Pierre looked up from the tear in his suit's sleeve that he had been tending to and patiently listened to the plump man's slowly pronounced interrogation. He straightened himself up and clasped his hands behind his back.
"Well, monsieur," he began, "first off, I would like to... thank you for taking me in on such a short notice." He grinned at his mock courtesy. He could tell that his opponent thought himself to be in control of the situation, but he saw no reason not to have his own fun with the man's calm facade. He took a deep breath before continuing.
"I came to Kusari for two reasons, to make money and to get away from Gallia," Pierre huffed jokingly. "It appears as though neither worked out too well, oui?" Leisurely, he leaned against the metal bars that separated him from the interrogator. "But I had to try. After all, I was a hunted man in Gallia, so I could not remain there. And with a few... donations from friendly Kusarians I could have surely managed to cross over onto the right side of the law in your new republic."
He yawned slowly. The short man was still standing beside his desk, patiently waiting for Pierre to continue. Instead of doing so, the Gaul decided to check on his sleeve again. He frowned when he once more saw the long, irreparable tear in the expensive cloth. Underneath the gray jacket, the white of his shirt could be seen. He would need to buy a new outfit once he was released. Or once he managed to escape. After remaining silent for several minutes, Pierre noticed his opponents posture slacking a little. The plump man's similarly plump hands had slowly curled into fists at his sides and his eyes squinted a little as he waited for further information.
Pierre sighed reluctantly.
"Well, monsieur, I am sure you can gather all the information you require from the report that the Lieutenant left behind."
He folded his hands at the small of his back once more, cocked his head to one side and smiled.
"Or is there something you absolutely need me to clarify?"
Gaikotsu apparently could not give any meaning to all these elaborate expressions the prisoner was showing. He remained his usual distanced self; patient and unattached to the scenery around himself.
Was the prisoner having fun though, Gaikotsu wondered. Being behind the iron bars and on the verge of losing everything he had done with his life up to this point was something he could really take lightly of? Was it because he really felt easy enough, or was it because he couldn't understand the seriousness of his situation? Maybe he was only forcing himself to look like he's calm, like many would do to deceive what they thought as a threat, as it's an automatic defence mechanism.
The tokkeitai agent wanted to drag himself back to the desk to quickly scribble somethings on the dossiers. It would take a while until he was done; until he raised his emotionless face to the prisoner again.
"We are sorry, Duweru-san... however your suggestion... will not work quite well... in our situation... as there are many.... things... Taiyouji-san's report would not include... about you... Things that we wish to... learn..." he took a deep, slow breath, "Why did you... want to leave Gallia?... Why are you... hunted there?..."
He then continued on, with a little less pause between the last sentence this time, "The way you wanted to... leave... is rather illogical... Apparently... you had the resources... to buy and maintain a vessel... of gunboat size... Instead of wasting your resources on that... vessel... and trying to gain more resources... through piracy... you could directly come to... Kusari and use those resources... to buy your freedom... here..." he shook his head with a barely recognizable motion... "However... now you're caught... and have lost your ship... both your resources... and your means to gain resources..."
Here was the question that mattered, afterwards... "Duweru-san... how is your... financial situation... especially after this loss?"
"Monsieur, my finances are more or less nonexistent. If they were, my ship would have been equipped well enough to take on two fighters." He smiled at the short man sitting at his table. His lack of size made him look comical as his feet dangled several centimeters above the floor. Pierre had a hard time taking him seriously, despite the gravity of the situation he was in and the air of authority that revolved around the interrogator.
"I did not buy the Rapiere, I - how do you Sirians call it? - purloined it. It happened to be moored to the prison station I was stuck in, so it turned out to be a convenient means of escape." Pierre thought back to the wild pursuit through the station's airlocks followed by the even wilder pursuit through space as half a dozen police fighters peppered his newly "acquired" ship with bolts of energy. Despite the opposition, he had managed to escape from the ships and, after days of floating through nebulae and asteroid fields, repairing the Rapiere as best he could, found a way out of Gallia.
