Ｉｎ Ｆｏｒ Tｈｅ Ｋｉｌｌ (Pansexual)

[Bharune]

“Oh, a bold goose-slayer, are you?” he returned, his cheeky grin regaining a bit of spark when her key-rattling scared off the wandering geese. “Now I know who to call when they start stalking my home.”

But Rook’s attention wasn’t on the geese; didn’t he know her from somewhere? He was sure…he’d seen her before…but as he discreetly admired her features, he couldn’t think of anything. If he’d met her in real life, there was no way he’d forget. But her features were stunning, so…maybe some kind of advertisement…or commercial…

Yeah…something like that…

Rook blinked when the lady offered her the thermos, but he accepted it gratefully, not because he was cold but because his throat was parched from neglecting to rehydrate after his drinking binge. Although, he was a bit chilly, even though his suit jacket was discarded on the bench, having tumbled into the seat when the wind blew it off the back. He was ready for summer now…

“Is it spiked?” he asked hopefully. Unperturbed by the idea of accepting a drink from a stranger, he took a sip, proceeding with caution when he felt the heat and steam. “Ah, not bad. Thanks; I don’t think you know how much I need this right now.”

Rook took a longer drink, letting the hot, minty liquid wet his mouth and warm his throat. He swallowed with a satisfied ‘ahhhh~’.

Better. So much better.

”How long have you been here, anyway...?”

“Ah…” Rook bided nervously, stepping over the bench and stooping briefly to retrieve his fallen headphones and music player. He frowned, noticing that the screen was cracked – he must’ve stepped on it in his rush. “s**t,” he mumbled as he rose, but he didn’t allow his irritation to stay. s**t happened; he could get a new one.

The brunette pocketed the device, then turned and sat back down on one side of the bench, tossing his jacket into his lap so she could sit if she wanted to. Then, he decided not answering her question would qualify as ‘shifty’, so he shrugged lightly.

“Since this mornin’,” he answered nonchalantly. This information was safe, right? A lot of people – and countless different kinds of them -- turned out for Sari’s funeral, so he wasn’t suspicious for being here. He’d never seen so many people mourn a passing…so many friends of friends of friends. This included her, right? Hadn’t she come from the direction of the recent gravesite?

“How ‘bout you?” he asked, gesturing lightly as an invitation for her to sit. “Were you here for the Ydranna funeral? Sounds like he was a good kid…”

And that made him happy. Rook smiled sadly at his hands, before looking back at her.

“Sorry for your loss…”

[Bharune]

“What’s wrong?” Ryuko questioned immediately, even to the point of cutting off the leader’s words. His brow drew in concern, his mind promptly forgetting the fiasco at the base of the building. Vivi continued listing his commands in a hoarse, wavering voice, and Ryuko felt his pulse quicken in confusion and uncertainty. With one last glance at the perpetrator below, Ryuko left the window.

‘Someone was here.’

“What?” How could anyone have gotten inside the building, through all the security, all the way to Vivi’s room without raising any kind of alarm? But how and why weren’t important now, so Ryuko quickly discarded those thoughts as he quickly – carefully – made his way back through the corridors. “I’ll be right there.”

“…stay on the line with me.”

Fear and alarm swelled inside the guard’s chest, causing him to hesitate and increase his pace. “Vivi, I can’t,” he said, urgency increasing the speed and volume of his words. “Just-- arm yourself – with anything – and stay there. I’m on my way.”

Reaching the stairway, Ryuko jerked the door opened and paused just long enough to hang up the cell and pull the fire alarm, then he quickly began ascending the stairs. He re-dialed the Irishman on his way up, lifting the device back to his ear.

“Tell any security on standby to get everyone evacuated to the b-levels,” he commanded, confident he could count on Spencer to take care of things. The Irishman may be vulgar and rough at times, but he had good, strong priorities, and despite his casual demeanor Ryuko found him to be very reliable. “Hey, Spencer…”

He hesitated slightly, finding his sense of duty conflicting slightly with his personal wishes.

“….My sister isn’t familiar with protocol. Make sure she gets to safety.”

With that, he hung up and called Warrick instead.

The Aphorism members knew what to do in an emergency such as this, so at the sound of the fire alarm most of them were probably evacuating to the subterranean floors even without further prompting. The fire alarm rarely, after all, indicated an actual fire, and they couldn’t exactly have the entirety of a notorious gang filter out into the streets for a clean sweep, could they? The basement levels were comfortably outfitted to accommodate the gang members in dire situations, and they were also equipped to handle any kind of threat – natural or man-made. If explosives were involved, it was the safest place to be.

“Warrick, Vivi wants the trespasser taken to the lobby. He’ll meet with him there, unarmed,” Ryuko conveyed, knowing Warrick could handle all of the details. The man had proven himself again and again, and Ryuko couldn’t think of a better choice for rank inside Aphorism. “Most of the members are evacuating.”

The guard passed a handful of members on the stairs, and they paused to pepper him with confused, overlapping questions, but he silenced them with a stern gesture and told them to get downstairs. He resumed his ascension.

“Be careful. There is -- or was – someone else in the building. Vivi said--” Ryuko licked his lips, but his mouth and throat felt dry and tight, “he said he was drugged. I don’t know if he’s in the right state of mind to resolve this cleanly.”

But Ryuko would entrust the rest to Warrick; his job was to take care of Vivi, and that was exactly what he intended to do.

Upon reaching the top flight, Ryuko pocketed his phone so his attention would be undivided. With his gun at the ready, he glanced around for anything amiss, his dark eyes seeking any kind of evidence of a forced entry. For now, his priority was getting to Vivi as quickly as possible so he didn’t stop to examine anything, but his gaze did flick around the usual suspects; door handles, bolts, frames, windows, cameras...his vision was excellent and his focus unmatched, so not much escaped his notice.

When he reached Vivi’s door, he gave two light raps so that he wouldn’t startle the leader, then entered.

“Vivi?” he called, moving quickly into the room. “What happened?”

[QueenofHellinPastel]

Bold goose slayer indeed! She’d never cared for the devils--noisy, mean, pooped on her car...

When the man took her thermos and asked (rather hopefully, she might add,) if it was spiked, Akira just laughed and shook her head. ”Spiked? I wish! Though I can’t really say alcohol is good in any sort of tea unless it’s a Long Island...” Ah, yes, she’d been renowned far and wide for her delicious Long Islands back when she worked as a bartender. That seemed so long ago! Sometimes she missed it~

However, he took a long drink and seemed to like it, and that made her happy.

“Ah, not bad. Thanks; I don’t think you know how much I need this right now.”

”You’d be surprised,” she murmured, eyes wandering back over towards the grave for a moment before turning back to the stranger.

So...he’d been here since this morning? Wow...why hadn’t he gone home? He must be freezing half to death, he’d be lucky he didn’t catch pneumonia... But, if he was mourning, she could understand. Grief made people do strange things, sometimes things they would regret.

“How ‘bout you? Were you here for the Ydranna funeral? Sounds like he was a good kid…”

He made a gesture for her to sit, and she did, pulling her gloves off momentarily so she could pull her hair over her shoulder in a braid. The action exposed her neck to the cold air for a moment, and she shivered, but with someone to talk to...it wasn’t so bad. However, his words made her smile, a little bitterly.

