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        Rook fell silent, listening to her answer that she was here for Sari Ydranna. He regarded the thermos in a moment of respectful melancholy, and realized slowly that the tea inside the container had been meant for him. His heart ached deeply, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about drinking it instead; part of him felt wrong, like taking something that wasn’t his, perhaps even undeserving of the gift. The other part felt honored.

        But maybe he was just thinking too much again.

        The pretty lady dismissed his apology, expressing that it was void because they were sharing the same loss, but Rook shook his head in disagreement.

        “I never really knew him,” the brunette admitted. “Haven’t seen ‘em since he was a little tyke; our mommas were friends, so we played together when we were little.”

        Rook chuckled softly at the memories he recalled, but he tried to keep his expression from becoming too sad. He didn’t really feel like he had any right to mourn – not like these people, at least. They were mourning a person, but he… he was mourning an idea…

        “Well, when I say ‘played together’, I really mean I bullied the hell out of the little crybaby,” he confided with a small, apologetic smile. “I reckon he forgives me now, though; could never hold a grudge, even then. And he was pretty fearless for a kid who bawled if I squashed a cricket. ‘They got a right to live on this planet too!’ he’d screech.”

        He flashed her a small grin, feeling a bit better again. Maybe it helped to talk to someone who really had known him.

        “Anyway, I seen his momma a few times after she left Winston Ydranna, so I was wantin’ to see how she’s holdin’ up. Looks like she didn’t make it today, though…” he murmured, glancing over the bench towards the gravesite, which had emptied some time ago. Every now and then someone still passed by, leaving a flower or trinket or saying a prayer, but the mass had dispersed to their warm homes. There didn’t seem to be any officers lingering, either, so Rook felt some of his tension ease.

        As the air became a bit nippier, Rook quickly decided to take the lady’s advice. He shifted enough to pull on the neat, formal jacket, though he let it hang open. Now that there were less and less people around who could possibly identify him, he ran a hand through his hair and tugged out the wind-tousled ponytail, letting his thick mane warm his neck and reddening ears. Then, he decided that a cigarette was necessary once again, so he rose and took a step from the bench as he tugged out his pack and lit one up.

        “You wouldn’t happen to know anythin’ about her, wouldja?” he asked, shifting slightly to warm his legs as he exhaled the smoke. “Her name’s Lorraine Lazore, if she hasn’t remarried since I saw her last.”

        His brow furrowed slightly in concern; wasn’t it odd that Sari’s own mother hadn’t been at his funeral? Had the police been able to contact her? He didn’t really expect this random lady to have any information, but since it came up in conversation anyway…well, it was worth a shot. Maybe Sari had mentioned her, or…maybe if she’d been close enough to him to help out with the funeral arrangements, she might’ve heard something along the grapevine.

        Now that he thought about it, though, he hadn’t seen Elessa, either. It was hard to miss the blonde brute, and Rook had been watching the attendees pretty closely. He felt badly; he wanted to apologize for being harsh when Elessa had called him…

        But first thing’s first.

        “Oh, it’s Draith, by the way,” he added as an afterthought, sticking his cigarette in his mouth so he could hold out his hand for her to shake. It seemed odd not to introduce himself as ‘Rook’ – his primary name even before bootcamp – but the name was too well-associated with a criminal to be tossed around this place, where the police had been stamping around all day. ‘Draith’ was pretty safe, though; hell, even most of the Red Moon members he interacted with daily had no idea what his first name was, or that it wasn’t ‘Rook’. Most of them didn’t even question it. He chuckled a bit.

        “Odd, I know. And you are…?”

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    ɴever coulɗ ɗecide
        ʜow чou ωanʈed us ʈo be.

        ωʜч ωon'ʈ чou sʜow
    чour inʈenʈions ʈowards me?


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          Sword frowned subtly at Scott’s rejection of seemingly any and every compliment he offered. Damn. Not only did he have self-esteem issues, he had serious self-esteem issues. Sword had moments of weakness – mostly when Rook was dancing to the d-bag blues – but overall, he was a fairly confident man. Maybe he could, he didn’t know, work with Scott or something on that. Hangout with him more often, lead by example, that kind of thing? Scott was a cool cat, and with Rook’s latest Houdini-stint, Sword was short on company. Mutually beneficial, even if Scott’s self-depreciation offended him in that unrelated, third-party kind of way…

          Hey man,” He began, finding his smile with ease, “Never knock the nerds. They’re the ones you gotta watch your back around. They freaks,” He joked with a pleased chuckle. “And awesome to have on your team during any trivia related game.” He added as an afterthought, because it was true. He and Rook didn’t often pursue such pastimes, but when they did, paired with alcohol? They were the wildcards. Always knew the answers to questions one thought for sure no one would nail. His smile widened a touch at the thought.

          Good pair, they made. In every way.

          Too bad Rook didn’t feel the same.

          If his mood fell, he didn’t show it. He kept on a’grinning, chuckling softly when Scott told him to shut up. Getting defensive there. He gave an indifferent shrug when Doc mentioned making him pretty as he liked him.

          I’ll take feeling better over pretty right about now,” He said, pouting exaggeratedly for the briefest of moments. Seriously though, his head was Grand Central Station at quitting time, and his face didn’t feel all that swell either. “But thank you. Fer fixin’ me up to be pretty sooner than later, I mean. I’d be nothing without my good looks.” He’d already expressed his gratitude, but there was no harm in doing it again. Everybody liked to feel appreciated.

          Besides, if Scott hadn’t made a house visit, Sword would have just rode it out without medical care and agonized in bed all day. He much preferred good company and a few laughs over angsting alone.

          …though Scott hit a chord with that statement he made.

          “The pain of waiting around for someone who’d never like me back as more than ‘just friends’ was pointless.”

          Try as he might, he couldn’t hide the fall of his face that time. He had had that thought countless times, but hearing it spoken into existence by someone else, someone who had observed even a little of the back-and-forth with Rook, was… real. Hard to ignore. Damn. He worked his jaw, struggling to come up with something humorous to say to smooth it over, but Scott had made his point. He smiled weakly and dipped his head briefly, as if to say he had no counter.

          Food, painkillers, plenty of alcohol,” He repeated with a cheeky grin, happy to have had opportunity for a change of subject. “Got it.” Truthfully, there would be no more drinking. Not for that day and night, at least. He was alcohol’d out, and he’d rather not hug the toilet bowl again so soon.

          He stretched his arms overhead with a wide yawn. He had forgotten how exhausting puking up one’s entrails was. He shifted back into place with a heavy sigh, pulling his sheet up so as not to make Scott any more uncomfortable. He had noticed his purposeful avoidance of looking at skin beneath the neck. He listened intently to Scott’s explanation of on-goings with an attentive expression, nodding now and again to acknowledge things he’d said. At the mention of his parental drama, Sword gave a wince and tapped his arm apologetically.

          Sorry man,” He offered.

          Stuff with parents was tough. He never knew what to say when it came to that sort of dilemma. Outside his field of experience, unfortunately. Still, Scott seemed used to it. Guess he grew up with that sort of crap. He nodded some when Scott told him not to worry about it. It wasn’t his place to, but it still sucked, and he felt for the guy and his mother. Shitty spouses was something he knew about.

