Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge. ❯ Carrying a Dangerous Weapon. ( Chapter 4 )

For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge.

~ A Kitty and Eoko Fanfiction.

 

Warnings: Swearing blah blah.

 

Disclaimer: Eoko and I do not own the FF8 characters, nor do we make any money off this fic. I wish we did, because then I wouldn't have to work.

 

Author's Notes:

 

Kitty: Waa! We are late with updatings again.

 

Eoko: It's our new thing?

 

Kitty: Yeah, it's totally in.

 

Eoko: Totally! It's like arriving slightly late to a party.

 

Kitty: Oh, yeah! Fashionably late.

 

Eoko: Eeeexactly.

 

Kitty: I'M GETTING A PET SNAKE!

 

Eoko: She is, and the Canadian found all the legal and permit info for the Aussie.

 

Kitty: Yes. So if ever you get into trouble, Call up Eoko to defend you. You cannot lose!

 

Eoko: I love how everyone says that when I'm going to prosecute criminals, not defend people.

 

Kitty: But you would defend a friend, right? XD Honestly, I keep forgetting, because mah sister wanted to be a defence lawyer for a while.

 

Eoko: I could reccomend a good defense lawyer and give legal advice I suppose.

 

Kitty: You would defend me, though, ne?

 

Eoko: If I legally could, and it would be wise and I wouldn't get you convicted sue to lack of defending knowledge.

 

Kitty: XD I'm sure wouldn't get me convicted. But now, let's let them all go read about other convicted criminals.

 

Chapter 3. - Carrying a Dangerous Weapon.

 

Irvine's session was scheduled for right after he'd had lunch. He was to report to his cell by one where a guard would meet him and escort him up to Miss Quistis Trepe's office.

 

The woman was not there when they arrived so Irvine and the guard waited in front of the desk. The room had uniform white walls, a brown leather lounge, a few armchairs of the same material, and the standard desk and swivel chair.

 

Quistis entered the room several minutes before the meeting was to start. Thin-rimmed oval glasses sat perfectly across the bridge of her nose, framing sharp blue eyes. Her blonde hair was pulled back tight, and into a French twist and in her arms she carried several folders and the customary clipboard.

 

She strode around to the other side of the desk, putting the folders down and shifted them into a perfect stack. Then she sat down, adjusted the fitted jacket of her suit and folded her arms over the top of her desk, regarding the two men.

 

“Good afternoon,” she said, offering a warm, yet professional smile. “Mr. Kinneas, I presume.”

 

Irvine said nothing. The guard next to him regurgitated what seemed to be a standard string of phrases before taking his leave. Apparently two more officers were stationed just outside the door should Miss Trepe be assaulted in any number of ways. Irvine was also fairly certain that any one willing to be alone in a room with convicts was quite capable of fending for themselves until back up arrived.

 

Quistis got to her feet and motioned with one hand at the furniture as the other swept up her clipboard. “Feel free to use any one of the pieces. Lay down, sit down, stand if you feel like it, but I'd definitely discourage the last option.”

 

The auburn haired man simply strode over to one of the chairs and collapsed into it in a very bored fashion. He looked over at the quack-with-a-rack taking her seat and sweeping a hand beneath her long skirt in order to smooth the wrinkles out.

 

Her suit was a surprising color; a salmon red that not everyone could pull off. When standing the skirt ended just below her knees. The jacket tapered down to her waist, then flared slightly in a style that accentuated the shapely curvatures of her female form. The deep v-neck would have given a clear view of her ample bosom had she not been wearing a stylishly-plain baby-blue turtleneck underneath.

 

Irvine was at least glad she was an attractive woman, and not some old and decrepit hunchbacked crone. Though, considering how the other men talked about her, it seemed her looks were not enough to make up for some of her less flattering qualities.

 

“Let me introduce myself. My name is Dr. Quistis Trepe and I am this prison's chief of psychology. I mostly handle everything myself, so we should see enough of each other. It all depends on you, Mr. Kinneas.”

 

He cocked a brow at her, hoping she wasn't going to start off on a background story about why she chose psychology, and this prison, and what her goals were and what those goals would accomplish.

 

“Now, you only arrived yesterday. How are you finding things?” she crossed one leg elegantly over her knee, resting her clipboard on her thigh and plucking a pen from where it rested behind her ear.

