insomnia

[memespiration]

the i n s o m n i a meme

It happens to everyone - sometimes, you have nights where you just can't fall asleep, no matter what you do. It could be for a number of reasons, or no reason at all. And this is what's happened now: you've been laying in bed for what feels like hours, just tossing and turning, and nothing seems to help. So what's left to do? Get out of bed and go wake someone else up, of course. If you're not getting any sleep, then why should they? i n s t r u c t i o n s • Post with your character (note the name and fandom in the subject). • Other people reply to you by generating a number from 1 to 10. • Have fun! o p t i o n s 01 • FEAR. Maybe you're hearing strange, indeterminable noises; maybe there's a severe storm happening outside; maybe you watched a scary movie before bed? Whatever the reason, you're terrified and it's keeping you awake. You just want to wake someone else up so they can protect you from the monster in your closet. 02 • HUNGER. Your stomach is growling and it just won't stop. Or perhaps your throat is so dry you could cough up a tumbleweed? Well, you've gone to the kitchen to remedy this and hey, that was a pan that just dropped on the floor. It was loud enough to wake the dead! Oops. 03 • PAIN. Your body is completely worn out, be it from exercise, battle, sickness, or what have you. Either way you're in enough pain to keep you from sleeping, so maybe someone else has a home remedy or something, or can at least help you take your mind off of it. 04 • SOLITUDE. For some reason, your bed just feels so empty at the moment. You're feeling terribly lonely and really just want someone to keep you company for a while. Maybe it'd be easier to fall asleep if you're with them... 05 • DISCOMFORT. Your room is an oven. Either that or a freezer. Or maybe this bed is just really uncomfortable? Who knows why you can't get to sleep, it feels like it could be anything. Why even bother trying? Maybe someone else can preoccupy you until you feel tired enough to ignore your discomfort. 06 • PENSIVE. Something's on your mind, and no matter how hard you try to focus elsewhere, it's just not going to work. Your body may be tired, but your mind is incredibly busy and it's virtually impossible to get to sleep. Surely, talking it out with someone else will help? 07 • SADNESS. Something terrible has happened that day, perhaps; or you could just be severely depressed. Either way you're trying your hardest not to cry yourself to sleep, and it's not working at all. Better find a way to get it out of your system somehow; you need a shoulder to cry on. 08 • ANGER. You are just... fuming. Who knows why - that annoying dog is barking again, or maybe the people next door are getting busy and keeping you awake. Whatever the reason for your ire is, you'd better put an end to it so you can get some damn rest already! Go wake up a friend so you can complain to them. 09 • RESTLESS. You're far too energetic to sleep right now. Maybe you're just trying to do so out of necessity - you have to be up early tomorrow! But you just don't think you'll be able to fall asleep for a while now, so why waste the time trying to sleep when you could be doing something else? Namely bothering someone else - you're totally jealous because they're getting more sleep than you. 10 • WILDCARD. Choose one of the options above, or make up your own scenario.

Comments

Irene Adler || BBC Sherlock

[womanwhobeatyou]

((OOC: She can also insomnia-text))

3

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

[They land in their respective twin beds in the polite, beige carpet beige walls brown bedspreads pay-per-view movie cookie cutter clean linen familiarity of an American hotel chain, identical no matter what Godforsaken corner of the world you might be in. One shower, he gets it first, but is quick, and soon they're both clean of dust and dirt, free to recuperate before trying to get out of the country. The room is air conditioned and quiet, there are terry cloth hotel robes to curl up in, a small minifridge with ungodly priced alcohol that he cracks open right away, pouring a thumb of scotch each.

Now, Sherlock does pass out the moment his head hits the pillows, thanks to the drink on top of the little pill from that kit, but it doesn't last. He twists in his sleep, robe sliding down, revealing purpled bruises on his pale chest, and within a few hours he's wrenched back to wakefulness with a gasp, by the pressure against his side. He rolls onto his back, not quite aware that she's up in the dark with him.]

[womanwhobeatyou]

[Irene was starting to think she might be too comfortable to fall asleep. She'd gotten too used to the minor irritations, to the sand and dirt that got everywhere, to uncomfortable beds that were little more than cloth over something marginally softer than a plank floor, to the thousand protestations of a body bruised and broken, and a mind that had gotten far too good at listening for the slightest noise as if it were a signal to run.

And when most of those were gone, the grit finally scoured out of every bruise, every cut, the mattress beneath her positively cloud-like without even the hint of a rough board or rock beneath her... Irene still found her mind restless, determined to think through all the things she had spent the past few weeks not thinking about. Things that would have been nothing but an exercise in futile hope until now.

Aliases. Places to avoid. People to avoid. Identification documents. Money. Backstories. All the things that a real, new life would need.

A line of thought that was interrupted by a gasp, and the squeak of bedsprings.

She waits a few minutes, waiting to hear if his breathing falls back to rhythmic sleep, but when it doesn't her voice is clear in the dark silence.]

