Roadkill - catnipz

Chapter 3 - Aftertaste

"Can I have a stamp, please?"

The boy sat at the counter doesn't even offer her a proper reply, just grunts in her general direction, mustering all his will to get up out of his seat behind the counter. He takes his single earbud out, Haerin instantly able to hear the music thanks to its sheer volume, which he discards on the counter carelessly as he stands up. He lumbers over to the back wall, and Haerin looks away from him, heaving a small sigh.

She's not used to this shop, the one by Sakura's place, though realistically it's not much different from the one near her own. Dull, flickering lighting that looks like it's about to give up any second now, a crackling radio placed in one of the corners spluttering out music weakly, a malodour of cheap, reheated fried food enough to make her sick to the stomach. Freshly hungover teenagers behind the counter that would rather be anywhere else on the planet rather than here.

"Uh, I was told to tell you that we've only got international stamps," the boy drones. "But we've got the other type too, which one do you want?"

Haerin smiles dryly. Fucking pricks. "I'll take a national one, thanks."

The boy picks out a stamp at random, tossing it onto the counter before lugging himself with great effort back to his seat. The song blasting from his earphones changes, going from fast-paced rap to what sounds like an old-school girl group, which he rushes to change with a sudden burst of energy, scrambling with his phone frantically and muttering something about a younger sister.

Haerin hardly even hears him, much less focuses on what's happening in front of her.

The boy charges her with a red face, and Haerin pays, snatching the stamp from the counter and stuffing it into her pocket. She mutters a "Thanks," as she walks away, the boy offering her another grunt, before the music from his earbuds becomes muted again as he stuffs them into his ears.

Haerin steps out of the shop, looking around, and thankfully, no one else is in sight. Not that it makes much of a difference, she's not doing anything out of the ordinary, but anyone watching her at all just makes her nervy. She'd chosen this time on purpose, just about noon, because the Outskirts are practically deserted during these hours; people don't go out till it's dark, whether that be for work or for leisure, and it's not uncommon to catch a few stray wanderers stumbling about the streets in the morning, still drunk from last night's endeavors. At this time, just about midday, hell, most people are probably still asleep. That's just the way things go here, bar for the poor souls like the boy in the shop trying to earn their keep.

Haerin's said it before, she's beyond lucky with her position as a detective. Even if it's landed her in a situation like this one.

Pressing her lips together, she stands in front of the post box. It's nothing particularly exciting, a faded red in color and really not all that tall, but it's like it eyes her up menacingly, like it knows what she's about to do. The envelope gripped tightly in Haerin's hand, by the very edge so she doesn't accidentally touch... well, anything, suddenly becomes a lot heavier in her grasp, trying to make its existence known as if Haerin hadn't lost every ounce of sleep she could've had last night.

Luckily for her, the task itself isn't particularly difficult or demanding. She just has to... put an envelope in the post.

Taking in a breath, she uses the post box as leverage as she sticks on the stamp, making sure it's neatly placed and in the right position because she's sure that she wouldn't be warranted as having done a "good job" if the envelope doesn't even end up getting sent. Deeming her work satisfactory, she places the envelope in the post box's mouth, before stilling.

She feels sorry for the wife.

Her husband lied to her. He told her that he was on a business trip, whereas in reality, he was losing all of their funds. Haerin herself doesn't even know what happened to Junghwa after she left, if they'd wrapped up or continued on, but whatever had happened, she's going to learn about it through a finger that'll arrive through the letterbox. How would someone even react to something like that? How do you even react?