ArchivedLogs:Un-dercover

Un-dercover
Dramatis Personae Eric, Sebastian, Shane, Daiki
In Absentia	2013-08-18 '
Location <NYC> 305 {Teenhaus} - Village Lofts - East Village
This apartment is bright and airy, its floor plan open and a plethora of windows providing it with an abundance of light. The tiny entrance hall opens into a small living room. Towards the back, a couple of doors lead off into bedrooms and bathroom, and to the right, the kitchen's tile is separated from the living room's dark hardwood floors by black countertops. Above the bedroom to one side, there is higher space; a ladder climbs up to a lofted area looking down on the living room. Another bathroom stands just into the hall and the farthest door leads to the apartment's final bedroom. Furnishings are more in line with broke students than established adults. Cast-off couches and chairs provide places to sit, and the walls have been decorated in a frequently-changed street art style that combines bright, layered colors with exaggerated proportions and abstract shapes. Afternoon has fallen to the victim of its brother evening, and the sun has begin to set behind the steel and glass trees that dot the landscape of Manhattan. Inside the Village Lofts, a well-dressed blond man in an Armani suit steps up to the door of Teenhaus. The knock at Shane's door is a heavy one, a crash of the flat of a palm slapped against the wood of the door once, twice. Then, taking a step back from the door, a single blue eye stares into the peephole. "Hey, Shane? It's Eric." Just the kind of greeting that one expects after having dropped off of the face of the earth for several weeks, right? "You home?" The door is opened in short order, a huge pair of wide black eyes peering out at Eric. Blink, blink, blink. Sebastian is dressed for bed, loose black cotton shorts and no shirt. His nostrils flare, snuffle snuffle snuffle. "... you're wearing cologne. What did you do to your hair?" "Bleach. Lots of it. And it wasn't me - they had some professional do it. Can't've look like a hack job," Eric says, reaching out and ruffling Sebastian's hair. "Heya, 'Bastian." He blinks matches blue eyes with the younger man's black and drops his hand back down to his side, one shoulder shifting the suit sleeve back into place. "Is Shane 'round?" Sebastian tenses faintly, ducking back slightly away from the ruffling. "It was better in black. And longer. Are you going to grow it back out?" He's frowning uncertainly up at Eric's head. "What's with the suit?" He fidgets, a little uncomfortably. "You went away." "Yeah, I'm gonna chop it all off as soon as I get the clear. But I just got off work today n'..." Eric glances down and quiets, and he lets out a soft sigh. "It's a long story, 'Bastian. I'm happy ta' tell it to ya too, but... I'd rather not tell it to ya twice, yeah? I promise, I'll explain. It was work, and it wasn't the sort of thing I got much notice 'bout." "Shane's home." Sebastian says this with a slight discomfited fidget, glancing towards the door to Daiki's room. "You should knock first." He moves back further, heading to the couch where his laptop is sitting open on one cushion. He pauses, though, before taking his seat. "Um -- can I -- can I get you -- anything? Like. Drink? Maybe?" Eric steps into the room and closes the door behind him, smoothly driving the lock home and turning around. "Nah, I'm alright, 'Bastian. I'm just glad to be able to be /me/ again!" The police officer's step is bouncing, once, as he heads deeper into the apartment. He steps up to Daiki's door and raps his knuckles against the wood, a quick twisting movement that is much quieter than his knock on the outside door. "Shane? Daiki? You guys in there?" he calls, voice soft, and even a little bit hesitant. This time, it takes a good deal longer before the knock is answered. There is a lot of shuffling from inside the door, a quiet murmur of voices. Laughter, muffled. Shifting of fabric. Eventually, though, Daiki does answer the door, a dark cotton robe tied in place on him and his face flushed; he's tying his hair back into a low ponytail and the soft /warmth/ of his mutation tugs with a powerful /pull/ of friendly affection, much stronger than its usual. "Oh -- hello --" He sounds puzzled, at first; only after a second look does he blink and say apologetic, "-- Eric-san." His head dips, a quick almost-bow of a nod. "It has been a while. Shane will --" He glances back over his shoulder; his flush deepens. "Need a minute. Please." Eric nods his head and gives Daiki a warm, bright smile. "Heya, Daiki. Missed you." A pause, and he glances towards the living room. "Take your time - and him, as well. Sorry ta' interrupt," he says, eyes flicking up and down the