|
|
Post by Deleted on Dec 2, 2017 13:06:59 GMT -5
"forget the horror here / leave it all down here / it's future rust and it's future dust." - spanish sahara, foals.
set in modern times, crime-focus.
sure, muse a is a criminal. they're a small-time gang leader; they control a small portion of the city, they're rivals with another gang, and so on. it's (not quite) harmless young adult stuff, the type of thing that keeps them out of big-time trouble. the police dislike them, sure, but they're not a murderer. someone, however, has framed them for a murder that they have not committed; and so, in desperate times, they're forced to seek out muse b; the rival gang leader.
there are few reasons muse b has to help muse a. they're not friends (though, in a different time, perhaps they could've been) and they're not allies, but there's something tempting about having muse a be stuck in their debt. with some reluctance, they allow muse a to crash at theirs and promise to help clear their name. of course, the catch is that muse a will owe something at one point or another - it's just a matter of when muse b decides to cash in the favour.
(the case, however, might be bigger than both of them and their gangs; perhaps even dipping into the territory of dangerous criminals; the sorts that keep even them up at night.)
muse a ;; Rayen Kirk, 23 years old [fc]
5'4'', relies on quick feet and quick thinking but also has a knack for some martial arts moves, long ash-blonde hair and bright quartz eyes, light splash of freckles along nose and tops of cheekbones, born in phoenix, arizona. may seem feisty and irritable on the surface, but can actually be a real softy. enjoys classical music, painting, and warm fuzzy sweaters.
muse b ;; Camille Fournier, 27 years old [fc; Adam Gallagher]
5'4'', uses his wits & observance more than sheer force. brown hair, one dark blue eye, one light green - tan skin. originally born in france, but moved away when he was twenty to find his own footing; now he lives in america. surprisingly conscious of his fashion. farsighted; needs glasses to read. |
|
𝖠𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝟥𝟥
"𝖨𝖿 𝖨 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖨 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖻 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽𝗌."
|
Post by 𝖠𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝟥𝟥 on Dec 2, 2017 13:23:00 GMT -5
muse a ;; Rayen Kirk, 23 years old [fc; dis girl]
5'4", relies on quick feet and quick thinking but also has a knack for some martial arts moves, long ash-blonde hair and bright quartz eyes, light splash of freckles along nose and tops of cheekbones, born in Phoenix, Arizona. May seem feisty and irritable on the surface, but can actually be a real softy. Enjoys classical music, painting, and warm fuzzy sweaters.
|
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Dec 2, 2017 13:27:30 GMT -5
naisu, naisu. would you like me to start? & additionally, would you prefer any certain city or should we just keep it vague so we can do what we like?
<: |
|
𝖠𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝟥𝟥
"𝖨𝖿 𝖨 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖨 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖻 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽𝗌."
|
Post by 𝖠𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝟥𝟥 on Dec 2, 2017 13:32:02 GMT -5
Yeah you can start (: and ahh it doesn't matter to me ^^ we can be vague if you'd like!
|
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Dec 2, 2017 13:33:04 GMT -5
alright! i'll try and get that up soon <: if i take longer than expected, it's probably because food arrived orz and yep! i'll probably keep it vague,
in that case |
|
𝖠𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝟥𝟥
"𝖨𝖿 𝖨 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖨 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖻 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽𝗌."
|
Post by 𝖠𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝟥𝟥 on Dec 2, 2017 13:38:14 GMT -5
okkie dokkie :3
|
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Dec 2, 2017 13:53:11 GMT -5
Though others likely did not think the same, there was something peaceful about small-time gangs. Less stress, less death, and less danger. Again; not everybody thought the same. Camille's former life had been nothing but danger - even if he hadn't been searching for it, it would always manage to find him. Admittedly, as a teenager, he'd taken more risks than he should've. He hadn't listened to the people who'd told him no, hadn't paid attention to those who warned him beforehand of any dangers there were. He'd dived in headfirst, and had suffered the consequences. Perhaps that was why he preferred this, to a degree. Preferred the quieter life where the worst he had to worry about was some kind of deal going sideways and someone getting mildly hurt.
Mostly, he supposed, it was turf wars.
Camille was not a particularly competitive man. Though most of his gang members had decided that this was their turf, and that meant the other gang were their rivals, he didn't mind. He played along because it was amusing to see them get riled up - and sure, fights could get a little out of hand. He dealt with that. He found it funny when one of the younger members spun off into a rant about how irritating the other city gang was, but he didn't find it funny when unwarranted accusations were flung his way. Perhaps he was a little on the touchy side, he'd admit that. He was more prideful than people realised; it was because he didn't shout out this pride that they didn't realise. He was a quieter, calmer man than they realised - he held secrets that many did not know about, and that was fine.
"Murder accusations aren't a funny rumour to spread. Who did it?" he glanced at his second with a raised eyebrow, taking his glasses off and absently hooking them through his shirt, just for somewhere to put them.
