A Tachi and Cameo rp
May or may not contain graphic scenes

The red lights flashing on the scene were exhilarating. It made Cyrus smile, even though he knew it meant a disaster in someone's life. When the call had come through, he'd been surprised to be called to the scene, had been until one of the more experienced detectives had wrapped an arm around his companionably.

"Well Cy, you'll do."

"Do for what? What are you planning Lillian?" The older woman had been his mentor when he first joined the force, she knew his strengths and his weaknesses. The somewhat sloppily dressed young man, with hair in disarray because it was too long and he couldn't be bothered to tie it back, was rather wary of whatever idea the brunette had come up with.

She grinned as she ducked under the yellow tape in her well fitting jeans, and hip hugging blouse. "Wait til we're inside and I'll explain."

He followed her with a resigned sigh. Well, at least he knew she had confidence in him, unlike many of the other detectives on the force of the city. They thought he was too new, too green, to be trusted with anything.

When he stepped into the club, his breath hitched. In fear or excitement, or fascination, the young man really couldn't tell which it was. Cyrus had never walked into such a place before, not that he hadn't thought about it.

"Like it?" Lillian's voice cut through his thoughts as she grabbed his arm again and dragged him into one of the rooms.

The stench of death was the first thing he noticed. Cyrus choked back his first reflex, which was to turn heel and run. He always had to do that when it came to crime scenes. Then he took in the way the person was tied to the bed, ropes digging into flesh, blood drying on skin. Speaking of flesh, some things had been gouged out, and an important part of the man's anatomy had been efficiently, clinically, taken away.

Lillian patted his back, then slipped on a pair of medical gloves. "The place has already been sweeped for prints and photographed, we can start looking at things now. People will be brought in to be questioned, but you won't be participating in that."

"I won't?" The auburn haired man began to walk around, eying silk ropes, leather outfits and whips with strange fascination.

Lillian bent down to pull out a pair of lacy underwear with a shake of her head. "Someone didn't clean up after their last client. Anyway, nope. You're going undercover to find the killer once this place reopens, if it's needed. The 'Master' of this poor soul, he's going to need someone new. "

Cyrus blanched, made a face and started to protest, but Lillian badgered him into it. "You'll need a makeover." That was nearly worse then thinking of what he would need to do once the club reopened, nearly worse then the murder scene. But he would do it, since it was needed.

A senior detective approached from outside the room, wrinkling his nose at the smell of death that permeated the area. Glancing up, one could see chains hanging in loops and drapes from the ceiling---not necessarily for decorative purposes. "If I were you, I'd push the undercover idea aside for a while, Lillian." Reno muttered. "I think we have a solid lead already." He put a hand in his pocket and pulled out a thin digital camera, stepping over yellow number cards that marked blood spatter or suspicious-looking clothes, and bent down to investigate the ties that held the dead man down. They were specifically designed, these particular thin ropes, and tied in an even more specific way. From his position, Reno took a few clear pictures.

"What makes you say that?" Lillian asked, crossing her arms not in a defying manner, but curiously. "The club hasn't even opened for the day yet!"

"No, no, but I was talking to the owner." Reno stood and pocketed the camera again. "He said this room belongs to Lucas Oliveira. He's highest in demand and a favorite of most of the... er, regulars." Reno paused. He seemed rather uncomfortable being here, as if the room itself were staring at him. "He's scheduled to come in today but we aren't getting an answer at his apartment."

"Probably already on his way." Lillian said simply. Reno nodded. "Let's give him fifteen."

~~

Lucas walked quietly amongst the early-risers as they found their way to work or school, or tried to slack off beforehand. It was warm, and during this time he would park far away from the club---appropriately named "Whiplash"---so he could walk a short distance and breathe in the air that was relatively fresh considering the location of a large series of parks surrounding this area. It was better than the air in the deep city, which was stale and filthy with pollution. Now, since the sun hadn't risen much even now, the air was relatively cool on his bare arms and shoulders. As a bus passed, it blew his black hair forward and made him sweep it back again habitually.

