Lupin The Roleplay! The Official Thread. Sometimes NSFW

[LadyLupin]

The vibrations shook beneath Huojin's parked vehicle. He could not see the building itself, but he could make out dark clouds of billowing smoke rising from the skyline. It was not difficult for him to figure out there had been an explosion somewhere in the city.

"Shit! If that's not suspicious then I don't know what is," he muttered aloud, "But it might be best to get father the hell out of here."

He sprang from the car and raced up the stairs only to be face-to-faced with Cheung. The older man's face was a grim mask of concern.

"I sensed what you are thinking, Huojin. I requested both women stay put for the present."

"We must leave the city before the of the roads are blocked. Father, I arranged a gite a little ways from the city for us."

Cheung gathered his robed and sighed softly. "The rationality of some men still baffle me."

"Rationality doesn't exist much any more..." 

[Ishikawa Goemon]

Goemon idly thumbed a coffee stain on the lacquered table, his pulse pounding briskly in his throat as he waited for his call to make it through; it wasn't until he had inwardly counted to twenty that someone picked up.

“Hello?” There was a pause before she tried again, more confidently. “...Goemon-kun?”

The ronin pressed the phone more firmly to his ear, having barely caught her soft, demure greeting; he envisioned her sitting with her knees drawn to her chest and the cord of the phone coiled playfully around a delicate pinkie. On those drowsy summer nights, when the air had been thick with heat and the buzz of cicadas, she had ditched her nemaki and come to lie down beside him in panties and in a t-shirt two sizes too large for her thin shoulders. The distastefulness of burning skin rasping together and the stickiness of sweat kept them apart, and they had spent the evenings staring up at the beams and rafters of the ceiling; he remembered, in the intimate darkness, having smelled the salt on the nape of her neck.

A painful ambivalence unnerved him and an inexplicable urge to hang up was there - but it had already taken him several frustrating attempts to communicate with the operator to have gotten so far. He felt foolish, needing a moment to gather his self-composure.

“...Hello? Are you there?”

“Er...konbanwa, Saiyuri-dono.” He faltered, feeling the ache of separation keenly.“Am I calling too late?”

“...Mother is sleeping.”

His chest felt as if it were a box of short-circuiting fuses. “...I'm sorry for troubling you.”

“No trouble, Goemon-kun. I'm not tired.” He heard a yawn being stifled. “...Maybe, just a little.”

A tittering laugh tickled his ear and he blushed at nothing – but as he played with the sound in his mind, as if to savour it, he gradually sensed that her good-cheer was thin and brittle, anything but genuine. He frowned thoughtfully, unconsciously biting his lip.

“...How are you feeling, Saiyuri-dono?”

There was a ruffling sound which he took as her uncomfortably shifting position.

“I am okay, Goemon-kun...” He couldn't help but notice the way in which she over-enunciated the words, as if carefully considering their weight. Something was being left out. “Really. I just... I miss you.”

Suddenly, a hard, noisy thump on her end jarred him, an icy fear closing like a fist around his heart. Blood roared against his eardrums, his mind instantly latching onto the explanation that she had fallen over and possibly hurt herself.

“...Saiyuri-dono?!”

“I'm sorry, I accidentally dropped the phone.” She gave a misplaced, apologetic laugh that only heightened the unease. ”I'm just a little clumsy!”

Tension settled over them like a leaden blanket, and for a painfully long time, they fished for something to say that would not come across as strained small-talk.

“...How is France?” Saiyuri ventured at last with a light sigh, dropping her efforts to come off as chipper and allowing her exhaustion to show through. ”I wasn't sure when you said you'd arrive, so I left a message on your cellphone saying hello.”

“You did...?” He asked dumbly, prompted to grope around for it inside his keikogi with his free hand; he began to fear that it had tumbled out sometime while he had been winding through the warren of Vieux-Lyon's side-streets until he found it at the small of his back. It was an old, clunky thing, though he couldn't complain; the numbers were at least large enough that he didn't need a toothpick to press them. He took a moment to refamiliarize himself with the functions of a few buttons.

“Yes, of course. Don't you ever keep it on?”

Guilty as charged, he flushed to his ears. “Not really...” He answered her distractedly, “I don't usually have a reason to do so.”

