Work Text:
Stelle kicked her feet up on the desk. For once, she could confidently say that life was good. Walking right into an office building and having the role of CEO handed to you on a silver platter? This must be the Aeons’ way of offering her forgiveness for putting her through the wringer back on Amphoreus.
With her fuzzy minions doing most of the work, she could kick back in the chair with such immense power at her fingertips. Transfer the pictures to her desktop computer, type a couple of vivid (albeit highly exaggerated) captions, smash that beautiful post button, and maybe bring in some of her alt accounts to instigate interaction. And that “journalism” money would just come raining in from all of those impressions that may or may not have been artificially manufactured. Two hours of work a day max, depending on how much she felt like using her brain. "Working hours” consisted of going back and forth between playing games on her phone and scrolling through the web (calling it "networking”).
The office door opened. Stelle sat up and positioned her fingers on the keyboard, maintaining her stance for the (hopefully) few minutes that the visitor would be present. Attempt to make herself look productive, and imposing, and very CEO-like. Whoever this visitor was, she wouldn’t care less if Stelle had a pool party in the middle of the office, as she merely placed a bag of food in front of the closet door and snapped a picture of it.
A DogDash driver? Stelle didn’t even have room for the app on her phone.
"Uhh," Stelle said, "Are you sure you didn’t take a wrong turn?"
"This is the same closet door that I’ve been dashing orders to for some time now."
"Why do you have business with my closet?"
The DogDasher simply shrugged. "I don’t know. I don’t get paid enough to care where I drop food off at."
Without missing a beat, she turned around and left the office, uninterested in making further conversation with Stelle. Most understandable.
The aroma coming from the brown bag was awfully tempting. Smelled like...cheesy nachos. And here Stelle was under the assumption that the only shops for miles sold calamari or noodles. She sat there entranced by the bag, as if it were saying, "You wanna take the bait so bad..." And take the bait she did want.
The door to the closet opened, and a figure clad in white and dark gray stumbled out to pick up the bag. No, it wasn’t just any homeless freeloader; that white cowboy hat and long, wolf-like hair were unmistakable characteristics of-
"Ashveil?"
N: The limp wolf, through half lidded eyes, having only just gotten a glimpse of his compatriot in the chair of a CEO, gazed upon her with a profound sadness barely covered by the edge of his white hat. Words of defense were of no use, and so to delay his fate for even a fraction of the moment, he retreated to the closet behind him and closed the d..."
Following the words of Narrator, who invited himself into the situation as usual, Ashveil retreated back inside the closet with the bag of food in hand. Acquaintance or not, Stelle had to investigate why she had a freeloader living directly within her newly revamped headquarters. Perhaps the better question was just how long he had been living in there. The DogDash driver seemed relatively uunfazed by the location, possibly implying that Ashveil was a regular to the service. On the other hand, she was immune to such thanks to the crushing weight of apathy, a little ironic for the land of Elation. Bit of both, maybe?
Stelle got up from her "very hard work" to personally investigate the close. Inside was another office space, if it could be called that. A corkboard, a desk, beer bottles and toilet paper, a computer, some pill bottles, a chest freezer...
And a sad, lone wolf accompanied by a thoughtless monkey.
N: Knowing that he had been cornered thanks to his own gluttony, the wolf sat still on the chest freezer, awaiting his fate. Did this truly spell the end of what little he could call the Ashen Detective Agency, once more collapsing into the open arms of Dovebrook District?
"Just how long have you been living here?" Stelle asked.
Ashveil shrugged. "Far too long. I’ve grown old in this little office of mine so I can’t tell you for sure."
"You don’t even have a bed?"
He patted the freezer that he was sitting upon. "Right here."
"That’s a freezer."
"Indeed, it is."
N: The two have come to the same conclusion of the identity of the object that the detective sat upon. What was not agreed upon, however, was the exact purpose that this object served.
"You don’t have an actual bed?"
"This is what I use as my actual bed."
"No like, you don’t have a mattress or anything?"
