The old woman drags Lancer from stall to stall in the open air market, occasionally launching into half of a lecture on pesticides, price gouging, or subsistence farming completely unprovoked and drawing quite a few bewildered looks from the other shoppers. More than a few sympathetic glances are directed at Lancer, especially since for all intents and purposes he looks like a very young girl hauling around more bags than she should be physically able to carry.
As the elderly woman continues another tirade, this one about how all the bananas for sale were secretly plantains (except for the plantains, which were actually pears), Lancer's roving eyes catch sight of a cowboy hat moving through the crowd, and seconds later, the man Laoise described from yesterday's ritual comes into view. His outfit looks just as anachronistic, perhaps even more so today, as he seems to have adorned it with a duster and a red bandanna tied artfully around his neck. An impressive mustache tops the image off. The effect is rather striking, although completely out of place in Fuyuki.
Lancer can't see any weapons on the man, though if he's really a Servant, that's no indication that he doesn't have any. The man's eyes wander around as he drifts through the crowd, though not as though he were looking for something. He seems to be looking around just for its own sake, rather like a tourist, and indeed most of the passersby are treating him with that sort of good-natured amusement. As Lancer watches, a young girl runs up and tugs on the man's duster.
"Can I have a picture with you, mister?" she pleads, and the cowboy's face splits into a smile. He plops his own hat onto the girl's head before lifting her onto his shoulders, beaming while the girl's father snaps a few photos.
Meanwhile, Laoise hastily conducts her detective ritual for the second time in two days, this time under pressure not only to finish before someone comes in, but also not to pick up any diseases from the floor. Once again, a lengthy span of time compressed into an instant rams itself into her brain before exploding into raw sensation.
A woman, tall and red-haired, standing at the sink and frowning thoughtfully at the ceiling. She bites her lip so hard she draws blood, and a tiny spatter of it lingers on the sink. Laoise doesn't recognize her - she's not a teacher, and her features are so solemn and angular that she'd surely have stuck in Laoise's memory somewhere.
The woman murmurs something that reverberates and echoes too much to be heard, and suddenly even Laoise's ritual can't pinpoint her exactly. Her position is inconstant, her face a shapeless blur, and her movements leave behind trails of where she was, will be, or maybe might have been. The only thing that stands out clearly is the blood on the sink.
The light shifts suddenly, hours passing in seconds until the late afternoon arrives. A gloved hand carefully scrapes the dried blood from the sink, catching the flecks in a tiny plastic bag.
Another shift in light. Today, just a few hours ago. Lucía stares into the mirror, hastily applying an unnecessarily thick coat of makeup to her face. Another girl comes in and Lucía jumps, knocking the container into the sink. A few hasty apologies later, all but a few smudges are left, and those smudges are what greet Laoise when she returns to her normal awareness with a dizzying rush. The door swings open and one of the older students walks in, giving Laoise a bemused look as she walks to the sink and begins washing her hands.
Red Hair, Blue Expression
The Inconstant Woman
Blood In Demand
Afraid to Leave Traces Behind
Much Too Much Makeup
