ext_158887 (
seta-suzume.livejournal.com) wrote in
31_days2011-04-03 05:37 pm
[April 3] [Fullmetal Alchemist/Apollo Justice] Revisiting a Role
Title: Revisiting a Role
Day/Theme: April 3, 2011 "shorty's gonna be a thug"
Series: crossover - Fullmetal Alchemist x Apollo Justice
Character/Pairing: Solf J. Kimblee & Machi Tobaye
Rating: PG
Author's comment: Part. 4! Continued from April 2nd's story.
Machi took a deep breath. He doubted that repeating his pressured pleas would do much to alter the situation. "Do you not understand I want nothing to do with you? I have no interest in my fans and if you are following me to talk about smuggling, I do not do such things anymore."
"Hmm." So the young man have a closer guess as to what he might be about. Kimblee raised his hands, waving them, palms up, in a placating manner, "You misunderstand me. It's true that I'm a fan of your music, but the thing I'm interested in your cooperation with isn't smuggling- it's information. I am a private detective."
The strange indigo tattoos on Kimblee's palms were doing little to convince Machi that his stalker was anything more than a very well-dressed hood. Maybe a pimp, if his outdated hat in a city of bare heads was any indication. "You are a liar," Machi replied.
"Well, it's a difficult thing to prove," Kimblee shrugged. "Please, speak with me. If you won't tonight, I'll come back tomorrow. We can go somewhere else. I'll call a cab."
"Don't," Machi reluctantly gave in. Whatever was going to happen, he was resigned to just let it happen now and get it over with. He was tired of all these "won't take no for an answer" types. At some times in life, one just has to give up. Why was he the one who was always having to do that giving up? It was about time for it to be someone else's turn. "You may come in with me, but do not make yourself comfortable. I am not afraid to call cops."
"How kind of you," Kimblee removed his hat as he entered the building and followed his unhappy host up the stairs to his third floor apartment, through the door, and into his modestly decorated dwelling place. "I used to live on the third floor of a place like this," he remarked casually. It wasn't high enough to see very far in the cramped city, but it also wasn't quite high enough that opening your window enveloped you in a cloud of smog. There was a trade-off for everything in life.
"So," Machi stood across from the supposed detective, folding his arms, as Kimblee sat down on the couch, "If you are detective, explain what you want from me and hope I believe, or I will call police."
"I wasn't lying when I told you I was a detective. It's just that I also deal in other sorts of business. And that's where you come in."
"Lovely. You start off on wrong foot, Mr. Kimblee. Hurry and tell me this other business so I can tell you "no" and send you on your way."
"I'm going to pull off a heist. And I want you as my partner."
Machi did not respond. What kind of ludicrous request was this? Machi was really not much of a criminal. Why would anyone specifically select him to aid in a heist?
Kimblee's intense eyes did not budge from the lenses of Machi's dark glasses. "You won't have to handle any weapons. You won't have to hurt anyway. Actually, I think you'll rather enjoy it. All I want is for you to perform at a particular hotel on a particular night to serve as the bait."
Now that part was curious. "Why you think I would like to do this?"
"Because you're just like me. You miss the thrill."
"I am not a thug," Machi frowned. How was it that this stranger could strike so close to the truth?
"No, you are only a pianist. A very accomplished pianist, whose performance I trust no one could ever walk away from." That part was an important part of this scheme. That was the part where his late brother had failed him. "Thank you for at least hearing me out," Kimblee continued, sure that he had piqued Machi's interest to the point where he would definitely hear from him again, "As I don't want to keep you up all night, I would be happy to leave you with my number and we can speak again tomorrow."
"Yes..." Machi murmured.
"Fine then. Here's my card. Have a pleasant evening," Kimblee rose, bowed, and departed.
[To be continued.]
Day/Theme: April 3, 2011 "shorty's gonna be a thug"
Series: crossover - Fullmetal Alchemist x Apollo Justice
Character/Pairing: Solf J. Kimblee & Machi Tobaye
Rating: PG
Author's comment: Part. 4! Continued from April 2nd's story.
Machi took a deep breath. He doubted that repeating his pressured pleas would do much to alter the situation. "Do you not understand I want nothing to do with you? I have no interest in my fans and if you are following me to talk about smuggling, I do not do such things anymore."
"Hmm." So the young man have a closer guess as to what he might be about. Kimblee raised his hands, waving them, palms up, in a placating manner, "You misunderstand me. It's true that I'm a fan of your music, but the thing I'm interested in your cooperation with isn't smuggling- it's information. I am a private detective."
The strange indigo tattoos on Kimblee's palms were doing little to convince Machi that his stalker was anything more than a very well-dressed hood. Maybe a pimp, if his outdated hat in a city of bare heads was any indication. "You are a liar," Machi replied.
"Well, it's a difficult thing to prove," Kimblee shrugged. "Please, speak with me. If you won't tonight, I'll come back tomorrow. We can go somewhere else. I'll call a cab."
"Don't," Machi reluctantly gave in. Whatever was going to happen, he was resigned to just let it happen now and get it over with. He was tired of all these "won't take no for an answer" types. At some times in life, one just has to give up. Why was he the one who was always having to do that giving up? It was about time for it to be someone else's turn. "You may come in with me, but do not make yourself comfortable. I am not afraid to call cops."
"How kind of you," Kimblee removed his hat as he entered the building and followed his unhappy host up the stairs to his third floor apartment, through the door, and into his modestly decorated dwelling place. "I used to live on the third floor of a place like this," he remarked casually. It wasn't high enough to see very far in the cramped city, but it also wasn't quite high enough that opening your window enveloped you in a cloud of smog. There was a trade-off for everything in life.
"So," Machi stood across from the supposed detective, folding his arms, as Kimblee sat down on the couch, "If you are detective, explain what you want from me and hope I believe, or I will call police."
"I wasn't lying when I told you I was a detective. It's just that I also deal in other sorts of business. And that's where you come in."
"Lovely. You start off on wrong foot, Mr. Kimblee. Hurry and tell me this other business so I can tell you "no" and send you on your way."
"I'm going to pull off a heist. And I want you as my partner."
Machi did not respond. What kind of ludicrous request was this? Machi was really not much of a criminal. Why would anyone specifically select him to aid in a heist?
Kimblee's intense eyes did not budge from the lenses of Machi's dark glasses. "You won't have to handle any weapons. You won't have to hurt anyway. Actually, I think you'll rather enjoy it. All I want is for you to perform at a particular hotel on a particular night to serve as the bait."
Now that part was curious. "Why you think I would like to do this?"
"Because you're just like me. You miss the thrill."
"I am not a thug," Machi frowned. How was it that this stranger could strike so close to the truth?
"No, you are only a pianist. A very accomplished pianist, whose performance I trust no one could ever walk away from." That part was an important part of this scheme. That was the part where his late brother had failed him. "Thank you for at least hearing me out," Kimblee continued, sure that he had piqued Machi's interest to the point where he would definitely hear from him again, "As I don't want to keep you up all night, I would be happy to leave you with my number and we can speak again tomorrow."
"Yes..." Machi murmured.
"Fine then. Here's my card. Have a pleasant evening," Kimblee rose, bowed, and departed.
[To be continued.]