”I didn’t get to see his funeral. I couldn’t leave work.” She looked over at him, the bitterness in her smile receding a bit after a long moment. ”But he was my friend, so I came as soon as I could. He and I used to have tea together, sometimes...”

She gestured to the thermos he was drinking from as she fiddled with tying her braid, long fingers fumbling a bit in the frigid air. Still, though Akira was sad for his loss, she wasn’t upset anymore. That last mug had been exactly what she needed to say goodbye to Sari, and now she was at peace. She didn’t mourn him anymore, because he was happy, wherever he was.

“Sorry for your loss…”

Akira glanced up, blinking at him. ”Well...you were here for the funeral, obviously, if you’ve been here since this morning. So you don’t need to apologize to me--we’ve lost the same person, so...” She trailed off, not entirely sure what she should say. Still, he didn’t need to say he was sorry for her loss. They were both sad, weren’t they?

Offering an apologetic smile, Akira crossed one ankle over the other and slipped her gloves back on, hating the way that the cold made her fingers stiff.

”You should go home and warm up. I know I’m a stranger and all, but you’ll catch your death out here. At least wear your jacket.”

She sounded like a mother sometimes...

[Layalas]

OLD BOYS CLUB α ρ н σ я ι ѕ м 1 4 6 : : т н ι я ∂ - ι и - ¢ σ м м α и ∂ : : н ι т м α и

Warrick had just left the front of the building when the fire alarm was sounded. It seemed an over-reaction from his current position, so then there must have been some slight event he was unaware of. The standard procedure for the fire alarm was to gather in the underground levels; the list of reasons that was for, however, was varied. Explosives, police interest of different sorts, he could think of more when it was more important. He maintained steady pace around the side of the building, his army instincts kicking back into force. Warrick remained calm and steady, you did not know who could see you and where they were. If you looked scared or rushed they could take advantage of you. Given he saw no evidence of enemies on this side of the building he was still more than comfortable walking around outside of cover, but his left hand was gripped firmly around the pistol in his overall. It was the best thing he could have on hand for a small city scuffle like this. Closed quarters were not necessarily Warrick's idea of a good shoot-off but he had to deal with that which was put to him.

Just as a he reached a corner his phone vibrated in his pocket.

"Warrick, Vivi wants the trespasser taken to the lobby. He’ll meet with him there, unarmed," The old man almost faltered in his step, but carried on. Just then a couple of the securities that had gone ahead came back around and headed in his direction. He stopped, one trying to start some kind of angry rant, both looked akin to angry children that had been denied their favourite toys. He held up a hand. The bodyguard was more important right now. "Most of the members are evacuating."

"Copy. I'm enroute."

"Be careful. There is -- or was – someone else in the building. Vivi said--" Well, s**t, thought Warrick, careful not to show this on his face. A break-in that they were only just aware of? Whoever it was must have been talented. And to get past Ryuko? That was either insanely dumb luck or carefully planned precision, the like of which Warrick was very unfamiliar with. "he said he was drugged. I don’t know if he’s in the right state of mind to resolve this cleanly."

Warrick let out a kind of upset, irritated and shocked grunt, that he quelled within the microsecond he felt himself let it go. He wasn't judging the bodyguard for his job, he had no doubt the lad was heading straight to the boss as he fixed everyone up with their orders, but it bothered him that their leader was affected in such a way. Drugs were a stain he had special distaste for, his boss was not someone he wanted contaminated with them. "Understood. We'll handle it." It, being Vivi and Winslow and Lucien and all and everything that seemed to be going wrong. Warrick wasn't so quick a thinker he could say how right now, but he knew they would handle it. Warrick hung up, aware the bodyguard had said all he needed to.

He turned to the security personal and motioned them to follow and talk.
They peppered it all with plenty of unecessary language, wasting time, people needed to learn to skip to the point, and they rounded the corner in time for Warrick to hear Winslow start with ultimatum ramble. Honestly, all Warrick could think was 'wonderful, another one who runs his mouth'.

He stuck his phone back in his pockets and stood there, hands in coat, and sized up the man.
"Arright son, y' made yer point."

"Warrick, dude, don't listen to this punk. There's no way this s**t is C4." Piped up one of the securities, having picked up the bags to carry, as Winslow had told them. He looked just about ready to throw them at their tresspasser but Warrick barked at him in enough time that he kept a hold of his load.

"You lads, quit yer bitching. You, fix this crap. You, keep ahold of those and do as yer said."

Sid's words came back to Warrick now. Did they negotiate with terrorists? Apparently so, and why not? Life all seemed to be about making deals, everyone wanted something. Just make the deal the best you could and then hit back at them three times as hard if you needed your status increasing. Warrick was a man of internal order and dignity amongst men. Honesty in dishonesty was better than outright corruption. No one here was going to pretend they were doing what was best for you, unlike the world at large.

"Winslow, y' wanted t' lead or be led?" Warrick had little issue, at this point, with Winslow marching with Warrick ahead. The boy was clearly unarmed and since they were going where he wanted to go he doubted he was stupid enough to ruin the good mood. "Boss is meeting y' in the lobby. Unarmed. As requested."

Once Winslow announced how he wanted this to happen, that's what they did. From the front reception you couldn't see that the building was evacuating, the idea was for members to use back stair-ways and to keep covert. Warrick didn't quite want Winslow to catch on that it was now an empty building, just in case he did have some kind of bomb somewhere. The lack of reception help would be easy to explain away because two of them were actually out here dealing with Winslow already. Now that Warrick had seen Winslow, he remembered him a little better and was starting to worry how this negotiating would go with a drugged Vivi. Winslow was going to take it as some kind of joke, at least.

[mmo lost boy]

“Spare some change?”

Stan had slowed to a halt on his evening walk to light a cigarette under one of the park lamps, the dim, orange glow illuminating the snow in his fluffy hair. A few seconds later, he heard a rather gruff voice to his left.

“Sorry man, I left my wallet at home,” he said, giving the man who he believed to be a hobo a sideways glance, his tone of voice casually apologetic. It was the truth after all; he had only gone out for a walk and cigarette, so the only objects he had on him apart from that was his keys and cell. “I can give you a smoke though?” It was all he could offer. Dealing with homeless people was always a tricky and often awkward issue, but most of the time, they seemed grateful for an offer of nicotine if they couldn’t afford it themselves.

The Cowboy busied himself with lighting a new cigarette, and when he held it out the stranger stepped forward into the light of the street lamp. Before, his face had been cast in shadows, but now he could see it much more clearly, and soon Stan found himself staring at the man. The more he stared, the more those features seemed oddly familiar…

“Hey…” he said, in a quiet, uncertain voice, “Have we met be-…uh…-!”

But before he could finish his sentence, a soft gasp of realization escaped his lips, his grey eyes widened, and the extended cigarette dropped to the ground. The man was smiling at him. He knew that smile. He knew that voice, that accent. He knew those eyes. Those full lips…

Florence.

“Do mine eyes deceive me?” he drawled slowly, his mouth twitching in a faint smile. His heart had leapt, and was now thudding with shock and mounting excitement.

“I ain’t seen you in ten Goddamn years…” And even though he was smiling slightly, he sounded momentarily serious. “The hell you doin’ here?”