 

Irvine snorted and looked out the metal diamond-mesh covered windows. “How do you think I'm findin' thin's? I'm sure you've had yourself enough people through here to know how it all is.”

 

Miss Trepe simply sat quietly, eyes soft and focused on him, pen in poised hand over her papers.

 

“It's hell! Two days ago everythin' was fine. It was turnin' out to be, like, the best day of my life. Then before ya know it- bam!- in comes Detective Ice-Cock and there goes the rest of my life.”

 

Quistis made a note on the paper. “I will assume you are referring to Detective Leonhart, as that does seem to be what he's called in here. I will ask you to try to use his correct name, please. Now, continue. How is the prison so far? Have you had any uncomfortable confrontations?”

 

“Prison is hell. I hate it! But that is the point. This is my punishment. Pft. And yes, I've had several “uncomfortable confrontations”.” He curled up his nose and tossed his head to the side slightly.

 

“I get assaulted before I even get two feet through the second gates. Not, like, five minutes later I got some son of a bitch's tongue down my throat. Then I'm rounded up cause some dumbarse upstairs is too shit-faced to show me where my cell is first. Then this little tattooed cocksucker gets up in my face and I gotta tell him to fuck off.”

 

Irvine gave a long suffering sigh and pulled his braid over his shoulder to stroke. “I can't take two steps anywhere without gettin' some kinda attention. Fuckin' horny arseholes. I know how fuckin' hot I am, dammit! And I know what the hell goes down in prison- fuck. I can deal with em, ya know? I ain't no pansy arse bitch. But Mr. Your-Mouth-Is-Mine is fuckin' stalkin' me. Then I get assaulted again cause I insulted his little guard bitch, and to just add the fuckin' cherry and sprinkles to the damned cake, he's my cell mate.”

 

“You seem agitated.”

 

Irvine eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets. “Agitated? Agitated? You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me! My cell mate- no! Half this prison, at least, wants to molest and or rape me. And to make that even better my cell mate happens to be one of the top-fuckin'­- dogs in here!” He tugged on his braid angrily.

 

“And at breakfast the rest of the crew sat down at my table! Like, fuck. I get in here one day- not even twenty-four fuckin' hours and I got every prison prince, duke, lord, and jester on my tail!” He slouched down in his chair and made a very displeased sound.

 

“Mr. Kinneas, I can see that you're having a great many difficulties already. How are you dealing with these advances, and other encounters?”

 

A little smirk tugged at the hitman's lips. “Oh, lovely. I got thin's handled alright. No one gets too close, and if they do, a few words is all I need.” He lifted his hands in a motion that was meant to say `now don't worry `bout that'. “I ain't gonna do some fool thin' to get me into more trouble in here. Just a few harmless threats with a colourful edge and them fellahs be movin' on.”

 

“Do you feel like you may act on any of these threats, Mr. Kinneas?”

 

“Not unless I ain't given any other choice. Seems if the big boys are takin' a likin' to me I might end up in a safe little niche. And I got the tattooed wonder guard a couple cells down. I'm sure he'd jump in before anyone was fatally injured.”

 

“You are referring to… Mr. Dincht then?”

 

“If Mr. Dincht is a short arse midget with blond hair and black lightnin' slappin' the left side of his face, then yea. What the fuck is wrong with that kid? Tell me he's got mental problems! How can he, like, voluntarily put himself in prison?? It's insane!”

 

Quistis made a little noise in the back of her throat. “Although I do have some of my own theories regarding Mr. Dincht, I am not at liberty to discuss them with other inmates, as I'm sure you are aware.”

 

“He's addicted to sex, ain't he?”

 

“I am not at liberty to say,” she repeated.

 

“Ah, whatever. Like I give a damn about the little fuck. Only thin' I got to worry about involvin' him is gonna be blockin' out his screamin'. Shit…. why, why, whywhywhywhwy!”

 

“Mr. Kinneas,” Miss Trepe interrupted, voice smoothly cutting through his questioning mantra. “I believe the best thing you can do at this time is try to relax and fit in. I am also well aware what goes on down in the cell blocks, and I must say your looks will be trouble. If it wasn't hideously bad for my self esteem, I might even admit you are prettier than me, which only makes things worse for you. If the leaders of the prison population are indeed taking an interest in you, you might be wise to take them up on that offer.”

