’s nothing here - no culture, and look at where we’re located; we’re better than half the Marley restaurants, and yet, despite the influence of our backer - we’ve been left to rot, in the Underground - although I’m sure someone like you wouldn’t care two whits about that. There are bigger places to be, greater things to do - and yet, we’re here, and not somewhere like Hizuru, who would appreciate us far more.”

“And who is your backer?” Levi asks - because this has been an equally recurring theme, throughout his conversations with both Niccolo and Griez. “Just to get an idea of what, exactly, I’m dealing with, in terms of who I’m answering to. If there is a situation which worsens here, are they who I should contact?”

At that, Griez closes off completely - eyes narrowing even further, as he gets to his feet without answer. 

“That is none of your business,” he says sharply. “And nothing I’m going to talk about, to someone who’s being paid to do nothing more than look stern, and drink tea. And God knows what Niccolo’s thinking, with that. It’s not as if you’d appreciate that, either.” And if anyone, Levi thinks - might reinforce his worst views about the stereotype Marleyans have, in Paradis, then he’s looking at him right now. His derogation is almost textbook perfect; and he actually sounds as if he believes it. And Levi finds himself thinking - strangely - of the last two he interacted with; Zeke’s condescension is a constant, but it’s hardly ever directed at where he comes from and more to do with Levi himself, and issues with the city that he had to acknowledge, reluctantly, were at least partly true. As for Yelena - the entirety of that day he’d spent with her, he’d rather not acknowledge, if he can avoid it - but she’d spent most of her time praising Paradis - albeit, interspersed with copious references to Zeke, and how it had developed, in the short time she’d been there; the other side of the pendulum, entirely. “Now - is there anything else I should get for you, or can I actually do my job, and eject those hoodlums who are still here, and probably eating their way through the free bread, as we speak?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Levi returns coolly, “In fact, considering those individuals seem to be the only ones who you think might cause trouble - and you seem to be very assured about your capabilities, I think I’m going for a walk. I’ve been sitting here for at least five hours. Don’t worry - I negotiated that with Niccolo as well. I’ll be back in about half an hour - I’m sure you won’t lose any sleep over my absence.” 

The thing about private investigation is this; individuals never take kindly to someone who’s upfront about what they are, in this field. And if they do, they clearly have something to hide. Levi isn’t a particularly big fan of subterfuge, but he’s learned that in order to actually succeed as an investigator; it’s necessary to at least be capable of assuming different personas, has to scramble to think of one, as he crosses the road. Being a security guard will hardly help either, he thinks - and if he’s going to wander around, enquiring about devils as the first point of reference, he’ll have to at least take on a guise that’s believable enough that people will, at least respond, instead of dismissing him completely as an idiot. Eventually, he manages to settle on a persona, a researcher of the supernatural, for a local society - can appear knowledgeable, but simultaneously detached from the subject matter in general. Besides - it’s not as if he’s… exactly lying, in that respect. Although his membership for the Paradis Society for Ymir and Other Phenomena hasn’t exactly been renewed for at least twenty years. Still - some start is better than nothing.

The owner has retreated into the bookshop, by the time Levi crosses the road - seems to have disappeared into the most difficult recess, in fact; doesn’t emerge, even after the door chimes, as Levi pushes it open. It’s a pleasant environment - yet again, another good use of the small space allocated to every business owner in this road, it appears, and there’s something instantly relaxing about the rather more staid atmosphere, compared to the relative rush of the restaurant at lunch hour. It seems to be a mixture of both antiquarian - older leatherbound volumes carefully protected behind glass cases, and newer hardbacks and paperbacks lined up on towering shelves that need a sliding ladder to reach half of them, it is, in fact, on one of these, that Levi finds the bookseller he’d seen earlier - climbing slowly downwards. The frame wobbles, with every step he takes - on instinct, Levi reaches out to steady it. 

“Ah, thank you,” the bookseller says, promptly freezes mid-climb, as he starts to cough again; a deep, painful sound that makes Levi’s own chest ache, somehow. “Ah, I’m sorry - I’m surrounded by dust all the time in this place, and I’m only one person - I never half enough reach to clean everything. I - have a carafe of water nearby - on the desk; you’ll be able to see it, it’s the only place which isn’t covered in books. Once I’ve climbed down, could I trouble you to pour one out for me, while I put this duster away?” His politeness is refreshing; in comparison to the treatment Levi’s just experienced at the hands of someone who’s partly involved in hiring him, albeit, under pretenses. There’s also no trace of a Marleyan dialect to his tone; it’s almost a shock to hear accent-free Eldian, considering the two others he’s been spending extensive time with, over the course of the day. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“I’ll wait until you’ve put the duster away,” Levi says. “I’m not going to start firing questions at you, while you’re still balancing on a ladder.” 

“Well, and they say that young people are discourteous, nowadays,” the bookseller chuckles - although it’s more of a tentative sound, as if he’s worried that too much boisterousness will aggravate his cough again. “I know plenty who are. And one who pretends to be polite, but is quite the aggravator when he - but! I’m rambling. Make yourself at home behind the desk; there’s a kettle in the office which I can put on, while I’m there, if you’d like some tea.” Levi rather thinks that he’s probably drunk enough tea to float a ship on; still finds himself agreeing out of habit, before he can even check himself. It’s the rarity of the offer, he thinks - there aren’t many individuals who offer that over coffee, first - and he says as much to the bookseller, who by now, has managed to carefully clamber down to the ground, hands curling around the ladder for support as he catches his breath. 

“Yes - well,” comes the amused reply. “I’m not a particularly big fan of coffee, really. Can’t stand the stuff. Besides - I’ve heard that it isn’t good for general health, if consumed in large doses. I’m afraid I don’t have any of the fancy stuff - just oolong tea. It’s the only thing I drink regularly.”

“Oolong tea,” Levi says - can’t quite keep the relief from seeping into his tone at that - if only because it’ll undercut the overbearing sweetness of the last one he’d had. “Is fine. No milk, or sugar, please.”

“A man after my own heart,” the bookseller says, with a contented sigh. “I got told I had to stay off both of those, too. I rather think we’ll get along, even though we’ve just met. And - ah, after you’ve got the water for me, please feel free to take a glance around and see if there’s anything which you’d be interested in, here. I rarely get visitors at this time of the day, so you’ll have plenty of peace and quiet to browse, without any interruption to your concentration.” And he’s so polite, sounds so sincere about it - it’s hard not to feel some measure of good feeling towards him instantly. There’s something incredibly genial about him; the very image of someone who might make a doting parent, or grandparent, and yet - nothing about his tone of voice makes Levi feel as if he’s being talked down to, even if the other has already played the age card, in their initial conversation. 

It’s not difficult to find the desk, as the bookseller had said - in fact, it looks strangely lonely, despite being surrounded by tomes of varying sizes and genres on all sides; the only thing that does seem to take permanent residence there are the cash register, the carafe of water and two glasses, and a long-armed, stuffed monkey toy that holds a baseball in its hands, that sits on the edge of the table, seems to serve as some sort of mascot for the shop; it’s a little ludicrous. Especially so, considering baseball is a sport that’s predominantly popular in Marley, has only started to infiltrate the Paradis sports scene. It must be the effect of his neighbors, Levi thinks, disgruntled. And once Levi’s poured a glass - he sets it down, peers at the nearest row of books; all serializations of comics that he knows Furlan, or Hange would enjoy if they were both present. For a moment - he starts to think about that silent watcher in the alleyway, earlier that morning; wonders exactly what has been relayed to Furlan, and whether he should be expecting some sort of message, after this business has concluded.

After the comics, come the fiction section - his hand hovers, momentarily, over a particularly lurid cover of a pulp novel, pulls it out from the shelf - almost blanches at the front cover instantly. It’s about a private investigator - that much he can guess, from the rugged looking appearance of the main character on the cover; but there’s something about the excessive blood that he finds distasteful. That, and the unnecessary amount of bare flesh that seems to grace the illustration. 

QUAKE IN FEAR! As the hound of Liberio stalks his newest quarry in this gripping sequel to A BARREL OF FISH. Picking up where it left off, MONKEY TROUBLE follows private eye Rivaille Wankerman, as he investigates a string of murders at the local zoo. Engaged by a new sensual, mysterious client, this story will take him to the wilds of the lemur enclosure, as he tangles with the shockingly familiar, and annoyingly attractive zoologist working there, in a battle of wits and minds, a spectacular BONKBUSTER - 

 - that’s more than he wanted to know, he thinks dryly, as he slides it back from where the book had come from; moves onto the next set of shelves. The philosophy section, he realises - as soon as his eyes catch more than a few familiar names; many of whom he recognises, clearly through fucking osmosis or something, by having to visit that penthouse apartment so often. His footsteps stall completely, as he alights on a more than familiar name, finds himself eying up a collection of Nietzsche's essays; it looks exactly like a reprint of the very same edition he’d destroyed, after one of his last encounters with Zeke, the previous summer. He wonders, momentarily, what the appeal of it all is - why his philosophical reading choices, at least - always seem to tend towards nihilism, despite the hedonistic lifestyle he seems keen on perpetuating. And if Levi were to read any of these particular books - would they even bring him any closer to deciphering Zeke’s thought processes? Probably not, he thinks - brow creasing into a frown, as he scans more titles in that section. And it’s there that the bookseller finds him; coughs politely, two cups in his hand when Levi turns to face him. 

“Oh, is this the kind of book you’re interested in?” he says, curiously. “It’s strange - I wouldn’t have taken you for a Nietzsche sort of person at all. Granted, I’ve only met you for about five minutes.”

“I’m not,” Levi replies simply, “But I know someone who is. And irritating, to boot, about it.”

“Between you and me,” the bookseller says, with another quiet, half-laugh - passes Levi his tea, eyebrows raising momentarily, at the way in which he holds his cup by the rim, rather than the handle. “Most people who are into reading philosophy are, regardless of ideology. It’s almost as if all of that information fills their mind so completely, it gives them a swelled head automatically; full of other people’s ideas. That being said, of course - it’s not that I’m denigrating it at all. I happen to - quite like reading Nietzsche, sometimes. And funnily enough, I also know someone exactly like the sort of person you’re describing, although I rather think I happened to influence him, in that respect - we really must be kindred spirits. Did you have time to look at anything else, or have I managed to distract you from your adventures?”

