Bozo
ApollosarcherCollab between @Bozo and @Narcotic Dollie
“Is that not a good thing?” she asks, turning back to see the water was starting to roll over the top of the pot. “I thought the box said it was supposed to boil?”
He seems to be panicking over this so Nori quickly goes over to the stove top and cranks the heat down, picking up the pot and moving in another burner. The blonde digs through one of the drawers beside the stove until she finds a towel and swiftly slides it over the surface, quick enough so it won't burn her but still collecting the spilled water.
“I get it now, that was too much,” Nori replies bashfully, moving the pot of water back onto the appropriate burner. “I’m sorry Oliver, I’m pretty shit at cooking.” The water is now at a pretty good boil but it doesn't seem like it is going to repeat it’s earlier display of coming over the top, so the DJ adds the noodles and sets the timer to the time indicated on the box before moving on to stir the sauce.
“Eh, don’t worry about it. A little shitty cooking won’t be the downfall of me.” He waved his hand dismissively, flexing his arm as he tests out his stitch work. He wasn’t bleeding anymore, so mission accomplished, he guessed.
“Actually smells kinda good.” Holland raised his head as he caught a whiff of the dish, “Plates are in the cupboard above the sink.”
He pauses bandaging his arms for a moment as he continues, “Are you sure you want to stay here? Really, you don’t have to if there are better places you could be right now.”
Nori pulls down the plates and sets them next to the stove, pausing to mull over the last part of his comment. “There is a masquerade ball tonight,” she divulges, starting to pull down two glasses as well.
“But I decided not go. Someone asked me to be their date, but I bailed at the last minute. His best friend didn't like me very much and…,” the blonde trails off, casting her gaze over to where the detective is surveying his handiwork.
“I sort of thought you were dead,” Nori admits, before continuing, “Back when we first met at the shop, you said the weatherman might go after anyone who knew me. I didn't want to be responsible for killing him too. Minimize the damage, you understand,” she tells him, her voice going quiet at the end.
She starts to think about the other American man that she knew and how he had looked so destroyed in the driveway earlier that afternoon, but she squashes it out before she can dwell on it for long.
The timer beeps so Nori goes to drain the noodles and doesn’t make a complete idiot of herself, which is a plus. “I’ll be a pro at this in no time,” she jokes, piling the spaghetti onto the plates before she goes to ladle out the sauce.
“That is quite unfortunate.” Oliver comments, knowing all too well the feel of rejection. “Of course, I wouldn’t do it at the last minute, but I understand your reasoning.” He gave his arm an experimental stretch, letting out a sigh he didn’t realize he had been holding in. “Thank Christ, I half expected something to rip.”
He grabbed a plate that had been prepared, jabbing a fork into the noodles and twirling. Undoing the bandage around his lips, he blew on it, and, saying a silent prayer, took a bite.
“...”
He was speechless. He cut off a piece of noodle dripping with sauce. He tried to make his face right. He tried to smile and didn’t grimace, tried to close his eyes in delight , not panic; tried to swallow, not gag. She watched him like a hawk. “'Delicious,'” He said, still chewing. This spaghetti tasted like salt and shit and gristle.
He got through two plates. He drank a lot of water. He broke them down into fractions of themselves, sixteen noodles more to go, fourteen more, eight, one. In his head he said sorry to Nori, and to the dog or abysmal mixture of creatures he was eating. He put his knife and fork together with four of them still swimming on his plate.
Nori doesn’t start on the spaghetti yet, instead turning her attention to the dirty dishes that had started to accumulate in the kitchen. When she’s finished with them she moves on to sterilizing the needle and tweezers Oliver had used to patch himself up and then packs them away neatly in the med kit.
The blonde grabs her plate and carts it over to the table, plopping down in the chair opposite of the detective. The DJ shovels a mouthful of noodles into her mouth and her delicate features immediately morph into a horrified expression.
“This tastes like garbage and dirty socks!” Nori wails around the noodles in her mouth, pushing back her chair and sprinting over to the trash can to spit it out. “Why the hell did you eat that? You’ve survived too much to let yourself be killed by a plate of spaghetti.”
