circle7 | rabbits out of hats

Adachi can't exactly say that the work is driving him crazy - there are way too many additional factors vying for that title, but it certainly helps. The worst thing about it is the fruitlessness of it all, filing papers for leads that he knows won't lead them anywhere. Still, if he doesn't, there's no other way to make sure that they'll keep on leading them nowhere. It's a tricky game, and one that he believes takes a certain degree of skill to handle (a smug, self-centered thought, no doubt). At least he takes a particularly sense of pride in that.

He glances up at the clock hanging on the wall, and it reads eleven thirty-nine in plain black letters. Like the rest of the office, there is nothing ornate or decorative about it; it's a bare-bones clock that serves only the most basic of functions. After seven, when the rest of the office had begun filtering out, Adachi had turned on Nakayama's desk radio, and the very faint sounds of the Local Hits are filtering through the space from that end of the table. It is habit by now, a well-practiced routine that both of them fall into without so much as a hitch.

Adachi lowers his eyes back down to the current form on his desk. The segue investigation into the strange herbal remedy store in the Shopping District is another dead end, he knows. That trace amount they found on Konishi Saki's school uniform is a stretch as far as leads go, but the Inaba police precinct is barren of clues, and they are desperate enough in their struggle to not look useless that they'll grasp at even the most obvious of the short straws. It almost makes him wonder if he should just throw something legitimate into the television screen sometimes, just to cut them a break.

"Hey, Dojima-san," he says suddenly, breaking the heavy, depressed silence that settles over the town whenever the fog rolls in. The other man is sitting across from him, their tables facing each other. He waits until the man looks up before continuing. "Whaddya think about this one?" He holds up his folder by the corner, waving it in the air. "You really think that old lady's smelly shop has something to do with the case? If you ask me, it seems like just another dead end. I mean, the victim could've just stopped by the store for some common cold, or something."

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Adachi shuffles with nimble fingers, snapping cards back and forth from the cup of either hand. "Man, don't know if I could match up to you in poker - I'm not that great at keeping a straight face," he murmurs quietly, and only when all of the deck is firmly in his left hand does he slap his other palm over it, lighting up, eyes wide, so honest that it's not. "I know!" he exclaims. "How about Heart Attack!"

“Never heard of it.” The old detective responds abruptly, taking a careful sip from the coffee (a little stale, but there’s no sense in complaining). As late into the night as it was, Dojima figured they should be wrapping up within a couple hours anyway. Humoring Adachi with one game couldn't hurt. Straightening himself up, he places the coffee back up on the desk, motioning for Adachi to pass him a few cards. “Ah, well. Go ahead and deal me in. I’m a quick learner when it comes to these kinda games.”

Mild surprise registers on Adachi's face, but he finds that as a general rule of thumb, Dojima often gets softer the longer the hours wear on. He splits the deck in half and pushes one of the piles across the tables to his superior, nudging stacks of paperwork out of the way to do so. "Don't look!" he says quickly, before the other man can attempt to peek at his hand. "The point of the game is to throw down your cards while counting in order. If it matches up, then you slam-"

He claps the flat of his hand onto the imaginary pile of cards and instantly retracts it. The skin on his palm reddens as he flicks it in the air with a wince. Adachi was never quite good at foresight. "O-owww. Crap, that smarts.

“Hey! Watch it! You’re shaking up the whole table.” Dojima snaps back, clutching his coffee to prevent a spill. He looks at Adachi incredulously, as if the rules didn’t quite register with him. He’d expected a nice, slow-paced game of cards, not some tacky children’s game. Dojima should have expected as much from Adachi. He sometimes forgot that this was the guy that picked up toy magic kits to tinker with in his spare time. “So what’s the point? You just throw down the next card in line?”

Between bouts of blowing on his reddening palm, Adachi throws an affronted kicked-puppy look at his partner. "It's," puff puff, "a test of reflexes. And hand-eye coordination! I mean," puff puff, "at your age, these kinds of games are good for you! Helps keeps you on your toes, sir- uh, not that you're old or anything. Just racking up in those years a little bit. Teeny tiny bit."

“You really need to learn when to stop talking, you know that?” Dojima scoffs out. He takes his hand and gives it a once over before looking back over to Adachi. “Where the hell do you learn these games, anyway? You been spending your time off with grade schoolers?”

A sigh. “So what’s the order? Matter at all if we count up or down?”

As if, Adachi thinks sourly, though the sheepish smile on his face is nothing but sincere. Though I wouldn't be surprised, considering the rest of you hicks are about as interesting as reading the dictionary.

"Guess you could try to count down...but that'd be kind of hard, wouldn't it? Jeez, sounds like it'd be tough - I don't know if I can handle that and paying attention to make sure I'm not matching up." He takes his deck, shuffles it idly in his hand before leaning over, closer to Dojima's desk. Heart Attack was a contact sport, in a way. "Let's just try going up."

He flips the first card off the top of his deck and puts it face up. It's a queen of clubs. "Ace."

Dojima lays down a five of clubs. “Two.”

A four of hearts. "Fo- I mean, uh, three."

"H-hey! You can't just change what you say half-way through!" Dojima protests. Sheesh, Just two turns in and the guy was already cheating.

"Cut a guy some slack, Dojima-san," Adachi protests in return, sounding, to his credit, pretty damn pathetic. "It's late - it was an honest mistake! And it's your turn." He taps his fingers on the small pile of cards.

Dojima claps his hand on the pile. "I let you get away with that one and it sets the pace for the rest of the game. Now take your cards. I don't want any repeat offenses."

"Wha- how did you even- I thought you said you didn't know how to play this game!" But nonetheless, like a cornered dog, he slides the small pile over to him. It's a small loss (a grand total of three cards to add to his deck), and besides, he understands making small sacrifices in order to win greater battles.

“I told you I caught on to these things pretty quick.” Dojima asserts, looking awful smug about such a small win. “I played slapjack once or twice during my high school years. Figured the rules here would be kind of similar once you got to explaining.”

He lays down a Queen of diamonds. “Ace.”

A six of clubs. "Two." 'Three' is a four of hearts, and 'Four' is a seven of spades. Adachi leans progressively closer to the pile as it builds up height, and when it isn't his turn, his arm stays precariously outstretched, ready to strike. It even jerks a little every time Dojima slams down a card. For a simple game to pass the time, they're certainly taking it very seriously. Maybe that comes with the job. Maybe it comes with sheer and absolute boredom on small hours of the night at the precinct office instead of at home, sleeping.

'Jack' is the Jack of spades. "Ahhhh!" Adachi sounds suddenly, loud and ringing in the emptiness of the room, and slams his hand down hard enough to either shake the table, or leave an angry red mark on whatever gets there first.

rabbits out of hats

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CLOSE THAT QUOTATION MARK IN MY LAST TAG

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obviously i failed at making this interesting

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