There was a pause. Then his face cracked in a wide, crooked smile.

“C’moooon~ Lay it on me man~!” he cried in a gleeful croak, tossing his lit cigarette into the snow carelessly before grabbing his old friend and pulling him against his torso in a tight hug. “Oh ma God…! The hell you doin’ here??” he repeated, pulling away from Flo, though his hands remained on the older man’s shoulders. “I thought you were back in-…w-..ffffffuuck!” He was interrupted as a sudden and particularly strong, icy wind blew, sending the falling flakes above them into a whirlwind, and their coats flapping above their legs.

“Wait- Godammit. Ok, dunno why the hell we still talkin’ out here. You’re comin’ to my house. It’s close, I promise. C’mon.” He said this in a slightly rushed but excited manner, his New Orleans accent suddenly becoming extra thick without him realizing, as if he was a kid, back in the Quarter. He grabbed a fistful of Flo’s coat, and yanked him forward, back the way he had come, towards the park entrance.

“You look terrible by the way,” he added, before letting out a laugh.


*


This is really what made Stan’s Christmas this year. Honestly, most people had been a bit of a downer this year. In his adult life, he had never been one to get incredibly excited on Christmas, but he was in no way a Grinch either. Having Flo around had elevated his good mood to new heights; he really had missed him. He had made sure to proudly introduce his childhood friend to everyone in Red Moon, and let everyone know that he would be staying with them for an unspecific period of time. He and Flo had of course filled each other in on everything that had happened since they had last seen each other, and it was the most talking Stan had done in quite a while.

Now, it was June, and the New Year had begun. It was time for new goals and new blood (though, at this stage, not literally of course).

“I take it you’re stayin’ for good?” Stan asked him finally, after a week had gone past, leaning on the doorframe of apartment kitchen and smiling coaxingly at Flo. “I mean…we could use a guy like you.”

[Gekyll]

Vivi smiled at the sound of Ryuko’s incredulousness. It was one of irony, without humor, and entirely bland. He couldn’t answer his question because try as he might, he couldn’t remember. He recalled his morning in fragments – arguing with informants, managing his business expense ledger, sweating the impending pressure due to Lucien’s hospitalization and the cops hellbent and so sure that it was Aphorism who had murdered their colleague – but beyond that…

Ryuko insisted he couldn’t remain on the phone with him, and Vivi expressed his disapproval with a small sound. He didn’t argue; Ryuko had to inform the others of his directives. So, he remained silent and dropped the phone when the guard stopped talking.

He slowly lowered himself onto his back, his eyes closing to shield his mind from the sights he thought he saw. He was acutely aware of the silk against his skin in that moment, as though every thread that made up the fine garment unwove in order to caress his skin. It was comforting to feel embraced, and with that notion, Ryuko’s order to arm himself was lost on him.

Vivi began to drift.

His apartment’s entryways were undamaged. No scratched polish to indicate a picked lock, no split doorjambs. Nothing was missing, out of place, or vandalized in any way outside of Vivi’s bedroom. And in his bedroom, only the display of otherwise privately kept photos and a broken bedside lamp were any indication of something not quite right.

The framed photo that faced Vivi, mocked him, was one of Ryuko and Vivi together at a social event of some kind. They stood side by side, both in fitted suits, and while Vivi was smiling exuberantly at Ryuko’s minutely annoyed demeanor, there was nothing remarkable about it. It had, however, been a favorite of Vivi’s for the fact Ryuko in a suit was not a sight often seen.

Two light raps woke him enough to stir. However, when Ryuko’s voice was heard, he opened his eyes and sat up with some difficulty. His lavender hair was slightly disheveled, and the kimono encasing his body was a soft blue with swimming koi and lily pads. They moved when Vivi looked at them, so he didn’t.

“You look nice,” Vivi remarked with a small simper, gaze more than once drifting. “Been a while since you’ve been in my bedroom.” It felt like he hadn’t seen Ryuko in quite some time, and he hadn’t really outside of in passing and brief meetings to discuss methods of keeping the members in line during this chaotic time. It disappointed him to know that Ryuko was now his lover and yet extended time together had not been possible since their night at the cabin.

At length, Vivi deemed it appropriate to address his question. He responded with a lazy shrug and lifted the two needles he discovered in his arm between two fingers. He wiggled them in Ryuko’s direction before dropping them to the floor carelessly.

“Morphine in one,” He said, gaze falling on Ryuko’s with a somewhat haunted expression. His addiction had been long before Ryuko’s employment, but Venna had told him of those times, of that… welcoming emptiness.

“And a hallucinogen of some kind.”

He shook his head minutely, eyes closing. He didn’t know how this happened. He sighed and at length opened his eyes.

“Why can’t we have one good day to stay in bed and ********]” He muttered, shrugging. “I don’t see why that’s too much to ask.” He scooted slowly to the edge of the bed and stood. His head swirled. Wisely, he sat back down on the edge of his bed.

“We should just run away for a while,” He said, leaning over to hang his head and find his equilibrium. “Or forever,” He laughed at his ludicrous notion.

Venna straightened his spine and glanced over at Ryuko, extending a hand to him. He needed to stand, and to change into something more suitable for negotiating with a terrorist… But he wanted to fall into bed with his lover and forget this nonsense.

[Gekyll]

xxxx■xxxx■xxxx■xxxxFʟᴏʀᴇɴᴄᴇ Pʀɪᴇʀᴇxxxxxx

--------┏━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┓
----------- Wɪsʜ I ᴡᴀs ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀʏᴏᴜ
---------------Rᴏʟʟɪɴ' ᴡɪᴛʜ sᴏᴍᴇ Cᴀᴊᴜɴ Qᴜᴇᴇɴ
--------------Wɪsʜɪɴ' I ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴀ ғʀᴇɪɢʜᴛ ᴛʀᴀɪɴ
-----------------Oʜ, ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴀ-ᴄʜᴏᴏɢʟɪɴ' ᴅᴏᴡɴ
-----------------------------ᴛᴏ Nᴇᴡ Oʀʟᴇᴀɴs
--------┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛

“Still smoke that poison, ami?” The as yet unidentified man murmured to his long lost friend. He was smiling widely by then, waiting like the patron saint of patience he was, waiting with a bubbling sense of childlike delight mounting rapidly in his chest. It was cold, and he all but lost feeling in his face, but damn was this a good night. The odds of him running into the very person he was searching for at random…

Well, if that wasn’t fate, he didn’t know what was.

A choked titter escaped his restraint when Stanley finally began to realize who was before him. He could see them gears a’ turning, and lord almighty, it was a fine sight to see. He knew he would remember! Florence bowed gallantly when Stanley questioned if his eyes deceived him, and upon his righting, the widest of smiles was in place on his lips.

“Longest ten years I’ve ever known!” He confirmed amidst a laugh. “Ten years.” He shook his head in disbelief, looking the tall man over. “Haven’t changed you none!”

Sure, he looked more adult than Florence had ever known him to, and he had grown like a weed, but that hair remained the same. And those soulful eyes… Florence would know Stanley Leyland anywhere, no matter the amount of time put between them.

The moment his fellow Louisiana-native stepped forward to embrace him, Florence’s reserves broke and hearty laughter flooded from his lips. He wrapped his arms tight around the male and didn’t let go for love nor money.

