Tag Archives: ic

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For the Love of a Painting || kaitouxjeanne

kaitouxjeanne:

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Distance closing again, an ever tightening hold, honeyed words.

She was falling. Falling deeper into those eyes and in.. No, that sentence won’t be finished. It can’t. What was she doing? Getting herself caught? If she was, the thief was doing a mighty fine job of it. The detective was intoxicatingly close, he had a hold of her, and “darling”? Well, she won’t complain about that. No, wait, yes she would! Fervently. And loudly.

Yet somehow, the complaints seemed to get softer and someone’s heartbeats louder as the detective came even closer. Ah, the continuation of the kiss.. Again, the blonde’s eyelids drooped treacherously. Where was the usual detachment with which she conducted these “romances”?

Anyways, how much would a kiss hurt?

.. won’t be happening. A lot. Quite a lot. I am the fantastic, the marvelous, phantom thief Jeanne.It won’t do to let him steal ANYTHING from me, be it a kiss or my heart anymore time.

Once again, the determined vixen brought a finger to the ever nearing lips to halt the detective’s progress. Oh, it was almost a shame. Fortunately, Jeanne had enough denial in her to believe that. 

Eyes wide with her trademark mischief, she smiled. Let’s bring this closer. Indeed, as in mocking of his attempt to return her kiss, she leaned even further in hold, her lips brushing the finger separating them from a kiss as she spoke.

“Careful, someone might think you fancy me a little too much.”

With practiced ease, the blonde gently slid his hand from her back with her other hand. And no, she did not miss its warmth. Really. 

Moving back, she let the finger she had held to his lips to trail down his face and the fabric of his tie. As the thief did this, her eyes followed the progress of her finger. When she finally reached the end of the clothing article, Jeanne looked back at him and placed the taunting finger on her bottom lip.

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“It’s been fun, love." 

Hopefully not. Yes, hopefully. No, definitely is better. Definitely never again. Yes. Did I just say “love”? It.. it was definitely just in reply to his “darling”! 

With that, she turned away and left to join a social circle with eligible young men. All the thief had to do now, certain the detective’s attention was on her, was to snare some unsuspecting young master with no honor. She’d knock him out, send him home in a taxi — the unconscious would wake up at home with a note saying she had stayed with him until a certain time but he’d not woken up (with the help of a sleeping pill) so she left. The time would cover the amount the heist needed. And with that, her alibi would be complete.

Taking a champagne from a passing waiter, she brought it up to her lips and pretended to listen to the conversation. Jeanne wouldn’t dare look back at the detective.

She was afraid she wouldn’t be able to look away this time.

Every movement, every word had been so carefully timed, so precisely executed, that Hakuba felt almost foolish as she left his side. She wasn’t a normal socialite; this was confirmed. She was a player, but not of the usual game; no, she played her part well, but she was too good at it.

Most women that he considered ‘conquests’ thought of themselves as femme fatales, despite having very little life experience beyond the marbled halls and limitless charge cards. There was a certain arrogance that they displayed that was almost charmingly naive, but Jeanne lacked this little nuance. As much as she tried to pull off the mysterious rich girl, that bit of chess playing set her apart. She was, in fact, the real deal, and very dangerous.

Which was likely why the young detective found himself standing in the moving crowd, staring after her, only just remembering to breathe. That kiss… those eyes… and those fingers trailing down his silk tie…

He managed a sigh before a hand clapped his shoulder, drawing his attention abruptly away from the stirring jealousy of seeing those others with the woman. Hakuba blinked once, then glanced at his employer, who made quick work of complimenting his style and grace, leading into the age-old question of – "Do you know who it is, yet?”

To this, Hakuba offered a slanted smile, head tilting just so. Confident, professional. He may have shown too much of himself to Jeanne in those moments of close musing, but he would not do the same with his client. 

“I have a list, sir; not to worry. You’ve stated that you have non-uniformed officers mixed in, correct? As long as we continue to monitor the entrances and exits as we have, and keep an eye out, I’m certain we’ll be able to draw the culprit out long before the painting is in jeopardy.”

The man, though he wore a smile that ached with concern, nodded with some relief. “I’ll leave it to you, then, tantei-san…”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Oh, incidentally, who was that girl you were dancing with? You two make a stunning pair.”