“I think I should probably stick to making sandwiches and ordering Chinese food, at least until you recover more. I imagine food poisoning on top of third degree burns wouldn’t be a pleasant experience.”
Oliver could only stare at his plate, lost in his own train of thought.
How do you fuck up spaghetti?
He looked up, a single tear falling down his cheek.
“I’m upsetti over this spaghetti.” He murmured to himself, reaching for the phone that he placed next to him on the table. “I know a nice take out place that makes practically everything.” He said as he dialed the number, lifting the phone to his ear as it rang.
“I’m just gonna order an extra large pepperoni or something.” He informed her, his stomach growling. You really start to feel not eating for a couple of days the moment you taste food. Perhaps he could show this Nori girl a nice restaurant, or at least a decent cooking channel.
“You want anything in particular?”
“Pepperoni is good, it's my favorite,” she tells him, binning the plates of questionable spaghetti and finishing washing away the evidence of her failure in the culinary arts.
“My mom always jokes that I’ll have to rely on my other assets if I ever want to find a husband,” she jokes, coming back to sit across from him again. “Sorry I wasted your food, Detective Holland.”
“Ah, don’t worry about it. That sauce expired last year anyway.” He chuckled, crossing his legs and leaning back, sending his order to the pizza place via app.
“So,” He began, attempting to make small talk, “What do you look for in a man, anyway? What’s the girl of today want?”
“Why were we eating it if it was expired? No wonder it tasted awful,” Nori asks, feeling a little better that her poor cooking skills hadn’t been the complete reason for that disaster.
He asks her what her type is when it comes to men and Nori chews at the inside of her cheek for a moment, mulling over the question before she says anything. “I don’t know that I can speak for all the girls my age, but one of the things I like best is when they can make me laugh,” the DJ tells him, hopping up onto the countertop.
“And that they’re honest with me, I guess. I hate it when a guy isn’t upfront about something, it makes me feel used,” she admits, scrunching up her nose at the thought of it. “Looks aren’t as important...I do sort of have a thing for blue eyes though, now that I think about it,” Nori realizes, thinking back on her more recent dating prospects. Nick and Kyle both had lovely, expressive sapphire eyes.
“And not clingy,” she finishes, shooting him a glance and tilting her head a bit as she regarded him. “And what about you? Is there a Mrs. Holland out there somewhere?”
“Ha!” Oliver cried out, slapping his chin as he let loose a mighty chortle. “As if. I don’t have time for all that lovey dovey shit in my line of work.” He wipes away a tear, calming down as he leaned forward on his chair, his hands in his lap. “Girls haven’t changed a bit. Everyone loves an honest heart. Sincerity is the sweetest thing known to man.”
So she likes blue eyes, eh? Not bad. He had them himself, but wished they’d been a lightish brown instead. He hated to stand out. It was incredibly bad to stand out if you were a detective.
“Blue eyes are fine, I suppose.” He acknowledged, rubbing his eyes to make a point. “But it’s really shocking to know that looks aren’t everything for you. That’s actually quite nice for a girl your age.”
She was opening up to him. Good. The more he knew about her the better. If what she had said was true, then he’d already failed to protect her once. He supposed allowing her to stay with him was acceptable in the long run.
Shit, he was doing it for free too. Maybe he should’ve been a bodyguard.
Detective Holland rubs at his eyes and Nori notices that they too are a brilliant shade of azure. They stand out starkly against his now clean face wrappings. She huffs a little at his last remark, quirking a brow at him. “It’s not like I’m a teenager or anything, I’m twenty two,” the blonde replies, lips turning up into a crooked grin. “That’s plenty of time to learn pretty faces aren’t what’s most important.”
Nori stops here, her words making her think about his face and how it was scalded because of her. “So, do you remember what happen at all, back at my apartment? Did you get a chance to see him?”
“I saw him walking away from my flaming corpse.” Oliver muttered, his mood all of sudden changing with the topic. “He watched as the rain put out the fire. He could have killed me then there.”