          He grinned when Scott yet again extended an offer to come game with him. He gave an upbeat nod and chuckled. “I suck at them, I won’t lie to you. More-…” Well. He was going to say that video games were more Rook’s thing. “What kind of games do you enjoy the most? Shooters? RPGs?” The ones with the decision making and customization and things and stuff.



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    “With all due respect, I’m fully aware of this young man’s state. I’m also privy to the knowledge that he speaks English, quite well in fact. I really don’t think it’s up to you to discern what the proper method for me to do my job is, Mr. Todd. The reason I wanted to question Lucien, even in this state, is because anything he remembers, down to the slightest detail, could help,” Jocef replied to the dark haired male, maintaining his stance and stern countenance, “That being said, Mr. Todd, it would appear this young man has no qualms with having you present. And being that this is for witness statement purposes specifically, I cannot make you leave.”

    Suspicion was now shedding its dull ray upon the seated man in the room. It was clear that Lucien didn’t really need a translator for speaking conversation. It may not have been a complete lie but there was certainly something off. Todd was somewhat suspicious simply being associated with Lucien. Jocef couldn’t let that color his judgment. That was not enough to extinguish the young man’s innocence.

    Turning back to Lucien, he listened to the young male’s words carefully. He pulled out his pad and pen and made a few notes. Lucien’s even tone, the way he looked off in the distance. Proper police work called for complete attention. He watched as his hand touched the blanket. The extension was shaking slightly. There was no way for Jocef to know for sure if that was caused by some hidden trauma or the drugs the male was on.

    Jocef listened to Lucien’s story. Los Bastardos, he hadn’t heard anything on that gang in some time. They’d fallen back as Red Moon had emerged. They were barely on the police radar anymore. He wasn’t entirely sure he believed what Lucien was saying. Even if he did help the gang, he was sure it wasn’t them that had attacked the young man. Something about the ‘X’ under his eye and under his ear, told Jocef it wasn’t the Mexican gang. They had a catalog of several wounds and marks left by gangs in the area and the chief had been over them a thousand times. None of them matched.

    “I feel you should know I received a call, the day you were found. In fact, it was a call that told me exactly where to find you. This incident feels far too organized for a group such as Los Bastardos. Though I can understand why you would suspect them as the responsible parties, we have no evidence that would point us in that direction.”

    Was he talking about Elessa? Jocef felt slightly awkward standing there as Lucien spoke fondly of his lover. There was a slight tenor of melancholy lacing the young man’s tone. He spoke in the past tense, as if his relationship with the commissioner was no longer ongoing.

    It now seemed that Lucien was more or less turning himself over, without knowing he was under investigation. Jocef’s gut told him it wasn’t bait he should take. He’d seen how this kid could operate. He was fully capable of acting.

    “We did know you were illegal, but in America, even illegal immigrants have rights. Not being beaten and otherwise maimed falls into that category. And I assure you, I have plenty of questions for you. And even if you were to give me information, I couldn’t use it. The amount of drugs in your system, as Mr. Todd pointed out, compromises you. I am secure in my belief that you are more than mentally competent at the moment. However, the law dictates otherwise. I cannot in good conscience or as an officer of the law take the information you are willing to give me until you are much more than a few hours removed from a coma and with less drugs in your system. I’m questioning you about your attack now in hopes to get some details to jog your memory later once we can question you again.”

    As much as he would have loved to show all of his cards at that moment, he knew it wasn’t a wise decision. He needed to speak to Lucien like a victim, first and foremost, which was still true but he now had to toe the line. If he wasn’t careful he would reveal the investigation that as really going on. And now was not the time for that. He had to contain everything to the domain of the attack.

    “I can still offer you protection, but I’d like to ask my questions before we go into that,” the chief said, shifting his weight slightly.

    He didn’t really want to sit, it was already too much that he had to call Lucien by his first name, taking a seat would make the situation far too relaxed. Jocef didn’t want to be relaxed, this was work and it required intense interaction and discipline.

    “Let’s start with the last thing you remember. Commissioner Villier confirmed that you were with him the night before you were found. Do you remember what time you left the Commissioner’s place?” he stood, almost at attention, his pen and pad in hand, “We found you the next day, after receiving the tip. As I mentioned before, we have evidence that steers attention away from Los Bastardos. Aside from the tip I received, there was also something else. A box was delivered to Commissioner Villier’s home. A tag on the box simply said ‘From Russia with Love’. Upon questioning Commissioner Villier, he said he originally thought it was a gift from you. Which we believe was the intention of whoever left it. Inside the box was a human kidney. Test results showed that it was the one removed from your body. Unfortunately the organ had not been iced and it was….slightly damaged, there was no way of saving it.”

    Jocef had indeed spoken with Elessa during the last week. It had been hard to get it out of him but Commissioner had finally come forward with the information. It hadn’t been pretty, but he had assured Elessa that it was a good thing that he had. Though he felt there was something the Commissioner had left out, just from the way he’d danced around what had happened to the kidney.

    “Do you have any other ideas, given the information I’ve just shared, of who might have done this or at the very least ordered it?”


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Winslow


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Winslow started to rock back and forth on his feet letting the time pass as it pleased. He wasn't in the biggest hurry in the world to see the head honcho although, he was still kinda in a hurry to get the job he desired back. He didn't casually pass glances to anyone either. He wasn't the type to check people out over and over again unless they had something worth looking at. Like boobs for example. If there was anyone in the room worth passing glances at it would be on anything with a nice big rack of breasts. Course, if they were flat chested he'd hafta glance at their a**. He was more of an a** man anyway. He liked the big ol' badonkadonk that the ladies had. Ooh yeah, shake that money maker if yah got it and Winslow will watch it. Any who, since there was nothing of that sort hanging out for him to pass glances on. Naturally, he just kinda zoned out and enjoyed his own maddening thoughts. They were always so dark and entertaining. The thoughts of a serial killer.

So after what seemed like an eternity there was a sudden entrance of someone that Winslow wasn't even sure of. They just kinda wondered in like a sightless kitten fumbling for a tit to suck on. Geez, my paragraphs have a lot of boobs in them today. Do I care that i'm breaking the fourth wall again? Nah! You'll hafta get used to it. Anyway, boobs! Seriously this time. Back to the sightless kitten. So, this dude has a black eye and an attitude. The guy immediately singled out Winslow from the group and started to lay into him like there was no tomorrow. Barking like an angry puppy. I say angry puppy because no one gives a s**t about the sorrowful threats of a silly a** little puppy. Winslow viewed this guy as such and let the guy bark away. Winslow did raise and eyebrow when Warrick chimed in with a little bark of his own. Course, Warrick's bark was a little more threatening. However, it was ignored. Finally, though. The barking ended.

