Work Text:
The two comrades stared at the mossy brick wall—Fran with her head tilted to the side in curiosity, Basch with his arms crossed, wholly unimpressed.
“Did you write this?” Fran asked after a lengthy bout of mutual contemplation, her voice soft and unassuming. Basch inhaled deeply, and with a great deal of patience, as the pair of them continued their analytical study of the words that had been etched in front of them.
CAPTAIN BASCH FON RONSENBURG LIVES, it read—only in place of the words ‘LIVES’, which had been hastily scratched out, another hand had added below: has a tiny prick.
“Seems a little too self-deprecating even for me, Fran,” Basch murmured in his low rumble of a voice.
Fran’s left ear twitched at the sound. “I find I wish to know the truth,” she said quietly, her eyes still locked on the words before them.
The corner of Basch’s mouth curled near imperceptibly. “I could just tell you the tru—”
“No,” Fran interjected, turning to him with purpose. “I must see for myself.”
With wide eyes, Basch grunted as Fran’s claws shot out and fisted his vest, pulling him with purpose into a nearby alley.
For science.