His fists clench as he shakes his head angrily. “The bastard wanted me to live. Not for any ideal such as mercy or being a male.” He turned his head and glared at her.
“Stay the fuck away from that madman.”
“It’s not like I’m going out looking for him,” The blonde replies, her eyes shying away from his as they go cold.
“I didn’t put an advertisement in the Shine Chronicle for a ‘Serial Killers Wanted’ ad, he picked my apartment.” Nori scratches at her nose and studies her shoes, swinging her feet listlessly as she waits for the tense moment to pass.
“Do you remember what he looks like at all?” She presses on after a moment, her voice soft as she looks back up at him. “Is he as tall as the bogeyman stories say he is?”
“He’s a mountain of a man draped in a green trench coat. Nothin’ much else to say, other than the late night criminal shows actually portray him correctly.” He leans forward, resting an arm on one of his knees, his gaze shifting upward. “I’m starting to wonder if he’s even human. Think about it; for over five years this guy has been at large.”
A sigh.
“I’ve always gone through all my casework as confidently and cautiously as I possibly could. But...I was just not expecting that last case to go down the way it did. Fuck, I’m starting to count my lucky stars every single night.”
He extends a finger, pointing at her. “What about you? Anything life changing outside of a serial killer after you?”
He seems to be panicking over this so Nori quickly goes over to the stove top and cranks the heat down, picking up the pot and moving in another burner. The blonde digs through one of the drawers beside the stove until she finds a towel and swiftly slides it over the surface, quick enough so it won't burn her but still collecting the spilled water.
“I get it now, that was too much,” Nori replies bashfully, moving the pot of water back onto the appropriate burner. “I’m sorry Oliver, I’m pretty shit at cooking.” The water is now at a pretty good boil but it doesn't seem like it is going to repeat it’s earlier display of coming over the top, so the DJ adds the noodles and sets the timer to the time indicated on the box before moving on to stir the sauce.
“Eh, don’t worry about it. A little shitty cooking won’t be the downfall of me.” He waved his hand dismissively, flexing his arm as he tests out his stitch work. He wasn’t bleeding anymore, so mission accomplished, he guessed.
“Actually smells kinda good.” Holland raised his head as he caught a whiff of the dish, “Plates are in the cupboard above the sink.”
He pauses bandaging his arms for a moment as he continues, “Are you sure you want to stay here? Really, you don’t have to if there are better places you could be right now.”
Nori pulls down the plates and sets them next to the stove, pausing to mull over the last part of his comment. “There is a masquerade ball tonight,” she divulges, starting to pull down two glasses as well.
“But I decided not go. Someone asked me to be their date, but I bailed at the last minute. His best friend didn't like me very much and…,” the blonde trails off, casting her gaze over to where the detective is surveying his handiwork.
“I sort of thought you were dead,” Nori admits, before continuing, “Back when we first met at the shop, you said the weatherman might go after anyone who knew me. I didn't want to be responsible for killing him too. Minimize the damage, you understand,” she tells him, her voice going quiet at the end.
She starts to think about the other American man that she knew and how he had looked so destroyed in the driveway earlier that afternoon, but she squashes it out before she can dwell on it for long.
The timer beeps so Nori goes to drain the noodles and doesn’t make a complete idiot of herself, which is a plus. “I’ll be a pro at this in no time,” she jokes, piling the spaghetti onto the plates before she goes to ladle out the sauce.
“That is quite unfortunate.” Oliver comments, knowing all too well the feel of rejection. “Of course, I wouldn’t do it at the last minute, but I understand your reasoning.” He gave his arm an experimental stretch, letting out a sigh he didn’t realize he had been holding in. “Thank Christ, I half expected something to rip.”
He grabbed a plate that had been prepared, jabbing a fork into the noodles and twirling. Undoing the bandage around his lips, he blew on it, and, saying a silent prayer, took a bite.
“...”
He was speechless. He cut off a piece of noodle dripping with sauce. He tried to make his face right. He tried to smile and didn’t grimace, tried to close his eyes in delight , not panic; tried to swallow, not gag. She watched him like a hawk. “'Delicious,'” He said, still chewing. This spaghetti tasted like salt and shit and gristle.