Hakuba quirked a brow at that, smirking. “Ah, you think so? Unfortunately, I didn’t quite catch her name…” A lie, to be certain. But he didn’t need to know that. “Quite the fascinating woman, though. I may have to ask her out at this rate – after the event, of course.”

“Of course.” The man wasn’t convinced, but he could hardly expect anything else from a teenager. “Just make sure that the painting is safe.”

“Even if I have to attach myself to it, sir.”

“Excellent.”

Once he was gone, Hakuba set about patrolling again, back to work. Mostly looking for the mysterious woman, but also building profiles on the other guests though, really, none were nearly as interesting. This was going to be a very long night. 

by

Lost Keys || Open

Hakuba was nearly unconscious by the time he got to his car. The world shifted around him, twisting the pavement beneath his feet. Still, somehow, he found the study metal frame of the rental car and pressed against it, breaths ragged. The young detective steadied himself, then reached into his pocket for the keys which… were not there. Frantic, he overturned each of his pockets, scattering their contents to the ground. 

Cell phone, pocket watch, wallet, loose change, half-empty pack of cigarettes, lighter, another pocket watch, handkerchief, pen, detective notebook, and a mint tin found themselves scattered at his feet. Still no keys. Hakuba tried the handle of the car in desperation but, being locked, didn’t budge. He coughed, pulling back to try breaking the window in, which only left him with a sore elbow and a frustrated sigh.

The others were still after him. He had his sample; he needed to get out of there and the keys had to be recovered. The particular key ring that had been lost would grant access to not only the car, but also the house, his gym locker, filing cabinet drawers, bedroom, safety deposit box, and so on. This wouldn’t do…

But even as he leaned back against the car, he was having trouble thinking clearly. Something about the lack of sleep, the mysterious strain he’d tested, and the blood loss made it difficulty for him to stand much longer, too. His vision blurred, the world tilted sideways and Hakuba found himself face first against the ground. He wasn’t sure who’d turned out the stars, but everything was getting dark.

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Taiyaki Search || grumpylucario

It had been a long and exhausting day, and the late afternoon sun was only barely beginning to move toward the horizon. Hakuba stretched as he made his way through the city, new tie in bag in one hand, book bag under his arm, and shifted each to his other arm to give himself a bit of reprieve. There was only one other thing left on his long to-do list before meeting his father for dinner, and that was to find vanilla custard taiyaki as a sort of personal reward for accomplishing so much on so little sleep.

Really, it was the only thing he could think of that would make the day a little less troublesome without taking up too much time. 

So carry on he did. Most of the crowd had dissipated by now; hurried off toward home for dinner, cram school, homework, travel… which made wandering this part of Tokyo somewhat ideal for the young, foreign detective. Easier to take notice of all of the little shops and restaurants, to memorize street signs, and identify unmarked locations with reference to his gps. He knew that he’d get the hang of Japan one of these days, hopefully in time to come of use before he went back home to London… 

Hold up. What was…?

Hakuba tilted his head at a glimpse of blue that he caught in the distance. Large, pointed ears. Tapered muzzle. Bipedal. Was that a…? No. Certainly not. Well, it might have been, but it was likely some kind of promotion. Did they have an Animate store in this part of the city? Odd. Very odd. But he couldn’t resist… 

After all, Pokemon was one of his favorite games growing up.

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wewillstartwiththeridingcrop:

“It appears as if you are well known, well liked and trusted greatly around these parts.I ca’t imagine the superiors who run this country would be delighted if they knew that the precious security footage of this fine town were in the hands of a detective, especially one so….youthful. I know my brother would be a little exasperated if he was aware.  We do have a reputation for being a powerful albeit often meddlesome bunch after all. Everyone has the secrets that they wish to keep hidden and the presence of an individual like ourselves who can deduce what it is and bring it to light tends to give them heart palpitations and sweaty palms." 

Sherlock couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit relieved that there would be nobody else. While working in front of strangers was something he had no problem with, it was much easier to get his bearings in a location when some moronic individual wasn’t rambling or asking stupid questions. Besides, watching Mr Hakuba take control of the room was something Sherlock was curious to see more of to a certain extent. He was a rather curious individual and watching him was something Sherlock was willing to continue for a little while longer. 

