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 Posted: Sun Nov 04, 2012 8:17 am
The beast in me
Has had to learn to live with pain
Caged by frail and fragile bars
Restless by day
And by night rants and rages at the stars
Restrained in the twinkling of an eye _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Mishka Gregory had never been a particularly pleasant man, but then, neither was the world he came from. He'd been in prostitution nearly as long as he'd been alive, not that many people knew that. Yes, he had a record and a long one at that but it didn't go back quite so far. His first appearance on any American record of the skin trade had been when he was just a fresh faced, smart mouthed twenty something kid. He'd been a d**k then too. The first time he'd been picked up had been for beating the tar out of a younger whore. The why never came up but the more he turned up the more likely it was that the incident had been over something disgustingly petty. Even full grown the man had been incredibly vain and selfish, his snide, catty nature ever dominant. He made a good under the table resource mostly in that it wasn't hard not to care what happened to him. Whatever he got himself into along the way, he probably deserved it. But that's also what made him terrible at it. Because it was what he did and how he was that made him easy to hate. He didn't give a damn about the victims and it showed. Half the cases he was involved in, he nearly ruined, being careless or cruel or simply slacking off, even omitting things he shouldn't have or embellishing things with skewed leads. He didn't seem to really care about nailing the bad guys either. He was in it purely to keep his working a** out of jail and for the blind eye he got out of it otherwise. In other words, entirely for himself. Which only made it worse, because when things got nasty or when he simply lost interest, he either became impossible to work with or he took off.
Which was why he was sitting in one of the precinct's interrogation rooms cuffed to the bolted down table. He'd showed up early that morning, on his own actually, which was a surprise. Usually he had to be hunted down and hauled in kicking and screaming. This time he sat there quietly, smooth, long legs crossed, swinging the heel of his raised leg mindlessly while he hummed some obscure tune to himself, picking at his nails. He didn't look like he'd been away on one of his binges at least, the ones where he'd take off and screw anyone who would have him and then pump his system so full of whatever he could get his hands on that he'd still be out of it when he stumbled back into the real world. That's how they'd caught him a few times actually, when he over did it and landed himself in the hospital. But today he wasn't high or even the least bit spacey. He was clean, polished even. He'd dyed his hair a colorful range of blues and pinks awhile back. Usually it was wild and messy, unkept, just left in that sex tossed look. Today his hair was swept back from his face in soft feathery tufts. He wore makeup normally too but that too was usually in some state of disarray, smudged here and there, sometimes a day or two old. This time it was fresh, painstakingly detailed, special attention made obvious especially around the eyes, full lips painted a gleaming stain of red. His state of dress was like that too. Mishka has always been pretty heavily on the androgynous side and he had the perfect body for it but lately he'd gotten rather sloppy with it, clothes rumpled or misbuttoned, stained or ripped up, showing too much. The last time anyone had seen him he'd looked like a tranny. Now he looked just like he used to as a kid, less like the cheap whore he'd become and more like the expensive courtesan he seemed to think he was, his appearance leaning heavily on the feminine side but masculine in all the right hinting traces, still unmistakably male but beautifully done up. There was a joke buzzing around the officers who knew him -- that he'd gone off and stumbled into an intervention of some kind. The very idea that he might have cleaned up his act was laughable.
When the interrogation room door opened, he looked up. His eyes were piercing as ever. But they were a good solid blue before, not washed out and translucent. He'd never had a thing for colored contacts before either. _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ God help the beast in me...
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Posted: Sun Nov 04, 2012 9:55 am
 Kise Fletcher had been in the police for about six years, he had a spent a year in homicide but it soon become apparent that he had a talent for dealing with victims.... something not all too common in homicide, their victims were usually too far gone to have a chat with, not that all of his cases in the SVU had been much better. Sometimes he had to wonder if homicide was easier, you didn't just leave the beaten wife to go back to her abusive husband because she was too stubborn to press chargers... no, you nailed the son of a b*tch and threw away the key because he had finally taken it too far and murdered her. That was the hardest part, the desperate need to help but the inability to do much without the magic word 'evidence'. The main reason why informants, much like the one Kise was about to pay a visit to, were so crucial. Without them doing some of the leg work it was next to impossible to make anything stick, and god damn it! But those victims of domestic abuse and sex trades deserved justice just as much as your average Joe and Harry on the streets, more so. After all, Kise's job was speak up for those who had lost the ability to stand up for themselves, often beaten to submission, or stolen from their homes, so afraid to breath out of place that it was a wonder that anything but an empty shell actually survived the trauma.... and on some occasions, that was really all that was left behind. Kise had a colourful history, a German Mother, an English Father.... yet here he was in America, had been since he was a kid and his father had transferred here, some worldwide business that just needed him to relocate. Not that Kise was complaining, he much rather have the sun than the rain. Picking up the file, he looked through it, only looking up once to check that it was actually Mishka Gregory on the other side. Well, once was all he had planned, in actual fact he had to do a double take. The guy looked nothing like the more recent photo's they had on him, he looked.... well, clean! Still, Kise knew enough about him to know it really was him on the other side. They had only met once, at least that he could recall, but it had been a most... enlightening... conversation. The guy was no more than a slime ball, out to keep his life of debortuary running at full pelt until he finally burnt out. Still, most of what he told them could be used... most. His reputation usually meant that you couldn't take his word at face value, his exaggerations and omissions nearly getting a cop killed on more than one occasion, and that was something that didn't sit well with Kise. Running his fingers through his blond hair he braced himself before finally entering the room. Piercing eyes looked directly at him, a little disconcerting given what he knew of the man, and for the first time Kise allowed himself to take in the guys features as he took the chair opposite. In a way he could see the appeal, he was pretty enough, you could almost forget he was a man until you looked between his legs, and right now he was dressed nicely and could probably pass for just your average Joe on the street, well, if you didn't look at the make up. The stuff really drew you in, the details stunning. Yeah, this wasn't the same Mishka he had met at the start of this case. Was this why he had taken off? To set himself straight? Somehow Kise found that to unbelievable to swallow. Not wasting any time he crossed his legs, his white pant suit fitting him to perfection as it shifted elegantly with his flexing muscles, and leaned back in his chair. His full police focus honed on the guy. "So, what bullsh*t you going to spout this time? Before you bother, why don't you just skip to the truth. Where the hell you been Mishka?" Then he waited. In truth he probably should have been a little more amicable, but given the stunts this guy had pulled in the past Kise wasn't willing to pull any punches, even if he had handed himself in this time. It made it harder for Kise to get his foot on the starting line, normally they knew where he was found and what state he was in to piece together the puzzle, but this time... well, nothing seemed to fit. Sorrow_Mirth_and_Sin Sorry it took me so long, ended up cooking dinner. Hope this starter is ok =D
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Posted: Mon Nov 05, 2012 5:36 am
The beast in me
Has had to learn to live with pain
Caged by frail and fragile bars
Restless by day
And by night rants and rages at the stars
Restrained in the twinkling of an eye _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ "Let's just say I wandered off and found a nice dark corner to curl up and die in for awhile." the whore said, an ironic smile painted across his lips and he laughed quietly, licking his lower lip. "You don't want to know where I've been. And there isn't a one of you here who gives a ******** about me anyways, so what do you care? Think it'll be an interesting story?" He leaned forward as he spoke, resting lazily on the edge of the table on his elbow, hand planted just behind his jaw. He looked like he was settling in, like, just like every other time, he was going to make himself comfortable and drag this thing out, offering the barest hint of information and then proceed to make every officer on the case try to pry it out of him. It was always a long, tedious game of tug of war with him. He was notorious for wasting time, especially as time became a more and more precious thing to the case... Except this time he really did cut the crap.
