bakerstreet | picture prompt meme.

[ it's difficult being in new york city sometimes, like he isn't entirely sure what to do with the familiarity. there's something disconcerting about wondering if he'll be recognized at his favorite cafes and bars, a steady anxiety that keeps his shoulders a little square while walking back to his hotel. he doesn't have a place in the city anymore, hasn't for a few years now. for some reason that's comforting.

he keeps his unease carefully hidden under the pressed lines of his suit, leaning back against the jacket he shed to fold over his chair. she had suggested killing time on broadway and he had declined staunchly, guiding them towards a nicer bistro far from the theater district, somewhere with coffee as good as the sandwiches.

though his plate goes largely untouched, he nods when the waitress comes to take it away, lifting his mug and his eyebrows as ariadne's finger traces over the map unfolded on the table, the paper uneconomical and drooping down the sides with it's enormous size. he sighs and wonders how many people in the world can be as bored with new york city as he is, wonders how the fuck he got so jaded.

he had promised: when you want to get out of the business, you'll get out. you'll start sleeping with academia again and as some reward for- graduation, a thesis, a legal job, whatever; for not ending up calloused or fucking crazy- i'll take you anywhere you want to go.

put your finger down on the map and we'll go. though he hadn't expected a paper map or for the decision making to be a literal ceremony process and he hides his grin behind his mug, watching her trace rivers with her index finger. ]

We could be across the globe by now.

And? [ it takes her only a moment to pull her attention away from her inspection of the map and look up at him, arching her brow subtly in response as she seem to unconsciously chew on her lower lip, almost as if she waiting for him to expand on that statement.

she knows full well. they could be doing practically anything else other than what they seemed to be doing; it would be silly of her not to. and she can only assume that with the subtle behavior changes from arthur that she had picked up on within the past hour or so, that he was hoping or wishing for exactly that as well (the man may be amazing at the art of deception, but even he can't hide his boredom or unease for too long).

but, given that he had basically allowed her to take control of their activities (for the time being) along with the fact that she perhaps was a bit overly eager to explore the city that she was going to be living in soon. she really didn't feel the need to sit and defend her choice of wanting to plan ahead and get a feel of the city, instead of doing the standard touristy things in some far off country that she assumed most would do after such a momentous event as receiving their first legitimate job. ]

Is it really that bad?

Edited 2013-08-09 20:45 (UTC)

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[New Cases are coming in. The government wants a look inside the minds of a few Slingers, but Ethan thinks like hell he's going to go rooting around in some poor soul's mind to try to dig them a deeper grave. He sees the reports on TV, naturally, but he doesn't see a threat to America as much as the newscasters try to make it out to be. Violence has a cause, always, and that cause more often than not is something they can help with.]

Nick, is it? I'm Dr. Ross, though you can call me Ethan if you want.

[Once, Nicholas might have looked intimidating. The black suit and gothic makeup, accompanied by the holster that had completed his costume, did sometimes incite fear, always to his bewilderment. But in still in the orange prison jumpsuit from the transfer, and now to being handcuffed to the table, well... he sincerely doubts he could intimidate a rodent.

He warily eyes the "doctor" who walks in. He looks too young to be a shrink. What are they, the same age? Maybe the guy's even younger. That would be a twist. The urge to correct him is habitual.]

Nicholas.

[The rest, though, he makes no comment on. He merely sits, holding his hands at an odd angle to minimize the chafing from the handcuffs. There is a brand partially visible on the inside of his right wrist, round at the top – although it disappears into the cuff of his jumpsuit.]

-Nicholas, then. Sorry.

[He doesn't sound too particularly sorry, though he is. Picking up a folder to resist the urge to stare at the brand, Ethan opens it, makes a quick note-full name preferred-then looks back up at his patient with a smile.]

So! Have they told you what's going on, what we do here, or should I give you the regular introduction?

[Wow, this guy is cheerful. Forgive Nicholas if he doesn't return the smile.]

They don't really tell me much of anything.

[Blah blah blah, inmates don't get regular human privileges, this is what happens when you're a terrorist, etc etc etc...]

...Alright then.

[He shuts the folder and folds his hands.]

The really quick summary is that here, we have virtual reality to mimic your dreams, and work with your subconscious to resolve what issues may be there. It's a form of intensive therapy that's better at finding what your conscious mind won't or can't tell you about things.

So, we're going to make a world based on your dreams, and then we-me and my partner-are going to go there with you.

[...Well. That sounds terrifying. Nicholas keeps his face blank, but he fidgets, pulling slightly at the handcuffs confining him to the table.]

