[in progress/closed]
Who: Sam Vimes stony_faced and Ulquiorra Schiffer sfigato_quarto AND LATER Motoko Kusanagi deuxesmachina
What: Ulquiorra goes to get groceries for himself and Kairi, only to run into the AMC sergeant who's been after him.
When: Monday, December 8th, afternoon.
Where: Some market in Monacello territory by Ulquiorra's apartment.
( this is a cut. :D )
What: Ulquiorra goes to get groceries for himself and Kairi, only to run into the AMC sergeant who's been after him.
When: Monday, December 8th, afternoon.
Where: Some market in Monacello territory by Ulquiorra's apartment.
( this is a cut. :D )
"It won't take that long to get back to HQ," he amended and settled for clenching his teeth to numb the pain and closing his eyes, blocking everything else out. If he had thought normally, this would probably be hurtful to his blocking the pain out, considering that most distractions were now gone, but in Vimes' stubborn, if not slightly illogical mind, it worked.
"A fluke," he said. "Saw him walking into the grocery store--" he scoffed, "--with those things on his face, he's not exactly easy to miss. Cuffed him, did everything to order, and he ran away."
Vimes paused then, replaying the entire scenario in his head, trying to figure out what he could have done differently. Finding that there was very little he could think of at the moment, he decided to discard the thought for later. "Apparently he fights with his legs--flexibility's a damn wonder, too. Herded him into the alley, 'cos we don't want anymore people ragging on us than we've already got, and then we ended up where you walked in."
He silently thanked whatever deity existed out there for Motoko's convenient arrival. If not for her, he wasn't sure what he would have done.
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She smirked again. He was certainly a character, that was for sure. "Well, you will probably have to write up a report down the road. Especially if you want to charge him with resisting arrest or the like."
In a few minutes, Motoko was shutting off the car at AMC HQ, and jumping out of the car. She passed by Vimes' door, opening it up. "You need help out?" She figured he could handle himself as long as she carried Schiffer into the building.
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A very visible scowl crossed his features (well, more scowl than usual) at the mention of a report. Vimes hated reports. He hated dealing with superiors. He hated the AMC inspector. She made him nervous, breathing down his neck, and he was absolutely convinced that she secretly knew everything about them. How else could anyone, let alone a woman, get to the top of the food chain in the AMC? Then she'd ask questions, and ask him why he couldn't just take him down initially because he'd been stupid and thought that handcuffs would do it, and it would make him very uncomfortable, and everybody knew that the dent outside of her office was from him punching it after their every meeting. "Right," he said lamely, late. "A report." He didn't even try to hide his disgust.
Letting out the breath he hadn't even known he had been holding, Vimes clambered out of the car, rejecting Motoko's offer for help with a, "No, thanks."
He eyed Schiffer warily, resisting the urge to simply hit him again. Everybody knew you didn't hit a fallen man, but he still wasn't convinced that a guy who could put his damn hand through someone was properly unconscious.
"Make sure that the guy treating him does it in a locked room," he rasped. "With bodyguards." Then, after a moment of thought. "Who have guns. Big guns."
One more moment of thought, and he knew he was rambling now, but didn't particularly care. "And while his hands are cuffed, give him gloves. Mittens. Big furry ones."
Seeming to be satiated, he disappeared into HQ.
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The eerie red eyes flashed over to him at his pause and his tone while replying. "Or maybe you can give your report to me. I'll give it to the Inspector," she offered. She knew that she had a tendancy to rub people the wrong way. She had the reputation of being a bitch. But she got things done. The Inspector seemed to be similar. That didn't mean that Motoko liked her really, though. She still had her own disregard for authority.
Motoko brushed of his reply, and opened the backseat of her car, pulling out Ulquiorra and getting him into a good carrying position. He looked kind of like a doll with his pale skin and strange tattoos descending from his eyes. A strange doll. "I should probably find his cellphone and call someone that he's been arrested..." She said to herself. She couldn't help but wonder if he had someone that would care that he was even gone.
She smirked up at Vimes at his words. "Big guns, huh?" She repeated. "Gloves? Sounds like he really gave you a run for your money, Vimes..." She chuckled.
"Take care of yourself! Call me when you feel up to it. I think we should interrogate him together!" She called after him as he disappeared. She smirked again to herself and shook her head. After a minutes, so followed him inside, taking Ulquiorra down to the medical ward, where we was treated and locked down in a room. They did cuff him, but Motoko didn't think that the mittens were really necessary.