"Wasn't us," the other man held his hands up in a defensive motion. Adrian was a good second - perhaps a little more mischievous than others realised, but a good man nonetheless. A little knife-giddy, but a good kid. "I swear it, Cam. I heard it from Richie, who heard it from Sam, and she said that she heard it from some cop."
"So it's probably true?"
"I 'unno." a pause. "Maybe? Either way, I heard that the others are gone, now, or something. I mean, we're criminals, sure, but we ain't those big ones," he made a vague gesture above his head. "We can't get away with murder."
Camille nodded slowly, absently lighting a cigarette. Adrian watched him with wide eyes. There was something about him that made the other man respect him - Camille could never figure out what. Perhaps it was a hereditary trait, or perhaps he'd learned it; his presence didn't demand respect, but the way he held himself had managed to gather some respect from the members of his gang. They called themselves the Fournier Gang, but that sounded ridiculous, to Camille.
"We can't." he agreed.
There didn't seem to be more gossip from around the streets, and so he bid farewell to his second and made his way back to his apartment. It was a humble thing; just inside the so-called border of his gang's territory. It was a quiet place; mostly older-aged people, really. He was one of the youngest there. He liked it, though. There was something calming about the tiny apartment - it was undeniably his, with the tiny window he used to sit on the fire escape at night, with the second-hand furniture and its little television. His living space did not reflect his lifestyle.
Upon his return, he automatically locked the door, threw the keys aside and threw his jacket onto its peg, kicked his shoes off to one side and pushed open the window to the fire escape, climbing out and sitting cross-legged on the cold metal. He lit his second cigarette that day, and tilted his head back to look at the sky. It was a quiet, calm day; just as any other.
|
|
𝖠𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝟥𝟥
"𝖨𝖿 𝖨 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖨 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖻 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽𝗌."
|
Post by 𝖠𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝟥𝟥 on Dec 2, 2017 15:13:11 GMT -5
Life was full of many, many things. It was full of more life, death, and then more complex things. It was full of rules and people threatening to tear you down. It was full of sadness and madness and betrayal. But it was also full of beautiful, fun things. Though she was only merely twenty-three years old and barely out of her teenage years, Rayen had experienced most if not all of the things life had to offer someone like her. Her earlier years as a child had probably been the best times of her life, the tender period of life where you had nothing to worry about except the invisible monsters under your bed and mommy and daddy not getting you what you wanted most for Christmas. Her teenage years . . . Now those had been hell. So far, her twenties were working out for her. It wasn’t perfect, but better than her life as a teenager.
Rayen shook the can of spray paint in her hand for about five seconds, then aimed it at the brick wall of the building in front of her, doing arches and swirls and little swings until image of an orchid appeared from her can of paint. She blew a strand of her ash-blonde hair out of her face as she took a few steps back to access her work, giving a faint whistle. The image of the orchid wasn’t the delicate beauty often associated with flowers. The orchid’s petals were blazing with flames, and were sharp as knives. This was her sigil. Her name meant flower, but Rayen wanted her own image of a flower to represent her.
Her constant graffitiing annoyed the cops to no end. Even her fellow gang members tried to caution her to be more careful where she did her sigil work. But Rayen loved to paint, and she liked annoying people now and then. Besides, as the leader of a small-time gang, she could do what she wanted. But even though she was in a gang, her morals were normal and even better than most these days. Her gang did stunts and broke rules that were frowned upon, but they weren’t bloodthirsty killers or savage drug dealers or anything of that sort. They were only a small-time gang, and coined themselves as the Idealists.
“Graffiting again, Ray?” sighed a voice from behind her. The blonde turned her head to peer over her shoulder, and upon seeing it was her second, she turned back to the work and decided to paint another coat.
“It’s my favorite hobby. Didn’t you know?” Rayen mused, continuing her work until she was satisfied, stepping back and admiring her sigil. She glanced back at the second, a broad shouldered twenty-four year old woman with a purple dyed pixie cut. “Chill, Eve. I’ve done this many times.”
“And are going to be caught if you keep doing it.” Eve replied briskly, wearing a deep frown.
Rayen shoved her can of paint back into her pack and studied her second. Eve was a great second. She spoke her mind and wasn’t afraid to take on challenges, though sometimes she spoke her opinion of things a little too much . . . Rayen greatly respected her, though. She liked that Eve didn’t always agree with her simply because she was the leader. She liked having a wide perspective of ofhers’ views. “I don’t need to be coddled, Eve. I’m a big girl, I can handle myself.” She said, brushing her hands off on her jeans.
Eve shook her purple head. “Theres been a murder around this area today, Rayen. There’s cops swarming everywhere. I’m just trying to look out for you. One of these days you’re going to be seen and caught.”