“Well,” Levi starts - winces at how stilted he sounds; lying so directly is something he’s still not keen on, and his lack of conviction is evident to his ears, at least. The bookseller, on the other hand, appears perfectly unruffled - hides whatever his expression might be, behind the teacup he raises to his mouth, blows on the tea to cool. “I wasn’t - exactly looking for books. I’m actually here to ask around about something I’ve heard about recently. You see, I’m Levi Ackerman, a researcher shadowing the Paradis Society for Ymir-based - ” 

“ Oh, ” the bookseller interrupts instantly, brightly. “ PSYOP! I’ve been considering joining that for a while now, but I’ve never quite found the time to think about contacting anyone to join. How fortuitous, at least, that I’ve run into you. Anyway, sorry - please continue. I suppose you’re not here, because you actually developed a psychic ability to tell when a potential member was nearby. Ah,” he coughs again. “Sorry for interrupting you - you must allow an old man his jests, sometimes. But I was seriously thinking about joining - I don’t suppose you could tell me what the membership entails - ” and God, of course Levi would come across someone who was actually interested in what he was spouting, instead of some moderately disinterested individual who would give him any sort of answer, in the hopes that he would leave. 

He freezes - train of thought derailed, because now he actually has to scrounge up what meager details he remembers, from the depths of his memory, and of those - fuck. The bookseller is still looking at him expectantly, even as his own thoughts stall. God, nearly anyone else would be better than him in this situation - Mike and Erwin would both be able to think their way out of this quickly; Hange would just continue to lie through their teeth, but Levi - 

- Levi is suddenly hit by the memory of the very same sales pitch he’d received, when he’d first expressed interest in joining; clings to it like a lifebuoy, because at least that is the truth, and he can relate that with far more certainty. And somewhere in his mind, he can already hear a howl of laughter that sounds particularly like Hange - knows that this is something he’ll keep from everyone he knows, for the rest of his life. Levi Ackerman, Paranormal Society Membership Secretary, he can already hear Hange saying, would think it was all a giant hoot. Next time, I’ll make business cards for you in advance. 

“...Lifetime membership, if you pay ten dollars upfront,” he says, “Free access to all talks and events, as well as several city and graveyard overnight walks. And - ”

“ - you know,” the bookseller says contemplatively, nodding along, “I’m fairly sure that when I last checked the pamphlet they put through the door this morning, the going rate had gone up to twenty dollars. Unless, of course, you’re factoring in the idea that I’d get a senior citizen dispensation, but that’s only five dollars too. Granted, it was almost a convincing ploy,” he adds, with a faint smile. “But - I’d really suggest that you don’t start off most of your acquaintanceships by lying so badly. It makes people wonder what you’re really hiding.”

“...you were making fun of me,” Levi says - incredulous, as he witnesses the other raise his cup again - only this time, he can tell it’s to hide a widening of that smile. “You knew I wasn’t a researcher from the moment I started talking about it.”

“Mm, well - to be fair, I would nearly have taken you at your word, if I hadn’t decided to read that, earlier. But - in that case, Mr Ackerman - if that is your real name, then I would like to ask you who you actually are, and why you’ve chosen to impersonate a member of what would be considered by quite a few people to be something of a rather morbid interest. But - this wouldn’t be something to do - or related to the fact that there was an incredibly rare sight I witnessed, in the earlier hours, when I couldn’t sleep, relating to the presence of the police in the restaurant opposite mine? And I can only assume, considering you’re so freely impersonating someone else, that you’re not a member of the police yourself - I understand there are some serious repercussions about that sort of behavior, if it would get back to your superiors. Which leads me to the conclusion that I’m dealing with a private investigator, if only because they’re the only agent with a certain degree of autonomy, aside from their client’s wishes - who could do something like mislead a poor, doddering elderly individual. Either that, or you’re trying to scam me into ceding some of my antiquarian book collection - but I rather imagine you’d have been a lot more prepared for that. So - that leads me to my next question. What do you actually want from me, today? Or,” his tone sharpens a little - takes on a flintlike quality that cuts through the image of softness in his voice. “Are you from somewhere else? Have you been hired by someone else?”

Levi is starting to revise his - the more he thinks about it - overly charitable opinion of the bookseller. 

“You know,” he returns - once more, feeling as if he’s been backed into a corner, feels his hackles rising. “It’s a very bad way to start acquaintanceships, by lying to the other as well.” 

“I mean,” the bookseller replies, “I really would like to join PSYOP - I wasn’t lying about that. I do believe that there is some benefit to be gained from communicating from the supernatural, and they really did seem to be very confident in the new Paths process they were testing out - but,” he says, the glint in his eyes becoming a little steelier; that longing disappearing in an instant, replaced by something more avuncular. “That’s beside the point. I suppose I can concede that I was misleading, which is almost as worse as lying. So - we’re now at loggerheads. The only solution, as I can see fit - is that we both start over, with full honesty.”

“And how do I know I can believe you? ” Levi says, tone still skeptical - the bookseller shrugs.

“Well, I suppose if I really didn’t trust you, I wouldn’t have highlighted your flaws in your ability to masquerade as someone else - but don’t worry, those can be worked on. Acting is sometimes innate, but can be learned, after all. But that’s not related to the question at hand, whatsoever - which is - are you, in fact, a private investigator?” And really - Levi can see no other option to tell the truth on that front; he has the feeling that whatever else he tries, he’ll be rumbled. 

“...yes,” he cedes, reluctantly. “I am - but I wasn’t lying when I said I was conducting supernatural research, of a sort. You see, I heard that a - devil - had been sighted, running into the restaurant and then out again, late last night; or at least someone with muddy footprints. They were very human, for something that’s supposed to come out of a folklore story - but one of the individuals who works there was insistent that he’d seen something, and his coworker called on me.”

“...I assume, because the local constabulary wouldn’t touch it - because of the lack of basis in acceptable beliefs,” the bookseller says, “And the restaurant - that’s young Niccolo, isn’t it? And his coworker Griez. I’ve seen them on occasion, although I have to say, I’ve always preferred one of them over the other. They’re both from Marley, aren’t they? They - stick out like a sore thumb.”

“I’m not surprised,” Levi says dryly. “One of them is misguided - the other is just wrongheaded, entirely.” And that causes the bookseller to smile again - a warm sort of expression that distracts from the otherwise sickly complexion of the other. There’s something about him that makes Levi think of the crumpled paper balls that sit in Niccolo’s makeshift wastepaper basket; or a moderately wizened raisin. Both of them, he thinks, are rather unflattering descriptions - but they’re honest enough equations, in his mind’s eye.

“Are you meant to say that, about the individuals who you’re employed by?”

“Well,” Levi says neutrally, “Only one of them is actually paying me - ” although that has yet to materialize, “And - the other seems to undervalue my intelligence. Naturally, I’m prone to favor the one who’s actually financing my work. So - considering your light was on, and you were alert enough to notice what was going on, when the police arrived, did you see anything earlier that evening, prior to that?”

“Hm,” the bookseller hums. “Well. That’s a good question - and of course, one must define what one means by see, in a world where truth is relative to the individual witnessing or experiencing it . But I’m getting ahead of myself,” he says, takes note of the way in which Levi’s expression steadily grows flatter by the second. “But it really is in the eye of the beholder, you know. I suppose - what I mean to say, is that I certainly didn’t see a devil run into the restaurant, at any point in time.”

“And a human?” Levi presses - the other man raises his hands placatingly.

“I was reading, at the time - and there are plenty of individuals who go in and out of that restaurant, you know. It’s actually quite popular. Even I go there sometimes, despite the service I receive, sometimes - the food is excellent, if you allow Niccolo to cook for you. Much better than all those restaurants that claim to serve Marleyan food, up in the more tourist-friendly parts of the city. I’ve always found those meals to be a bit dense - but from what I know of Marley cuisine; Niccolo’s is exceptional. I can especially recommend the shellfish dishes - I’ve been doing that with nearly everyone I know. Besides, they give me a discount.” 

And despite Levi’s unrelenting glare - he’s not going to be duped a second time; the bookseller simply smiles, shrugs his shoulders, eyes free of guile. Then again - they’re obscured by those glasses that catch the dim light in the shop, now; it’s difficult to make out, exactly, whether the look in them matches the expression of the rest of their owner’s face. “I really wish I could help you, Mr Ackerman - but I’m afraid that I saw no devil, and it is impossible to discern one human being from another, from the height of the room I live in, you know. Although - ” 

The bookseller frowns. “ Devils. That - reminds me of something, actually. I wonder - who was it, who saw the devil in question? I just ask, because - speaking of folklore, I just remember there was a book which I had on the matter, which might be of some help; although I can’t quite remember what section it was in. Ah, I might actually be able to help - inadvertently. I suppose that’s the good thing about having so many books you never end up selling, sometimes - there’s always going to be something useful to read about, in each one. If you just give me a moment - I can find one - do you have time to spare?” 

Levi reaches into the pocket of his waistcoat; checks his watch.

“Ten minutes,” he says. “I was only meant to be gone for half an hour.”

“I think I’ll have enough time to find that in less than that,” the bookseller says cheerily. “One of the upsides of not having very many customers, on days like these, is that at least I can keep everything in order - mostly. Unless I start to get bored and read through everything too - and even then, that’s more of a detriment, when I start to forget exactly where I read something, and in which book.”

“Would you like any help?” Levi asks - is already rising from his seat, only to find himself being waved off immediately. 

“Ah - no, I really do think it would be better if I looked for this by myself,” the other says, frowning, as he sets his tea down on a nearby bookshelf, already starts to walk away. “This really was quite a while ago - I don’t tend to keep books beyond a certain date, from certain places, I’m afraid. No - you just stay here, and I’ll find it for you.”

Ten minutes, Levi thinks, is a long time. That had been something he’d learned from a young age; when he’d first started learning the ins and outs of theft, of how to use a friend to distract all the rapidly fattening traders, who liked to extort everyone out of hard earned money, who would coo pleasantries like plump pigeons on their perches - complacent enough, that ten minutes had been enough to steal enough food to last for the next three days, if Furlan, Isabel and he were able to make it last that long. Ten minutes would be enough to break into a house and leave, with the most expensive, unguarded item; enough to switch authentic items for fakes, in the process of fencing them, right under the eyes of the authorities. Ten minutes would be long enough to unpick the locks to handcuffs - and certainly enough time, Levi muses - to rummage through the bookseller’s desk, in order to find out anything else about his host. And this, too, is something he might feel guilty about - were it not for the fact that he’s clearly more astute than he lets on; is petty enough to think of it, in a way, as payback for letting him make a fool of himself during their initial interaction.

