It's about you, me, and tautology

[peacocklocked]

What rouses him from slumber isn't a deep, satisfying yawn, the crack of his jaw over the need for oxygen to his brain, the darkness that envelops his bedroom, or the incessant chirp of birds outside his window.

He's lightheaded. It isn't the kind that comes hand in hand with a hangover after a satisfying night, no. Breaths are caught tight in his chest and throat and his legs are cramped, bracketed by something other than the humble frame of his bed. Lupin is sure this is some shit when his palms settle against wood. The air, what minimal air he has left, is thick with the scent of sandalwood.

He's in a goddamn coffin. This is decidedly not how last night ended. He and Jigen Daisuke had teamed up again for a certain painting, one held in an armored vault with a mind of its own (supposedly. Not much of one left after Arsene Lupin III got done with it. Nothing but gibberish after, not even enough for The Man Behind the Curtain.)

The first lesson in Waking Up in Your Own Coffin is to breathe as shallowly as possible, right? (He has no idea. This is his first time he'll care to remember in his adult life). His belt! His belt should have something...

His fingers feel heavy and fumble with the belt buckle, the sharp corners will probably be able to dig through the vinyl and wood pretty decently. Enough.

By the time he's dug through part of the lid his fingers are bloody and his breathing comes out fast and he's trying to keep his noises as minimal as possible, Grandpa would be able to get out of this in two snaps of his fingers, so why not him--

And that's when he hears a noise. A person shaped noise.

Comments

[borsalino]

This is just another one of Those Times.

It's another few hundred dollars spent out of collective pockets to buy a coffin and a tombstone, to hire the same tight-lipped priest who sighs after every call for an appearance, who never asks and never looks like he wants to. They've gone through this whole song and dance already— Goemon, almost annoyed after Lupin's hundredth disappearing trick, sparing a day post-ceremony after which he taps Jigen on the shoulder and says, "call me when he's back".

They both trust he'll be back— Fujiko requests the same, Chanel No. 5 thick on her wrists as she tugs on Jigen's sleeve (looking as glamorous as ever in her little black dress, funeral gear or no), leans in for a kiss on the cheek that Jigen doesn't oblige (she smiles for the first time that day after that rebuff), tells him to stay in touch.

So.

Jigen watches out for the day Lupin will be back.

This time, Lupin is fast (not even 24 hours, this is a first), but his return is less conventional; the thief usually comes back in a fit of theatrics, well-timed and with a smile to preemptively dispel bad moods. Usually. Lupin is lucky that Jigen's stuck around, that he always does stick around, because the gunman hears the clawing in the coffin and the desperate picking of something metallic against the seal before he can turn and leave.

"—Give me a damn break."

Cigarette snuffed out on lacquered wood, Jigen reaches out and unclasps both ends of the casket, letting the person inside know that the lock's been undone and that he can open the door. He's almost angry— really? is Lupin really going to fucking do this today?— but first things first.

"At least let us put you in the ground first, idiot."

[peacocklocked]

The voice may be muffled through wood and his own increasingly panicked breathing in his ears, but Lupin would know that tight, annoyance laced drawl anywhere (when he thinks back, later, he'll remember it didn't sound Quite Right).

So this son of a bitch got him into this! One of his weird pranks...Lupin's going to give him the wedgie of a lifetime. Bloody fingers push on the lid until it yields, relatively fresh air rushes into his lungs as he sits up, sucks in greedy gulp fulls of air like he's drowning (and he nearly had).

His vision dances as his eyes attempt to adjust to the bright fluorescent lights sprinkled about the funeral parlor. The characteristic scent of death and too many bouquets bought off-hand and last minute along with cheap padded seats that have been there too long assault his nose. It looks relatively normal, so Lupin's pretty sure this isn't some strange lobby to Hell or anything. So this is actually the real thing...? Lupin feels his face twist into a hardened scowl, palms braced against the side of the coffin so he can sit up properly and give it to his gunslinging sometimes partner, completely with gestures--

"What the fuck is your problem!? Is this a joke? Your attempt at being the plan guy? 'Cause I'll tell you what, this one sucks. You always complain about me sticking to my day job, but you need to take a look in the mirror, pal...."

