#dorobou

Lupin pats Zenigata's head a little too hard. He's tousling his hair, or at least he thinks he is. More accurately put, he's rubbing a bald spot into the poor boy's scalp...

🗯️ ❝ 𝙶𝚁𝚁𝚁-- 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃'𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙱𝙸𝙶 𝙸𝙳𝙴𝙰, 𝙶𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙳𝙿𝙰?!? ARE YOU TRYING T' PISS ME OFF?! ❞ Swat swat swat--! KICK KICK KICK---! BITE BITE BITE BITE-----!!!

@dorobou

This was where they met: a weather-beaten cabin tucked deep within the woods. It was small, aged, and carried the faint, persistent scent of rot—like something long forgotten by time. Secluded, yes, but inconveniently so. Still, neither of them seemed to mind. As long as the job got done, the setting hardly mattered.

They were both criminals, though of different persuasions. Their vices didn’t align, but one thing did: a shared love of money. Cold, hard, untraceable.

Standing across from him was Arsène Lupin Troi—the infamous gentleman thief, elegant even now, though disheveled. He clutched a blood-streaked bandage pressed tightly to his shoulder. Sloppy. That wasn’t like him. Something must’ve gone sideways during the last heist. The doctor assumed, not unreasonably, that the police might be trailing close behind. If that was the case, the price of his services would go up—hazard pay.

He hits hard and fast, a clean tackle that sends them both to the ground in one big giggling heap. The bear hug may as well be lethal, with how hard Zenigata 𝚂𝚀𝚄𝙴𝙴𝚉𝙴𝚂 the poor thief. There's no escaping this time. And though his approach had been silent, what comes next... Is not.

"AND FOR MY NEXT TRICK... I will be guessing your underwear color... Correctly."

"Pink with white polka dots. Lacey briefs?"

⚖️ 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙱𝙻𝚄𝚂𝙷 𝙸𝚂 𝙸𝙼𝙼𝙴𝙳𝙸𝙰𝚃𝙴-- a red hot wave that leaves him rigid, wide-eyed, sputtering. It's a game the thief likes to play, a game Zenigata should know better than to feed into. And yet...