The Bondsman (a King Dice x Reader story)

Chapter Six: A Trio

Song: Film Noir by Scott Hallgren

     The journey between Isle One and Two had been tedious, cold, and wet.

     Just as you had taken passage through Isle Three's Die House (thank the Heavens that Dice wasn't actually there) a storm began to fester. You had been right regarding your prophecy of rain, and by the time you reached the outskirts of the Second Isle, the bottom of your trench-coat was soaked in muddy water, your fingers white-hot and numb as they barely managed to clutch onto your briefcase.

     Things would hopefully warm up as you travelled further south. Isle One was always rather gorgeous this time of year, or so you had heard. You rarely had to make stops there, keeping most of your debtor business within the confines of the Second and Third Isles as they were more familiar to you. You had never been a country-goer, preferring to, instead, stick close to the city. Something about the hustle and bustle relaxed you, assuring you that life was still going on, even when yours seemed to lag behind.

     The rain began to lighten up as you continued, though most of the various carnival rides and attractions were still shut down due to the weather. The atmosphere remained dark, however. Dark and desolate. You flinched as a Tilt-a-Whirl creaked nearby, one of the riding compartments still spinning slowly as the drizzle plink- plink- plinked off of its domed roof. The air reeked of rust and soggy junk-food, turning your stomach as you navigated around discarded toys and flyers that had been abandoned as the storm set in.

     You had never realized how...sad...this place was without all of the people. It was creepy.

     You continued to veer through paths and walkways, hesitating to observe an abandoned mini-game or two before moving on. There was faint carnival music emanating from nowhere in particular, chiming in your ears like a reminder of what this place was supposed to look like.

     You shook it off.

     It's just a little rain. Once the storm stops, the carnival will spring back to life again, like all carnivals do.

     You had just managed to pick your way past a wooden roller-coaster when a small group of voices caught your attention. They sounded alarmed, if not a bit agitated. You scanned the area, soon finding the source of the conversation: a group of barber-shop poles huddled beneath a small popcorn booth, bickering amongst each other as they waited for the rain to let up a bit more.

     You had always loved the quartet- wait, no, they were a trio at the moment- as a kid. Come to think of it, it had been quite some time since you had last seen them. You had to have been ten or eleven at the least, likely brought along by your dad for one of his "make-up" father-daughter days.

     "Hey, fellas," you greeted, gathering their attention from one another and directing it to yourself. "Everything alright?"

     The three seemed to hop in fright at your sudden appearance before relaxing, a somber look on each of their faces.

     "Detective Straightway," one of them greeted, "is that you? I'd recognize that coat anywhere!"

     You flinched at the title. The barbershop quartet -now a trio- had been performing on Isle Two longer than you had even been alive; you couldn't blame them if some of their memories became a little...out of order.

     "Uh...no, sorry," you murmured, walking closer. "You must mean my father: Lawrence. I'm afraid he's been...gone...for a while now. I'm his daughter: (Y/n)."

     "Oh yes, of course, of course!" one of them sang. "Little (Y/n) Straightway! I remember you! Golly gee, how time has flown. Look at you, all grown up and carrying on the family business!"