Wasting no time, Sherlock strode into the room and immediately came to a stop before the controls, his analytical gaze sweeping eagerly across the many screens, before settling himself into a chair in front o them. Now the men were out of the way Sherlock could begin to use their technology for his own means. As his companion had rightly pointed out, the best thing to do in this case was to consult the all-seeing eyes of the cameras for his suspect. Glancing across the small room, Sherlock shot the young detective a curious look. “You’re lingering there, James. You also seem as if you want to say something. If it will please you then you can ask me anything you desire while we trawl through this mass of footage. This is a rather intimate setting after all so some chatter might be best providing you aren’t going to be boring.”

"My, my, are you always this eager?” Hakuba asked, tilting his head as he pulled the door closed behind him. “I’m coming, not to worry. I’ll attempt not to bore you and, I assure you, the government officials need not worry… this is a commercial security office, strictly for businesses and their surrounding areas… it’s not as though I have any access to parliament or anything of that ilk, as interesting as that would be.”

He crossed the room and took a seat, immediately setting to work at calling up the hour or so of footage in question on the various screens. 

“Besides, age is merely a matter of relative perspective; it’s maturity and experience that ought to weigh more, I think. I know several older gentleman at Scotland Yard that I wouldn’t trust with my coffee let alone security…” The young detective tapped a few buttons here, took a few keystrokes there, and leaned back to observe, scanning the screens intently.

“…regardless, I do hope that Mr. Watson is there when I do come to visit. I’ve been so interested in meeting him. He seems a fine companion to have in this sort of work. Would you agree, Mr. Holmes?”

by

a happy hakuba story (for once)

“Hakuba-kun?”

“Ne, Hakuba-kun?”

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The young detective glanced up from his book, blinking, to see two girls standing in front of his desk. It was lunch time, and though an apple rested at the corner of his desk, it was untouched. How long had they been there? What time was it?

Hakuba glanced at his pocket watch before looking back to the girls, brow rising. "Ah… yes?“ 

"Could you do us a favor?”

“Yeah, could you say Valentine?”

More blinking. Hakuba bit his bottom lip, looking between the girls, then glanced around the room. No one was paying them any mind, so it didn’t appear to be some kind of a trick. An odd request, surely, but the girls did seem hopeful and his profile for them didn’t include malicious behavior. 

So, after another moment of hesitation, he offered a quiet, questioning “Valentine?" 

This was rewarded by giggling as the girls clung to each other, and though it took a moment, Hakuba realized that they weren’t laughing at him, they were genuinely pleased.

"What’s so special about Valentine?” he asked, a smile slowly spreading on his face, one corner of his lip slanting upward. “Come on, fess up. Is it the holiday itself, or…?”

“No!” The darker haired one said, then laughed again. “Well sort of!”

“You have more of an accent when you say English words.”

“It’s really cute!”

“She actually thinks it’s hot.”

“Stop that! Oh my god!" 

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He watched them bicker, elbowing each other, giggling, and leaned back in his seat. "So you like my English accent, do you?”

Blushing, they both nodded. 

“I’m more than happy to say a few more things for you, I suppose, before class starts… Do you have any requests~?”

The girls looked at each other and then shook their heads. “Sorry, we don’t really know much english…”

Hakuba pursed his lips, thoughtful as he considered something to tell them. He had his little black detective book on him, though he didn’t think that they would appreciate hearing all about murder and suspects. Not that they would understand it, but it didn’t seem terribly enchanting.

“You could read from your book?”

He glanced down at the volume in his hands and gave a small, helpless laugh. “I’m not…” Hakuba looked back to the girls, their large eyes full of hope, dark lashes batting, fingers clasped together as they waited, breaths held. He sighed. “Well, all right, I suppose a little reading couldn’t hurt…”

He waited for their squeals to die down before reading, using his best and most proper British accent. Posh. Refined.

“In the Ripper’s case the process of transference was, typically, ‘an outgrowth of fear and mystery. Fear inspires a search for meaning, while mystery virtually assures that none will be found.’ The principal mystery enshrouding Whitechapel Jack was how he contrived such uproarious violence within an encapsulating silence…”

With pauses for giggles and swooning sighs, Hakuba managed to get through three paragraphs before their sensei returned. He chuckled as they offered their thanks, bumping into each other as they retreated to their desks, and gave a contented sigh as he settled in for the rest of the day. 