"I don't have anything for this case," he sighed, unapologetic and indifferent as always but frank. "In fact the last several leads I've spouted were lies or half truths but you've figured that out by now. I never really knew much of anything about this one, I just knew someone who did and rather than pointing you to them, I tried to leech the information for myself, kept them quiet so I'd get the benefits." He paused, smiling, the expression, the curve of his lips and flash of teeth, somehow unsettling on an entirely instinctive level. "That is the truest story I ever told. Now I want to bargain. In exchange for this informant, I want help on another case entirely." Help. Mishka never asked for help. And he never brought new cases to the table, he was the hound they sent out to sniff up new information. And yet, here he was, starring into the officer's face, unblinking and serious as all hell. There was absolutely nothing about him that gave off the feel he was pulling strings and weaving yet another yarn of bullshit, no microexpression or twitch of the eye, nothing.
And he didn't wait for this bargain to play out either, to be given a yes or no or any sort of promise. "Maryanna Thomas. Sweet little old lady. You've passed her every day for the past five years on your way in from work, Fletcher. That old school mom & pop pet store, brownstone bricks, red and white stripped oning, green hatched windowpanes with the old etchy, grainy glass -- she runs it. She'll tell you everything you need to know. She's been wanting to for weeks but," he shrugged, like it was no big deal that he had kept this informant from them. "Might want to let her know nothing bad's going to happen to her for coming forward. Pretty sure somehow she got the impression that the cops had a certain way they wanted to point the finger for this one and if she came forward with information that would screw with that, they would screw her over. She didn't even want to talk to me much after that."
The man leaned back then, slow and calm, but easily putting himself out of the other man's immediate reach, probably well aware that he was in for it. He leaned into the back of his chair, picking at his nails again, like the for once nonexistent dirt beneath them was more interesting than anything happening in this room. He actually seemed to tune the officer out entirely once he started in on him and after a minute or two, he dared to open his mouth again, talking over him. "You can't afford to ignore my case, Fletcher. Even if I'm lying again, it's just too big to take the risk that I might actually be right. I cut the crap today, I'd like the same courtasey before more of my children die."
My case. My children. There was something so very wrong about those words coming from someone like Mishka. He was a lowlife whore and definitely not the sort of person the state would allow to foster or adopt children and being blatantly gay, the chances of him going out and fathering children on his own was highly unlikely. Besides, there was no record of him ever having children. He wasn't into kids either, informant or not, he would have been locked up a long time ago even for the suspicion. But he was a whore who worked under the thumb of another man, and his pimp had other whores. They were all legal though, adults in the eyes of the state, even if only just. He wasn't talking about them. So had Mishka really made a break for a different life, broken ties with the trash he surrounded himself in, and turned his life in a whole new direction? If so, the more important question was, which direction had he turned, for the better or the worse? He could have been talking about street kids. Maybe he'd just taken a few under his wing, looked out for him. It wasn't something anyone would easily picture Mishka doing but it was better than the alternative. So much better. Because all other options exhausted, the only possibility left was that he was the one dealing out human beings now and making them into paid whores and no one called a whore a child unless they were just that. As nasty as Mishka had ever been, he'd never gone that far before and it hadn't seemed like he ever would. But it was also the easier thing to believe, even if it was the most awful.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ God help the beast in me...
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Posted: Mon Nov 05, 2012 7:13 am
Kise really wasn't in the mood for games today, and to be honest that was exactly what he thought Mishka was doing, playing a game. Had he not been considered useful for the case, Kise wouldn't have even been sat here. He was desperate for this one, wanted the bad guy behind bars as fast and as smoothly as they could manage... and yesterday, but he hadn't quite perfected time travel yet. Ha ha ha. As if. Life didn't work that way, if only you could jump in some magical time machine, grab someone before they committed whatever heinous crime you saw them commit next day and be done with it. Would make Kise's job so much easier, well, except for the whole paradox thing, but he wasn't going to go into that. Back to reality and expecting this to last for a while; Kise just let the guy rant, true enough that on some levels Kise didn't care about Mishka, had seen his colleagues offer the guy help before only to see it slapped away. Sometimes you just had to know a lost cause when you saw it and let it go. Mishka was such a lost cause, or at least had been until recently, whatever had caused such a miraculous change in the guy had Kise's respect on some levels. It wasn't easy to deal with misfits and societies casts offs like Mishka, especially in the state he had been. Drugs, sex and abuse, and not always in that order. The guy had been a walking case of misery, a reminder of why he did this job.... to stop others ending up like him or worst. Still, information was information no matter where it came from, and unfortunately whores simply had.... methods.... they could employ that the Cops couldn't. After all, Kise was not about to go round f*cking people just to get what he wanted. Still he listened, his muscles flexing under his white wife beater as he shifted. There was something about that smile, that unsettling eye contact that gave Kise the creeps. He couldn't have explained it, wouldn't have bothered trying, but it was there. The guy babbled on about not knowing anything -yeah, Kise had figured that out. Though he was surprised to learn there was someone out there who could help, who wanted to help. The cops had scoured the neighbour in search of information, anything, big or small, but everyone had been tight lipped and tight fisted. Who ever Mishka's informant was Kise couldn't even hazard a guess. That was problem with the badge at times, the places that needed you the most didn't tend to talk to you, made his job a hell of a lot harder. Still, he was surprised. Not something that happened often, but it showed. The flash of his widened eyes, the stretch of his long fingers, and the delicate muscles of his face flexing as they set into a stubborn. Each only lasted for a moment, but they were they, clearly showing that Mishka had his attention. He didn't answer at first though, waited to hear more on this 'bargain' before he agreed to anything, no matter how rare is was for a whore like Mishka to be asking for help Kise wasn't about to turn into a hero rushing to the rescue.... despite the serious expression, and the fact that nothing about him was sending warning bells off. In fact, he suddenly realised that none of the expressions remotely resembled any of the ones he had witnessed on Mishka a few months prior.... was this even the same man? What the hell had happened to him? Not the time for this, he chastised himself, focusing once more on the case at hand. The moment the name Maryanna Thomas spilled from the guys lips, Kise looked to the glass that separated the interrogation room and the observation room, offered a sharp nod to it and then returned to Mishka. He knew full well that his partner would send some street cops to go pick the woman up. It was almost too much to hope that they might finally have caught a break, especially from the lips of Mishka Gregory. Kise didn't appreciate the guy telling him how to do his job, he knew how to handle the situation, and it grate on his nerves that the painted face man opposite him would think otherwise. Kise was a good cop. Had an excellent record and a good solve rate, spent way too much time in the office and on the job -but what cop didn't? He might as well list the office as his home given how much time he spent in the place. He was fortunate though, unlike a lot of the others he didn't have some little wife and kids waiting for him, wanting to know when he would next be free or what time he would be home so they could have dinner together. No, he was fine on his diet of coffee and junk food. Fast, quick, dirty. Taking a deep breath he let it go, it simply wasn't worth losing his temper around Mishka, the guy would probably be back in his hole in a week or three anyway. The way the guy said his name made he want to frown, but he kept it off his face -with some effort- and just listened. No point interrupting when the guy was obviously in a talkative mood... at least until the magic words came. Children die. Not something that sat well with Kise, not at all. The whole my children had him thinking, but he decided to let it slide for now. "Someone's in a talkative mood." He commented dryly, shifting position so that his forearms were leaning on the table, his fingers laced together as his mud brown eyes focused solely on the guy opposite him. Many found his stare disconcerting, but right now he didn't give a sh*t. "So, these children. Tell me about them, and if your information checks out I'll consider doing something." Rule one. Never make promises. Rule two. Make sure you had the facts. There was nothing worst than storming a place, claiming it was a smuggling ring to discover that really it was a secret crochet group for a few old ladies. Yeah, talk about embarrassing. Rookie move. For a moment Kise let his mind digest and process the information so far, he would have to replay the tape to be sure but there was definitely some emotional response in Mishka revolving around these children of his, what though Kise had no idea. New smuggling ring? New whores? Charity cases? Whatever it was Kise was sure he was missing something, this wasn't as black and white as he liked.... it was a whole world of grey, a whole world of very f*cked up grey.
