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The kōban (the small police station) almost looks like just another convenience store from the outside. Its smell, once inside, makes very short work of that notion, and not being able to pinpoint /why/ makes Wakoko’s heartbeat all that faster. It feels dry, yet clean, and it reminds her of ink as she follows the steady officer’s sharp hat past the scary door that was behind the reception counter. What she’s met with, however, is not unlike the classroom by much. Smaller, yes, and it has a whiteboard instead of a blackboard, with some thick markers scattered around instead of chalk. Thinking of chalk makes her teeth grit; but, at this point, she doesn’t know if that’s the actual reason.
Man with hat: Sit.
Wakoko sits where she would sit in her classroom: right in front of the teacher’s desk. Schools and prisons do seem very similar.
Man with hat: Do you want some water, young lady?
Wakoko: I want to go home.
Said sheepishly, but with feeling.
Man with hat: Look, whatever happens next won’t be that bad. Some friends of mine will come with takoyaki, ask you a few questions, and then we all pay for our part. You too. You don’t pay, you don’t eat.
Wakoko: Oh… okay. Thanks.
That curt informality did make her feel at ease, at least. For a split second, Wakoko wonders: will not paying her part end up being why she sleeps behind bars tonight? After all that? Before she noticed, the policeman had left back from where they came from.
The loner sighs; and she finds herself /pissed/. Angry. Nothing makes sense here. She’s already seeing it coming: Junko laughing her ass off tomorrow. Her prank paid off, alright. Wakoko is sure she won’t ever hear the end of this.