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Perhaps things weren’t always so miserable…

–

[source]

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For the Love of a Painting || kaitouxjeanne

kaitouxjeanne:

As butterscotch eyes came ever closer, Jeanne met them unflinchingly with her own violet eyes. And was it her or was the air between them getting increasingly warm..? As the detective drew himself closer to her, the thief couldn’t quite ignore just how well their bodies fit together with their exchanged words bringing them seemingly closer.

Oh, dear. The blonde’s eyes seemed to droop a little more as the distance between them grew less. Would alcohol suffice as explanation? Speaking of alcohol.. I wonder just how the champagne tastes from his lips..

Then she heard him.

It was as if a gust of icy wind had swept through her, taking away the slight dizziness and treacherous warmth. He knew. He KNEW. How could I be such an idiot?? Have I..? No. It has to be a bluff. Her cover wasn’t blown just yet!

Before Hakuba’s lips could meet with hers, she placed a finger on his lips. Her eyes were still hooded, but her mind cleared. She was the phantom thief here. As if she’d let him steal the first kiss. Wherever the game was going, the competitive thief wanted the advantage.

“My, detective, I’m both flattered and appalled. Such a handsome detective seems interested in me, but thinks I am a mere criminal?”

Jeanne didn’t wait for his answer — she reached up to him, melding their bodies even closer and pulled him down for a slow kiss, biting down on his lower lip teasingly. After a moment, she pulled away slightly look at him, the mischievous spark in her eyes brighter than ever. She reached up to caress his cheek lightly.

"So detective, it appears I’ve stolen a kiss from you. Are you going to arrest me now?”

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He could try.

To be honest, Hakuba hadn’t quite expected that turn of events. Not that he had a problem with it whatsoever; on the contrary, he was stunned by the pleasant – and rather thrilling – development. As she touched his cheek,  the young detective let a soft sigh escape him, lips parted in his lingering surprise. 

When he managed to compose himself a moment later, Hakuba gently leaned his head into her affection, taking in the caress with a grateful (and significant) glance at her eyes.

“…you cannot steal what is willingly given, mademoiselle.” The words left him with a purr, hand at her back tightening its hold. “And you’re no mere criminal, my darling… not with the proficiency for which you’ve stolen my attention. I do hope that this is some ingenious ploy; I must admit that I’m intensely fascinated by your methods.”

Truthfully, it was a bluff, but Hakuba felt confident in seeing it through. At worst, it was a mystery otaku’s attempts at wooing a woman with a surprisingly convincing James Bond act. At best, it was successfully seducing an intensely interesting mistress thief. Whether the night ended in bed or in jail, Hakuba found it inescapably difficult to mind. 

Alas, if he wasn’t careful, this particular attention that he was paying to only one suspect was sure to be noticed by his client sooner or later… Even so, he leaned in for an attempt at returning the kiss.

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City Jaunt! || harajukuharuspex

harajukuharuspex:

Trumpets. She could hear…trumpets? And drums. And muffled singing, growing clearer as she blinked a darkness she couldn’t call sleep, not exactly, out of her eyes. A marching band. Dressed in black – or was it white? The colours shifted before her eyes; first adorned in black with grotesque clown makeup, then white with placid smiles and grey eyes. Akira scrambled to get up, realising they weren’t stopping and vaulted herself sideways. Her white dress gathered a splotch of red from her scraped knee. Scraped on what? She hissed in pain and tucked her knees to her chest as the band paraded past, unaware (or perhaps uncaring) of her safety. Once the gold and black elephant rounding out the macabre crew – shifting between black and white with such speed now that to Akira’s eyes their clothes appeared a dull grey, same as their eyes – she stood and surveyed the area.

Nothing.

She reached out for Emi, always the strongest, always there for her, and found an empty void of something darker than black equal in to the white at which she now stared.

Nothing.

I need to get out.

I’ll put one foot in front of the other one 
I don’t need a new love, or a new life 
Just a better place to die 

Hakuba was discharged the next morning and taken home for bed rest. But although he stayed in bed, he did not rest well- it was fitful at best, rife with nightmares and tossing, all of which aggravated his injuries. The image of his friend’s face, slick with blood, or lying there so… gone… he shuddered, dug his fingernails into his unbandaged wrist.