“Mais, I’m looking for you! What’chu think, boy?” Florence cried with glee that rivaled Stanley’s own. Then the wind doubled its efforts and sent Florence’s teeth chattering. Goddamn it was cold! He didn’t know how them Northerners did it. He was about ready to find a hole and hibernate a while!

He seized either end of his coat and pulled it tighter around him once Stanley pulled from their embrace. Shoulders hunched, he grinned some at Stan when he spoke of going to his house. Fine by him! They could catch up in front of the fire with a hot beverage of some kind to warm their bones. He laughed again when Stanley yanked him forward. He went willingly, but not before grabbing his saxophone case.

“I’d say I done faired real well, considerin’!” He cried indignantly at Stanley’s added comment, grin firmly in place. “I ain’t killed over yet!”

~

The amount of fun he had over Christmas with Stanley and without his family should’ve put him to shame. He felt lighter than he had in years, and while he worried about his siblings, the occasional phone call from Calais put him at ease. They were doing fine without him. It was his time to live a while. As for Stanley, well~

Florence smiled when he saw the large man approach and lean against the doorframe in his position at the stove. He stood, dressed in boot-cut jeans and a white t-shirt, and was presently flipping over two good sized steaks with a fork. He set aside that particular utensil and lifted a spatula to stir the scrambled eggs on the opposite burner.

Stayin’ for good?

He lifted and dropped a shoulder noncommittally, though his smile widened.

“An’ what kinda guy am I?” He questioned, cutting those green eyes over at the cowboy. “Haven’t given it a whole lotta thought, ‘bout me stayin’,” He responded with a small hum.

Florence dropped his hands to turn both burners off. He turned his back to Stan in order to fetch two plates. He set them down and went about serving breakfast for dinner. He placed a knife and fork on either plate and turned to offer Stanley his with a charming grin.

“But if you’re wantin’ me to stay, then…” He winked and chuckled. “Then I say I’m able.” He half-turned to shift the pans on the back of the stove to cool and then lifted his own plate to walk bare-footed across the kitchen to the table.

"'Sides, I ain't fool enough to have risked hypothermia and who knows what else just for a brief trip!" He sank into the chair and grinned at Stan with genuine happiness. "That and I'm enjoyin' some fine company."

[XEl-ahrairahX]

Winslow

(Sorry, I know it's been awhile.)

Winslow stood his ground defiantly. The wait seemed quite long and it time did tend to drag a little but, he continued to stand his ground none-the-less. They were running their radios, cells, ect and doin' what they had to do. All he had to do was wait. Simple enough. He didn't want to do anything else but return to his cushy job with the one family he could actually get along with. The one place he felt safe from his own mind. He really did have nothing to lose and everything to regain. After the eternity of waiting had finally come to pass the old coot who he tended to avoid for the most part came around the bend to talk to him. It was Warrick that they'd sent. He knew the stories and stuff behind the fella and found it ironic that they'd sent him to meet him when Winslow had avoided the guy as much as he could. They knew each other but, they'd never hung out or spoke on friendly terms. It was always business when they had to do any sort of communication.

The main reason he avoided Warrick so much to begin with was that Winslow had found fun in messing with the old guy. He'd wait for the old dude to set stuff down and look away. At that moment he'd move the object to a different spot or turn it a different direction something to make the old guy question himself. Winslow was certain any day Warrick would catch on and give him a good kick in the a**. Warrick probably figured out that Winslow was messing with him by now. With Winslow being put away and no one there to mess with him. He'd most-likely put two-and-two together. However, those weren't the only little pranks he'd done to the guy. He could recount in his mind every little or big prank that he'd pulled on the coot and let others take the blame, or make Warrick himself second guess his actions and wonder if he himself had done the deed in one way or another. He listened to Warrick mention how things would be going down for sure and it wasn't entirely to Winslow's specifications but, he didn't care too much. For the most part, he'd gotten what he wanted. What was offered was good enough. So may as well take it.

"Seems legit. Let's do it then." He slipped the phone he had in his hand into his pocket. He had it still ready to go for when he needed it. It was one of the cards he had up his sleeves. He leaned down and scooped up 2 of the bags. "Gentlemen! Please! Help me with my bags here." He tossed a bag at one guy, then another, and let them catch them. "No worries, only phones in those bags." Winslow scooped up 1 bag and started to follow Warrick. "I'll keep the explosives close. And don't lose any of those phones. They're full of valuable information for the head honcho boss man. Best damn file system in the world." He kept a good distance from Warrick and stared at the back of the guy's head. The guy had a weird shaped head. God! He had so much gray hair too. Geez, he probably had like, crazy hair growing in his ears and stuff like some old people too. As they were walking he kept up his talkative side, "I'm serious about those phones. It's hard to take and keep notes in prison a secret so I put photo after photo and note after note into handfuls and handfuls of those phones. Don't lose a single one. They're all important."

Whenever they would get inside to the lobby, Winslow set the bag of phones he was carrying onto a table and stood with it. Whenever the people bringing the other bags would come in he just mildly told them to set the bags off to a corner and that he'd give the sacks to the big cheese boss man once he had gotten his job back. He removed the musical instrument he was carrying and set it down on the table too. The sack and the instrument were slightly off to either side so that there was a blank space on the table directly in front of himself. He put one hand in his pocket with the one phone he kept at the ready and he put his other hand into the front of the hoodie where he had something else laying in waiting. There was one other card laying in wait with him. However, it wasn't in his pocket. It could be anywhere. In any of the bags, inside the musical instrument's cavity, somewhere on his person, anywhere. He had set up every last little thing he needed to keep as much of an upper hand as possible to help prove he was worth being allowed back into the group that he'd willingly left just for the sole purpose of gaining intelligence.

[Vermidian]

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Scott rolled his eyes at Sword.

“Yeah, well. Not this doctor. Plus, pretty sure scrawny nerd with a needle doesn’t count as steamy.” He pointed out, not meeting Sword’s eyes, even as he mentioned getting hit in the jaw. Scott couldn’t do a whole lot for the swelling beyond the ice pack so Sword would just have to suck it up. He felt bad for the guy but he also felt like if Sword had gone looking for trouble, he sort of deserved it. Sort of.

Scott gave him a look for laughing at his finding him attractive, blushing a little.

“Shut up. Of course not,” He raised his voice slightly. “I meant I found you attractive before you got yourself knocked around like this. And assuming you heal up right – with my help you should – you’ll be pretty again like I like you.” He snorted in annoyance but kept working.

Scott couldn’t say much about Jose. Jose was gorgeous, incredibly nice, amazing cook, and a fantastic singer. He had literally everything going for him. And Scott was definitely not Jose’s type. He never was and doubted he ever would be. Jose sort of went for the damsel types – cute, little, sweet generally. Scott didn’t fit that bill and everyone knew it. He wasn’t going to hold his breath for Jose.

Scott recounted his tale of having a straight crush and Sword sympathized. “Yeah. I guess so. Still, he wasn’t worth the amount of time I spent thinking about him. That was the moral of that story. The pain of waiting around for someone who’d never like me back as more than ‘just friends’ was pointless.”