Astute enough, it seems, that nearly all his desk drawers are completely bare. A smart move, Levi can concede, but also incredibly telling - if only because anyone who had nothing to hide would have at least left some remnant of their presence there. There don’t seem to be any hidden catches, either - the entirety of the space is simply empty; save for the stuffed toy and the baseball perched on top of the desk itself. In fact - there’s something about that scarcity of personal belongings that reminds Levi a little of Niccolo’s room; as if both of them have moved in hastily, without any personal belongings of their own, are constantly prepared to move out at any moment’s notice, too - the only things which are so evidently present are the tools of their trade - cooking equipment, a camera, and books. And that causes the hairs on the back of Levi’s neck to prickle almost immediately; there’s something a little eerie about the distinct lack of personality, in the rooms he’s been in. It’s similar to Zeke’s penthouse, he thinks - where everything is smothered in dust covers when he leaves; dragged away on his return, the furniture never moving, everything exactly in place as he’d left it, save for whichever selection of books he’s chosen to take, or bring back with him. 

He’s back by the bookshelves, by the time the bookseller returns; finally starting to drink his tea. And it’s good - clearly steeped for the same amount of time Levi likes to make his in; not acrid, and not overly sweet, either. There’s a slight undertone to it that reminds him a little of the hard toffee candy he would save up for, for a month; would buy a bag of them at the end of it, and portion them out for as long as he could. He takes another large sip, lets the flavor sit on his tongue. 

“It’s called milk oolong,” the bookseller says, helpfully. “I had the same expression on my face, the first time I tried it. Or at least, that’s - what my wife told me, before. It’s hard to obtain in Paradis - you have to import it through very complicated means that go between the Mid-East alliance of cities, and Hizuru. But - in my opinion, it’s completely worth spending a quarter of my paycheck on. Either that,” he says humorously, “Or find someone rich who you can persuade to buy it for you. But - on the topic of possessions - temporal and spiritual, I found the book - it’s a little old, but I think you might find it informative.” 

The cover is cloth - dark red, and embossed with a silver design. There’s something about the style that reminds Levi a little of traditional ink printing; the faces of the individuals incredibly round-eyed and oval-faced, while a pattern similar to illuminated manuscript runs across the spine and the borders of the cover. Folklore and Origins of Marley, it reads - he smooths his thumb across the illuminated border contemplatively. And when he opens the front cover - an etching of a young girl, and a creature that can only be described as a devil, stare back at him - he promptly snaps the cover shut. There’s something oddly eerie about that particular piece of art; it makes his skin crawl. 

“...I’ll give it a read, when I get back,” he says, draining the rest of his tea. “Thank you - I’ll try and return it in the condition you’ve loaned it to me.”

“Oh,” the bookseller says, tone turning wry. “I - I’ve been trying to sell that one for ages. You can have it free. After all, you’ll be making more use of it in one day, probably, than I have, in the past few years. More than that, really. And if you don’t want to use it, after today - I’ve been told that the market value is worth, at least, twenty packets of milk oolong, when bought loose leaf. Maybe you can trade it for that. But - thank you, for coming to visit me, even if it was only to ask me some questions. I did enjoy the company. I normally - have more friends, who visit me during the summer - but it does get a little isolated, in the months beforehand. I’m surprised I’m sane, half the time.”

When Levi reaches the front door, he pauses - looks back at the bookseller, who has yet to move; is still standing by the bookshelves, peering at the copies of Nietzsche which he’d been looking at, clearly deep in thought. 

“If I were from somewhere else,” he says, seized by the spirit of inquiry - watches as the other man starts suddenly. “Where would I be from? That was one of the things you mentioned, earlier.”

“A misspent former life,” the bookseller says - reaches towards the very copy which Levi had been scrutinizing, with that strange, forlorn smile. “That I’m trying to grow out of. But - that’s of no concern to you, I think. Go back and find your devil, Mr Ackerman. It was very nice making your acquaintance.”

Nothing seems to have changed, since Levi had left, not so long ago - it’s still busy, considering the time of day; although he notes the queue that seems to stream out of Porco’s diner. It’s the sound of an argument from nearby which catches his attention however; not a particularly heated one, and conducted with an affectionate familiarity that he can identify as the type he uses, when he’s trying to dissuade Hange from embarking on a particularly questionable hypothesis that involves several chemicals they really shouldn’t have taken from their laboratory, down in the department, and active crime scenes. In fact, the argument itself is background noise, for the most part - conducted in the very same alley that he’d witnessed one of Furlan’s agents lurking in - until the long faced man actually says, quite vehemently - 

“Don’t you get it, Sasha? If he’d wanted to come and talk to you, beforehand, he would have done - it wouldn’t have been something that you’d have to push for.”

“But Jean - don’t you get it? They never acknowledged the last letter we sent, talking about supplies, and how difficult they are to obtain now; and they just canceled our orders without any forewarning, and one time, they returned them to us with no explanation at all. Niccolo would never do that, at least, I know. ”

“Well, you can know all you like. But the fact of the matter is, we’ve just been ejected from the restaurant again. If that isn’t a sign that you shouldn’t be spending more time trying to talk to him, I don’t know what is - come on, you’ve never been this bothered about contracts being canceled before. I mean - you have, but not to this extent. There’ll be other clients, you know.”

“Yes,” comes the half defeated reply, “I know - but. I really did like talking to him, and it was the first contract I was handling myself! And - he was really, really good at cooking, and kind of fun to chat to. I liked hearing about what kind of foods he was preparing, and how he was using what we sold to him. We even exchanged addresses! Not that we ever wrote to each other, considering how often I was in the restaurant beforehand. I just - don’t understand why he’d suddenly cut me off like that. We were getting along really well.”

“Well,” the young man says, “People can change. I mean - I wouldn't have thought that he would do something like that, as well, from what I knew about him. He really seemed to be getting used to the idea of living in Paradis. In fact, he even asked me - ” he pauses, reaches up to push the brim of his hat up - promptly curtails that particular line of conversation. “Come on, let’s just go home, Sasha. Connie’ll be waiting for us, and we’re going to have to lie to him about where we’ve been again, so he doesn’t start an argument about it.”

“...yeah,” the young woman says reflectively. “I suppose we’re done for today. If we go now,” she adds - trying to inject some sort of cheer into her tone. “Then we can all start trying out one of the new recipes we bought from that cookbook! The really fancy one from the bookshop opposite, after we got kicked out last time!” 

It’s obviously a cue to leave; Levi steps back at that, tucks himself back around the side of the wall and leans back up against it, arms folded, unwilling to be caught eavesdropping so blatantly, although quite honestly, it’s not as if they’ve tried to be quiet . Sasha is the first to exit - catches sight of him almost immediately, as she looks around her - Levi holds her gaze, unapologetic. The gleam in her eyes becomes steely, the longer she regards him, reminds him a little of a hunter nocking her arrow at prey. He’d like to see her try. 

“Hey,” she says, marching across - just as her companion, who can be heard complaining about the holdup, also emerges. “ You were in the restaurant earlier, talking to Griez, and now you’re here, clearly spying on us. What’s your role in all of this?” The young man - Jean - stumbles after her; expression one of beleaguerment. And - well. Levi can see why Niccolo clearly has some sort of fondness for her; there’s something so direct about her personality in some ways, compared to most of the people he interacted with in the past twelve hours.

“God,” he says, runs a hand down his face. “ God. Sasha, I know you want answers - although God knows why, considering business partners come and go, but please don’t start accosting random people in the street. You’re starting to sound like Connie. Remember that time he nearly dragged a thirteen year old with him and made him clean his mother’s house from top to bottom, because she’d been talking about teenagers running around and ruining her neighborhood, and he just picked the closest one he saw, regardless of culpability?”

“This is different, ” Sasha says adamantly, as she continues to stride towards Levi; almost goes toe to toe with him. There’s a slight drawl to her tone - the kind of accent associated with the countryside and forests, just outside of Paradis, although she has a habit of overemphasis on certain syllables - as if she’s trying to obscure it. “This is - I saw him, earlier. And not just anyone talks to Griez - he barely lets them, like he barely let us. So that must mean he’s working with them, in some capacity. So - tell me, are you their new meat supplier? Is that why you’re here, to put my family out of business? We need the money, you know - the government’s been removing our subsidies for production, because they need to deal with the rising population, but we’re not exactly living well, either. Do you know how much it costs, to try and provide food to said growing population, when we’re not being helped either? It’s not sustainable - the entire food market is already going through the roof, and we won’t be able to rear anything, or grow anything healthily .”

“Trust me,” Levi says flatly, stepping forwards - and Sasha still refuses to back down, continues to try to stare him down, even if she leans backwards - wavering a little. “Being a meat supplier is one of the things I’d least like to do for a profession. I’m just being hired as an external consultant, because they’ve been experiencing some strange phenomena, recently. Although, you’ve already answered one of the questions I was going to ask you. You’re Sasha Blouse, aren’t you?” And, that, at least - causes her to rear back, and make a loud noise of surprise.

“...how did you know? ” she says loudly; promptly glances around, slaps a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. When she next speaks, her voice drops to a whisper. “What strange phenomena? Do you have - supernatural powers? Can you see what I’m thinking, right now? And can you stop ? I didn’t give you permission to be in my head! Wait, are you a plainclothes police detective? Don’t you need a warrant to search through things, even thoughts?” Behind her, Jean’s other hand joins his face with an even more pronounced groan, looks as if he’s almost ready to disavow her company altogether - especially when he catches sight of the unimpressed face Levi bears. 

“Sasha, stop being such an idiot - ”

“ - oh, please, ” Sasha scoffs, rounding on him - but once more, it sounds more like a light-hearted debate between siblings, rather than anything serious. “I’m the only one here who’s trying to get actual answers, you’re just tagging along because you’re bored, and you like reading the free magazines the restaurant likes giving out, because all the celebrities on the society page have long dark hair, and you think it makes you look sophisticated and worldly to be sitting in a cafe that serves food from another region. You can’t fool me - you always slam it shut whenever I ask you what you’re reading.”

“I’ll have you know, I was actually reading about the very important politics and decoration behind the social etiquette associated with overseeing the debutante ball this coming autumn - ”

“Which happened to also be the same page in which there was a three quarters page profile photograph of Frieda Reiss,” Sasha retorts. “You can’t pretend you’re above my behavior. But that’s not the most important thing here. What I’m more concerned about is the fact we’re dealing with a psychic who can read everything I’m thinking right now. I bet I can feel him rummaging through my thoughts - ”

“I’m not a psychic,” Levi interrupts tersely, before the conversation can become derailed even further - takes some small satisfaction in the way both of them stiffen, turn towards him once more. It’s good, he thinks - there are more than a few questions he’d still like to ask them; and their bickering is beginning to give him an incipient headache. “But - Niccolo has mentioned you before. And that’s what I’d like to talk to you about, if you can keep your voices down, for a moment - or we can go back into that alley to continue this discussion; either way, it doesn’t matter to me. I think you’ll find that I’m far more interested in helping you in this, rather than hindering you. Griez isn’t exactly the most welcoming of individuals - or someone I particularly like, and I’m certain you’ll be far more helpful than he has been, so far.”