 

She smiled and got to her feet, making a subtle motion that led to Irvine following her lead. “Mr. Kinneas,” she said, stretching out one hand to take his, “I do not spout garbage to my patients for a pay check. I do actually want to help you. And right now all I can really do is tell you to stay out of trouble, and take the opportunities you can get because you won't be getting a lot in here.”

 

Irvine shook her hand, slightly surprised at the strong hold and firm, single shake. For a woman- for a quack woman, she wasn't all that bad. Then again, they hadn't even begun to discuss his crimes, career, life, childhood, and whatever else she was going to dig up. Hell, he had a long time to spend in here. He was sure she'd find out plenty.

 

Quistis returned to her desk, sitting own and pressing a large, orange button on the phone. “Mr. Kinneas and I are done, you may escort him out now.”

 

Moments later one of the guards from outside the room came in and smiled at the woman behind the desk. “No troubles I see. Wonderful. Let's get you back now, Kinneas.”

 

“Oh, please. I simply cannot wait,” Irvine said, voice a robotic monotone for empahsis, walking over to the guard and rolling his eyes.

 

- - - - - - -

 

Seifer shuddered as Dr. Heartilly left the room so he could put his clothes back on. The girl could be a good doctor, but he doubted very much she'd ever make it in a prison. A whole lot of the inmates held very… unconventional views of her, and the rest joined in the teasing just for the reactions it got.

 

She would blush at nearly everything they threw at her, and as they laid it on thicker she just became more flustered. Seifer would have to remind himself not to surprise her when her hands were so near his more vital anatomy. Especially when her reaction was to tighten up say… her grip- ouch.

 

Drs. Heartilly and Kadowaki came back into the room and finished with the last of the medical details before an officer came in to escort Almasy back to the cell block. It was annoying, he noted, to have to go and see the doctors, but he was also glad the prison administration took notice of his status within their walls. It wasn't like every Joe and John in here were getting regular check ups.

 

He smirked to himself, striding down the hall towards his cell to drop off his jacket. When he got there he found Zell on his bunk, sprawled on his side and propped up on one elbow as he read a book.

 

“Ink,” Seifer said, voice dropping to a tone reserved for children and the feeble minded, “When the cells are open, you go outside; when the cells are closed, you waste your time reading books.”

 

The tattooed man looked up, closing the book and setting it on the floor. “I was out, but I figured your check up would be done around now and I thought I'd wait around in case you needed any…” he trailed off, eyes sliding down from deep green irises to below the blond's belt and back up again. “… help forgetting who last had their hands on you.”

 

Seifer rolled his eyes, hooking his jacket over one of the back corners of the cell's chair. “Aren't you just full of self sacrifice?” he commented wryly.

 

“Well,” Zell purred, shifted his weight on the bunk. “It wouldn't be complete self sacrifice.”

 

“Off my bunk,” the taller of the two said, coming over only long enough to grab Zell by the back of his singlet and haul him up and off the mattress. “I ain't wasting open-cell time getting a blow job when you're completely capable of doing that much later in the evening.”

 

Zell followed Seifer out of the cell and down the hall. “That mean I get to suck that big, strong cock of yours tonight?” he asked, voice dropping a bit and arms snaking around one of the older man's.

 

“I haven't decided yet,” he stated, rolling his shoulder and slipping his arm out of Zell's grasp, causing he shorter man to pout rather childishly. “You're pretty fucking eager, Ink. Maybe you should go release some of this tension with your boy.”

 

The tattooed blond sighed audibly. “He's in that alcohol awareness and responsibilities program session now.”

 

“So I'm second pick? Hoping to get a little action outta me since your little bitch is busy?” Although he hadn't meant it, his voice did have a touch of bite to it, not that speaking with any level of bite had even made Zell cringe or back down.

 

“You know it ain't like that, Jade!” the little blond said hurriedly. “You know you're always first pick in my books. You know that. `Sides, you haven't been quite so eager to do nothing with me since Paris showed up.”

 

“Ooo, yea. Since yesterday. Sorry I haven't thrown you down or against a wall in the last twenty-four hours.”

 

Zell made a face and half glared at the taller man. “Wouldn't be so bad if I didn't know you were eager to jump him instead.” He sighed and lifted his head to look up at the sky as they passed through the double doors into the yard.

