[Log]Ichigo, Toushirou
Title: Dead Men Can't Sing
Characters: Ichigo Kurosaki (davyn), Toushirou Hitsugaya (kellenanne)
Timeline: June 6, 1950
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Toushirou drags out Ichigo to meet a stool pigeon. What they find isn't exactly the information they were hoping for.
When a call had come in - relayed through half a dozen messages and sargeants before it landed on Toushirou's desk - he hadn't taken the time to wonder too much about it. It was an anonymous tip, some stoolie deciding to finally drop a dime and start flapping his lips about the explosion, and Toushirou was so hard up to find any sort of lead he'd take it without question. And he'd go for it personally. He'd taken enough time to grab the first detective he saw lounging around - happening to be Kurosaki and Toushirou wasn't sure how he felt about that - and took off.
The address housed an old apartment building, looking worse for wear and dirty. Sort of place all sorts of cats Toushirou would rather not spend any time with would hang. He stood on the sidewalk, arms crossed, and looked up at the building.
Perfect place to hear a little singing. (Or house a patsy, but Toushirou was trying to be opmistic. He'd had far too many days of no leads at all; something was going to happen this time. He was sick of sitting behind the eight ball.)
He glanced to Kurosaki, raising a brow. "You ready?"
Was he ready? Ichigo turned and narrowed his eyes at his tiny superior before he headed towards the building. This was why he had reservations about the little midget. He asked stupid questions and while he didn’t want to be left out he wasn’t sure he wanted to be out on a cold, dirty, street with a short man with a complex who may or may not be any good in a fight. Could be a damn palooka for all he knew.
Hopefully he could shoot. He hadn’t ever asked. That was like slapping a big shiny target to his head and handing him the gun. At least this wasn’t some boring dog call. Maybe. He took a deep breath, eased his hands out of his pockets and opened the door to the building, carefully.
Damn idiots pulled all sorts of stupid shit in weird ass places like this.
Kurosaki didn't really answer so much as give him a look and stalk up to the building. Toushirou shrugged one shoulder; that was answer enough. He snorted softly and followed Kurosaki, catching up with him at the door and slipping inside before him.
"Fourth floor," he said as he slipped by. "Apartment K." Hell if Kurosaki was leading the way. This was his case, he was the captain. He could lead the way up to the apartment.
Oh, well that was good information. Always helpful to know whose door you needed to kick in. He moved up the stairs. This was an old ass building and he was going to have to watch the steps. There was no one at the front desk which was fine with him. He hated being forced to wave the badge and have some idiot sneer at him.
Hated being dragged out from behind his desk in order to chase ghosts just as much. Punching someone out in front of the tiny captain would probably get him written up again to. Fuck that.
The stairs creaked. That meant he was going to have a headache by the time they got to the top. Fuck that to.
He was going to find a partner and end these little excursions if it killed him. Being so damn close to the captains office was straight up bad luck.
The steps were creaking and the way Kurosaki was stomping on them, Toushirou wasn't entirely sure they'd hold up. He nearly turned on Kurosaki and told him to shut the hell up but he wasn't actually saying anyting; he was just pounding up the stairs.
Like an idiot. An idiot who had heavy feet. Toushirou's brow twitched and he curled his fingers tightly around the banister for a moment.
Why bring Kurosaki again?
He led the way out of the stairwell and toward the apartment, not bothering to check to see if Kurosaki was behind him. He could hear him stomping his way down the hall. He turned marginally toward Kurosaki when they reached the door. "I'll go in first," he said, "unless you want to do all the talking." And hell if he was letting Kurosaki take the lead.
Ichigo scowled. “That fine,” he would much rather be the back-up anyway. If anyone was going to get shot at it was the idiot who went first. He pulled his gun out of his holster and did a quick check of the safety.
Hey if the captain got shot he was going to shoot back. He wouldn’t be written up for not shooting fast enough. He nodded, “right behind you.” At least he didn’t have to worry about shooting the little man; he could just fire right over his head.
Would prepare to kick in the door two, he wasn’t sure the captain had enough leg strength to kick a ball.
Toushirou snorted softly when he glanced at Kurosaki. Of course he was right behind him; that's where he'd told him to be. He knocked on the door lightly, other hand resting on the butt of his weapon - their contact should have been expecting them. Toushirou, never the most patient of people, gave him thirty seconds before he growled and peered at the door. Enough light seeped through the crack between the jamb and the door that he could make out that the deadbolt wasn't turned. That was good, at any rate. Old wood, no deadbolt. This shouldn't be a problem.
