justonetruth | Mission Improbable.

Mission Improbable.

This particular Shinichi prides himself on stealth. Discreet appearances and exits, undetectable surveillance, shadowing -- there is little about stalking he doesn't know (note: this isn't necessarily a good thing). There's just one thing.

He's not Shinichi any more.

The lack of height is in many ways a plus. Who is going to suspect a seven-year-old of following them? That's if he can avoid truant officers of course. The rest of it, however--

It needs work. And that is precisely what Conan is doing.

It's night. You might be in the library when you hear a strange noise. Have the feeling you're being watched in the kitchen. See something shift just on the edge of your vision as you make your way down the corridors to bed.

Whatever you're doing, you're not alone.

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This particular Hakuba is used to stealth, not from his own self as much as from others. He's used to being stalked, and used to stalking meaning nothing good.

So he doesn't show that he realizes it, instead simply turning over another page in the mystery novel he's reading (he's gotten downright addicted to these things since he came here, trying to solve the cases before the reveal), and shifts into a slightly better position for sudden movement.

Conan is practicing being stealthy rather than using it on anyone in particular so instead of approaching Hakuba, he is going to continue to make slight scuffling noises in the shadows as he practices climbing the bookcases.

Hakuba doesn't comment on the scuffling, opting instead to return his focus to the book.

Conan is growing in confidence -- or maybe that should be over confidence. He misjudges a jump, misses his landing and ends up grabbing frantically at the edge of a bookshelf. He manages to hold on for a second before he grip slips and there is an impressive crash as he falls the rest of the way, managing to knock a lot of books after him in the process.

"... ow."

Hakuba puts down his book and walks over, crouching down beside the smaller boy.

"You might want to invest in a pair of gloves with rubber grips."

"I've got some," Conan says mournfully, shaking the books off and wincing as he discovers that moving is not necessarily a good idea. "They're too big now."

"There wasn't an extra pair in your dressing room?" He moves the books into something resembling a stack.

"Are you hurt at all?"

"No," Conan says immediately and to prove he's not hurt, stands up and deliberately dusts himself off. It stings a bit, but he's not going to let on that he rather wants a hug.

"I didn't look in my dressing room." It's a good idea and he's annoyed he didn't think of it.

"There might be some there. The dressing rooms are extremely customized." He studies the 'child', wanting to make sure he's approaching this conversation from the proper angle. "Are you Shinichi Kudo or are you actually seven years old?"

"That is true." And if there aren't any, Conan thinks, rubbing his wrist, maybe he can cut a pair down ... Conan blinks at Hakuba's question. "I'm actually Kudou Shinichi. But you're supposed to call me Conan, even if you know."

"All right." Family names first, he had to remember that. "Any particular reason why you're using the alias?"

"I've got stuff to do," Conan explains, examining Hakuba with rather more interest. "And being killed would get in the way of that. How did your Shinichi shrink then, if he wasn't poisoned?"

"He had a run-in with a witch. You were poisoned?"

"I was a poisoned," Conan agreed. He's thoughtful a second considering Hakuba, before deciding that he may as well, and leans in to sniff the older detective's trouser leg.

This one does not smell like seal. He is looking quizzically at Conan though.

"Should I smell like something unusual?"

"Just checking. How's your leg?"

"Are there really only two of me in this entire place?"

"It was the witches thing. You and Kuroba might hang out with them regularly, but for me to be involved lessens the field a bit." Conan starts putting the books back on the shelves he can reach.

"I suppose that makes sense." 'Hanging out with them' was certainly not the way he would have put it.

He helped, putting up the books that Conan couldn't reach.

"I'd hope so. Just because I'm shorter doesn't mean I can't still think." Conan puts the last of the books he can back and studies Hakuba thoughtfully. This is a definite improvement over the last. "What were you reading?"

"The Murder of Rodger Ackroyd." He had never read it before, and it was extremely interesting.

"Oh!" And Conan is all smiles and enthusiasm. "First time?"

He nods. "I haven't ever had much time before for pleasure reading, so I've practically buried myself in detective fiction while I've been here."

"Who did you start with? Are you working through them author by author or chronologically?" Conan isn't waiting for an answer, he's going straight to Hakuba's chair to scrutinize his reading choices.

All Agatha Christie at the moment, and every one of her works. They're organized, not just chronologically, but also by series.

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