As he turned the corner, Lucas was hit immediately with a sensation that something was wrong. Red and blue lights melded to a purple tone atop police cruisers, followed by yellow at the backs of vans. The whole outside of the club had been roped off with yellow police tape, and Lucas paused before running forward. A group had gathered, mulling about the area as if they could see something. He pushed through the gathering wordlessly, and was met by a well-dressed man, one in a suit, with perfect black hair and a stony, rather square face. No, not a familiar face, but a familiar concept. These men were always so difficult to open up, but they would eventually. And it was so fascinating when they did. "Lucas Oliveira?" The man said simply. When he nodded, the police tape was lifted and he was ushered under, but taken no further than the bottom floor of the club. "Get Lillian down here, Oliveira just got here."

Lillian paused when her phone beeped. She flipped it open, and nodded. "Alright, he's here, let's get this started." With that, the three of them walked down into the club's first floor. The suspect was being ushered into one of the offices, where he was about to be questioned.

The red head shot her former partner a look. "Stay out here, we might still need that undercover and I don't want there to be any chance of you being recognized, even with a makeover."

With that, Lillian and detective Reno walked into the office. The door closed, leaving Cyrus Vail at loose ends, until he turned around and started directing the traffic downstairs to make sure people were where they needed to be.

In the room, Lillian settled down. She turned on a recorder and read their suspect his rights. Reno was the first one to begin the questioning. They went through all the routine questions, and now were at the meat of it. "Mr. Oliveira, when was the last time you saw your client, Mr. Maddoc?"

Lucas was fidgeting with the thin chains on his wrists as he complied with the officers. His mind was racing---what the hell was going on!? It was insanity. He sat calmly, though, and tried not to appear too curious even as he was read his rights, muttering them under his breath as they were spoken. He'd heard them all, nodded along with them, though he'd never been under arrest before. Perhaps his obsessions with daytime crime dramas was a little out of hand... He shook his head and looked between the two as questions were asked and he answered in his usual calm, low tone. Once it had been a slight act, something to force his clients into a serious state of mind when they thought something might be a joke or they were new to the concept of the club. And now it was natural, his original tone.

Lucas glanced up at the mention of the dead man's name. "I saw him... Ah, three days ago. On a Friday, I remember. He was early that day." Lucas put his hands together and looked up to meet the eyes of Reno, then Lillian, then Reno again. "He left work early because he said his own clients---being a lawyer, as I'm sure you're well aware of---had frustrated him to the end of his rope, and was desperate for a release. Which I was more than happy to give him." The young man smiled, showing his teeth.

Lillian pursed her lips, then repositioned the recorder on the table. "You, uh, don't seem that surprised that he's dead."

"Only slightly." Lucas admitted with a shrug. "A lawyer tends to have many enemies, some of which would love to see him dead. But recently, he's been delving into much more violent things. It's not quite as often someone comes in looking to be strangled or cut."

"So you cut him, strangled him?" Reno asked, shifting a bit as if sitting on a cactus.

"No! Absolutely not!" Lucas growled. "He simply expressed a desire to experiment with it, but no more than that." He narrowed his eyes at the two, then sat back with crossed arms. Was he the main suspect, then? The biggest part of this picture? How ridiculous...

Lillian pushed the recorder closer, nearer to Lucas. "Where were you last night?" She glanced at Reno, shifting slightly as if to say that he was moving too much.

The man rolled his eyes, but forced himself not to show how uncomfortable he was. "Was anyone with you at the time, Mr. Oliveira?"

The questions went on like that, covering the same ground over and over again quite repetitively. Lillian wore a determined expression, as if simply by willing it she could make the suspect slip up and give them the information they needed to convict him of the foul crime they were there to investigate.

Lucas rolled his eyes every now and again, rocking back and forth in his chair throughout the questions. "I was home, alone. I didn't leave my apartment until this morning. I live alone and don't exactly have many friends---I guess I'm just not much for friends or something, I don't know. The point is: No, no one saw me all weekend. After five days of consenting abuse, I'm sure you'd like to lock yourselves away for a couple days to recuperate as well. Or am I misjudging you?" He looked specifically to Reno, who shook his head hard. "Well then."