He got through two plates. He drank a lot of water. He broke them down into fractions of themselves, sixteen noodles more to go, fourteen more, eight, one. In his head he said sorry to Nori, and to the dog or abysmal mixture of creatures he was eating. He put his knife and fork together with four of them still swimming on his plate.
Nori doesn’t start on the spaghetti yet, instead turning her attention to the dirty dishes that had started to accumulate in the kitchen. When she’s finished with them she moves on to sterilizing the needle and tweezers Oliver had used to patch himself up and then packs them away neatly in the med kit.
The blonde grabs her plate and carts it over to the table, plopping down in the chair opposite of the detective. The DJ shovels a mouthful of noodles into her mouth and her delicate features immediately morph into a horrified expression.
“This tastes like garbage and dirty socks!” Nori wails around the noodles in her mouth, pushing back her chair and sprinting over to the trash can to spit it out. “Why the hell did you eat that? You’ve survived too much to let yourself be killed by a plate of spaghetti.”
“I think I should probably stick to making sandwiches and ordering Chinese food, at least until you recover more. I imagine food poisoning on top of third degree burns wouldn’t be a pleasant experience.”
Oliver could only stare at his plate, lost in his own train of thought.
How do you fuck up spaghetti?
He looked up, a single tear falling down his cheek.
“I’m upsetti over this spaghetti.” He murmured to himself, reaching for the phone that he placed next to him on the table. “I know a nice take out place that makes practically everything.” He said as he dialed the number, lifting the phone to his ear as it rang.
“I’m just gonna order an extra large pepperoni or something.” He informed her, his stomach growling. You really start to feel not eating for a couple of days the moment you taste food. Perhaps he could show this Nori girl a nice restaurant, or at least a decent cooking channel.
“You want anything in particular?”
“Pepperoni is good, it's my favorite,” she tells him, binning the plates of questionable spaghetti and finishing washing away the evidence of her failure in the culinary arts.
“My mom always jokes that I’ll have to rely on my other assets if I ever want to find a husband,” she jokes, coming back to sit across from him again. “Sorry I wasted your food, Detective Holland.”
“Ah, don’t worry about it. That sauce expired last year anyway.” He chuckled, crossing his legs and leaning back, sending his order to the pizza place via app.
“So,” He began, attempting to make small talk, “What do you look for in a man, anyway? What’s the girl of today want?”
“Why were we eating it if it was expired? No wonder it tasted awful,” Nori asks, feeling a little better that her poor cooking skills hadn’t been the complete reason for that disaster.
He asks her what her type is when it comes to men and Nori chews at the inside of her cheek for a moment, mulling over the question before she says anything. “I don’t know that I can speak for all the girls my age, but one of the things I like best is when they can make me laugh,” the DJ tells him, hopping up onto the countertop.
“And that they’re honest with me, I guess. I hate it when a guy isn’t upfront about something, it makes me feel used,” she admits, scrunching up her nose at the thought of it. “Looks aren’t as important...I do sort of have a thing for blue eyes though, now that I think about it,” Nori realizes, thinking back on her more recent dating prospects. Nick and Kyle both had lovely, expressive sapphire eyes.
“And not clingy,” she finishes, shooting him a glance and tilting her head a bit as she regarded him. “And what about you? Is there a Mrs. Holland out there somewhere?”
“Ha!” Oliver cried out, slapping his chin as he let loose a mighty chortle. “As if. I don’t have time for all that lovey dovey shit in my line of work.” He wipes away a tear, calming down as he leaned forward on his chair, his hands in his lap. “Girls haven’t changed a bit. Everyone loves an honest heart. Sincerity is the sweetest thing known to man.”
So she likes blue eyes, eh? Not bad. He had them himself, but wished they’d been a lightish brown instead. He hated to stand out. It was incredibly bad to stand out if you were a detective.
“Blue eyes are fine, I suppose.” He acknowledged, rubbing his eyes to make a point. “But it’s really shocking to know that looks aren’t everything for you. That’s actually quite nice for a girl your age.”