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Posted: Tue Nov 06, 2012 4:22 am
The beast in me
Has had to learn to live with pain
Caged by frail and fragile bars
Restless by day
And by night rants and rages at the stars
Restrained in the twinkling of an eye _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Mishka frowned, eyes darting to the observation window like he could see directly through it. If he could, those strange pale water eyes would have been staring into the face of the clock that hung on the far wall in that room. His eyes shifted ever so slightly, following the the ticking red second hand. He listed off an address and a number, speaking through his teeth and baring them all at once. Mishka didn't give out information he didn't want to give ever... but that look, the way he spoke, clearly he was now. And unhappy about it but his eyes never left the clock he couldn't possibly see. "It's a boarding school for orphaned and homeless children. Of their usual fifty three students, twelve of them went missing sometime last week. Nine of these missing children were mine. Their caretakers are trying to work with the local police but they are just as useless as the other children. And before you go telling me not your territory, not your problem, let me assure you it is. I tracked them this far. Two of my children died in this city last night. I want the rest found. Check your facts and get someone on this case. When you're ready to take this seriously, I will take you where I lost them."
After that he was silent, refusing to say another word. He sat unmoving at the table, his hands planted out in front of them, palms flat against the table, fingers splayed. His eyes were still glued to that ticking second hand, following it around the face of the clock. The longer he sat there the more... intense his silence, his mere presence seemed to be. He didn't twitch, didn't look away from that clock, and his breathing was slow and calm but the whole room seemed to fill with an uncomfortable charge, like the air pressure had suddenly dropped to nothing or surged to bone crushing pressure. After awhile he started tapping his finger in time with the clock, that sharp, impatient drumming becoming the only sound in the room.
A simple phone call confirmed what Mishka was saying. The police in that area were working on such a case. Supposedly during a school field trip twelve students had disappeared.There wasn't much to go on and they hadn't made much progress. By this point, even a potentially false lead was worth looking into, even from someone as notoriously wrong as Mishka._________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ God help the beast in me...
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Posted: Tue Nov 06, 2012 4:54 am
Kise's eyes narrowed the more the guy spoke. Twelve kids? Orphans and homeless kids at that? It was probably like looking for a needle in a haystack, and the fact was not too many people would give a sh*t about such kids.... but apparently one of them came in the unlikely form of the androgynous male before him. Something didn't fit though, his cop senses flashing to life even as his gut told him nothing new, all he knew was that he was missing something, something key and vital. Something he needed to know. Kise would figure it out, he just needed time. He was about to ask; What do you mean by yours? But it was clear Mishka wasn't going to say anymore. Stubborn mule that he was. It was enough to make Kise growl in frustration, something he reserved for when he left the room and closed the door behind him. He spooked one of his colleagues but didn't bother to explain anything as he marched to make the call. First he looked up the death of the two kids. If it was last night things would be fresh and the case ongoing.... but he couldn't find any such open case. Not a good start. So he moved reluctantly onto the school disappearances. Sure enough Mishka had told the truth, twelve kids had gone missing. He ended up with a list of names and a couple of pictures but their database was far from complete. The kids didn't look anything special, was this all simply because of what they had been rather than who they were? Orphan's weren't exactly missed by the general population, unlike some kid with rich parents disappearing from some posh-arsed boarding school because their parents didn't give a sh*t about them until they were gone. That sort of thing got a lot of attention, a lot of money dished out to find them.... this... well, this was sourly abandoned. Exactly the kind of thing that irritated Kise. For the most part he had a feeling Mishka knew this, knew that he was likely to want to play the hero and go in guns blazing to give a voice to those without it.... but why? Why would Mishka do this? A trap? Or more? Again the feeling he was missing something washed over him even as he made his way to the observation room. The first thing he noticed was Mishka sitting in exactly the same position he had left him in. What the! "He moved?" He asked another of the cops, a thin yet effective woman by the name of the Liella Tash. She shook her head and looked exasperated, as if she was watching some freak show and trying to figure it out. "It don't make sense... why would Mishka be involved in any of this? He's just a whore, never shown any interest in anything but himself before! And these kids.... how would he have even met them? He's not exactly well travelled if you know what I mean. His business if done from the flat of his back or maybe on all fours... but you know what I mean." Kise half-listened as he turned to follow the guys gaze. He saw the giant clock on the wall and frowned, especially when he saw the tapping fingers. The steady tap tap tap seemed to correspond exactly with the ticking, so loud now that Kise was sure his head was going to explode. Rubbing his temples he sighed, he was imagining it, had to be. There was no way the guy could see through the glass, that was the whole point of it. Obviously he needed some sleep.... or better yet, another cup of coffee. "Wish me luck." He drawled out dryly before leaving the room and walking to the door of the interrogation suite, his hand hit the handle just as his partner's voice boomed next to him. "FLETCHER!" He turned automatically and offered a comradery smile. Kise didn't both asking what was up, knew his partner well enough to know he would simply tell him. "That woman's just been brought in, Taylor says she is singling like a canary." The look on the guys face must have matched the surprise on his own. Dang! Mishka had actually pulled through for once. A trick though? Something to lure him in for the main attraction? Yet, even as Kise reentered the room he knew the decision was already made. He was going kid hunting. Not bothering to sit down, he slammed his hands into the desk and leaned down, looking directly at Mishka. "You lie to me at any time in this Mishka and we're through. Understood?" His tone was serious, the lethal intend that shone through his eyes supporting his words. If needs be, Kise was willing to find another whore for his informant. "These kids, what are they to you? And why do you know about two murders when we haven't even found them yet?" It was clear the guys information wasn't coming from listening to a police channel or something, since there was no such case open. Had Mishka been involved in their deaths? If so, why was he working hard to get them uncovered rather than trying to bury them? Yeah.... he was missing something, and Kise didn't like the vulnerable feeling or the sour taste in his mouth that that idea caused.
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Posted: Tue Nov 06, 2012 6:05 am
The beast in me
Has had to learn to live with pain
Caged by frail and fragile bars
Restless by day
And by night rants and rages at the stars
Restrained in the twinkling of an eye _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Mishka smiled that same creepy smile, leaning closer as the man bore down on him rather than cowering away. "I wouldn't dream of it," his tone nothing, if not provocative. He might have undermined the danger and threat of the man's words entirely, except for the way his eyes glittered behind half closed lashes -- he got the message loud and clear. And it only seemed to amuse him. He rose almost fluidly with a certain grace no one would have expected him capable of, not after seeing him stumbling and high or oversexed and limping more often than not. He didn't break their proximity as he rose, or the eye contact. "Are you going to cut me loose or do I have to beg?" he all but purred, tugging once at his cuffed hand, making the short chain rattle. He waited, metal clapped wrist extended as far as the chain would allow, his hand limp and seemingly harmless, vulnerable even. His eyes skimmed over the detective, studying him quite blatantly, and not just the way a whore would eye a man he wanted to ********. Whatever he was looking for, he seemed pleased.
"Let's just leave it at I have ways of knowing that you never will, hmm?" he said simply. He left the question about what the kids were to him blatantly unanswered, the silence of the ignored question hanging in the air like a challenge.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ God help the beast in me...