A bright smile crossed Winslow's face and he pulled his hand from his pocket. The pocket containing the phone that is. He moved it up and ran it through his hair as he spoke, "Whoa! Whoa, little barking puppy dog." Winslow laughed a little. "You got the wrong guy man. I'm Warrick's son, Warrick Jr. Winslow's still outside being patted down." Winslow laughed a little more. They were honest playful sounding laughs too. He held his hand out to the black-eyed puppy. If the man was a puppy he'd be one of those cute ones with the black ring around it's eye even. Oh that cute black-eyed puppy. How cute it will be if he is actually dumb enough to take Winslow's hand. Serial killer through-and-through. Anything to appear innocent till he can strike like a cobra in a dark room. He still had one hand in the front of his hoodie. So he wasn't all too worried about extending a hand to the random black-eyed pup cause he had his cards set anyway.

Winslow wasn't sure if they'd actually let this idiot touch him but, damn it would be funny if they did. Warrick might even have a heart attack. That would be funny to see. Dead old guy, puppy in a sticky situation, surrounded by guys with guns, sacks of phones everywhere, a musical instrument, and a laughing Winslow all in one room. Couldn't get any more interesting than that. Winslow's arm was fully extended and ready to be shook. He'd even taken the time to smooth it through his hair first to seem legitimately at ease with the whole idea of passing off another lie.

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            User Image“Been a while since you’ve been in my bedroom.”

            “No, it hasn’t,” Ryuko answered softly as he traversed the distance between them, his steps slowing to allow some modicum of caution. He knew what Vivi meant, though; time wasn’t something they’d had in excess, especially with the Second’s incapacitation. Ryuko picked up whatever of the neglected duties he could manage to ease Vivi and Warrick’s workload, but the season was rife with business and the tasks seemingly endless. He was used to filling in for ranking members when they were otherwise indisposed and had always considered it one of his unofficial responsibilities, but the absence of a leader – even for a short while – was difficult on everyone.

            His brow drew in a brief expression of cold anger; if he hadn’t been busy otherwise, whatever trespasser had threatened Vivi would never have gotten through to him.

            The guard paused at Vivi’s bedside, then crouched with one hand on the mattress, picking up the two syringes discarded by the leader. Dark eyes flicked briefly over the needles, but they seemed nondescript. He slipped both of them into his pocket, carefully keeping the needles away from his own body.

            “I’ll take them to Sid later,” he stated, but his mind was struggling to form some kind of assessment of what had transpired, his eyes exposing his confusion and hard scrutiny of whatever scenarios occurred to him. In the short pause, he watched Vivi for any signs of additional damage, but didn’t yet pester him with questions. So preoccupied with his dark displeasure, Ryuko wasn’t even able to appreciate the sight of Vivi in his mother’s kimono, which surely would’ve been a remarkable vision in a more appropriate situation.

            At Vivi’s crude lament, Ryuko switched his dark eyes back to the leader, but not before passing them over the ruined photograph displayed near Vivi’s bed. He lingered very briefly on the photo, but didn’t remark upon it. Ryuko wasn’t one who felt threatened by things that would crawl under the skin of most people, and he staved off the influx of questions, reserving them for a better time. There was a lot he couldn’t understand until he could get more information from Vivi, but first they had to make sure their home wasn’t in danger of going up in flames.

            His focus returned to Vivi in time to see him sit back down, but his gaze was still hard. Despite his renowned stoicism, it was a rare look for the guard, and any who crossed his path during such an uncharacteristically unmerciful mood was likely to regret it. Still, he took Vivi’s hand with calm tenderness, the gesture gentle even if his pale features didn’t reflect it.

            “If that’s what you want,” he returned in quiet evenness, as if were really that simple. And as far as Ryuko was concerned, it was. Sure, Vivi would have to prepare a replacement, but was that really such a bad thing?

            “Let’s make quick work of this nuisance,” he murmured, and the subtle hardness to him did ease accommodatingly as he helped Vivi stand and move across the room. The leader was so light that Ryuko could carry him with very little trouble, so the task wasn’t a difficult one. Still, the guard had a sense of urgency about him; the more quickly they could resolve what was going on downstairs, the better. “Then we can talk.”

            About this, was the unspoken addition. Somehow, the fact that Vivi seemed relatively unharmed was even more unsettling than if this had been an assassination attempt, and though Ryuko couldn’t fathom how someone had gotten through undetected – short of being permitted by Vivi himself – he knew they had to eliminate the most immediate threat first.

            “Are you alright?” It seemed like an asinine question, but Ryuko asked it in all seriousness and he knew Vivi would understand what he meant. They didn’t have time for particulars just yet, but he needed to know that Vivi would be fine to proceed for now. Once Winslow was dealt with – and Ryuko was in complete favor of a quick elimination – he’d get all the details from Vivi, anything he could remember, and they would go from there.

            “Maybe you should leave this to Warrick…” he spoke in a softer note, his arm wound around Vivi’s waist in a supportive fashion. Now that he was here, his uncertainty and concern was shaking his sense of security, leaving him on edge. Everything, all of Aphorism’s troubles, seemed far too coincidental, and the idea of some grand orchestration was far more frightening than a series of unrelated misfortunes. Or was he just feeling paranoid? He watched the leader, his brows collecting in conflicted emotion.

            “Vivi…”


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                                                          Venna shrugged carelessly when Ryuko stated he would deliver the syringes to Sid later on. He highly doubted there would be any evidence. No fingerprints, or DNA… Short of discovering what drugs precisely were used, Venna didn’t necessarily see a point in checking. Whoever did this was skilled and too intelligent to risk being caught. Unless his assailant wanted to be caught. He supposed that was a possibility, if a mite on the suicidal side. However, if it made Ryuko feel better…

                                                          He exhaled deeply, a hand sliding down his face. Like Ryuko, he wondered if Aphorism’s sudden shaky standing was orchestrated. Unlike Ryuko, Venna wasn’t in the mindset to linger on that thought. It slipped away like most of his other thoughts at that moment. His primary concern at the moment was the fact Ryuko was there, where he was presumably attacked and drugged. He still wasn’t quite certain he’d made the right call by asking him to his room, but so far, all seemed well.

                                                          He chortled then, a smile wide on his lips. Well enough. Drugged out of his head and hallucinating about bleeding photographs and moving furniture. Mmm… He tipped his head back with his eyes closed for a moment, savoring the numbness.

                                                          He opened them when Ryuko spoke in response to his jest of leaving Aphorism. He turned his head to look at him momentarily, though he quickly averted his eyes. He was weak, and Ryuko was seeing it. Succumbing to morphine’s addictive embrace. More than once he had thought about acquiring more.

                                                          He looked down at their joined hands, just then realizing that Ryuko had taken it when it was offered. His brow furrowed briefly, but relaxed once more, opting for the time being that his lack of a short term memory was the least of their worries. He laced their fingers and stood when Ryuko deemed it time to. He made a subtle noise and indicated the direction of his closet. The kimono was not something he wanted to ruin if bloodshed became a factor.

                                                          What happened?

                                                          He inquired quietly, trying to piece together what transpired during his induced nap. It was unlike Vivi to ask for a fill-in, and he did not enjoy being uninformed. Information often played into matters of life or death. Better to know your enemy… He couldn’t remember the saying.