“...what’s the catch,” Sasha says, after a moment’s silence - eyes narrowing. Jean doesn’t look especially convinced, either. “There’s got to be one. You can’t just say that, Mr Psychic, and expect us to go along with you.”

“The catch, ” Levi repeats flatly, “Is the fact that you might be able to regain your contract, if I can solve this. So - are you going to answer my questions, or not?” There’s another pause, as she and Jean exchange glances - conversing through a variety of strange facial expressions that seem to involve a copious amount of eyebrow raising, and face pulling. Eventually, a conclusion is reached - and she folds her arms; a mulish look on her face, as she nods back towards the alleyway, after another brief glance around. 

“...alright,” she says, “But we’re going back in there - I don’t trust who might be hearing, or eavesdropping, in broad daylight.” Not, Levi is tempted to say, that the alleyway is any better - considering what he’s been able to hear - but there’s a higher possibility of being able to spot anyone who might be listening, if they stay vigilant. Jean, on the other hand - looks far more hesitant; hovers by the entrance to the alleyway as the other two file in, looking for all the world as if he’s expecting Levi to rough them up where they stand, instead - only joins them, when Sasha forcibly yanks him in by his elbow, nearly causes all of them to trip over like a chain of dominoes, as he collides with her - and she with Levi’s back, as he moves further down the narrow space between the walls. God, he thinks - suddenly reminded of that stupid novel in the bookshop; he feels as if he’s in a parody of some detective story, with how everyone’s acting. 

The only thing that needs to be added, is something like some - grand crime organization, and their nefarious schemes to take over the city administration. Then again - that already exists, if Erwin is to be believed. “Alright, you know who I am. So, information exchange, then - seeing as you’re somehow able to talk to Niccolo, when I can’t, can you explain why our deliveries have been stopped? It - isn’t his decision, is it?” 

When she speaks - there’s a similar fondness in her tone, despite her line of questioning, Levi notes instantly, which is strikingly reminiscent of the way in which Niccolo had mentioned the restaurant suppliers, and their kindness - his mind drifts to the beginning of that unfinished letter on the other’s desk. There’s something going on there; and he’s seen and experienced enough cases of more than polite sentiment, to be able to identify it - is, in fact, he thinks wryly, going through much the same. He’s not unsympathetic. But sympathy, he thinks - won’t help him find a solution to this increasingly bizarre mystery. And - as much as he wishes he could tell her the whole truth; he doesn’t have anything but his own hunch to go on, so far. 

“...as far as I know, he’s equally confused as you are,” he settles for saying. “He certainly doesn’t know why the orders keep disappearing.” And any tension that’s filled her shoulders, promptly disappears; her arms unfold, as she turns to Jean with a sigh of relief. 

“There,” she says, a little triumphally. “I told you that it wasn’t purposeful on his behalf.”

“It was Connie who was willing to assume the worst of it all, not me,” Jean grouses, with another shake of his head. “Stop trying to lump us both in together - I’m not an idiot, after all. In fact, the two of you are more alike than he and I. Anyway, Sasha - you’re the one who agreed to talk to this,” he gestures broadly at Levi, “ Individual, and I want to go home soon, because you were the only one who got to eat something earlier - so the sooner the two of you can get over this conversation, the better. So - he’s answered your questions, all you need to do is answer yours - and then we can go, and I can prepare for my bar exam.”

“He wants to work for the city prosecution office,” Sasha informs Levi knowingly - seems to have thawed more than a little in her attitude towards him, since he’s proved himself to be a somewhat friendly face. “So he can get a lifelong local government job, with a relatively high salary that can give him a comfortable life - he’s been taking night classes to do it, too. That’s why he’s so grumpy, all the time.” Jean, on the other hand, looks increasingly mortified - tips the brim of his hat until it obscures his eyes. “But - he also does have a point. He ordered the soup and didn’t even get to eat it, at lunch, before we were asked to leave - and I’m starting to get hungry again,” as if on cue, her stomach chooses to gurgle loudly - her expression is a little shifty, as she gestures towards it. “See? So - I’ll try and help you, if I can - but please can you be quick about it?”

“It’s not as if I want to prolong being in here any longer than possible either,” Levi comments dryly, “So I’ll do my best to oblige all our wishes. So - beyond odd behavior from Niccolo, which he thinks is odd behavior from you, have you seen anything at all strange, going on in this restaurant, whenever you’ve been in or around it, or the wider area? I’m looking into claims that there’s a devil, who’s running in and out of it, and causing havoc for the guests - and nearly chasing most of the regulars out of there, to the point that they’re visiting Porco’s Diner, nearby.” And - as he speaks; a strange emotion seems to cross Sasha’s features, that seems almost like - guilt. But it’s gone in an instant; already vanishing behind a loud, nervous laugh. It doesn’t exactly inspire Levi’s confidence in the veracity of her answer. Especially when Jean’s attention switches back to his friend - something close to a look of horrified warning crossing his face.

“Ah, haha, what a strange idea!” Sasha says, far too loudly. “I don’t know what kind of ideas everyone’s been fed, recently, but I haven’t heard any of those rumors - or seen them. Nope. Not at all! Jean, how about you?”

“...don’t involve me in this,” Jean snaps back - suddenly agitated. “I have nothing to do with this either.”

“...it’s also been reported,” Levi says - keeps his gaze trained on them, already can feel the pieces sliding into place - although, similarly to his own suspicions about Griez - still needs to find out why. After all - there can be no working, conclusive evidence, without motivation to back it up as well; and why Sasha Blouse, or Jean, seem to be involved in the concoction of these sightings is also a mystery. “That the devil - if it is one, seems especially keen on meat and potatoes - and often seems incredibly hungry.”

There’s another pause - a moment of panic that flashes across both their faces; before it disappears entirely, and Sasha stares back at him with something close to resolve - clearly, he thinks, to commit to some half-baked lie that she hasn’t thought through, properly. That seems to be a common trend with her; there’s a quality to her energetic personality, that seems to lend itself to rushing to conclusions, especially the more outlandish ones. 

“...no,” she says brightly - with the voice of a person who knows that there’s far more going on. “No, not at all. So - is there anything else, you’d like to ask, or will that be it, today?”

“That’ll be it,” Levi says - acknowledges her cheery farewell with a nod, as she leaves; waits for a few seconds, before emerging into the sunlight, as well. The streets are less busy now, as he heads back towards the cafe, feels a headache forming as he tries to process the new information he’s received; a long half hour indeed. Griez, no doubt - will be watching the clock.

The rest of the afternoon passes by with little incident, too - and Levi’s glad that he’s in a space where the heat of the sun through the glass doesn’t quite stretch to its full potential, even if it still is unfeasibly warm, as are all summers in Paradis; the pots of tea slowly change into large jugs of iced water, as he continues to observe the shifting tableau in front of him. A few kids in scruffy clothes chase each other down the street, their laughter muffled by the glass - plastering their faces against the glass of anything which looks particularly interesting. For a moment, one of them stares directly at Levi, unblinking, as he peers into Il Tarassaco, much to the discomfort of the customers, and Griez, who still makes no move to shoo them away - even he, it seems, has certain standards he holds himself to; his attitude towards Paradis only reserved for the older individuals. Something crosses the boy’s face - a little like recognition, before he’s off again, darting like dragonflies around the street with his friends. The bookseller has emerged to the shopfront, again too - is shifting from table to table, albeit with less coughing this time - doesn’t turn to face the restaurant again; as if his charitable deed for the day has been done. Certainly no circumstances, Levi thinks, in which a devil would appear. And even that seems circumspect - considering Griez seems to be responsible, both for the rumor; he’s starting to doubt there is one to begin with, although - Sasha Blouse had also seemed to be aware of something, too, even if she’d lied, badly, about her own knowledge of the matter. This should be simple - but it’s all a matter of actually pinning down the information, to find a way to realize his hunch into something tangible. 

The book he’d been given earlier is still tucked into his jacket, he realizes, as he reaches in to check on the time once more and his fingers brush against the edges; he pulls it out, looks at the clothbound cover again, can’t help, out of curiosity, opening it once more and checking for a pencil-written price. His eyebrows rise, when he finds it - the bookseller must be mad, if he’s willing to hand this out free. Then again, maybe the exorbitant amount being charged is probably the reason why he’s been having so much difficulty shifting it - even antiquarian book buyers must have limits. He wonders - briefly - whether it would be worth bringing up in conversation with Zeke - the only person he does know, who deals in these sorts of transactions frequently, and dismisses it almost instantly; God forbid, he’d probably take it as an opening to mock Levi for some perceived failing. Except - maybe not. Because Zeke, for all his snide commentary, also does explain topics, albeit abstractly, after he’s taken his fill of amusement - if Levi gives him the rare chance, considering so much of what he says is nonsense.  

…he clearly needs better taste in men, he thinks dryly - shaking his head to dispel any of those thoughts, and to actually do some research by himself for future cases, and his own personal interest - because if anything, the whole interlude in the bookshop has clearly shown an area he’s lacking in. Besides - it’s ridiculous that even when he isn’t here - Zeke is clearly proving his capacity for diversion; it’s a waste of time, when he’s supposed to be working on the case at hand. It’s only because it’s summer, he thinks - and that restlessness that accompanies the sticky heat has seeped into his bones again, stirs after months of dormancy, at the prospect of what it might hold for him this time. 

The pages themselves are good quality, when he turns them over - not quite card, but cartridge paper thickness; printed inkplates smattering the introduction and the frontispiece. The publisher, as the bookseller had said, is Marleyan - but the imprint isn’t any which Levi’s familiar with; a white star on a dark red seashell. There’s a dedication in it too - To all the Children of Marley, may they be protected from the devils that haunt them. And yet again - there’s that other recurring theme, once more. Levi leafs through the contents page - there are some similarities between the stories, albeit with a certain degree of alteration - he’s not quite sure what to make of Little Red Riding Helos, who slaughters the titan impersonating a human - something he recalls Niccolo mentioning, the night before, as he’s about to visit his grandmother, or The Selfish Eldian, which quite honestly - is rather grim too, in a quietly bleak way - for some reason, reminds Levi of the bookseller himself, as he sits alone in his shop; surrounded by tomes that inspire seem to inspire melancholy in him. All entertaining, even if it’s written in an almost condescending tone - there’s an undercurrent of heavy moralizing that he finds a little unappealing in some places, purely because of the emphasis placed on it. He’s dimly aware of Griez pulling a face - sighing loudly, with a longsuffering tone that seems to imply, what are we paying you for, when he places another glass of water down as he reads - but he tunes it out. 