“Again, I’ll be fine.” Ray said firmly, a bit briskly this time. Then she tilted her head at Eve. “There was a murder? Around here?” There were only small gangs around these parts . . . Aside from that, there weren’t too many killings in this part of the city. She frowned and tossed her bag over her shoulder, jerking her head for them to leave the alley she had just decorated with her sigil. Rayen followed Eve down the street, gazing around her with darkened quartz eyes. It was difficult to explain, but an unsettling feeling had fallen over her . . .
|
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Dec 2, 2017 21:44:53 GMT -5
i'm sorry, amber - i'm not quite sure how to reply? ;v; |
|
𝖠𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝟥𝟥
"𝖨𝖿 𝖨 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖨 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖻 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽𝗌."
|
Post by 𝖠𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝟥𝟥 on Dec 2, 2017 22:04:15 GMT -5
Hmm well I’m not quite sure how you want her to get blamed for the murder . . . I’ve sort of left my reply off where she could get accused and pursued for the murder soon, so maybe you could rp the detectives/police who see her on the street and accuse her? Then I could work Rayen towards where Camille is?)
|
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Dec 2, 2017 22:05:52 GMT -5
alrighty! sorry aboutt hat i just woke up - i'll get to that soon |
|
𝖠𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝟥𝟥
"𝖨𝖿 𝖨 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖨 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖻 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽𝗌."
|
Post by 𝖠𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝟥𝟥 on Dec 2, 2017 22:09:09 GMT -5
Oh no it’s perfectly alright! Do what you deem fit ^^
|
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Dec 2, 2017 22:31:31 GMT -5
In any other circumstances, the murder would have been unidentifiable. It was surprisingly well done; they wouldn't have been able to solve it had it not been for one glaringly obvious thing: the flower insignia. Same paint, same pattern - it was as if they were being mocked, really. The two detectives on the case - Hopps and Scott - glanced at each-other with slowly raised eyebrows.
"Makes sense," Hopps said, putting one hand on his hip as he studied the scene. The body was being taken away to be settled into a morgue; once it was identified, the family would have to be notified. That was how these things went. "They're troublemakers."
"They're definitely mocking us." Scott shook her head slowly. "Did they think we wouldn't act? They're not that scary."
"Maybe because we haven't actually managed to catch them before." the suggestion, itself, was not a bad one. For a moment, his fellow detective simply look thoughtful - before she nodded slowly and sighed.
Perhaps it was their lucky day, as the duo walked down the street contemplating what to do, as they caught a glimpse of their suspect. For a moment, they faltered - glanced at each-other as if to say is this really happening? They both realised that they saw the same thing; the very gang leader they were looking for, and not some sleep-deprived hallucination from Hopps.
"Should we?" his voice was pitched low, barely above a whisper.
Scott squinted thoughtfully and glanced to where the suspect had just come from. That was the symbol, alright; spitting image, same colours, perhaps even the same paint. They'd have to get forensics on it, but she was fairly confident in it. After a couple of seconds, she glanced to her partner and nodded slowly. "Call it in, I'll go ahead."
Hopps gave her the thumbs-up, and dropped back a little to speak quietly into his radio for backup. Meanwhile, Scott picked up her pace a little; the closer she got to the criminal, the easier the chase would be. Once she was within a good range, she put one hand to her belt for her gun.
"Rayen Kirk, you're under arrest for murder. Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law, and you have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, then one will be appointed to you. Put your hands in the air and don't try anything funny," she hated having to read those rights, but rights were rights and if she didn't say them then it wouldn't count towards anything. Behind her, she heard Hopps' radio click and listened as he approached quickly so that they could do this as quickly as they could.
|
|
𝖠𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝟥𝟥
"𝖨𝖿 𝖨 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖨 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖻 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽𝗌."
|
Post by 𝖠𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝟥𝟥 on Dec 2, 2017 23:16:38 GMT -5
As Rayen walked down the street with Eve slightly ahead of her,
her quartz colored eyes narrowed in thought, her feeling of dread grew bigger in her gut. There had been a murder in this part of town? Perhaps it was just a random killing, or a local crazy nobody would have been able to predict. But since this place would be swarming with cops, it'd be best to pause her hobby so she wouldn't be seen. The police knew her face, and knew her sigil, and while graffiti was frowned upon . . . she wasn't exactly their biggest threat. If they caught her, she'd be fined and possibly arrested, but Rayen knew how to be discreet.
However, in this moment, as she was following her second down the street, she was doing just the opposite of being discreet. But to be fair, cops didn't usually patrol this particular street as it was normally very peaceful and cleaned up. Having just followed Eve and had immediately trusted wherever she was leading them and having been deep in thought with the news of the murder, Rayen realized her mistake too late. Just as she looked up, about to warn Eve they should travel through the alleys, she spotted the two cops. She grabbed Eve's arm just as the female officer came towards her, a hand on the gun in her belt.
Murder? She was being charged with murder? Her jaw dropped and she stared in appall at the officer. "Officer, I'm sorry to tell you but you've got the wrong person. I may not be the greatest citizen, but I assure you I'm no killer." Rayen took a step back, a deep frown on her face. Honestly, despite being a gang leader, the girl would barely hurt a fly. Sure, she'd defend herself and others if need be. But she would never kill someone. She would never amount to the type of scum who were responsible for the death of her mother. She turned to stare at her second, expecting her to protest and start demanding explanations on why the officer would place the blame on her leader, but was startled to find Eve silently watching her and the officer, as if she were watching a play being performed.
|
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Dec 3, 2017 10:42:42 GMT -5
For a moment, Hopps and Scott glanced to each-other with raised eyebrows. Is she serious? one's expression asked. The other shrugged lightly and made a small gesture; already, sirens were sounding as they approached their current position. Scott snorted softly and flicked her gaze over the two women before focusing solely on Kirk; she was the suspect, here. Hell, there was proof she'd done it, so she didn't know why the kid was denying it.