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Posted: Tue Nov 06, 2012 6:26 am
Kise didn't back down, didn't even bat an eyelid as Mishka rose with a strange fluid grace. He kept that eye contact, ignored that eery smile. Perhaps if he hadn't looked down the barrel of a gun on more than one occasion he might have been more intimidated.... but the fact was it took a lot to intimidate Kise, even more for him to admit it. The unanswered questions flew around him and he smirked, but it was humourless, no emotion reaching his eyes other than impatience. Unlike Mishka he didn't bother to check the guy out, had seen more than enough of the guy to know he wouldn't touch him with a barge poll let alone anything else, the guy was simply not his type... for more reasons than he could count. Part of him wanted to bark out an acidic reply to the guys scrutiny, something like Like what you see? But that would play right into the whore's hands and Kise was too proud to do that, needed to claim and keep the upper hand. So he bit back the retort and focused on the issue. He reached into his pocket, slow and deliberate movements as he claimed the key and spun it carefully around his forefinger, he brought it up high enough for Mishka to see before saying softly, almost too softly, "Oh come on Mishka, you've got to give me more than that....." He practically purred his next words even as his eyes narrowed showing that his tone had nothing to do with his feelings. "...surely you can do better?" Frustrated, and steadily getting pissed; Kise was aware that the more they delayed here the more evidence they lost, the less reliable the information and something as hot as fresh murders needed to be sorted quick.... but he couldn't submit, not to the whims and fancy of a whore like Mishka. He was in control here, not Mishka, and he needed to get that point across and fast. Kise could see the intelligent calculation behind the guys eyes, would describe him as serpent awaiting the right time to strike.... and Kise wasn't about to allow himself to become the target! Standing his ground, he waited to see what the guy would do.
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Posted: Wed Nov 07, 2012 7:56 am
The beast in me
Has had to learn to live with pain
Caged by frail and fragile bars
Restless by day
And by night rants and rages at the stars
Restrained in the twinkling of an eye _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Mishka's eyes shot from the observation window to the key the instant the man produced it. His eyes narrowed as the man spun the key about his finger, taunting him with it. Painted lips pressed into a hard, flat line. The air pressure in the room had risen again -- was rising, the whore's finger drumming out the seconds again in a loud, sharp tap. "Everyone knows that when you want something from a whore, you pay for it. Most people never think about what happens when a whore wants something. I'm sure they imagine it's on our knees, begging for something -- that's a rather stupid fantasy because the world doesn't work that way. We give nothing of ourselves, no matter how much we are paid. And we do not ask for what we want." he murmured, his tone suddenly low and clipped, all of his humor and charm gone. He leaned over the table, head cocked, eyes too bright, too focused. "Better?" he hissed. "Yes, I can do damned better than that."
He lunged over the table then, without any more warning. The chain at his wrist pulled taunt with a loud clang, the metal cuff biting into soft skin. It should have stopped him. He shouldn't have been able to make it across that table. But today, everything about him was wrong. When the chain ran out, metal groaned and creaked. The table jolted, bolted down legs coming loose at the floor. The chain links strained, bending out of shaped. Something had to give and apparently it wasn't Mishka. In the end it was the little metal bar that attached the chain to the table that gave out. Screws ripped free from old wood, cuff and chain and bar hanging from slight little Mishka's wrist as he slid off the table and landed neatly on his feet, toe to toe with the detective. He didn't pause for a second, stepping into the man's personal space. "I came here for help. I will not beg for it. Either you will help me now or I will leave and handle this myself and let me assure you, I can. There is only one reason I came here. If I do this, I will not be able to do it fast enough. And if I do this, you idiots will be hunting me."
He stepped away, sitting on the edge of the broken table, calm again, like nothing had happened. "So why don't we spare a bit of bloodshed and stupidity here?" he sighed, extending his wrist again. The chain rattled, the bar swinging on it with a shrill creaking sound. "Let me loose, come with me to the harbor. There's a warehouse down there, one of the ones that's suppose to be closed this time of year. That is where two of my children died last night. Go without me, you will not find it, so don't waste my time." Blood dripped from his wrist where the cuff had bit into it. There was something odd about that blood. Each drop, it caught the light with the same brilliance of a ruby, cut just right and held to the light just so. And as each drop shattered on the floor, it failed to darken like blood normally did when exposed to the air.
"You want to ask questions?" Mishka growled, "Ask them in the ******** car." _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ God help the beast in me...
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Posted: Wed Nov 07, 2012 11:58 am
Kise didn't rise to the comment about whores begging, he had no such fantasies, he rather preferred assertive and confident partners over weak and submissive. A challenge. Even in bed he preferred a challenge. Perhaps that was why he had picked the path of a cop, the world he lived in was a constant moving puzzle with shifting and changing pieced that were just waiting for Kise to claim and solve. Stubborn as a wall, or a mule, or whatever you wanted to describe him as, Kise didn't move or flinch even as Mishka moved closer and cocked his head. Those eyes burnt into his own, rewarded by the slight narrowing of his own as he stared into what had to be unnatural hues... contacts? Mishka had never been known to wear contacts....? Strange, another piece of the puzzle but not enough to even start building it, and Kise was starting to think that the pieces he held weren't even for the same one. He felt out of sorts, a little lost, and he hated it. It grated on his pride in a way that he was sure would make the whore smile if he knew. Then came the lunge. Instinct took over as Kise pulled back and reached for the gun; it was safely nestled in strapping at the centre of his back. The gun was trained with steady hands, a click and the safety was off, and through it all he watched as Mishka did the impossible. His heart rate quickened as adrenaline began to pulse through his muscled body. Focus. Focus. F*CK! "BACK UP!" He called, his voice course and deadly as he kept his gun trained with an efficiency that spoke of just how much he trained with the thing.... too f*cking much. Screws flew around the table. The distinctive cracking of wood as it splintered from the force, and the tart smell of uncoagulating blood. This swine was strong! There was no way he would be able to restrain the guy easily on his own. It happened too fast for Kise to push the guy away. One moment he was still attached to the table, the next he had landed on his feet directly in Kise's personal bubble. He snarled, an impulsive sound even as he pressed his gun with purpose in the guys chest. The threat was clear. I will shoot you arsehole. Anger pulsed through his veins. He wanted to knock Mishka down a peg or two, not simply for embarrassing him but his stupid stunt! How the hell had he even done it? Had he known he could get out at any moment? Had he rigged the room somehow? Was that why he had made a mysterious appearance this morning rather than waiting for them to haul his arse in off the streets? Kise didn't get the answers, even as two more officers entered the room with their guns trained on Mishka... who, Kise noted didn't seem at all phased by the drawn weapons as he made his way back to his seat with deliberate calm. It was the kind of calm that rubbed against Kise's skin, prickled all his nerve endings and told him just how much sh*t he had walked into. He had thought it before, but now he knew... something was not right here! Still he listened, took a moment to process the words, his gaze flicking for a moment to the other officers who both wore similar What the F*ck expressions, an expression he was sure he donned too. He had to make a move. It was like a taunt hanging between them, pieces on a chess board and it was his go. Make a move Kise.... make a move.... but make sure it's the bloody right one! Taking a deep breath to calm himself he slowly lowered his gun but he didn't return it to his holster immediately, simple put the safety back on. "This turns into a trap Mishka, and I swear I am going to do more than f*cking shoot you." With a curt nod to one of the officers he gave a sharp, "Get a car." Before taking another breath and taking an almost hesitant step towards the guy. He was still chained but could turn any moment considering he was no longer attached to the table, making the long chain deadly if wielded with such purpose. Kise wasn't chicken enough to have someone else do it though, he would never ask someone else to do something he wasn't willing to do himself, and this time he had to let the guy live.... At last replacing his gun, although a little reluctantly, he took out the key, rolled up the sleeves of his white jacket and grabbed Mishka's wrists. He wasn't gentle, even as the ruby red liquid transferred to his fingers. Undoing the cuffs he noticed for the first time that the pooled blood on the table hadn't coagulated at all... strange.... before he could stop himself from trying to figure out yet another mystery, he found himself wondering if the guy had some blood disorder, wouldn't surprise him given the mans shady profession. Someone pasted him wipes, and for a moment Kise wondered if he should have put gloves on first. Too late now. "Get up and get out. Before I come to my senses and change my mind Mishka." There was nothing kind or welcoming about Kise's expression. He was beyond annoyed, a mountain that didn't like someone trying to drill a tunnel through him. The car was waiting for them, opening the door to the back he ordered his partner to drive, heading towards the harbour, knowing that Mishka would give more detailed instructions as they went before getting in the back with him. There was no way he was trusting the guy alone. Not for a second. His senses tingled. The hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention. His reflexes were twitchy, and he was sure that one wrong move from Mishka was going to end with a bullet through his head.
