“Plain isn’t even a flavour, they taste like the staff dropped them and rinsed them in somebody’s coffee.” Ezekiel complained, he had a firm opinion on this topic and it wasn’t going to change any time soon, he knew what he liked and he knew what he didn’t, 48 years on this earth didn’t just earn him the addiction badge.


    “Oh no, detective, do you not like plain? My deepest condolences, I truly thought you did.” Arnez pouted, clearly mocking Ezekiel’s disgust for unflavoured fried dough as he leaned further back into the counter, his hair now resting on the nearby microwave.


    Corlo steadily shifted his weight from one foot to the other, creeping away from the door frame and back toward the black and silver coffee machine he had previously been standing at. “I didn’t know they let couples work together…” He seemed genuine when he spoke as if he truly believed the two were together, even if they were nothing more than rivals.


    Ezekiel simply gagged in response, he found the idea of being with Arnez disgusting, and he knew somehow, some way, if they were together Arnez would find a way to get him arrested, whether it be for Ezekiel’s neglect of his apartment or his frequent drinking before driving.


    “Seriously? He eats cigarette butts, why would I ever put my lips to that.” Arnez retorted, fixing his braid before giving quite the aggressive side-eye to Ezekiel; later shifting to a more welcoming smile when he faced Corlo. “Well, I have work to do.” He waved, leaving for his office of whence he came, once again fixing his attire when he crossed the threshold of the doorway.


    “For the last time, I don’t eat them!” Ezekiel’s voice rasped toward the antagonising officer, his hands shook when he made an attempt to point at Arnez; his stance was wide to keep his balance before giving up and leaning against the counter once more.


    “Where’s Lucy when you need ‘er.” Ezekiel moaned, his left hand pressed flat against the counter’s edge while he stared off at the wall, listening to the brief snippets of conversations he could hear from the lobby.


    Ezekiel began to move his bow-legged lower limbs, swaying from side to side with every step before being blasted by a sudden, pure cacophony of obnoxiously up beat music which drowned out the nearby conversations; the music was coming from Arnez’s office, of course it was.


    Ezekiel held more than a grudge against Arnez for several reasons, he was overbearingly sweet and bubbly, he took Ezekiel’s office which hid many items he certainly shouldn’t have had his hands on; he fears every day that Arnez might find something and hand it in, Ezekiel couldn’t handle being arrested again.


    He shivered, continuing on towards his office, taking a hard left making his way down a long, brightly lit hallway; the sound of aggressively happy music still attacking his ear drums. Ezekiel always stood by ‘music is subjective’ but so is taste in people, and Arnez was not to his liking.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    “Finally…” He murmured to himself, his office was freshly tidied, he hated it. Ezekiel’s office was always messy but he knew where everything was and he liked it that way, with his office clean and tidy he couldn’t think straight, somebody replaced the light bulbs he had taken out too; sure he removed the light bulbs without permission but it was the only way to stop people from turning the lights on in his office.


    The interior of the room usually looked like it belonged to a grunge aesthetic teen. The windows were covered with pattern blankets, the light above his desk covered by a comically large mosaic scarf; the whole room was usually lit by one dull, dusty, warm nougat tinted lamp, but that was all gone. Somebody had stripped the room of its character,somebody had put all of Ezekiel’s belongings in a little box, with a note.


    ‘It has come to our attention that the decor used in the office of Ezekiel .R. Martin, could possibly be a fire hazard, if you could speak to him about it that would be most appreciated.’ The ‘from’ portion of the note which clearly stated the name of the station higher-ups was scribbled out and replaced with a cocky note left by Arnez, stating Ezekiel was late so he went ahead and removed everything without talking to Ezekiel first.


    “That little rat…” Ezekiel mumbled, slamming his poorly patched up boot into the corner of his desk, it was already covered in dents, scratches and burns. Ezekiel had a habit of abusing his poor furniture.


    One of the only things still in place was a collection of paper’s Ezekiel had stapled together in his signature fashion, three staples perfectly aligned down the side, exactly an inch and a quarter away from the corners and 2 inches away from each other.


    The paper was adorned with splotchy ink from an Olympia SM 9 typewriter, Ezekiel simply couldn’t get enough of using older equipment, it felt nice to hear the click of the raised circular buttons and the gentle ring of the machine when a line was complete, He also weirdly enjoyed the scent of the ink, it overpowered the constant scent of smoke and liquor on his clothing and in his hair.


    “This place is a wreck.” He spoke, addressing the state of the room once more before placing his hand on the collection of papers, they were wreaking of ink and a strangely reminiscent perfume, he thought he’d smelt it somewhere but it was dissipating too fast to pinpoint.


    He threw himself into a wobbling wooden chair that sat just behind his desk, it was oddly enough the only thing in the room that remained untouched, still being held up by a ripped, half shredded copy of a study in scarlet, seemed he’d been ripping the pages out and using them for a collection of writing pieces, poetry, and a few times just scattering words around his desk, nobody really understood why he did it and he didn’t exactly understand it either; Ezekiel was merely drawn to the idea of using existing literature to make something new.


    Atop the poorly supported chair were a multitude of old blankets, scarves and pillows, you could barely tell the chair was wooden if it weren’t for the legs poking out beneath the quilts and fabric.