"Tell that to the jury," she said, unhooking her handcuffs from her belt and approaching the gang leader.
She knew there were two gangs in this city, for the most part; it didn't seem that the Idealists or whatever they were called caused too much trouble; graffiti wasn't their biggest issue, really. It was more annoying than anything else, not quite illegal enough for the other officers to care to arrest those caught doing it. Since they were (supposed to be) nothing more than teenagers with nothing better to do, they were told off and sent home. It was a little weird that Kirk seemed intent on doing it despite (supposedly) being an adult, but she could deal with it.
Technically, Scott found the Fournier Gang more dangerous. Small-time but still confident enough to pull off little heists and, rumour had it, drug deals. Not enough evidence to raid them. It was best to leave them alone. What she didn't want to leave alone was a murder; admittedly, she'd expected the others to commit a murder first, but perhaps they wouldn't be so obnoxious about it.
"You can screw around all you like, but you've got to be a Class-A moron to think we don't recognise your marks," she shook her head. Behind her, Hopps reported the situation to the team; they were closing in, now. The sirens were rather loud and grated her ears, but she could deal with that.
|
|
𝖠𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝟥𝟥
"𝖨𝖿 𝖨 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖨 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖻 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽𝗌."
|
Post by 𝖠𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝟥𝟥 on Dec 3, 2017 12:28:57 GMT -5
Rayen took another step back, her lip curling with distaste that her second wasn't backing her up on this. Did she really think she committed the murder? Did she really think she was responsible? If what the cop said was true and her sigil was found at the crime scene . . . Oh, she was screwed. Somebody had the perfect opportunity to place the blame on her. God dammit, I am stupid. she scowled inwardly to herself. She should have been more careful. Her graffiti wasn't always just her sigil. She painted a great number of things. Some would call it childish and stupid, but that was their opinion. Rayen like the freedom of expression, and wanted people to see her art. It was too late for her to decide to settle down and live a nice, peaceful life with an art studio. Especially now.
Rayen only bestowed her masterpieces upon alleyways or the openings to sewers. Places where the graffiti wouldn't be harmful or as offensive as it could be if one painted right over a convenience store's door. Still, her cops recognized her sigil,
and not in a good way. She. Was. Screwed. "I'm glad you recognize my marks." Rayen said at last, glancing up at the officer with a steely gaze. "However, I think you're the Class-A moron for falling for something so blatantly set up." With that, the gang-leader spun around and raced down the street, her heart racing and beating against her chest.
All she could think of as she ran was Eve. Sure, she should be more worried about being framed for murder, but to be honest,
she shouldn't have been so ignorant with her sigils. I suppose this isn't very surprising . . . But then again,
who could predict they'd be framed for murder? She just couldn't believe Eve wouldn't stick up for her. Did her second really think she would do this? If that was the case, she would seriously need to consider the position of Eve if she ever escaped this mess. She turned a corner and slid into an alley, picking up her pace and going as fast as she could. She shed the grey hoodie she wore as she ran and stuffed it into a garbage can, then took the hair band around her wrist and wrestled her blonde hair into a ponytail as she continued on.
Maybe her change in appearance would throw them off for a bit. But now begged the question . . . where would she go? How could she get out of this mess? Maybe she could find somewhere to hole up until it blew over-- no, that wouldn't be any good. Rayen ran for what felt like an hour through the backstreets and shadows of buildings, until she finally paused in a woodland area behind a liquor store. Out of breath, she panted and leaned her head back against a tree. "Think Ray . .
. where can you go? Where can you go so your stupidass won't get arrested?" she muttered to herself, then slowly,
an idea dawned on her. Crap. Was she really considering . . . him?
They weren't friends. They weren't allies. But he may be able to help in some way. If not . . . Rayen sighed and straightened her shoulders, then quickly started off to the Fournier gang leader's.
|
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Dec 3, 2017 13:20:36 GMT -5
Considering that was what the guilty seemed to always say, the two detectives did not quite find it in themselves to care. They each raised an eyebrow as the woman took off, and exchanged glances before radioing it in. It was better to get backup before a chase; who knew what could happen? It took them a few moments to chase; at which point, they could barely follow the trail. It took them a few more moments before they lost her - but they knew that she'd have to be apprehended sooner or later. As much as they slacked off, they couldn't exactly afford to keep a suspected murderer at large.
Meanwhile, a certain man was rather unconcerned with everything.