While busily accessing his messages, he saw, much to his surprise, that he had actually missed two calls. Unthinkingly blocking out the timid, plaintive voice vying for his attention, he skipped over Saiyuri's voice-message and listened attentively to the one that followed instead, blinking unfocusedly.

Goemon. Looks like we got a nasty case of killer kids on our tails. Not to be underestimated--some of 'em got serious skills. Can't raise The Boss--think he's gone to ground. I'll be in touch real soon. Meanwhile, watch yer back, bro.

Goemon felt his heart kick hard behind his sternum in spite of himself, and forgot to feel silly about having phones held to both ears; his accomplice's decision to communicate in a way he didn't make a habit of doing never bode well. He heard the cool, edgy smirk in Jigen's voice as he spoke in an informal dialect of Japanese reminding him of yakuza films. Although he was still unaccustomed with slurred vowels, missing articles, and colourful pejoratives, the message was undeniably clear. He was left staring numbly at empty space while processing the information, suddenly aware that Saiyuri was still poignantly reaching out to him.

“- - is what I wanted to tell you..."

His head was reeling restlessly, a seething wasp's nest. Swallowing past a cold knot in his throat, he knew he couldn't form a response by guessing at what she had said. Guilt bubbled like nausea in his stomach.

"I'm... I'm sorry for... burdening you. I... shouldn't have said anything.”

“I have to go.” He interjected with a sense of urgency, ashamed and regretting the way he was handling the situation. Something in her tone then changed dramatically, emotions hammered flat into a cool, cutting edge.

“...Work?”

“I'm sorry.”

Terse and painfully inadequate, it was all he could offer in his inarticulacy. He hung up immediately to avoid having to hear the pain leaking through her voice, slowly, dazedly lifting his hand from the corded phone after putting it in place. Silence closed in on him, amplifying the drumming of his pulse between his temples; he became keenly restless and unsure of what to do with himself.

While gathering his nerves one breath at a time, he punched in the number Jigen had used to contact him.

"Jigen," He began, the cool professionalism in his voice laid on thickly. He was unaware of how tightly he gripped his cell. "...Where are you?"

[mizducky]

(Edited slightly to clarify that Gavin has only been knocked unconscious.)

The bomb artist's moment of quiet satisfaction was brought to an abrupt end, courtesy of a gun butt efficiently and forcefully applied to the back of his skull.

Another fuckin' amateur, Jigen mused to himself, reholstering his Magnum as his mark slumped on the bench, unconscious. Instead of taking advantage of the mass confusion to slip away amidst the fleeing bystanders, this punk had actually been sitting there and admiring his goddamned handiwork. Made it child's play to pick him out as the perpetrator, the one dude enjoying the show instead of freaking out and running away, let alone to sneak up behind him under cover of all the sound and fury and put his lights out. And look at the huge bloody mess the punk had made--literally. It was only the same code of honor that made Jigen's stomach clench at the sight of innocent bystanders maimed and mangled, that kept him from crushing the skull of the now-defenseless bomber.

Jigen settled the thermal goggles more firmly on his eyes, mentally thanking the Tomcat for including them in the Renault's gear stash, and tied a handkerchief across his nose and mouth. The street was full of thick clouds of dust from the explosion. If his hunch had been right and Lupin was still somewhere in the building--and alive--finding him was going to be one royal pain in the ass.

Well ... okay. Let's start with the simpleminded approach. As he walked through the dust towards what remained of the building's front entrance, he pulled his cell and dialed Lupin's number again. Didn't get him, but at least it rang through to his voicemail--that was better than nuthin'. "I'm outside what's left of Lyon Police HQ," he told the "record" tone in Japanese. "If you can move, come find me. If you can't, tell me where I can find you."

He had only just closed the phone when it rang. Hot damn, he thought, already? But while a quick glance at the number on the Caller ID told him, no, it wasn't Lupin, he was just as glad to be finally hearing from another colleague about whom he had been concerned.

"Jigen ... where are you?" Goemon's taciturn gruffness made Jigen smile despite his grim surroundings. Dude always sounded like the soundtrack of a Kurosawa Warring-States historical epic.

"I'm outside what's left of Lyon Police HQ," he found himself repeating, again in Japanese. "One of our new little friends just blew up the whole first floor. I'm trying to figure out if Lupin's in there. Where are you?"