As Sword shifted a little to give him access for the stitches, the sheet slipped some that Sword had been trying to secure. Scott wasn’t the sort to freak out at nudity but he very pointedly didn’t look in a very specific direction: down. He had no idea how much clothing Sword was wearing and he really didn’t want to find out right at that moment. He was finished pretty quickly anyhow. Sword could adjust as he liked now. Sword seemed impressed and Scott gave him a short but heartfelt return smile at the positive comments.

“Outside of stomach upset and a migraine headache from hell, I think you set me up real good, Doc. Thank you,” Sword thanked him. Scott shrugged.

“Just doin’ my job. Don’t mention it,” Scott insisted, leaning back away from Sword. “When you feel like you can keep down food, whatever you can eat will do you a world of good. Once you do that, you should be able to take some pain killers. Give the stitches an hour before you take any though. And no alcohol.”

Sword shifted and asked him about what was new in his world. Scott shrugged again.

“Not much, to be honest with you. Dad skipped out on mom again, but no surprise there. He’ll be back in a month when he needs someone to help pay for his booze.” Scott’s face was disgusted with the idea. His eyes shifted to Sword’s. “Dad’s always been a loser – don’t worry about it. Never a violent drunk but always a colossal d**k. And no matter what he does or what I say to her, she takes him back every time. He’s like a bad penny.” Scott sighed, pulling off his hat to ruffle his blonde hair in annoyance.

“But with me? I don’t think I’ve got much to report to be honest with you. I got a new video game last week. Used, but then who buys actually new games. When you feel better, you’re welcome to come over and play some. Guaranteed to result in significantly less bruising.” He teased, holding his hat in his lap, leaning forward with his hands on his knees, a comfortable distance from Sword.

(I am working on all my responses - I've been incredibly busy and somewhat lethargic as to posting for IFTK. Please feel free to PM me about any of them if I get anything wrong.)

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[Vermidian]

Ａｎｄ　ｓｏｍｅｔｉｍｅｓ　
ｙｏｕ　ｌｅａｒｎ　ｔｏ　ｌｉｋｅ　ｉｔ．

Tom hated pretending he was someone else, particularly when he had to play what he and Lucien had named “Jason Todd” – and not because it was a bad alias. No, it was a great alias. Generally people didn’t recognize the name and, when they did, he was able to joke about how his luck had been, getting that name. Not to mention, if you tried to Google the name, all you got was Batman stuff. Eventually people stopped trying. Plus, with a fake ID – thank you, Irish mob underground – no one bothered to question it.

No, what irked him so much about this particular alias was that in order to convince people he was whatever he was saying he was, he had to pretend to be nice. It took everything he had to get past the dingbat of a nurse still smiling. When Tom played the part, he did it well, and a little unpleasantness with the nurse would ring too many bells and whistles. Tom was very cautious to always stay out of sight of the cameras as they moved. The lobby had plenty of them but he happened to know one was out of service and simply avoided all the other ones. (Red Moon had had him duck in before for a little restocking. It had been a fairly simple gig, surprisingly.) The nurse took him to the room, fully believing he was the translator he claimed to be.

He stood in the doorway for a moment and his heart broke a little. It was surprising – sometimes Tom forgot he had one. Lucien looked terrible. Bandaged, pale, damaged, not to mention the cold setting of a hospital. They were taking the IV out – he was sure it was Lucien’s doing. Tom wanted to kill who ever had done this to him, but that would have to wait. But Lucien was alive. What packaging he came in hardly mattered to him.

“Ty vyglyadish', kak ad, dorogaya.” You look like hell, honey. Tom commented, smiling lightly. He stepped into the room as the nurses around eyed him suspiciously. He put on the biggest, most realistically heartfelt smile he could muster and shook their hands in turn. “Sorry to disturb you. I’m Jason. I’ve been called in to translate for our young Russian friend here. Any information you can give us, I’ll happily explain to him so that he can better understand what’s been happening with him medically. I assume from the removed IV that he’s decided to remove himself from your care to some degree.”

The female nurse shot Lucien an exasperated look.

”He shouldn’t be moving at all, let alone having this many visitors! I… I’ll tell the doctor to come in to explain it to you.” Tom smiled again, flashing his straight teeth, and pulled up a chair next to Lucien as the nurse left the room.

He wanted to act familiar with Lucien, like petting his hair or kissing his forehead, but that would be giving up the ruse. He’d passed several cops on the way in and he really didn’t want to draw any attention to himself. Tom settled for touching Lucien’s shoulder gently – just a calm and steady press of his fingers.

“YA naschital troikh politseyskikh za predelami nomera.” There are three police officers outside the room. Tom warned Lucien, sounding casual and professional. “Zakon, kak vy ne znayete menya. I pozhaluysta, ne vysmeivat' moy russkiy.” Act like you do not know me. And please do not make fun of my Russian.

Tom shot him a warm look because at that moment, with the other nurse still in the room, touching his shoulder was probably all he could get away with.

“Vrach dolzhen byt' zdes' v blizhaysheye vremya.” The doctor should be here soon. He informed Lucien. Tom knew nothing past what his eyes could tell him at this point and that was, of course, terrifying.

Tom watched the male nurse, who was very clearly watching them. He didn’t trust them with Lucien but at the same time knew that to some degree, he had to trust them. He turned back to Lucien and looked him over again, sympathy for the pain Lucien had to be in showing in his eyes.

“O, detka, chto zhe oni s toboy sdelali?” Oh, baby, what have they done to you?

At the expense of seeming too familiar, he gently brushed Lucien’s long red hair away from his face. If anyone asked – the possibility of which he was prepared for – he would just say he wanted to clear the young man’s line of sight. In actuality, letting Lucien touch him if it helped was his aim.

[Sevsnapelove09]

Jocef didn’t leave the cemetery until the attendees had left and the dirt had been poured carelessly back unto the ground. From there, he’d made a few calls, dropped Isaiah and Dyllin off, and then proceeded to the hospital. The Chief had arrived to learn that one of his patrols had decided to change herself out without notice. Jocef understood, she wanted to say her goodbyes, but there were procedures for a reason. Either way, he’d deal with that issue later.

He was no longer in his dress blues. He’d managed the time to change into one of his plain blue suits. The crisp suit seemed to contradict his visible five ‘o’clock shadow. The look wasn’t an unfamiliar one for his co-workers to see him sporting. Especially when he was in the middle of a case. The chief walked in the direction of Lucien’s room, his stride long and confident. He was more than ready to speak to the young man. Unfortunately, anything, if anything, he got out of Lucien wouldn’t matter. The youth had drugs running through his system.

Coming to pointed stop, Jocef looked at Bronte and Gil standing at the door,
“No one comes in, understand? If it’s hospital personnel, check badges. I don’t want anyone inside while I’m with him, is that clear?”

They weren’t really questions, they were more of orders that were to be followed or else. When on a mission, the bureau chief could be quite the picture of intimidation. With his tall frame, still and solid paired with his customary stony expression, Jocef was a presence in any room. Taking a deep breath, Jocef entered the room.

The cope blinked rapidly when he spotted the seat next to the bed. Instead of holding a certain large and unwashed police commissioner, the seat was now occupied by a young man with dark hair. He thought it was odd that the commissioner was not there. Elessa hadn’t been at the funeral and he wasn’t here. Maybe he should give the man a call once he was done here.

Closing the door behind him, Jocef maintained his professional and stern air.

