dousing: (Default)
memery. ([personal profile] dousing) wrote in [community profile] bakerstreet2016-11-12 12:15 pm



It's time to shake things up, everyone! Have you ever wondered how the other half lives? Well, now it's time to find out! We're gonna go really simple with it this time. Maybe you were a hero, now you're a villain. Maybe you were the older sibling and now you're the younger one. Maybe you were an ice cream man and now you're a super hero (who is also an ice cream man). Maybe you were a cop and now you're us instead. Essentially you're playing your character in a different kind of role than they would usually be in. If their personality hasn't changed how do they fit in their new role? If their personality HAS changed, how so? It's a fun thing to explore.

• Top level your character. If you'd like, put any preferences for what kind of role swap you'd like to play out, what your character's usual role is, so on and so forth.
• Reply to other characters! Canon, cross-canon, whatever. You can be a hero in one world and a villain in another without even changing your ideals.
• This is not actually a porn-specific meme! I mean, you can play porn obviously, but it also includes gen genre/role swap.
• Have fun!

hisideal: (coffee)

Hope | DCU

[personal profile] hisideal 2016-11-15 09:02 pm (UTC)(link)
Reports of a disturbance and gun shots came in at 4 am - that special time in homicide when you think that you might be able to end your shift without going out to a scene. By 4:15 patrol had arrived at the scene to find the owner of the condo dead, home ransacked, a recently fired hand gun still wrapped around her fingers.

By 4:50 homicide had officially arrived on scene and had begun the preliminary investigation, walking around the scene, taking notes, looking for witnesses and waiting for CSU. It was shortly after homicide started poking around that another call went out, again, and again, and again... Until, at 5:30 a cab pulled up to the location and dumped a long legged brunet out on the curb. It wasn't so much a dumping as it was a spilling of sorts, full of sensible shoes, rumpled twenty-four hour clothes and the scent of coffee and Bourbon. It was the Bourbon that came first, the coffee later in an attempt to both sober up and mask the scent of the previous drink.

It was a rookie mistake really, she should switch to vodka, anything covers up that scent.

The coffee was kind of working but more likely it was constant practice that kept her gait straight and her eyes focused on the stairs, the uniformed officers, and then the crime scene. Muscle memory of how to act like she had her fucking shit together, when she wasn't such a goddamn mess.

"It was an older model," one of the detectives is telling her through the Bourbon and caffeine. "Not known for their superior strength but strong enough, he's no where to be found."

A red dispassionate gaze fell on the older woman at her feet and she takes a sip of coffee. One of those days.
b26354: (Voight-Kampff)

[personal profile] b26354 2016-11-15 09:43 pm (UTC)(link)
It usually takes him about an hour to fly across the country. Granted, he can make it in a lot less, but it takes much more energy to do so. At this pace, its relaxation; he can get lost in the white noise of flying, the feeling of the wind like fingers through his tightly cropped hair and he can let go of all the things he'd seen in the last few days that bothered him.

The trips out to LA were good for that - for a number of reasons and he finds himself needing them more and more frequently. That's a problem, but it's one he continues to ignore.

Anyway, he can feel it when he gets into LA's airspace. There's something in the atmosphere that makes it heavier here. An irritant of some kind and it's one of the reasons that he finds himself glad he doesn't work out of this city full time. Flying around here all day would make his eyeballs itch. The architecture is also kind of garnish. There are those video screens all over the place and speakers that blare whatever is supposed to be being advertised to the citizens at the moment.

He likes the neon, though. The weighted dark with pops of color kind of reminds him of the person he comes out here to see. Rick heads directly to her slightly rundown neighborhood that he thinks of like a second home and he lands on her patio with the kind of grace a person would find obnoxious if anyone had been around to see it.