other man hungrily. "I'll wait in the living room with 'Bastian. Come when you guys are ready." His smile turns wolfish before he turns to head - somewhat reticently - back into the living room to plop down on a couch across from Sebastian. Daiki blushes, tensing uncomfortably under Eric's eyes and pulling his robe more tightly closed, though it's already quite closed to /begin/ with. He dips his head in a nod again, closing the door behind him. "You sure you don't want anything?" Sebastian offers again, when Eric returns to the living room. He's got his laptop hooked up to an external monitor; one monitor has schematics for what looks like some sort of dragonfly robot, though the other currently just has news. Some article about the situation in Harlem. "I'm alright, 'Bastian, really." Eric frowns and crosses one leg over the other. "I'm going to go take these fucking contacts out'a my eyes before I lose my mind." The police officer groans, and hops to his feet. "Blue just ain't my color." He doesn't make his way to the bathroom, but rather takes fingers to his eyes right there. Fingers on his eyeball, he suddenly stops and then drops his hands back to his side with a sigh. "No, no. I should leave 'em in, least till Shane sees 'em. Help the explanation." "... okay." Sebastian glances at Eric, frowning, and then back to his laptop screen. He pages through the news slowly, then shuts it down. He unplugs his laptop from the monitor, tucking it beneath his arm. "M'going to bed. G'night." His head ducks as he slips out of the room and into his own bedroom, leaving Eric to the couch on his own. It isn't /too/ long before Shane arrives, dressed quite similarly to Bastian in black pajama pants though he wears a red cloth collar around his neck. He heads straight for the bathroom, rather than for Eric, disappearing into it for a moment. The water runs for only a minute; he's damp when he returns to scrutinize Eric on the couch. "What the fuck," he greets, "your hair looks fucking hideous." "Yeah, and I ain't like the contacts neither," Eric says, looking up at Shane with a look that clearly holds some longing. His eyes flick to the collar on Shane's neck and he grins. "Peter's?" he asks, gesturing up towards Shane - the collar, or him, it is not clear. "Looks good on you." He pauses for a moment and gestures to the couch across from him, and then to the seat beside him. "I guess I got some explainin' ta do, huh?" he says, wryly. "I'm sorry I kinda vanished on ya, there." The police officer shifts once, resettling back against the couch in a new position, legs crossed one over the other the opposite way. "I got sent undercover. No notice, no anythin'. Setup the background and made me vanish. New name, new everything. Clothes, hair, eyes, place, all'o it. Let me spend a week gettin' lined up, and then I was really in it." "The contacts are alright but your real eyes are better." Shane's hand lifts, fingers touching against the collar. His lips curl up, slightly. "It helps breathe. But -- yeah. His." He doesn't move closer, though. Not yet. "Some explaining. I texted you. You didn't answer." The explanation draws his brows together. "... what's your new name?" is the only question he asks, at first. "No phone. Not mine, anyway." Eric grimaces and shakes his head. "I didn't get to pick it, believe me. David. David Palmer." A pause. "And ain't my name no more. It's all over, now. Well, my part, at least. Still got a year, two o' court and all that." He shivers, once, and looks truly uncomfortable for a moment. "Trials are too good for some people." "David Palmer. Do people not -- watch television." Shane's hands fall to curl loosely around his chest, hands pressing against the gills at his sides. "Too good for --" His head cocks to the side. There's still a distinct /unhappiness/ in his expression, lips pressed thin, eyes narrowed on Eric, claws prickling outward, muscles tensed. "What were you /doing/?" "Pretending to play football. Actually playing football, too, but." Eric's eyes fix on Shane's, and he takes a deep breath to steady himself before he continues. "Some apartment got robbed on the upper east side. Standard stuff - nothing too unusual. But a day or so later, a guy comes into the local station to confess to it. Said he was no pervert. Apparently, the guy he robbed was producing child porn. "That guy lead us to another, who had the kids that he was filming. Turns out he got them from a trafficking ring. That's where I come in. They needed someone who wouldn't get recognized in the city so easy, and who could play football well enough to fake being a recruit. From the moment I stepped into my Lieu's office, I ain't Eric no more by the time I walked out. No phone calls