bakerstreet | throw it out the window

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throw it out the window

The Defenestration Meme
...it seemed like a good idea at the time.

dēˌfenəˈstrāSHən
noun
the act of throwing a thing or especially a person out of a window: the defenestration of the commissioners at Prague.

- Post with your character.
- Reply to other characters.
- If you need a prompt, hit up the RNG and...

1. You are about to defenestrate yourself. Is this a suicide attempt? Is it merely because you need a quick exit and fortunately the building is only one or two stories tall so it's not that much in the way of defenestration? Well. Either way, you're about to throw yourself out of a window and somebody caught you in the act.
2. You're defenestrating your/someone else's belongings. Is it because it's a messy break-up? Is it a fit of rage? It doesn't matter, because unless someone actively stops you you'll end up defenestrating the contents of the entire room.
3. You're defenestrating/defenestrated a helpless NPC! Or maybe they're not so helpless. They could be an assassin or something.
4. You're defenestrating the person who replied to you! (In the event that person happens to be your long lost brother, your beloved mother, your one true love, or someone equally close to you, you may assume that mind control was involved.)

(...it feels kind of weird to only have only four RNG prompts, but there's only so many ways to throw something out of a window. I mean, really.)

- And kick ass and take names.

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[It was one of those things that just happened, which around her, happened a fuckload of a lot. This whole quest to figure out what was wrong with him, how to fix it, it had landed them in some shady places around some shady people. Which was her average day ending in 'y', really. But then there were guns being pulled and that was a little out of the norm for her. Bullets were flying and she wasn't Luke, and whatever Owen might have now, he wasn't bulletproof. They were on the twelfth floor of a building they'd broken into, trying to get more intel on what she'd thought was a small underground ring when she'd called him in, and all the doors were blocked.

Plaster exploded over her head, raining white crumbles and dust down on her, and she cursed as she looked over at Shaw, who was also peppered with white. But it was all white, no red. That was something she could live with.

Grabbing him, she pulled him to her, looking over at the window, then back at the bursts of gunfire coming from the doors and hallways.]

Hold on!

[She didn't have time to register if he'd heard her, because she was looping an arm around his upper body and holding on herself. When there was a small window of quiet as they reloaded, she lifted him up with her and ran for the window.

She threw a twisted bit of metal frame at it, breaking it before she went through it, jumping out into the open air with him. Then all the way down twelve stories.]

[It'd be a lie to say this was irregular for him either. True he usually tries to plan well, making his jobs go like clockwork. But he's a hired gun, a paid thief, no matter what spin or fancy names he tries to put to it. Every time he steps into the ring it's all gunfire, getaway cars and the occasional explosion. This is really like another day at work. Hell, it's almost comforting in the familiar feel that is rough adrenaline and threat of imminent bodily harm.

Problem is he isn't supposed to be "at work" right now; he's supposed to be on what's effectively an extended vacation. Or, maybe a temporary leave of absence. The long and short of it is Owen Shaw, freelance criminal mastermind, can't come to the phone right now - he was supposed to be doing a fun favor for his cute and unsettlingly potent absolutely-not-a-girlfriend, only things didn't go quite according to plan and now he can't always keep his own thoughts where they belong inside his skull.

So much for getting his life back in line. But when things go off-book, they really do go off.

Case in point, simple recon turned their current circumstances. Once the gunfire started his instincts kicked in: he stole a glance at her and in what probably seemed too quick to most - she was too far away, he'd have to cross likely line of fire to get to her, she'd nearby cover at her back - he processed the situation, ducked down and dodged behind a support pillar. Ignoring the falling plaster he peered around the corner without exposing himself. He couldn't tell where the shots were coming from. In the chaos he hadn't seen where the men attacking them moved.

Had to be close by though. Reaching in his jacket he pulled out a small handgun, keeping it pointed at the ceiling and finger off the trigger as his mind ran through options for what next. As he'd neglected to mention to Jessica he'd even come armed on this mission of theirs, there was a chance she wouldn't be happy - but that wasn't his concern right now.