The sliding glass door's locked. Duty calls to her, too, after all. He makes himself comfortable sitting down and leaning his back up against the railing. Deckard doses off while he waits for her to come back.
hisideal: (hand to mouth watching window)

[personal profile] hisideal 2016-11-15 10:04 pm (UTC)(link)
It's a shit hole.

Occasionally she will make an effort to clean up the place, when she has time, when she is sober and the reality of her situation propels her to clean instead of hide in a bottle. When she thinks that he might be coming around. Though she never knows when that's going to be. She never knows why the fuck he continues to come around and sleep in a cement hole insulated with take out containers, empty bottles and mail she will never open or give a shit about. Behold: a shrine of her self loathing.

There was a recent attempt to clean up, the evidence is such that a bag of garbage and recycling is by the door but whatever good intentions ended there because everything else is still the same.

She sleeps on the couch most nights, there are books on the coffee table along with what you'd expect from a divorced Blade Runner with an occasional romantic partner who can fly: everything including a vid screen for long distance calls and communication.

By the time her keys are in the apartment lock what could only graciously be called a sun has risen and that's only true because it's well past six in the morning and as far as L.A. knows the sun still rises: it just never actually shows its face in this fucking place. Toeing off her shoes in the doorway she tosses her keys in the over flowing bowl of change and bar matchbooks by the door and the mail in a pile -- wherever, literally no one gives a shit.

It's that awful moment of half sober half drunk that is making her cranky, the nausea and headache that comes with the buzz wearing off and the knowledge that this is the first day of the rest of your life and your life is absolute garbage. This knowledge can easily be remedied by a drink and she is in the kitchen making one when she sees who is outside on the patio.

She should be happier but she's not and that makes her a monster: which means she pours herself a double.
b26354: (Dusk)

[personal profile] b26354 2016-11-15 10:31 pm (UTC)(link)
The sun rises even in LA: it's just harder to see through the smog.

He wouldn't expect her to understand why he likes her place. Ignoring the fact that it has her, it also has character - a dark and disorganized charm. It has pictures of things that she has vivid memories attached to. It has her belongings. If she had spent months living in a tank where all your sensory input was slowly and deliberately given to you in small chunks, she'd probably see the value in personalizing things a little bit more.

Not that he's complaining about the tank. It's given him, what he thinks, is a very wise perspective on living spaces.

What he doesn't quite understand is why she never seems as happy to see him as he feels to see her. It's not enough to make him want to give up on her. No. It's not his way. Even if it was, she's too important to just give up on. She's his friend. The only friend like this he has, as a matter of fact.

This time he's spared from the fact that she sees him and, instead of letting him in - goes to the kitchen and pours herself a drink. His eyes are closed and he's dreaming; looking almost too peaceful to be disturbed. That could be why she didn't come directly to him.
Edited 2016-11-15 22:38 (UTC)
hisideal: (gray tank top)

[personal profile] hisideal 2016-11-15 10:59 pm (UTC)(link)
It's not that she isn't happy to see him it's that she is ashamed of herself, of her life, her apartment. There is nothing good in her life but him and every time he appears her stomach tightens and she is given a crystal clear picture of what a waste of space she is and once again she is reminded that despite everything she has one lovely precious thing and one day that will be gone too.

You can always get another bottle when you run out. You can always change the channel: find something to take your mind off things. You can only lose a person once. Even if they come back they are still gone: everything you had before, that person, that happiness.

Except she could stop. She could clean up, sober up, but what if that makes no difference? What if: in the light of LA day they leave and you can see it all so clearly? John's leaving was blurry and she's not sure if that's because it took time (time she wasn't aware of) or because when she got the divorce papers she was drunk and that meant all backward glances were wet and swimming from there on out.

A gulp of her drink and she heads out to the patio telling herself the little white lie that she was letting him sleep: he needs it, he works so hard. As silent as her imperfect form can muster she sits down on the chair next to him: taking him in in the weak fog of morning.
b26354: (Voight-Kampff)

[personal profile] b26354 2016-11-15 11:24 pm (UTC)(link)
It's not her creeping that wakes him up. He doesn't have super-hearing and she can be pretty light on her feet, but that glass door is old and it scrapes along the metal grooves of the frame in such a way that does rouse him. The sight of her makes him smile; that he can't seem to help.