He had flowers delivered every day and waited, pleaded for news. Was she awake? Was Akira all right? They had nothing for him. How would Himura-kun react? What would become of them?

Each question plagued him, drilling holes into his conscious thought with desperate fervor. Why had you been driving so fast? There might not have been an accident. They could have gotten the book, enjoyed an afternoon shopping, gone to the party… 

Would she wake up? 

When his head had stopped its constant ache and the lesser of the cuts and scratches had begun to heal, Hakuba made it a point to return to the hospital every afternoon to wait at her side. He brought his work with him and sat, like a faithful golden retriever, reading and filling out paperwork with nothing but her breathing and the mechanical sounds that went with the equipment that monitored her progress.

[text] Himura-kun, I don’t know what to do. Is it my fault?

Most days, he ended with his head buried in his hands in exhausted shame, waiting for Baaya to collect him.

One, two, three, four…

Seven… eight…

[text] Akira, please wake up. 

by

White Knight Widow | Part Two

[part 1 2]

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There wasn’t a lot of time.

Hakuba stood shaking in front of the mirror, palm sliced open from between his index and middle finger down to his wrist. Blood slid over his hand and dripped into the sink in a steady stream, and though he had the bandages laid out, he couldn’t stop the grin that pulled at his lips. It was so difficult to care about it. It hurt, certainly, but he’d stopped hissing a few moments ago. Really, all he wanted to do was continue to flex his hand, back and forth, and watch the way the skin pulled away from itself over that gash of red. 

It was fascinating, really. The threads of tissue and muscle. The hand was such an intricate piece of machinery… 

The detective shook his head. No. He had work to do. 

“Concentrate…" 

He shuddered, blinking several times before he turned to the supplies next to him. Bandages. A syringe. Liquid already measured out. But what was…? Oh- oh, yes the solution. Chemical compounds he’d put together in the labs earlier, which would react to certain parts of the…

…the drug…

The detective pressed his palm against the mirror and pulled his hand down over the reflection of his face. It was all so familiar… a memory from before. Years ago? Not too long ago. Something like that. His pack of friends had done this before. That was in London. Where was he now?

Not that it mattered. God, red was such a beautiful color. He smeared his hand sideways in an arc and sighed. Just like Koizumi-san; the sunrise, the sunset, heaven and earth. What was blue, anyway? Unoxygenated? Non… oxygenated? Blood…

No, that wasn’t right. That was just a myth. Blood wasn’t blue unless you were speaking of royalty. Which he was not. 

"Fuck my grandfather, really… who needs lineage? It’s all just a game… a bloody game of kiss and tell with papers like dogs and like horses. Horses…”

He touched his face and chuckled. 

Where were they? His mates.

“Lend me a fiver. Lend you a fiver. An’ we’ll head down to the pub fer a drink! A drink and a fight and a bit of a fuck in the back alley by the brick wall and the underground parking lot…”

How long had it been since he’d called them? Months… years? No, it was years, he was fairly certain. He dug in his trouser pocket for the silver Master Watch and pulled it out, holding it close to inspect the time. His vision blurred, doubled, and he pulled it against the mirror. Yes, it’d been years since he’d seen his friends. He’d need to give them a call…

But where was his phone? Not in his pocket…

“Tricksy… string or nothing.." 

Not that it mattered, either. He’d find it in a moment. There was always the house phone, too. Or, no, this wasn’t his house, was it? Not exactly. Things were too clean. Too sterile. But it wasn’t the labs. 

Yet there was a syringe there… next to all that spilled white powder. What was it for?

He closed his eyes to think, running over memories of carnivals and street markets, tall grass and a bracelet of beads. She’d worn such a short skirt, that bird. The pack leader. Such a short skirt with nothing underneath. How’d she get away with that, anyway? How had she remembered him after the years of not talking? 

The blood was dripping onto his trousers and he paused to wipe his hand and arm over his bare chest and stomach, manufactured frown on his face. Sticky, that. Red and sticky, with just a bit of grit. Impure blood. Like crime scenes. 