“Good Evening. I’m Chief LeBane of the Organized Crime Control unit. I was the officer on scene when we discovered you. I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you awake, young man. You’ve certainly been on the prayer list for the last week.”

Jocef’s tone wasn’t overly cheery, simply light a more brisk than usual. He wanted the youth to know his concern was at least somewhat genuine. No matter his motivations for being pleased with his new conscious state.

“As you can imagine, we want to find the person that inflicted this on you. Naturally I wanted to know the minute you woke up but I had to attend the funeral of a dear friend. But now that I’ve made it here, I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you’re up to it. I’d hate to push you too hard. It’s crucial we get as many details as possible,” he said walking a bit further into the room.

“I’m afraid I’ll need you to step out, sir,” Jocef said looking at the other male in the room, “I just need to speak with him for a few minutes. It won’t take long.”

[Vermidian]

Ａｎｄ　ｓｏｍｅｔｉｍｅｓ　
ｙｏｕ　ｌｅａｒｎ　ｔｏ　ｌｉｋｅ　ｉｔ．

He’d barely settled in when a man walked into the room wearing a blue suit. He looked almost as surprised as Tom did to see him. But he managed to stay in character and stood slowly, nonchalantly, as if he had every right to be there. Which, according to hospital staff, he kind of was. Plus, the commissioner had told them to let him through. Tom had all his bases covered and his face wasn’t on any of the cameras.

But he’d be lying if he didn’t feel damned uncomfortable with a cop in the room.

He could practically smell it on the guy. His posture did a lot of the talking for him.

Tom stood, smiling like your average joe with a happy, legally paying career and extended his hand for a handshake from the man.

“Hi, I’m Jason. Are you the doctor?” He asked, sounding absolutely sincere. It was a pity he'd never taken to theater - he would have been a talented actor. “I’ve been pulled in as a translator for our young friend here.”

“Good Evening. I’m Chief LeBane,” the man returned. Tom let his face fall into a look of respect and he took a step back, hovering near the chair. He had a lot to say about having found Lucien – something Tom would have loved to hear about. Seriously, when this was all said and done, they were going to get Tom put on as his next of kin so s**t like this didn’t happen again. Whoever this guy was, he needed to get his hands on something to chill him out because seriously, the man might as well have been carved out of wood.

“As you can imagine, we want to find the person that inflicted this on you.“ Yeah, you an me both buddy. Tom thought to himself. The officer continued. “Naturally I wanted to know the minute you woke up but I had to attend the funeral of a dear friend. But now that I’ve made it here, I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you’re up to it. I’d hate to push you too hard. It’s crucial we get as many details as possible,” he said walking a bit further into the room. Tom remained still for the moment until he was asked to leave for the interview.

“Sir, with all due respect, I’ve been called in for a reason. Our young friend here is disoriented and on so many pain medications it’d make even your head spin – no offense.” He paused. “And to be honest with you, it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense for you to try interviewing someone in his state in English when his first language is Russian.” Tom gave him a meaningful look and shrugged.

“Rather than shutting me out of the room to conduct an interview that will give you garbled results in English at best, why not let me translate for you? I can’t guarantee you’ll get better results in the interview, but it can’t hurt your chances, sir.”

The words sounded so humble! Tom couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to be respectful towards law enforcement. The last time they’d even believed him about anything was when he was a cute, bruised up orphan. After that, he was a liar and an ungrateful child who told lies to police. He had reasons to not like police officers and he saw no reason as to why this one was any different. But he was going to press his hardest to stay in the room. This wasn’t for him – it was for Luci.

“Please, sir. I want to help.” Tom and his alias Todd were both sincere in saying that. And Tom was determined to make sure that this LeBane guy knew that kicking him out would actually be a pretty ******** stupid idea.

[Vermidian]

Daniil’s head hurt. He’d known it was going to right after… it happened. It had just been an accident. An accident, he’d said. And Daniil was going keep to that story, say it was something else. He’d slipped and hit a table on the way down. That generally explained things like this. Because there was no way he was going to just wear a horrible black eye without anyone asking. No amount of make up was worth even trying to cover it up. Daniil just brushed his hair, letting the dark strand curl around the brush until they too were detangled and rereleased. All in all, except for the black eye, he felt great.

The plan was to go straight to Aphorism and go do some gun practice, whether or not Warrick had time for him. Warrick didn’t seem to ever have time anymore though. Holidays being a special exception, every normal time they’d spent together in the past had been taken away from them because of Warrick’s “new duties”. Daniil hated his new duties. He agreed with Vivi that Warrick was the right choice for protecting him from outsiders but… Daniil also despised the promotion for taking Warrick away from him. Warrick who had always been there to help him up, now too busy to even hold a discussion or give casual advice.

Of course he’d turned to someone else for attention. Was that any surprise? He’d run into an ex and they’d gotten back together. He was good in bed and Daniil thought it would all be fine. Except now he had a black eye and no one could know – especially Warrick. It was an accident. He said he hadn’t meant to and Daniil believed him. Daniil had just scared him, that’s all. But Warrick would… well, Daniil didn’t want to know what any of his fellow gang members would do. But he really didn’t want to find out.

He walked to Aphorism as usual and was surprised to see quite a few of his fellow gang members walking away from the area. He kept his head down some, avoiding eye contact, although he was sure a few had seen him. The black eye drew attention. When he got closer, he saw that people were directing others away from the building. He heard the word evacuation. What the hell was going on?

He pulled someone he vaguely knew aside somewhat sharply and immediately asked the first thing that was on his mind.

“Where is Warrick?”

“Inside the building. There’s this guy who says he’s going to blow up the building if he doesn’t get to talk to Vivi. He’s got some sort of information.”

Daniil’s face must have paled because the guy paused and asked if he was okay. Daniil just kept moving. They weren’t letting people go back inside – Daniil tried to get by them but for all intensive purposes, they just weren’t letting him. Daniil circled a bit and got out of the range of sight before darting between people, directing others, and making a beeline for the building. Fortunately, he didn’t have far to go. There was Warrick with some dolt right there in the lobby. If looks could kill, Winslow would have been dead instantaneously. But Daniil kept his calm, as much as it pained him to do so.

Daniil rounded the table and gave Warrick a quick glance. The black eye was probably a little stunning to Warrick. Probably. Or maybe he didn’t actually care like Daniil wanted him to. Maybe he still only saw him as a child – naïve, reckless, just like he was possibly being right now.

“So let me get this straight. You’re holding the building hostage under threat of blowing it up unless you get to talk to Vivi.” Daniil said, levelly but clearly sounding a little fed up with the entire idea. “What sort of ******** sense does that make? I mean, if you blow up the building, you won’t get to talk to Vivi and you’ll probably kill yourself in the process. That doesn’t make sense, even for a waste of oxygen such as yourself. If you want attention, you come in peacefully, arms raised with the information and ask to see Vivi. But coming in under threat of blowing everyone up? You might as well have painted a target on your forehead. In which case you’re actually dumber than I’ve given you credit for and I apologize.”

Daniil was angry. Probably angrier than Warrick had ever seen. Daniil stared Winslow down hard.