He does manage enough restraint not to bounce up to his feet and act stupidly happy to see her, though.

"Hey." Rick murmurs, the broad of his back remains against the railing as she slumps into the chair. "Early start or late night?"
Edited 2016-11-15 23:27 (UTC)
hisideal: (gaze away)

[personal profile] hisideal 2016-11-15 11:46 pm (UTC)(link)
He feels good to be next to: warm, light, the only sun in LA is standing on her patio. It punches her in the chest and for a moment she can't talk just sort of gape for air like a fish out of water. Sitting up she straddles the corner of the chair, elbows on her thighs. Her hands move together, fingers still looking for a golden band to spin: a fiddling habit when she wants a cigarette or can't find another way to hide her trembling hands as they dangle between her legs.

"A little bit of both," she finally replies.

She squints up at him in the white smog that gives that ghostly vibe in this empty silent neighborhood. It would be peaceful if the silence didn't make the sound of the voices in her head louder. They are quieting down, settled, sated, by the drink: the temporary tension in her shoulders fades.

"How was the flight? I saw you yesterday you know, on the news stand. You looked good, I mean, you always look good but yesterday you looked really good."
b26354: (Listening)

[personal profile] b26354 2016-11-16 12:11 am (UTC)(link)
He doesn't love the drinking. Or the smoking. It's so bad for her and he doesn't have to tell a woman who works for the police department that life is too short. There's no need to make it shorter with habits that they know will shorten it. He chides no more than once every five visits, though, because that seems like the right balance of expressing his concern without it becoming nagging. He can voice his discontent in two more visits.

"It was peaceful."

He loves flying. Rick admittedly has a bit of trouble remembering the days before the tank, but it's becoming increasingly challenging to think of his life in terms of having been a regular guy once. He likes all his abilities, in a lot of ways they define him. He like's flying the best, though.

"Oh you ... watched that." The smile spread across his lips is almost apologetic. Like she had caught him doing something that seemed crude. "I don't know why they make me talk as much as they do. I hardly know what to say half the time."

Moreover, it's not really helping anyone and that's what he wants to do. Those press conferences have always seemed like an unnecessary distraction, but Lex assures him they're important.
hisideal: (profile)

[personal profile] hisideal 2016-11-16 12:19 am (UTC)(link)
Hope nods her head in acknowledgement. The flight was good, peaceful. That sounds nice, a peaceful flight, somewhere over that expansive part of the world that is so, so foreign to her. When she was little they used to have programs about the east, the wide open world with no people, no pollution: where they can see the sun. Sometime in between that time and then they stopped showing those programs. Someone in the know, part of the department told her that no one wanted to watch them any more.

Why look at it if you won't ever get to go?

"I did, it was on TV." It was a watery moment. He stood out in the lights framed by bottles and a neon sign advertising a beer the bar didn't sell any more. It felt surreal, disconnected but connected in such a way that she was caught in a cerebral limbo. He was so far away but close in that digital masterpiece. "You have important things to say, people like listening to you: you give them comfort."
b26354: (Vulnerable)

[personal profile] b26354 2016-11-16 12:39 am (UTC)(link)
It was on TV. It was on the internet. It would get used to promote the LexCorp brand; which he doesn't mind so much, he knows they do important work. It's when he sees people making money advertising off of what he does that bothers him. Why on earth does a press conference have to be brought to you by Bud Light? And if it has to be brought you by anything can't it be something a little more healthy ... like smart water?

He has to shake the thoughts out of his head with a literal shake.

