Day 57: Library (third shift)
The meal shift had come to an end without being able to ease Seishin's confusion. In fact, the conversation with Vino-san had only served to raise even more questions than he initially had. It had all sounded so strange and unreal, though he didn't think the other man had any reason to lie to him. He couldn't help but to be a little skeptical,
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At first, Meekins thought that a movie titled "The Great Escape" would be fascinating, but he soon realized that if he had to classify it as exciting or terminally boring, it would have to be the second one. The first fifteen minutes, and no martial arts moves!
Just as he got up to head for one of the other rooms, he spotted Ms. Lana Skye heading towards one of them. Wherever she was going, it had to be more interesting than sitting through this borefest of a movie.
He just barely missed her disappearing through the door to the Library. Though Meekins would have rather gone to the Arts and Crafts room to try to find Mr. Sora, he decided that he could at least see if the Library had any Encyclopedia Brown books that he could read. He missed them already.
There she was, about to seat herself at the table with a book. "Chief Prosecutor Skye, Sir!" He came very close to knocking her over in his excitement, but was more careful this time. The last thing he needed was for those nurses to make him do more push-ups just because he broke his punishment, never mind that it had been accidental.
After windmilling his hands to retain his balance (and nearly smacking Ms. Skye in the face in the process), he saluted her. "It seems that I really do have a talent for running into people, don't I, Sir?"
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She looked at the young man, dressed in the standard-issue Institute sweats, and tried to imagine him in an LAPD uniform. It might have been easier if he'd at least been in that farce the soldiers dressed them in, but she was beginning to think that nothing would help in this case. She finished sitting down, and motioned at a second chair.
That might not be obvious enough. "Please, sit down." She spoke just above a whisper, hoping she might lead by example and at least keep this one-sided reunion marginally private. Maybe it would give Dent some entertainment.
"Tell me, Officer Meekins, wasn't it?" The name wasn't ringing any bells, but the man looked junior. She hoped. "Did anyone ever tell you that libraries are supposed to be quiet places?"
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He remained standing, looking wistfully at the chair before him as Ms. Skye seated herself. "I'm sorry, Sir, but... I'm not allowed to sit down until dinner tonight, Sir." His face was now contorted in shame. "You see... I... was a little too loud to a soldier last night, and he put me on notice for 'insolence'. So, I'm not allowed to sit down until tonight, and I wasn't allowed to eat breakfast today either. If it wasn't for Police Chief -- er, I mean, ex Police Chief -- Gant, I would have had to starve all day, Sir."
After the talk with Mr. Tolten, Meekins knew it was a good idea to follow the Chief Prosecutor's example. Never mind that his whispers were almost as loud as those of a young child. "Yes, Sir! That's me! Officer Meekins at duty... of serving his punishment, Sir!" He saluted her, the smack of his hand against his forehead practically echoing through the room. "And yes, Chief Prosecutor... I'll try to be quieter. I know how hard it is to read when there are so many noises to distract you. Like the time when--"
Maybe it was look on Ms. Skye's face or how stern her voice was that reminded him of his teachers, but he had a hunch that now was not the time to launch into the story of how he ended up sharing a spaghetti dinner with Officer Marshall at the bar across the street, all because he heard a dog barking outside while he was supposed to be at his post.
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Damon? Pity? On him? Even if the man had apparently been embroiled in the mess that had been his downfall, surely Gant wouldn't have needed to go that far to avoid publicity. Especially given that discretion was nearly a lost cause. Though he did seem to have wound to a halt of his own accord.
"Perhaps a corner." Lana stood, and marched back to the end of one of the aisles, one not occupied. "You can call me Lana. No need to stand on ceremony, hmm?" The pun would be lost on him, but perhaps the content would not. Chief Prosecutor was a title best left in the past -- and the future -- where it belonged. This little respite might be temporary, but they needed to make the most of it.
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As Ms. Skye's eyebrows rose, Meekins wondered if he'd said something wrong anyway. It certainly wouldn't have been the first time, and he had a feeling that it wouldn't be the last time either.
Not wanting to disobey his superior's right-hand man (or woman), Meekins followed after her. "Yes, Si-- I mean, yes, Ch-- er... Lana! That's a good idea... Lana!" The second person today who asked him to call them by their first name! While this should have filled Meekins with happiness that they were treating him more like a peer than a lowly subordinate, he felt extremely awkward over it, and it showed on his face. It was bad enough with Tolten, who said he was a government official and had the bearing of one, but the former Chief Prosecutor was someone he'd worked with! Well... not directly, but close enough!