"The safehouse," the samurai responded.

"Crap, that's a good ways away. Okay, if you can figure out a way to get down here quickly, do it, otherwise you might wanna just sit tight and guard the fort until I get there. Call me back, whichever you decide. And whatever you do, watch yer ass--these kids don't seem to give a shit who they hurt. Wish me luck--I'm going in for a closer look."

He closed the phone and pocketed it again. Before him, the building's front yawned, the first two stories stripped of their facade down to the steel girders. Thick opaque clouds of dust continued to billow out of the thing. From somewhere in the lightless depths he heard alarming creaking and groaning, suggesting major structural damage; the whole shebang just might come down like a house of cards any minute. Far away he heard sirens as the first responders began to mass.

Running out of time, and even with the goggles, he'd be good as blind in there. He went around the side of the building ... and found a stroke of luck. A nice old-fashioned fire escape. Thank God for Europeans and their love of obsolete office buildings. He swung himself up to the first landing and started climbing.

[Ishikawa Goemon]

(Miz, if you don't mean for Jigen to pick up a second time, I can edit this post.)

As Jigen condensed the situation into a few sentences, as succinctly as ever, he found his stomach twisting sharply, his piercingly fixed gaze turned inwards. He was unsure of what worried him more: the grim matter-of-factness with which the incident was described, or the fact that he had to content himself with what little information they had of Lupin's well-being. Expression set into a pensive frown, he stood up from his chair and ambled through the hall with the cell to his ear, taking a little too long mulling over how to frame his response. In the living room, he found a heap of cigarette butts in an ashtray, a newspaper, pop-cans bent at the middle and half-eaten things littering the coffee table, left untouched since the morning; he looked them over several times, keeping his distance, as if these precious things were the last vestiges of his accomplice's existence.

No - - Lupin would be fine. He has probably pulled a miraculous escape and is laying low, waiting for Jigen to find him.

After offering laconic, 'freeze-dried' responses, relieved that they weren't being carefully dissected, the call soon ended and he found himself left to his own devices again. Hefting the cellphone in his palm as if considering the idea of pitching it out the window, he dropped it into his keikogi as he weighed his options for a moment.

Speed was of the essence if he meant to serve a purpose and keep abreast of new developments - and he knew he couldn't cover much ground relying only on the generosity of passing drivers; worse still, it was difficult to argue with Jigen's reasoning and the suggestion of keeping put. His readiness to drop his personal life like heavy luggage and embrace a diversion would be denied. He heaved a heavy sigh, a muscle in his jaw rippling as he clenched it.

Within half a minute, he was redialing Jigen's number.

“Jigen, I will be here.” He declared curtly in stilted Japanese, resigning himself to his situation with a sense of dull anger. He just had to trust and accept that his friend could handle the situation in his stead.

[LadyLupin]

Huojin increased the volume on the radio. He tried to process the French reporter's dialect. He understood some French, but regional differences made some words difficult to comprehend. He was able to decipher there had been an explosion at the Lyon police headquarters.

'This is all just friggen great,' he thought, 'Now it's going to be tricky getting out of the city.'

The jetta drove at normal speeds to as not to raise suspicion. The drive through the city was a difficult one. Traffic has been slowed as growing concerns of the situation became apparent.

"My intuition tells me something s festering itself in this city," Cheung announced quietly.

"No really, Father? Have you been listening to the radio?"

"I meant deeper than the tonight's incident. This was no work of a terrorist group."

"Obviously not, but what are you sensing?"

"I am not sure yet. But there are surely innocent people injured."

"Are you proposing...?"

"Yes I am, Huojin. We should offer out assistance in aiding those harmed by this travesty."

'Shit!' Huojin thought, 'The last thing I want is to be dragged into this mess. Father's intuition is seldom wrong. I would rather we get out of the city and lie low until this crap blows over.'

"Allright, Father," he sighed, "I will honor your request."

Huojin turned off the main strip and began searching for an alternate route to the scene of the accident.
  

[Geist_MD]

There was the moaning of a woman, to his left. He felt something slick on his arm, like saliva, maybe. It was warm, and sweet.