Two down, two more known bombers to go.
||ooc: You think its worth it to play the interrogation scene for kicks? 8D||
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And fuck, it'd been too long since he did any proper groundwork. He was getting soft, letting Schiffer get the best of him; Vimes may not have been a warrior in any sense of the word, but he used to be tricky enough to avoid getting his shoulder cut open.
"Yeah," he replied, giving a strained sort of smile. "He--" Well. Vimes didn't have to warn her about the way he fought now. During the interrogation, because no matter what the doctor said, nobody took Sam Vimes out long enough to kick him off of a case. Never happened, never will. "Ah, I'll tell you during the interrogation."
"Expect a report tomorrow--" he raised a hand of farewell as he entered the building, words interrupted by a huge yawn, "--and thanks for showing up when I needed you."
Good old Motoko. He could depend on her, he figured, when he couldn't even depend on himself and his own body. As disconcerting a thought this was, it was comforting too. But not quite as comforting as the thought of pain pills, so he shut off his brain and walked into the medical wing.
((Oh, totally. XD IT IS ALWAYS WORTH IT TO LOG FOR FUN.))
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"Alright. How about you take a day to rest, and then we'll start the interrogation the day after tomorrow? That sound alright?" Her eyes sparkled with a mouth-less smirk. "You can give me the report the day after tomorrow too, Vimes. Get some damn rest!"
"That's what I'm here for!"
Motoko sat in one of the AMC's interrogation rooms, at one side of the small table. On her side there were two chairs. One was empty. On the other side, the much less intimidating form of Ulquiorra Schiffer sat in the opposite chair. He was staring down at his hands which were cuffed, and was clad in a white patient uniform. The left side of his head was wrapped in bandages, and one crutch was leaning against the table next to him. Motoko remarked to herself again how Vimes did quite the number on the kid.
The purple haired woman riffled through a few papers in front of her while she waited for Vimes. There was an almost deafening silence in the room. Somehow, she didn't think it would be an easy task to make the man sitting across from her talk. But that was what they were here trying to figure out.
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He wasn't a bad copper. He knew that he couldn't simply bash the kid's head into the wall, as tempting as the opportunity was. A coil of smoke escaped his mouth as he finished off his cigarette and crushed the butt beneath the heel of his boot before reaching down and tossing it into the garbage.
Even the way he sat was full of ominous dominance, feet placed squarely on the floor, eyes faced straight ahead and his mouth in a grim line. "Has he been Mirandized yet, Sergeant?" He asked, still not looking at her. It wasn't a slight against her. He just needed to make sure that Schiffer knew that this wasn't some damn game of the AMC.
He had seen too many mobsters fumble away with loophole and false claims in court, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let that happen again. Oh no. They were going to do this by the book.
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She glanced over to Schiffer as Vimes' entered. He kept looking down, but she could have sworn she saw one almost feral green eye lock onto Vimes with what could only be described as burning murderous rage. If she had still been a slave to her humanity, to more emotions, to a flesh and blood body, she would have shivered. Maybe this was not the best idea. She had to be careful. There was obviously hell to be paid on both ends of this. She had to make sure that didn't happen.
"I thought I would let you do the honors, Sergeant," Motoko answered. She hadn't done a thing without Vimes as a sign of respect. They were going to do this together. This way they could check everything. There wasn;t going to be any question to how they handled this.
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He cleared his throat and pulled a tape recorder from a shelf, knocked it against the table and cleared his throat. He pushed the 'record' button.
"As I would not like to have any mistakes to be made, I'd like to record this to make it very clear. The man sitting across from me is Ulquiorra Schiffer, and am accompanied by Sergeant Motoko, the Sergeant who is currently in charge of this procedure. We are going to question him, but first, we'll Mirandize him."
Fully prepared, he took out the lengthy rule book and proceeded to read out his rights methodically and precisely (also verbally saying, "Square bracket" and "insert crime here" seeing as he tended to lack imagination or forethought when it came to such things) and closed it. "This recording will show that none of the common tortures are used upon the suspect that have been found in the past, such as the ginger beer technique, barbed wires, strappado or watercapping and other such unpleasantries."
He gave a pointedly unpleasant look at Schiffer that suggested that he knew all of these forms very well.
"Because this case," he said louder, "is going to be done correctly. Now, the first question is, do you, Ulquiorra Schiffer, say that you're guilty or innocent of the accused crimes or... bugger." The last word was muttered as he stared down at the crimes, having failed to memorize the actual terms for them. He continued to list them and then leaned back, hands bridged overtop of the handles of his chair, giving the suspect a menacing look.