“There isn’t a bomb, is there?” Daniil asked, voice saying he really doubted there was one, looking between Winslow’s eyes. “Now think hard before you open your mouth because I guarantee if you pose any actual threat to Aphorism, you’re going to regret it. You think you’re being clever and funny to get attention but you’re getting all the wrong sorts. Aphorism is a team and you’ve literally pissed off just about every person who works for Vivi – who would want you here now?”

[Layalas]

OLD BOYS CLUB α ρ н σ я ι ѕ м 1 4 6 : : т н ι я ∂ - ι и - ¢ σ м м α и ∂ : : н ι т м α и

Warrick had very few good things to say about Winslow. Their styles did not mesh well and, frankly speaking, it somewhat infuriated Warrick that the younger male was actually so competent at what he did. He had been with Aphorism for some years previously in his prior capacity and had been as useful as any member needed to be. His disregard for authority was Warrick main ‘beef’ with the man and it was a pretty big one. Whenever he had seen Winslow near his quarters he had barked him away almost immediately; sometimes Winslow would actually go. Warrick had always been aware the feeling was particularly mutual; it was astounding how less frequent his ability to misplace things was since Winslow was imprisoned. The problem the old war veteran had with this, however, was that he was aware some of it was himself, because it hadn’t entirely stopped since the youngun’s disappearance from the gang. That in mind, if he was reaccepted and the frequency increased again he still wouldn’t, in good conscious, be able to pin Winslow for it, because he may be wrong. Warrick couldn’t stand the thought of Winslow having that kind of one-up on him.

Warrick kept a vague not of Winslow’s talk, but he had nothing new to say back to the man. The security guards had plenty to say to him, and Warrick let them when they felt the need to speak up. So long as their actions weren’t out of place Warrick had no issues with them. He found that, in certain situations, if you restricted your men too firmly they were more likely to rouse against you and he preferred to have a good relationship, relatively speaking, with those he was commanding.

On entering the lobby Warrick kept his eyes on the youngster. He didn’t trust Winslow. The unusual posture, his general demeanour – this was not a promising reunion for them.

They had been stood there, waiting for their leader, for what Warrick estimated to be about five minutes before he saw Daniil approaching. This threw Warrick through a loop. His instinctual response was to yell at his little mentee – Millen! The hell are you still in this building!? – but equally he was loathe for Winslow to see him so unsettled. Warrick, natural pessimism shining through, did not trust the recently-released not to genuinely have explosives on him. Moments later Daniil had entered and rounded the table, shooting Warrick a glance he could tell was less than happy but when he noticed the black eye that paled in importance.

To the casual observer, Warrick’s expression had barely moved except for a twitch in his eye. His professional army stoicism had yet to leave him.
To Daniil, Warrick’s expression betrayed some thunderous anger.

Warrick was always thrown by Daniil’s perception of some second face of emotion and Warrick could honestly not place why Daniil would be so perceptive of Warrick but never catch some obvious signals from other people. Warrick was concerned about his level of anger towards his only real companion of late, Clover aside, but he was very bothered that Daniil had not come to tell him about the incidence regarding his eye – it was clearly more than a day old – but Warrick could only translate that emotion into anger directed towards the boy. A man like Warrick rarely displayed some genuine kind of tender emotion. He had been visibly frustrated recently. Clover was being especially moody with him recently and the girl was giving no indication why. She had refused to leave her bedding that morning for their usual stroll before Warrick arrived at Aphorism.

“So let me get this straight. You’re holding the building hostage under threat of blowing it up unless you get to talk to Vivi.”

“Millen. Back. Down.” He interjected. He wanted Daniil out. Regardless whether Daniil approved of the actions being taken, or whether Winslow was or was not a moron – Warrick entirely agreed with his mentee on this score – however, that was neither of their call to make.

“… You might as well have painted a target on your forehead. In which case you’re actually dumber than I’ve given you credit for and I apologize.”

The affiliated security guards in the area had long since stopped their own banter of the situation. They were nervous. They all knew how close Daniil and Warrick were, to see the former gradually come closer and closer to undermining the latter was entirely unthinkable. They all agreed with Daniil but didn’t quite trust themselves to say anything.

Warrick didn’t attempt to say anything further for the moment. Daniil’s volume wasn’t increasing but the depths of his anger was becoming more and more apparent and he was at a loss about where it was all coming from. Warrick was thunderous; Daniil was going to level continents.

“Aphorism is a team and you’ve literally pissed off just about every person who works for Vivi – who would want you here now?” Security physically shuffled in agreement here. Warrick shot them all a look. He was distracted now. He was trying to pay attention, to keep an eye on Winslow’s movements, but he was feeling immensely protective of Daniil at the same time as wanting to drag him back to his office and shout him down to Timbuktu. Warrick had chided Daniil before, but never like this. This was very new territory in their relationship.

[Bharune]

X
X

Paperwork proved troublesome, and Lucien found it exceedingly difficult to focus on the prodding little questions through the haze that surrounded him. His name? Address? Social Security? Birthdate? The redhead squinted slightly at the awaiting sheet, as if the answers would emerge if he could only will them strongly enough. What were the answers, displayed across the identification provided by Adams? Did it even matter, since no such ID had been found on his person?

Finally, the youth closed his eyes and set the papers aside, expressing that his mind and memory were too jumbled to recall even these simple numbers. The nurses exchanged worried glances, but Lucien paid them no mind.

His chest was caught in such a vice that it required all of his effort just to breath; slowly, calmly. He focused on the soft, seemingly fluid inhale of breath, exhale of breath, allowing himself to think of nothing else. Briefly, he nearly prayed for an enemy to appear before him, to provide him with that push he so desperately needed, that necessity for coldness that suffocated the lesser feelings of fear, confusion, and mourning. He’d known this day would come; the day he realized he couldn’t live if he wasn’t forced to survive, for he couldn’t stomach all the weight and pain that came with the stillness.

But what appeared wasn’t an adversary, but one Thomas Westfall. Lucien felt his hidden anxiety ease somewhat; maybe he was grateful to have some other focal point, or maybe it was because he’d always felt some strange likeness to Tom, like Tom knew something he didn’t, or possessed some important answer if only Lucien could find the right question.

Still sitting, he watched Tom tiredly with his single, unbandaged eye, currently lacking all the sharp expressiveness his gaze normally commanded. His freed hand rested on his lap, where the gold paper still lay folded, and the wilted dip of his posture seemed indicative of one who wanted nothing more than to become invisible, to disappear into some unreachable cranny. Despite the lightness of his phone conversation with Tom, he didn’t seem to have enough energy remaining to return the other’s smile. He remained uncharacteristically silent, barely registering his friend’s exchange with the nurses.

Even when Tom sat, Lucien didn’t acknowledge him. His gaze was far off, unseeing, his tangled red mane draping around his bruised and burned face to provide an even starker contrast to his pallor, to the splays of damage and resulting white bandages. The left side of his face remained largely untouched beyond the lingering imprint of finger-presses to his jaw and neck – undoubtedly the grip that accounted for his lost eye. The right side was mostly obscured, but light shimmered off the ointment that had been applied to the curve of his cheek, where just a bit of the vivid red burn escaped the cover, the skin peeled and blistering and only hinting at the grotesque, superficial disfiguration of the rest of the damage. Lucien didn’t look at him, lost elsewhere in his thoughts, nor did he indicate that he heard Tom’s information or felt the touch to his shoulder.