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Posted: Sun Nov 18, 2012 4:30 pm
The beast in me
Has had to learn to live with pain
Caged by frail and fragile bars
Restless by day
And by night rants and rages at the stars
Restrained in the twinkling of an eye _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Mishka rose with mock obedience from his seat at the edge of the table and followed the detective out every door, down every hall, always just a step behind him. He said absolutely nothing while they waited for the car. The silence was heavy, his presence an uncomfortable one just beside the detective. When the car arrived, he skirted around the vehicle and took his seat in the back, raising a brow when the detective slid in beside him but he made no comment. He merely smiled and then turned his head, looking out the window. He didn't move the whole car ride. Just like in the station, he sat incredibly still. It was hard to tell if he even blinked or breathed. He did speak occasionally but mostly it was directions, a sudden "turn here" or a "no, keep going on this road." After the silence he had been keeping it was almost startling when he did speak up, like the silence was a living breathing thing that shouldn't be disturbed.
"Why the fascination with white?" he said suddenly to Kise. He didn't look at him, or if he was, it was through the man's reflection in the window. Oddly, Mishka didn't appear to have one, but then, he was also very close to the window. "Not the typical uniform for police or even most detectives. Especially considering how dirty the job can be. In some cultures white is the color of purity, in others a color for mourning. Which statement are you trying to make, consciously or un?" For choosing to ask the question he didn't seem particularly interested in the answer. He didn't look up, didn't turn to the detective. Maybe he was just filling the silence. Or maybe he didn't need to pay attention. Maybe he got everything just fine the way he was.
He sat up then, leaning forward, gripping the seat in front of him hard. "Stop here," he said suddenly, his tone so very definitive, certain, like a command. He didn't have a belt to unclip. He'd never put his seatbelt on. And if the backseat doors hadn't been locked from the outside, he probably would have been out of the vehicle before it stopped moving, but as it was, he had to wait to be let loose. He turned to Kise, brow raised accusingly and then he grinned. "Huh. Locked in a car with you. Whatever shall we do to pass the time?" He smirked even as one of the other officers popped open his door but then he was scrambling out the door. The place he had brought them to didn't look very promising. Prostitution rings were more likely to crop up in dirty, run down places where people hardly went. This was a busy harbor, with people walking along the docks and the beach and plenty of close knit warehouses and buildings. And nothing looked off about the warehouse Mishka was heading towards. But then as they got closer, something odd happened. It was like a feeling in the pit of the stomach, an invisible barrier that was passed and everything after it filled the body with a sense of dread that seemed to scream, stop, go no further, turn away, go somewhere else. It was strong. But the closer they got to the front door of the place, the more different things seemed to look. Suddenly there were less people around, like they'd all just got up and left. The neighboring buildings were quiet and still like no one was working there. And the warehouse itself? It still looked pretty good but it too was lifeless. Abandoned for the season like it was suppose to be this time of year. It was uncanny, like stepping through a mirage.
Mishka tried to push past the other officers to get to the door first but they would let him. He frown, huffing an irritated sigh that sounded more like an animal's hiss. The officers tried the door but it appeared to be locked. While they were discussing what to do, Mishka made his way towards the door again, hand closing around the handle. He pulled and the door gave way. It wasn't like when he'd jumped over the table and broke it, the door simply opened like it hadn't been locked after all, and Mishka just stood there, waiting. He didn't seem to have much patience. He rolled his eyes and went in a moment later, pushing the door away from him hard enough to make it slam against the wall. The door didn't seem to want to close after that. It was dark inside the warehouse and none of the lights seemed to work. Mishka seemed to be doing alright, maneuvering around boxes and crates and machinery like he could see them plain as day before the other officers even brought out their flashlights. Despite everything so far though, the place didn't look very remarkable. It looked just like a normal warehouse on the off season. Everything boxed up and put to the side, workstations and machines and assembly lines abandoned. There was some ratty blankets and cardboard boxes on the floor here and there like someone had gotten in and decided this was a good place to squat at night but that happened on occasion too and it certainly wasn't worth SVU's time. But that was before Mishka brought them to the storage room.
It was walking in on a movie set for one of those god awful slashers, only the punchline was, all of it was real. There was blood spattered on the walls and splashed across the floor, smeared in places by footprints and moved bodies and in some places, small hands.The room stank of sulfur and death and burned flesh. There were scorch marks to explain two of those smells. A few on the walls with bodies just beneath them, still smoldering and obviously dead, torched. Grown men judging by the size, three of them, but they were burnt beyond recognition. The largest scorch mark was on the floor in the far corner. That was where Mishka wandered the minute he walked into the room, stepping around bodies and gore like none of it mattered to him. He stopped by the corner, looking down for a long time. There were two bodies at his feet, smaller, obviously children. One of them, a boy, was barely clothed and heavily battered, a deep slash running down his face across his brow and eye, down over his lips and chin, slicing through delicate skin and painting his face in blood. There were more cuts, all over him, like he had been tortured but none of them had killed him. It was the bullet hole to the back of the head that had probably done that. There were chains attached to the piping over head all along the walls. The bruising on his wrists and ankles would probably match the shackles on those chains but the boy hadn't been bound when he died. He looked like he'd been running with whoever was next to him. But the body beside him wasn't just burnt and crispy. It was all ash. The dead boy and the ashen body had been holding hands when both had died, perhaps trying to make a break for it together.
Mishka stood there very still, staring at the dead boy. He'd make a comment any minute now, something wholly inappropriate and callously disrespectful... any minute now. Only he didn't. He heard Kise's warning about not touching anything but they were far away and unimportant. Instead he dropped to his knees next to the dead boy, reaching gently for his neck, fingers closing around a thin chain that rested there. He pulled sharply, breaking it, bring it eye level. There was a pendant on the chain, a bird's skull made of solid silver, the eyes filled in with little glass spheres filled with something bright red that caught the light like liquid ruby. Mishka stuffed the necklace into his pocket. Mishka had been guilty of robbing the dead at crime scenes before. But this time was different. He didn't look around and make sure the coast was clear. He wasn't sneaky about it. He just did it, like it was his business and his alone. And he didn't seem to really care about what he pilfered either. He didn't look at it, didn't make sure it went into his pocket okay. It was the dead boy he was looking at, his eyes never leaving the kid's still, lifeless face. The trinket tucked away he reached out, touching the boy's face ever so gently, like he was made of ash too and would surely shatter... and then before Kise could stop him, he drew the dead child into his arms, cradling him close to him. Crusty blood drenched hair scratched at his throat as he tucked the dead boy's head under his chin and the limbs he embraced were stiff, rigor already starting to set in. Mishka didn't seem to notice the disgusting crackling sounds the dead boy's muscles made when he moved him, or that moving him had destroyed the ashen hand of the other body by tearing one dead hand from the other. It wasn't like Mishka at all. Usually he wanted nothing to do with a crime scene. He stood on the outskirts and acted largely disgusted and hated getting anywhere near the gory stuff. Now here he was, stooped over and clutching a corpse to him, rocking erratically and sobbing, teeth clenched an angry, tears streaming down his face. Like he really had lost a child, like the dead boy belonged to him in any sort of way. Like Mishka could actually care about anyone other than himself enough to mourn their suffering and loss. _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ God help the beast in me...