Under any other circumstances, head as hazy as it was, Lupin would presume a night of heavy drinking and the company of the fairer sex.

The woman was a police office, leg broken as it would turn out, somewhere in the western corner.

She wasn't the only one groaning.

Pieces of glass, burnt papers, and bodies lay scattered about the ruined floor. Bits of memos and notices and police forms all ashen and tumbling like leaves. Bodies, some moving, others not, laid in various states throughout. In the dark corner of one office, the sprinkler for that office only came on. It flickered sprays of water twice, three times, then turned back off.

Lupin's thumb went for his head, a dull throbbing melon perched on slim shoulders. Again, that sweet smell from the warmth moisture on his arm. He turned his head, slowly at first, letting his eyes drift open.

A thick, jagged knife of glass was jammed into the flesh of his shoulder.

Upon the sight of this razorshard wedged into his muscle, Lupin suppressed the urge to vomit.

He did anyway.

Turning his head away from this and sticking some stray newspaper over his gift to an already ruined building, Lupin yelled out.

"Does anyone have a glass of water?"

[angelidollinda]

A loud, deafening blast shook the room, knocking Zenigata backward into the floor as the floor above them collapsed towards him. The windows shattered, and several loud thuds banged against the floor boards, whether from the ceiling or something else the inspector had no idea. The rumbling was intense, causing everything to fall over from the water cooler to several filing cabinets. Then, after the longest ten minutes in the world, the shaking stopped. Zenigata sat up, pushing away what was left of his desk and his head throbbing as something warm ran down his temple. Glancing over at a filing cabinet that had crashed, he noticed a red stain and a dent in the side of it. The vibration must have caused him to hit the cabinet, although the intensity of the blow was only enough to rattle his brains instead of giving a concussion. Thankfully, the rest of him was unscathed. Brushing away the debris of ceiling, he sat up. Three things were currently on his mind:

1. What in god's name just happened?
2. Is everyone in the station alright?
3. If Lupin's dead I'm going to be pissed.

Thankfully, the latter was answered quickly, as Zenigata heard what sounded like something spilling on the floor and a familiar face standing up, wiping the back of his mouth. Lupin III, with his ludicrous luck, had survived again. However, he had a large shard of window glass protruding from his shoulder, which was making his green jacket a dark purplish color. The inspector was relieved, but that relief gradually morphed into horror when he realized what had caused the numerous loud thuds from earlier: several bodies were strewn around the room, some of them moving slightly while others were quite still. Shit. He stood up quickly, suddenly regretting it as his surroundings began to spin and his head throbbed. He grasped the wall, looking around. "Is anyone hurt??" He called out. "If you can hear me, speak up!"

[mizducky]

Man, this is fuckin' grim. Jigen was up to the third floor now, moving fast, peering in blown-out windows and seeing nothing but devastation and collapsed floors, praying to whatever gods, saints and kami who hear the pleas of thieves that he'd find an intact floor and find Lupin alive on it. It had already occurred to him that these stupid punks had known about Lupin's weird soft spot in his heart for goddamn Zenigata, and included the cop in their list of targets; if Lupin was in here too, it was probably just pure bad luck on his part to choose this day to try and warn Pops. Now if only his luck was not totally sucking, to the tune of getting dead--

His cell rang again. He snatched it out and had it to his ear with the speed he usually reserved for drawing his gun. Goemon again, saying he was staying put. He could hear the frustration even in the few words the samurai spoke--wanting to be there to help, wanting to assuage his worry.

"Hang in there, dude," Jigen replied. "One way or another, we are gonna see one helluva lot of action real soon--I can guarantee it. I'll call as soon as I have more info." He repocketed the phone and continued his macabre climb.

And then finally--he found an intact floor. More or less. Office furniture had been tossed around like a child's dollhouse furnishings; walls and doors had been blown out and the dropped ceiling had collapsed in places; glass shards littered the floor, along with bodies moving and inert. All lights off, of course, and what daylight filtered in the broken window barely pierced the mork of plaster dust. The occasional alarming creaks from the guts of the building were fainter here, but still audible.

And then, in a shaft of light from the window he was looking in at, he saw a nameplate blown loose from its door and lying in the rubble: Zenigata. Bingo. He'd hit the right floor, or close enough to be worth a shot.

