bakerstreet | The 'Shit let's get some random as heck prompts meme'

The 'Shit let's get some random as heck prompts meme'

The 'Shit let's get some random as heck prompts meme'

Step 1
✪Post with your character! Name and series go in the header.

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Head over here and click on one of the writing prompt generators. Generate until you find one you think is interesting and copy and paste it into the body of your comment. Or come up with your own random prompt. Whatever.

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Step 2
✪Go around and look at other characters. Find a prompt you think looks entertaining and respond! You guys are now playing that prompt out.

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With his usual classic display of grace and quick reflexes, Dirk falls off his bar stool as it rocks from the impact, and lands with a solid thud on his backside, while spilling most of a gin-and-tonic on himself.

"...Oh god. It's you."

He doesn't even bother to pick himself up off the floor just yet. He's already had a drink and a half, and while he's not actually well and truly drunk, it still seems safer down here just for the moment.

[One more shock wave! War lifts his fist and raises his lip in disgust, but relaxes his expression at the warm verbal embrace of his presence.]

'Maybe I'll see you around sometime.' You're fond of sarcasm?

[The shock wave-causing gauntlet vanishes, and War reaches down and pulls up a jar. A jelly jar. The Smucker's sticker's still on it. As War stands and inspects the jar, it's clear it isn't even scratched.]

"Only when it's intentional." He sighs, but on seeing the floor-punching seems to be over for the moment, he clambers slowly back up on his feet with the aid of the bar stool.

"Er... you need one of those gripper things?"

[It's also clear the jelly jar isn't filled with jelly. There's a faintly glowing carved figure of some sort, bobbing in a mass of blue that has screaming skulls drift out from time to time. Okay. So it could be Satan's jelly. In experiment, War lets the jar go again. Clatter. Nope. He picks it back up. Frowns.]

Be more specific.

He bends down with a grunt to retrieve his hat off the floor, and smacks it against one leg to get the dust off. "There's... these sort of rubber gripper things they make, to help you open difficult jars..." Dirk's voice trails off as he notices the jar is glowing, and he edges closer, pulling off his glasses briefly and cleaning them on the hat to be sure he's seeing this right.

"...Ah. Nevermind, that... probably wouldn't work. What is that? Deathberry preserves? Is that what you normally put on your toast of a morning?" Honestly, for War that doesn't seem out of the question.

I don't eat. Who's 'they'?

['Probably' is still worth a try. To know how to build something, you need to know how to deconstruct it, right? Maybe they can help, since they make jar openers. Could have some secret supernatural sect.]

"At all?" Dirk clearly feels this is a terrible shame.

"What? Oh... They. The nameless, faceless... some company or other... I don't have the bloody patent records on hand, you know. So what is it? Clearly it's important to you to you to get it open. I realize you may be of the opinion that my puny mortal limitations make it less than worthwhile, but I do try to to be helpful, and it just could be to your own advantage to be a little more forthcoming with information." The edge of alcohol gives him the courage to be slightly cross.

[And likely not in mind, either.]

They're souls. The other's a totem, applause to a demon's carnage during the End Days.

[As for why they're in a jelly jar, War can't think of a logical explanation beyond 'it was there.' The Smucker's logo he has an idea about, but...yeah. Can you help, Dirk?]

"So what happens when you let them out?" He's still trying to figure out how to help. If War can't even crack the glass with his biceps of steel and gauntlets of doom, what good can somebody like Dirk do?

They're payment.

[War's still thinking, too. If force fails, and velocity and impact, perhaps...

War tosses the jar straight up, then unhitches his sword and swings it in an arch. It's a good thing Dirk's short ~~no promises with his hat~~. The sword flares with fire, there's a tching! of it hitting the jar. It falls, rolls quite a ways. On fire. Good sign. War hitches his sword and walks after the jar.]

"Payment somebody else gave you, or... something you're paying to somebody?" Dirk wishes people paid him more often, but not in that kind of thing. He follows at a safe distance, slow and careful and just a tiny bit unsteady.

I to another.

[The totem is what really matters. For a few moments War wonders why. His pace is steady, slow, but he notices Dirk fall behind. His footsteps. Abnormal.]