Another reality of private investigation as a career, is that it’s far less glamorous than everyone seems to think. Half the time, there are no large shootouts, no cheating spouses trying to poison their other halfs, who try and escape from balconies - that’s only happened to Levi once - and stakeouts are not thrilling or suspensful; mostly just hour after hour of skulking in one place - staring at the same set of overly large, humanoid topiaries in someone else’s backyard that lie against a back wall of some stupid religious commune that are most definitely exhibiting cultish tendencies, or investigating fucking shit machines at three in the morning, because of reports of strange noises at night from the inventor’s neighbours. And there is no femme fatale, turning up to deliver strange cases, most of the time - only incredibly irritating clients who seem to pester you and claim they have nothing better to do with their time. Besides - it’s not as if he’s switched off completely. The restaurant has gone completely dead, during the later hours of the afternoon. 

What does catch his attention - just as he’s about to take a break from reading and return to his drink - is the next story, after The Selfish Eldian - which hadn’t exactly seemed the most balanced piece of literature he’s ever consumed; Ymir Fritz, and the Hand of the Devil. It’s the longest story so far - and the further he reads, he realizes that this is the same bizarre picture that illustrates the inside page of the book. It’s one that he’s only heard referenced before - and from what he’s heard of the Paradis version, the Marley one seems to be absolutely different. The archaic style of writing is even more predominant in this - to the point that interpreting it starts to feel, slowly, as if his brain has become oversaturated; might start spouting fucking thees and thous all over the place, the next time he actually has to interact with another human being. But there’s something intriguing about this particular story; it is, he realizes suddenly, a creation myth in another form. And as he reads about the young girl - now a woman, Ymir Fritz - constantly striving for a better life, only to be thrown hurdles to jump over at every turn and her increasing reliance on the strange hand she had found in her mother’s possessions, which seems to have as many fingers as a centipede, only to fall foul of that power, too; he almost feels as if he knows exactly where the story is heading.

 - and Ymir’s children were devils,   constantly responsible for the sins of their mother, and creators of sin themselves - of violence, of gluttony, of hatred, who terrorized the Marleyan peninsula for years, before they were eventually driven out. And they went into a barren tundra - built a hellish city for themselves and called it Paradis - 

Fuck, he thinks, snapping the book shut instantly - his misgivings about the collection clearly vindicated. No wonder Marley kids are raised with stupid preconceptions about Paradis, if this is one of their formative reading experiences, no wonder the bookseller had such trouble trying to sell it in Paradis, regardless of whether it was technically an ancient book, or not, or - 

- he pauses, loops back to the previous train of thought. Wait, he thinks to himself - the beginnings of a coherent premonition dawning on him. 

Marley kids.  

“Hey, you,” he calls across to Griez, who by now - is already busy clearing up half the seating area; it’s still too early to be dark, but late enough that it’s time for the restaurant to start closing up. A limited menu is now in place, he knows - both from what he’d read, in the early hours of the morning, from the menu - and from what Niccolo had briefed him on, just before they’d settled into their respective stations for the rest of the night; and to his credit, the younger man had still been awake, by the time he’d decided to call it a day, and taken a walk around the vicinity to stretch his legs. Griez startles - looks disgruntled; but Levi doesn’t think that’s really going to change at all, while he’s in Paradis. Nor does he care, particularly. A lack of consideration towards completely harmless individuals, he thinks - inasmuch as Jean and Sasha aren’t exactly hoodlums, by regular definition, even if he can imagine their capacity for disruption, tends to decrease any sympathy he might feel for his self-proclaimed plight. 

“What?” Griez says, dropping his damp rag onto the table. He does, at least, seem to be doing a meticulous job - the one trait that’s acceptable. One. “If you’re going to get paid by us for security, you might as well lend a hand around here too.” Niccolo’s on one of the other nearby tables - has emerged from the kitchen, his whites covered in splatters of food, is trying to scrub out a particularly sticky patch of spilled soda that refuses to dilute. At the sound of the sharp tone in his business partner’s voice, however, his head shoots up - frowning in reprimand. 

“ Griez, ” he says pleadingly. “Can’t you at least be nice, for once? He’s a coworker now.”

“Who you hired,” Griez snaps. “I didn’t get consulted about this - it was all your decision. So much for security, anyway - I haven’t seen him lift a finger, apart from when he’s using his hands to read books and pour tea.”

“I’m not just someone you can order around,” Levi says curtly, placing the book down - but still not rising to his feet; that would be a concession, a victory for Griez, that he’s managed to get a reaction from him. Besides - despite the irritation that buzzes under his skin; he’s dealt with far less pleasant interactions, from individuals who would be considered far more intimidating. He holds the other man’s mutinous gaze, keeps his expression impassive. “And you’re right - Niccolo did hire me, was the sole person - so if anyone has any say in what I should, or shouldn’t do, it’s not you.”

“Well maybe, ” Griez returns sharply. “Niccolo’s just too much of a soft touch. He has been, ever since he met that wh - ” he cuts himself off, shrugs, stares down at the table - as the other two gaze at him expectantly. “No. It doesn’t matter. Whatever. It’s not as if I’m listened to, around here, anymore. Fine - what did you want to ask? And I don’t know why you’re still looking at me, as if you’re the aggrieved party, I’m trying to be nice. It’s not my fault if the company’s unpleasant.” He adds - when Niccolo’s frown only seems to grow. But eventually, Niccolo shrugs, looks across at Levi apologetically; as if to say, I tried my best.

“All I wanted to know,” Levi says shortly, “Before I start helping you with the clearing up, is whether or not you recognise this book. The bookseller across the road gave it to me, and said that it was popular in Marley with new parents - to read to their children.”

“Whatever child read this, ” Niccolo chimes in, as he sets his own clearing equipment down - moves closer to Levi’s table to peer at the title on the front cover, “Must be triple my age now, at least. But - the title sounds familiar - ” he breaks off, wipes his hands on a clean part of his clothes, extends them; fingers just brushing the edges of the book. “Ah, may I? Sorry - it’s just - I’m well aware of the type of books that get sold over there, and I’m worried I’ll ruin it, if I hold it for too long.”

“Well,” Levi says dryly, “ I’m not an antiquarian bookseller, but I don’t think you’re going to cause the apocalypse by holding onto it for too long.” Yet. In fact, he’s not exactly one to consult for advice about any old books, he thinks dryly - memory flitting briefly to that copy he’d ruined, last year. 

“Hm - still,” Niccolo says with a shrug, as he opens it delicately; starts to leaf through the pages. “I don’t want to risk it. But - I recognise this. In fact, I think this is an older version of the sorts of stories Griez and I used to get told when we were younger. To be honest, they never really stuck with me - I’ve never really considered that sort of story to be my thing, particularly, and the tone was always. Well,” he shrugs a little helplessly. “I was always distracted unless I got shouted at. You can tell I wasn’t a very good student, you know.”

“...the worst,” Griez cuts in suddenly - and there’s some measure of warmth in his tone, as he looks across at Niccolo. “I remember first meeting, and we were both starting out in that rural elementary school, and you wouldn’t stop falling asleep in class. I remember the teacher shouted at you quite badly.” Niccolo snorts, closes the book as he glances across at his companion.

“The teacher was always shouting at me,” he says with a half laugh. “I was - really glad, to get out of there, and into the city at the time - do you remember? Except it was even worse, and it was still crowded, and we weren’t getting anywhere at all. Not until we got that offer to start the restaurant.”

“...well,” Griez says, after that interval, picks up his rag again. “...that’s up to interpretation.” He occupies himself with the table once again - gives up, after another minute or so, before simply snatching the rag and polish from the table, and wandering back into the kitchens with a grumble, and Niccolo simply shrugs once more, sighing. 

“...sorry,” he says, “I - don’t know what’s got into him, recently. He’s been like this, ever since the devil started appearing. Maybe, after we solve this, he’ll relax. I just wish he’d look at this, with a positive attitude, you know. I hated it when I first came here - but it improved, is still improving, every week I spend here. It’s not bad - and perhaps this area isn’t exactly some affluent townhouse, but it’s - decent, to start with. But, is that all you wanted to ask?”

“...you don’t have to apologize for behavior that isn’t your own,” Levi says firmly. “It’s his attitude that’s the problem, here, not yours - and you’re not responsible for how he feels. But - I can sympathize with you when it comes to living here, you know. I - grew up here. I know what it’s like around here, even now. And - yes, those are all my questions for now - except - let me help you.”

“I’d feel bad,” Niccolo says with another half laugh. “Making you do a job you’re not actually being paid for. And I already said - I don’t have enough money to pay for your services, let alone any additional things, on top of that.”

“I don’t know what you’ve heard about private investigators,” Levi says - not without some humor. “But I’m not that unscrupulous, you know.” He rises to his feet, shrugs off his coat; rolls up his sleeves once more. “This is free of charge, and for my own piece of mind, rather than anything else. I find it difficult to concentrate, in a disorganized environment. Where do you keep the spare cleaning supplies?” Besides - it’ll help concentrate his mind; he cannot explain it entirely, there’s something almost deeply personal about the act of cleaning - ultimately, no matter how many people work in the same area, it’s still a solo activity that lends itself well to meditative thought, in the end. And that is precisely what Levi does, as he busies himself with the tables - wipes the leather window seat cushions free of grime and dirt.

If his suspicions are correct - it’s clear that Griez and Sasha Blouse are somehow involved in this; Sasha and Jean’s inability to lie had been enough to implicate them. Similarly, Griez’s sighting of a devil, Levi thinks, is linked to Marleyan old perceptions of children’s stories about Paradis. And if Griez is in charge of handling the correspondence as it comes in; if Niccolo trusts him, then it’s highly likely, if not evident that he’s behind the interference in communication between whatever has been burgeoning between Niccolo and Sasha. The only question is why. The simple answer would, naturally, be prejudice on Griez’s side - although if there’s one thing Levi’s learned in all his years of existence on earth, things are rarely so clear cut; he’s had to carve out his own moral code from the chaos around him. But if Sasha is the devil in question - and he remembers, then, Niccolo’s comment about exactly what food items had gone missing from the larder, and what Sasha had been eating at the table; then why is she causing such havoc. Griez might be malicious - but he certainly doesn’t seem like the type to run around causing such havoc intentionally, either; Sasha, on the other hand, is more chaotic. Or maybe, Levi thinks, it’s Jean - rules him out entirely, if only because he certainly seems like the sort who dislikes anything that might impugn his chances of an easy life, and wanton devil impersonation certainly does sound like it might place that in question. But - at least his thoughts have started to form some sort of order to them, disparate information bonding together to form a wider picture.