Though his head angled to the side as he listened to the sirens, a lack of any messages or calls told him that, no, it wasn't any of his kids in trouble. That was fine, then - he could continue to sit here and write absent notes that barely made sense; fragmented French mixed with English, understandable only to him. It was easier to scribble them down first and think more about them later - though, perhaps, he could cut down on the cigarettes. He barely stopped himself from lighting a second, sliding it back into the pack and throwing that back into his apartment. Luckily, it landed on the little coffee table.
He wiggled his bare toes and rested his elbows on his thighs, watching the street from the corner of his eye. This little fire escape was a nice place to him; perhaps not to others, and perhaps he shouldn't have found comfort in the simpler things. His apartment was cheap and yes, the building was a little run down; it was small and he liked it. Maybe it was because he was used to the higher life. His family weren't exactly poor, but he didn't bother asking for help from them. This was his idea - this whole...America thing. Camille thought he was doing rather well - none of his kids had been arrested (yet), and they weren't stepping out of line. It was just one of those things.
So, yes, the news of a murder concerned him a little. It wasn't normal for that to happen in this area; with the facts he had to consider, though, he didn't think it was anything to do with his gang. Hell, there were already rumours circulating about who'd done it (it seemed to be the other gang leader, though he couldn't quite remember the name of them).
"C'est la vie," he murmured, stretching his arms in front of himself and yawning. Finally, he stood up and ducked into the window of his apartment, shutting it with his foot (graceful as hell, he knew), and wandering over to his little couch. It could fold into a bed for those in his gang who needed a place to crash - he hadn't had to unfold it for a while, and he was grateful for that. He flopped onto it and rested his chin on the arm of it, throwing his notebook idly into his little pile of notebooks. It was a simple place that did not look like some sort of criminal lived there. Really, it was his little piece of heaven; books scattered here and there (piled up on each-other, as well), games shoved haphazardly into the cabinet, a little television and his bedroom leading off from the main room. It was nice and homely and although the kitchen was tiny, it worked well enough for the basics. He liked it.
Perhaps the fact that his life was so peaceful was why he didn't think about anything else happening. Nothing of interest had happened for a while, so why would it happen now?
|
|
𝖠𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝟥𝟥
"𝖨𝖿 𝖨 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖨 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖻 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽𝗌."
|
Post by 𝖠𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝟥𝟥 on Dec 3, 2017 13:44:12 GMT -5
It was mere coincidence that Rayen knew the area where the Fournier gang leader lived. The Idealists and the Fourniers weren't allies or anything similar, but they weren't exactly enemies either. They simply acknowledged each other and kept out of each other's way. The typical gang rivalry shown quite often in movies was non-existent for the two small gangs. This factor could be of some help. Since they weren't rivals, perhaps the Fournier's mysterious leader would be of some assistance. She wasn't relying on it, but who knew? Besides, it was worth a shot. It was the only idea she had at the moment.
She wondered down a small street rumored to be the area the Fournier leader busied. There were a cluster of small apartment buildings and a coffee shop, a sandwich place, and a nice like antique shop. It seemed like a cozy little street, to be honest. She paused under a streetlamp, the cool breeze gently tugging at her blonde locks as she glanced up towards the apartment buildings. She couldn't just flee town; she wasn't a coward. Besides, this was her city. The modern architecture of downtown, and the vintage of other buildings in the suburbs . . . She loved this place. This was her home now. She didn't want to have to leave without a fight, and she wanted the true killer to be found and atone for what he'd done.
Suddenly, a flash of movement was caught in the corner of her eye. She turned her head to see a man sitting on a fire escape of one of the apartment buildings. He seemed a bit older than her, and appeared to be in his own little world. Rayen watched silently as he soon ducked into the window of one of the apartments, and for some reason, a feeling in her gut pushed her forward. Rayen glanced around to make sure all was clear, then walked into the apartment building and began making her way up the stairs. As she entered the floor she was sure the man had been on, she took a deep breath.
Why was she nervous? There was nothing to be too worried about. If this indeed was the gang leader she was searching for, the worse he would do was turn her away. But then what? She swallowed and rubbed her arms a bit self-consciously before slowly stepping down the hallway, counting the individual apartments until she stopped in front of a door. This was the apartment the man had ducked into the window of. Hopefully her gut had been right. Hopefully she didn't regret this.
After hesitating a few seconds, she braced herself and knocked on the door with three taps of her fist. Then she stepped back and held her breath.
|
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Dec 3, 2017 14:57:36 GMT -5
Maybe I could make food was a thought that ran through his mind multiple times, but he didn't quite feel like following up on it. He stretched out and groaned softly as something (probably his back) cracked, and he tilted his head back to look at the television. Some stupid cartoon was playing, and so he switched it to something more interesting. Something with food, so that he could see what was available in the world and continue to procrastinate on it all.
A quiet life was a nice life, but maybe he wanted his old life back. At any point, he could just...go back to France. He had no doubt that he'd be accepted with welcome arms, settled into the life again.
