bakerstreet | The Criminal AU Meme

The Criminal AU Meme

THE CRIMINAL AU MEME

Warning: This meme will contain violent content and possible triggers.

HOW TO PLAY:
1) Post a comment below, detailing your character and canon. For best results, DO NOT LEAVE THIS COMMENT BLANK; pick a role, or an AU, or write up a little on what you'd like to explore with your character.
2) Tag around and make magic happen.
3) If you get stuck, use RNG to select from the options below.

THE ROLE.
1) Criminal. (The one who committed the act.)
2) Law enforcement. (Cop, FBI, prison guard.)
3) Witness. (What did you see?)
4) Victim. (Probably not applicable in the case of murder. … Probably.)
5) Lawyer, judge, or paralegal. (Participant in the legal system.)
6) Private security. (Unaffiliated, but with an interest in keeping your client safe. Or in getting your target caught.)
7) Other. (Let your imagination go wild.)

THE CRIME.
1) ROBBERY. The crime of stealing via force or threat or fear.
You need the money. You're desperate. You have the gun, the convenience store is right there, and everything will be better once you've finished the job.

Or maybe you've been hired. Provide a little intimidation, and someone else will take care of all your problems.

Or it's a thrill. Rolling across the country, robbing banks as you go. A Bonnie & Clyde crime spree, and it can only end one way.

2) BURGLARY. Illegal entry into a building for the purposes of committing theft.
Non-violence, for you; you're just going to break in, take this one thing. Maybe a television, to sell for the cash. Maybe some jewelry, a computer.

Or maybe you're a master thief, dangling from a wire into a museum. Sliding through the air ducts of a skyscraper in search of a particular little item.

3) GRAND THEFT AUTO. The criminal act of stealing a motor vehicle.
You know your cars. And you can steal one in under 60 seconds. Better hope you don't get tripped up with one of those newfangled security systems.

4) MURDER. The act of killing another.
He had to die. He had to, and the guilt of knowing where you buried the body, of knowing that the police are coming after you -- it's starting to wear down your sanity.

5) SERIAL MURDER. A crime involving the killing of three or more people over a period of more than a month.
You have a drive to kill. Again, and again. Nothing satisfies it, nothing stops it. Maybe you hate yourself. Maybe you hate the human scum who only exist to go under your knife.

Or maybe you're a professional hit man. You've killed dozens, you know how it goes. It's just business.

6) CONSPIRACY. An agreement between two or more persons to break the law at some time in the future.
Mafia, Yakuza, crime families who keep their operations quiet under pain of death, dishonor, betrayal of the family. You're part of one of these operations, whether as a patriarch or a peon.

7) FRAUD. Intentional deception made for personal gain.
Blackmail. Cover-ups. Insider trading -- the marks of corporate crime. Perhaps you're a CEO who thinks they can do whatever they want. Perhaps your business is on the rocks and you just need a little time to make your golden parachute before you ditch it.

Or maybe you meant to destroy it. Maybe you're a professional con man, and you're stepping away from your latest conquest with plenty of cash in hand.

8) KIDNAPPING. The false imprisonment of another person against their will.
Do you do it for the ransom? For the money? For revenge?

Or is it a hostage situation, with dozens of prisoners, for some sort of political gain?

9) TERRORISM. The systematic use of terror, especially as a means of coercion.
For a religion, for a philosophy. But -- are you a terrorist, or are you a freedom fighter? It might just be a matter of point of view.

10) WILD CARD. For any crime not mentioned above.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

Nah.

[ an easy dismissal, his fingers still curled -- and it was never serious, but the pulse, at least, was honest. a heartbeat doesn't lie.

equably - ]

But it's still your plan.

Your gesture of appreciation is too much.

[ it earns, at least, laughter from somewhere in the back of his throat -- somewhere behind all the bile, perhaps...

but that's quite enough of that; he removes his glasses and slips them smoothly into his suit pocket. ]

It still is my plan, you're correct. And if you truly know that much-

[ from beneath his sleeve, his watch flashes once, a bright blue that peeks out from under the cloth. ]

Walk normally.