Reno leaned forward. "I... think that's all we'll be needing for now. A couple things, though..." He reached under the table, prompting Lucas to lift his head to see what he was going for, and came up with a yellow folder. "I'd like a bit of DNA and finger prints, if you're willing to give them without a warrant..."

He trailed off as Lucas took the folder, pulling out a few things: An inkpad, a sheet for prints, and a DNA swab. "Mm-hmm." He muttered, taking out the swab and licking it rather suggestively for a moment, eyes directly on Reno. Lucas could tell he was uncomfortable, and every moment of elongated mental turmoil was quite pleasing. The only difficulty presented here was to keep from laughing. He tore his eyes away from the man to focus on the inkpad. It was blue, the ink, and he pressed each fingertip into the soft sponge, then onto the thick paper. Lillian took them and slipped each back into the folder as Lucas wiped his stained fingers on his black shirt.

"Is this all?" He asked. "I have to talk to Giovanni about what'll be happening for now." His boss, Giovanni. No doubt the greedy older man would have something in mind already, after all.

Lillian nodded, and walked away. She grabbed Cyrus' arm, leaving Reno to trail behind them. Somehow or other they got to the precinct, where a boatload of information now awaited them.

It looked like there were indeed a lot of people who might have wanted to lawyer dead. Old cases, people he'd prosecuted, and others he'd defended ... The man had been busy, and there were hints of some illegal dealings thrown in as well. Despite all of that, Lillian was still convinced that Mr. Lucas Oliveira was guilty.

The evidence was pressing enough that the captain would allow her crazy plan.

Lucas left the office and went downstairs through a pair of double-doors marked "Employees Only". Down here Giovanni's office was, amongst several storage rooms for necessary equipment anywhere from general building maintenance to replacements for worn out ropes or broken chains, which tended to be commonplace. He passed these doors to the relatively official-looking office door at the end of the short hall, pushing it open. "Gio, what's the news?" He asked, spying his boss at a metal desk. The man had never been one for expensive luxuries in these hidden rooms, preferring to spend big dollars on the business itself---and his own home and life.

"Bah!" The man waved as if knocking the question out of the air. "They're keepin' us closed for the next coupl'a days, Luke. Cleanin' up the mess." He sighed.

"So I'll be out for a few days." Lucas huffed, going to one of the folding chairs by a short bookshelf and plopping down. "That's good." He muttered sarcastically.

"Hey, do'n worry about it." Giovanni sat at his desk facing the computer. "I'll give you a couple off days, you'll be compensated."

Lucas nodded slowly. He did enjoy his job, though many wouldn't call it that. Most decided he was more of a high-end male prostitute, which might be a good name for it, but was also degrading to him as a human and competent member of society. Not to mention it got a lot of day-to-day aggression out. But he couldn't exactly work in a room full of blood. No matter how enticing that was.

Cyrus found himself being dragged around again. His auburn hair was cut in an edgy, fashionable style. It hunt in diagonal now, unevenly cut so the left edge obscured part of his eye while the other was clear and free.

Lillian dragged him to a clothing store and made him buy a whole new wardrobe. Cyrus bemoaned the grey, black and blue color scheme, the fact that he would need to wear chained pants and metal bangles. He even got his ear pierces, a silver stud made his ear sting.

All of this for an undercover operation where he would need to do who knows what to gain a suspected murderer's confidence. He didn't want cameras, or anything like that. "You have to."

"No Lillian, I've gone through all this already, I am not going to have whatever happens recorded!" That was a huge problem.

He went back home annoyed, to the top floor of a high-rise. It was quite the place, a near-penthouse, warmly lit and easy on the eyes, with a clear view of several parks that surrounded the area. Lucas had a few days off, which would have pleased most with a job, but simply bothered him. Perhaps it was a sense of duty, but he liked to work for his money, no matter how unorthodox that work might be. Still, Lucas forced himself to relax by wandering the open-layout living room-kitchen-dining room area, pausing at a cage that held a hamster of white. It didn't have a name, really, but Lucas had bought it a year ago to keep him a little company. With a bitter chuckle he thought about calling up the detectives---Lillian or Reno---and telling them he did indeed have a witness to verify that he'd been home.