But his life here had potential, and while it was inevitable he'd go back home at some point, he wanted to stay here for...a little longer. Maybe until he got truly bored of the constant peace and lack of actual violence. There were huge differences between his little gang and the literal mafia, and he was finding that perhaps he liked the mafia a little more. He wasn't quite sure. This was good leading practice, though. Maybe it would come in handy at a later date.
As Camille's thoughts drifted off into the future, he heard a knock at his door. Adrian wouldn't bother me at this time, he thought firmly, flicking a gaze to the time. And Mai doesn't come out during the day. I don't know many people who come out during the day, actually, the realisation came as an amusing one, even as he pushed himself up and adjusted his shirt so that he was more presentable. Honestly, he wished that he had some kind of peephole - just opening his door for anything was a little annoying. He paused just behind it and listened carefully; no cocking of guns, no...weapon-sounds. If he was getting jumped, then it was a great ambush. If not, then...well. That was good, too.
He partially opened the door, stuck his foot firmly behind it so that he couldn't be pushed back, and leaned his hip against the frame. It was a surprise to see some blonde there; he raised an eyebrow at her.
"Can I help you?" he asked, wondering if she was lost. A bit of a stretch, but hey. His door could easily be mistaken for literally any of his neighbours'. Mistakes were often made.
|
|
𝖠𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝟥𝟥
"𝖨𝖿 𝖨 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖨 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖻 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽𝗌."
|
Post by 𝖠𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝟥𝟥 on Dec 3, 2017 15:34:06 GMT -5
Rayen hadn't exactly prepared what she was going to say to the man who may or may not open the door she stood before. If it was not the man she had seen on the fire escape, she would simply apologize and walk away. If it was the man . . . Damn, why was she so nervous? She didn't know this guy, so there was nothing to get worked up over, right? If this didn't work out and she couldn't find some way to escape the law, maybe jail wouldn't be so bad. They had television and food. However, it was the thought of everyone thinking she was a murderer that bothered her more than the thought of prison itself.
Her brow furrowed in worry and her lips being slightly chewed on, she blinked when she heard the door creak open a bit. She glanced up, and felt a rush of adrenaline shoot through her veins. It was the man she'd seen on the fire escape. Excellent,
she had the right apartment. Did she have the right guy? Could her gut have been correct in thinking this was the Fournier's gang leader? Rayen cleared her throat and looked up at him. It was worth a shot. She didn't really have many other options. "Fournier?" she questioned, tucking a loose strand of blonde behind her ear. "I'm Rayen Kirk of the Idealists. I need your help."
God, that physically hurt her to say. She disliked not being able to help or rely on herself. She was fine with her gang members helping her out where it was needed, but if she could help it, she liked taking care of things. She was used to depending solely on herself.
|
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Dec 3, 2017 15:52:12 GMT -5
Camille wasn't sure what he was expecting. Definitely the 'lost woman' theory; someone who was visiting a grandparent, or something like that, who'd just gotten the wrong apartment. He hadn't been expecting someone to come to his door asking for help, but, then again - he had asked if he could help, so maybe it had been a little more literal than he'd expected.
Was he...supposed to recognise her? He squinted for a moment; she'd asked for his name, so...he thought over it before oh, yeah. Duh. The Idealists are the softcore gang, right. He snorted softly and raised a slender eyebrow at her, taking his glasses from his face and hooking them onto his shirt idly, chin resting against the side of his door. Interesting. Very interesting.
"Yes," he said, in a rather lazy tone. Perhaps he'd thickened his accent, just to mess around a little. "I figured you needed my help," he gestured to his door as if to say you did knock. "What do you need my help with? I don't just offer it out to anybody, ma cherie."
|
|
𝖠𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝟥𝟥
"𝖨𝖿 𝖨 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖨 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖻 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽𝗌."
|
Post by 𝖠𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝟥𝟥 on Dec 3, 2017 16:06:03 GMT -5
Rayen bristled a bit at the man's demeanor and tone. Then again, what did she expect? A sympathetic smile and to be welcomed with open arms? Give her a break. Like that would ever happen. Besides, she would be more uncomfortable and suspicious with that attitude than the one displayed currently. She forced herself to relax a bit, though still remained cautious. They weren't enemies. They were basically strangers, so she'd be a civil and polite human being.
Deciding to just get to the point besides idly dancing around, she crossed her arms and frowned. "Look, I've been blamed for a murder I didn't commit. The cops are looking me, and I don't know what else to do." she hesitated, then shifted her quartz gaze away. "I would like you to help me clear my name. I apologize for bringing my issue to you, but if you help me, I'll be in your debt." There, that wasn't so bad. Hopefully he wouldn't take too much pleasure from her desperation, though judging by the mere seconds she'd been face to face with him, she doubted he wouldn't.