[ he says, in mild tones that doesn't sound anything like the warning it should be when his hand is suddenly firm on suoh's abdomen and pushing him backwards, towards the windowed walkway. ]

[ he turns, he walks, strides quick and sharp, obedience in every line of his frame.

or maybe just a lookout for future spite. whatever. either way: look at all this cooperation. ]

[ it's truly appreciated if there was any doubt (even if he notes, almost regrettably, that effort looks just as sloppy on suoh mikoto as devil-may-care does).

but the walk goes easy, undisturbed. the people outside expect the routine, the stationed guards to walk through the skyway at the appropriate time, and so their two figures are given half-hearted glances, acknowledging nods and nothing more than that. it goes without a hitch, quiet and uneventful; it's what reishi wants. ]

[ ... and then they enter the opposing hallway. of course, because nothing is ever easy --

the hallway is well-lit and empty. the shadows stretch across the far wall. fifty feet's worth of distance isn't enough to muffle the suspicious din of footsteps there, of raised, rancorous voices and clacking guns. the rug beneath their feet masks their footsteps, and he doubts their unsuspecting guests will catch wind of anything, but...

the ruffle of his suit nearly sounds like a hiss as reishi grabs hold of the suoh's elbow from behind, his grip firm as he attempts to usher them both into a side room before their uninvited company rounds the corner up ahead. ]

[ it occurs to him to head straight on without -- for three reasons:

(1) walking is boring.
(2) infiltration is treacherous, i.e. boring.
(3) munakata's had the charge of it for the past several minutes, meaning it's all been really boring.

(is it his fault that 'boring' is synonymous with 'nothing lit on fire'?)

he's got fingers curling at his holster even before he's dragged summarily out of sight -- has half enough foresight to kick the door very gently forward, easing it with the barest click before the expected guard marches by. unfortunately, (coincidentally,) this involves elbowing munakata backwards into the wall behind.

total coincidence, honestly. ]

[ it's a calculated inconvenience is what he'd said at the beginning --eliminating two families in one go is worth the price of knowing full well how one of them works and having at least a fair idea of how the second one runs.

the extra guard he can deal with. but suoh mikoto is a different deal entirely.

a lesser man might flinch under the threat of a cracked rib; reishi takes the elbowing in stride, with no more than a spare breath of a reaction. refusing to let himself get winded saves him from making a sound that way, but the fact that he decided to cram themselves into the small space of a coat closet turns out to be his mistake yet. there's the blunt sound of his back hitting the wall, the few jackets hanging in there with them rattle on their hangers -- outside, there's an abrupt pause, a silence that hangs awfully thick in the air before one of the men finally barks the hell was that?

without his glasses, the displeasure is clear in his frown -- a study in tight-lipped and duly unimpressed . ]

[ -- but it doesn't linger; he doesn't acknowledge the pause. the footsteps come closer and the doors nearby sound like they're being ripped off their hinges in surround sound. reishi simply plucks a coat from one of the hangers and slips it on as chaos erupts around them, smiling slow and sweet as his fingers curl with a pressure of warning around suoh mikoto's arm... though they haven't exactly left, what, with how he'd seen the other man storm carelessly into the fray. still, for the rush, he prepares slowly -- and then just like that, he's reversing their positions with a rough tug, shoving suoh against the back wall and pressing closer to pin him just in time for the closet door to burst open.

his back hides their faces from the thin light -- his hand is against the wall, but the other is clasped firmly over the front of suoh's collar, possibly trying to bruise the outlines of his finger pressure into the bones he finds there. he tries to breathe through his mouth, just to get away from the burning smell of the other man, to arrange the pitch in his voice when he says to the guard behind him - ]

Close it, will you. [ low, rough, frustrated for every reason except for what he's making it out to be. ] We'll get back in a few.