allowed." Shane's claws retract, though the tension in his muscles only grows. His brows crease deeper, though the narrowing of his eyes is easing, lips, quirking to one side. "So you -- were off -- pretending to be a child molester." "I bought someone." Eric says, looking up at Shane. "She's 13. Safe, now, with CPS, thank god. But... yeah. Football player with a taste for young girls and the money to acquire them. Rent, buy, whatever." He shrugs his shoulders, voice dark. "Gotta say, their porn ain't much to my taste," he says, and the disgust is plain in his voice. "At all." Shane draws in a slow breath, through his teeth; they're abruptly clenched, tight. His eyes close, then open again on Eric. "That," he says, slowly, "sounds like pretty much the shittiest assignment. Holy /shitballs/, man. Wow. I -- fuck. I thought I had a crappy summer. Sorry. Do you want some fucking -- a cigarette probably doesn't cut it. I have some -- e." "It comes with the job. I'm just glad I ain't a detective. I think I'd lose my mind havin'ta do that shit day in and day out. Three weeks was 'bout enough to make me want to eat my gun. No idea how they do it for years and years." Eric shakes his head and looks up at the teenager. "Actually, I think what I'd like most is to give ya a hug, Shane. I..." Eric glances down, frowning. "I missed ya. A lot more'n I thought I would." "She's safe now, though, right. You said. That she's safe." Shane frowns. "With a /good/ family?" He sounds -- not /overly/ hopeful, here. But a little bit. His claws flick out, then back in. His head tips back, looking up at Eric. His nostrils flare, the breath he exhales sharp. "Okay, but dude, you have to get rid of that /stupid/ fucking /bling/." "The raid took thirty children into the state's care. They are all in an emergency group home setup for them - many of them don't speak any English. The police are working with the government on gettin' them back to their parents and relatives, or findin' some place for 'em to stay here. They've got a ways to go before they're gon' be placed with anyone." Eric straightens up and he slips his jacket off of his shoulders. "Ain't exactly my thing, but, I came straight here from the station." His hands lift to remove his contacts quickly, placing them roughly in his pocket, then undoing his necklace. "What do they speak?" Shane asks, thoughtfully. "I mean, we know people who could help with --" He shakes his head abruptly, watching as Eric removes the necklace and contacts. His eyes meet Eric's a long moment once they've returned to their natural color, just looking. A very long moment, and then he moves forward, crossing the room to stretch upupup onto his toes and wrap his arms tight around Eric's waist. "Jesus." His fingers squeeze at the suit. "You should go undercover more often, they dress you /nice/. Tell me you get to keep the suit." "Armani. I don't want to know what it cost. And... probably. It's tailored to me, so ain't like they can reuse it. Not sure." Eric says, squeezing the younger man to him, arms folding around Shane and wrapping him in a powerful grip. His nose nuzzles against the side of the blue boy's face, and lips pressing just in front of Shane's ear hole. "I'm not sure. Some African language. We found some police officer who knew it, and then CPS has their own people for it. So does the DOJ. They're breakin' in and helpin' out, now, that we've done all the hard work." Shane squeezes Eric tighter, and then steps back. "OK. Good. At least -- good. So you don't have to be involved in any of that shit any more, at least. Because that -- kind of sounds like fucking hell, dude. Jesus Christ. Tell me your next assignment is going to be like. Babysitting puppies." "Nah. It's back on the detectives and the DA's office. I'm back to workin' on the bikes and keepin' my ass in good shape." Eric jokes, lightly. "I gotta say, I'm lookin' forward to just ridin' 'round the park all day. This intrigue spy-shit ain't really my cup of tea, ya know? I ain't built for that kind of long lie." He glances down at the floor and then back up at Shane. "Ya can go back ta' Daiki. Send me a text when ya have some free time." Shane opens his mouth, and then closes it again. His smile is a little crooked, but he nods. "Yeah," he agrees, his shoulders falling, slightly. For a moment his teeth flash, a quick sharp grin. Along his sides, his gills ripple. "S'good to see you again. I'm -- I'm /really/ glad you're alright." He takes a step back, not towards Daiki's room but towards the one he shares with Bastian. "G'night, Eric. Another quick flash of smile, before he turns aside to join his brother for bed; presumably, Eric is more than familiar enough with the apartment to let himself out.