                                                          Fortunately, his closet door was already ajar and the light on, so it was apparent to even Vivi that no one hid inside. He reached out to the wall for stability, paused to test his footing briefly, before shrugging the loosely tied kimono from his body. He stooped to gather the artful garment and folded the kimono the best he could from memory of a how-to text he’d read some time ago. Perhaps Vivi had researched Ryuko’s culture?

                                                          He placed the kimono on a shelf just inside his closet for safekeeping before he half-turned (nearly falling in the process) to snag a blue and white striped shirt from a hanger. He tugged it on, adjusted it so it fell off his shoulder as intended, and glanced to the lower rack for a pair of pants. He chose at random and wormed into them with some difficulty.

                                                          Peachy,” He replied. He cut his eyes at Ryuko then, looking reflective. “No. I…” He paused. He was unsure how much he wanted to reveal regarding his present state of mind. He shook his head at himself. Ryukouzi was his lover. “I worry I’ll relapse.

                                                          He stumbled into Ryuko’s chest, closing his eyes against the cloud of colors overwhelming his sense of sight. He wrapped his arms around Ryuko’s neck and tilted his head upward to brush his jaw with his lips. If Ryuko held him tight enough, he would feel him shaking.

                                                          Maybe you should leave this to Warrick…

                                                          I would be a poor leader if I did not at least make an appearance,” He murmured. Maybe was the unspoken message there. If he couldn’t focus, then Warrick would have to do his best. He would try, however. It was his presence the idiot terrorist requested, after all.

                                                          I’m ready,” He lied, arms lowering from around his neck, hands pressed to his chest. Touching Ryuko grounded him and gave him something to judge the world around him on. He was real. The hallucinations that came and went were not.





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          “I feel you should know I received a call, the day you were found. In fact, it was a call that told me exactly where to find you. This incident feels far too organized for a group such as Los Bastardos. Though I can understand why you would suspect them as the responsible parties, we have no evidence that would point us in that direction.”

          Lucien’s eyebrows lifted in a mark of mild surprise, easy to feign because he was, in fact, surprised. A call from his attacker? Well, wasn’t that a surprising development?

          So, the syndicate specifically did not want him to die. But why deliver him into the hands of the police? What was it he was supposed to do here? It was the same question, over and over, and even as his brows furrowed in contemplation he couldn’t seem to get any closer to the answer. He had been given no orders, no clues, that gave him any mission regarding the police or the hospital.

          But he was here for a reason, and felt that very strongly. If no other hints revealed themselves, then he would simply act as he would act; if whatever puppeteer had organized this scenario was truly skilled, their design would weave itself successfully regardless. Whatever part he’d been cast to play, he had to assume he’d fulfill the intended role just by following his own instincts and inclinations.

          “Evidence?” Lucien probed, catching the implication that the Chief had reason to suspect some other responsible party.

          But Jocef LeBane went down an entirely different path at the moment, speaking of immigrant rights and the law regarding his compromised state – things Lucien no longer cared about. Rights? What a laughable concept; no such things existed in the real world. Human rights were imaginary barriers, only functioning when people believed and abided them. When Jocef declined his information, a small smile edged onto the corner of Lucien’s lips – the smile of the devil’s advocate. He gave Jocef a subtly inquisitive glance, as if the officer had done something that didn’t quite make sense to him.

          “I admit, I don’t understand Law as well as you, Chief LeBane,” he remarked in a fashion almost apologetic for his ignorance. “Do you mean to tell me, if I imparted the location of a serial rapist right now, told you he had two young Bulgarian girls locked in his basement, you would not go save them because I am compromised?”

          He admitted a soft, bitter chuckle at the absurdity of it. “What a cold father Law is. No wonder the taken have little hope of ever being found.”

          He had little respect for Law and its multitude of enforcers, for none of it had ever done him any good. To him Law was just another God, the police its priests; just some far off, mythical force making up invisible barriers.

          As the Chief continued, Lucien’s interest began to wane – at least, until he mentioned the ‘gift’ sent to Elessa. Lucien’s eyes darkened in sympathy for the blonde man, but his humor didn’t completely sour. This whole situation was oddly indiscreet for Dasvae unless they were looking to frighten, and…from what Lucien could discern of their movements, they seemed to be avoiding a clash with the police. Why all this then, sending a kidney to the commissioner? Proclaiming it from Russia?

          Unless…unless Mischka had allowed his fun to envelope his good sense, and acted without clearance…

          “So you’re thinking Russians,” Lucien echoed, but it was more of a statement in a need for confirmation. He touched a pair of fingers to his lips thoughtfully, wishing he had a cigarette, and then dropped them back into his lap. “Well, that changes everything then.”

          Hard to mislead a hound already on a scent, after all.

          He seemed to ponder it for a moment, and as he did so he absently snaked his free hand out, his fingers brushing against the hand of Thomas Westfall. Completely contrary to the guise he’d agreed with Tom to maintain, he gently, lightly, brought Tom’s hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss against his knuckles.

          The gesture was a clear mark of possession over Thomas Westfall, but in the world Lucien was from, it indicated far more than that. It was not only a display of ability – to have something – but also of confidence – to keep it. He had no doubts that the syndicate was watching, listening; let them see him, then, for even after everything he wasn’t cringing away. Let them see him at ease. Let them see his wild hair, his sharp eyes, his damaged face, and let them see that he was not daunted by any attempts to break him down, even if he deserved the punishment.

          Let them see that Thomas Westfall was his, under his protection, and whoever touched him was inviting a suitable retaliation.

          Lucien released Tom’s hand, his gaze again affixed to the Chief. Not once had his eyes strayed to his companion, because the message was not meant for Tom.

          “I’m not pressing any charges.”

          The declaration was clear, simple, and without fear or hesitation.

          “The Russians are beyond the power of Law, Chief LeBane. If they want my eye and my kidney, they may have them.”


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Everyday Shapeshifter

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Sword didn’t seem to like that he couldn’t take the compliment. Scott could tell it bothered him but honestly? Sword probably got comments all the time about how gorgeous he was. He was used to taking them. Scott was… well, he didn’t get them. Ever. Sword was the only person in the last year he could think of that had even paid his looks any kind of attention – not counting Rabbit. “Hey man. Never knock the nerds. They’re the ones you gotta watch your back around. They freaks,” Sword joked and Scott had to laugh at that. “And awesome to have on your team during any trivia related game.” Scott smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

“Ah, you got me there. It’s always the quietest ones that throw you for a loop.” He conceded, cracking an honest smile. And he would not, to anyone, admit to just how much fan fiction he read when he was on his own. Because that would be awkward and his ships were something he didn’t know if he could discuss without dying of eternal embarrassment.

“I’ll take feeling better over pretty right about now. But thank you. Fer fixin’ me up to be pretty sooner than later, I mean. I’d be nothing without my good looks.” Sword thanked him. Scott shrugged again.

