Ratchet wasn't the type to enjoy completely random things unless they somehow afforded her some sort of enjoyment. Thus far, she'd only managed to take out half a dozen thoroughly (for lack of a better word) ripped thugs. She grinned at the thought of it, but then wondered precisely how much damage her now dull pink fingernails actually had done. Dave seemed somehow linked mentally to her, so it was only a matter of time before she was back where she'd been tied, taped, chained, and gagged.
Unfortunately for Ratchet's rather lacking self-esteem, there was neither sign of blood, thug, tape, chain, or rope. On the whole, it appeared as if she'd gone crazy. Ratchet took this thought and inserted it into a crack in the pavement. She didn't feel her insanity could quite justify this complete failure of reality to act at all real.
Ratchet felt, at this point, slightly lonely. She didn't feel like admitting it, of course, but she was. Unsurprisingly, a tall, dark and handsome man approached her from a nearby doorway. His attire was akin in almost every way to the sort of thing a well-groomed, self-aware private eye would wear.
He addressed her calmly, "Hello, Ratchet. I'm Cook. Nice hat."
Ratchet raised a highly-skilled eyebrow in his direction and waved her now dull pink fingernails in his direction. He smiled.
"If you wanted me dead, I wouldn't be here in the first place."
She narrowed her eyes a bit, bit her lip, and extended her hand.
"Greetings, tall, dark and crazy," she said.
He raised an eyebrow.
"You can't have gotten in here without some sort of degree in insanity," she said, and started walking. He accompanied her and matched her pace.
"You know, I actually wanted to be in here, whatever you may think," he said, "This place is rather interesting. You're you, so you don't see the oddities, the things that are different. I see a lot of them. For instance, your hair's a most interesting shade of red."
She nodded.
"But why are you here? What are you doing?" she asked.
"Well, I've got to save the universe," he said, chuckling wryly.
Ratchet had become accustomed to taking things at face value at this point, and neither flinched or looked at him perplexedly. It seemed to make sense, after everything that'd happened.
"How?" she asked.
"You," he answered, watching her face.
This time she was a bit surprised.
"I suppose it's only reasonable," she said, unsheathing her sword and examining it. Beautiful script appeared before her eyes, as if etched by the rays of a dying sun.
Ratchet snickered at herself. Her usually overused sense of romanticism was returning to her.
"I have no master but duty."
!Noah!
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