Fuck the warning; he'd already knocked and he might as well go in making a statement. He looked at Kurosaki and sighed softly. After all that about him going first... "When this door opens, you take point."
Without waiting for an acknowledgment, Toushirou took another look at the door, hoped to God he didn't mess this up with Kurosaki watching, and kicked the door, foot landing next to the knob. Wood splintered and Toushirou allowed himself one small moment of sheer relief that it hadn't taken two tries. The door swung open and Toushirou regained his balance and drew his gun.
Ichigo almost forgot to bring his gun up into the ready position when the little midget told him to take point. What exactly had they been going over for the last five minutes? He snorted and just got his gun up just as Toushirou kicked the door in.
He paused.
Well it was an old door anyway, probably had termites. He moved into the room turning left, gun and eyes moving over the small, one room apartment. He moved right and narrowed his eyes at the disgusting little apartment; did he not clean, ever?
“Clear.” It didn’t take much to call it, the bed was over there, pushed against the wall and the kitchen was practically inches from the bed. He moved into the room, carefully reaching over and flicking on the light.
Damn this place was messy.
Toushirou was two steps behind Kurosaki, gun drawn and going right, one hand shoving the door back as he moved forward. He nodded at Kurosaki's announcement; pretty easy to see it was clear. One room.
Toushirou narrowed his eyes. One room that had... that particular, tangy scent about it that came with the many murder scenes he'd worked. He knew before Kurosaki flipped on the light what he was going to see.
Or... he thought he did at any rate. He hadn't quite imagined the scope. Eyes wide, Toushirou's gun wavered at the sight. The walls were streaked with dark blood, pools of it congealing around the chair that what was left of their informant - or so Toushirou assumed - was sitting in. His lip curled when he looked down; he took a step back, out of the puddle he'd stepped into.
Swallowing and putting aside the knowledge that this used to be a person in front of him, Toushirou looked up, eyes roving over the streaks of blood above the man's - not a man, not anymore - head:
ArE yOU SUrE yOU'rE lOOkiNg iN tHE rigHt PlAcE???
Ichigo eyed the walls, his eyes wide and he felt his stomach twist uncomfortably. Someone had painted the walls in blood. Finger painted the fucking walls. He glanced down quickly and was immensely relieved to see that he hadn’t stepped in any of the blood.
The small squishy thing next to his foot however, looked suspiciously like a kidney. He eased his leg back and started counting backwards from one-hundred. He glanced up and almost blanced at the the ArE yOU SUrE yOU'rE lOOkiNg iN tHE rigHt PlAcE??? written on the wall. Biting through his cheek was not an option, more blood would have him gagging in front of a superior officer. As it was he pulled the collar of his uniform jacket closer to his face to keep from smelling that god awful tang in the air. He swallowed uncomfortably.
“Son of a bitch.”
Toushirou chewed on the inside of his lip for a moment as he looked around, cataloging everything he saw and giving it a nice clinical term. Nothing human, nothing about a person was here. It was just bits and pieces of... No, just bits and pieces. That's all it was.
He glanced at Kurosaki and nodded slowly. Son of a bitch, indeed. Toushirou holstered his gun and, for a moment, pressed the back of his hand against his nose and mouth and swallowed hard.
One of these days, that smell would end him. Today wasn't that day; he let his hand drop and turned to Kurosaki. Much better to face the detective than the scene. "Go, call it in. We need a team out here."
Ichigo nodded, “right.” Call it in. “I’ll do that.” He could do that. It would get him outside of… this. He needed a few minutes to collect himself anyway. Who the fuck did this someone? That had been an awful lot of blood. Everywhere. Blood everywhere. He moved back down the stairs and tried to ignore how much cleaner the air smelled once you left the room. He took a deep breath.
A really deep breath, once he was outside back into the cold. Right. He was supposed to call it in. He yanked open the door to the car, that short and mighty had insisted he drive over here, and fumbled with the radio.
“Dispatch this is,” he paused, what was their freaking radio code? God, didn’t shorty have a manual?
“Were at 1052 81st street we have…” he flipped open the compartments and scowled at them. Why didn’t he have a manual in this thing? “We have a 10-85,” he paused. Oh screw it. “It’s a mess; get the coroner out here, fast.”
Soon as he had confirmation he would head back upstairs and help secure the scene. Short and grumpy would be even grumpier otherwise. He would just get back upstairs and finish his half of the work and wait for the mortician. Not touch anything or look at anything while he was at it.