“Like I said, it’s my job. Puts a roof over my head and sometimes even makes me friends who see me for more than just a patch job.” He patted Sword’s knee consolingly and kept his face deadpan and serious. “You’ll be pimpable again in a couple weeks. Don’t worry too much.” After a moment, though, his sense of humor betrayed him and he laughed a little, taking back his hand.

“Food, painkillers, plenty of alcohol,” Sword mimed incorrectly. Scott made a face, full of humor and false rage.

“I swear, I will ******** beat you up myself,” he said, no actual anger in his voice, laughing still. He was joking with him, trying to get Sword’s mood up. Rook had really done a number on him and, much as Scott would have liked to, he’d been in the same emotional fishbowl before. It sucked and you more or less had to climb out on your own. “I can take you. Well now. Seeing as someone did half the work for me.”

After parting with the story about his parents, Sword apologized for him being in a rough situation. Scott just shook his head.

“Don’t worry about it. He’s a leech but there are worse drunk parents to have. He’s never hurt us physically, so that’s something to be grateful for.” Scott told him. Sure, it was tough but his dad was just disappointing. The only thing he ever did damage to was his mother’s checking account.

Scott kept extending that offer of playing video games with Sword, who was incredibly hesitant. “I suck at them, I won’t lie to you.” Sword told him. “More-… What kind of games do you enjoy the most? Shooters? RPGs?”

Scott sat back a little.

“Well, with friends, I prefer playing games that everyone can and will suck at, like Mario Kart or Mario Party or fighting games or something. Everyone gets smashed around in that game so it’s pretty fair to everyone.” Scott answered, honestly. Most group games he was okay at. He did love Mario games though. They got a special place in his heart. And his game bin. “Me personally? I like to play a healthy mix of all sorts of things. I do enjoy RPGs though – just not turn based ones. If I wanted turn based, I would play Pokémon.” He made a face that looked like he’d just had a cocktail of orange juice and toothpaste. “And no dancing games. Seriously, I’m pretty sure I have seven left feet. I ******** suck at physically active s**t.”


He paused.

“You know, if you just want to hang here, I’d be more than willing to come back after my shift is up and game with you.” Scott offered. “I know it’s not your thing but it’ll take you mind off all the unpleasant s**t you’re dealing with and I can let my conscience rest easy, knowing you’re fed and in one piece. We could order take out or something. Pizza maybe.”

He paused again, doubting himself.

“I mean… if you'd rather not, I’d be fine with that too. I’m just… offering.” Scott said, realizing Sword might not actually want him around. He was just that scrawny kid who was nice to him. He might not want to spend his evening with him too.


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          Suoh hummed a few low bars to himself, but even those soft notes sounded pitifully dejected as they caught in the chilly, evening wind. Sometimes he could cheer himself up with an upbeat song, but the stillness of the cemetery seemed to swallow the melody along with his weak attempts to encourage optimism.

          Maybe it was time to go…

          The procession had ended some time ago, but Suoh had lingered behind, just walking. A graveyard didn’t seem like a pleasant place for a stroll, but the blonde youth found it peaceful, if in a melancholy sense, and had taken to wandering through his own thoughts as well. He couldn’t say he was mourning – he had gotten that out of his system already, as far as he knew – but…the miasma of sobriety that choked them all since the tragedy was hard to contend with, even though he couldn’t claim to have known Sari well.

          But Suoh had needed some time to be alone and clear his head, and this worked out well for him. Even though he’d been hanging around the precinct since he’d been a bright-eyed (if quiet) eleven-year-old, the last time they’d lost an officer he’d been too young for it to really impact him. It had only been a few years ago, but they all knew that was one of the risks of being on the field. It was also one of the reasons Suoh wasn’t on the field, and had never really intended to be.

          Sari hadn’t been a field officer, though. Suoh didn’t know who had killed their chaplain, but whoever it was…surely, they had been sending the police a message. Why else gun down an innocent man and not even take his wallet?

          ‘The kid gloves are off,’ is what the message seemed to say to Suoh. Whether it had been Aphorism or not, whoever had done it had really gone for the jugular, hitting them where it would hurt the most. Any loss would’ve hurt, but it cut especially deep because Sari hadn’t been a field officer, because he should’ve been safe just on principle, and because the cold-blooded ruthlessness required to execute such a benevolent young man was a serious wake-up call. Homicides weren’t uncommon in the city, but they were rarely so cutthroat.

          Or maybe it wasn’t random. Maybe Sari had known something…

          Either way, Suoh thought about the men and women who believed so fully in their cause that they were willing to gamble with their lives. He wondered if he’d ever have so much conviction that he’d want to protect others at the potential cost of his own life, and if not, did that make him a coward? Or maybe just a cynic…

          Suoh meditated heavily on these lines of thought to avoid the dark, abysmal reaffirmation of their mortality, but it only worked for so long. His parents were Christian – more or less – but Suoh had never really taken the time to consider his own beliefs. At nineteen, such abstract concepts of spirituality and the afterlife had always seemed distant and ungraspable, therefore rendered insignificant. But…

          Before the blonde realized it, he had circled the cemetery several times, and the setting sun deepened the chill. His stitched up leg felt stiff and uncomfortable, and he knew his prolonged trek had been in complete disregard to his doctor’s orders. Deciding he had spent enough time among the ghosts, Suoh redirected his path towards the parking lot, where his little Kia awaited him, somewhat functioning properly. Bronte would undoubtedly be worried if he finished Akira’s shift and came home to find the blonde still absent; the large brunette had grown understandably paranoid in the wake of Sari’s murder.

          Stepping from the walkway to the cement lot, Suoh slipped between a truck and a minivan as he crossed the lines of remaining cars towards his own, which was now all on its lonesome in the back of the lot. As he passed a smear of red, though, he paused, half-turning to get a better look at the back of the truck he’d just walked by.

          Was it…? It looked an awful lot like…Elessa’s truck…

          Suoh’s brow furrowed slightly; had he seen Elessa at the funeral at all? He’d left just before the end of the service, but…surely he would’ve noticed the blonde giant, especially with so many people asking about him and looking for him…

          Though really, with the current media frenzy it wouldn’t be any wonder if Elessa had purposefully avoided the rabble.

          The technician felt a pang of sympathy and frowned slightly to himself, but it was enough to cause him to retrace his steps between the two vehicles to confirm whether or not it actually was Elessa’s truck. His feelings about the commissioner were currently suspended in limbo, but surely…surely, even if Elessa’s fraternization proved true in the worst possibly way, surely even then he was still struggling with everything that had happened. Suoh reminded himself that even if that was true, he was the last person who could do anything about it, and quite possibly the last person Elessa would want to see anyway.

          But he had some questions, too…

          As Suoh approached the driver’s side door, he received both a sharp surprise and unerring confirmation that this was, in fact, Elessa’s truck; the commissioner himself was slumped against the wheel, his face buried in his arms so that it was difficult to tell whether he was conscious or not.

          “Elessa…?” Suoh ventured, and when the man didn’t stir, he inferred the later. Again, Suoh’s brows drew as he glanced around for anyone better suited to the task of checking up on the commissioner, but the parking lot was deserted. Would it be better to leave Elessa undisturbed? But it was getting colder, and he’d catch pneumonia out here like this, especially with the driver’s side window all the way down.