 

“Please, Ink. It has been almost two years with you. Maybe I'm getting bored.” He smirked at the drop of the chin and look of utmost displeasure that comment caused. “You know I'm fucking with you, Ink.”

 

“You are such a fucking prick. Yea, I know. Oh-” he paused, looking over to the left. “Hn, you just remember, if you can't get a piece of Paris' sweet arse by the end of the week, you get ridda that built up tension, kay? I'm getting hailed by the Biker Boys so I'll catch up with you later.”

 

Seifer opened his mouth to say something, though he wasn't exactly sure what given the amount of things he could have replied to, but shut it as the younger blond left. He scoffed and shook his head. He'd never get used to Zell, because Zell never played by all the rules. On one hand, he was very, very much like Seifer's bitch, on the other hand he had one of his own. He would follow some of the orders he was given, but more often than not he'd just snort or laugh, and he never asked to leave before doing so.

 

His mental ramblings came to the same conclusion they always did; he wasn't a normal prisoner, and he was never going to be, nor have to be. And besides, being associated and near someone as emotionally positive as Zell did wonders for the body and mind.

 

“Hello,” Seifer said, coming up behind and to the right of his favourite new inmate to hate, voice soft and deep. “How was your meeting with Miss Lens?”

 

Irvine spun around and glared at his lovely blond stalker. “Lovely,” he said, turned to the side and watching a particularly odd series of hand gestures by one Zell Dincht on the other side of the yard. “She says I'm “agitated”.”

 

“No shit!” Seifer said, and laughed. “That's almost as bad as her telling me, “You don't like it here.””

 

The auburn hared man turned to give him an odd look. “What kind of an observation is that?” he asked, starting to wonder where the woman obtained any sort of certificate with which to practice.

 

“Actually, they're both fairly good if you think about it. Got you carrying on for a good long while I bet? Guess what, you say things you might not normally say when you're frustrated, mad and/or bewildered. She shocks the first rant out of everyone with something lame.”

 

Irvine eyes narrowed as he thought back on his session with the blonde woman. “Hm…” He had gone off when she'd said that. It had been such an understatement. He'd felt the need to clarify the injustice of his experiences thus far.

 

“Might want to keep that in mind from now on, Paris-”

 

“My name ain't fuckin' Paris!”

 

Seifer's hand shot out and grabbed the hitman by the chin, turning his face to look him in the eyes. “Listen up, pretty boy. You're in here, and you're in here for a long time. Be a little more appreciative that you've been given such a charming name on your first day, and by the big boys no less. That name came from Prof, who reports directly to Boss. And guess what? We all know you as `Paris', and you'd much rather be known.”

 

The knife was out again, the side of the blade flat against his index finger, the others curling around the handle. The other side of the knife was pressed to Seifer's stomach, the chill of the metal seeping past the singlet material and into his skin.

 

“Paris…” a voice came from the right.

 

Irvine looked up and Seifer drew away, releasing the other man's chin from between his fingers. Sky blue eyes narrowed and they glared into shining sapphires. The knife was instantly hidden again, so quickly Seifer hadn't caught the movement taken to hide it.

 

“How did you get that in here?” Zell asked, eyes flickering between the assassin's face and the place he'd seen the knife get hidden away. “That wasn't a shank. That was a fucking knife.”

 

“I'm talented,” Irvine said with a snarl in his voice. “You gonna confiscate it now, like a good little guard?”

 

Zell cocked a brow at him. “Uh… no, duh.” He gave Seifer a funny look then returned his gaze to the hitman. “Only way I'm taking it is if you do something serious, or I have good reason to believe you will do something serious. And besides…” he paused, glancing as Seifer again before reaching one hand behind Irvine's neck, pulling him in close while the other held the knife where it was hidden.

 

He leaned up to whisper into the taller man's ear on the opposite side Seifer was standing- and now glaring. “Listen, you're beautiful. That knife is your protection. But if you do something stupid I can't help you. And there are better ways of getting protection in here.” With that said he released the now glaring assassin and let him storm off.

 

“Way to go, Ink. I'm never going to fuck his sweet arse at this rate.”

 

“So sorry for wanting to make sure you didn't get a knife wound somewhere vital, or… inconvenient,” he said with a smirk. “Come on. `Noon lock up's just around the corner.”

 

“I hate you, Ink.”

 

“I know, Jade. I know.”