She was opening up to him. Good. The more he knew about her the better. If what she had said was true, then he’d already failed to protect her once. He supposed allowing her to stay with him was acceptable in the long run.
Shit, he was doing it for free too. Maybe he should’ve been a bodyguard.
Detective Holland rubs at his eyes and Nori notices that they too are a brilliant shade of azure. They stand out starkly against his now clean face wrappings. She huffs a little at his last remark, quirking a brow at him. “It’s not like I’m a teenager or anything, I’m twenty two,” the blonde replies, lips turning up into a crooked grin. “That’s plenty of time to learn pretty faces aren’t what’s most important.”
Nori stops here, her words making her think about his face and how it was scalded because of her. “So, do you remember what happen at all, back at my apartment? Did you get a chance to see him?”
“I saw him walking away from my flaming corpse.” Oliver muttered, his mood all of sudden changing with the topic. “He watched as the rain put out the fire. He could have killed me then there.”
His fists clench as he shakes his head angrily. “The bastard wanted me to live. Not for any ideal such as mercy or being a male.” He turned his head and glared at her.
“Stay the fuck away from that madman.”
“It’s not like I’m going out looking for him,” The blonde replies, her eyes shying away from his as they go cold.
“I didn’t put an advertisement in the Shine Chronicle for a ‘Serial Killers Wanted’ ad, he picked my apartment.” Nori scratches at her nose and studies her shoes, swinging her feet listlessly as she waits for the tense moment to pass.
“Do you remember what he looks like at all?” She presses on after a moment, her voice soft as she looks back up at him. “Is he as tall as the bogeyman stories say he is?”
“He’s a mountain of a man draped in a green trench coat. Nothin’ much else to say, other than the late night criminal shows actually portray him correctly.” He leans forward, resting an arm on one of his knees, his gaze shifting upward. “I’m starting to wonder if he’s even human. Think about it; for over five years this guy has been at large.”
A sigh.
“I’ve always gone through all my casework as confidently and cautiously as I possibly could. But...I was just not expecting that last case to go down the way it did. Fuck, I’m starting to count my lucky stars every single night.”
He extends a finger, pointing at her. “What about you? Anything life changing outside of a serial killer after you?”
“Life changing?” Nori parrots, trying to think back on anything she had done differently in the past few months. “Well, I met Kyle, the guy I was telling you about earlier. But like I said, I like him enough that I didn't want him to die, so that's not happening right now.”
Again, she tried not to dwell on Kyle too much, she would never forgive herself if she did, but Nori still felt the sting before she could press on.
“Then the apartment got set on fire, but you know that, you were there,” Nori muses aloud, pursing her lips together. “Then I went back home to see my folks. They gave me enough money to rent a small place on the edge of town.” Small was a kind word for it, her bedsit was minuscule. “But that's fine, not like I have a lot of stuff anymore, right?”
Oliver couldn’t help but fall silent, glancing away as he rubbed the back of his head. “I’m uh, really sorry about your apartment. I wish I could have done more.” He felt tentative, to say the least. After all, the girl was a reminder of a mistake he had made in the past, adding to the long list of failures he had in his life.
“Listen,” He began. “You don’t have to go back to that place if you don’t want too.” He advised. “You could, uh, move in here with me if you like. No rent of course, seeing as I’m still agreeing to protect you.”
Nori blinks at him, trying to figure out if he’s serious or not. “Where would I sleep?” She asks, tilting her head to the side curiously. “You don’t have to do that just because you feel bad for me, you weren’t the one that set my apartment on fire.”
“But I was the one that could’ve prevented it, Miss Haywood.” Oliver murmured, burying his face in his hands. “I have a guest room, you know.”
“If I say yes, will you let me help you with your work?”
“Heh, you make it sound as if you're sacrificing something by living with me.” Oliver chuckled. “But I’m open to the possibility. What can you bring to the table?”
“I’ll just be a fresh pair of eyes. And I can fetch whatever supplies you need. I won’t cook for you again though, now that I know you’ll eat whatever I put in front of you despite the very real danger of food poisoning.” She stops here to flash him a cheeky grin.