"Nah. This came with my office, so no sense in buying anything else when I can use what I got."
"Came with your office..." Stelle said, looking around.
The office being a small unused storage room within a formerly unoccupied office space. It was hardly passable as a bedroom. If anything, it was more of a freezer room.
"Are you not making any money from your detective work?" Stelle asked, perplexed.
"I make money! Sometimes! It’s just…business is slow but it’s at least enough to keep my stomach full.”
"With DogDash every day?"
"What else is there for me to do? Got no microwave, no oven, no anything," Ashveil said, looking over at his cane leaning against the wall. "Besides, this rusty body isn’t exactly suited for household chores."
Stelle had seen how Ashveil pursued his prey for herself. The bottles and pills strown about, though, told a completely different story. Not to mention, the determination of a sharp hunter was nowhere to be seen in his lightless eyes.
N: Seeing right through the detective's purposefully vague statements, her own deductions proved that this detective was not what he seemed. Offering an explanation for the two sides of the tarnished coin was not, however, in his plans for the foreseeable future.
"Narrator," Ashveil said, "now isn’t the time."
"Hmmm? Is that not what you pay me to do?" Narrator asked, looking up at Ashveil curiously.
"It is, but there’s a time and place for everything. And that place and time certainly isn’t now!"
"You...pay him to narrate?” Stelle asked. “Have you not considered buying something to make it at least a little more comfortable in here?"
"I don’t really make that much in the first place. Besides, the...kids could use the funds more than this raggedy old wolf."
Stelle fell silent as she thought for a moment. She couldn’t watch as he slowly rotted to skin and bones in her closet. Kicking him out completely was far too cruel of a solution, especially for how much he had already accompanied her during her first few weeks here.
"Well, this place could use a guard dog. Just keep watch on the nights you don’t have a case and I’ll pay you."
"You want me to keep watch? Me?" he asked, his smile showing off his surprisingly fierce canines.
"Of course. The average internet user can’t handle words on a screen, let alone a wolf.”
"You think I’m scary enough to be your guard dog?" Ashveil asked, a hint of light returning to his eyes.
It was endearing, yet also a little sad the way he looked at her, and Stelle said, "More than enough. And if you get hungry, there’s a snack stand you can help yourself to."
"Free snacks? The new owner here must be mighty generous."
"She is."
✦𓃦✦
Ashveil stood at the window overlooking the nighttime scenery. Though the sky was dark, the neon lights upon the buildings were intense enough to act as stand-ins for the stars.
"For you to be willingly up at this hour certainly is most peculiar," Narrator noted.
"A detective’s gotta do what he’s gotta do to make ends meet," Ashveil said, tipping his hat.
"You are willing to do anything for five credits and a Subway sandwich."
"Yeah, well, so what? You got any better ideas?"
Narrator kept quiet. That was probably a no.
"Besides," Ashveil said, turning away from the window and strolling off, "if we do well, we could score ourselves a good stable source of income."
"Perhaps you are considering renaming the business to Ashen Defensive Agency?"
"Huuuuuuh? No no, absolutely not. This is nothing more than a mere side gig."
"Taking up odd jobs again. Ever since that trailblazer had first sought out your help, your tail wags whenever she calls your number.”
Ashveil blinked a few times. "Am I too old to be happy to see a friend?"
"You swore up and down that you were too old for these kinds of gigs just last week."
"Okay, well, that was last week! This is this week! And I just spent the last of my credits on those cheap nachos, too."
N: Despite having a banana for a brain, the detective’s loyal companion could see right through his cover to conclude that something was clearly amiss with him.
"Who even are you narrating to?" Ashveil said.
From beyond the door leading out of the office, footsteps echoed off of the walls. Ashveil and Narrator immediately went silent, their breaths hardly more audible than the passerby on the street below the office. He crept over to the door, stepping with such care that not even the soles of his shoes squeaked.
Ashveil stood in front of the door. He lowered his hat and braced himself. Narrator wasn’t exactly capable of direct confrontation, so he simply stood off to the side preparing to fulfill is narrating obligations.