Still, the twenty-six year old man shook his head, sending his hair all over his head in a wild manner some loved to see, and reached into the cage to retrieve the hamster. It was a delicate thing, which proved he could be gentle when he wanted to be, and it curled in his hand as he stepped to one of the large windows that looked onto a balcony, which gave his view of the parks. They were quiet parks, at least, and a splash of nature among grays and blacks and other dark, dreary tones. Lucas turned and sat on one of the sofas, adamant that he'd go crazy in these few days off. Unless he was arrested first, which wouldn't necessarily be a good thing. Someone had to be setting him up...

A few days later, days in which the other suspects were being tracked down and questioned vigorously, he was standing nervously outside the doors of the once closed club. Sighing, he opened it and walked inside. Somehow he needed to figure out how to get on Oliverai's client list, and fast before the opening was closed. With that in mind, he went straight to an imposing looking desk with the boss an standing behind it.

"Excuse me, I heard ... t-that uhm .. that a Mr.Lucas could help me with something?" He played the part of an overly nervous young man out for his first thrill at such a club. He hoped it worked, that the fact he was a police officer under cover didn't shine through. Cyrus fiddle nervously with the black and silver bangles on his left wrist.

Giovanni was over the moon to be back in business, and showed it by having the bar and lounge areas reduce their prices for the rest of the week, Saturday and Sunday included. As a result, many more regulars and potential newcomers were mulling about, either working up the nerve to go upstairs or having just come back down from several strenuous hours. When the door opened again, the owner stepped forward and leaned on the desktop to hear the young man. He was certainly young, and not just by Giovanni's standards. He seemed nervous, which made the older man smirk. "Never heard it put that way before." He commented, ducking under the desk to retrieve a pen and papers. "But you're a lucky one, lemme say. Since Mr. Maddoc's unfortunate end, there's one spot open on Lucas's list. Here, now." He slid the paper and pen over to the young man. "You'll need to sign this waiver. It just states that anythin' that goes wrong, no matter how small, is noted. Anythin' that requires medical attention will be covered by half."

Most men tended to shy away after hearing all this, but the business still boomed. Perhaps it was the desire for that risk that kept even the nervous or wary ones coming back.

He let out a sigh of relief, and smiled briefly. Heart beating fast, the detective reached out and scrawled down his name hastily on the waiver. Oh what in the world was he getting himself into? At least Lillian had conceded the point of no recordings going on unless he, Cyrus, was the one to turn it on. That would save him a lot of grief later on.

The detective used his real name because it was so much easier then not. Well it was his mother's maiden name, but it was close enough to his own that it would serve under cover. "So ... do I just go up then?" He knew where the room was already, but he had to pretend not to.

Giovanni took the items back and studied the signature. "Yes indeed, Cyrus." Giovanni pointed to the staircase behind the desk. "Go on up. It'll be room 12. They're soundproof, no need to worry there. And you don't gotta do nothin', just what the master tells you." The man laughed quietly, stepping back and sitting down behind the desk. He quickly entered the newcomer's name into the list of current clients, erasing the name of the dead man. He'd been a high-paying client, and while it was unfortunate that he was dead, Giovanni was ever more disappointed he simply wouldn't be back. Of course, his mind was also on the threat of his highest-ranking master being put permanently out of commission. He was sure Lucas hadn't killed anyone...

This was going to be so embarrassing, and demeaning... Red in the face, he nodded quickly and scuttled away from the desk and towards the stairs. In a way, he was even looking forward to what lay behind that door, if only because it meant getting all of this over with.

After taking a deep breath, he opened the door and entered the room. It was somewhat of a shock, and his hazel eyes glanced over everything. In truth, he was doing his best to take down and memorize every detail. Things were different now then they had been when the room had been a crime scene. He was sure some of the other clients took a thrill from knowing that.