Edited (.... huh.... it actually was a typo) 2013-08-25 23:32 (UTC)

[ grumbles drift up behind his back -- though not without disgruntled understanding: guard shifts are long, tiresome, fruitless. goddammit, they aren't paid enough for this.

somewhere in the bitching interim munakata's instructed to report -- a name's given, or a station. something, mikoto's vaguely sure -- he isn't paying much attention by then. his eyes are fixed; he wants to laugh. the closet's more confined than he'd expected, breathing used breath until the pressure of it aches in his lungs, a dull sort of heat. his nape prickles -- adrenaline or the beginnings of sweat or both -- and munakata's hand's still knotted against his collar, sharp and denting, and the sweeping dark leaves it almost too faint to makeshift any recognition of the disinterested expression, the body poised tensely over his. outside there's still the noise of footsteps shuffling away.

minutes to go.

they're close. they're too close. his eyes slacken, lidding. languidly, indulgently, with just enough force to suggest that this is a thought born of something other than whimsy, mikoto leans up -- or maybe pulls him down, with the fist knotted into the bottom of his shirt. his voice is a scratch, his voice is a thread pressed through through the loophole of someone else's ear, and the words dry faster than a scar from unbroken skin. lazy and caressing, too soft to be overheard. ]

Still sure you don't want 'em taken out?

Edited (wow, I guess typos are pretty contagious, huh! : () 2013-08-26 04:38 (UTC)

[ he feels him first of course. it's hard not to with the added tug, the sensation of his shirt untucking from the unnecessary pull. outside the closet, the footsteps trample across the rug, much more careless and shuffling in quality than what theirs had been. reishi considers it impressive. apparently there does exist a level worse than suoh mikoto.

but he's digressing in thought -- the sound of steps last for far longer than the remaining length of the hallway before the skywalk seems to call for, but he's hardly paying it much attention. suoh breathes against the shell of his ear, rough for all his voice is stifled, and the damp sensation of it makes him freeze for an instant -

but it flows deliberately into his next movement, as if the stiffening's there to help ease his bracing against the wall, or the tipping up of his chin. he relinquishes his hold on suoh's throat (slowly, with the luxury of mercy or, perhaps more fittingly, hesitant regret), but his fingers linger, taking liberties when he runs a hand smoothly down suoh's side, over the curve of his ribs -- and lands on the grip the other man has on the end of his shirt, already starting to pitilessly prize his fingers apart.

still, he speaks unhurriedly, the drawling hum coming from somewhere low in his throat. ]

How cruel. [ there's no longer a smile, and he certainly isn't laughing. and yet the mocking inflection is there. ] Splitting your attention off me like that.

. . . hah.

[ there is, at the back of his mind, a hazy reflex to hang on just to wrinkle the fabric, crease the wearer's brow with distaste and a reaction other than its constant vagueness.

still, out of grace, he lets his grip unravel, tip by fingertip -- shifts a little to lean back against the back of the closet. his shoulder bumps a hanger, which clinks faintly. but his eyes keep fixed, even in the gloom, on the outline of jaw and shoulder and glasses glinting, still cleanly visible through shadow. a moment's idle watching passes; his mouth twists. ]

Can't blame me, right? If you weren't doing much to keep it.

. . . High maintenance for what you are, aren't you.

[ -- comes out as a subdued murmur, in a tone light enough to almost soften the hard way his eyes drop onto the easy slant of suoh's mouth (and yet, never enough to hide all of the unkindness still laced decoratively around each and every word).

the footsteps eventually fade; a door shuts; the coat hangers rattle around their heads. for a moment, he takes his time deliberating, and ends it by pulling something rectangular and vaguely silver out of his back pocket to tuck it (forcefully) into suoh's front. there, he pats it, fingers hooking into the belt as he leans in an unnecessary amount, presses the rich timbre of his point directly into suoh's ear. ]

Jeans are more difficult to take off.

