Fandom: Detective Conan
Friends: Kudo Shinichi/Edogawa Conan and Hattori Heiji
Theme: #7—an ugly shirt
Disclaimer: I do not own Detective Conan—all the characters belong to Gosho Aoyama. I just kidnapped them and hid them in my closet to keep them safe from…I dunno, something awful, I’m sure. Don’t worry, I feed them. Sometimes.
Summary: Girls, they decided, were the most complicated creatures in existence.
“Shinichi? Hattori-kun?” Ran said. “How much time is left in the game?” Beside her, Kazuha was tapping her foot impatiently. They were ready to go shopping—but the guys had found an American football game on TV, and were engrossed in it. And they weren’t moving until the game was over.
“Thirty-two seconds,” Shinichi called back.
There was a short pause. Then, finally, Ran dared to ask the question. “Thirty-two real-life seconds, or thirty-two football seconds?”
“Thirty-two football seconds,” Heiji interjected, not moving his eyes from the screen.
Kazuha sighed. “Sometimes it feels like all we do is wait for those two!”
“I know…” Ran nodded.
Half an hour later, the girls finally dragged their boys away from the television.
And towards their impending doom.
The original suggestion—made by the girls, of course—had actually been to go shoe shopping. That alone was enough to make the two teenaged detectives cringe. But in accordance with some obscure Laws of Nature, they’d been in the department store for nearly two hours…and had yet to actually make it to the shoe department.
Instead, the girls had gotten there and realized that there was a sale in progress. And big sales meant cute clothes at great discounts. Well, that’s what it meant to Ran and Kazuha, anyway.
To Heiji and Shinichi, it meant torture. It meant pain. It meant lots and lots of waiting.
So far as Heiji was concerned, Kazuha already had enough clothes to outfit the entire female population of their school without reusing anything. But…well, she could be very persuasive, be it with her fists or by the simpler, more traditional method of just guilt-tripping him into it. She could manage either with great aplomb.
Shinichi, on the other hand, had only recently returned (as himself), and was surprisingly willing to subject himself to such torments if it meant spending time with Ran. Granted, sitting there and waiting for her to try on half the clothes in the store was only spending time together in the loosest sense of the word, but still, he could always harbor secret hopes that they might look at bikinis or some such thing.
Thus far, no such luck.
Either way—nagged there or dragged there—they found themselves sullenly occupying two chairs outside the women’s fitting rooms. Adding insult to injury, Ran had cheerily tossed her purse to Shinichi; it was now perched on his knee. He was debating as to whether or not he should see what exactly she had in there—the thing, pastel pink in color, was the size of a CD case, yet weighed as much as a small brick.
How did they do that, anyway?
“Didn’t they come here to look at shoes?” the Osakan teen asked, slouching further down in his chair. If he went much lower, he was going to wind up in a nice Heiji-puddle on the ugly carpet. “Not like Kazuha needs more shoes…”
“That was the original plan,” Shinichi sighed, putting his chin in his hand and resting his elbow on the armrest. “You think this is bad? You should see Sonoko when she goes shopping. She could go into a store for toothpaste, and walk out with half their inventory of clothes. It’s almost impressive.”
Heiji let his head lull back to look at the ceiling. “When did we get here?”
“We got here at eleven-thirty,” Shinichi replied. “But we haven’t actually seen them since noon.”
“What time is it now?”
“Quarter after two.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding…” Heiji heaved a sizable sigh and slumped even further. “I vote we leave. This is like prison, and we have no hope of getting paroled anytime soon.” Glowering darkly, he straightened suddenly and turned towards the dressing rooms. “Kazuha!” he called, but received no answer. He sighed and tried again, a bit louder this time. “I know you can hear me, ahou, quit pretending you don’t! How much longer is this going to take?”
To both their amazements, Kazuha stepped out (wearing what had to be, in Heiji's humblest of opinions, theweirdest shirt he'd ever seen her in)and fixed him with an Evil Eye. “You really need to learn to be patient, ahou. We’re almost done—it hasn’t been that long.”
“It’s been just shy of two and a half hours,” Shinichi corrected her. “It has been that long.”
“Oh brother…” Kazuha rolled her eyes and withdrew to the changing room. She could then be heard commenting, “Ran-chan, they’re actually timing how long we’ve been in here.”
And once again, the boys were left to their own devices. For a moment, they were silent. Then…
“Can you do me a favor?”
“Shoot me. Just shoot me. Please?”
“Because then I’d have to sit here alone. Misery loves company and all.”
This time, Shinichi spoke first. “I’m trying to guess how this will all play out. They’re either going to buy absolutely nothing and this will have all been a tremendous waste of time, or they’re going to buy everything they tried on and try to make us carry all the bags and packages home for them. Any thoughts?”
“I do have a thought,” Heiji raised an eyebrow. “I think we should leave.”
Shinichi shrugged. “It’s your funeral.”
From there, the conversation slid into monotonous mutter about the most mundane things. Just when they were both ready to burst into full-blown mutiny, Fate decided to take pity on them, and give them a legitimate reason to flee.
“OH MY GOD!” a woman’s voice shrieked from the other side of the store. “HE’S DEAD!”
Shinichi looked at Heiji.
Heiji looked at Shinichi.
Identical grins broke on both their faces as they jumped from their chairs and sprinted towards the scream, pausing only long enough for Shinichi to toss the small pink handbag over the door of Ran’s fitting room; it landed hard enough to register on the Richter scale.
Running. Escaping. Sweet, sweet freedom.
And no more waiting.
PS. Nothing like getting a new CD full of some really awesome songs to get the ol’ creative juices going, ne? This particular little thought stemmed from the song “Waiting Trio” from the musical I Love You, You’re Perfect, Now Change. I think there will be quite a few stories featuring songs from that show, yes indeedy. Hope you enjoyed the randomness. Thanks for reading—much love!