Of course he was a cop; probably military. Military stood differently than just cops. The proud way he combed and smoothed his spine, the skip the bullshit muscle attitude. The get shit done, get it done now unspoken expectation. The formation pose was bred into every one of his pores and the marching trickled out of him, bled into the background like a song. She could practically hear the HOO-RAH. Perhaps why she'd seen the hazy ideas she had dreamed up laughingly, while staring up at him so blearily? Not real at all. There was a visible relief momentarily when he said he'd seen nothing -- good -- she didn't want it to be real, but succor was exchanged swiftly with awe, with slenderizing of her eyes... with the birth of suspicion in them.
It was official. The reality deviant, the velvet black puppet, didn't like this anymore; not that she ever really had. The rain soaked obi with its cranes, oranges, blood reds, used to bind her wrists in a bleak imagining, showed no signs of loosening under struggle. The water would show if the kijo would sink or swim. Fine day for a drowning.
"Not me." she'd said finally, spiking the heel of her bony hand into the back of the hearse seat she was in and resolving to get by on her own. "Appreciate all your help." of course, embarking upon the adventure of this decision did not solidify the fluidity of far-off sobriety or even build a haunted ship with which she could just sail effortlessly along home with... up on her feet however, the first post was a white, cold island for her to fall into just behind him. Good aim. Mentally cataloging which one she could wash up upon the shore next of.