Oh, how he wanted to bash his head in, but no, they had bigger fish to fry, and if Vimes had any choice in the matter, they were going to fry in the execution chamber. God knew when he figured out how to shit about with politics. Bloody politics. He hated them, hated that he had to deal with them, hated how the slimy little devils wormed themselves out of any trial except this one.
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Motoko cut in every once and a while, explaining a right to council and the like. She just watched Vimes, otherwise. It wasn't that she wasn't capable of it herself, she just figured he wanted closure with the kid. If the state that she had found them in was any indication, he had gotten by by the skin of his teeth. She was interested to see how it all played out.
"Bombing, resisting arrest, attacking an officer of the AMC," Motoko inserted after Vimes' "bugger". She sighed a little, watching Schiffer, who was still studying whatever was on his lap, his hands, his injured leg, she didn't know. He said nothing, actually seemed to try to ignore them completely. She frowned.
"Where were you thanksgiving night?" She asked, instead. The young man lifted his head a little, just enough to level a solitary green eye at the two sergeants. There was a flash of a mocking smirk, and then he dropped his head again, silently.
Motoko had a feeling getting the kid to talk would not be an easy task in the least.
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"No answer?" Vimes snapped. "All right, all right... let's try this one out. Do you deny having any links to the Monacello family, or any other mafia affiliations? Or to be anyone affiliated with explosions, etcetera, etcetera?"
Silence was an easy game to play. Not for the last time, he wished that he was allowed to simply whack him one every time he refused to speak.
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Motoko riffled through her papers. "Your mother's maiden name is Monacello," she noted. "Ulquiorra Monacello Schiffer. It's a mouthful...yet kind of catchy." Had they just turned into good cop bad cop? Ugh. She sighed. "Rose to your family calling lately?"
She watched him carefully. He didn't look like this was helping at all either. The kid was like a rock.
Ulquiorra sat back in his chair, a shadow of smugness washing over his pale face. "Do you like beating suspects in the head, sir," he asked, deadpan, only the depths of his eyes dancing with mocking, the rest of his face an emotionless mask.
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"There shall be no beating of heads tonight, Mr. Schiffer. And since I have answered your question, I am hoping that you'll do us a favour and answer one of our many questions."
Vimes glanced towards Motoko, and back at the man. "One of them is what exactly do you know about the nature of the bombings that had taken place? Come on, lad, surely you can answer one of them."
His tone and words were friendly, but his eyes were not, hooded by heavy brows and eyes that were not distinguished enough to be called piercing, but quite intimidating nevertheless.
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Ulquiorra wanted nothing more than to come across the table at Vimes and snap his neck with his bare hands. But not with the woman sitting next to him and that tape running. But he was going to do it. He could wait. No one shot him in the wound that Grimmjow had given him. No one. The wound was a symbol of his weakness, now more than ever. It made him remember. It made him remember things that he had fought so hard the past few months to forget. Now he couldn't as long as his leg was injured.
He looked down again, staring at his leg, seeing something else in his mind's eyes, hearing other words, other voices besides Vimes'. The feel of the other man's fleshly cleaned skin, the smell of the sheets. The cold of the kitchen floor, the god awful laughing, the crippling pain in his leg...having his cellphone thrown away from him where he could not call of help. Laughing. Laughing.
Ulquiorra looked up again, his gaze steady, but this time a little lost, some of his thoughts trapped by his flashback.
"My mother was born into the Monacello family, yes," he said. But the AMC already knew of his affiliation, or so he had thought. He had almost shot down that woman Kiyone in that club. He closed his lips. That was all he was going to say. He didn't need to talk to them. They were nothing but trash. Trash that needed to be disposed of. he was going to enjoy killing Vimes when all of this was said and done.
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His mother, all right. That was a good enough confession to satiate a jury hungry for a culprit. Besides, the AMC already had sufficient evidence that pointed towards his affiliation. "And you have nothing else to say regarding the explosions?"
Schiffer wasn't going to give, it seemed. He glanced over at Motoko, to see if she had any ideas at all. Really, the school Vimes went to had nothing to do with officials (in fact, if one looked far enough, it would demonstrate that he had not graduated high school) but with the art of dunking the bugger's head in the lake repeatedly until he decided to talk. Vimes knew full well what he was capable of, wasn't proud of it, but he was capable of it, if he didn't keep the Beast reigned in. His men were afraid of Sam Vimes going spare, and with all this death surrounding him, Sam Vimes was very close to going spare.
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"No, I do not," Ulquiorra said. Motoko figured that it would be so. She met Vimes' gaze as he looked over at her. She gave him a little nod, giving him a small smirk of her own. She looked back at Ulquiorra.
"Are you sure you want to do that, Schiffer? We can do this the hard way, if you prefer."
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