Red Lanterns
Mar. 9th, 2025 10:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madimpossibledreamerMain Points:
Persona 4 Verdict AU (P4/Judgment Fusion)
Chapter Summary: The witness for Souji's latest case is a man he doesn't expect.
Word Count: 2311
Rating: Teen
Right now, though, it’s just grey and gloomy, neither actually pouring down nor light enough he isn’t getting slightly damp and uncomfortable in the suit. He can feel the beat from the club in his bones; they haven’t even bothered to turn off the music in the aftermath of the incident, which just irritates him, though that could be the fact that it seems to be feeding into his headache. The Alps was having some sort of supply issues again, and the fact that they were cagey about the cause probably means yakuza, in this city. And of course they’d put Adachi on this one—not that there was anything wrong with him as a police officer, of course, but he seemed to be a little lazy, prone to coming to a single conclusion and following it without bothering to be thorough enough to look into alternatives. He can’t say it, given that the man seems to be on his way up and Miyama thinks of him as a perfectly competent officer, but he doesn’t particularly like being paired with the man.
“Morning,” Adachi yawns, taking another sip from a coffee he probably shouldn’t have on the crime scene. “Good luck with the witness.”
Of course the morning has to get worse, though fortunately one of the pleasures of being a Prosecutor is that if the witness gives him too much grief he is perfectly able to drag uncooperative witnesses onto the witness stand. “Not talkative, then?” he asks mildly, ducking under the tape, umbrella and all, as Adachi holds it up for him one-handed, the other muffling another yawn.
“The opposite, actually; civvie actually thinks he can run our investigation for us.” Adachi snorts with derision, and for once they’re actually on the same page, because Seta dislikes being told how to do his job as well.
“Good luck, sir,” Adachi tells him, drinking more of the coffee and wandering off presumably to the crime scene.
He smooths away the impulse of disgust when he sees the man gesture, in the middle of trying to make a point to one of the junior detectives, on the dance floor. He’s clearly made an effort to look more feminine, if in a black scheme, with painted fingernails and dainty earrings and a necklace, short gloves, and an outfit that has a little too much fur and reminds him awkwardly of Yosuke. Actually, the same is true of that haircut and hair color he hasn’t seen since they were kids, and the way he’s tapping his foot—
And then he turns and freezes still. Souji wonders vaguely hysterically if Adachi hadn’t been messing with him, or maybe the universe was, because that is Hanamura. Rather than anything sensible coming out of his mouth, though, the first thing that he ends up blurting out, probably in his sleep-deprived state, is, “What are you wearing?” Somewhat scandalized, like he should be voicing such things out loud, when judging this kind of thing to a civilian’s face is unprofessional. He’d been hoping the music would be too loud, even if it seems like they had made some attempt to turn it down, for Hanamura to hear, but today of all days that doesn’t seem like it’s in the cards.
“Uh. Makeup? I can nearly guarantee you’ve seen it before…” Fortunately, even after his own (brief, failed) career as a lawyer it seems Hanamura’s gotten no better about blurting out embarrassing things, so at least he’s in no position to judge in return or he’d just be a hypocrite. It’s not like Seta hadn’t realized that, though he privately wonders why Hanamura would feel any need to accentuate his eyelashes with anything when they’re naturally dark and long. Against his will, like he’s hypnotized, he watches Hanamura’s hand come up to fiddle with the necklace hanging at his collarbone, nervous in a way he hadn’t been not a minute ago. “You should be thanking me, actually. You’re lucky I managed to talk Kujikawa into just helping me out with the outfit rather than actually showing up herself.”
“...Wait, are you talking about Risette?” the officer gasps, and Seta ignores him and the thread of irritation in favor of pressing on.
“Is that so?” It’s still inadequate, but perhaps the note of ‘you’re wasting my time’ might actually get through. Somewhat improbable; Hanamura had been oblivious enough when they were kids, and if he’d been on the crime scene all night, he probably hadn’t been allowed to return home or get much if any sleep, which almost certainly wouldn’t help. (He’s still somehow more energetic, if a little subdued, than any of the officers or Seta himself, which is patently unfair, but the world is unfair, since there’s only so much even a prosecutor can accomplish.)
