The Criminal AU Meme

[cerebel]

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.

Comments

[clansman]

[ 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?

[permit]

[ 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.

[clansman]

. . . 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.

[permit]

. . . 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.

[clansman]

[ . . . 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. . .

[permit]

[ -- 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?

[clansman]

[ 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. ]

[permit]

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?

[clansman]

[ 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?

[permit]

[ 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?

[clansman]

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

Thought you were in a hurry.

[permit]

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.

[clansman]

[ 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. ]

[permit]

[ . . . dude. ]

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

[clansman]

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

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

[permit]

. . . 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?

[clansman]

[ his gaze focuses, considering; a faint smile flicks up, a little laugh, before he turns back to restocking. ]

Nah. [ fiddling obscurely, a heel braced against the wood. eventually, he lets it drop. ] I'm done.

[permit]

Very well, then.

[ he's... not going to ask, it seems. even if he examines suoh's feet warily from the corner of his eye. ]

. . . You will have to wait after the next room, however. To use what we've gained.

[clansman]

The next room?

[ as he meanders over, no heavier in step than before. ]

[permit]

The last one. Closed quarters and yet no less than ten men guard the lone set of doors we'll find there.

[ he lifts his head, but doesn't move to stand just yet. ]

Once we get past them, we'll be able to reach the underground.

[clansman]

[ double-digits of guards and one set of doors -- it's nearly a thought to turn him towards strategy.

but fuck that. there'd better be room enough to maneuver, is all. it's a noisy exhale precedes his stop before the sofa, hands easy at his sides. ]

Is that it?

[ read: how careful is munakata expecting him to be of damages against five times their number, provided they aren't loud enough to draw reinforcements, really. ]

[permit]

Can you control yourself? To the extent of taking them out without caving in that particular portion of the manor.

[clansman]

[ ... :( ]

What a pain. . . They got a way to call out from in there?

[permit]

. . . My mistake, I almost forgot to whom I was speaking.

[ his glasses get pushed between long finger and thumb, slowly, carefully. ]

I suppose your instinctive reaction would not be alarm when faced with a burning building, seeing as how you'd likely be the one responsible for it. Unfortunately not all of us can be so similarly easy-going.

[clansman]

[ . . . looks him up and down in a deliberate flick. well, down and down. ]

I dunno. You've got legs, right?