Deckard pushes himself onto his knees and off of the railing. Another new costume, black and silver, hug his form like a second skin. It covers him, sure, but it doesn't exactly hide the way his muscles flex as he moves. He walks on his knees over to face her, getting right into her personal space. If she has a free hand, he'll cover over it with one of his.

"Yeah, that sounds like what PR tells me. What did you think about it? And be honest with me, please."
Edited 2016-11-16 00:41 (UTC)
hisideal: (force a smile)

[personal profile] hisideal 2016-11-16 12:50 am (UTC)(link)
Honesty is one of those things that always looks better in the movies and in books. It works there because those aren't really people in there, they are controlled by print and script. Their destiny is already written, their thinking free of emotion. There is never certainty in the old adage: honesty is the best policy.

He's right there too with clear eyes and a gaze he never drops out of shame or having something to hide. Sometimes she forgets what they look like: she can never maintain eye contact for very long. When she can manage that long gaze she always gets lost in it.

"You are doing good work, Handsome. I know helping people means a great deal to you." Except they are using you, they are selling a brand and a name that somehow always rises above the shit but still stinks. They have you under their control and you'll never be as fee or as effective as you want.

Her hand turns and gives his a squeeze. "It's a great way to get your message out." Her tongue seems to fall backward into her throat and all she can do is smile and choke on it.
b26354: (Piano)

[personal profile] b26354 2016-11-16 01:16 am (UTC)(link)
He didn't even know he was holding his breath while waiting for Hope's answer and when he gets it, he seems ... well, puzzled by it. He exhales deeply. It's an unsatisfying answer because it seems honest and yet, not very genuine at the same time. The people around him seem to be masters of spinning their answers in such a way - including her.


He says that, but he's clearly unsure. Rick supposes he'll change the subject. What's going on with him and the LexCorp machine is his knot to unravel and the truth is, he'd rather not think about it right now.

"I've been thinking about you a lot lately." His voice gets all sweet as he relays that truth to her. "I'm glad to see you."
hisideal: (gaze away)

[personal profile] hisideal 2016-11-16 02:45 am (UTC)(link)
She can't see him upset. He deserves to never be upset, to have his world always be blue skies and sunshine. If everything can be okay with him everything will be alright with them. That makes sense, doesn't it?

It did at least ten seconds ago.

The smile she had tacked up strains and falls, it's such an unnatural form for her mouth except when he's around. Then she breaks out the good stuff, the pure, reserved smiles just for him. That uncertainly in his voice gets her hand to raise and put on his shoulder gently for a little pat.

"Oh?" Goodness, she can only know what he's been thinking about with her. "What have you been thinking about when it comes to me?"
b26354: (Vulnerable)

[personal profile] b26354 2016-11-16 03:54 am (UTC)(link)
He's not upset very often, but he doesn't like feeling like he's being deceived. A lot of people he's surrounded by seem to be saying the kind of things that make him feel that way, so. Deck is feeling used to it.

"Oh, you know."

Her touch on his shoulder is nice. She doesn't know that she's about the only person who touches him gently. He gets proded like a specimen sometimes. Other times people have tried to knock him around. Oh ... and overly forward women seem to like to feel his muscles, but Hope treats him like a person.

It kinda makes him feel floaty when she does it.

"Just lonely, I guess. I mean, I'm around people all day, but I don't feel like know them at all. Even when I try ... I just wish I was talking to you instead."
Edited 2016-11-16 03:59 (UTC)
hisideal: (gray tank top)

[personal profile] hisideal 2016-11-16 04:02 am (UTC)(link)
He is the only person she gets hugs from and she gives hugs to. Granted her giving hugs isn't a thing that happens a lot but if he reaches for one or she thinks he really needs one, she's right there for him. More often she has been giving him hugs when he leaves: if it's possible, sometimes he just has to bolt.

Now seems like a good shoulder pat kind of moment, she's still feeling warm and sort of lucid on liquor and caffeine. "Well you certainly know me, for what it's worth. I'm still sorry that you do for what it's worth." Giving his shoulder a squeeze she lets her hand drop.