I don't suppose I have the right to opt-out, do I?

[canon, AU, or game canon AU all valid. please indicate which.]

[Firefights when chasing down a target are nothing new to her, nothing she hasn't seen before. Not even far from home. What is new is getting shot in the abdomen by something of that caliber-she hadn't expected one of them to have a fucking shotgun, hadn't expected herself to be so stupid as to allow them even the smallest crack in her defence. They were all dead, and wearing red hides blood for a moment at the least, but this doesn't even have the courtesy to let her be peaceful.

They taught you to ignore pain, to use anything to keep yourself together, but they did not teach you what to do in this situation. Fear is weakness, fear strips you of any dignity you would possess, fear is to be crushed. Grell doesn't want to be afraid, or bleeding, or to be in this version of reality.

And yet.

For a moment more, at least, she can turn her attention to something else, someone else.]

...How're you holding up?

[ the smell of gunpowder and blood is a comfort, because it means that he's doing what he's always been meant to do. the thing is, he's starting to think that it isn't a comfort when it's coming from her. he's staring at her side, pupils blown and hands clutching at his pistols. he can't let them go yet, even as his adrenaline levels start to steady out. ]

I'm fine.

[ for the most part, anyway. he has a few bruises and a graze on his shoulder, but those will heal. ]

How bad is it?

[ he doesn't reach out. instead, he folds further into himself, putting away his guns and pushing attention back onto her. ]

[Why did he have to, when she could have distracted herself with worrying over him and his condition for a little bit. Even a scrape could be something she scolded him about, maybe even managing a laugh. But no, not an "is it bad", but knowing it's bad.]

It won't be a pretty scar.

[For now she's got her hand over it, pressing down to keep some amount of blood in her body. The adrenaline is what's keeping her walking-stumbling some over the rocks, sure, but walking all the same.]

I'll call in once we get somewhere with a fucking signal.

[ he follows her, more or less nimble on the rocky shore. they've left bodies hidden in the cove, to be disposed at the first opportunity.

he's worried. he keeps staring at the blood darkening her red clothes, barely visible. ]

Make a compress.

I'm touched by your concern.

[She thinks for a moment as she keeps going, not really paying attention to her steps so much as she's wondering what on earth she could use.

There's a rock decent enough to sit against by the water, and she gets herself over there, flopping down with much less grace than she would have liked. Her free hand she uses to yank her shirt over her head, using that as something, at least.]

Satisfied?

[ heine follows, scuffing his shoes on the rocks and standing next to her. he does startle slightly when she pulls off her shirt, but he shoves it down like he does with every other emotion. ]

I would've given you mine.

[ he grumbles that, crossing his arms uncomfortably as she applies the compress. seeing the wound out in the open makes him more certain that it's worse than someone can recover from.

so he sits down, clumsy from fatigue and confusion. ]

What do you want me to do?

If it's not too much to ask, could we rest for a bit? I don't mind if you want to walk on ahead.

[Act like nothing's wrong. Like she only needs a minute. Maybe something miraculous would happen-but if there is God, he probably doesn't approve of her death toll.]

Think I should rinse this out, anyway...wouldn't want it to get infected.

I'd have to wait for you anyway.

[ he doesn't go on without her. picking at the fabric stuck to his skin with blood, heine glances at his relatively slight injury for a moment to distract himself. ]

The water's probably not that clean.

[ he keeps his voice flat, as disinterested as it always is. ]

It's water, though.

[She moves herself closer to it, pausing to unholster her gun and leave it on the rocks. Old habits die hard, even if they make no sense. But "don't get your gun wet" was another instruction drilled into her head. Same for shoes. They'll be dry, at least.

She reaches out to touch the water.]

...Fucking great, it's freezing.

[ shuffling his feet a little on the rocks, heine stays sitting, watching her back. ]

What did you expect?

[ they're out in the middle of nowhere in weather that's less than conducive for health. ]

Clean it or don't. The water's not going to get any warmer.

[She sighs and then hauls herself over to actually get in the water, deep enough that she can sit down, the water coming halfway up her chest-it's cold, but it's a nice contrast to the beginnings of a fire in her nerves coming from the wound.

She wants to laugh at this. Her death, she imagined, would have been something fast, brutal, befitting of her life. Nothing quiet. Nothing where you could feel your dignity slipping away and you knew that you couldn't recover it fast enough for it to matter.]

Heine.

[She doesn't look at him, instead at the reflection of light on the water.]

...Ich will nicht sterben.