He sits up too fast, his head swims, a groan makes its way from his throat and he drops back down onto the satin, forearm over his eyes.

"Your sense of humor really needs work...Hell, I'll pay you for lessons if that's what it takes. What were you thinking..."

How is this his life is the real question here. Of course, his thought process will really take a dive in the 'what the fuck is this' category in a few but what he doesn't know can't hurt him too badly.

[borsalino]

"My problem?"

There are things he expects Lupin to say: the customary "I'm back, darling"s, the "didja miss me"s, the "don't look so sour, your face might stick that way"s and the "daddy's home"s. The running theme between all these hypothetical phrases is the levity, preemptive congeniality to soften the anger or the relief or the exasperation, an airbag against potential impact.

This, though. A moment of bemusement flashes across Jigen's face at this moment of audacity, as if Jigen's the one that wanted to put Lupin in this stupid casket that's now gone completely to waste.

Lupin wants to give Jigen an atomic wedgie? Not before Jigen punches him into the goddamn stratosphere.

"Alright, I'm going to give you a moment to air out your damn brain. Only a moment."

The delivery of this statement suggests that it's not an idle threat, but the indignance wanes and makes way for vague surprise when he sees the streak of blood decorating the ceiling and edge of the coffin, upon noticing the split skin along nails and knuckles.

[peacocklocked]

Lupin's scowl all but splits his mouth beneath his arm, which he moves a smidgen in order to glare at the other man with one eye. Yet he doesn't rise, caught up in catching his breath and the air (yet smelly and overwhelming and creepy) cooling his face.

"Yeah, your problem! That job went off without a hitch, Zenigata's nowhere near here. I know what I said about unnecessary measures, but this is one he'd never be stupid enough to fall for." The furious expression and biting acid tongue lightens up, slightly, as an afterthought comes to light.

"You sure have balls, to drug me like that without me knowing. I hate that. But I kinda like it."

Seriously, a note of pride sings in his chest with this knowledge, he'll make a thief out of you yet, Jigen Daisuke. With a sigh and a huff, Lupin finally sits up properly and, fingers clasped around the edges of the coffin, hoists himself out with minimal falling on his face. He only now realizes his fingers fucking sting, he's lost the tops of at least two nails completely.

When his ass rests against the coffin, gratefully, for support, only then does he regard Jigen with a look that's all business.

"Well, Jigen Daisuke? Where did you put it."

(Does he notice? Does he? How they buried him in tattered red, only to bring him right out of hell in blue? Does he?)

[borsalino]

The costume change, the transition from searing red to cyan, doesn't escape Jigen's notice. But ultimately, he's seen stranger tricks, knows how many outfits Lupin hides in dark places (the casket is as good a place as any) and how many layers of makeup he can wear on a good day for occasions meant to boggle; it's perplexing, but not as perplexing as the rest of the package that starts with the uncharacteristic signs of struggle and ends with distinct cognitive dissonance in the form of a casual Jigen Daisuke.

Jigen Daisuke?

If Lupin is going for the chiding parent tone here, the humor is lost on Jigen. It's an unnecessary reminder of days spent as a hired gun, where the danger of being killed was more prevalent in headquarters and not on the field.

Jigen Daisuke. As if they haven't spent the last few decades being profoundly shitty all over the globe with each other. Spare him.

"Where did I put what? The only thing that's missing here is the screw that's supposed to be keepin' that thick skull of yours together."

In a tone that's maybe too-familiar, devoid of boundaries save for the one that he's just put up, the one that shows in his posture and the quick flick of a right hand to the space between the small of his back and his belt. He likes to think that he can identify an impostor from a mile away, but this one... well. He's Lupin at his slickest, breeziest, the Lupin who turns around in a swivel chair waiting for you in the dead of night. Cliche but classic.

There's an audible click of nails hitting metal, the sound of an index finger rotating the cylinder of a loaded revolver.