“I make alright coffee though. And I can help watch the entrances on your next grand plan, so no one lights you on fire again.”
Oliver leans back in his seat, placing a hand under his chin as a whimsical look appeared beneath his bandages. “Well, I reckon that does sound pretty handy. But are you sure about this? You could get seriously hurt. Hell, just look at me.”
He adjusts himself.
“That, and your loved ones might also be in danger. What about your parents? What would they say about their daughter fighting crime and chasing serial killers?”
“I don't think I’d tell my mom and dad,” she admits, sliding off the countertop and coming over to the table so she can sit across from him again.
“...And I know it will be dangerous. But I can't handle the thought of him hurting the people I care about. I can't even have a boyfriend because I’m worried they’re going to get killed just for hanging around me. He has to be caught or I’m never going to be able to have a normal life again.”
“Alright, Miss Haywood.” Oliver finally relented, extending his hand. “You’ve convinced me.”
His brows furrowed together.
“But I hope you know that if it comes down to it, you will have to be willing to take another human life. It ain’t easy, I know, but sometimes it has to be done. After all, I’d say you’d enjoy putting a couple of slugs into this bastard.”
’Could I kill someone?’ she muses and the question makes her hesitate. Nori had always been really squeamish about seeing other people getting hurt physically in any way.
It wasn't so much the blood or the gore that freaked her out so much, it was more that she couldn’t understand what would drive someone to violence on any large scale.
’I’ll make an exception, just this once,’ she tells herself. ’So he can't hurt anyone else.’
“Deal,” she says, taking his bandaged hand in hers and giving it a shake, a little more gently than normal in consideration for the damaged skin that lay underneath. “You’ll have to teach me how to use a gun though.”
Reaching down to his side, Oliver pulls out his Colt 1911 semi automatic handgun.
"Two and a half pounds, nine inches long, with a five inch barrel to boot. Chambered in.45 ACP."
He dumped the magazine and pulled back the charging handle, effortlessly catching the ejected shell in midair. Flipping the gun over with the handle facing her, he shrugged.
"Wanna hold it?"
“None of what you just said makes any sense. It sounds like you're making up words,” Nori teases as she reaches out, gingerly gripping the handle of the firearm and pulling it free from his grasp. The florist is slightly caught off guard by the weight of it, but she doesn't do anything completely humiliating like drop it, which is a blessing.
“How'd you learn how to shoot, anyways?” she asks, genuinely curious as she inspects the gun, careful to keep her finger away from the trigger even though the magazine and the chamber are empty. The blonde stands up and walks a ways before turning so that she's facing away from the detective. Nori holds up the gun like she's seen action heroes do in the movies, but she feels like she looks ridiculous, so she tries to adjust her stance a little, but it’s still off. “Should I use one hand or both of them?”
"Smartass." Oliver smirked, reclining in his chair and watching as the DJ fumbled with the weapon.
"You can either use two hands or one, if you're strong enough, of course. But- here, your stance is a little off."
He rose from his seat, taking a position behind her as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her arms in place. He would slowly guide her grasp outwards, sweeping in with one of his legs in order to push back her own.
"It's really simple," He spoke in a low, hushed tone, almost growling. "You just have to know where to start, really. The police academy teaches you these things."
Oliver stands up and crosses over to her and even though she knows it's coming it still manages to catch her off guard when he presses his front against her back, arms wrapping around her's to adjust her grip on the gun. 'He's just helping, no need to get weird,' she tells herself as she brings her other hand up to help steady her grasp.
Then he slides one of his legs between her's, bumping against her right one to prompt her to move it where he sees fit. Nori can feel the beginnings of a blush start to creep up her neck as she lets him arrange her into a stance that feels much more comfortable.
Damn nerves.
“Right,” Nori answers, the word coming out more hushed than she had intended as she turned her head a little to peer back at him. “So then I just pull the trigger and kill all the bad guys?” she jokes a little lamely, raising her eye eyebrow at the detective.