It’s this information that he muses over as he continues to help close up; wipes the dirt streaked windows down with brown paper and watered down vinegar, until they gleam against the light of the paraffin lamps that Niccolo’s carted out of another cupboard, which had been present the night before. The concept of electricity in the Underground is almost unheard of - and incredibly expensive - it’s no wonder that they’ve only been able to pay for the lighting on their sign; Isabel had once joked, when they’d been younger, that it would have been an ideal setting to force rhubarb in, if they were ever agriculturally minded. If the government had actually cared, to back up any of the proposed education and employment plans that they were always espousing, but never actually promoted - owing to an unwillingness to sink what they saw as public, voters’ money into a district often viewed as ungovernable. 

“Are we doing the same as before?” Niccolo asks, as they finish the last of the chores. He shifts from foot to foot unsurely. “The counter and kitchens lookout? There are three of us now, so we could set up another station - or two of us could stay by one.”

“The same as before,” Levi says, after a moment’s consideration - reevaluating his own memory of the building’s layout. “There are only really two exits - at least, ones which this purported devil knows, from what I’ve heard and seen myself, and we covered both of them last night. I - don’t think we’ll need weapons, anyway.”

“...you don’t think it really is a devil, do you?” Niccolo says quietly. “I know that you think we’re probably being overly superstitious. And - why not? Not that we have any. We haven’t been able to afford a permit, and considering the speed at which Griez has said that it runs - I’ve always been out of the kitchen, whenever it appears, then it’s not as if we can try and stop it.”

“I don’t,” he replies flatly, “But whoever it is - and I have a strong hunch about that, hardly seems malicious, aside from raising possible food hygiene questions. And no - no weapons. Besides, I don’t carry a gun, anyway. Just a knife, and I only - use that in emergencies - what the fuck are you laughing at?” he says - as Niccolo fails to restrain a sound of surprised amusement. It’s the first sign of genuine good humor Levi’s seen from him, aside from nervous worry and frustration - he looks much younger, for it; every inch a young man who’d emigrated, fuelled only by the promise of a better life. Although the hand of the mystery backer that’s guided him, Levi thinks, has not been entirely kind in giving him such a rocky start, no matter the promise of financial backing. 

“Ah, not much,” he says, “But - if there was one kind of story I always paid attention to, it was all those about rugged heroes, who wandered around the wilds and made their own way, with nothing more than their wits and a code of honor that involved standing up for what they thought was right, without recourse to things like gunpowder, and all the adventures they ran into, and they were incredibly - I admired them a lot, when I was reading. And I know that life isn’t a story in that sense; apart from for some, but - there’s something about you that reminds me of reading about them.”

“...I’m not rugged,” Levi says gruffly, tips his own hat over his eyes - because God, he’s of two minds about being told he’s admired - not that there’s anything to admire about him, compounded by being told that he reminds someone of a character from some cheap paperback. Still - he can recognise the compliment for what it is - and there’s something rather endearing about the genuine sentiment behind it; that sort of directness, he thinks, corresponds well to Sasha, too. He can see why they get on with each other. “And - it’s just a pain to get a gun permit in Paradis - even if you are a citizen here.” Still - that does little to dim Niccolo’s mood, as an understanding expression flits across his face for a moment; his gaze lowers, and he stares at the flickering light of the nearest lamp. 

“...I can understand that,” he says, instead. “We’ve applied, and we’ve had to wait for weeks. Not that I’m really advocating for it, a lot - I get that there’s security issues and survival and I can use one, but when it comes down to it, it’s just - ” he pulls a face. “I came in here with a lot of prejudices - and I know there are plenty of prejudices against me, because I’m from Marley and I haven’t exactly been the friendliest, but it just seems as if causing more violence is passing on more problems, than anything else.”

“...well,” Levi says, as he stares at the same lamp - with its guttering flame; the smell of tallow hangs in the air. “Practically, there’s only so far a knife can get you, against more advanced weaponry - and I can use a pistol, but I suppose I’m more comfortable with a blade. It’s how I grew up. There’s something impersonal about a bullet; you stop thinking about the weight of the human life that it’s impacting. To know that - when you’re in combat, you’ll actually have to look at them and know that you’d have no regrets about dealing with them.”

They don’t talk much, after that  - hauling the furniture into place takes up most of their attention, and Levi once more finds himself tucked behind the bar counter as he extinguishes the last of his lamp that Niccolo had left him before he’d gone to his own section with Griez. It’s possible it can still be seen through the knothole in the counter - a sign to any intruder that there’s someone waiting for them. Besides - this way, his eyes can acclimatize to the gloom; for a moment, after he douses the light, it almost feels as if the world has been subsumed by oblivion, before he squints at his surroundings - the gradual dark silhouettes of his surroundings blurring into view. There’s still some natural moonlight that shines through - enough that if he angles the face of his watch towards the small crack in the counter, he can discern the hour. It’s getting later; and still no sign of an intruder, although it’s far past the time when they normally appear. In the distance - through the walls, he can hear the quiet conversation that occurs between Niccolo and Griez, a muffled, frantic sort of conversation. It sounds almost like an argument; but it’s too indistinct for him to discern exactly what the exchange is about. Nevertheless, there’s a vaguely weary quality to it, as if it’s one which has occurred frequently. Levi wonders whether his presence has inadvertently exacerbated anything - promptly dismisses it; he’s only been here for one day, after all. If anything, these tensions seem as if they’ve been ongoing for far longer. And yet - despite the monotony of the situation, there’s a sense of anticipation in the air; the misleading calm before a storm. 

He’s not entirely sure how long he spends crouched under the table - spends his time alternating between peering through the crack in the counter wall, and looking at the alcohol on the shelves behind him. None of it holds any appeal; he feels a familiar pang of disapproval, as his eyes settle on a shelf full of whisky. Some of them are familiar brands - others clearly come from further afield; a bottle of alcohol that isn’t quite absinthe green, is stored on the top shelf with chartreuse verte written in neat lettering. There’s a mirror too, that the alcohol frames. He catches sight of his own overtired reflection - he’s used to the sight, every time he stares into his own mirror in his room as he dresses himself in one of only two suits he owns, every morning. 

He’s reminded, suddenly - of one of the cases Zeke had sent him on, shortly after he started hiring him regularly; a case of security and blackmail at an exhibition of Marley artists at an art gallery the next city over, that had mostly involved being engaged in conversation by a pleasant curator who had also looked as if she’d needed a good night of sleep, as well; she’d descended upon him as he’d stood awkwardly in front of one of the pieces, radiating discontent. She had smiled a little too knowingly when she’d heard who he was representing - as if there was some grand secret, tucked into the corners of her lips, that only she was privy to. There’d been a similar painting there she’d shown him, which she’d said had been her favorite out of them all - rendered in the impressionist style - a clear imitation of the Folies Bergere, young woman behind the counter and all. He’s not entirely sure why that particular thought has come to mind; after all, what he’s doing is a far cry from any glamorous speakeasy. 

It’s as he’s about to reach for his watch to check the time, however, that he hears the sound of something - or someone, stumbling outside the front door; the rattle of something in the lock. A pick, he thinks - instantly on the alert, hand dropping his watch back into his waistcoat pocket as the other reaches for the knife he keeps strapped to his side, fingers already wrapping around the wooden handle, can feel the curved ridges of the pattern on it against his palm. He presses himself further against the inside of the counter, eye against the hole in the wood; fixes his eyes on the front door that lies within his direct line of sight. There’s a shape there - a strange, hulking, monstrous thing that seems to loom by the door composed entirely of rags, that seems to groan and shudder under the weight of its own height; and his first thought, suddenly, is that maybe it had been true - that devils really do roam the streets near the Underground. It’s not quite enough to inspire terror in him however - there’s no point in letting his mind be so consumed by that emotion, when he could redirect his efforts to being constructive and thinking; and that alone is enough to keep him focused on the way that the form seems to move, as he tracks it, in order to anticipate how best to subdue it. 

It lurches again, pick scraping inside the lock - the sound practically a din, considering how quiet the rest of the room is; loud enough that his other two companions have clearly heard it too. There’s another sound from another direction that catches his attention - the quiet sweep of a door opening; when he looks across in the direction of the kitchen, he can see two sets of eyes staring back at him, as if for both guidance and confirmation. They both seem filled with nerves - and not entirely happy with each other, if the shared expression of mutual uneasiness on their faces is any indication. Levi shakes his head - presses a finger against his lips, before resuming his observation of the unfolding scene in front of him - and realizes, as the devil continues to wobble, and fail at opening the door, how human the movements are, if he pays attention to the bottom half of the creature’s movements. His willing suspension of disbelief promptly crashes down - not that it had been incredibly high in the first place. 

Then - there’s a click, the sound of a lock giving way - the chime of the bell as the creature steps in; broad form silhouetting the doorway, and in an instant, Levi has vaulted over the counter, as Niccolo and Griez also spill out from  behind the door to the kitchen. It’s clear that they’ve managed to catch it off-guard - whoever’s behind the costume stumbles backwards, arms flailing, catching several stacked chairs as it trips backwards. There’s a deafening crash as the chairs tumble to the mosaic floor, the top half of the devil seems to become unsecured, cardboard and rags and horns and the human promptly turns on their heel and flees back through the door.

Like hell, are they getting away. Levi hasn’t suffered through almost two sleepless nights, cryptic booksellers and passive-aggressive front of house staff in order to just leave a case unsolved - a matter of professional pride above all else. He’s quick to follow them into the street - shed of their costume - or a great portion of it, the person behind it is fast; but as he scans the streets, he catches sight of them lurking by the doorway to the bookstore, rattling the doorknob frantically. It’s still open - Levi doubts it’s an oversight, considering the lamps which are still on in the window - and they’re already barging their way in; Levi not far behind. Niccolo and Griez both clatter after him as he catches the door before it shuts once more - starts to wind his way through the maze of books in front of him. It’s easy enough to find the trail which the devil’s taken - they’ve wreaked the same degree of property destruction, if not more, in the bookstore than the restaurant, and novels litter the floor - one of them is MONKEY TROUBLE, he notes; feels no small amount of satisfaction briefly, at the sight of the large muddy footprint that now obscures Rivaille Wankerman’s face on the front cover, if not the ripped shirt of the irritating zoologist. 

He also - a little further in - finds the bookseller himself; half buried under the contents of the philosophy shelf, blinking in abject confusion at the events which appear to be occurring around him. He’s sprawled on the floor, is still coughing a little as the three of them pause to help him up, clouds of dust rising from the tomes around him. This whole place, in fact, Levi thinks, as he looks around for any sign of the direction which the devil might have disappeared to - still needs a good clean. One person alone cannot deal with all of it by themselves on such a regular basis.