"I don't have anywhere else to go." she added in a murmur, reluctant to admit her vulnerability. From what she'd heard of rumors on the streets, the leader of the Fourniers had some wits. At least she hoped, anyways. At the moment he just seemed like a lazy, French dude who lounged about all day.
|
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Dec 6, 2017 10:12:54 GMT -5
[ sorry, i've been busy recently ]
To Camille, being blamed for murder was...not a huge problem. Perhaps inconvenient - but not something huge. He considered it for a few moments but his realisation minutes earlier reminded him that - right, softcore - and he huffed softly. What do I get out of this? he wondered idly, gaze flicking past Kirk and to the wall behind her as he weighed his options. Even with criminals who weren't quite criminals, he supposed he could find some use. Maybe get some more territory - who knew? He was a pretty strong presence anyway, so he wasn't quite sure if he needed that; but this city being his could be something fun. He shrugged lightly and moved out of the doorway, gesturing for her to follow.
"Come on, then. I suppose you'd better explain your situation further," his tone was dry and still rather unconcerned.
He wondered why she didn't crash at a gang member's - maybe the cops had a list, or something. That meant no safehouses or whatever, but then again, he doubted that any of the gangs around here would've considered that anyway. Safehouses were for more dangerous criminals, those who actually committed murder. This woman didn't even know where to go when accused of one, and then again, she'd probably be arrested anyway; if memory served him correctly, she did graffiti, and that was pretty illegal.
"You should also tell me what you expect of me. I can't help you without knowing exactly what you need from me."
|
|
𝖠𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝟥𝟥
"𝖨𝖿 𝖨 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖨 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖻 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽𝗌."
|
Post by 𝖠𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝟥𝟥 on Dec 6, 2017 17:11:18 GMT -5
(It's okay! ^^ Is it finals week for you as well?)
Just as Rayen was about to give up hope of the other gang leader offering some sort of assistance, he gestured her into his apartment, sparking a flare of relief and hope inside her. "Thank you." she heard herself say quietly. She hurried into the room behind him as if afraid of being seen or suspicious he'd change his mind if she didn't hurry. When he closed the door, locking them into the apartment, the tension in her shoulders relaxed. She couldn't help but to study the place, her quartz gaze running over everything with a curious flick. It appeared that the only resident of the apartment was him. No lover or fellow gang member or anything. Good. She'd hate to burden more people.
Wanting to busy herself and now feeling rather awkward in a practical stranger's space, she reached up and pulled her ponytail down until her blonde locks brushed her cheeks and neck down to her shoulder-blades, combing her slim fingers through it to smooth it out. She pondered his question, pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes in thought. "I want my name cleared. I know I've painted my sigil enough times to be recognized by some, but I never imagined I'd be framed. " Who could imagine they'd be framed? "My graffiti seems so stupid now. I started when I was a teenager and had nothing to vent my frustration but my art. Then it became almost like an addiction to be able to break the law and never get caught. To expose my work for everyone to see." Chewing her lower lip, she finally looked up at him. "I probably got what I deserved for being so foolish, but if I'm the one being blamed for a murder I didn't commit, then there's a killer on the loose out there, probably targeting other victims." She glanced towards the window, towards the darkening sky over the horizon.
Maybe she was babbling, but she was just being honest. If she wanted this guy to help her, she needed to be truthful with him and get all of it out in the open. "I need you to help me find the true murderer and bring him to light. And I guess I also need you to let me crash here until it's all over." she finished, looking back at him with dark and determined orbs.
|
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Dec 6, 2017 17:38:27 GMT -5
[ nah, dont have finals existing over here, i just get busy w work + stuff. ]
Camille settled back on the couch and turned the television down; the news was nothing to sniff at, it kept him up-to-date on...everything. He glanced to her from the corner of his eye and raised an eyebrow.
Technically, she was an artist, not a criminal. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to point that out now, though, and so instead of replying like that, he instead took the details to mind. He considered the details; it was a small picture, selfish, even. But then again - if he was getting something (territory, he wanted territory all the time) then he didn't mind so much. Taking down one killer for control? Hell yeah. He exhaled softly and tilted his head to the side. There were pros and cons to this; the biggest con being that the killer could be part of something bigger, could be part of an organisation. A mafia, even. Hm. Were the risks worth it? He wasn't sure, but risks were fun and he was bored.
"You want me to become a detective and let you be my lodger but for free?" his lips quirked upwards but he remained relaxed where he sat. "Because you were framed because you're..." he paused, squinted thoughtfully. "An artist who does graffiti on walls instead of on canvases?"
|
|
𝖠𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝟥𝟥
"𝖨𝖿 𝖨 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖨 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖻 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽𝗌."
|
Post by 𝖠𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝟥𝟥 on Dec 6, 2017 18:00:51 GMT -5
(Ahh okay! Yeah, work is time-consuming sometimes)
Rayen remained standing near the door, not exactly sure what to do. Should she sit? She hesitated a moment before finally walking over to a seat near the couch, helping herself to it. She hadn't exactly been to many people's places other than her own one-roomed apartment nearly across town. Briefly wondering about clothes and supplies for herself if she were to stay here for a bit, she glanced towards her French helper to see him watching her from the corner of his eye.