Stepping back out as the others were about to reload he'd time to take two shots - and then she was on him, grabbing him and dragging him along, and before he'd really time to register what was happening he was being hurried, moved bodily by her strength, too startled to even try to resist--]

Wait. What are we do--

[--there was a smash and a crash, broken glass by his feet, and then open air blowing past his face and the ground far below rushing up at them.]

Wh-whoa!

[Used to action or not he can't help it if his voice trails off in a yell.]

[It had taken awhile for her to get used to it herself. It was one thing to jump up, to feel the air rushing past and to get that sensation of flying happening, but it was another when she reached the apex of that flight and her stomach seemed to try to escape out her throat as she inevitably descended. Trish insisted that she could fly if she just put her mind to it, but Jessica had always just accepted she had abilities now. She'd never pushed to see how far she could take them or what her limits were.

The ground rushed up at them and she shifted her hold on Shaw, making sure to cradle him so his feet didn't hit the ground before hers, since he was taller than her. She landed hard, the pavement never getting softer than it had the first time she'd tried this and had met it with her shoulder. She countered the inertia by going to roll onto her side, aiming for the building so she didn't keep rolling, didn't roll on Shaw. She hit it with a hard thud, breath exhaling in a rush before she started to push up to her feet.

Hearing yells from up above, she didn't want to give them a chance to shoot down at them, so she threw her definitely-not-boyfriend over her shoulder and ran a few feet before pushing off, aiming to land on the roof of the building half a block in front of them. Fifteen floors up.]

Yell at me later. Stay still!

[Shouted back at him because she knew how happy she'd be if she were in his position, and she'd fight to get out of it. Right now, she was taking the lead and he'd just have to let her. He could call her all manner of things once he was safe enough and had no more holes in his body to do so.]

[This? Was insane. It was certifiably, absolutely, without question mad. Totally barking.

People were shooting at them and they were in a shitty part of town full of abandoned gutted buildings and they had to make a quick unexpected getaway. Right. He was with that, so far. But the part where they go hurling themselves out of buildings? Straight for the ground? And then seem to be, somehow, not splattering all over the pavement in the process?

Jessica had been a bit on the side of cagey every time he'd asked about her powers, previously. Once he'd developed an "oddity" of his own he'd stopped asking questions because he was too focused on, well, whatever his own deal was. Mostly he'd had to guess around with her, and she didn't always do him the courtesy to confirm or deny. He knew she was strong, fast, and durable.

It'd never occurred to him to even ask if she could fly. Or leap tall buildings in a single bound, literally. Yet that was clearly what was in the middle of happening.

Eyes wide, mouth agape, for all he doesn't like being carted like baggage he's too astonished to try and protest or move. With one arm he hangs onto her for dear life, the other still holding his weapon.

He can't speak, but he can think, or something like under the improbable shock. So she's treated to an intense unfiltered litany from his mind.

Oh shit shit shit, oh shit, what the fuck is she doing, are you fucking joking, is this really fucking happening right now, she can't be fucking serious, oh shit oh shit.]

[She'd laugh if she wasn't so worried about him actually getting hurt during this, landing with another crashing thud onto the roof of the building she'd aimed them for. She went for another roll, dropping him to roll off on his own as she finally came to a stop. She lay there, staring up at the sky and wondering how this was her life now.

But it was, and it was with that in mind that had her rolling to get to her feet, pushing up and looking over at him.]

You good? You hit anywhere? Shaw...

[Because he was her top concern at the moment, and she staggered over, her own thoughts unfiltered for a moment.

Don't let him be dead. Don't let him be hurt. Please, Jesus, I can't have him be hurt.]

[She'd rolled him, and he'd rolled a bit further, carried by weight and momentum and muscle memory, on his own. A short distance away he would up on his back, gun clenched instinctively close to his chest so he wouldn't lose it, as for a long beat he stared dazedly up at the sky.

It was a nice day. Warm. Bright. Though the skyline was awfully grey rather than blue. But then, such was often the case in big cities.