“They went that way, up into the ladders,” he says automatically - realization dawning, as soon as he registers the sight of the three. “I don’t know if you can catch up with them, but there’s no back exit, apart from the office, and I’ve locked that - so they’ll have a deuce of a time trying to open it; there are three locks and three combination ones.”

“Thank you,” Levi says, as Niccolo helps him back to his seat behind the counter. “Just - stay there, if you can; I can’t guarantee how much longer this will go on for, and going up to your rooms wouldn’t be safe at the moment.”

“I can stay with him,” Niccolo says worriedly, as the bookseller gestures weakly at the carafe of water once more, tries to fill up the glass himself; but his hands shake, and it spills over the edge of rim. “Here - let me - ”

Which leaves Levi with Griez, who he’s - not enthused about; but a helping hand is a helping hand, and it’s not as if the other has any weapons on him either, if Niccolo’s mention of failing to gain a gun permit had been any indication. Still - Levi would much rather deal with this situation by himself; glances between the two routes that fork out in front of them, tries to discern which one is least likely to lead to the devil. He nods to Griez - then points to the right one. 

“Alright,” he says - notes the way the other looks as if he’s about to protest. “You’re going there, and I’m taking the left - after all, as the hired help, it makes sense that I’m putting myself in the most danger.” Not, he thinks - that there’s any danger at all, if the identity of the devil in question is who he thinks it is. He doesn’t wait around afterwards - plunges into the depths of the store, searching for the nearest ladders at hand. None of them seem to have an occupant on top of it, and a couple of them seem to have been broken , until he nearly reaches the back of the store; where the last ladder along that particular side of the wall rests, tucked into the corner at an awkward angle. And it’s there - as he gazes upwards, that he spots the individual he’s been searching for; lurking on the middle rungs, watching him intently, from underneath the veils that obscure their face. For a moment, they both stay in stasis - regarding each other silently; the devil tilts their head, inquisitively. There’s a clatter across the shelves - another broken rung falls out from under their feet and rattles against the books. Levi twitches forwards - but they’re quick to spot that, too - and hoist themselves up a few rungs with an unnerving alacrity. 

They start to climb further up the ladder of the bookshelf, far too agile - the end rags of the makeshift costume it’s wearing continually whisking just out of reach of his fingertips, as he joins them. They’re fast, that’s for sure - seems to scale heights with aplomb, only scant inches between them, and always one step ahead for most of the ascent; but Levi’s faster - hand managing to snag around their shirt collar as soon as they reach the top and pause, as if considering what step they should take next, manages to drag it back from trying to shuffle along the dusty lip of the top shelf. Except, of course - nothing is ever easy; and they struggle in his grip, enough that one of their elbows connects with his stomach inadvertently, and the force of that is enough to dislodge both of them from the ladder, and tumble to the ground. The only saving grace, Levi thinks, is that there’s at least carpet; the impact isn’t too horrendous, even if a jolt of dull pain shoots across his back as he lands.

He’s dimly aware, too, of the sound of three pairs of feet rushing across to them - is more concerned however, in prising the veils from the devil’s face - and leveling a distinctly unimpressed glare at them, as his suspicions are confirmed. 

“...I can explain?” Sasha Blouse says, as she stares around at the assembled group - looking incredibly guileless, for someone who’s caused two week’s worth of woe, for at least half the room; hasn’t just caused the breakage of two ladders, and thrown most of a bookshop into disarray. Both Niccolo and the bookseller appear to be confused; but there’s a sharp, ugly sort of expression that twists across Griez’ face, as he sets eyes on them, disappearing into his usual silent demeanor.

“It had better be fucking good.” Levi says, headache emerging, once more. 

As far as explanations go - Sasha’s is - not awful.  even if it is in keeping with the character assessment he’d made of her, when they’d met initially. She had been the devil in question; running around the floor, when Niccolo had been out. The first time had been an accident; she’d stumbled into the kitchen, just after Niccolo had closed up, and promptly been thrown out by Griez. The second time had been half spiteful - and mostly because she’d been trying to run from being ejected - and she’d explained the missing food almost instantly - I got hungry, doing all that traipsing around - only she’d accidentally collided with several pots and pans, and had been unable to see, past the saucepan that had landed on her head; had wandered out of the kitchen and caused a large commotion. 

The next few times, however - she’d been dressed completely normally, she’d explained - had still been kicked out; treated by Niccolo’s coworker, as if she’d been no more, or even less than the mud on his shoe, with the announcement that Niccolo had wanted nothing more to do with her. 

“So he’s been feeding both of us misinformation,” she says, “Not that I believed most of it for a minute, of course. I got told about the fact you seemed to be as confused, as I was.”

“Neither did I!” Niccolo says, immediately - as they both studiously glance just over each other’s shoulders; not quite making eye contact. And then - Sasha starts to laugh; a raucous sound, with an almost overwhelming depth of good humor - so much so, that it startles both of them; they all look at her with expressions of disbelief. 

“ Ha, ” she says - manages to get the words out, even under danger of choking on them. “ Ha, I suppose we’ve both been really idiotic, this time around, haven’t we? Ah, I feel so dumb. ”

“That doesn’t explain,” Levi says shortly, “Why you actually decided to dress up as a fucking devil, this time.”

“Ah - that was your fault, Mr Psychic!” Sasha declaims loudly. “You see, when you started asking Jean and I about the devil, I thought you were getting into my head with your sneaky powers - so I thought - if I really was going to try to talk to Niccolo again, then I should dress up as a devil, so I could prove you wrong if you were still around, and that you’d think I was a devil. It was a pretty good costume, considering I only had a few hours to put it together. Connie helped me out - and Jean made the horns, even if he was complaining that if I got caught, it would impact on him, too. It was a brilliant idea, I thought.”

“...I think,” Levi says, running a hand down his face. “That it was probably one of the most idiotic ideas I’ve ever heard.” And yet - he can’t find it in himself to be particularly unhappy; not when he catches Niccolo and Sasha looking at each other none too covertly at each other, when they think the other is unaware of their scrutiny. It would almost be nauseating, if it wasn’t so genuine; he must be getting old, he thinks wryly, he’s going soft.

“Well,” a voice cuts in bitterly - and both Niccolo and Sasha start, clearly forgetting that they aren’t the only two people in the room, and that, in fact, the instigator of their misery is still standing near them. The bookseller however, seems to have disappeared entirely, whilst Sasha had been explaining her side of the story. “How sweet. Yet again, I’m going to have to cope with you being so stupid over this woman. She’s not worth it, you know.” 

“ Hey - ” Sasha starts indignantly, at the same time Niccolo begins, “I’m not stupid over her, in fact I think it’s the best decision I’ve made since coming here - ” and promptly snaps his mouth shut, flushing brightly, as Sasha turns to stare at him with wide, bright eyes. 

“Wait,” she says. “Wait - Niccolo, what are you - ”

“I think, ” Levi says sharply, cutting in as he sees Griez prepare to start speaking again; already feels a great sense of weariness. So - it had been prejudice after all. And somehow - he wishes it hadn’t been as simple as that, if only because Niccolo had clearly had some measure of fondness for Griez, even if they hadn’t been friends in the closest sense. Over the course of the past twenty-four hours, he’s found himself warming to the other; he’s good intentioned, always trying his best to understand the place he’s found himself in. “That your business partner,” erstwhile, if the determined gleam in Niccolo’s eyes is anything to go by, when they turn to face Griez. “Should explain himself too, considering he’s been the one causing all this mayhem.”

“I don’t need to explain myself to anyone, ” Griez snaps instantly - his expression seems cornered, more than anything else, turning on Levi; voice tight with rage. “ Especially not some jumped up security guard. But Niccolo - I’ve also told you, everything has gone to shit ever since we’ve moved here, we’re being given work which we don’t even want to do, and it’s thankless, considering how we’re treated by some of the people who live here, and underappreciated and you’re making it worse by going and actually liking some stupid whore -”

“ - you know, when I hired you as one of the individuals who would help run the restaurant, I wanted Griez, I didn’t think you had such a strong opinion about the people you’d be working with,” a voice rings out - causes all of them to stiffen. The speaker, Levi thinks, with rising disenchantment, is someone who he’d rather hoped he’d never have to encounter for at least the rest of his life. But, he also thinks - the thought forming before he can quell it instantly, if she’s present, then that might mean - 

“ - and for your information,” Yelena continues, leaning against the side of one of the bookshelves, arms folded as she regards the three of them. She’s had a haircut, Levi notes absently - her bowlcut has become even more severe, but her clothes are as impeccably neat as always; the one thing which Levi had always respected her for. The bookseller is still nowhere to be seen; but it’s a sign of how distracted they’d been, that none of them had heard her approach. “I’d like to inform you - Mr Ackerman is an excellent private investigator, who I happen to have a great deal of time for. That being said - whatever Niccolo agreed to pay you, I’ll cover that. After all, I am the one who’s employing him. ” 

It’s strange, how she’s managed to - well. Subdue the room - even Sasha, who hasn’t even met her before, seems to go quiet. There’s something about her, Levi thinks, that reminds him of a spider; all dark eyes that glint a little too carnivorously for his liking, and long limbs that seem to have perfected their reach into everything. She’s already striding over, settling her hand on Griez’s shoulder; fingers digging in far too deeply to be comfortable. He looks - quite honestly - terrified, and if he hadn’t been such a fucking shit to everyone in the room, Levi might almost have felt a little sympathetic. As it is, he thinks - he deserves to be shaken. Levi’s not above being petty, either.

“Wait,” Levi says, nonplussed, another piece clicking into his head. He’s not entirely sure what to make of it. “ You’re the backer for Il Tarassaco ?” 

“Niccolo is a good cook, whose food I enjoy, and considering I’m probably going to be in Paradis for the foreseeable future, a lot longer than originally planned, I rather imagine that I’d like to at least have one dish a week that reminds me of home,” Yelena intones coolly, as her grip on Griez tightens, and she turns to the other individual who she hasn’t yet acknowledged. “Ah, Miss Blouse, was it? I’m very happy to finally make your acquaintance - I’ve only heard good things about your trading business; I’m only sorry we had to meet under these conditions. But rest assured - I’ll make sure that you see no more unpleasantness when you’re here. Griez will be coming with me - and I’ll be sending you further instruction about what to do, Niccolo.”

“W - wait,” Niccolo starts hesitantly - looks as if he’s been vaguely winded by the alacrity of the exchange, as she prepares to leave, which, Levi thinks - appears to be the default reaction Yelena causes in most of the people she meets. “Miss Yelena - what’s going to happen to him?”