Lucas was mulling around the room relatively aimlessly. Its color scheme was black and green, dark tones that muted the dim glow of various scattered lights that appeared to be candles, but were really low-wattage bulbs. It was a large room, as all of them were, and separated into two areas: One with a large bed, and one with a few chairs and a chaise lounge. He turned when the door opened unexpectedly---normally there was a bit of a lull now, despite the reopening of Whiplash being a very highly talked about thing. The news coverage had brought in the regulars, and many newcomers. This one was a newcomer, for sure, and looked a bit too finicky. Everything from his clothes to his hair, well-placed, and seemed to call a lot of attention to the person as a whole. A bit too much attention to detail, Lucas thought. But he had learned not to question it.

He stepped around wordlessly to the door, keeping his midnight-blue eyes attached to the newcomer as he shut the door. The resounding click, which sounded as though a lock had been engaged, but was actually beginning a digital clock outside the door that kept track of how long things went on, thus how much the services would cost. With the door closed, Lucas approached the young man. "Don't get very many as young as you." He muttered, stepping very close to Cyrus. "What are you, twenty? Hmm. Well, that doesn't matter to me." He moved around the young man, sitting in one of the velvet-upholstered black chairs. "So, what's your name?" He asked simply. "And what do you like? Or are you into the experimental things?" He put his fingertips together, as if contemplating something.

Twenty? He only a year younger then the man sitting on the chair, the suspected murderer. Then again, the clothes he wore, everything about him, it all had been chosen to make Cyrus look like other then he was. "I don't know what I like yet. So ... uhm ... some people said that maybe you could help me figure that out?" Ending the sentence as a question, he moved to sit upon the chairs in what he hoped seemed like a hesitant manner. Inwardly, he was trying not to gag at his own demeanor. He did know what he liked, but he'd never tried anything like this.

He realized that he'd forgotten to offer up the most basic of information. "M-my name's Cyrus." Truth be told, he was almost as nervous as he was acting to be.

Lucas sat up rather curiously, resting his hands under his chin. This one certainly seemed nervous. Perhaps he was one of those that needed a big push in the right direction to open up. "Experimentation is always nice, Cyrus." Lucas said with a faint smile. "Nice, even when you already know what you like. Sometimes it's fun to break away from the ordinary, I'd say." He stood, thick-soled shoes thumping on the dark carpet as he stepped forward and leaned forward. "So what do you think? You like a little pain every now and again?" He pushed Cyrus back, resting his knee on the cushion between the young man's legs. "Or would you rather I talk down to you like the bad boy you are?" He couldn't help but grin. It was an act, but only slightly. He had a silver tongue, and could use it if prompted just as easily as any whip or rope.

His hands tightened on the chair, and his eyes were as big as saucers as he stared up at the other man. Cyrus took in a big gulp of air and reminded himself that this was research, this was undercover work and he had to find out what Lucas was like, no matter what that meant. It was the whole point of going undercover, under the radar.

He had to admit it was a little exhilarating, but darn it, this was so embarrassing. He wanted to run away, but he couldn't. "I-I ... don't know .." It came out as a humiliatingly frightened sounding moan. Cyrus knew he was red in the face, and his heart was beating so fast, though a teensy tiny part of him was kind of enjoying everything, but it was small and nearly completely buried.

Most masters were despicably impatient. Especially with newcomers like Cyrus. It could be ineffective, put them off, scare them away if they were timid enough. Perhaps that was why Lucas was always so highly demanded. They didn't necessarily work with the cute or adorable or simply uniquely set personalities, and Cyrus was certainly a combination of the three. Lucas put up a hand, brushing the uneven hair out of the young man's eyes. He could feel the newbie's heart racing, like that of a rabbit's after a run. "You're so indecisive." Lucas noted easily, rearranging himself so now he was straddling Cyrus's legs, making it easier to sit gently. "Most of the time even the newbies have some shadow of an idea regarding what they might enjoy." He tilted his head to the side, making his hair fall over to the right side of his head.