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Posted: Mon Nov 19, 2012 2:24 am
Kise didn't comment when the instructions were made, simply watched as his partner, Barker, made easy work of them; but the more they drove the more the frown line between his brow increased. This was no quiet dock they were headed to, no deserted and abandoned warehouse... how in the world could the bodies of two kids be here? Surely they would have been discovered by now? Something didn't feel right, something was off... but what? Kise didn't know, he simply accepted his gut feeling. A cop without his gut feeling was as good as dead after all. "Why the fascination with white?" For the first time during their drive Kise actually turned to look at Mishka, his brow quirked in mild interest, what was with the question? As he continued to listen he sighed and turned again. He had no interest in answering such a nonsensical questions, there was nothing between them but a working relationship and Kise had no intention of opening up beyond that. Screw Mishka and his questions. The truth was Kise didn't have a fascination with white, didn't even always wear the colour. As one of the officers who did a lot of work on the street it was often easier to wear own clothes to the uniform... it was amazing how many people ran away simply at the sight of a panda car and a uniform. It was like trying to chase your own tail, meaningless and pointless. The white had simply been something he had tossed on this morning, most likely because Kise knew he looked good it in, and had felt the desire to look good... probably knew what he would likely do after work tonight.... and after the way this day was turning out, God knew he needed it, was likely he was aiming to dive headfirst into someone's bed simply as a stress reliever. That wasn't a thought for now though..... When the guy finally ordered them to stop, Kise's eyes snapped to attention, taking in the stiffness of Mishka's back, the urgency that seemed to shine unspoken behind his eyes. "Don't get any ideas...." I'd never lower myself. Kise thought. Ok, so Kise had been thinking of getting laid moments before, but not with a paid partner. It was bad in many ways to look down on Mishka, though it wasn't just because of his 'career' that Kise didn't like the guy, it was his attitude, the blatant selfishness and skewed sense of priorities... the worst kind of man as far as Kise was concerned, and he would have thought so even if Mishka wore a thousand dollar suit and worked as CEO of a high standing business. Some sh*t just didn't change no matter where you stood. His partner popped the lock a moment later and with a fluid grace Kise was known for, he got out and looked around, the critical gaze of a detective evident in each calculated movement. An unspoken conversation occurred between him and his partner, they had worked together long enough to know exactly what the other needed.... and as a pair they lead the way Mishka had hinted at, refusing to allow the other to push past. Kise wasn't willing to accept corrupted evidence, especially given Mishka's reputation. The guy was known for thieving and messing with things that were better left alone, heartless b*****d looked at crime scenes with disgust and distaste, as if it was actually a good thing that whoever was there had reached their demise. Locked door. Great. His eyes met his partner's, again it was decided without actually speaking.... and Kise had been on the verge of taking out his lock pick kit, not something most knew he held a skill in, when Mishka leaned between them and.... opened the door?! What the f*ck? How had he done that! Suspicious eyes snapped to the guy, and Kise found himself staring into those strangely pinky-blue hues with a serious case of distrust.. had his eyes always been that colour? This whole situation was off, and with each step further into the darkness they took the hairs started to stand on edge. What the hell was the guy playing at? What was the truth to this miraculous change.... because the more Kise thought about it, the more he knew that the Mishka that stood before him was not the same as the guy he had met before, was not the same guy the department had hauled in time and time again.... brown eyes shone with intelligence and hated curiosity. Curse his need to solve things.... Tearing his gaze away was a physical chore, those painted eyes boring into his skull along with that almost cold and disinterested gaze. Kise's heart was beating so fast suddenly that his chest started to hurt, but he grit his teeth, took out a torch and entered the gloom of the warehouse; more than happy for something else to steal his focus. Clip, clop, clip, clop. The sound of shoes on concrete echoed in the otherwise stillness of the warehouse, bar the slight evidence of a few nightly squatters there didn't seem to be anything out of place, just an eery stillness that again had all of Kise's senses running in overdrive.... something that soon became appropriate the moment the last door was opened. Blood. Lots of blood. Ash. Sulphur. Burning. His partner recoiled from it, but Kise had seen this sort of thing before.... well, mostly. Offering a slice of relief he turned to the guy and said with a firm commanding tone, "Call up Homicide and clean up." Before pushing forward. The rancid smell of burnt flesh and blood clogged the air, and was almost enough to have bile rising to his throat. Eyes wandered first to... three body, each lay dead and lifeless on the ground... burnt to a crisp and unrecognisable by sight alone, adults by the look of them... and all male if he had to hazard a guess. More blood... more ash... his eyes wandered, vaguely aware of Mishka making his way through the carnage. "Don't you f*cking touch anything. You corrupt my crime scene and I will make hell for you." He snarled, but wether his anger was at the deaths around him or the whore, was undetermined. Especially when his eyes finally fell upon the two small figures that had started this whole misadventure.... His frown widened, and as he turned to look at the door he tried to decide if anyone had disturbed the scene before them. Hand prints, blood, smudges... but no sign of disturbance from anyone not involved in the crime. What did Mishka have to do with any of this? This was far from the guys usual MO. Turning again he was just in time to see the guy pull something silver from the least burnt of the kids, a boy.... hadn't he just warned him NOT to touch? F*cking hell..... not wanting to disturb anything before it was catalogued it took Kise longer than he would have liked to make his way to Mishka's side. "What the f*ck are you doing! I told you not to...." His words were stolen from him the moment he watched as the guy lifted the lifeless boy towards him in a strange embrace... and tears... Mishka was actually crying? But that... why would... what?!!!! If Kise had thought something was off before, he now had concrete evidence of it. This was NOT the Mishka they all knew, this was NOT the whore who thought only of himself and did as he pleased when he pleased.... Curse Kise for it, but he was moved by the bloody tears.... wait, was there actual blood in them? In many ways Kise suspected he shouldn't be surprised by any of this, had seen plenty of messed up sh*t since joining the SVU, and most of it didn't involve a bloody crime scene like this.... not that he would have predicted this, he was usually a good reader of people, but Mishka had surprised the hell out of him and then some.... before he could stop himself he placed a hand on the guys shoulder, gentle yet firm. "Put him down Mishka... there is nothing you can do for him now." All too true... but perhaps, they could try and save the other missing children? It suddenly felt imperative that he did just that. Putting on a pair of rubber gloves, and leaning down Kise didn't ask permission as he put his hand in the pocket Mishka had hidden his 'treasure' and dragged out the silver necklace. He looked at it for a moment, a bird skull.....strange.... with a frown he slipped into an evidence bag and slipped it into his pocket. White wasn't the best idea in a place like this, and Kise was pretty sure that he would get an earful from his dry cleaner.... not that he cared right now. Despite everything he gave Mishka a moment with the body, the damage had already been done, and the guy would now have to be questioned and a statement taken about what he had disturbed... yet as Kise's eyes took in the scene again he got the impression that the two kids had been trying to run away... How had they managed to escape the obvious torture long enough to attempt it...? And what had caused the ash? What had burnt so intensely that it had practically cremated all but one body? He looked to the ceiling, no burnt holes, but more burnt marks almost like skid marks across the ceiling. His frown deepened, again he knew he was missing something... and when he heard his partner at the door he knew they were out of time. Back up was on the way. "Give him to me..." He said to Mishka, the command clear in his voice, even as he crouched next to Mishka and the dead boy. "I promise I'll treat him with respect...." And Kise would do just that, would lower him back to the ground as if he was the most precious and fragile thing in existence, which in many ways he was.... and not just because of the evidence Kise needed to solve this case... but because Kise hated losing a child. Children were innocents simply wrapped up in the web of the adult world, forced to do things on the whims of another.... no, he would never blame a child for the sins of another, no matter what kind of life they may have led. Calling to his partner he said simply, "Barker, take Mishka for some fresh air." He pulled out a handkerchief and offered it to the guy, his eyes looking for a moment at the bloody stream running down his face... a broken tear duct perhaps? A condition he didn't know about? Given Miskha's profession it wouldn't surprise Kise if he had some blood disease that they didn't know about, they didn't exactly test their sources for a clean bill of health. Brown eyes shone with a focus and determination, a silent promise that he would solve this mess...
