"You know me." Roy said casually as he drove. "I like making friends. So I started chatting with that orange cat."
He chuckled.
"Then I went out and got chased by those damned ghosts."
"Didn't have time to make it back to the station for backup, so I ducked straight into the shop."
By then, Procter had fully grasped just how terrifyingly powerful Garfield's shop was.
More importantly, she understood something far worse.
Whether Garfield and Pandora were willing to take control of the Rest In Peace Department… wasn't a matter of rank, protocol, or authority.
It depended entirely on their mood.
After parting ways with Roy, Procter went straight to the administrator's communication room.
The chamber rose like a chimney into darkness. Its visible height ended far above her head, but its true depth and length were unknowable.
She stood beneath an open pipe, waiting.
Ten minutes passed.
Then… clang.
A metal bucket rattled down the pipe and dumped a single scroll onto the floor. Procter picked it up.
The symbols were strange, old, and precise. She translated them carefully.
"…!?"
The message was brutally short.
Beg them.
Procter nearly tore her hair out.
She'd served the Department for decades. Dead generals, ancient kings, fallen celebrities, they all obeyed procedure.
Never, in all her years, had she seen an order this humiliating.
What was she supposed to do with this?
✦••┈┈••✦••┈┈••✦
Scroll in hand, Procter walked out of the communication room in a daze.
Roy was lounging at his desk, legs crossed, humming happily. He brightened the instant he saw her.
Adjusting his hat, he hopped to his feet and swaggered over, clearly pleased with himself.
"Hey, girl." He said smoothly. "What's wrong? If handsome Roy handles it, it'll be easy."
Procter didn't answer.
She shoved the scroll straight into his chest. "Ask your orange tabby brother to take over."
"…Huh?"
She jabbed a finger at the scroll. "Orders from above. If they don't agree… beg them until they do."
Roy clutched his chest as if struck.
"Are they insane?" He exclaimed. "That orange tabby is not a normal cat! In all my years, I've never—"
"Not only you." Procter cut in. "In the thousand-year history of the R.I.P.D, nothing like this has ever happened."
She sighed. "Go. Do the impossible. Maybe you'll survive."
She tried to shove him toward the door. Roy immediately swatted her hand away.
"Hold on." He protested. "We just got back. They won't agree now. Let's wait a bit, try another time."
Procter hesitated. "…That actually makes sense."
She looked at him.
"So what do we do now?"
Roy pointed toward the exit, already smiling. "What do we always do after a battle?"
His thoughts were clearly filled with music and wine.
Procter narrowed her eyes.
"You're writing your case report now." She said coolly. "It's due today."
Then she turned and walked away, leaving behind nothing but a perfect silhouette.
"My good time!" Roy wailed. He hated writing reports.
Naturally, he slipped out anyway and headed for a familiar bar, one where the drinks were strong and the stories were better.
Happy.
(^▽^)
Procter knew him too well to worry.
Sooner or later, Roy would come back, ramble through the case aloud, and she'd write the report for him… just like always.
They'd worked together on countless cases.
A reliable partnership. Even now, as the Underworld trembled quietly around them.
꧁𓊈𒆜༺⚜༻𒆜𓊉꧂
PhantomDream