“Hm?” Yelena says, turning around - eyebrow raised. “Ah, we’re both going to have a little talk about the harmful nature of prejudice against individuals in Paradis. That’s all. A light word of warning, so to speak. Oh,” Yelena says casually, pleasantly - already turning around - ushering an unresisting, tense Griez away. “I believe Zeke’s been trying to get in touch with you for the past day or so, Mr Ackerman. I think there’s a case  in which he’s rather insistent that you solve it for him, even though I offered to help. Still,” and there’s a curve to her lips as she shrugs helplessly. “Mm, the heart wants what it wants, I imagine. I simply follow what’s asked of me. Ours not to question why.” 

Quite honestly - their relationship, Levi thinks, starts to resemble less that of friends, but of a cult leader and his acolyte, the more she talks of him; wonders what’s happened to inspire that level of devotion.

And she’s gone, as swiftly as she’d come; Griez in tow, unresisting, before any of them can utter protest at her autocratic handling of the situation. Not that Niccolo or Sasha seem able to; they seem terribly intimidated. That had been the impression she’d given Levi when he’d worked with her before - she never seems to pause to breathe, endlessly efficient and always with a strange, bizarre fanaticism; the type of mind that jumped to what it thought of as a logical conclusion, even if it was never the most moral, by most standards. The door slams, this time - and in her wake - silence descends between the remaining three people in the store. 

“I suppose,” Sasha says, with a nervous laugh, as she looks around at the chaos that they’ve collectively caused, “That the least I could do is help tidy these books up.”

It takes the better part of the night to even attempt to organize the books by genre - let alone alphabetically. Levi doesn’t mind, particularly - there’s something a little relieving about the tedium of it all, and he’s used to late nights, as is the bookseller who has re-emerged after the contretemps, provides them all with tea and hot milk after he opens up his office again, while Niccolo runs across the road - supplies the same staggering array of tea flavors he’d supplied Levi with, earlier that day, as an apology for his own part in the chaos. It hits five in the morning, when Sasha starts to yawn - and Niccolo isn’t far behind; they both almost fall into the piles which they’ve been organizing, and their fatigue is evident, when both Levi and the bookseller glance up from the books they’ve been sorting, cups of peppermint tea steaming away nearby. The sun’s almost up too; morning light pours in through the windows, douses everything in a soft light.

“The two of you should go back to your homes,” the bookseller comments first; but it’s Levi both of them turn to, as if for assurance on that score. “You’ve really spent too much time doing this when you should be in bed.”

“How about the two of you? ” Sasha asks, although they’re both barely able to hide their relief - not that Levi can blame them, when she and Niccolo look like death warmed over. “I don’t think I’ve done enough to - ” she breaks off, yawns loudly as she stretches; he can hear her neck crack as she lifts her head up from where she’s been bowed over the titles of two novels. “ - compensate for what I’ve done.”

“Me neither,” Niccolo adds - although he looks worse off than his companion. “And - Mr Ackerman, I really haven’t done anything for you. I haven’t even cooked for you, like I said, and I know that Miss Yelena said that she’d pay for me, but - it doesn’t feel as if I deserve to get let off, like that, somehow.”

“...forget it,” Levi says, slowly - reaching for his own tea. “I’m getting paid either way - and you do have a restaurant to try and get people back into. And contracts to renew - between you and the Blouses, specifically.” And this time, both Sasha and Niccolo glance at each other simultaneously; and despite the flush that rises on both their cheeks, they don’t look away at all. 

“...you really are admirable, you know,” Niccolo says - and there’s more than a little awe in his voice. “Well - I can promise you this; if you’re ever in the area, you can be assured that no matter what, you’ll always have a free meal on me. After all - you do need to be exposed to decent Marley cooking.” 

“As for me,” the bookseller says, shrugging. “If you could come back and help - in your own time, when you feel more rested - I’d appreciate the company, more than anything else. I rarely get lots of visitors, and I have to say that despite the destruction, I’ve appreciated your liveliness.”

After that, the pair leave - both to their respective homes; although Sasha does take up the offer made, to use one of the shop phones. She has to hold the receiver away from her ear however. There’s a loud din that erupts on the other end from her two roommates - one of whom can be identified as Jean. The other, Levi surmises, must be the ever-mentioned Connie; who certainly sounds far more belligerent in his interrogation and defense of Sasha, than his friend. That isn’t to say Sasha isn’t equally noisy, as she rebuts their noises of worry; all the while, Niccolo watches on with an increasingly fond expression. 

“Well,” the bookseller says cheerily, as Levi clutches his cup of peppermint tea, watches the door swing shut behind them. “All’s well that ends well.” In the pale sunlight, the bookseller shades his eyes with his hand, as he joins Levi next to his pile - adds another set of volumes to it; he still reminds Levi of old, crumpled paper, when he smiles. The smell of camphor surrounds him too; as if every night, he, or someone else simply puts him in a wardrobe and retrieves him in the morning. 

“You said you saw nothing,” Levi says instantly, their previous conversation floating to the forefront of his mind, now that there’s little distracting company. “When I asked you about anything you might have deemed important.”

“I did answer your question,” the bookseller says lightly, almost teasingly; and yet, there’s such warmth in his tone, Levi doesn’t quite feel as if he’s been patronized. Still, there’s a familiarity to that, too, that Levi can’t quite place. “You asked if I had seen a devil. Which I hadn’t, because there was none. Just a young woman who was being thwarted in her attempts to actually see someone who she wanted to spend more time with, at least. And as I said - it’s impossible for me to actually distinguish one person from another, really, when I’m that far up. Especially if I’m not wearing my glasses - having them on too long gives me a headache. I’m sure there’s a metaphor in all of that somewhere - but I’ll leave that to far more self aggrandising minds to create. And you shouldn’t be so dour, Mr Ackerman. I did, after all, call in the cavalry, when you were busy pursuing Miss Blouse up my shop - which I still have yet to reorganize properly, by the way - and Griez caused just as much confusion amongst my stock, when he was going down the route he took.”

“...and you didn’t think to tell me that?” Levi says sharply, before he processes the last part of the other’s statement, “Wait - you were the one who called in Yelena? You know her?” And that , he thinks - is a warning sign in itself; because anyone who knows anyone who seems predisposed to shoot thieves who steal her wallet as the first course of action, is inherently untrustworthy; no matter how pleasant they might be to conduct a conversation with. 

“She introduced herself to me, when she was planning on renting out the restaurant - and I thought she was polite enough, and obviously had the money, if slightly - intense. I try to keep out of the private affairs of my neighbors,” the bookseller says. “I tend to find that it often means they keep out of mine. Besides - no-one likes being thought of as a nosy individual; unless, of course, they’re being paid to do so. But - not that my opinion would mean much, coming from a stranger, but I thought you were very meticulous, nevertheless. Tell me detective, will we be seeing you around more, any time soon? It was very nice - talking with you, regardless of whether you’re a researcher of the supernatural, or a private investigator. Do drop by sometime soon, won’t you?” 

“I can’t make any promises,” Levi says - except he knows he will, to see Isabel and Furlan; and out of the other shops he could visit, the bookshop - and Niccolo’s restaurant are both not exactly the worst detours he could make; especially when one of them guarantees a warm welcome, each time he enters, and the other provides exceptional black tea, and a sense of respite. “I have a busy schedule.”

Waiting around, on the other end of a line, for someone to call, his mind provides sardonically; he promptly shuts that thought down, because he does have a life outside of his apartment - he has friends he’s already got weekly arrangements to spend time with, his own interests and pursuits, when he no longer has to worry about paying the rent on his flat until the next month. But - there’s no denying the strange, small thrill he gets, whenever his phone does ring - to feel that rush surge through him as he gets dragged, protesting, into another argument about everything and nothing, before it concludes in Zeke saying breezily, I suppose we should resolve this in person, don’t you think?  

He’s been trying to get in touch with you, over the past couple of days, Yelena’s words float through his head - and Levi loathes how that’s enough to reel him in, once more, hook, line and sinker. Because - what does that indicate, in the grand tapestry of all of Zeke’s grandstanding and showboating, when he’s so condescending to Levi half the time - scarcely seems to be anything else, apart from when they’re fucking, in those odd, quiet moments when he seems to mellow a little, in the aftermath.

“Well,” the bookseller says, “If you ever manage to find time to come down here again - then my door is always open, even if my shop is closed.”

“I never got your name,” Levi says, in response. “And I’m not fond of talking to complete strangers, most of the time.”

“Ah,” the bookseller says, “I suppose I forgot to tell you. It’s Ksaver. Tom Ksaver. I hope I’ll see you in the future, Mr Ackerman, if you decide to return.”

Ah, Levi - you would not believe how many times I tried to call you yesterday, but your phone was engaged as soon as I got into Paradis. Not that I was actually - worried about you, after all; big bad private investigators can fend for themselves, but it’s very rude to be talking to other people when a client might be looking to hire you.

I was wondering if you could accompany me to a private collector who’s selling their geology collection, but I’ve heard that they have a habit of short-changing potential buyers, if they can. I was wondering if you could keep an eye out for me, while I’m dealing with them - especially because said customers, if they seem to have too much money, tend to end up in a pool of their own blood, after they’ve paid them, and left the entirety of their contents in their will. 

Oh - and Pieck Finger - you may remember her as the curator, was asking after you too; not that you’d ever get bored of my company, naturally, because I am always the most interesting individual at any given moment in time, but she’ll also be in the area too, and was wondering if you could help her with some art acquisition issues surrounding fraud. I said, of course, that you’d be incredibly interested in it. Aren’t I such a generous person, being able to send so many jobs your way? Anyway - if you’re interested, I have several books about art history at my disposal. I’ll be in my apartment tomorrow evening and the next, languishing away as I wait for your reply. 

Zeke

P.S. I’ve hidden all my first editions away already, so you can’t destroy them this time, in a fit of anger about something you think I’ve said. I do have some lovely second editions though that you’ll probably seize upon. Make sure it’s all that dreary biography on the second shelf - that was a present from one of my social circle in Marley, and it’s so terribly dry. Not even a hint of time travel and fucking between two philosophers, you see.

Piss off. You’re not my agent, and you shouldn’t be taking jobs on my behalf. You don’t even live here for most of the year, and I’m not exactly without work, when you’re not here. Yet again, you prove yourself to be condescending, whenever we do interact; I don’t sit around on my hands waiting for you to come by and drop these things on me. 

…I’ll be around in two days’ time at eight. I don’t care if it’s not when you’re free - if you really want me to pick up these cases, you’ll wait.