Oliver couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. "You only point a gun at things you're willing to shoot. Remember that."
He takes a hand off hers and points at the reticle sight near the end of the barrel. "You line the target up with those crosshairs, making sure it's all in the center."
His grip grows a little tighter.
"And then you squeeze the trigger."
Resting a bandaged finger on her own, he pushes down on it, adding more and more pressure until the gun emits an audible click.
"That's all there is to it. Only when you do it for real with rounds in the chamber you'll find that the gun weighs more, and that you have to take recoil into account. However, I'm sure a strong girl such as yourself could handle it."
The doorbell sounds and Nori jumps, taken aback by the abrupt ringing. “That’s probably the pizza,” the blonde tells him, lowering the gun and disentangling herself from him. “I’ll go take care of it.” The tattooed girl turns the gun around carefully, handing it to him handle first before she pads over to the front door, grabbing her purse when she passes it on the counter.
Nori checks the peephole before opening the door and accepting the food from the delivery girl. The taller girl looks a little miffed when the DJ pays and only leaves her a three dollar tip, but Nori ignores it. It’s not like she has a lot of money she can spare right now.
Payment taken care of, Nori carries the pizza box over to the table and sets it down before going over to fridge and pilfering a root beer. “What do you want to drink?”
Again, she tried not to dwell on Kyle too much, she would never forgive herself if she did, but Nori still felt the sting before she could press on.
“Then the apartment got set on fire, but you know that, you were there,” Nori muses aloud, pursing her lips together. “Then I went back home to see my folks. They gave me enough money to rent a small place on the edge of town.” Small was a kind word for it, her bedsit was minuscule. “But that's fine, not like I have a lot of stuff anymore, right?”
Oliver couldn’t help but fall silent, glancing away as he rubbed the back of his head. “I’m uh, really sorry about your apartment. I wish I could have done more.” He felt tentative, to say the least. After all, the girl was a reminder of a mistake he had made in the past, adding to the long list of failures he had in his life.
“Listen,” He began. “You don’t have to go back to that place if you don’t want too.” He advised. “You could, uh, move in here with me if you like. No rent of course, seeing as I’m still agreeing to protect you.”
Nori blinks at him, trying to figure out if he’s serious or not. “Where would I sleep?” She asks, tilting her head to the side curiously. “You don’t have to do that just because you feel bad for me, you weren’t the one that set my apartment on fire.”
“But I was the one that could’ve prevented it, Miss Haywood.” Oliver murmured, burying his face in his hands. “I have a guest room, you know.”
“If I say yes, will you let me help you with your work?”
“Heh, you make it sound as if you're sacrificing something by living with me.” Oliver chuckled. “But I’m open to the possibility. What can you bring to the table?”
“I’ll just be a fresh pair of eyes. And I can fetch whatever supplies you need. I won’t cook for you again though, now that I know you’ll eat whatever I put in front of you despite the very real danger of food poisoning.” She stops here to flash him a cheeky grin.
“I make alright coffee though. And I can help watch the entrances on your next grand plan, so no one lights you on fire again.”
Oliver leans back in his seat, placing a hand under his chin as a whimsical look appeared beneath his bandages. “Well, I reckon that does sound pretty handy. But are you sure about this? You could get seriously hurt. Hell, just look at me.”
He adjusts himself.
“That, and your loved ones might also be in danger. What about your parents? What would they say about their daughter fighting crime and chasing serial killers?”
“I don't think I’d tell my mom and dad,” she admits, sliding off the countertop and coming over to the table so she can sit across from him again.
“...And I know it will be dangerous. But I can't handle the thought of him hurting the people I care about. I can't even have a boyfriend because I’m worried they’re going to get killed just for hanging around me. He has to be caught or I’m never going to be able to have a normal life again.”
“Alright, Miss Haywood.” Oliver finally relented, extending his hand. “You’ve convinced me.”
His brows furrowed together.
“But I hope you know that if it comes down to it, you will have to be willing to take another human life. It ain’t easy, I know, but sometimes it has to be done. After all, I’d say you’d enjoy putting a couple of slugs into this bastard.”