          And maybe he was concerned, a little.

          “Hey…” snaking a tentative hand – dirtied glove and all – through the window, he gently nudged Elessa’s shoulder. “Are you alive in there…?”

          As soon as the words tumbled from Suoh’s mouth, he felt a sharp pang in his chest and wished he hadn’t said them. But he ignored that small regret, finding the situation awkward enough without him lingering over poorly-chosen phrases.

          When Elessa didn’t respond to Suoh’s words or touch, the teenager felt a sudden, pervasive fear, his eyes widening. His brain latched on to the image of the charismatic commissioner going the way of Sari Ydranna, and his heart skipped over itself in alarm; he quickly leaned a bit further in and grabbed Elessa’s shoulder, giving it a harder jerk.

          “Elessa!” he shouted, his voice rising in his desperation to disprove his mind’s gruesome notion.


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Everyday Shapeshifter

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                                  Daniil paid no mind to Warrick. He was angry with Warrick too and he was pretty sure Warrick wouldn't understand why because he was literally clueless about what Daniil felt, especially towards Warrick himself.

                                  The terrorist didn’t seem to feel like bothering with Daniil’s words – not even paying attention to them really. He played it cool, as if he weren’t the center of this bullshit. But Daniil knew everyone in Aphorism. Maybe not well, but the only person in Aphorism whose face he didn’t know was Sid’s face, and that was because he wore a mask over apparently gruesome burn marks. This man was unfamiliar and not welcome, if Daniil had anything to say about it.

                                  But if his anger was that of a storm before, when Winslow claimed to be Warrick’s son, he quickly evolved to the status of a hurricane. He laughed and pretended but to lie to Daniil about Warrick was about the worst thing he could possibly have done – even with so transparent a lie. Winslow held out his hand to Daniil and Daniil gave him a look that promised violence if Daniil thought he could get away with it.

                                  Had he been absolutely sure that Winslow was full of s**t, he would probably have put a knife in the man’s heart but as it stood, he wasn’t willing to gamble that many lives all at once.

                                  “Put your hand down. I won’t shake it.” Daniil spat out. “And don’t try lying to me. You know nothing about Warrick. And if you did, you’d know I’m the closest thing he has to a son.”

                                  Daniil hated comparing himself to Warrick’s child but it was an accurate comparison. Although he didn’t think mentioning that was really that intelligent. Warrick was going to let him have it later, he was sure. But at this point, that was more attention from Warrick than he’d gotten since he’d been appointed. Daniil wasn’t even looking at Warrick, more concerned with the fact that this careless half wit was threatening those he loved. He would take a bullet for Warrick. He just didn’t know if Warrick knew that. And he sure as hell knew Warrick didn’t know why.

                                  And if Winslow tried touching him, Daniil was going to let him have it. “It” being a knife in the kidney.

                                  “Now, if you’re done wasting our time, why don’t you give us actual evidence of information. How do you know it’s not information we already have? You’ve been in what? Prison or a mental institution? How are you sure this information is something we need?” Daniil asked, words still sharp and violent with a definite point. If he could have killed with his words, Winslow would have been dead millennia ago with all the hate in Daniil’s voice. “What exactly is to stop Vivi from killing you as soon as you pass up the information? We’re a group of highly trained thieves and snipers and ex-military officials – and I’m pretty sure no one will care if you live or die at this point. If I were you, I’d back out while I still could and sell it to Vivi from a safe distance.”

                                  “When you think you’re safe is the most dangerous. Trust me – you’ve threatened friends and our leader. No one is harboring any love for you.” Daniil hissed, stepping between Warrick and Winslow slightly. He didn’t shake his hand and he stayed out of reach.
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            User Image“You know what I know,” Ryuko murmured when Vivi questioned him, gesturing absently towards the ceiling to indicate the terrorist’s PA messages. “He said he wants his job back, and if he doesn’t see you he’ll set off explosives. I don’t know if he actually has any.”

            Normally, Ryuko’s reports were much more thorough than that – he was a firm believer that details were key, though he often left them up to Vivi to interpret. His distraction was obvious, though, and he clearly felt like the situation with Vivi deserved the majority of his focus, even though he knew the issue with Winslow had to be resolved first. Still, his attention was on Vivi, and he guided the leader when it was necessary, catching him at the slightest misstep. As Vivi slid out of the kimono, Ryuko assessed the leader’s soft skin in complete objectivity, seeking unfamiliar marks or other signs of damage.

            Again, the lack of any obvious wound was the most unsettling, and even though there were still no signs of injury Ryuko found his preoccupation with Vivi’s health ruled everything else inconsequential. The evidence that someone might’ve trespassed in his room had barely warranted a second thought, and he certainly couldn’t be bothered with whether or not Vivi was folding the kimono properly. When he was needed, he helped Vivi dress, but he remained quiet.

            Silence was characteristic of Ryuko, but this was a distracted, contemplative silence. Winslow seemed insignificant at the moment, and he trusted Vivi would tacitly understand his stance on the matter, anyway. As compassionate as the guard could be, he could also be a cold judge when he felt it was deserved.

            When he sensed Vivi’s gaze, Ryuko paused his thoughts to meet those eyes, effectively erasing the distance caused by his deep speculation. He shook his head minutely at Vivi’s confession, taking the leader’s hand gently.

            “You won’t,” he answered, with such direct simplicity that it seemed fate itself would have no choice but to abide his will.

            Maybe Ryuko couldn’t possibly know that for certain, or maybe he was more intuitive than he sometimes seemed. Maybe he had some plan, or maybe he just had that much faith in Vivi – in them. Whatever it was, that barest, two-word statement seemed empowered enough to single-handedly rebuke any contrary concerns.

            Ryuko couldn’t say he knew that former, addicted Vivi intimately, but he felt confident that he knew this Vivi intimately. And he knew something very important about this Vivi.

            The guard caught Vivi when he stumbled against him, his strong arms steadying the leader. When Vivi didn’t pull away immediately, Ryuko relaxed, then tightened his embrace. For a brief moment as Vivi tilted up, he buried his face in the mass of silvery hair, comforted by the faint scent of the leader’s shampoo. One step at a time, and they would handle it.

            “You’ve been looking forward, Vivi,” he said softly, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, but keeping their faces close, one of his hands brushing the leader’s jaw. “Not backwards.”

            That was how he knew Vivi wouldn’t relapse.

            Ryuko paused, then gave a small nod when Vivi declared his decision. When the leader went on to say he was ready, Ryuko reluctantly released him, but stayed close.

            “Here, take my arm. Stay on my left,” he said, shifting to Vivi’s other side accordingly. Walking this way would give Vivi support without exposing any obvious weaknesses, and his reason for desiring Vivi on his left was clear; Ryuko was right-handed, and wanted to keep his dominant hand available.

            “I’ll give you the rest of the details on the way down.”


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    ɴever coulɗ ɗecide
        ʜow чou ωanʈed us ʈo be.