"Lupin?"

[peacocklocked]

The presence of his Walter P38 all the more burns into his shoulder where it rests, safe and protective, in its holster. Now that his vision and the fog in his head has mostly cleared, he's noticing some things too. The overly familiar body language Jigen first displayed upon seeing him, his tone, the confusion-- and not just the ordinary confusion when it comes to his brilliance. This is different.

And now he's got his finger on his magnum, staring at him expectantly and maybe a little agog. Lupin knows there's a slim chance he'll be able to get Jigen down before he decides to pull that trigger, with how fast he is (was? still is? what the hell is this). If he decides. He looks as if he wants Lupin to decide.

So Lupin's hands go up, empty, and he cocks one hip against the coffin, expression cool to belay the panic bubbling in his belly.

"Jigen. Don't play around, that's not like you. Where is the painting." A pause. He's not sure that's the important thing, here. No, the important thing is finding out just what the hell's going on.

"You know what, I don't even care that much about where it is, I'll find it either way...what I wanna know is..."

He braces his feet apart, shoulders set.

"Just what is it you're thinking right now?"

Is he going to betray Lupin? Had he misplaced his faith in this man? What is this edge of difference he can taste in the very air, in the cracks of whateverthisis, teeming to break out? It's like he knows him better than himself, or just as well as himself, perhaps. It's really throwing him off, being the mystery that's predicted before the climax.

Except this is anything but. Who is Jigen Daisuke?

[borsalino]

Jigen isn't the scenarios guy, but he can spot deviations from an overarching script when they happen. There's something wrong— there's supposed to be something else here, hands in pockets and toes skating along the floor, maybe a "don't sulk, Jigen-chan, jeez". A reverse tantrum for Jigen's vexation.

His feet find footing on solid ground, heels digging into the cracks between wood paneling of the musty funeral parlor. Shootout position, except the spar is verbal and Jigen isn't going to show off his quick-draw prowess until he sees a glint of that Walther.

"Bastard, you just fell off a ten-story building and pretended to be dead for a few goddamn hours and you're asking me what I'm thinking?"

What do you think, is the accusation, and with it, Jigen changes his mind; to hell with distance, he spans the few steps he needs to get right up in his partner's (his partner's?) face, too-warm hands going straight for the collar of that unfamiliar cerulean blue and tugging. Sharply.

"If this is one of your pranks, save it. Just say that you hit your head too hard, and I'm willing to not kick your ass all the way back to our hideout."

[peacocklocked]

Lupin doesn't start, not when Jigen's stance changes, not even when he approaches, Lupin stands his ground, sweat beading at his hairline and jaw clenched-- he doesn't start until the warmth of gun calloused and gun loved hands creep through his jacket. He visibly starts, shoulders hiked up to nearly his ears, eyes wide. That's certainly different. It's usually him closing the distance, reaching for the other, knocking knees together and stealing food. In a way, this is characteristic of his partner-- shoving him in the door first, nudging him through a window first, that sort of thing. But this is different, this is direct.

Lupin's not sure what the lurch in his stomach means and he isn't sure he wants to know. What he does know is he doesn't know what the fuck is going on. He's so sure he did not, in fact, fall off a ten story building and pretend to be dead. He's never had to do that before. It feels like he's hopped up on the dizzy dizzy stuff all over again, what's real and what's not.

Though his gaze is on the shadow beneath Jigen's hat, his eyes do flicker around, as if searching for a familiar hooting bird, annoying and too sure of every piece of the board. (But that's impossible. Every trace of that is gone, except for--)

Their hideout? Does he want to check out this hide out? Will it be a trap...?

"Yeah...yeah, I must have hit my head...it's all kind of fuzzy. I don't remember anything from last night. Clearly I've got to teach you a new formula for that drug."

It's not technically a lie. For all he knows this could just be some strange, drug induced dream or something. (though the lining of his belly, which tightens and kneads with discomfort, knows otherwise. It's the rest of him that's trying not to play catch up too quickly at once. Or maybe he should, he has to keep on his toes with...whatever this is. The curious cat in him wants to find out, the Lupin in him wants to find out but the Lupin in him is also screaming to get away right now.