Leapin' into a cop-shop about to come down around my ears--the things I do for you, Boss. Jigen pulled his gun, used the butt to bash out the remaining glass in the window, and eased himself through. Gun in hand and face still masked, he slipped down the rubble-strewn remains of the hall like a shadow.

(Edited to clarify a few details here and there.)

[DrFurball]

"Ow."

Melon opened his eyes to the sight of the cold tiles of the floor.  Aw man, what happened?  Using his right arm to brace himself as he raised himself up into a sitting position against the nearest wall.  He took a quick glance at the office. The desk was turned over, large chunks of the ceiling had fallen onto the floor below, and he heard faint moans and groans.  Probably from outside the office. Kind of hard to tell from here, with the large ceiling slab in front of him blocking his view.

"OW!"  Melon tried to lift his left arm.  It felt heavy, and waves of numbness vibrated through it, although he still felt a burning pain.  Broken, probably. At least I can still use my Glock, he thought. 
His head was throbbing, and he had difficulty breathing from his nose.  Painfully touching his nose with his right hand told him that his arm wasn't the only thing broken.  He looked down at his shirt, dotted with the crimson stains of blood.  Dammit, I just bought this shirt! Whew, I feel lightheaded...

Another quick survey of the room allowed him to locate his beret and using his good arm, he retrieved it.  His mind attempted to piece together what had happened: Zenigata was questioning Lupin, there was a loud BOOM followed by a lot of shakin' and rattlin'.  Now he smells powder in the air and...Oh, duh.  Bomb.  He mentally kicked himself for not thinking of it earlier, especially when considering how often he had blown stuff up himself back in the day...

Pressing his back against the wall, he lifted himself up to his feet using his legs.  He saw Zenigata leaning against the far wall, asking if everyone's okay.  Stumbling in that direction, something else caught his eye: Lupin, looking pale and bloody. 
Well, it may not be sporting, but I'm not in this entirely for sport.  He ran towards the thief, yanking out a pair of handcuffs from his jacket, his eyes fixated on Lupin's wrist...

[LadyLupin]

It took some time for the jetta to find its way to the Lyon police station-or what remained of the first floor. It was truly a nightmarish sight to behold. Huojin parked the car a block or so away. His father wasted no time in gathering what small amounts of supplied he had and made haste toward the debris with astonishing speed. Both father and son arrived within minutes and instinctively started making their way through the smoke, dust and shattered glass.

Huojin cleared a path for his father. "My father is a physician. We've come to offer any help that we can!"

Cheung glanced about the confusion, searching for anyone trapped or injured. He felt his heart sink with grief when he beheld one of the deceased. An innocent victim killed for what? Such a waste of life was frowned upon by the Tao.

[Ishikawa Goemon]

(Edit: Mucked up a sword detail; it took a few readings to catch on. Yikes!)

After some fumbling with a clunky set of knobs, the rabbit-eared television in the living room finally sputtered into life, filling the wide expanse of the room with the crackle of white noise. He squinted narrowly, barely able to make out the picture. A stiff, no-nonsense chop of his hand between the television antenna instantly cleared the screen, an incomprehensible torrent of French meeting his ears - and quietly satisfied with his handiwork, he knelt a few feet away, using his sageo to bind his sleeves back in a figure-eight around his shoulders. An unvarnished cedar box sat to his left. He pulled it closer and lifted the lid.

While half-listening to the authoritative gabbling of a newscaster, he began to arrange a few items: a small vial of camelia oil (separate from the one he used for shaving,) an uchiko with powder, washi paper, a plastic container, a cotton cloth, and a mekugi-nuki meant for removing the hilt rivet of his sword. Cleaning Zantetsuken took a mindful delicacy he wasn't sure he could manage feeling like an animal pacing its cage; it didn't help that he found himself distracted by shaky, grainy cellphone-footage at the explosion site that soon appeared on-screen. Dense plumes of smoke  poured from the shattered windows of Lyon's police headquarters and panic was infectious, all but paralyzed onlookers bolting every which way like cattle, prepared to trample others down to a bloody pulp. Goemon breathed through the tightening knot in his stomach, forcing himself to look away from the television. The glimpse of the building just after detonation was more than enough to have him doubting that Lupin had made it out unscathed...