The door creaked open.
Ashveil stood his ground.
A glimmer of gold reflected in between the cracks.
Ashveil lifted his head up, hat nearly sliding off the back of his head. His violet-gray eyes shone eerily in the moonlight that beamed in through the windows. Eyes fixated on the interloper, he let out a howl with all of his lungs’ might.
AAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaawwwoooooooooooooooooo!
The "intruder" stood there, unfazed by his act of intimidation. Ashveil’s mouth hung open, fangs ready to bite, only to realize that the intruder...actually worked here. His jaw snapped shut and he looked at Stelle with clueless bewilderment.
"I see you’re taking your new job pretty seriously," she said.
"Eh? Well, of course I am. I just wasn’t expecting you to be the one to walk through that door."
"What kind of awful criminal would just walk through the front door?”
N: The detective stepped aside as the boss walked in to the office. Words were on the tip of his tongue, something along the lines of “but many criminals do, in fact, use the front door!” The argument was simply not coming out, and so he stood there, mouth agape held back by utter embarrassment.
"Narrator..."
Stelle simply giggled. Ashveil looked at her, raising an eyebrow as she pulled out her phone. A few moments passed where not a word was spoken, until the silence was broken by the sound of a notification from Ashveil’s phone.
"The place is just as I left it," Stelle said. "I’d consider that a job well done."
Ashveil pulled out his phone. A transfer notice for fifty thousand credits to his desert-dry IPC sanctioned bank account.
"This much?" Ashveil asked.
"When you camp out at Calyxes as much as I do, fifty thousand credits isn’t really a dent in the savings."
"A-are you sure your finger didn’t slip or something!?”
"You’re in desperate need of a bed-"
"Why, I can pay back some of my outstanding bills in one fell swoop! And maybe that long overdue payment for that ramen I splurged on a few days ago."
"Well...it’s a start."
"And my usual payment of two bananas," Narrator added.
"Two bananas? We could make it three this time!"
Stelle reached out and placed her palm on the side of Ashveil’s face, nudging his gaze towards her. Locks of his hair intertwined in her fingers, she gently stroked the wolf’s fur in gratitude. A small whine escaped Ashveil, not out of terror, but rather out of uncertainty. Who in their right mind would waste such a caring touch on a matt of fur well past his prime.
"Just please be sure to spend some of it on yourself," she asked of him.
N: Though her request was most sincere and genuine, the detective’s mind had gone blank, failing to register any words said in the following moments. Having the touch of a companion upon his fur was a sensation he had long since given up on experiencing for as long as he still limped, and the unexpected gesture had rendered him oblivious to all but her hand. He didn’t even stop to tell the Narrator to put an end to the unwanted monologue. How unexpected.
"Now I am!"
✦𓃦✦
Ashveil sat on the lid of the freezer. He pulled out his phone. Checked recent. No calls. He put his phone back into his pocket.
"It is evident that something troubles you deeply," Narrator observed.
"Eh? Nah, I’m just a bit tuckered out, that’s all," Ashveil claimed as he stumbled onto his feet. "Sitting around won’t do me any good, so I might as well take a nap until I’m needed, if at all.”
Ashveil lifted up the lid of his freezer and climbed in, pulling down the cover of his icy coffin. Though perplexed by his attitude, Narrator simply retreated to a corner to the time being to rest himself. Trying to pry answers out of him when he was adamant about dismissal was a losing battle not worth fighting.
Ashveil lay awake in the freezer. His body and mind were exhausted, but lingering thoughts kept poking at him from the back of his consciousness. Even if Stelle’s idea of kindness was making him patrol an empty building through the night, it was still the most considerate someone had ever been to him. Side gig and generous payment of credits aside, what he really could not stop thinking about was how her hand felt against his face. He would, even for a moment, ascend to Aeonhood if it meant getting to experience that warmth just one more time.
That was a secret desire Ashveil planned to take with him until ice crystals encased his body in the chest freezer.