He puts a hand to his head and groans, stumbles for effect.

"Tell me...does the term fraulein eule mean anything to you...?"

It shouldn't. Besides "that bullshit you and that woman got me into that time, as if I have the time or give enough shits to figure that out, what am I, a chemist?" Test one of ????

[borsalino]

Coldness isn't a word he'd usually attribute with Lupin, and it's not exactly the frigid cold of winter that welcomes Jigen's aggravated aggression (thankfully, he might have had to pull away immediately if that were the case), but it is the thin chill of autumn; warmth of summer sweetly clinging to an incoming breeze, a fading heat in the face of longer nights. It's disorienting not to hear the apology underlining the selfish adherence to form, and it rankles, the refusal to acknowledge the mock-death in its entirety. What the hell is Lupin playing at?

He keeps Lupin upright with the vice-grip he has on his collar, pressed fabric creasing under tense fingers. Under the heavy shade of his Borsalino, he makes no effort to hide the fact that he's looking, watching. Testing.

After all, what kind of partner would be fooled by a fake?

"Fraulein...? What, a new treasure you want to swipe? Now's not the time."

At the very least, Jigen's pronunciation of European languages is as American and flat as Lupin might remember. Hauling scuffed shoes up neatly on equally-scuffed floor, Jigen pats dust off of Lupin's suit with the free hand that's not still trying to tether the thief to reality.

"You've pissed Goemon off again, don't even bother trying to apologize to him. And don't mention this crap about drugs, you know that none of us touches that kinda stuff."

[borsalino]

Jigen would be lying if he said that he'd had a good night's rest; his limbs say otherwise, cramped joints still molded to the semi-familiar shape of a Master Thief, his chest still heavy with the weight of knowledge and well-concealed concern. He's set a record this morning for number of cigarettes smoked in the span of thirty minutes, easily countable (if anyone would bother), from the mounting pile of Pall Mall corpses that lie limply on his ashtray. He doesn't want to call what he's feeling aggravation, but it's something bordering on it.

Making food is a good distraction. Careful peeling of skin against skin and a quick shower later, Jigen'd found himself in the tiny kitchen in their base, pulling food out of cabinets to fry, looking for things to put in ovens so he can watch them cook with a cigarette tucked between his lips. The truth of the matter is that he hadn't expected Lupin to be 'back' so early, so naturally, what he'd had to work with that morning'd been slim: eggs, toast, a sad bunch of potatoes.

He runs a hand through his bangs, Borsalino set aside to keep cooking oil from seeping into expensive silk, and looks at the shitty plate of scrambled eggs, hash browns, and toast-that's-maybe-too-toasty.

A sigh and a beat later, he decides that his uninvited but still somewhat welcome visitor can fucking deal with it.

"—Oi, Lupin."

Poking his head into the living room, his hands full, he scans the room for the outline of his almost-partner, wonders if the stupid bastard is still asleep.

[peacocklocked]

It's tough to say how Lupin's rest has fared. All Jigen can probably see from the doorway are two sock covered feet dangling from the couch arm. So nice of him to get comfortable and conform to the warmth Jigen left behind when he got up, huh!

The smell of breakfast is more effective than the call of his name. His nose wrinkles and his mouth goes slack, (is that drool? is it??) but aside from that he doesn't stir. He's out like a fucking light, dreams surprisingly absent or fading into twilight relatively quickly. Probably would have been difficult to puncture the barrier of deep, heavy sleep and the dull thud of Jigen's heart pressed to his ear.

A Master Thief probably can't afford moments like these. It is what it is, taking what one can get and all. His breathing is deep and slow, unbroken in awareness.

[borsalino]

"Hey."

Yup, out like a light. Jigen tries calling for his partner one more time before he decides to be more practical, plodding bare feet across the room to stand in front of the armchair with his plates and food still balanced in his hands.

"I made food, get up."