Unfortunately, Hanamura is, in fact, just as oblivious, because he doesn’t realize that actually isn’t a prompt to explain further. Though in other ways, it might be a blessing; it seems he’s too tired to remember the distance between them, to be too bothered about holding much back—or maybe, Seta considers sourly, this is just how open he is with anyone he considers a co-conspirator, for the duration of the partnership. It’s not like he has any illusions about how quickly that will change if he gets the idea in his head that the prosecution is pursuing the wrong suspect. “Yeah, she said she wanted to see her disguise in action. She did have to concede after a little while that actually hiding who she was would be a little difficult if she’s in fancy clothes—and anywhere else, she might’ve been able to pull off being part of the waitstaff and nobody would look twice, but…” He shrugs, trailing off, unwilling to put it into words—because, what, he didn’t want to get anyone in trouble for what is clearly a gay club, and somehow thought that the police would not have noticed?
Seta tamps down any frustration. “I was unaware you employed an idol at your detective agency,” he states quietly, voice maybe a little more acid than he intends.
Hanamura laughs, glistening lips quirking in a smile that for whatever reason suggests he thinks of this amusement as somehow being shared and not merely one-sided. “If anything, it’s the other way around. She bought these for me. It’s not like I’ve got the paycheck to cover all of this.” He gestures at himself with no embarrassment, the confidence starting to return. Seta refuses to let his eyes follow the invitation; well, he tries. He gets a glimpse of boots. “I’m just lucky I didn’t get the hair dye in my eyes; it’s been so long I kind of forgot how to do it right.”
This, Seta thinks, feeling the ache behind his eyes grow, is going to be a long day. “I don’t suppose you noticed anything unusual?” he asks, bringing out his notepad like a shield, and Hanamura winks at him, just that much more distracting with the makeup.
“This is gonna be long, so you think we can sit? I kinda danced more than I should’ve and my legs are killing me.” Despite his words, he’s still fidgeting, like he’d somehow not managed to get out his excess energy on the dance floor, but Seta is marginally more successful in ignoring that.
Annoyingly, he’s a little calmer, peering closer at Seta as they sit and then conversationally telling the awkwardly unhappy police officer, “Hey, do you think you can get this guy,” he gestures vaguely at Seta, “...some painkillers?”
The presumption robs Seta of words briefly, before he finds them again and is able to hiss, “That is not necessary.”
Hanamura sighs, tapping his fingers against the table to the rhythm of the song playing, switching effortlessly when it ends and the next song begins. “Look, I know you hate working with me, these days. You’d kind of been getting used to the idea again, when I was still practicing, and then after…” He swallows, shrugs, unable to voice the pain he’d still had about that. Not that he’d been disbarred, but with how little he’d been welcome, and letting his own fears get the better of him like he’s still not the best lawyer Seta’s ever had the pleasure of facing in court, he practically had been. “I figure it’s in my best interest to make it as painless as possible.” Oddly, it’s...easier to take him at his word when he’s like this, rather than in his usual element, wearing the same clothes day in and day out like he was clinging on to his teenage years. Seta understands the impulse, vaguely—they’d been violently ripped from him—but one had to grow up, eventually. Some of it is also the tone, the fact that Hanamura’s allowing himself to actually treat this seriously, rather than just shrug it off like it doesn’t matter or making a joke about it. He pauses and then adds, “Speaking of, this probably isn’t helping your headache. You wanna talk about this at Aiya’s or something?”
So Hanamura still cares, at least a little. It hurts a little, because they’re not friends, not anymore. Partly, also, it hurts because it’s nice, soothing against the absolute disaster of the day, and he can’t afford to lean into it, no matter how much thinking of his largely undecorated apartment and suddenly feeling like it’s empty for the first time since he’d gotten it. “That would be inappropriate.”
Hanamura’s open expression disappears, and he leans back. Seta doesn’t remember when he’d leaned forward. “Well, you probably want me to start at the beginning, wouldn’t you, Prosecutor?”
It’d be easy enough to keep this perfectly professional, to agree and insist, but the misunderstanding tugs at Seta. It’s unacceptable. “It’s—I appreciate the concern, Hanamura. It’s not even that I seriously consider you a suspect, but it would be inappropriate to remove you from the crime scene, particularly just for my own comfort.”
“Glad I insisted on the painkiller, then,” Hanamura mutters under his breath, but at least the frost melts, just a little. Until he matches how soft the fur looks. “Okay, so starting from the beginning—I’m actually working two cases, and I’m pretty sure at least one of them is relevant for this one. Not sure about the first one. Based on new regulations, the manager, Hayami-san, might be violating power harassment rules, and he’d almost certainly be violating sexual harassment rules and hurt his business’ standing, if the law cared about certain people.”