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Posted: Thu Nov 22, 2012 11:16 pm
The beast in me
Has had to learn to live with pain
Caged by frail and fragile bars
Restless by day
And by night rants and rages at the stars
Restrained in the twinkling of an eye _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Mishka seemed wholly consumed by his grief for a moment but he was not solely unaware when Kise took the necklace back from him. He turned his head, eying the man closely over the dead boy's head, clutching the boy to him that much tighter, knowing that he too would have to be taken away at some point. His eyes followed the pendant and then the man. He opened his mouth and then clenched it shut tight again, like he meant to protest and then decided against it. He hissed out something that might have been a refusal when Kise told him to put the dead boy down and his response was no more eager when the man changed the command and then wanted to take him instead. Mishka said nothing. He touched his fingertips to the back of the dead boy's neck and kissed his temple. A dusting of dried blood clung to his lips when he looked up again, and with the air of a man parting with the most precious thing he owned, Mishka carefully handed the dead boy over to the detective. It was a careful, almost tender gesture, the way someone might pass along a live baby or a bird's egg and with the dead boy no longer in his arms, he seemed almost lost, unsure what to do with himself. And it only seemed to strengthen his grief, to solidify whatever loss he felt. He didn't break into a sobbing mess. If anything he seemed to be reining himself in, garnering some measure of control. But underneath it all, something cold and angry shifted, settling in the forefront of his being where it could only thrive and grow.
"See that you do," he growled out, and that voice, the tone that he spoke in, it was one Mishka had never used before. "That they are all handled with respect." He obviously didn't mean the dead men. And then he added ever so softly, "...as we find them." He rose stiffly, looking about him, the warehouse and all it's oddities, the ugly things that shouldn't be there, chains and cages, articles of clothing and dirty, bloodied mattresses, the dead men. Finally his eyes fell upon the boy made of ash, the one he had all but neglected for the body he could touch. That cold thing inside him seemed to grow as he looked at it, that mass of still smoking white ash and embers, so fragile and strange, molded perfectly into the body it had once been, all but for the hand that Mishka had accidentally destroyed. It was an unearthly and harrowing sight to be sure. Nothing so burned should remain so perfectly formed. The dead men were featureless, little more than charred flesh clinging to blackened bones. This... every detail was mapped out in ash, every hair, every pore. All but for the eyes. The ashen boy had died with his eyes open, only there were no eyes, only empty pits. Oh he was a boy alright but it was difficult to think of this poor lost soul as one. He seemed too impossible to be real. And yet, there he was, the center of the largest scorch mark in the room. The center of all this hell.
Mishka flinched away, making an odd sound as another officer reached for his arm, startled, but he didn't do anything stupid. He stood away from the other man for a moment and then he seemed to give in, nodding slowly, his jaw set, painted and bloodied lips a hard line on a pretty face not meant for such harsh expressions. He accepted the handkerchief Kise offered without a word, mopping at his eyes and cheeks harshly, without the ever makeup conscious delicacy that he might have otherwise shown. The cloth came away black and not with eyeliner or mascara. A bit of glitter and the rich colors of whatever eyeshadow he had been wearing were gone now, washed away, but the lines that painted his eyes were perfect as ever, long lashes still dark and done up, even with beaded tears still clinging to them. Wherever Mishka got the tools that made him a painted man, they were a hell of a brand. No. It appeared that while Mishka's blood bled red and bright, unaffected by oxygen, the 'blood' he wept was nothing like that. On cloth it looked like black water, like expensive ink watered down to translucive black. Mishka didn't seem too concerned about it.
Mishka got out of the way without a fuss. He let himself be swept off to the sidelines, disappearing into whatever corner they took him too. He lingered like a ghost in the outer rooms of the workshop where everything looked closer to normal, staying away from the officers and forensic professionals that arrived. Helpful perhaps, but he also remained silent, refusing to talk to anyone. He was listless mostly, but his eyes followed Kise as the man worked whenever he caught sight of him, his gaze heavy like a weight on the man's shoulders. Things were just starting to wrap up and clear out when the whore suddenly came to life again. His head jerked in a fairly certain direction, eyes tracking movement, only there didn't appear to be anything his eyes were following, just a blank portion of wall clear across the warehouse, back in the bloodied room and low, closer to the floor. He moved, dropping the blanket someone had brought him, marching right back where he wasn't suppose to be and once again, he seemed deaf to any warnings that were barked at him. Hands that reached to stop him were shaken away as he barreled on through. It wasn't even a struggle. No matter who grabbed ahold of him, no one could stop him, just like how being chained in the interrogation room earlier had proven such a failed attempt. He went straight for that wall, thankfully no longer having much evidence to tread through. He walked along the wall a ways, leaning close to it, like he was listening carefully. And then he stopped very suddenly, like he'd stepped on a live wire, his entire body tensing. He turned then, teeth bared, barking at the entire room a single word. "Silence!" It was like a shock wave went off throught the room, a stunned silence following in its wake. The odd thing was, what he said, it might not have even been English. The message came across so strongly, but the word he used itself after a moment's thought, it was hard to remember. But it got him what he wanted at least. Mishka leaned closer to the wall, pressing his head to cold concrete, eyes closed. Only there was nothing to hear. Mishka opened his eyes, looking along the wall. There was a spot where one of the torched bodies had been. Where the man had hit the wall and burned, there was a small break in the wall, an opening of crumbled bricks. The dead man had been covering it before. It wasn't very big, this opening. A grown man could not have gotten inside. Mishka pressed his face to the wall again, murmuring low and quiet. He definitely wasn't speaking English now, but it didn't sound like Russian either, which was Mishka's first language and while it was a well known fact that Mishka could say '******** me' in just about ever language and knew enough to do his business with just about every foreigner to come his way -- he was not known to be so fluent in any other language. He'd never demonstrated the patience or the interest to learn either but whatever he was saying and wherever he had got it from, he sounded like he was trying to coax the wall into giving something up. Maybe he did. Because just when some of the officers were muttering about dropping the whore off at the local nuthouse, there was noise behind the wall. It was quiet, the scuffle of grit moving under something, almost like the scratching of a rat scurrying and clawing about. But then it got louder, bigger, and it moved along the wall, towards the hole the dead man had covered. For a long several minutes there was nothing in the darkness of that hole... but then there was. At first there was only the flash of something in the light. Something steel with glints of red, something small, hanging from a chain about the neck of a shadowed figure, hardly even there... and then a small boy peeked his head out, crouched just inside. He looked at Mishka, eyes wide, chest heaving. There was no recognition in the boy's face at first, only confusion, and then he was so obviously afraid of him. But then Mishka made a gesture, something about his eyes, drawing the boy's attention to them and he said something again in that foreign tongue with a strong gentleness of tone that went beyond what one would expect from the typical whore or even a man his age. And suddenly things were different. It was like the boy suddenly knew him, even though his face clearly said he wasn't familiar with the look of Mishka or much of anything about him but, still, he recognized him. He called him by a name that did not belong to Mishka, yelling out, "Dziadek!" The kid shot out of the hole like an animal running across a busy road but it was no touching scene when he made it to Mishka. At least, not instantly. The boy started hitting him with fists too small to cause much damage, his face screwed up with hurt and horror and pain, tears streaming down his face as he screamed. "You left us! You promised nothing would happen to us! You left!" Mishka didn't try to stop the boy but then, the child didn't take long to tire himself out either. He didn't look like he was in the sort of shape to be throwing tantrums. There was plenty of him to see with him clothed only in a ragged pair of boxers that had definitely seen better days, grime covered and bloodstained in the back. Bruises covered the kid's torso, arms, and legs like a leopard's spots, black on blue on purple and onward, new layered over old and healing and like the other boy, there were gashes too and other signs of torture. He had limped when he ran and not just the sort of limping one might expect with the blood that stained the back of those shorts -- his left leg seemed to be causing him pain and it appeared to have seen the most of whatever had been done to him, crisscrossed in gashes and burns. Mishka took the boy's abuse and when the boy crumpled and broke down, the whore knelt and drew him close, running a hand through the boy's hair in a gesture of comfort and murmuring to him quietly as the boy sobbed over him, thoroughly falling into hysterics. "I told. I'm sorry!" he said it over and over and over, losing it. The poor kid was close to hyperventilating, even as Mishka shushed him and tried to calm him down._________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ God help the beast in me...