One foot draws up and toes Lupin in the stomach, poking his side once, twice. There may have been a time when he would have just eaten on his own, but years of living together can do this to you, can turn the most solitary gunman somewhat domestic.

[peacocklocked]

The smell gets closer, a voice filters into his ears, deep and sure, and Lupin's eyes flicker beneath his eyelids. The fog of sleep begins to curl in on the edges of time, awareness creeps in--

and then something prods him in the side and Lupin the Third jackknifes up, fingers tightening around his shoulder holster before his eyes even open and when they do....it's Jigen he's staring at. An unimpressed look on his face and plates in his hands with steaming food. Lupin immediately sinks back into the chair, hands dangling at his sides once more.

"Ah jeez, what did I tell you about waking me up after that owl shit...? At least you didn't burn anything this time."

Eyes still heavy with sleep blink at Jigen a couple of times, then clear with a dawning realization as everything comes crashing down around his ears. (so that wasn't a dream) He looks at the toast, his expression carefully reserved.

"Oh, I see."

[borsalino]

He tells himself that he's not some needy kid, that he's fine when Lupin looks up at him and says something he can't comprehend. That's happened countless times, anyway— when doesn't Lupin reference something that flies over his head?

(He pretends, but there's still some lingering disquiet, sweat that builds on his palm that he wards off with fingers tightening on suddenly-too-warm plates.

It's nothing. It's nothing.)

"Don't look so happy to see me," is the brusque response, and one batch of breakfast gets haphazardly slid onto the coffeetable.

"—And before you say anything, don't."

Preemptively shutting down any complaints, what a guy. He's as casual about this as he can be under these strange circumstances, because hell may freeze over and the world may be ending, but Jigen Daisuke will never, ever let himself be burden or baggage.

[peacocklocked]

There's something displeased in the downcurl of his lip, in the line of his shoulders, that wipes the smile he'd attempted right off his face. Clearing his throat, grubby fingers snatch up the toast off that plate and crams half of it into his mouth.

It's...burnt like a California forest fire.

"I thought maybe I dreamed that, or I was hallucinating."

(Won't be the first time he dreamed of something similar and woke up with his balls sticking to his leg with come. Won't be the last.)

(how childish)

"But to wake up to your mug? How...dreamy." Emphasizes it with another large bite of toast, and tries to hold back a grimace. If toast eating could be cheeky, here it is, get him his Oscar.

(his acting's never held particularly well in these cases)

[borsalino]

The toast is burnt and the eggs are still runny, a quality breakfast by yours truly. Jigen grumbles under his breath, completely aware of this disaster of a meal as he shovels his own portion down his throat. The potatoes could've been worse.

"You really need to get your head checked if you're dreaming about me."

It's not like they don't see enough of each other, unless Jigen found himself a small, private gig involving something from his past. Those weeks of absences might be cause for reminiscing, but they've hardly been away for more than 24 hours this time.

Or have they?

It's hard to tell, anymore.

"Coffee's in the pot, go get your own."

[peacocklocked]

The potatoes were actually okay! Either that or the speed Lupin's shoving it down his gullet is so he can just soldier on. It's tough to say, actually. Narrow shoulders lift and roll.

"Maybe, maybe not. I know who'd be the one delegated to that check up, at least. Your bedside manner's not much to write home about but you're alright."

(well, he's not sure how this one is...

but his Jigen, with the rough hands and the sure movements, keeps him steady and still and clicks his tongue when Lupin moves. There's no lolli at the end but it's...alright)

Just alright.

(at least he knows Jigen won't try to steal his jewels, family or otherwise, or his soul if he's getting medical attention from him)

(he's not sure if this atmosphere is just him fumbling to come out on top, again, or what, but--)

Polishing off that last bit of toast, he climbs to his feet, back popping as he moves with a groan. Let's never sleep in a chair like that again, Lupin.

(fat chance)

"Yeah, yeah, boss. Want some?"

[peacocklocked]

He needed whiskey for this. Not for courage, mind you, but to sharpen his senses, narrow them down to a single point. Make him look just this side of casual, whereas he feels like he sticks out like a sore thumb in red.