We're still alive, he thought flatly. And then, That actually just happened.

And then he caught her thoughts and he sat up, trying to get to his feet, flashing her an annoyed grimace.]

I might not be you, Jessica, but I'm not made of glass. I'm fine. [He grumbles, then glances down to confirm it for himself belatedly. He's scuffed and there's a mild scrape across one set of knuckles. Otherwise he's perfect.] ...I'm fine.

[He can keep shooting her all the glares he wants, because she's coming over, moving to smooth her hands down him, feeling for blood or anything out of place.]

I told you, you idiot, I'm not bulletproof. Neither are you.

[But that panic was settling as she realized that he was, as he'd said, fine. She looked at the gun he was clutching, jaw clenching for a moment.]

You didn't tell me you brought a gun.

[He glanced down, dubiously, at her actually feeling him over. She's really that worried? He's not used to being fussed over. He wasn't expecting this level of concern. Even after what they were forced to awkwardly admit to one another.

Before he could think to speak though she'd noticed the gun. He looked from it to her face, taking in that expression.]

Yeah well, thought there might be trouble.

[With nonchalant expertise he looks away from her to check the clip, putting the safety back on.]

What you know about me, are you really gonna be all that surprised?

Surprised, no. But it didn't do much good, did it?

[Guns had never been her thing. Of course, she didn't even know how to fight properly, so apparently nothing was her thing. She turned to look back down at the street, knowing that the assholes who'd shot at them wouldn't have seen them jump up here. She was, conveniently, ignoring that rhetorical question, because she didn't want to have to answer an affirmative.]

Come on. We need to get out of here before they think to look up. Or start a search.

What, are you rubbing it in? [Sardonic quipping. Mentally he counters, unintentional, Could have done, if we'd stayed and fought. Not gone flailing over rooftops like a couple of wankers.

He still can't always filter out what he wants to pass on, or stop his thoughts from coming, clearly.]

All right. [He starts walking quickly, because even in a bad mood he can see sense. Survival's more important.] What's the next move, though? We calling this another dead end?

Yeah, and then they'd be even more pissed. You shoot that group or kill someone's grandson or whatever, that'll make it personal. You break in? They can get over that.

[She answered aloud the mental question, moving to go over to the door that led to the stairs downward from the roof.

Only wanker here is you, Sherlock. This isn't the OK corral and one gun against a handful or more of assholes isn't going to do shit. Say thank you for saving my life and let's get the fuck out of here.]

[You didn't strike me as the type that needed the ego boost of thanking.

He's being petty and snippy, because he doesn't like her disparaging his actually having done something to be useful. It's a cheap shot maybe but neither of them is a full class act, so.]

They've already tried to kill us. You got in their way, and they beat me over the head until my thoughts literally started pouring out of my ears. [He stows the gun and gestures to his temple, snappishly.] How worse do you think it's gonna get?

[She stopped, turning around and stepping up to him, getting right up in his face, finger pointed at him as she did.]

You dead is a hell of a lot worse in my books than you with a pissy attitude. I can handle you being a little shit. I'm not handling you dead, you hear me? Don't push your luck, Shaw.

[You mean something and you know it, so stop being a dick or I'll smack the shit out of you and sit on you until you calm down.

She sent that last bit intentionally, keeping contact with his eyes as she did before she turned quickly, then went to jerk open the door, anger making her pull the knob off as she did.]

Fuck.

[That had her having to kick the thing open, twisting the cheap metal before she pulled it out of her way. That was oddly cathartic.]

[He has to stare at her, at that one bit. It feels different when she's trying to get him to hear her mind - not quite like she's shouting, but the words become clearer and over-emphasized. It's disorienting.

By the time he shakes his head and walks it off she goes to town on the door.]

That's subtle.

[He glances around. As if somebody else is hanging on the roof to hear. Ugh. This day, honestly.]

Fuck subtle.

[Door open and in a broken mess, she stepped over it and started down the stairs.]

