Chapter Text
The standard procedure for anyone visiting a prison, whether mundie or inscribed, is to wear eraser bracelets (similar to eraser cuffs, but they don't lock) when in the visiting room. The simple reason is the same as for why any gifts or letters are carefully examined before being given to prisoners. (Safety is extremely important when it comes to criminals, especially those with more dangerous epithets.)
Sometimes, however, exceptions can be made (usually involving medical conditions). Usually, though, the reasoning is given beforehand and examined for validity. An exception is not normally made because of someone having a panic attack seconds after eraser bracelets are placed on them.
Sylvie has never worn eraser bracelets in his life, so until a few seconds ago, he didn't know what they felt like to have on. It isn't like the emptiness of losing his epithet, but it has the same hallow feeling of nothing being there. He vaguely hears someone asking a question, before frantically yanking the bracelets off and throwing them across the room.
"Goodness!" cries Percy in surprise, while Sylvie slumps against the nearby wall and tries to slow his breath. "Are you quite alright, Dr. Ashling?"
"Y-yeah," replies Sylvie, taking in a deep breath. "My apologies, detective. They just felt like when... my epithet was taken."
"Ah," she contemplates for a moment. "You may enter without the eraser bracelets. You are certainly trustworthy to enter without them. My sincerest apologies for causing you any harm."
He sighs in relief. "Thank you, detective. I shouldn't be long, anyways."
Sylvie enters the visiting room, where a single person sits bored on the other side. They immediately look up when he steps in, and frown in confusion. "I thought it would have been the girl."
"Knowing Molly, she will assuredly visiting you soon," Sylvie replies, taking a seat in front of the window. "I'm sure Indus will enjoy seeing her."
"Skip the small talk, kid," says Mera with her arms folded in front of her, eraser cuffs plain to see. "I know you wouldn't be here without a reason."
"Very well. Know that I am only doing this since you deserve to know." Mera raises an eyebrow. "It's been destroyed."
Her eyes widen. "You mean the Ars-"
"Yes," interrupts Sylvie quickly, glancing over at a security camera in the room.
She understands immediately. "And you haven't handed it over? Didn't take you for that type."
"I want to be sure it's unusable. So that even if someone gets it again, it won't matter." He continues before Mera can speak, "And no, I will not try to use it myself."
Mera pauses for a moment. "... What did it feel like when I took your epithet?" she asks quietly.
Sylvie glares at her. "Like you ripped out a part of my soul and left me in agony. You know, you should be glad that you didn't take Molly's suggestion. Because having your epithet taken hurts more than all of the pain you've felt throughout your life." He pauses to catch his breath, trying to stay calm, "You don't deserve to have an epithet that hurts you. Nobody deserves something like that."
"Kid..."
"I may have a vendetta against you, Mera, but it goes against everything I've learned to just leave you suffering. I'll see what I can do to help you with your epithet." He starts to get up to leave, but pauses. "Just know that if you ever try to hurt any of my friends again, I'll go all-out on you. Consider yourself lucky that you already have a nightmare to deal with, or it would be worse."
Sylvie walks out the prison gripping his jacket tightly, having needed to leave it behind when he went to speak with Mera. Having the police find out that he had the broken pieces of the Arsene Amulet in his pocket would have been problematic. (And yes, he did end up having lied to Molly about handing it over to the police, but that really had been his original goal.)
It had been a week since the amulet had been destroyed. A week of always carrying the broken pieces with him and worrying that at any moment they could be stolen. What if the amulet still worked, or could be fixed? What if he gave it to the police, but it was then stolen? What if... what if... There were just too many possibilities. Sylvie has to be sure that the amulet can never be used again.
Sitting at the bus station, Sylvie pulls out a small book from his other pocket. It's the Banzai Blaster manual, which Giovanni had lent to him ("So you can see how amazing we are! You could be a cool minion like Bear Trap!"). Honestly, the entire book is a mess of contradictions and exploitations that can all be simplified to "higher rank means you're better, losers". It does, however, include a few helpful tidbits sprinkled throughout.
Sylvie pulls out his phone and dials the number for the appraiser listed in the manual. It rings several times, before someone with a gruff voice picks up.
"Hello? Who is this?" Then, in a slightly threatening tone, "How did you get this number?"
"Are you Ramsey Murdoch, as listed in the Banzai Blaster manual?" asks Sylvie, not caring about the tone.
"... Yes."
"This indicates that you are to be contacted for appraising likely valuable items. I believe I have one you would find of interest."
"Is that so? Mind telling me what it is?"
Sylvie pauses for a slight dramatic affect. "The Arsene Amulet."
There's a low whistle on the other end. "Really? Well, now you've got my attention. Let's-" A loud thump followed from something shattering sounds. "Listen kid, I can't talk over the phone. I have a little hideaway in a town up north called Redwood Run. Ever hear of it?"
"I can't say I have."
"Exactly. Meet me there in two day's time. I'll be in the house with a metal roof. Got it?"
"Understood."
"Good."
There's a click as the phone hangs up on the the other side. Sylvie lets out a breath of relief, and puts the manual back in his pocket. Hopefully any issues with the amulet can be dealt with quickly, and he can relax once again. Be at Redwood Run in two days, and go to the house with a metal roof. Should be easy enough.
Then he pauses.
"Wait, how do I get there if I can't drive?"