He unsheathed Zantetsuken and held it up to his eyes for appraisal, concentrating hard enough for a moment that his temples ached. Folding the soft-creased paper and pinching it against the blade, he ran it stiffly from the edge to the point with a soft rasp. Crusted blood, debris, and oils were removed in several swipes and he envied his sword, wishing a troublesome excess of emotion could be razed from mind just as easily.

[Geist_MD]

"Touch me and I'll scream rape."

Lupin stepped backwards and flung a leg outwards, meeting Melon's wrist a little slow by his standards. Melon's immediate interest in the thief's capture wasn't just irritating, it was typical. Lupin knew Melon like he knew Zenigata. While he might be fond of Zeni-san's persistence, and an admiration was there to be sure, it was the opposite for Melon. He was nothing short of a killer out to make a name for himself, and it definitely wasn't affection Lupin saw him with. He knew that if given half the chance, Melon'd shoot him unarmed and drag his body back to the closest copshop for a merit badge.

This left Lupin with a sour taste in his mouth, that the criminal should be more concerned of the well being of the building's occupants than the cop. Putting some distance between them, Lupin backed over a desk, tumbling over it backwards and placing it in the middle of them. In the process of rolling on his back and over the desk, Lupin had put pressure on the wound in his shoulder, and only the odd pose he had been in at the time stopped him from screaming in pain.

"Here, you wanna hold my hand, take this instead."

Lupin plucked his Walther from his jacket,  emptying the clip and tossing it to the other side of the room. He handed the empty gun to Melon with a toss. He didn't want the bomb to look like his work, and if Zenigata had seen the toss, it would at least establish that he meant everything he said in coming to the cops.

The room spun and grew dark for a moment, and his equillibrium decided to take a holiday. Leaning up against the wall, Lupin paused,  intent on not blacking out. Phew, moved too fast.

He looked at his arm, and the glass still there.

Well.

He yanked it free, tossing it to the floor. The tinkling sound as it shattered didn't mask his swears.

Taking off his jacket, he ripped one green sleeve off and used his good arm and teeth to tie it around his shoulder, trying to soak up the suddenly gushing blood that trailed a river down his arm. The gash was large, maybe an inch or two across, probably half as deep. Judging by the bloodflow, it had nicked an artery.

The place gets bombed and I bleed to death.

Lupin glanced around quickly, trying to focus his head on something other than the swarming predisposition towards blacking out and the deep stinging the gash had left. He tossed the useless jacket to the floor, disinterested in style at the moment. His eyes fell on Zenigata, who was yelling for anyone still capable to yell if they were hurt.

"HEY! Pops! We gotta get these folks out of here. I've got the feeling that wasn't--"

-------------------

The last bomb.

"Hey are you hurt?"

A man, scrawny, thin like a rail, stared down at him.

Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy.

"Hey, did you hear me? Can you speak?"

A paramedic, dressed in all white, looked around, as if trying to help Gavin and survey his surroundings at the same time.

"Where are my cigarettes?"

"Look, you've taken a real bad hit on the head, we need to get you out of here."

The streets were still thick with arid smoke, and the man was covered in deep beige dust. It had plumed out and even now still clung in the air like a husband reluctant to leave a bar.

He had been taken by surprise.

 Sloppy. Stupid.

Gavin placed a hand out, for help.

The paramedic gave out his arm, aiding him to his feet.

A pinprick, and he was dead. Animal tranquilizer in Gavin's suit cuff. Very quick, very effective. He was pleased with both.

Gavin pulled the dead paramedic to the concrete, stood, and ran towards his car a few blocks down, sure to look panicked so as not to react so sloppily as he had earlier. The detonator had been left there sitting in the glove box, only to be set off once he was already prepared to leave the scene.

As soon as he got there, he would flick that second button.

If anyone inside was still alive, he'd made sure they didn't stay that way.

[mizducky]

"I got the same damn feeling, Boss."

He had breathed a huge sign of relief when he finally heard Lupin's voice, unmistakeably smart-alecky even in the midst of chaos, and then Zenigata's, unmistakeably full of take-charge duty especially in the midst of chaos. But as he hustled through the rubble and smoke towards those voices, he also heard the rustling sounds of some kind of tussle. What the hell? Was somebody actually trying to lay hands on Lupin with all this crap going on? Who would be such an asshole?