        ωʜч ωon'ʈ чou sʜow
    чour inʈenʈions ʈowards me?


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          Sword mirrored Scott’s smile and nodded pleasantly. Finally, a pseudo-positive remark about himself! Any progress at all was something to be grateful for. “Baby steps,” Sword murmured with a quiet chuckle. Little bit at a time.

          Pimpable? Uh-…

          Sword stared in muted disbelief for a moment, though once Scott cracked, so too did he. He smacked his arm lightly and snorted his laughter. “What does that even mean?” He asked rhetorically, chuckling softly. “I’m gonna take that for the compliment I assume it is.

          Scott showed his rage face then, and Sword raised his hands defensively. He was crippled! In no condition to fend for himself! He laughed, grabbing a nearby pillow and tossing it lightly at the doc to deter any attack.

          You wouldn’t risk ruinin’ the hard handiwork you just put in, wouldja?

          He gestured to his stitches with a flourish. He’d hope not! His cheek already hurt without ripping the stitches out… He winced at the thought and slumped against his pillows. Too much excitement. Roughhousing was not a good idea.

          Luckily, Scott proved to be entirely joking and he too settled. He dismissed the apology Sword made about his dad, so Sword bobbed his head to acknowledge him instead. “Still not the best of situations, but you seem to have made it out alright.” That’s all that mattered.

          Then they were on the much easier, lighter conversation of video games. Scott listed his preferences – Mario Party, Mario Kart, and fighting games – and Sword chuckled. About what he figured. As antisocial as Scott was, he seemed like he was fair and wanted to include everyone during social gatherings. Come to think of it, Sword had never really seen Scott hang out with anyone… Well, no, that wasn’t true. He could recall Rabbit glued to his arm a time or two.

          Aw, what? No dancing games?” Sword questioned with audible incredulity. “Those, I am good at. Give me DDR or Dance Central any day.” He grinned at Scott, presently amused at the prospect of Scott trying – and failing – at any rhythm-based game.

          Scott then propositioned a hangout session, which actually surprised Sword. He hadn’t expected the guy to make an offer like that! Usually quiet types like him waited for an invitation rather than asking themselves, but Sword welcomed the switch-up.

          Yeah! Sounds like fun,” Sword answered with a thumbs up. “When is your shift over? Maybe I can get a nap and a shower in before then.” Bile and booze didn’t make for a nice smelling Sword, but he didn’t really care all that much. He was sick and therefore (somewhat) justified.

          {{ Sorry it's short, Vermi~ His muse is more tuckered out than I thought. x.x}}



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“Good evening…”
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“…Commissioner.”


Elessa recognized after leaving the hospital’s intensive care unit that he did not part with Lucien on the best of terms. He lingered in the halls a moment, debating the best move to make. He wanted to go back and apologize for his briskness, but Lucien had told him to go. His stomach turned at the thought. He understood why, he guessed, but it hurt.

He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t eaten properly. He scarcely left the room, instead opting to look over Lucien himself. His body suffered for it, and he could feel it in the sluggishness of his thoughts, the weight of his arms and legs.

And yet… Lucien asked him to go.

All that time Elessa had spent praying, crying, holding his hand while monitoring any change, any move Lucien may have made felt pointless. Inconsequential in Lucien’s eyes.

So he would leave, for now. If Lucien fled from the hospital, he wouldn’t have a way of contacting him. Elessa’s hand brushed his pocket, and upon finding it empty, he sighed. And Lucien had his phone. Well… Assuming Lucien didn’t ditch the device, he could call it later on…

Before he left the hospital, he spoke with security to authorize passage for one Jason Todd, though he was a touch bitter about it. Then he left for the cemetery to say goodbye to one of the closest friends he’d ever had.

The drive there was a silent one. Elessa’s thoughts ran in circles, without any particular focus subject. He didn’t quite pay attention to his driving, and more than once, it occurred to him that he really should not have driven in his sleep-deprived condition. It was too late by then, of course, and he only had a little bit to go till he reached the graveyard.

By some ******** miracle, he made it there without killing himself or anyone else in a crash. He threw the machine into park, rolled the windows down, and cut the engine. He heaved a sigh and tossed his arms over the steering wheel. He rested his forehead against it and closed his eyes.

The ******** do I do, Sari…” He whispered. Lucien was back and yet more distant than ever. The public thought him a traitor, and so did the majority of the men in his employ. His relationship felt like it was crumbling, as did his career, and he didn’t know what to do about it. Proving his innocence would be no small feat because of his periodic vigilantism, and also, his relationship with a known gang member being public knowledge certainly put him at a disadvantage.

He didn’t necessarily care about his career being at risk. The luxury was nice, but he didn’t need it. What he really worried about was…

Lucien.

He wasn’t sure what it was, and he hoped to God that it was in his head, but it felt… close to the end. Lucien asked him to stay to whatever end, and he had meant it when he said he would, but Lucien didn’t seem like that’s what he wanted anymore.

He couldn’t think about that now. He was here to see Sari. It was selfish of him to worry on about his relationship and career when the greatest person he’d ever met was now buried six feet under ground where he would stay for the rest of time.

That thought, that sinking thought, cost Elessa his composure and he cried until he was unconscious.

It wasn’t until his shoulder was jerked that he moved at all. He jerked awake and rapidly sat up, eyes wide, and hand on the hilt of his gun. He was milliseconds away from drawing when his brain caught up to his eyes and he realized it was Suoh.

Jesus Christ, I could’ve shot you!

He cried, hand shying from his gun to brush his hair from his tear-stained face. He rubbed his eyes afterwards and took a moment to silently connect the dots.

He didn’t… remember getting there.

Guess I missed the funeral, huh…?” He smiled solemnly. What time was it, anyway? He went to retrieve his phone, looked momentarily perplexed at finding it absent, and then recalled. Oh… He sighed with his entire body, looking older with every passing thought.

I hope it was beautiful.” Sari deserved nothing but the finest flowers and the prettiest music. He’d give anything to have him around. There was so much he wanted to say to him, thank him for… Damn it. Made him want to tell his loved one’s every little thing he wanted to, just in case…
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                                                          I don’t, Venna wanted to say. He didn’t know what Ryuko knew. He woke up during the announcement, but hadn’t heard a word of it. Fortunately, Ryuko supplied him with the gist of it. Vivi’s brow pulled together as his drug-addled brain attempted to make sense of what the terrorist was trying to do.

                                                          He’s threatening to blow up the building as leverage to get his job back?” He asked, raising his hands in question. “Awfully bold there. I don’t even remember this…” He gestured vaguely, indicating how relevant he was in Vivi’s mind. What made him so sure that Vivi wanted him back? Especially after pulling a stunt such as this?

                                                          He sighed and shook his head. So much hot air, and for what? Did he think he would curry anyone’s favor by threatening to blow them all to ashes? Foolish, foolish mistake he was making. Venna would have been more than willing to sit and meet with him in regards to getting his job back like civilized adults.

                                                          Idiotic.

                                                          He muttered disdainfully with a shake of his pretty head as he dressed. He had half a mind to have someone snipe him and be done with it. However, they’d come this far… They might as well see what the fool had to say for himself before he passed judgement.