He leaned forward, to Cyrus's ear, and spoke in a near-whisper: "Maybe you'd rather start slow." His heart was racing still, and it pleased Lucas. If anything, bringing their blood pressure up was a great amount of fun in itself. He bit the young man's ear gently, laughing quietly as considered it.

He was so startled by the gentle movement. Cyrus hadn't expected that from a suspected murderer. At the sudden weight upon his lap, he lifted his hands automatically to settle them at the other man's hips. He had to admit, Lucas was rather fetching with his blue eyes, dark hair and flirtatious demeanor. It was no wonder he had a client list that was always full.

The whispered words had his heart racing even more, and then he let out a surprised squeak when he felt a nip at his ear. He needed to stay objective, but it was so hard to when his blood was boiling. "Slow sounds good, just fine .." He needed to ask questions. Later, he would ask later when he wasn't so distracted. "Do you like your job?" The sudden question hadn't been planned, and it was such a mood breaker .. Still, he could play it off as nervousness.

Lucas lifted a brow. No one really asked about how he felt regarding his job. But at least it was recognized as that in the eyes of this one, who as they talked was being charged as if anything more than relatively idle conversation were happening. He twirled the young man's hair between a thumb and forefinger. "Mmm... I do." He replied easily. "One can meet such interesting people. They're questionable sometimes, yes, but a quick background check makes sure they're clean and conviction-free. Otherwise you would have been intercepted." He looked the young man in the eyes, which were wide, his pupils dilated in the dim lighting. "It's a fun job, and one not many can do efficiently. And it's such a great way to get one's anger and aggressions out, as necessary, and give someone a thrill at the same time."

He leaned back, grasping Cyrus's face in one hand. "I don't normally get chatty men." He said then. "I'm sure you could get conversation for free anywhere else, and you feel like paying? Hm." He snorted. Maybe he couldn't get anyone to listen without paying for the time. But then, he could just go to a therapist for that.

"I'm nervous," replied Cyrus in a slightly miffed tone. He jerked his head away, let his hazel eyes travel over the green walls. "I get talkative when I'm nervous." It was true, all of it. He was definitely miffed, even though he had no real reason to be. It was normal that Lucas questioned his wasting money on talk. It was wasting it after all, or so it would seem to the other man's eyes.

"This .. I've never done anything like this, and I don't know you. I ... I've never actually paid for ... you know, before." And there, that should help allay any fears. That's what Cyrus used as an excuse for himself anyway. He was being more truthful then he wanted to admit getting all caught up in what he was saying and getting it mixed up with his undercover work.

Lucas was a little surprised at the sudden move, but smiled nonetheless. Maybe he had hit the right nerve. It was funny---he was like a naive teenager in a way. "There's always a first time for everything, isn't there?" He asked, and made Cyrus look at him again. "You don't have to know me. Most of the guys unde me don't know my last name. Hell, some don't know my first. I'm sure you know what they call me. And if you want to know my full name, well... Heh, things are gonna get intimate on a very different level." He was only listed by his first name on the Masters list, as all of the employees were. And most masters knew their clients by their first name, or an alias, or whatever they decided to be called on any number of days.

Of course everyone had their obsessions. Lucas had been the target of many an obsession, when someone became enthralled with him, feeling they can only exist contentedly with him and would go to utter extremes to keep as little distance between them as possible. Cyrus couldn't be that kind of man. No, he didn't seem the kind to obsess. Though he did seem to like talking.

"Lucas, right?" He let his head be moved, and felt somewhat like nothing would happen unless he let it happen. He was in just as much control as the man on his lap. The thought had his hands tightening on the other man's hips, pulling him closer. "What kind of level is that?" Sure he liked talking, but it was kind of his job to ferret out information as much as possible. If he made it a habit, then the other man wouldn't see it as anything unusual for him.

He didn't want to turn a recorder on. Curiosity had Cyrus wanting to see what exactly went on at night in the club.That excluded recording anything, at east during that night.