Shit. The faster that mess was someone else’s problem, the better.
Characters: Ichigo Kurosaki (davyn), Toushirou Hitsugaya (kellenanne)
Timeline: June 6, 1950
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Toushirou drags out Ichigo to meet a stool pigeon. What they find isn't exactly the information they were hoping for.
When a call had come in - relayed through half a dozen messages and sargeants before it landed on Toushirou's desk - he hadn't taken the time to wonder too much about it. It was an anonymous tip, some stoolie deciding to finally drop a dime and start flapping his lips about the explosion, and Toushirou was so hard up to find any sort of lead he'd take it without question. And he'd go for it personally. He'd taken enough time to grab the first detective he saw lounging around - happening to be Kurosaki and Toushirou wasn't sure how he felt about that - and took off.
The address housed an old apartment building, looking worse for wear and dirty. Sort of place all sorts of cats Toushirou would rather not spend any time with would hang. He stood on the sidewalk, arms crossed, and looked up at the building.
Perfect place to hear a little singing. (Or house a patsy, but Toushirou was trying to be opmistic. He'd had far too many days of no leads at all; something was going to happen this time. He was sick of sitting behind the eight ball.)
He glanced to Kurosaki, raising a brow. "You ready?"
Was he ready? Ichigo turned and narrowed his eyes at his tiny superior before he headed towards the building. This was why he had reservations about the little midget. He asked stupid questions and while he didn’t want to be left out he wasn’t sure he wanted to be out on a cold, dirty, street with a short man with a complex who may or may not be any good in a fight. Could be a damn palooka for all he knew.
Hopefully he could shoot. He hadn’t ever asked. That was like slapping a big shiny target to his head and handing him the gun. At least this wasn’t some boring dog call. Maybe. He took a deep breath, eased his hands out of his pockets and opened the door to the building, carefully.
Damn idiots pulled all sorts of stupid shit in weird ass places like this.
Kurosaki didn't really answer so much as give him a look and stalk up to the building. Toushirou shrugged one shoulder; that was answer enough. He snorted softly and followed Kurosaki, catching up with him at the door and slipping inside before him.
"Fourth floor," he said as he slipped by. "Apartment K." Hell if Kurosaki was leading the way. This was his case, he was the captain. He could lead the way up to the apartment.
Oh, well that was good information. Always helpful to know whose door you needed to kick in. He moved up the stairs. This was an old ass building and he was going to have to watch the steps. There was no one at the front desk which was fine with him. He hated being forced to wave the badge and have some idiot sneer at him.
Hated being dragged out from behind his desk in order to chase ghosts just as much. Punching someone out in front of the tiny captain would probably get him written up again to. Fuck that.
The stairs creaked. That meant he was going to have a headache by the time they got to the top. Fuck that to.
He was going to find a partner and end these little excursions if it killed him. Being so damn close to the captains office was straight up bad luck.
The steps were creaking and the way Kurosaki was stomping on them, Toushirou wasn't entirely sure they'd hold up. He nearly turned on Kurosaki and told him to shut the hell up but he wasn't actually saying anyting; he was just pounding up the stairs.
Like an idiot. An idiot who had heavy feet. Toushirou's brow twitched and he curled his fingers tightly around the banister for a moment.
Why bring Kurosaki again?
He led the way out of the stairwell and toward the apartment, not bothering to check to see if Kurosaki was behind him. He could hear him stomping his way down the hall. He turned marginally toward Kurosaki when they reached the door. "I'll go in first," he said, "unless you want to do all the talking." And hell if he was letting Kurosaki take the lead.
Ichigo scowled. “That fine,” he would much rather be the back-up anyway. If anyone was going to get shot at it was the idiot who went first. He pulled his gun out of his holster and did a quick check of the safety.
Hey if the captain got shot he was going to shoot back. He wouldn’t be written up for not shooting fast enough. He nodded, “right behind you.” At least he didn’t have to worry about shooting the little man; he could just fire right over his head.
Would prepare to kick in the door two, he wasn’t sure the captain had enough leg strength to kick a ball.
Toushirou snorted softly when he glanced at Kurosaki. Of course he was right behind him; that's where he'd told him to be. He knocked on the door lightly, other hand resting on the butt of his weapon - their contact should have been expecting them. Toushirou, never the most patient of people, gave him thirty seconds before he growled and peered at the door. Enough light seeped through the crack between the jamb and the door that he could make out that the deadbolt wasn't turned. That was good, at any rate. Old wood, no deadbolt. This shouldn't be a problem.