The syringe was for…

Oh yes. For an experiment. He only needed to push it in. Needles weren’t scary. Not when you worked with them in a lab quite often. Nothing more than tugging on the skin here, a little pinprick there and – ah- push the stopper… 

The needle fell into the bloodied sink when he dropped it, rolling around before coming to a stop. It was a feeling of triumph. He’d done the task he’d set out to do. He almost hadn’t been able to, but he managed, and already a bit of clarity was coming back to him. He blinked at the mirror, suddenly hesitating. 

The sunset he’d painted was dripping. Boiling. It turned to fire. He shuddered, staring past it at his own face, chalk white. There was someone standing next to him. Black robes. Thin white collar. The cross.

He stepped back into the towel rack and froze. The cold metal touched those scars. Lifting a hand to comb through his hair, blood dripped to the crook of his elbow and onto his bare foot.  Fire. There was fire there. Soot-stained stone. The dig of that metal. The smell of burning skin. 

Hakuba choked on a gasp, staring into the eyes of that man. Two men in one. The turban threads swung loose in the breeze, but he wasn’t there. None of it was there. The locks were on the doors. Chair in the way. The sliding glass had furniture in front of it, too. He couldn’t move it. Bolted down? No. how could this be? Then the wire… the wire everywhere.

The web…

He was caught all over again; a scared little boy at only sixteen, face-to-face with that man who spoke of thieves as if they were only his lures. Men and women that he played with, propped on silver strings and made to dance for his supper. 

Red everywhere. The sky, the grass, the flames.The faces of children burning, screaming silent screams, weeping muffled into pillows. Bloodied sheets. Hands and feet so cold they burned with blood on concrete pathways. He watched them all as they tumbled down the steps, one after another until the blood flowed like a river over stone, carrying them to the tide beyond. 

It was hell. Everywhere around him was eternal purgatory, reaching toward outer darkness and a scream that he couldn’t manage from all that boiled in his gut. But there it was on the ceiling… those words he’d been searching for these years. The face of the man he was searching for. There, just barely out of reach… and if he could only just stretch a little further, deal with the pain a little longer, he could save them…

…

Whether it was the loss of blood from his untreated hand or the chemical cocktail that had him unconscious first was unclear, but he remained out cold until late the next morning. Even once awake, it felt like hours before he could drag himself from the floor to his knees. The bloody scene that greeted him left him ill, but he managed to make it to the bathroom before completely losing all composure. Yet, sick or not, and so much cleanup ahead of him, at least there was one small comfort: 

The experiment had been a success.

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Ekoda Mystery Locker || wilddetectivenana

wilddetectivenana:

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“Oh, you know my name…" the girl was really surprised, she didn’t except him to know it.  "…Awesome…Do you know everybody’s name? Or you just guessed…or something else… ”

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“Oh, so you did received that email too~” She said, grinning. She didn’t know what was going on and what would happen, but she knew it’ll be interesting.

“I did receive the email, yes, and…” Hakuba frowned at the question, looking the girl over with a calm, appraising glance. “I know the names of many of the students here, at least enough to identify them by face, but I’m afraid that I don’t know all that much about you personally." 

He offered a kind smile, biting his lip. "Would you be willing to tell me about yourself while we wait?”

by

Lonely Elegance || kaitomagic

kaitomagic:

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The sound of Hakuba’s voice was Kaito’s first indication that he might have trouble that night. He blinked, turning his head to look up at his classmate in surprise, automatically scooting to the side as Hakuba had anticipated- though from Kaito’s viewpoint it was more to avoid getting sat on and having to deal with a detective in his lap than to give him permission to commandeer his seat.

“H..Hakuba?” The teen half stuttered as the detective lowered himself to the bench, blinking again before his eyes narrowed suspiciously. What was he doing here?

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Once comfortably seated, Hakuba took a moment to adjust his suit before turning his attention to the piano in front of them. “Don’t tell me that you’re surprised to see me here, as well. After all, with my work in the force and my father being who he is, of course I’d be invited to attend such a function.”

The half-brit detective flexed his fingers, gently slipping them onto the keys with practiced finesse. Such feather-light touches produced no sound, but Hakuba moved his fingers as if they would, turning his head to look at the other boy with a tilted smirk. It was then that he began to play; something light and classic, high notes trilling one after another in an effortless cascade. 

“Am I to assume that you’re here as Nakamori-chan’s date?”