Then he arrived at the gaping door of the office just in time to hear Lupin speculating about a second bomb, and saw the tableau. Melon. Ohhhhh--that asshole. He should have known.

He kept his Magnum trained on the rogue detective until he had rounded the room to Lupin, only then reholstering it so he could take a quick look at that bloody wound in his partner's shoulder. "Don't even think of tryin' anything, fucker," he growled at Melon. "You know my speed. Pops, call your dog off, we ain't got time for that shit."

Then to Lupin, "Brace yerself, aibou, I'm gonna tighten this thing, yer still bleedin' like a stuck pig." He gave a firm yank on the jacket-sleeve Lupin had tied around his shoulder, relieved when he saw the bloodflow decrease.

"Okay," he addressed the others, "there's a fire escape down the end of what's left of this hall. Let's blow this popstand before it blows us."

(Slight edits for style. A double-entendre in the last sentence deliberately left in place. )

[LadyLupin]

"Father, I heard voices. They're some distance away," Huojin shouted in mandarin. He quickly switched to French and tried his best to translate the words as quickly and accurately as he could. "Hello! Are you injured? My father is a doctor."

Cheung seemed unaffected by his son's response. The old man grabbed the younger by his lapel. "Something is amiss here. I do not like this one bit."

Huojin's right hand rested upon a small firearm secured in a holster beneath his jacket. "Let's follow those voices. If something is going on, then everyone needs to get the hell out of here."

Cheung's hearing had not been affected by the years of age. They pricked forward, reading the direction of where they were going. "Ones instinct would be to flee. We should do the same. I believe I have a good idea of which direction they are heading."

[angelidollinda]

While a few voices moaned and murmured, the familiar clinking of handcuffs rang in the air. While Zenigata knew his pair were in his pocket, he glanced over towards the direction of the clinking and saw Lupin trying to shove Melon away with his foot. The inspector fumed. Son of a bitch. Even with a broken arm, that bastard Melon just wanted to take Lupin in and bask in the glory of doing so; hell, he'd probably shoot Lupin's other arm before taking him in. "Don't even think about it Melon! Your arm's busted anyway!" He yelled, then caught a glimpse of the dirty cop's face. His nose was a bit crooked, trinkling blood down his face. While he couldn't stand seeing people hurt, Zenigata snickered at himself. 'Looks like you got your face busted, too! Serves you right, you little rat.' He humored himself.

Suddenly, a familiar gravely baritone and the smell of Paul Malls filled the room. Looking the opposite direction, the inspector confirmed it was Lupin's right-hand man, Daisuke Jigen. The first thing he noticed, of course, was Melon trying to slap his cuffs on a wounded Lupin. "Don't even think of tryin' anything, fucker," he growled at Melon. "You know my speed. Pops, call your dog off, we ain't got time for that shit." Zenigata snorted. "I gave him a warning earlier, but you know he wouldn't even listen to his grandmother." His head still hurt like hell, but he was starting to gain his equilibrium back, as he managed to push off from the wall and walked towards one of the police officers on the ground; the poor kid was nursing his leg and shaking like a terrified leaf. "Hey, are you able to move...?" He asked in French. "I-I can't feel my leg...!" The rookie had tears streaming down his face, his voice trembling. "Oh god... I'll never walk again..!!" "Don't talk like that, try to sit up and put your arm over my shoulder." While still terrified, he slung his arm around the inspector's neck and slowly stood up (while crying a series of "ows" and "oohs"). While his leg was miraculously not broken, it did have a jagged display of glass jotting out of it, much like Lupin's shoulder earlier. So he would be able to walk somewhat; it would just feel like someone stabbing said-leg with a series of sharp objects while he did.

"Okay, there's a fire escape down the end of what's left of this hall. Let's blow this popstand before it blows us." Zenigata looked over at Jigen, who was just finished tightening Lupin's green jacket tourniquet. "Not a bad plan, we'll need to get everyone out before this place topples over like a house of cards." He said, then turned towards the others, a few of them starting to stand up slowly. "If any of you are able to walk, try to carry anyone who can't to the fire escape... we'll need to do it fast, since we don't know how much longer this place is going to keep still."