It's late evening when this particular clamour starts rising from the Mansion's lobby. It's a happy one, filled with excited, giddy tones that briefly change to surprise and annoyance before slipping into teasing and affection.

The culprits happen to be one Kaito Kuroba and Aoko... well, normally one would assume Nakamori, but Kaito's jacketless suit and the short, white dress and white roses that Aoko is wearing might suggest otherwise. And if those didn't, the close, doting way they're hovering around each other — and the matching rings glinting on their left hands — would.

They're tousled and a little tired-looking, but there's still a strong spark in Aoko's eyes as she makes a face at her companion, her arm comfortably hooked in his. "I can keep up just fine, Bakaito, even with a detour."

[THE SKY IS FALLING.

… Wait, no; it's just an Aoko. ALL THE WAY DOWN FROM THE (very) high ceiling. You might notice that she's wearing a lavender n' black version of this, complete with gadgets.]

Third time lucky…

[ Oh, look; there's an Aoko! Her red outfit is scruffed and torn, with dark patches of old bloodstains worn into the cloth, and she's carrying what can only be described as… a mop-staff. Dark, sleek wood, reinforced with a solid metal core and tipped with the same; it's a well-balanced and dangerous, if you can ignore the hilarity of gosh that sure is a weaponized mop. ]

Hello~?

[ What's she doing? Why, she's poking her nose into everywhere and anywhere, of course! ]

K-Kaito? [ Softly, at first, and shaken. She touched the still-wet blood staining her front, touched the ragged tear in her shirt that marked the entry point of the bullet—pressed her hand over her ribs, over her heart, feeling the rise and fall and the steady, rhythmic beating…

And then she threw herself out of the bedroom she'd found herself in. The hallway was deserted; she broke into a run. ]

KAITO! ANSWER ME!

[Anybody who wanders into the lobby today is in for a treat! There's a brand new statue off to one side; it looks like a masterpiece, a real work of art. The proportions, the details... from clothes to facial expression, it's all perfectly rendered, almost lifelike.

But what does it depict? Why, Aoko, of course. The statue is set in a crouching, frozen in the act of clawing at her hands, and she's wearing an expression much like this one.]

If you're of a type to look in the more unusual corners of the Mansion — namely down the far hallways or up to the ceiling — you may get a bit of entertainment today thanks to a pair of certain residents.


Those venturing down the long hallways on the higher floors might come across a simple wooden door, behind which seems be an assortment of sounds originating from a gym: squeaking shoes, clanging metal, and confident, uneven footsteps and harsh breathing from a single person.

Inside is a wooden floor and an assortment of blue landing mats, true, but it's not quite a gym. Few gyms have such a wide and varied (and tall) assortment of artificial rock faces. They tower up to the distant ceiling, marked only by infrequent hand- and footholds. Any potential grappling targets are high on the cement walls, on smooth areas without rock and far out of conventional reach. The center of the room is staggered with free-standing rock columns (many with their tops cut off at sharp angles, as if sheared by the downward force of a giant knife) and an assortment of grid metal poles that are climbable but precariously narrow. Various metal bars hang from the ceiling, occasionally providing the only possible path between the top of one structure and another.

One Shinichi Kudo of a middling twenty-something years of age is currently swinging from one of those bars, dressed in a thin long-sleeved shirt and simple black pants, and evidently not harnessed to a single thing. This doesn't seem to bother him much, as he gathers momentum in a final swing and then throws himself forward above and over a thirty foot drop to land lightly on one of the narrow poles. He wobbles a moment, his arms thrown out for balance, then quickly steadies and aims for his next landing target.



For those more inclined to greater heights, the Mansion's lobby is the place to be — or more specifically, the empty air above it, stretching upwards forever as the building's infinite staircases spiral up around the edges. Many, many, many many many many stories above the ground, a thick cord of webbing is anchored securely between one side of the grand stairwell and the other, forming a narrow tightrope path maybe 8-10 meters across.

Standing calmly on this cord, arms out for balance and already several meters away from safety, an Aoko Nakamori is steadily making her way across. She seems about as old as the Kudo from the gym, dressed in sneakers, capris, and a padded black vest over a blue tank top. She does have a harness, but it's a simple affair and not immediately noticeable: just a strong cord and a couple of carabiners, tethered to the main line at one end and Aoko's waist at the other. Even as you watch she slips, quickly catching herself by folding a leg over the rope and 'sitting' on it, and grumbling swears while she waits for it to stop swaying up and down.



((Tagging with both raider!Aoko and raider!Shinichi, simply state your preference by specifying the setting. The "gym" is rather reminiscent of one belonging to a certain Lara Croft, though it's a bit grander and not an exact match. Others may recognize Aoko's activity as highlining/slacklining.))

[pretty simple setup, this.

A random unremarkable sitting room, tucked away in some far corner of the Mansion, away from the lobby and stairs and dining room so often bustling with people. Even if you came this way, you might not notice it at all, except that the door is slightly ajar. And from within, very faintly, comes the sound of crying.

The origin of the sound seems to be one Aoko Nakamori, curled up on the couch in a ball of misery. A straightforward enough scenario, but whether to approach her is a far more complicated matter]

[TODAY IN THE LOBBY there are two familiar looking faces dressed in unfamiliar clothing-- unless you're familiar with Victorian fashion, that is-- seated in the plush chairs next to the coffee table. Kaito is resting his head on said table, clearly dazed and yet still grinning lopsidedly as he takes in his surroundings with interest. His (bloody, mind you) forearm is extended in front of him, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up almost to his shoulder.

Aoko sits across from him, muttering irritably as she extracts lengthy and pointy needles from the spiky-headed idiot's arm (the pile of blood-stained steel that shares the table with them is quickly growing). And, of course, there are bandages and bottles of alcohol (regular, not isoproyl) sitting nearby for all of their wound-tending needs.

Kaito speaks first, speech slurred and-- that is a very clear British tilt lacing his words]

How strange... did they get rid of the fountain? I quite liked the fountain. Perhaps I should mention this to the manager...

Stay still.

[Aoko's words are sharp, and her accent is rougher than that of the spiky-headed idiot in front of her. He flinches as she pulls another needle from his arm]

And stop mumbling nonsense. Honestly, if you find yourself inclined to challenge professional needle wrestlers the least you could do is learn how to guard properly...

Waking up in a different place then you went to sleep was never a nice experience once you got passed the stage of being portable. Aoko liked to think she was passed that stage but apparently she was wrong as she found herself tangled in a mess of blankets in a strange bed when she woke up in the morning-was it even morning? It sure felt like morning.

She rolled carefully out of bed and straightened her pajamas as best she could before going over to a mirror to check her appearance. It was true she didn't know where she was but that was no reason she couldn't look at least presentable... minus the pajamas. More clothes would really be appreciated. Once semi-satisfied with her appearance she moved over to the shut door and gently pulled it open, stepping into the hallway. Maybe she'd hit a stroke of luck and her stupid boyfriend would be wandering about.

Now. Time to get some answers.