We'll call that a bust. Though, at least we know to be a bit more careful going in next time. They'll probably be expecting us.

[So that was a little bit of information they hadn't had before. Hey, it was almost a win.]

I thought you said these guys were nobodies. That all they were running was girls.

[Girls kidnapped into human trafficking, but whatever. Like this is anything he hasn't heard about before.

He scrambled after her, moving to keep up. Raising his voice slightly in the silence of the stairwell.]

So do they have more fire in them than you expected, or what? Even if they knew we were coming, what could they possibly be hiding?

That's all they were supposed to be. But things have been kind of messed up since Fisk and the Hand. Too many empty shoes to fill and too many people trying to fill them. Between the drugs, the prostitution, and just the heavies, it's kind of a clusterfuck of who's who at the moment. Nature abhors a vacuum, or some shit like that.

[She stomped down the stairs, pissed off despite the fact that they'd gotten out of there relatively unscathed.]

I have no idea, and that's the part that bugs me. I don't want to stumble into more of this blind.

No kidding. [Though his concerns might be slightly different than hers. She wants to do the right thing - he just wants to get the job done.

Before he...changed, like this, all he wanted to do was whatever she asked him to, and if anyone got hurt along the way, he didn't care. Now though it's personal. Or it might be.

He waits until they're at street level to speak.]

Jones, wait. We have to talk about this. [He glances around, but there's no sign of their assailants. No sign of anybody.] We need to get this straight here. Now are these guys acting this way because they're covering, and it's just all bad luck on my part? Or do they somehow know about that, and that's part of it?

[Because that kind of makes a huge difference to him, motivation wise, at this point.]

[She slowed when he called her name, looking around when he did, then giving him a confused look.]

How the hell am I supposed to know? I know as much as you do at this point. Hell, probably less. I honestly thought they were some low-level assholes I could use as a goddamn excuse. Now they're running who knows what and I'm out of my depth here. I'm a PI. Not an evil mastermind. I push and break shit until someone comes to tell me to stop. That's my method. I'm not subtle.

[Well what bloody good are you, then.

It's one of those absent angry thoughts that people just have. Ranting inside of their heads, meaningless. Private and quickly forgotten.

Except he no longer has that luxury, now does he?

He freezes and looks back at her.] ...I didn't mean that.

Yeah, you did.

[And she can't even fault him something like that. What good was she? She may not have been the reason he was the way he was now, but she wasn't helping him. On one hand, she wasn't going to cry that a little mind-reading may have saved his life, but on the other hand... well. It was a shitty power to have. Especially when it seemed to just work with her for the moment. Her mind wasn't something anyone should have access to, if only to avoid having to hear a barrage of curses.]

No. I didn't. Don't tell me what I mean and I don't, all right? Just because you can hear me right now, it's not the same as...

[He is getting angrier though. She's no fun to argue with, she never is, because they always both wind up feeling like shit.

With a repressed sound that's almost a growl he drags both his hands down his face. He wants this to just be over with, already. But there's no end in sight.]

As what? Go on, macho man. Tell me how wrong I am in a sea of wrong, floating along being a big fucking pile of wrong-trash while you're up there in your boat of righteousness.

[Okay, so, maybe she was getting tired of having to monitor her thoughts too. It was draining, either because she had to stop thinking personal things, stop thinking terrible things, or stop thinking horny things, all things that she liked to think about and now couldn't because she had no fucking privacy.]

[He stared at her flatly. When he finally responded it was with a hint of a sneer.]

Do you even hear yourself when you talk?

[He really wanted to hit something, or maybe shoot somebody. Maybe that was the real reason he'd been so irritated at her for throwing them both out the window like that and ending the fight.]

Don't glower at me. I give better pissed off before I'm even awake. Save it for someone who's capable of being afraid of you.

[Because that sure as hell wasn't her. For him, yes. Of him? Not likely.]

You asked for it...

Yes. Yes I did XD

She's doing this for his own good. Honest.

Oh Jessica /headshake

/shrug

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