[ he's quiet for a long time, trying to figure out what to say and discarding each thought as it comes to him because he doesn't know what to say.

he's never had to do this before. ]

Gehst du zu?

[ resting his cheek on his knee, he folds his other leg and sits like a teenager, huddled around himself for warmth. he doesn't want to go back alone. he doesn't want her to go alone. ]

[Divorcing the agent from herself for a moment is done in the translation. The English agent did not say such things, never gave in, never considered that in the line of duty that things would happen that you wanted actively to avoid.

German, then, so that spotless image remains.]

Ja. Verlieren zu viel Blut.

Sollte ich wieder ihr körper?

[ the way he says it is casual. no one knows your body like you do, he knows, and he doesn't doubt her assessment any more than he doubts her other ones.

(he's never been british or german or anything, but it's the language he grew up with. he falls into it easily, watching his partner bleed into the water.)

it doesn't matter what kind of trouble might come from carrying her back. he owes her something, at least. ]

Glaubst du, sie werde alles tun, aber es brennt? Wenn ja, bitte.

[She doesn't think herself high enough to warrant any form of recognition, really. Just another agent on the list of the past.]

Nehmen Sie meinen ersten Waffen.

[Better to see them put to use rather than collect dust.]

[ heine rubs a knuckle along his cheekbone, trying to soothe away fatigue before she answers. ]

Ich werde begraben, wenn sonst niemand tut.

[ he looks down at her guns by the side of the pond. he unfolds himself, standing up and shuffling down to the shore.

in english: ] Put them back on if you get out of the water.

[ it'll be easier to carry them back that way. but maybe she wants to lie down in the water and end it there. he won't pretend to know her well enough in these areas to tell what she wants to do. ]

Edited (I FRICKED UP) 2013-08-07 00:44 (UTC)

In ordnung.

[There is something terribly romantic about all this, and that is one little thing left to latch onto while she fights the urge to shut her eyes. She asked about the guns because she doesn't care what he does with them-she cares what the Agency will do, and in all likelihood they will disassemble them, place parts in others, make it impossible to trace them back to what they were. And there is something innately wrong in that-it is so selfish to wish it to be avoided, but she has not truly thought for herself in years and this is so small compared to things she has done for others.

(Of course she thinks of Ann. Ann who probably would be allowed to slap her in the face before judgement was pronounced and no one could even blame her. But Ann is long dead and probably has been allowed to forget.)

For a moment she can step outside herself, look, see that she is no less a weapon, no more a person than the guns on the shore. That was what her life amounted to. Pathetic.

She can only hope that in some world out there that things are better, and even the most wretched human beings are given chances not to be total fuckups.

There is silence then, and a stillness that comes easier than sleep ever did.]

[ he keeps watching her from where he's standing, not wanting to look away. he would feel wrong if he did, in what he knows are her last breathing moments.

there are few things he gets this... cliche about (he tries to refute the term even as it enters his mind). he's watching her die.

he doesn't feel guilty. they did their job, to the end.

heine crosses and uncrosses his arms, uncertain, eyes on her red hair and red blood, waiting for it to end. he still doesn't know what to say, and settles for saying: ] Ich werde sie behalten.

[ he doesn't know if she's still listening, but he says it anyway. he'll use them to kill, at least until he finally dies like he used to want to. ]

I still don't understand why we're doing this.

[the query is more mystified than plaintive as Nepeta affixes Dirk with a quizzical expression. she's on the floor attempting to 'warm up' as directed, folded in half as her hands easily touch her feet]

I'm purretty flexible already!

[Available in any of the following flavours:
a) classic Doyle Moran
b) adapted to "Young Sherlock Holmes" canon Moran
c) Game of Shadows Moran
d) modern, BBC Sherlock based Moran

Please specify which you prefer.]

[ To say they had moved a lot from where they started would be a bit of an understatement. From completely ignoring his existence to pining for him when he's away - from worshiping at her feet to getting to know the woman behind the mask. They've moved mountains, these two in more ways than one. Their friendship had been one of the easier things to move along - and now, with full confidence, Lydia can say he's one of her best friends in the world.

And now it's become a sort of regular occurrence to go on dates not dates every once in awhile - largely hidden under the veil of being study partners, or something like that. Always schoolwork, because that was unsexy and not romantic. Throw off the rumors, and such. ( Not that Lydia necessarily minded if people thought they were together, but she has an act to keep up, even if it stings her sometimes. )

Lydia is strewn about Stiles' bed when he comes through the door, eyes scanning over her math text book for the millionth time in a row. He'd been very forceful about going alone to get the pizza - which hey, less effort for her, so thumbs up. She was fine with it, even if simple math was dull to her, and she lazily scoffs at all the equations and theorems that are supposed to be difficult to memorize.