Fuck the warning; he'd already knocked and he might as well go in making a statement. He looked at Kurosaki and sighed softly. After all that about him going first... "When this door opens, you take point."
Without waiting for an acknowledgment, Toushirou took another look at the door, hoped to God he didn't mess this up with Kurosaki watching, and kicked the door, foot landing next to the knob. Wood splintered and Toushirou allowed himself one small moment of sheer relief that it hadn't taken two tries. The door swung open and Toushirou regained his balance and drew his gun.
Ichigo almost forgot to bring his gun up into the ready position when the little midget told him to take point. What exactly had they been going over for the last five minutes? He snorted and just got his gun up just as Toushirou kicked the door in.
He paused.
Well it was an old door anyway, probably had termites. He moved into the room turning left, gun and eyes moving over the small, one room apartment. He moved right and narrowed his eyes at the disgusting little apartment; did he not clean, ever?
“Clear.” It didn’t take much to call it, the bed was over there, pushed against the wall and the kitchen was practically inches from the bed. He moved into the room, carefully reaching over and flicking on the light.
Damn this place was messy.
Toushirou was two steps behind Kurosaki, gun drawn and going right, one hand shoving the door back as he moved forward. He nodded at Kurosaki's announcement; pretty easy to see it was clear. One room.
Toushirou narrowed his eyes. One room that had... that particular, tangy scent about it that came with the many murder scenes he'd worked. He knew before Kurosaki flipped on the light what he was going to see.
Or... he thought he did at any rate. He hadn't quite imagined the scope. Eyes wide, Toushirou's gun wavered at the sight. The walls were streaked with dark blood, pools of it congealing around the chair that what was left of their informant - or so Toushirou assumed - was sitting in. His lip curled when he looked down; he took a step back, out of the puddle he'd stepped into.
Swallowing and putting aside the knowledge that this used to be a person in front of him, Toushirou looked up, eyes roving over the streaks of blood above the man's - not a man, not anymore - head:
ArE yOU SUrE yOU'rE lOOkiNg iN tHE rigHt PlAcE???
Ichigo eyed the walls, his eyes wide and he felt his stomach twist uncomfortably. Someone had painted the walls in blood. Finger painted the fucking walls. He glanced down quickly and was immensely relieved to see that he hadn’t stepped in any of the blood.
The small squishy thing next to his foot however, looked suspiciously like a kidney. He eased his leg back and started counting backwards from one-hundred. He glanced up and almost blanced at the the ArE yOU SUrE yOU'rE lOOkiNg iN tHE rigHt PlAcE??? written on the wall. Biting through his cheek was not an option, more blood would have him gagging in front of a superior officer. As it was he pulled the collar of his uniform jacket closer to his face to keep from smelling that god awful tang in the air. He swallowed uncomfortably.
“Son of a bitch.”
Toushirou chewed on the inside of his lip for a moment as he looked around, cataloging everything he saw and giving it a nice clinical term. Nothing human, nothing about a person was here. It was just bits and pieces of... No, just bits and pieces. That's all it was.
He glanced at Kurosaki and nodded slowly. Son of a bitch, indeed. Toushirou holstered his gun and, for a moment, pressed the back of his hand against his nose and mouth and swallowed hard.
One of these days, that smell would end him. Today wasn't that day; he let his hand drop and turned to Kurosaki. Much better to face the detective than the scene. "Go, call it in. We need a team out here."
Ichigo nodded, “right.” Call it in. “I’ll do that.” He could do that. It would get him outside of… this. He needed a few minutes to collect himself anyway. Who the fuck did this someone? That had been an awful lot of blood. Everywhere. Blood everywhere. He moved back down the stairs and tried to ignore how much cleaner the air smelled once you left the room. He took a deep breath.
A really deep breath, once he was outside back into the cold. Right. He was supposed to call it in. He yanked open the door to the car, that short and mighty had insisted he drive over here, and fumbled with the radio.
“Dispatch this is,” he paused, what was their freaking radio code? God, didn’t shorty have a manual?
“Were at 1052 81st street we have…” he flipped open the compartments and scowled at them. Why didn’t he have a manual in this thing? “We have a 10-85,” he paused. Oh screw it. “It’s a mess; get the coroner out here, fast.”
Soon as he had confirmation he would head back upstairs and help secure the scene. Short and grumpy would be even grumpier otherwise. He would just get back upstairs and finish his half of the work and wait for the mortician. Not touch anything or look at anything while he was at it.
Shit. The faster that mess was someone else’s problem, the better.