Judge and Clio were locked in the most intense staring contest of the century—or at least it would have been, if Clio weren't eating popcorn.
No, not eating—devouring it like she was watching the most fascinating drama unfold. The real drama? She was supposed to explain something crucial, and instead, here she was munching away, while Judge's patience was swinging loosely by a thread thinner than Clio's obvious attention span.
Should I call it chick pop? he wondered, mid-glare. Popcorn sounds so... generic. Or maybe generic was the one for her.
Judge sighed and looked away, breaking the so-called contest. In Clio's mind, that was an immediate, devastating loss for Judge. She mentally raised a victory banner—complete with fanfare—while stuffing another handful of popcorn into her mouth.
For someone who was supposedly responsible for recording mortal tales, she sure was dedicated to this nonsense. None of her impulsive, almost cartoonish behavior gave any hints of her being a deity.
But, of course, everyone except Judge seemed to be terrified of her, convinced that at any moment she might unleash divine wrath.
Was she acting? Was she always ? Or did she just enjoy tormenting him? Either way, the nicest thing Judge could feel toward her was a mild, slow-burning irritation. The kind of irritation that could fuel a thousand sarcastic remarks, but even that was starting to wear down.
"Clio... I am serious here," he said, his voice adopting that "I'm talking to a child" tone, which, incidentally, was becoming his default setting around her.
"Oh, let me tell you one thing," Clio said through a mouthful of popcorn— sorry, chick pops?—which she was now trying to polish off like it was her life's mission. She paused dramatically after that sentence, causing Judge's eyebrow to twitch in barely suppressed rage. "You are not in a time loop."
"Yeah, I already knew tha— Wait, hold on. NOT in a time loop?!" His cool demeanor cracked, just a little. He'd lost posture, straightened up, lost it again, and tried to act casual.
His mind raced, quickly trying to recover whatever dignity he could. Okay, so maybe I didn't see that coming, but—he internally justified himself—maybe we both have a bad habit of being overconfident. Maybe. Just maybe.
"What do you mean 'NOT in a time loop'? Then what was that déjà vu nonsense?!" He demanded, his hands were trembling in frustration, he wanted to hit a wall or whatnot.
"Don't tell me I'm seeing the future or... or some other ridiculous thing!" He barely managed to stop himself from swearing, not a rare feat for him. Maybe it's better if I keep the narrative under 18, he thought. I'd rather not get censored.
Clio gave him a smug, lazy grin, as if she were about to drop the most obvious truth bomb in history. "I'm sure even that floppy brain of yours, which does nothing but plot, can figure it out." She waved a hand like she was dismissing an annoying fly. "But fine, I'll give you a clue since I can't stand the idea of you moping over this for too long."
Judge leaned in. Please, please, for once, just give me a straight answer, he thought desperately. The woman was a walking puzzle wrapped in a riddle, topped with a bow of pure, unchained chaos. Whatever she was about to say, he prayed it would be useful.
"Lucifer's victim is resurrecting," she said, her voice barely a whisper, but still audible. Then, poof, she disappeared into thin air, leaving Judge in a state of existential crisis.
Judge stared at the space Clio had vacated. Resurrecting? Victim? Lucifer? He was tempted to lie down, close his eyes, and pretend like the world didn't exist. Maybe I should just opt for early retirement, or, you know, a nice session of long-term therapy.
But of course, there was no time for that, and he knew it. The plot, as always, had other plans.
"Hawthorne's victim, huh?" He stood up, shaking off the existential phobia creeping into his mind. For now, he decided to let that whole resurrection bit stew in the back of his mind—after all, nothing says "urgent" like "someone you thought was dead isn't."
With a deep sigh, Judge changed the room back to how it looked when he first met Hawthorne, taking his throne with a casual flop. He needed answers. And when you need answers, you call the expert troublemaker.
Mentally, he reached out, "Lucifer," his tone almost business-like.
There was a long pause. Then, at last, a flustered voice echoed in response. "Yes, Sir Recorder! I am at your service!" The voice was unnecessarily deep, almost like the guy had practiced it in front of a mirror.
Judge made a mental note. Delay in response... Check. Flustered? Also check. Wonderful.
Exactly the kind of people I need when dealing with déjà vu mysteries, he thought, sarcasm leaking out of his brain like an overstuffed sponge.
With a dramatic sigh, Judge sat back and prepared for the inevitable chaos to come. I should've stuck with the chick pops.
"Do you have any missions currently?" He was back in serious mode. If he could, he wanted to record all that madness.
"My missions won't hinder any work you give me Sir recorder!" He seemed excited for some reason, but his prideful voice was still there.
"Just give me a straight answer. Do you have any missions currently?" He rubbed his brow, which anyone would do after going through two quirky individuals.
"Yes, Sir Recorder! I have..."
"Yes, recorder. I am tasked with killing a dangerous individual and the people with her." He continued in a voice that yelled dissatisfaction. "The hard part is that there is a child that need to be killed, but I have no choice if I have to save other lives."
He summoned Lucifer into the room, he wanted to talk to him face to face.
"Lucifer." He said calmly, "Wear your mask and head to your victims today, and say that your master wishes to speak with them, then call me in your head.
"Yes sir!" Lucifer kneeled in front of him, his hand on his chest, folded into a fist.
I should write a script, just in case. Judge summoned a paper to write a script for Hawthrone to follow, after he had left. He wanted to see the skill's effect.