Before, he’d always felt like there were many paths he could take, and now he couldn’t see any. How could he find his Reward, if nothing felt significant or worthwhile anymore? How could he struggle onward if he could see nothing ahead worth his arduous journey?

Lucien’s gaze fell on the dazzling shine refracted off of the little, folded square of golden paper, and he suddenly understood. He passed his free hand over it again in slow contemplation.

It was done, his Reward. Instead of being at the end, like he’d always anticipated, it had come when he needed it the most, when he could enjoy it the most. Now, here, when he was far enough along his journey to truly understand and appreciate, but not so far along that his emotions were too dulled to fully experience it. Here, during this perfect time, this poignant cusp between youthfulness and maturity, he’d been given everything he’d ever longed for; not just a reward, but also a farewell.

A farewell to the part of himself who’d loved the birds. There would be no more of them.

Tom lifted a hand to brush his hair, and Lucien felt a return to his senses, to his resolution. When he heard the male nurse turn elsewhere, he turned his head slightly towards Tom, both meeting his gaze and lightly brushing his cheek against Tom’s hand in gratitude and preemptive apology – Tom knew how harsh he could be when he was compromised, and how cold and heartless he could be under watchful eyes. Still, he desired to express some form of appreciation while he could.

“It was deserved,” Lucien replied softly in Russian, and whatever hollowness had haunted his gaze a mere few seconds ago quickly receded, showing that he was now ready to proceed with anything that may come. The corner of his lips curved in a small, melancholic smile tinged faintly with tenderness, giving a comforting sense that everything would be fine. He would make certain of it. “Bad business...”

It was archaic, but not uncommon, for Syndicate members to lose an eye or more after a particularly vicious treachery, and some leaders still used such a punishment even at the risk of impairing valuable members. Lucien knew he had no choice but to swallow the loss and carry on, because lamenting it would not bring back what was taken. For now, he had greater things to worry about if he intended to pick up and tread forward.

The redhead had been about to say something further – to make a few initial requests, actually – when they were interrupted by an intruder of a different sort. Tom rose without missing a beat and approached the guest in greeting, and Lucien‘s gaze followed Tom’s form first. Though Tom’s performance left nothing amiss, Lucien knew the man well enough to sense his discomfort. But Tom could handle himself, so Lucien switched his attention to his ‘guest’.

‘Chief LeBane,’ the man had stated, and immediately Lucien shuffled through any comments by Elessa regarding this man. ’Jocef’, if his memory served him, and that keyword allowed him to recall several post-work complaints, giving him just enough information to construct a basic idea of this person’s character. Elessa had many frustrations concerning Chief LeBane, but also a great deal of respect, and all of the traits implied by the commissioner’s expressions seemed to be aptly confirmed by the stranger’s carriage and curt tones. Not just stoic, not just lawful, but honorable, if Elessa’s understanding of the man could be trusted. An idealist.

‘Organized Crime Control’. Who knew what information this man possessed, what crimes might fit Lucien’s likeness. Lucien had heard that American investigations and forensics were among the most advanced in the world, so it was impossible for him, in his limited knowledge, to know what incriminating evidence might’ve already been unearthed. Any deception would have to be very careful, because being caught in a lie would destroy any credibility he might be able to develop.

Perfect. This was exactly the test he needed to get back into the proper mindset.

He couldn’t play the victim; he didn’t have the proper air to pull off that lie. But if there was anything he was confident in, it was his ability to deceive; his first Dasvae trainer had ingrained it into him, and it was possibly the most valuable skill he’d ever perfected, certainly worth all the punishments of failure required to hone it.

At first, Tom spoke for him, giving Lucien’s calculating mind a much-needed few moments to consider his options. Refusing to talk would just make him more suspicious, so he would be forthcoming instead, even if it was a dangerous pool to wade into. When he felt he was ready enough, he cut into the conversation taking place before him.

“I can speak for myself,” he declared, his voice still rough but commanding attention despite its softness. He appreciated Tom’s effort, but talking through a mediator would be too troublesome, and he couldn’t assume Elessa had never revealed anything about him off-handedly, back when he was still some nameless, faceless lover.

“But my learning is all textbook and discarded novels; I’m especially poor with Americanized dialect and colloquialisms, as well as profession-related lingo. I would like for Mr. Todd to stay in case there are any confusions; I don’t mind him being privy to the conversation. I hired him specifically because he keeps private affairs private.”

Now, interacting with Chief LeBane, Lucien didn’t seem psychologically traumatized at all; his tone and gaze were calm, but not challenging, and his posture was upright despite the abdominal discomfort. His voice was a bit hoarse but not wavering, and even the slight tremor in his hands was most likely caused by a nutritional deficit.

“I’ll answer whatever questions you have, Mr. LeBane, but my attacker didn’t allow me to see any of his features; a fact I’m immensely grateful for, because it’s most likely the only reason I’m still alive. However…”

The redhead’s gaze dropped in hesitation, his fingers curling and smoothing a wrinkle in the thin blanket nervously. He then sighed softly, fixing his attention on a wide window near his bedside.

“I’m sure by now you know I’m an illegal immigrant,” he stated softly, as if he wasn’t sure whether or not he actually wanted the officer to hear him. “I did what I needed to get here, to America, and then what I needed to stay; it wasn’t good business, as I’m sure you can imagine. Desperate foreigners turn up beaten to death every day, tossed into rivers and dumpsters.”

He stared at the towering city skyline for another brief pause, then turned his gaze back to the chief.

“I had to make deals with a lot of unpleasant people, and in the process accrued some enemies who aren’t very forgiving. Eventually, I met a member of the Los Bastardos gang through a mutual acquaintance and, since they were looking to start importing higher-end benzodiazepines from Eurasia, they hired me as a translator. They knew as long as they could threaten me with deportation, my loyalty and silence were ensured.”

Again, Lucien broke contact, looking at his hand in his lap. Very few of his words were actually untrue, which was exactly what made a skillful deceiver so effective. Someone like him couldn’t feign innocence, nor could anyone truly hide what they were; a person’s experiences were written upon them, etched into their expressions and posture and subconscious movements. Even he couldn’t hide his true self.

Lucien emitted a soft chuckle, almost bitter, and with a furrowed brow gestured slowly towards a vase of flowers on his table, obviously from Elessa.

“He made me bold, I suppose – he’s good at that, isn’t he? Inspiring people, giving them hope and courage. Because of him, I started to crave something better for myself. I tried to leave the gang, even foolishly sabotaging one of their arrangements; I assume this is my punishment, but I have no proof it was them. If it was, though, then I’m still in danger, because they must’ve left me alive for some future purpose or another.”

The youth gave a small, slow nod, as if firming his own resolution, then regarded Jocef firmly.

“I’m telling you this because I want to make a deal, Mr. LeBane,” he imparted softly, to prevent anyone outside from possibly overhearing. “Information for safety. I’m sure what I know could put many dangerous men behind bars and I would have it so; partially for revenge, and partially because I need protection. And if my information leads to some criminal convictions of my own, so be it; I’d rather spend time in jail than end up dissected again in some dirty back alley.”

He made another almost lethargic gesture, this time to an unoccupied chair – an invitation for the chief to sit.

“So, please, make yourself comfortable, ask your questions.”