Allaying your status quo of misery?

Dirk raises an eyebrow, not because he's offended in any way but because that turn of phrase sounds a little like something he'd say himself. Maybe he's rubbing off on War?

"I suppose so, yes. It doesn't work terribly well, one only ends up far more miserable the following morning, but..." He gives a shrug, as if to say he's only a mortal human and that's his excuse.

"I'm not entirely certain I want to know, but against my better judgement, what is that thing payment for?"

[It was.]

But humans are flawed. Corruptible.

[Bitterness swells in him, and his tone is hard and flat. Over a conflict so old...so close. War slows, stops. Picks up the jar. The fire goes out. He clenches his hand to test it, turns to face Dirk as he speaks.]

It's weakened. Where is your purgatory? Thor may yet glean use.

[He'll answer your question after, Dirk.]

"More flawed than you can imagine, mate." He sighs, a little resigned to the usual difficulty of conversing with War, and completely unaware he's actually had his own words thrown back at him. He has so many words, after all, he can't be expected to remember them all.

"You mean my world? Just a PINpoint away..."

[As he thought.]

The merchant lends healing agents and bestows knowledge of combat. Now take me there.

[War's about to correct him, but he holds his tongue. Now's not the time.]

"What? What merchant?" He's pulling out his PINpoint anyway, but pauses to eye War thoughtfully. "Could you duck a bit? My ceiling's not... intended to accommodate someone of your stature. More someone of mine." Well not quite, but it's still only an eight foot clearance.

The fallen demon Vulgrim.

[War kneels. Stops himself from taking hold of Chaoseater's hilt.]

"Can't say as I know that one. I'll look him up sometime..." He's just being flippant, of course. "Ah, and do try not to damage my house? It's already been through a military jet, or rather one has been through it, and that was expensive to repair..."

He punches the button and lands them in a cluttered front hall, slightly crowded with newspapers, discarded rain boots and clothes, heaps of old mail, and other odds and ends. Dirk is not a tidy housekeeper, and very much the perpetual bachelor.

[War's about to say he'd have only a passing interest in the dead. But then they're there! How undramatic. It's l- War furrows his brow. Damn, man, do you ever toss your pizza boxes? He stands, stops short of bumping the low ceiling. Step step stecrunch.]

He does a general sort of clean up once a year, at least! To be fair, Dirk eats a lot of pizza, so they do accumulate quickly.

Dirk winces at the crunch. "Careful! Err... here, the kitchen is a little better, ceiling-wise. I can call them from there..." He waddles up the hall to the open kitchen door, one hand on the wall. Of course, the kitchen is more cluttered than the hall, and there's the doorway to get through...

Edited 2012-03-16 02:35 (UTC)

[War wants to. That's what bothers him. He wants to clean up.]

We'll meet outside.

[War doesn't need to breathe and he's close to gagging - not just for the pizza remains, but how he imagines the rest of the house to be if this is the entrance. Even War took some care to presentation! He moves to a door along the hall. It's a way out, right?]

War is lucky the house has a pretty simple layout. There are only three doors in the hall, one at each end and one along the middle, and since two are open to the kitchen and living room respectively, the third closed one is the obvious option and also the door out to the street. There's a couple steps, but the view out there will be familiar, and the elderly Jaguar is parked out front once again.

Dirk gives a vague sort of wave to War as he goes, and toddles the rest of the way to the kitchen to make his call.

[War kicks open the door and lumbers into freedom. He surveys the immediate neighborhood. Nothing's changed. War really doesn't want to be here, here among a dead god and lost dreams of humanity. He reminds himself he'll be quick. Break the jar, get back...to Earth.]

To Earth as Eden...

[He can't do anything other than wait now. The street's very quiet. Everyone's safe inside.]

Hopefully he didn't just break Dirk's locks...

The street is quiet, and dark, because it's night. There's streetlamps though, and it's a fairly peaceful neighborhood. Possibly Dirk shouldn't be calling Kate's house this late.

It's calm and quiet, and when Dirk does emerge he doesn't say anything right away. He just pauses to survey the damage to his door, sighs, fumbles around lighting up a cigarette and sinks down to sit on the steps. "He's on his way."

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