                                                          Ryuko then insisted that Vivi wouldn’t relapse. He paused to look at him a moment, and realized that he believed him. Ryuko had this way of taking his fears and discarding them as if they were nothing. He didn’t think he would ever understand how Ryuko could be such an unshakeable fortress of strength and resolve, but maybe he didn’t need to. Maybe he simply needed to marvel and appreciate it.

                                                          He didn’t reply in words. He smiled thoughtfully, and brushed his hair over one shoulder with a swift motion. He was in Ryuko’s arms, and he felt strong once more. His smile widened a touch as Ryuko tightened his embrace, and the petite leader rested his head against his shoulder momentarily. He lifted his head when Ryuko pulled back to look at him, and he listened. His gaze dropped to his mouth when a hand grazed his jaw, and there Vivi focused.

                                                          He was right, Venna knew. He often was. It didn’t occur to him until then that he hadn’t been troubled by traumas of old. He had been… content with the present, and perhaps even optimistic about their future. Their future.

                                                          He pushed up onto his toes to press his lips to Ryukouzi’s. A thank you. A declaration. He cupped his cheek in his right hand for the duration of it, and slowly pulled away with a clever smile.

                                                          Now he was ready.

                                                          He took his left arm without complaint, fingers curling around his bare bicep. He was clearly pleased to be in contact with the man, though he was aware Ryuko had transitioned back into guard mode. He said nothing more for the time being, for once allowing silence between them. He followed Ryuko’s lead out of his bedroom, but paused briefly to slip his slender feet into his flats in the foyer. He looked between the door to the stairwell and the elevator thoughtfully. He had never taken the elevator when the building was running on generators, and alternately, the stairs were a long way down for someone not entirely in control of their facilities.

                                                          Ryuko wouldn’t let him fall.

                                                          He stepped for the stairwell and allowed Ryuko to check the entrance before they proceeded. He was safe in the man’s presence, and while Ryuko filled him in on what little else he knew, Venna felt normal. This routine was nothing new to him. They moved a bit slower than normal, and it was only when he considered that did he remember that he was high. It had been at least a decade since he conducted business of any kind while on substances, so this would be an interesting trial-by-fire type experience for him.

                                                          Just like riding a bike, he thought to himself. Though he had no intentions of prolonging his high, he did tap into those memories for reference. Mostly he faked it till he made it. Wasn’t harder than anything else he did, really – pretenses were simple in comparison.

                                                          The long trek came to an end at last, and just before stepping out into the lobby, Vivi turned to Ryuko and kissed him abruptly, a passionate but brief impulse.

                                                          In case we get blown to bits.

                                                          He smirked, looked away before he could catch the disapproving frown that would undoubtedly form, took his arm and stepped into the lobby. He scanned the area briefly for his own comfort before his eyes settled on Warrick and Daniil. His expression hardened.

                                                          Had he not explicitly ordered everyone outside of chain-of-command out of the building? He would address that at a later time.

                                                          Venna released Ryuko’s arm after taking a few steps. It wouldn’t do well for his façade to be seen clinging to his bodyguard. He felt steady – enough, anyway – to stand on his own for a short amount of time. Long enough to squash this matter one way or another.

                                                          Winslow, is it?

                                                          He inquired, extending a hand to the man.




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    Jocef looked at the young man sitting in the bed before him. If he hadn’t had reason to be suspicious of him before, he certainly did now. Lucien was representative of so much that Jocef stood up against. This youth clearly had no respect for the Law or those that spent their lives upholding it. It was all he could do to stay in the room.

    “Young man, we take anonymous tips seriously and we always investigate. Sometimes it ends up being a false report but if we discounted every tip, we wouldn’t get anywhere. So if you’re making a report, I’ll need a location. I’ll send a squad there right now. If not, I’d like to carry on with my questions,” the cop said, his blue eyes becoming sharp.

    He wasn’t going to play a game. Cheeky comments were for children and teenagers. Jocef didn’t care how old Lucien was, he was no child. He didn’t have patience for someone that wanted to waste his time.

    Still quite stiff in demeanor, Jocef walked to the foot of the bed and stood for a moment. His jaw was clenched as he watched the youth. When he’d found the redhead in the alleyway, Jocef had pitied him. What kind of life had led him here? Who would do this to someone so young? All the questions he seemed to ask himself when senseless and brutal crimes occurred. But now in this room, Jocef knew that Lucien was no victim. He may have been assaulted and brutally marred, but Lucien was just as guilty as the creature that had attacked him.

    Russians? Jocef hadn’t said anything about Russians. Elessa had informed him that Lucien was Russian when he’d asked him about the gift. Though Jocef had reason to believe there had been a double meaning behind the tag, he hadn’t shared the suspicion of Russians. So Lucien was involved with something much deeper. Though it was conjecture, Jocef felt his gut was right. Lucien had been involved in something serious. The Russian Mob? And Adams had had a hand in it. Given earlier comments, Lucien was willing to do whatever it took to acquire the proper documentation.

    So Adams was, indeed, providing documentation for illegal immigrants? That would explain why Lucien had slept with councilman, it was an exchange. But he’d already known that, it was just a matter of what kind. Now he knew what was worth selling one’s body for. It explained the seedy motel. The non-English speaking individuals. Adams was exchanging sex for citizenship papers. Maybe the councilman’s excursions were becoming too frequent and it had been decided that his usefulness had run its course. And they couldn’t just turn him out, he knew too much. And that was how Jocef had ended up with a dead councilman on his slate.

    “Russians? So you think a foreign faction might have done this?” he made a note in his notebook before looking back at Lucien. He held onto the questions he really wanted to ask. He wanted to interject something about the Adams case. He didn’t know how begin.

    The Chief’s attention was drawn from his thoughts for a moment. He watched as the redhead placed a kiss on his translator’s hand. So, he was disloyal too. Jocef was finding he disliked Lucien more and more as the interaction wore on. What could expect though, knowing what he did. Jocef may not have approved of Elessa’s choice in partners but no one deserved to be cheated on or lied to. He could tell that Elessa had cared deeply for the redhead. It seemed his feelings were not returned.

    “The Russians are beyond the power of Law, Chief LeBane. If they want my eye and my kidney, they may have them.”

    Jocef felt a smolder of anger flair in his chest. No one was above law. That was a fact and what he lived his life by. And this kid was pissing all over it.

    “I think you’ll find that, in the end, no one…is above the law. I know it’s probably easy for someone like you to brush off the law like an annoying speck but it’ll always be there. Laws weren’t made to lock people up, they were made to keep people safe. As long as there’s someone willing to stand for it. Someone that’s not afraid to look people like that in eye and stay strong, there will always be law and order. It’s hard to attain but worth fighting for.”

    He stared the young man down, his azure gaze cutting. He refused to back down. He wasn’t scared of Lucien. The Chief was put off by the youth for miles. Lucien was the embodiment of everything Jocef hated and now more than ever, he wanted solve this case and show the redhead that no one was above the law.

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