There's still scotch left.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

[Sherlock groans softly, and sits up, crawling off the get to go get another drink, another pill. He cinches the robe closed properly, since the room isn't that dark.]

You aren't sleeping?

[He doesn't like obvious questions, but he's groggy and a little medicated still.

Being voluntarily awake right now is unfathomable.]

[womanwhobeatyou]

[She resists the urge to shift onto her side to follow his progress, because while the sand is gone and the dirt is gone, there are still far too many bruises and scrapes and what she is starting to suspect is a cracked rib to make moving appealing.

Instead, Irene closes her eyes and smiles.]

I'm too busy thinking.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

Escape plans?

[Asking curiously.]

Have one of these? There are a few left.

[womanwhobeatyou]

I think I've proven I don't do well in this country alone.

[She almost says no to be contrary, but then Irene realizes she does want the drink (and maybe the painkillers) and sighs as she pulls herself upright, moving deliberately to keep from jarring anything. Her own robe is untied and hangs off one shoulder, but her hand keeps it closed around her waist.

In any other circumstance she would have just left it on the floor, let him stutter while she wore confidence like a second skin, but there's too much he can read right now, too many bruises and cuts that hinted at too much failure and too many vulnerabilities. So she keeps the robe on and picks up an empty glass.]

I'm surprised you wanted a second. Not afraid of dulling your senses of observation?

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

There's precious little to observe in here for the next few hours.

[Tossing the pill bottle at her.]

Perhaps I'm reliving my college days.

[womanwhobeatyou]

Too sentimental.

[She manages a clumsy catch, and pockets the bottle for a moment as she pours a measure of scotch into the glass. And out comes the bottle again, every movement carefully one handed.]

And too tame. No doubt there were university chemistry labs to pilfer from.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

Mm. You wouldn't believe the highs you manage- my minor was in chemistry, you know.

[A tiny snippet of personal information. Everyone in London will read about in the paper in a few months, but for now Irene is one of a special few.]

[womanwhobeatyou]

[A laugh at that. She can imagine. It takes her two tries to manage the bottle of painkillers, but Irene palms one and picks up the scotch.] Do you mean to tell me you only minored in one of the sciences?

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

It's the only one the department didn't elect to kick me out of.

[Grinning at the ceiling.]

I started in four.

[womanwhobeatyou]

[She laughs again, this time a little more freely, a little less carefully, and the act pulls at her side. Irene hides the wince behind a drink of scotch.]

Because you shared your discoveries?

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

No, no. Strictly based off actual personality, and a case or two interfering.

I was also never one to complete assignments I didn't enjoy.

[May have made a difference.]

[womanwhobeatyou]

[The scotch slides easily down her throat and pools warm in her stomach. She might not even need the painkiller. Not given the exhaustion, the amount of weight that'd been shed through the trek. The alcohol might be enough.

Still, she sounds amused as she murmurs]

Maybe I should have tried this the first time we met, rather than the heels.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

Liquor, narcotics, and cracked ribs?

[He answers back, rolling onto his side to look at her in the dark.]

You need more than a willing mind, Miss Adler. The body must also be able, and between the two of us right now I doubt we could shag our way out of a paper bag.

[My goodness, he is loopy. He hears it as he says it, and presses a hand to his forehead, controlling his... colourful streak.]

[womanwhobeatyou]

[Despite her best efforts, she has to laugh at that, and it hurts to, but she simply cannot help it. Part amusement and part relief at the fact that maybe just maybe they will actually manage to get out of this forsaken country.

Irene caves and takes the painkiller, washing it down with the last of the scotch, and manages to set the glass back down despite chuckling.]

Tsk tsk, Mr. Holmes. I was talking about learning more about the detective. But I'm flattered all the same.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

[He's laughing too, the soft, private one he generally saves for John.

God, but he's tired. To the point of hysteria, nearly.]

Well. The chemists kept me, shall we leave it at that?

[For a minor, at least.]

[womanwhobeatyou]

[Irene makes her way back to the other twin bed and eases herself back into a reclining position with a sigh.]

Since when have I ever left anything interesting well enough alone?

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

School was the least interesting thing I have ever done.

[Rolling his eyes.]

[womanwhobeatyou]

[The alcohol, at least, is starting to kick in. It doesn't do much to send Irene off to sleep but it takes the harsher edges off her thoughts, makes them feel less urgent.]

Who said I was talking about schooling?

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

[Another deep chuckle, and he stretches gingerly, limbs feeling heavy in the cool sheets.]

[womanwhobeatyou]

[She says nothing for a while, content to let the alcohol and the painkiller do its work. The painkiller does help, but there's only so much alcohol can do to dull her mind, and the thoughts are back, this time freed by the combined drugs and alcohol to loosen her inhibitions enough to speak them.]

French or American?

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

Hmm?

[Glancing over.]

[womanwhobeatyou]

[She closes her eyes, but that doesn't actually help quiet the pace at which her mind insists on going. If anything that just makes her less distracted.]

For an alias. And don't say German, I make a terrible German.