[ . . . yeah, that might be kind of a tight fit. some things don't change.

he isn't looking down for it -- the dent of something pushing against his hip as it slides into his pocket's registered as something unthreatening, easily saved for later. he doesn't shift an inch. instead, a palm drops to the anchoring hand at his belt -- follows it up to the jut of a wristbone. idly, mikoto thumbs a lazy, fever-warm sweep along the skin as his grip locks anew around munakata's wrist.

his answer out loud's only a little delayed. ]

And here I figured you weren't the type to move that fast. . .

[ -- in fact, he supposes it's very admirable to some degree. after all, it's not every day that he finds himself wanting to wash his hands and to dirty them (by breaking suoh mikoto's fingers where they're attached to him, one by insignificant one) simultaneously and in equal amounts.

and it almost translates -- in the way his pulse thrums an extra beat faster beneath the pads of suoh's fingers, or in the callous, cutting dig of his knuckles against the edge of a hipbone.

but the closet is dark, and reishi has angled his head over suoh's shoulder. for all that the scorn flashes briefly across his face, it will remain hidden, private. if only his speech weren't thickly coated with ice, cold and biting where it drifts over the hair framing a too warm ear. ]

And here I figured the effort of slow seduction would be lost on you.

[ and, with the show now over, it's little wonder how quickly, a little less than calmly, he extricates his grip from the waistband of suoh's jeans. his fingers splay, and the restraint he exercises to not push himself free from the brazen hold still on him is present in the ramrod straightness of his spine, in the thinning line of his mouth. ]

Shall we?

[ easy is the signal from whim to design: his grip tightens as munakata untangles himself, an idle and deliberate pressure --

before he lets go, too. ]

Aaa. Still your lead.

[ utterly guileless. ]

With pleasure.

[ it's obvious, anyway, with how readily he shrugs the coat off of his shoulders and hangs it, how he pushes open the closet door without a cautionary peek before he steps outside.

but the trip is short and consists of two parts: a cursory glance at the closed door leading to the walkway they've already traversed, and twenty steps leading to what looks to be an innocuous drawing room, dark and empty and smelling like ink on parchment, the leather of bound books.

on the desk in the far corner is a considerably large cardboard package, sticking out like a sore thumb amidst all the venetian design. ]

. . . Do you take gifts?

[ a series of plush chairs and shelves laid about, and no shadows deep enough to obscure an ambush. his glance only trails to the desk when munakata does. ]

Hah?

[ a rolling shrug. he tips his head towards the parcel and walks towards it -- only to stop halfway, sliding easily onto lone sofa in the middle of the room. ]

You seemed dissatisfied with a pistol. Was that an incorrect assumption?

[ . . . yeah, okay. as if he'd protest an upgrade. to the box!! even so - ]

Thought you were in a hurry.

I am.

[ he props his elbow against the arm of the couch, resting his head against his knuckles as he slants a half-hearted look back at the desk.

they're not really their explosions, after all. and it's convenient that an absent family member ordered a shipment in with the coincidental timing of their planned ambush. with how easy it was to intercept the delivery men and replace them with his own, it's no wonder that mafia is a failing business.

but he figures suoh doesn't care for the little details by now -- just that he has toys to entertain himself with. it's convenient for the both of them. ]

You have ten minutes to pick out what you like.

[ he doesn't bother with a spoken answer, not at the moment this verdict's delivered nor seven minutes after it, when he seems to run out of room in his jacket at last. :(

. . .

the chair creaks sullenly as he plants himself in it to unlace his boots. ]

[ . . . dude. ]

Desperation does not look as attractive on you as I thought it might.

[ o shut up. he casts a glance over, idle. ]

Hah. Just watch your hands and you won't have anything to complain about.

. . . From what I'm seeing, it seems you're the one presently doing all of the complaining. While I thought it was a pleasant enough diversion.

[ but he sits a little straighter, folding his hands neatly where they've settled in his lap. ]

Shall I carry what you cannot?

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