Hanamura seems like he’s going to move past that like he doesn’t want Seta to think about it too much, which is a little insulting. “I wouldn’t let such an injustice stand, no matter the victim,” he insists slightly louder than he’d intended, the agitation actually making his headache worse. The returning police officer flinches a little even as he hands over a glass and a pill.
“Glad we’re on the same page.” Despite his words, Hanamura looks neutral, a little thoughtful, like he doesn’t fully believe it. Seta shoves aside the hurt. It has been a while, after all. He may just have to prove himself, is all.
“So, about the second case,” Seta prompts, Hanamura actually smiling at that, perhaps getting that he’s trying to give the man’s client some privacy from the potential judgment of a police officer he’s never met.
Someone’s finally managed to turn the music off. Hanamura instantly looks drained, like the beat of the music was the only thing keeping him upright, but Seta feels just a little bit better. Though that might have been the painkiller starting to kick in.
“Your dead manager,” Hanamura begins again, nodding in the direction of the backroom where the body had been found, “...also happened to owe some money to at least one yakuza family.” Kirijo, Seta fills in, mood again taking a downturn at the reminder of Hanamura’s new connections. “Except when I started investigating, I started to get the feeling it’s not just one. Shirogane took some pretty good records on that leg of the investigation, so he can pass those on. I didn’t recognize them, so they might not be Tojo, but those suits definitely screamed yakuza—and honestly, they might’ve killed him when they visited, three days ago, because I haven’t seen him out here since.”
Seta firmly ignores the implication that Hanamura’s been here more than once and that he might actually have more than one set of club clothes thanks to an idol. Somehow. It’s not relevant, no matter how much his mind wants to cling to the idea. “That’s unusual, then.” Comparing notes might not, after all, be a waste of time. It might not be across a courtroom, but it is enjoyable to be working with Hanamura for the truth again, particularly when he’s actually bothering to apply himself.
“Very. Not that he danced, but I swear he was practically out there on the dance floor more than me…” Hanamura begins, getting into the details now that he’s given the overview, and Seta dutifully takes notes, trying not to get distracted by the painted fingernails or way the detective starts gesturing to emphasize points as he starts getting into the retelling.
Persona 4 Verdict AU (P4/Judgment Fusion)
Chapter Summary: The witness for Souji's latest case is a man he doesn't expect.
Word Count: 2311
Rating: Teen
Approximately all of Seta hates this entire morning, but it’s his job, so he just has to grit his teeth and get on with it. He doesn’t mind the rain, usually—it’s usually a vaguely pleasant memory, tinged with pain, because it had rained a lot in Inaba, and memories of that town were...bittersweet, really, but he hadn’t felt quite so alone back then. Not that it mattered, really. If he does a good job with this one, Miyama might even praise him again, which would make the whole thing worth it, of course.
Right now, though, it’s just grey and gloomy, neither actually pouring down nor light enough he isn’t getting slightly damp and uncomfortable in the suit. He can feel the beat from the club in his bones; they haven’t even bothered to turn off the music in the aftermath of the incident, which just irritates him, though that could be the fact that it seems to be feeding into his headache. The Alps was having some sort of supply issues again, and the fact that they were cagey about the cause probably means yakuza, in this city. And of course they’d put Adachi on this one—not that there was anything wrong with him as a police officer, of course, but he seemed to be a little lazy, prone to coming to a single conclusion and following it without bothering to be thorough enough to look into alternatives. He can’t say it, given that the man seems to be on his way up and Miyama thinks of him as a perfectly competent officer, but he doesn’t particularly like being paired with the man.
“Morning,” Adachi yawns, taking another sip from a coffee he probably shouldn’t have on the crime scene. “Good luck with the witness.”
Of course the morning has to get worse, though fortunately one of the pleasures of being a Prosecutor is that if the witness gives him too much grief he is perfectly able to drag uncooperative witnesses onto the witness stand. “Not talkative, then?” he asks mildly, ducking under the tape, umbrella and all, as Adachi holds it up for him one-handed, the other muffling another yawn.
“The opposite, actually; civvie actually thinks he can run our investigation for us.” Adachi snorts with derision, and for once they’re actually on the same page, because Seta dislikes being told how to do his job as well.
“Good luck, sir,” Adachi tells him, drinking more of the coffee and wandering off presumably to the crime scene.
