Fandom: Detective Conan
Bad Guy: Gin
Disclaimer: Own Detective Conan, I do not. Own the characters, Gosho Aoyama does. Making money off them, I am not. Borrow and write about them, I merely do. Talk like Yoda, I must.
Summary: One of these days, he would learn.
One of these days, Gin reflected, he would learn.
It wasn’t even that hard of a lesson, either: betting with Vermouth was hazardous not necessarily to one’s health, but most certainly to one’s dignity. Because she tended to win, and the victory prizes she claimed, when not fatal, ranged between the ridiculous…and the outright humiliating.
Right now fell squarely into the latter category.
Still, a deal was a deal. No matter how much his trigger finger itched. Plus, there was that whole thing with her being the Boss’ favorite and all that. So she was afforded a certain degree of immunity from the everyday means of handling things (said means usually involved guns, bullets, and someone dying), simply because pissing off the Boss had a sad tendency to be fatal.
So he sat quietly while she dabbed at his forehead with a tiny brush, muttering something about foundation under her breath. She had produced this enormous bag full of powders and creams and things that looked like they should be extremely painful when used, but thus far had not been. Well, not physically painful, anyway.
His pride, however, was aching.
Finally, she stopped and stepped back to take a good look at her handiwork. After a moment she nodded approvingly and grinned. “Best you’ve ever looked.” She passed him a hand mirror.
There was green stuff on his eyelids, pink stuff on his cheeks, and red stuff on his lips. And his whole face felt like it weighed about fifty pounds. He could barely even open his mouth to growl at her. “Vermouth…” When he spoke the word, he actually heard a cracking sound.
And then he noticed her camera.
PS. Further random crack. Almost done with this challenge! Thanks for reading, all! Much love!