Chapter Text
“Have a nice day, madam!” Temenos spoke, collecting his fee from their customer.
He showed their now-sobbing client out the door, dropping his automatic cheerfulness the moment he turned away from the doorway. He slammed it shut. Not maliciously, just out of sheer boredom.
Throné shared the sentiment, and decided to vocalize their shared grievance. “Same shit, different day.” She reclined in her chair, flicking a crumpled-up paper ball into the air.
Their new “base of operations,” as Temenos liked to call it, had a fairly uncommon setup. The house was originally intended for ordinary residence, and together Temenos and Throné had turned it into a private investigation building.
Upon walking in, the client would be greeted with a forced smile from Throné, who was sitting at a Mahogany desk slightly to the right of the bedroom doorway. This room was used for storage and games of ping-pong.
Looking further to the right, there was a regular-old kitchen. The house opened up a little further back, tucking the kitchen nicely inside. It wasn’t anything special. A gas stove, a countertop, the whole deal. In particularly grueling cases, the duo would live on instant ramen as they tried to piece together all the different stories that their investigations revealed.
Even further to the right there was a little alcove, fitted with a sleek sofa, a coffee table, and a recliner chair opposite of the sofa. When a client came in Temenos or Throné, depending on who the client was more comfortable around, would sit here and squeeze information from the client. The other person listened in from the kitchen and took notes. When there was no client, it would constantly be used as a napping spot by both Temenos and Throné.
With this steady stream of stories and drama, one would think that this life was an entertaining one.
Throné caught the paper ball in her hand, flicking it back into the air. I have never been so bored in my life.
Temenos sighed. “I do sympathize with you, Throné. This job is a lot of the same thing, over and over.” He walked to the sofa, flopping belly-first onto it. Inertia raised his legs into the air, and gravity brought them down again. “For example, that woman? She’s probably the millionth case of ‘my spouse is cheating on me’ I've seen since I started this job.”
Throné turned her head, eyeing the man. “Then why do this?” She asked. “It’s so incredibly boring, and journalism probably pays better.”
Temenos barked a laugh. “You’re not the first person to tell me that. As a journalist, you don’t get to choose what you look into. If your boss decides they don’t want you looking into something, they force you to stop.” He turned on his back, staring at the ceiling.
“Every story you look into as a journalist is a carbon copy of the last one. But as a private investigator, nothing is there to stop you. You’re self employed,” Temenos continued. “Sure, there’s a lot of boring stuff. Sure, there’s a lot of the same. But every now and then, you get something truly interesting.” His eyes sparkled with excitement. “You get stories you would never lay hands on as a journalist.”
Throné nodded, smirking. “Like getting the chance to cause a gang war?”
Temenos beamed at her. “Exactly!”
They shared a hearty laugh. Since the day they met, Throné could tell that Temenos was a kindred spirit of sorts. Neither one of them really cared how they got what they wanted, even if it was against the law. They both shared a cynical outlook of the world, and most of all neither of them were idiots.
Of course, they weren’t alike in every way. Throné preferred to let trouble come to her, while Temenos would actively seek it out. And Temenos preferred to take his time with all their problems, while Throné preferred to solve them quickly. These divides have caused their fair share of conflicts between the two of them, but a good night's sleep usually resolved them.
Temenos was her best friend. Of course Throné would never tell him that, but she got the feeling that Temenos already knew.
Hours passed by, and they began a game of chess in their minds. Vocalizing piece movements to each other and keeping the board in their head, it was one of many ways they remained sane during particularly slow times.
This eventually bored them as well, and a comfortable silence fell over the two. At least, until Temenos turned on the TV against the rightmost wall. It displayed a commercial for a new brand of lighter, its name instantly forgotten by the viewers.
“I used to know someone who loved those things,” Throné says without realizing it.
“Loved what? Lighters?”
“Yeah, but he was a bit of a nutjob,” Throné confirmed. “He used to light his arm on fire.”
Temenos shot up. “Excuse me!?!”
Throné laughed. “Yeah, he would soak his arm in, uh…” she thought for a moment. “I think it was water and rubbing alcohol? Yeah, he would soak his arm in that and light it on fire. It didn’t hurt him one bit.”
“How amusing,” Temenos said. “I wonder why that is?”
“I think it’s because the fire burned the rubbing alcohol while the water protected his arm,” Throné explained. “He taught me to do it, too. It was kind of scary at the time, but he told me that the alcohol would burn out before the water evaporated.”
Temenos hummed. “That sounds… right.”
Throné snorted. “Like you would know.”
“Of course I know!” Temenos said. “That’s my whole job.”
The door opens. At the door is a small woman, smaller than Temenos. Throné supposed that wasn’t hard to do, but she would still poke fun at him for it later.
The woman had dark hair, clad in a brown blazer, a white button-down, and a pair of jeans. She wore a grey newsboy cap, which Throné found kind of cute. She always liked those hats.
“Temenos?” She spoke up.
“I’d recognize that voice anywhere.” The man in question sprung off the couch. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Ori.”
She extended her hand, and Temenos shook it. “I wish we were meeting under better circumstances, but first things first.” Ori pointed at Throné. “Who’s that? ”
“Aha! That is my apprentice,” Temenos explained. He gestured at both of the women. “Ori, Throné. Throné, Ori.”
The women shook hands. “Nice to meet you,” Throné greeted.
Ori looked her up and down. She looked at Throné’s hands in particular. “...are you a veteran of some kind?”
Throné hid her unease. This woman hadn’t even been in here for two minutes, yet she had already deduced that Throné had a history with combat. She would need to be careful.
“Yes,” Throné responded. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
Ori nodded. “I won’t pry.”
“Well,” Temenos redirected. “As wonderful as it is to see you again, can I assume you’re not here to catch up?”
Ori nodded once again. She took a shaky breath.
“Partitio is gone.”