"Well, we're used to one another, it feels good when you talk to someone whose used to you, who knows you. It makes sense, I feel that way sometimes."
b26354: (Default)

[personal profile] b26354 2016-11-16 04:22 am (UTC)(link)
He might be the only one she give and gets hugs to now, but she's dropped the info that she'd been married before. That's gotta be something. He can't ever remember thinking about what that would be like until she mentioned that she had been.

He ... thinks maybe he had a girlfriend before he got sick, but those memories are hazy. Just fragments of things that barely make any sense at all. He can say for sure he hasn't had one since.

"It does."

Deckard lets go of her hand. Sits himself back down on the patio. He doesn't feel like he should probe her anymore. He knows that she thinks about him too and misses him when he's not around or else they wouldn't be messaging back and forth like they do, right? He shouldn't want more. It would be awful to mess up what he has with her.

"So, What did they end up getting you out of bed early for?"
hisideal: (little red riding hood)

[personal profile] hisideal 2016-11-16 04:27 am (UTC)(link)
Turning her head slightly she watches him sit down on the patio and then glances around at the white smog of LA. Slowly she stands up and offers a hand down to him even though she knows that he doesn't need it. "Lets not sit out here, we'll go inside and I'll make you something to eat how about that? If we stick around out here too long we'll get cancer."

Probably not super far from the truth.

Also: she is cold and thinking about the coffee she has waiting inside and what might be in her fridge. There is always noodles. "A murder. You don't want to hear about it, boring stuff."
b26354: (Dusk)

[personal profile] b26354 2016-11-16 04:36 am (UTC)(link)
He doesn't need her hand, but he'll take it anyway. There's not any reason he can think to stay out here, but it's not as if he's going to insist they should go into her apartment either. Let it be her idea and he can come along for the ride amicably

"Food sounds good."

He doesn't remember the last time he ate. Maybe yesterday afternoon? It was a while ago.

On his feet, Rick looks every bit the superhero he's dressed as. Strong and lean. Broad shouldered. Ready to run into the place that most people are trying to run out of.
hisideal: (bite lip dark gaze)

[personal profile] hisideal 2016-11-16 01:03 pm (UTC)(link)
Food does sound good she should have thought of this before but she had completely forgot in a shocking turn of events.

Hand in hand she leads them out of the ghost fog into the apartment shutting the sliding glass door behind them. "I like the outfit," she comments. "Much better than the last one," this one is a bit more him than the previous one which was ridiculous in her opinion. This one is better but still stupidly revealing.

When they are inside she will let go of his hand and pick up a few containers that are obviously in the way. "Want something to drink? Juice? Coffee?"
b26354: (Vulnerable)

[personal profile] b26354 2016-11-16 01:36 pm (UTC)(link)
It's fine. He doesn't come to see her because he expects her to feed him, although, half the time it seems as if someone doesn't remind him, Rick forgets about it. Usually, it ends up being the job of his handlers out in Metropolis - which probably like because then they can control his diet. There's a lot of elements of his life they like to control when given the chance to.

Still, he takes her hand without hesitation. He always marvels how well it seems to fit in hers. Like his was meant to be there with hers.

"I like this one better too." He doesn't love it, but it seems like with every redesign they come a little closer to satisfying him. There comes a point where they have to put him in something, though. "I get the sense they feel like I'm impossible to please. At least when it comes to the costume."

The other thing he's noticed about holding her hand is always how much he misses it when she does have to let go. Deckard smooths his newly vacant hand over the muscle of his thigh.

"Whatever you got, Hope. Water would be fine if that's easier."
hisideal: (pilfered)

[personal profile] hisideal 2016-11-16 02:03 pm (UTC)(link)
"Never settle," she tells him. "It's your look, you want to feel good and comfortable in it. They have the brains, they should make it work." Because telling him to fight for the color and type of costume is a generally easy battle it's easy to agree on, there's no real room for contention: it's just a costume. It's a small thing though, maybe first the costume, then the press conferences and the branding.