(he has this courage in spades)

Tipping the moderately cleanish glass to his lips, Lupin guzzles his drink, lets it burn, clears his throat and lets the expression on his face sour.

(The burn is better than the pang of guilt in his chest, the sensation like a phantom pain for the man still fast asleep in his other self's bed, curled up around where he knows that picture is, back to the door.)

(if he sees him like this he'll definitely receive bruises)

The jacket fits loosely around the shoulders, and the sleeves insist on rolling past the heels of each hand. He constantly has to shake 'em out and push them up so he can curl his palm sufficiently around the cold glass. At least the bar is abuzz with life tonight. Enough to wash over him, to let him drape himself in it and slink into the shadows.

And when his contact shows up, late, it's time to get into character.

(the trickiest role he's played in awhile. Himself. Imagine that)

As time goes by, he doesn't seem to expect much...Lupin is a tricky bastard, an enthusiastic bastard, and so what if he's exaggerating his movements, too many elbows on shoulders and whatnot. He's always like that, right?

[borsalino]

All contacts are required to have stupid aliases, especially the ones that deal in information pertaining to shady science; the man who sits next to Lupin after his very fashionable, very decorative tardiness looks like his nametag would have something ridiculous on it— like, say, 'Pegasus'— but he introduces himself as 'Orpheus' instead, bleached-platinum hair tied back and trailing a silver line right down to his hips as he settles down. In place of whiskey he orders wine by the glass, taps two fingers on the counter to indicate his choice before turning to Lupin and accepting the weight of that elbow resting against him. With a wink.

"Ah, you're so congenial tonight! You must want something very important from me, if you're being so friendly."

Sharp features glint, already anticipating some sort of barter. But first: a quick scan around the room, eyes swiveling a panorama through the dim bar to see if the familiar outline of a Borsalino is anywhere in their vicinity.

"—Ohh, and with your puppy so far from your leash! Well, well, well. This is already interesting, tell me everything."

If Lupin expected this personal bubble to stay intact, well. It's being destroyed seconds into this conversation.

[peacocklocked]

The line of his mouth dips for a split second before curving right back up into a grin. One of those easy ones, that snakes across his face and pinches his cheeks red.

(if he wasn't already on guard before he certainly is now, with how easily he talks about him and Jigen like that)

Claps him on the back once, twice, and sort of rocks them back and forth in their chairs. "I'm always friendly! Do I ever steer you wrong? Don't answer that~ You'll make me blush~"

Twisting, arm still around Orpheus (what the fuck kind of name is that...he knows there's some style to picking your alias' but come on; it's like some teen picked that name out from high school english class and tucked it away for decades), he takes another swallow of his drink to buy him some time and thought.

"Don't worry so much about him...I left his food bowl within easy reach. Now, can't a guy come tell a friend about his summer wedding? About the ring he procured for his woman, with a rare metal from a company you might have heard of...?"

Hook, line, sinker. Let's just hope it doesn't sink him.

[borsalino]

Ah, well. Green eyes narrow, shrewd and snakelike, as he considers Lupin's claim. There's not a shadow of a doubt in his mind that Lupin the Third can make good on whatever promises he offers— he's an information broker, but he's also a businessman first and foremost— and whatever the thief's found (stolen) this time is big. Isn't it always, though?

"Hmm, hmm, hmm. You've never led me on in the past, that's for certain."

'In more ways than one', is the cheerful implication hummed over the rim of his wineglass. It's obvious that this particular contact is anything but street-level, with his spotless white suit and his flair for... whatever this is, the dramatic? The foppish? Either way, the man is quick; quick to catch on, quick to add up figures and sums in his head.

"And if what you're talking about is what I'm thinking about, then you should keep that ring off your sweetheart's finger— you might lose her before you get to go on your honeymoon. Oh, not that I'd have a problem with that."

A careful smile, and he holds up an index finger to tap it admonishingly against Lupin's nose.

[peacocklocked]

He wouldn't have expected his counterpart to fuck this guy over either way, but he's pleased to know he hadn't. Not that he'd care, mind, but good informants can be hard to...train.