Now he was standing in the corner, like a child doing a "time out." All he needed was a short stepstool and a dunce cap, and he would look perfect for the part. Not that he was allowed to sit anyway. "I-- I guess this is my punishment for disturbing you, Ms.-- Lana. My apologies for that." His face was downcast. "I probably should have gone into Arts and Crafts to meet Mr. Sora anyway. I'm going to be joining his club. My talents with art projects would make a shoo-in for it, wouldn't you agree, Si-- Lana?" He looked up at her, the hope of a naive puppy dog in his eyes.
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She hadn't meant the move as punishment; sitting while he stood felt much more like disciplinary action, but she supposed he had good reason for the assumption.
"You like art? If you don't mind me asking, what made you join the force?" She would have followed it it with and how, precisely, did you succeed? Except that she knew exactly why standards had fallen, and how. Certain departments needed people who would ask no questions -- or, in terms of present company, not realize there were questions to ask.
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"Of course I like art, Sir! Doesn't everyone? It was one of my best subjects in school, Chief Prosecutor!" He gave a rather proud grin at that. "And the reason I joined the police force was because I want to help fight crime, just like they do on T.V., Sir!" He looked down at his feet then continued in a smaller voice. "...And because I was rejected from every detective job I applied for..."
Forcing himself to brighten up, Meekins looked back up at the Chief Prosecutor. "How about you, Sir? What made you choose to be a prosecutor instead of a forensic scientist like your little sister? You would have been really good at it, Sir!"
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"I always wanted to be a prosecutor to help fight crime, just like you." While others had gravitated to the flashing lights and the guns, Lana's eyes had tracked the quiet men -- and women, but mostly men -- with their briefcases and passion tempered with intelligence, and she'd thought that she could make a difference.
Well, perhaps she had. The investigation after her case was bound to be thorough; sweeping changes would not go amiss. The entire legal system was crumbling; the things they'd done, perhaps, had shored it up at the same time as they'd ripped out the underpinnings completely.
"I was an excellent detective, but science was never my passion. Nor, ah, my strongest subject." She wasn't quite sure it was Ema's, either, but enthusiasm had to count for something, didn't it? The man in front of her was living proof that tenacity did pay off, it seemed. He seemed to be waiting for her to say something more -- a critique, an order, a dismissal -- so she continued.
"Your dedication is an example to all of us." She meant it, too, though she wasn't sure the force needed what amounted to a mascot.
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"But of course, if that's not what you wanted to do, that's another story. Prosecutors are also very smart and very important for helping fight crime, like you said, Sir! You and Mr. Edgeworth and -- well, maybe not Mr. von Karma because he was really mean, and if he was really so smart, then why did he handwrite that letter instead of gluing letters torn from a magazine like they do in all the cop shows?" Meekins gave a sage nod.
He was just about to babble some more when the Chief Prosecutor suddenly said something that made his face flush red, from the point of his chin to the tips of his ears. "It-- it is? Oh my! That's probably the kindest thing I've ever had anyone say to me, Chief Prosecutor! Th-thank you!" And with that, he saluted her again.
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Then he got to the part about von Karma, and her eyebrows, which had finally gotten some rest, went back up. My, my, Prosecutor. Felled by handwriting, were we? The perfect crime was an illusion, they all knew that, but making such a rookie mistake!? She was almost disappointed. Perhaps she'd track down Damon and see what, precisely, had happened; he couldn't have been involved, except administratively in the investigation, and his description of the facts a little less...confused.
He kept burbling on, but being distracted by that odd contradiction had her better able to just nod pleasantly at him.
"At ease, Officer. We can discuss the future of the department some other time. Now, do you have any questions for me? I've been here quite a bit longer than you have, after all."
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"The staff frown upon frank discussion of the true nature of this establishment." That was likely too subtle, but he'd have all afternoon to puzzle it out. "If you put up something that talks about tonight or last night, it's liable to be removed before it gets to the person you wanted to see it."
"They seem to have no trouble with extremely obvious code, so I wouldn't worry about coming up with anything fancy. Just refer to your evening activities as if they were dreams, and there'll be no problem."
The mystery wasn't so much why they -- at least the previous administration -- had frowned on calls to direct action, but why they'd allowed such transparent lies to pass. It nagged at her professional nerves. Intelligence should be consistent; this wasn't a case of a smart man panicking, but a constant omission. Merely sport? Or was there someone else that was fooled? The orderlies hadn't been blatant about it, but Lana had gotten the impression they were in on the grand joke.
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