"So, as you may be able to imagine, I was lacking credits when I arrived here. That is why I resorted to piracy." Pierre looked back out of his cell's small window into the blue void of the Shikoku system. He marveled at the beauty of it.
Still gazing out into the distance, he continued, "As to why I am considered a criminal in Gallia? I was as much of a brigand there, monsieur, as I am... was here."
Smiling again, he turned back to face the stout man sitting on the other side of the metal bars that imprisoned Pierre.
"Have I managed to satisfactorily answer all of your questions, monsieur?"
The strange little man who identified himself as 'Unit Gaikotsu' - What was that even supposed to mean - didn't look quite satisfied. Well.. It was actually quite difficult to say, granted the lack of expression those lacklustre eyes were able to display.
He wrote during a while in a notebook, sometimes asking him a question about the situation in Gallia, his ties with various criminals groups or what he knew about Bretonia.
Eventually, he got rid of him by gesturing a guard he was done. He barely said him good bye, even. What were those strange people. And what the hell was Tokubewhateveryousay? And who would pay him a new suit?
Pierre was reflecting on those grave subjects as the two guards were bringing him back to the wonderful little cell he came to appreciate lately.
But when they arrived, he had the unpleasant surprise to find it was presently occupied by... Some guy.
"Excusez moi, Monsieur le gardien." pondered Pierre politely, as he was noticing one of his minders was opening the cell "But it appears this room is occupied... Hey!" He eventually yelled, as the guards were pushing him in. Eventually, one of them uttered in a bad english before bursting out laughing : "The hotel is overbooked tonight, honourable customer. But don't worry, you will get a cut."
They then left. Pierre didn't try to argue with those. Braindead.
Sighing, he eventually turned around to take a look at this new cell mate.
Some Kusarian dude, who was presently breezily gazing at him.
Could have been worse.
The man had been sleeping for a while when the new prisoner arrived. The long hours of travel from one corner of Kusari to the other had built up the fatigue in him. His last flight near Aomori, where he had managed to steal half a shipment of h-fuel form a GMG convoy, had been almost perfect. Unfortunately, the cops at Akita had began to wonder why would a ship belonging to the Hogosha been traveling so near to GMG places considering their current animosity, and stopped him to investigate. He almost made them believe that he had bought the h-fuel from Kishiro and that he had lost the purchase registry when the cops started hearing about the lost ships near Aomori.
Not being enough to charge him with piracy, they arrested him for possession of stolen goods and sent him to Fuchu.
He already managed to report to his boss, and had to stay for the night before arrangements for his release could be finalized.
When he heard the door opening, he wasn't expecting the foreigner who had been brought in, and listening talking in a strange language piqued his attention.
Even if it was the first time meeting one, he could see he wasn't a regular foreigner, at least up until the time Gallia became involved in the affairs of Kusari.
Standing up from the bed the prisoner examined the new arrival form top to bottom. He then pointed to a pair of shoes neatly aligned near the entrance of the cell and said:
"Anoo, Gallia-jin-san, can I ask you to leave your shoes over there? It helps keeping the place clean."
He then gestured to the bed he had left, the only in that cell.
"You sit there. Sleep if you want." he said, unsure of how to address the situation properly.
He moved his hand to his utility belt, only to remember that it had been emptied by the police while he was there. Sitting on a chair on the other side of the small cell, he kept his gaze all the time to the other guy, observing his actions.
Pierre looked at the man sitting in the corner of the cell in amazement. Unconsciously, he touched the torn sleeve of his suit. The guard's rough handling of the material as they dragged him here had made it even worse. Regaining his posture, he politely nodded his gratitude for the other man's offer to sit on the bed. He then carefully bent down, took off his shoes, and placed them beside the pair that was already standing by the door, before then proceeding to sit down on the mattress.
"Bonjour, monsieur," he said after a moment's pause in which he considered whether he should address the stranger in English or French. He chose the latter, as he considered a greeting in his somewhat heavily accented English to be almost impolite - an impression he of course did not want to make on someone who had so far been very courteous to him.