(he squashes the flood of relief in the pit of his belly, of knowing)

The pressure against nose tip has his expression shutting off, shoulders hiked higher, but ultimately he just stares, lets his mouth quirk up at one corner while he turns to face his companion better. There's a solemn promise in his eyes.

(the only one with the problem will be you)

"Aw, but she's really banking on it...and I'll have nothing but the best for my mighty fine woman. I can't disappoint those big ti- uh, eyes of hers."

Lifting his drink to his lips again, he tips it towards the info breaker in a mockery of a toast.

"And besides, I've heard this jewelery company has been sniffing around lately. I think it'll be a problem for everyone if we don't find out as much as possible...origin stories are all the rage these days," tilts his head, one eyebrow raised.

Meaning: it's gonna be your damn problem if they're looking for me. He knows the other man has the means to escape this shit-hunt, so he adds:

"I'm sure there are lots of rubies and sapphires just waiting for well meaning looters, all abandoned and lonely."

[borsalino]

Well-trained eyes blink, catching the dull glint from his conversation partner, that unspoken warning. It's not often that he speaks to Lupin the Third, but he seems different tonight. On edge. Whatever this gig is, Mr. Master Thief must be in a bit of a bind; maybe that explains the lack of Jigen Daisuke, not that they always do everything together.

The informant's expression turns catlike, hand retracting from Lupin's face and curling back to serve as a cushion for his chin. He may be shady, but he's not stupid— this world is all about opportunity.

"Well. I'd hate to get in the center of this lover's spat, so I'll see what I can remember."

Oh, he's pushing it. But the distinct advantage here is the concept of give-and-take, and he has something Lupin needs. Something to make this usually-rounded figure so curt.

"The 'jeweler' in question is the Horloge group. On the outside, they're a harmless, privately-owned research laboratory who specializes in quantum physics for the sake of— get this— space exploration."

He chuckles under his breath, takes another sip of wine.

"No one likes questioning frontier romantics, so they've flown relatively 'under the radar', but of course you already know that that's not all they've been trying to uncover."

[peacocklocked]

Whether this man means Jigen or Fujiko, Lupin's not going to even think about. Or comment on, much as he wants to say 'we made up, kinda'.

(though they won't be so made up if Jigen, and when he, finds out Lupin spirited away in the middle of the night. can't think about that now, though)

An elbow hooked to the surface of the bartop, he twists forward once more into his drink, gaze on the extensive array of bottles lining the back, the mirrors reflecting their fellow patrons up top. He's listening, with whiskey, have no doubt, Pega- Orphy. But he hasn't heard of this group, which isn't a surprise so much as it piques his interest.

Would they exist in his world? Did they already, churning assets and contacts within the shadows, seeds sown? Something to think about.

"Naturally. A group like just can't stand to be fed properly with spam-- no, those beasts have to get greedy and go right for the throat."

Or the balls of the world-- weapons and the like. It's never enough.

"A little birdy has told me of a service elevator that gets you to the....stock room of the place. But I'd imagine after the last infestation of really charming and handsome rats, it's been boarded up by now. The only other way is a tour through one of their warehouses. The question is..."

Which goddamn one. That's what's missing, between the myriad of them.

[borsalino]

And he laughs about that, low and reedy; my, aren't we straightforward today. Well-maintained hands reach for Lupin's sleeve, tugs it up and raises his brows when it slides back down, too loose to stay up by the power of its tailoring. Hm.

"You must be in a real hurry to see this through, if you're wearing suits that don't fit."

Another chuckle, amused and searching, head canting to the side in a perfectly innocent display of curiosity— rubies and sapphires are nice, but they get so mundane after a while. It's the powerplay that's more fun, didn't you know?

"We-ll. There are three main warehouses that warrant searching, but only one of them will have what you're looking for."

An index finger points to the clouded ceiling of the bar, a slender beacon.

"It'd be so boring if I just told you, though. You said once that you like it when people make things difficult. How about a little game?"