He smooths away the impulse of disgust when he sees the man gesture, in the middle of trying to make a point to one of the junior detectives, on the dance floor. He’s clearly made an effort to look more feminine, if in a black scheme, with painted fingernails and dainty earrings and a necklace, short gloves, and an outfit that has a little too much fur and reminds him awkwardly of Yosuke. Actually, the same is true of that haircut and hair color he hasn’t seen since they were kids, and the way he’s tapping his foot—
And then he turns and freezes still. Souji wonders vaguely hysterically if Adachi hadn’t been messing with him, or maybe the universe was, because that is Hanamura. Rather than anything sensible coming out of his mouth, though, the first thing that he ends up blurting out, probably in his sleep-deprived state, is, “What are you wearing?” Somewhat scandalized, like he should be voicing such things out loud, when judging this kind of thing to a civilian’s face is unprofessional. He’d been hoping the music would be too loud, even if it seems like they had made some attempt to turn it down, for Hanamura to hear, but today of all days that doesn’t seem like it’s in the cards.
“Uh. Makeup? I can nearly guarantee you’ve seen it before…” Fortunately, even after his own (brief, failed) career as a lawyer it seems Hanamura’s gotten no better about blurting out embarrassing things, so at least he’s in no position to judge in return or he’d just be a hypocrite. It’s not like Seta hadn’t realized that, though he privately wonders why Hanamura would feel any need to accentuate his eyelashes with anything when they’re naturally dark and long. Against his will, like he’s hypnotized, he watches Hanamura’s hand come up to fiddle with the necklace hanging at his collarbone, nervous in a way he hadn’t been not a minute ago. “You should be thanking me, actually. You’re lucky I managed to talk Kujikawa into just helping me out with the outfit rather than actually showing up herself.”
“...Wait, are you talking about Risette?” the officer gasps, and Seta ignores him and the thread of irritation in favor of pressing on.
“Is that so?” It’s still inadequate, but perhaps the note of ‘you’re wasting my time’ might actually get through. Somewhat improbable; Hanamura had been oblivious enough when they were kids, and if he’d been on the crime scene all night, he probably hadn’t been allowed to return home or get much if any sleep, which almost certainly wouldn’t help. (He’s still somehow more energetic, if a little subdued, than any of the officers or Seta himself, which is patently unfair, but the world is unfair, since there’s only so much even a prosecutor can accomplish.)
Unfortunately, Hanamura is, in fact, just as oblivious, because he doesn’t realize that actually isn’t a prompt to explain further. Though in other ways, it might be a blessing; it seems he’s too tired to remember the distance between them, to be too bothered about holding much back—or maybe, Seta considers sourly, this is just how open he is with anyone he considers a co-conspirator, for the duration of the partnership. It’s not like he has any illusions about how quickly that will change if he gets the idea in his head that the prosecution is pursuing the wrong suspect. “Yeah, she said she wanted to see her disguise in action. She did have to concede after a little while that actually hiding who she was would be a little difficult if she’s in fancy clothes—and anywhere else, she might’ve been able to pull off being part of the waitstaff and nobody would look twice, but…” He shrugs, trailing off, unwilling to put it into words—because, what, he didn’t want to get anyone in trouble for what is clearly a gay club, and somehow thought that the police would not have noticed?
Seta tamps down any frustration. “I was unaware you employed an idol at your detective agency,” he states quietly, voice maybe a little more acid than he intends.
Hanamura laughs, glistening lips quirking in a smile that for whatever reason suggests he thinks of this amusement as somehow being shared and not merely one-sided. “If anything, it’s the other way around. She bought these for me. It’s not like I’ve got the paycheck to cover all of this.” He gestures at himself with no embarrassment, the confidence starting to return. Seta refuses to let his eyes follow the invitation; well, he tries. He gets a glimpse of boots. “I’m just lucky I didn’t get the hair dye in my eyes; it’s been so long I kind of forgot how to do it right.”
This, Seta thinks, feeling the ache behind his eyes grow, is going to be a long day. “I don’t suppose you noticed anything unusual?” he asks, bringing out his notepad like a shield, and Hanamura winks at him, just that much more distracting with the makeup.
“This is gonna be long, so you think we can sit? I kinda danced more than I should’ve and my legs are killing me.” Despite his words, he’s still fidgeting, like he’d somehow not managed to get out his excess energy on the dance floor, but Seta is marginally more successful in ignoring that.
Annoyingly, he’s a little calmer, peering closer at Seta as they sit and then conversationally telling the awkwardly unhappy police officer, “Hey, do you think you can get this guy,” he gestures vaguely at Seta, “...some painkillers?”
The presumption robs Seta of words briefly, before he finds them again and is able to hiss, “That is not necessary.”