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Posted: Tue Nov 27, 2012 2:43 pm
Kise didn't need to be asked to handle the kids with respect once they were found... he would have done it either way. No matter who the kid was in life, it was the only thing he could do for them in death.... well, bar finding the b*stard who had done it! Yet, even as he thought that he knew he hadn't lost hope that they could still find some of them alive. The chance was always there, although slim, and getting slimmer by the day... all Kise had to do was solve the puzzle, find the missing pieces and arrange them correctly. Yeah, easier said than done, but Kise wasn't one to give up on something once he had his eyes set on it. Ruthless and stubborn, both things that had nothing on him at times. Nodding in silent reply he lay the poor dead boy down. It was then he noted how the hand on the other... figure... small, child, boy?... seemed to be reaching for the lad he had just placed down. They had been holding hands? Trying to escape? He looked up in the two directions the boys could have been running. Strangely enough it seemed unlikely that the kids had been trying to get to the door Kise and Mishka had come through... which left one looming question to irritate Kise. Where had they been trying to escape to? He frowned, held his hands together and resisted the urge to scratch his neck, given that he was wearing gloves and didn't want to corrupt anymore of the crime scene. The smell continued to assault his nose. The horror filled scene attacked his eyes. If he had been a lesser man he might have cried, might have vomited... but Kise pushed his focus on trying to avenge them instead of wasting time on breaking down, at least not in public. Losing a kid was always tough though... and the more they lost in the case the more Kise knew it would start to get to him. Mishka and Barker left, and once more Kise took in the scene. Taking out his pad he made notes, quick scribbled diagrams and rough hypothesis while they were still fresh in his mind. He also sketched the path he and Mishka had walked so that they could be ruled out of the investigation later. It was a mess... and before long a team was on site. Flashes from cameras. Questions. More sketches. Samples collected. More questions. Attempts at identity. Everything was pretty standard and routine, and before long Kise fell into the natural beat of the investigation, his mind dropping away the emotional vampire that seemed to be sucking him dry of his senses... Mishka. Kise had to admit, at least in his head, that he was glad to be away from the guy. They hadn't exactly made much of an impression on each during their first meeting and as far as second meetings went, this one was rather.... disastrous. Still, Kise couldn't shift the feeling that something was off with the guy. The make up. The eyes. The strength. The stillness. The voice. The tears. Something didn't seem to fit.... but what? It was driving Kise insane trying to figure it out, which was why he welcomed this. This was safe and almost predictable. Of course, the moment he thought that who should appear but.. Mishka. Kise's hand fisted at his side and he had to grit his teeth. What did the guy want this time? "Someone grab the idiot before he messes up anything else." He called, not caring who followed the order but his tone expecting it to be done, and done now. When it seemed no one could catch the slippery little bugger, Kise was left with no choice but to go after him himself.... he was about to reach out when the guy barked an order. A single word. Blinking in surprise Kise paused. What was that? It seemed everyone else in the room was just as surprised as an almost instant and eerie silence spread over them. All eyes turning to the whore in surprise. More surprise followed as Mishka seemed to seek something, listening and touching the wall... what the hell was he doing? Was he high after all? Kise crossed his arms and frowned. A moment passed and Kise found himself growing impatient with this little 'display', was about to interrupt and drag the guy out of the room, over his shoulder if he had to... anything to get him away and to stop him messing up more.... but that was when Kise heard it too. A... scraping? Shuffling? Whimper? He wasn't sure but there was definitely something. He strained his ears, tilting his head closer to the direction Mishka was in the hopes of picking up more. What happened next was enough to have Kise gawping in surprise. A figure appeared. Another little boy. A called name, desperate, Dziadek... grandfather? Polish? He listened, watched the exchange, even as he summoned a rookie and told them to get hold of an ambulance and a social worker. They would need both... and now. Approaching slowly in order to not spook either of them, he had the rest of the team keep back and just continue their work. In many ways this was exactly what the SVU's did. They were left with victims more often than not, and with the arrival of this kid this case suddenly sat firmly with his department, the missing children suddenly becoming a priority for the department. Brown eyes almost coldly and clinically assessed the lad. Bruises. Blood. Cuts. Whoever had worked on the lad had done a good job, and when the kid started to fall into hysterics muttering 'I told' Kise couldn't muster any surprise. Most adults would tell under such torture, it wasn't anything to be ashamed of... the question was... what did he tell? Kise would need to know, maybe it would give him a clue to follow the thugs trail....? He could only hope. Taking a deep breath to compose himself and to push his personal feelings away, Kise allowed himself to slip into one of his many work personas. This one holding a hint of soft kindness, after all he didn't want to spook the kid, and he was now Kise's main focus. Lowering himself to their level he started to speak, his tone soft and slow. "Hey there fella, I need you to come with me, ok?" He smiled softly, "Don't worry Mishka.... eh... Dziadek" Kise wasn't sure he said it right, "Can come too." But he wanted to try and encourage the kid, show him that things were safe, that he was safe, that it would continue to be safe. Worst thing they could do was spook him anymore, he had obviously been through more than he should have already... and while he wasn't worried about it at the moment the thought lingered in the back of his mind... eventually they would need answers from the kid. Right now, his body came first. "I want you to get checked out, ok? Looks like you have some pretty nasty wounds and I want to make sure everything is ok, come with me and I'll make sure they order you whatever takeout you want.... deal?" The smile was still in place. The patience slipping to the front as he expected a fight... he would be more surprised if there wasn't one. Ok, so the deal was rather useless, the kid probably couldn't even eat right now... but Kise didn't really have much else to offer, and it had been the first thing to pop into his head. Barker appeared at the door, shouted to him that the ambulance was here and the social worker was on her way. Things were falling into place in that way, but there was still a long way to go. Holding out his hand in offer to the kid, his eyes shot to Mishka for a moment, hoping the guy understand exactly what Kise was trying to say, exactly how urgent he currently found the situation. "Come on." His focus shifted to the kid again. "My name's Kise." He often gave his first name to kids, not wanting to seem big and scary and overly formal... more of an equal. "What's your name?" Start off simple. Start off easy. After all, the questions would soon come, though with kids interrogations were ran very different.... play and 'talk'. Not always effective... but Kise would try it all the same. Key to success was gaining trust.... Please trust me. I really do want to help.
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