Her palms feel sweaty: she rubs them on the thighs of her slacks and disappears into the kitchen tossing away the trash as she does so.

She will pour him a glass of orange juice and start the coffee maker. "You need something with more in it than water," hence the orange juice, plus she's not too sure about the water quality here. The morning calls for omelettes, she has eggs and leftovers, always leftovers, usually LA Asian (she likes to call it). Spicy chicken with veggies, broccoli and beef...

"Chicken or beef?" Is the ask as she preps the coffee.
b26354: (Dusk)

[personal profile] b26354 2016-11-16 02:19 pm (UTC)(link)
Rick hasn't figured out if she's got rebellious tendencies or if she just want's him to have rebellious tendencies. All the same, he kind of likes that Hope will usually give him a much different kind of advice than the think tank he's surrounded by. Make him feel like when he doesn't see eye to eye with Lex's people that there might be something to it.

More generally he doesn't have a lot of people around him that validate his feelings or even his thoughts.

"Whichever one you want? I'll have the other one."

He thinks he's being helpful and considerate in that sense, but he doesn't quite realize that it's frustrating to have someone not make a choice. He seems to be eying the beef a little bit more than the chicken though and that's what he generally seems to favor in terms of protein in the past.

He takes a pretty quick sip of the juice and then he asks, "can I help with anything?"
hisideal: (brown eyes head tilt)

[personal profile] hisideal 2016-11-16 02:28 pm (UTC)(link)
Hope gives him a rather amused look.

"You get the beef then," she prefers spicy anyway and she of course knows that he prefers the beef: she pays attention when he orders food.

Generally she wouldn't ask for help, she is competent in the kitchen at least when it comes to making breakfast type foods. Except she also knows that not only is beef his preferred protein but he also likes to be helpful and she really shouldn't discourage that.

Looking around she spots the dishes, just a few, most of the time she doesn't use things that can be reused more than once so there aren't stacks of dishes in there - but there is the bowl she usually uses to make eggs in. "Could you wash the dishes?"
b26354: (You're Talking About Memories)

[personal profile] b26354 2016-11-16 02:44 pm (UTC)(link)
That's another nice thing about Hope. She pays attention to the things he likes. There's not a lot of other people who do that and the thought of it makes him smile as he steps over to the sink.

Washing dishes is usually the default task he's expected to be assigned when he asks her if she wants help. It makes him feel good to be able to help Hope specifically. Helping anyone is a privilege and he finds it worthwhile no matter who he's trying to lend a hand to, but ... he'd be lying if he said it didn't feel a little extra special to do something for her.

Anyway, he starts grabbing the nearby dishes and gets to work. Depending on how long they've been sitting around he might start by scrubbing them with something abrasive under the hot water or he might just start filling the sink with sudsy water. He's really good at scrubbing off the stuck on things, but he has also broken a plate getting a little too into the superscrubbing.

Sorry Hope. He still feels bad about that.
hisideal: (drink water)

[personal profile] hisideal 2016-11-16 03:01 pm (UTC)(link)
He shouldn't feel bad about that, they are just things, they can be replaced they aren't even remotely important. Lets be honest, if he broke them super scrubbing then they probably should have been tossed in the first place. After months of caked on food and garbage, some thing are just best just tossed.

One thing she will admit: they have an easy way together when they do things. There isn't a whole lot of talking sometimes but she is okay with that, she just likes his presence: it secretly means a lot to her.

While he works on the dishes she will start with the meal, finding her frying pan, oiling it up a bit and putting it on medium to low heat in order to get it nice and warmed up. When he is done with the bowl she needs for the eggs she'll dry it by wiping it on the edge of her button down shirt.

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