With the quirk of his mouth and his rather amusing question hanging in the air between them, she couldn't help a wry smile to appear on her face. "More or less. Yeah, I suppose that's true." She shrugged and leaned back in her seat. She raised an eyebrow at him. "You can have the honor of being Sherlock and I'll be your Watson. I don't expect your hospitality will be free, nor will I be able to sleep without repaying you somehow." She rested her cheek on her fist braced against the chair's armrest. "Besides, I'm not a slob. I'll definitely clean up after myself, and even you if you so desire." House cleaning had never been an issue for her. She was a pretty organized person. As long as he didn't simply expect it of her because of her gender, then she saw no problem in helping out around the place. In fact, she would feel even worse about her current situation if she didn't contribute to where she would be staying in some way.
In terms of her repayment . . . She studied him. What would he want? What could she do that would be of use to him?
Or what could she give him? As she silently thought on this, she suddenly asked. "Is there a name I should address you with, by the way? Or would "hey you" suffice?"
|
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Dec 6, 2017 18:27:07 GMT -5
There were better detectives in media but he could accept that. He wrinkled his nose a little and crossed his ankles, crossing his arms over his stomach and exhaling slowly.
"As long as you warn me when I'm running low on things in the kitchen, I don't really mind what you do," he told her. "I don't need you to clean up after me, either. I'm pretty neat. I can fold out this couch," he patted what he was sitting on, "into a bed. Don't go into my room and if you kill the plant then I'll probably kill you."
To show what he was talking about, he gestured to the plants sitting on the fire escape. Camille had grown attached to them, what could he say? He was a sucker for pretty things and they were very pretty to him. He sat up a little and leaned forward to glance at the television, squinting momentarily before remembering oh yeah and putting on his glasses again.
"My name is Camille Fournier," he gave her another amused smile. "And don't be surprised if people from my gang show up from time to time. They shouldn't harm you, since you're here."
|
|
𝖠𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝟥𝟥
"𝖨𝖿 𝖨 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖨 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖻 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽𝗌."
|
Post by 𝖠𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝟥𝟥 on Dec 6, 2017 19:12:14 GMT -5
She watched him, trying to read the fleeting expressions on his face. He didn't seem so bad. But then again, she hadn't been expecting a bloodthirsty maniac. He may be a gang leader, but he was a small-time gang leader, like her. She began to relax as she listened to his "house rules", nodding her head.
"I don't think you need to worry about my being some psycho who relishes the death of harmless plants." she mentioned with a chuckle. The rules seemed simple enough. She followed his gaze to the plants resting on the fire escape. It was nice to see someone else who enjoyed having a little nature in their life. She smiled faintly and turned back to him, seeing him slip on his glasses.
Camille Fournier, eh? So his gang was named after him. Interesting. "Well thank you, Camille. For helping me." she gave a small, sincere smile. Then added. "Will you tell your gang about this arrangement? Or is it going to be our little secret?" Personally for Rayen, the less who knew the better. But since she was staying at his place, she didn't really have much room to argue.
|
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Dec 6, 2017 19:36:16 GMT -5
There was a newspaper somewhere...there it was, perfect. It was as if he got back to his normal life without thinking much of the newcomer's presence; he simply picked up his pen and began doing the crossword as he listened to her, flicking his gaze up only when he was asked a question. Again, the brief flicker of a smile and a raised eyebrow.
"I haven't done anything yet. You don't need to thank me," he shook his head a little. Letting someone crash at his place? No problem. He hadn't found the murderer yet, though - and frankly? He had no intention of dealing with that part until he figured out the risks. That, of course, meant investigating the murder itself more than the murderer but hey, small steps. "Those who need to know will know," his pen moved across the page despite him barely paying attention to the puzzle. "My second, and then whoever he deems it necessary to tell. If they ask, they know. They won't think much of it, and they won't snitch."
He had their loyalty and Camille knew it - though they were mischievous, they were not traitors. He made sure of this.
|
|
𝖠𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝟥𝟥
"𝖨𝖿 𝖨 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖨 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖻 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽𝗌."
|
Post by 𝖠𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝟥𝟥 on Dec 6, 2017 19:58:00 GMT -5
As he pulled out a newspaper, Rayen stood and began to walk around the small apartment, giving herself a personal tour excluding his bedroom. She listened carefully to Camille as she slowly walked around, pausing by a shelf and reading the titles of the books neatly placed there.
She glanced back over her shoulder at him and tilted her head. "Maybe, but you're letting me stay here." she pointed out, turning her attention back to the shelves and raking her gaze over everything curiously. Fair enough. If he deemed his companions fit to be let in on this situation, then surely there was nothing to worry herself about. She ran a fingertip lightly over the spine of a book that caught her interest. "I see . . . So, what's your story? Why made you wake up and decide to pursue life as a gang leader?" she wondered out loud, plucking the book off the shelf and flipping through to the first page with gentle hands.
Her stomach rumbled grumpily but she ignored it. It was getting dark and she hadn't eaten since breakfast. He acted laid back about the food, so perhaps she could cook something to eat. Or maybe to express some gratitude, she could cook them both something, if he was up to it. After all, he seemed pretty civil and nice so far.
|
|