The book is slapped shut with a sharp gust of wind, and Lydia sits up on his bed, smiling over at him. ]

Ugh, I'm starving.

[ So asking Lydia out is proving to be harder than Stiles thought it would be.

They'd undeniably become closer since he first garnered his crush on the strawberry blonde queen of his life in, you know, third grade; Stiles and Lydia'd sort of become partners in crime and one hell of a good supernatural team. They could basically open their own detective agency at this point, a career that Stiles was seriously considering after high school. That plan also included them being married supernatural detectives but that was a long long way off and he kind of had to start by getting the date first.

Asking her straight on would be too boring. Eighties movie style would get something thrown at him from the window, probably. So Stiles is down to his probably dumbest idea ever, and that's a box of pizza with, "will you be my girlfriend, or is this too cheesy?" written on the inside of the lid.

Right. Okay. So. Pizza obtained, Stiles bumps the door open with his hip and smiles at her, trying not to show his nerves as he sets it down on the bed. ] I'll grab plates, and stuff, you just--go ahead and go to town.

[ Wow nailed it. He busies himself over by his desk, like he's digging for a paper plate or something, which is really just a cover for his jittering. Oh god he's going to puke. ]

Sounds good.

[ And Lydia sees nothing wrong or off base, since it's Stiles and he's usually always jittery about something. So while his actions may seem a little nervous in one way or the other, they're largely overlooked, pushed away as nothing. Or something she'd ask about later, when she's not so hungry. So she opens the box and - it's not like she could miss the lettering in anyway. It paints a smile on her face, because wow this is lame, but her eyebrow furrow a second later.

And she realizes something.

She's never been asked before.

Not like this, at least - not in some meaningful and cute way, not with stuttering and awkwardness and nervousness. There was Jackson - and they'd gotten together more because that's what was expected of them - most popular girl, most popular guy. It was cliché which was what she wanted at the time, but ultimately led to ruin despite emotions - homicidal lizard gone werewolf and all that. Not exactly boyfriend material. Not that he was when they were dating, either - he'd never wait after class, leave notes in her locker. He'd barely talk to her and instead resort to physicality in kisses - never handholds.

And then there's Aiden. But he was just a distraction - no romance there. No asking out in anyway, just sex, sex, sex. ]

This is -- [ Really, really sweet really, really cute really, really nothing like anything she's had before. This is affection in a pure sense - for a boy who wants more than just to get in her pants - and you know what? She wants more from him too. She wants a commitment for once, something healthy, something she can feel good about. She wants a good guy - but she also wants more than that. No one will do. She wants Stiles - only Stiles. ]

-- really cheesy. [ She shakes her head, before turning to peek over her shoulder, looking at him. ] You're asking me out with a pun?

picture prompt meme.

arthur | inception

im totally bugging you yet again (sorry...kinda)

absolutely! not bugging me! don't leave me! (and i'm sorry this took literally forever)

EXCELLENT! Because I thoroughly enjoy bugging you now! (and no worries, I’m the slowest)

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ada lovelace | oc

ethan ross | oc

HEY ETHAN WANT A NEW CASE

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wow this is stupid late and i apologize

grell sutcliffe | black butler

AU sadness

already upset

that's what au stands for now

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hovertext translation

google translate all the way

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vincent nightray // pandora hearts

Nepeta Leijon | Homestuck

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cloud strife ☼ final fantasy vii ☼ ota

Rose Strider | Homestuck AU

Kyouya Ootori | Ouran High School Host Club

Izaya Orihara | Durarara!!

Colonel Sebastian Moran - Sherlock Holmes canon(s) - OTA

scott mccall | teen wolf | ota

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Re: scott mccall | teen wolf | ota

marion morrell | teen wolf | ota

stefan salvatore | the vampire diaries

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danny māhealani | teen wolf | ota

lydia martin | teen wolf | ota

plops butt here

whines from cute nooooo

♥

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allison argent | teen wolf | ota

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Jennifer Blake | Teen Wolf | ota

Danny Māhealani | Teen Wolf | ota

Thranduil | The Hobbit

Genesis Rhapsodos | Final Fantasy Crisis Core | ota

Nyota Uhura | Star Trek | ota

James Kirk | Star Trek

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Michael Novotny | QAF

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Temari | Naruto | ota