’Could I kill someone?’ she muses and the question makes her hesitate. Nori had always been really squeamish about seeing other people getting hurt physically in any way.
It wasn't so much the blood or the gore that freaked her out so much, it was more that she couldn’t understand what would drive someone to violence on any large scale.
’I’ll make an exception, just this once,’ she tells herself. ’So he can't hurt anyone else.’
“Deal,” she says, taking his bandaged hand in hers and giving it a shake, a little more gently than normal in consideration for the damaged skin that lay underneath. “You’ll have to teach me how to use a gun though.”
Reaching down to his side, Oliver pulls out his Colt 1911 semi automatic handgun.
"Two and a half pounds, nine inches long, with a five inch barrel to boot. Chambered in.45 ACP."
He dumped the magazine and pulled back the charging handle, effortlessly catching the ejected shell in midair. Flipping the gun over with the handle facing her, he shrugged.
"Wanna hold it?"
“None of what you just said makes any sense. It sounds like you're making up words,” Nori teases as she reaches out, gingerly gripping the handle of the firearm and pulling it free from his grasp. The florist is slightly caught off guard by the weight of it, but she doesn't do anything completely humiliating like drop it, which is a blessing.
“How'd you learn how to shoot, anyways?” she asks, genuinely curious as she inspects the gun, careful to keep her finger away from the trigger even though the magazine and the chamber are empty. The blonde stands up and walks a ways before turning so that she's facing away from the detective. Nori holds up the gun like she's seen action heroes do in the movies, but she feels like she looks ridiculous, so she tries to adjust her stance a little, but it’s still off. “Should I use one hand or both of them?”
"Smartass." Oliver smirked, reclining in his chair and watching as the DJ fumbled with the weapon.
"You can either use two hands or one, if you're strong enough, of course. But- here, your stance is a little off."
He rose from his seat, taking a position behind her as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her arms in place. He would slowly guide her grasp outwards, sweeping in with one of his legs in order to push back her own.
"It's really simple," He spoke in a low, hushed tone, almost growling. "You just have to know where to start, really. The police academy teaches you these things."
Oliver stands up and crosses over to her and even though she knows it's coming it still manages to catch her off guard when he presses his front against her back, arms wrapping around her's to adjust her grip on the gun. 'He's just helping, no need to get weird,' she tells herself as she brings her other hand up to help steady her grasp.
Then he slides one of his legs between her's, bumping against her right one to prompt her to move it where he sees fit. Nori can feel the beginnings of a blush start to creep up her neck as she lets him arrange her into a stance that feels much more comfortable.
Damn nerves.
“Right,” Nori answers, the word coming out more hushed than she had intended as she turned her head a little to peer back at him. “So then I just pull the trigger and kill all the bad guys?” she jokes a little lamely, raising her eye eyebrow at the detective.
Oliver couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. "You only point a gun at things you're willing to shoot. Remember that."
He takes a hand off hers and points at the reticle sight near the end of the barrel. "You line the target up with those crosshairs, making sure it's all in the center."
His grip grows a little tighter.
"And then you squeeze the trigger."
Resting a bandaged finger on her own, he pushes down on it, adding more and more pressure until the gun emits an audible click.
"That's all there is to it. Only when you do it for real with rounds in the chamber you'll find that the gun weighs more, and that you have to take recoil into account. However, I'm sure a strong girl such as yourself could handle it."
The doorbell sounds and Nori jumps, taken aback by the abrupt ringing. “That’s probably the pizza,” the blonde tells him, lowering the gun and disentangling herself from him. “I’ll go take care of it.” The tattooed girl turns the gun around carefully, handing it to him handle first before she pads over to the front door, grabbing her purse when she passes it on the counter.
Nori checks the peephole before opening the door and accepting the food from the delivery girl. The taller girl looks a little miffed when the DJ pays and only leaves her a three dollar tip, but Nori ignores it. It’s not like she has a lot of money she can spare right now.
Payment taken care of, Nori carries the pizza box over to the table and sets it down before going over to fridge and pilfering a root beer. “What do you want to drink?”