Why, if it wasn’t the man of the hour, with his strut and his hair like clouds and his--no, he wouldn’t even recognize her. No. Her face, maybe. But the Witch of Rokkenjima, the Golden, Endless Witch, going unrecognized! Unacknowledged, misunderstood! No.
She’d have to make an entrance.
It was harder to go unnoticed, terribly tall, glinting golden, than as a sad, dark child, but she’d manage. She had plenty of practice! She’d follow him, sneak in behind him, ...and, wouldn’t you know it, she got lucky.
It wasn’t a large bank. A hole in the wall, really, two employees, paint flaking in strips from the wooden facade, chains missing their pens. There were no security cameras. There were no guards. He walked in first, and she followed quietly behind him; she pulled out a gun.
“Don’t panic,” said Beatrice, “but don’t move. Listen to me, do as I say, and we’ll all be fine, and no one will be hurt. Look; I’ll even take a hostage.”
She braced a soft familiar hand against his head, and swung the gun around.
He’d cooperate, wouldn’t he...? It would be fine, right......?