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@vendettavalor // harry & kim!
even the air smelled different in Precinct 41st.
Maybe Kim should've expected that, with Coal City's mines living as a still-breathing recent history for Jamrock bleeding old smog into the wind even as the furnaces have long shut down, the subtle differences there'd be that somehow still catch him off guard in the sheer fact he didn't anticipate them to exist at all. No one thinks about the way the air smells, or how the rain sounds different with different things to touch ground upon and different layers to sleuth through, or the way the sun rose in a slightly different position from the vantage point changing ━ but here he was, thinking about it, because this is what his reality was now. a myriad of tiny changes, but ones felt, under it all. ( there was a tiny, nervous part of him that shied away from it, from the adjustments and changes, and said that they could still back out, nothing has to, we can go. go home, where we are familiar, and our history lies. with the people there we are leaving behind for this. ━ but the part of him that knows why he's here at all, because of Captain Pryce's affirmative, because of his own, because of Harry, the part of him that wanted to stay was the one he trusted, the one he believed, the one he wanted to put his time into. he'll stay, he decides as though its still a decision to make, he'll stay. )
It was raining again in the early morning as Kim enters the Precinct for the very first time where he'd be part of it. ━ He'd visited a few times, throughout a handful of weeks of sorting the logistics of changing precincts mostly to talk to the Constabulary desks and the Captain after the case in Martinaise had reached it's end, but this was the first time he'd truly, truly been incorporated. He was of Precinct 41 now, not 57, like grafting another branch onto a different tree. ━ soon enough after THE HANGED MAN for that change that hung in the air still yet to manifest into whatever it was trying to, but long enough for the bruises that once littered the Lieutenants face to subside, small discolored splotches in what used to be out of control, blood vessels small and tempered beneath the skin with time.
His waterproof boots ignore the weather regardless, bomber jacket striking against the cold-warm humid sky, an umbrella in his hand and a small box of little things in the other as he entered the oddly shaped building. For his desk, mostly paperwork he'd transferred over, some notebooks and stationary, his new badge tucked away in his pocket as the ledger shifted near the bottom of the box. He shudders the umbrella outside the door, closed, and slips in.
It takes all of 15 minutes to find the numbered desk that'd now be his; dark green-blue paint chipping and dried in thick droplets permanent 'pon the woods surface, drawers squeaky but smooth, chair just as dedicated as the people who needed them. its years of service likely grander than most people here, he imagines, in a moment of impulsive thought that he's certain he must've fed into from his time with Du Bois in Martinaise. ━━ Kitsuragi wonders how long it'd take for Harry to find his desk, as he begins the process of acquainting himself with the space. It was still morning, and if Vicquemare was truthful about Harry's old habits ( as reasonably biased as they might be ), he'd give it a few hours. One at best, three at worst he figures.
Part of Kim shoots back that he could have been waiting for you, you know, to meet you first thing on your arrival. Vicquemare could've kept him up to date, after all, and he was the one to offer to begin with. Usually, Kim would dismiss it as unreasonable to expect that from someone, but, well... Harry wasn't usual, so he'd have to wait and see. ( he finds himself amused by the concept, regardless of its validity, anyway. )