Hanamura sighs, tapping his fingers against the table to the rhythm of the song playing, switching effortlessly when it ends and the next song begins. “Look, I know you hate working with me, these days. You’d kind of been getting used to the idea again, when I was still practicing, and then after…” He swallows, shrugs, unable to voice the pain he’d still had about that. Not that he’d been disbarred, but with how little he’d been welcome, and letting his own fears get the better of him like he’s still not the best lawyer Seta’s ever had the pleasure of facing in court, he practically had been. “I figure it’s in my best interest to make it as painless as possible.” Oddly, it’s...easier to take him at his word when he’s like this, rather than in his usual element, wearing the same clothes day in and day out like he was clinging on to his teenage years. Seta understands the impulse, vaguely—they’d been violently ripped from him—but one had to grow up, eventually. Some of it is also the tone, the fact that Hanamura’s allowing himself to actually treat this seriously, rather than just shrug it off like it doesn’t matter or making a joke about it. He pauses and then adds, “Speaking of, this probably isn’t helping your headache. You wanna talk about this at Aiya’s or something?”
So Hanamura still cares, at least a little. It hurts a little, because they’re not friends, not anymore. Partly, also, it hurts because it’s nice, soothing against the absolute disaster of the day, and he can’t afford to lean into it, no matter how much thinking of his largely undecorated apartment and suddenly feeling like it’s empty for the first time since he’d gotten it. “That would be inappropriate.”
Hanamura’s open expression disappears, and he leans back. Seta doesn’t remember when he’d leaned forward. “Well, you probably want me to start at the beginning, wouldn’t you, Prosecutor?”
It’d be easy enough to keep this perfectly professional, to agree and insist, but the misunderstanding tugs at Seta. It’s unacceptable. “It’s—I appreciate the concern, Hanamura. It’s not even that I seriously consider you a suspect, but it would be inappropriate to remove you from the crime scene, particularly just for my own comfort.”
“Glad I insisted on the painkiller, then,” Hanamura mutters under his breath, but at least the frost melts, just a little. Until he matches how soft the fur looks. “Okay, so starting from the beginning—I’m actually working two cases, and I’m pretty sure at least one of them is relevant for this one. Not sure about the first one. Based on new regulations, the manager, Hayami-san, might be violating power harassment rules, and he’d almost certainly be violating sexual harassment rules and hurt his business’ standing, if the law cared about certain people.”
Hanamura seems like he’s going to move past that like he doesn’t want Seta to think about it too much, which is a little insulting. “I wouldn’t let such an injustice stand, no matter the victim,” he insists slightly louder than he’d intended, the agitation actually making his headache worse. The returning police officer flinches a little even as he hands over a glass and a pill.
“Glad we’re on the same page.” Despite his words, Hanamura looks neutral, a little thoughtful, like he doesn’t fully believe it. Seta shoves aside the hurt. It has been a while, after all. He may just have to prove himself, is all.
“So, about the second case,” Seta prompts, Hanamura actually smiling at that, perhaps getting that he’s trying to give the man’s client some privacy from the potential judgment of a police officer he’s never met.
Someone’s finally managed to turn the music off. Hanamura instantly looks drained, like the beat of the music was the only thing keeping him upright, but Seta feels just a little bit better. Though that might have been the painkiller starting to kick in.
“Your dead manager,” Hanamura begins again, nodding in the direction of the backroom where the body had been found, “...also happened to owe some money to at least one yakuza family.” Kirijo, Seta fills in, mood again taking a downturn at the reminder of Hanamura’s new connections. “Except when I started investigating, I started to get the feeling it’s not just one. Shirogane took some pretty good records on that leg of the investigation, so he can pass those on. I didn’t recognize them, so they might not be Tojo, but those suits definitely screamed yakuza—and honestly, they might’ve killed him when they visited, three days ago, because I haven’t seen him out here since.”
Seta firmly ignores the implication that Hanamura’s been here more than once and that he might actually have more than one set of club clothes thanks to an idol. Somehow. It’s not relevant, no matter how much his mind wants to cling to the idea. “That’s unusual, then.” Comparing notes might not, after all, be a waste of time. It might not be across a courtroom, but it is enjoyable to be working with Hanamura for the truth again, particularly when he’s actually bothering to apply himself.
“Very. Not that he danced, but I swear he was practically out there on the dance floor more than me…” Hanamura begins, getting into the details now that he’s given the overview, and Seta dutifully takes notes, trying not to get distracted by the painted fingernails or way the detective starts gesturing to emphasize points as he starts getting into the retelling.