"My name is Pierre Duvier, may I know yours?" Pierre smiled at the other man. The Kusarian seemed to be as uncomfortable with the situation as he was. Again, his new habit of fondling his damaged suit returned as he expectantly awaited his cell-mate's reply.
"Hasebe, Kaito Hasebe. Most of the people just call me the Fisheman." he added without much consideration. Who knows if he recently had told his real name to anyone, giving to his frequent use of aliases.
"So Piere.... Pierre-san. I heard that a big ship came recently to the station, a foreign one. I guess... it was yours, right?"
The Fisherman stops for a moment to hear the movements in the corridor. The guards were silent, and everything was normal. Feeling at ease, he resumed the conversation.
"It's not everyday we meet Gallia-jin around here. What brought you to this esteemed prison, if I can ask?"
He noticed the other's concern about the clothes and the apparent damage they had.
"You don't look much like a pirate, I guess you were attempting to smuggle something no?" he said, while stroking the short beard he had around his chin.
Pierre gazed at his cellmate, the Fisherman. Interesting name, he thought. It had a certain ring to it.
"Well," he began, finally managing to stop his hand from stroking his torn sleeve, "I would not necessarily call myself a pirate. I consider myself more as a... what do you Sirians call it? A 'jack of all trades'?"
He smiled a slightly nervous smile. The other man's openness had taken him quite by surprise and his curiosity, while seeming a little too blatant, also flattered him a bit. The man's attitude was definitely a nice change from the interrogator's.
"I smuggled when I got a chance to smuggle and pirated when I got a chance to pirate, vous voyez?"
He slowly leaned back against the cold metal wall of the cell, patting the mattress underneath him as he did so. He didn't remember the last time he had seen a bed in a Gallic prison.
"Sadly, I got caught this time. I wasn't going to harm the transport or its crew, but the naval pilots seemed to think otherwise." Pierre's smile became a bit broader and more earnest. "So here I am. At least the starscape provides a pleasant view."
He cocked his head a little bit, trying to get a different angle on his cellmate.
The fisherman gazed to the outside while listening to Pierre's story. He could see what the Gallian meant about the starscape. He had been in many places himself, but Kusari and specially Shikoku had this unique feeling attached to it. It felt it moved by a different dynamic, had a different soul to it.
The Gallian also gave a feeling of difference to him. He knew that foreigners had a reputation of being more open with their emotions, but rarely in a way that was initially pleasing to the Fisherman. Those who had power had a conduct that allowed them to show their pride and assert their influence. Those below them always showed an obsessive concern for their job, a need for profit and a diligence that sometimes robbed them of their intelligence and sometimes of their human aspect.
He turned his attention again to the cell companion, the tale of his latest deeds concluded.
"Seems you attracted too much attention upon yourself. The navy has a keen eye for the unusual in their space, and they get a lot of it."
He then continued in a somewhat joking tone, like he was telling a lie he himself didn't believe.
"In my case, I was wandering around Honshu system far beyond the planet. I was looking for a good fishing spot when I stumbled a GMG transport full of hellium-3. Those things are quite a good catch, I might say.
However, one of the escorts escaped, and when I thought I managed to hide my tracks, the police at Akita stopped me and found my cargo.
Usually the GMG aren't that fast to admit they lost something in Kusari, hehe."
He then leaned forward, closer to the other one.
"So, will you stay here for long? Or will you do anything other than working as a prisoner on the fishing factories?"
Pierre listened intently to the Fisherman's short tale. He had heard of the GMG and its valuable Helium-3 business - in fact, he had hoped to catch one of their transports himself, before he was so rudely interrupted by the Kusarian navy.
After a moment of silence, Pierre smiled at his cellmate and said, "Well, I'm hoping to get a chance to... pardon myself from this station. I wouldn't mind getting back into the Rapier and trying my luck elsewhere, though I'm afraid it may be too badly damaged to let me escape."
He glanced at the Fisherman, keeping his smile up. It had taken on a mischievous character.
"I doubt you want to be here for long either, monsieur. Perhaps we can come up with a plan together?"
Pierre leaned back against the cold wall again, for a brief moment forgetting about the terrible rip that had ruined his suit forever.