bakerstreet | (no subject)

(no subject)

the dæmon meme

dæmon: the inner-self of a human physically manifested in the form of an animal called a 'dæmon'. the animal is the most intimate expression of the human's inner soul, the form of the animal directly representing that person's true personality.

they are, in effect, the other half of your soul, sharing your thoughts and knowing everything about you. and despite whether or not you want them, they are with you for life, your closest companion.

how do your character's interactions with others CHANGE now that a part of their soul is wandering around with them?

suggested ideas:

standard slice of life. you are going about your life, either in your canon, or in the world of the golden compass. hell, even make a modern au. the conflict here is up to you.
dæmons are generally the opposite gender of their human partner. however, yours shares your gender. what are the implications of this? how do people treat you in the street?
intercision. you have been cut away from your dæmon. you are a freak to the rest of society. you are empty, severed from part of your soul.
intimacy. you never touch another's dæmon-- unless, of course, you are in a sexual relationship with them. what's that first touch like?
settling. for younger characters: your dæmon has finally chosen their final, adult form. how does this make you feel? you're an adult now, how do your peers view you?

of course, you're free to do whatever you want with this universe, the only requirement is that your character have a dæmon!

further reading: here, if you can't pick a daemon for your character; here, for dæmon/personality matches and general info.

please, when you post, include your character's name, canon, and dæmon species!

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So you want me to think of you?

[ Okay, now it's flirting. Natasha's smile disappears from the curve of her mouth but shows in the set of her eyes, something bright while Stepan makes a audible hum, like he'd be rolling his eyes if he were big enough for the effect to be noticeable. He flits off a beat later, making lazy circles around Sandy and Brian both. Wide enough to give them space, but a certain element of playfulness there to mirror Natasha's — well, if wasps can be playful.

Natasha flips the knife in her hand, offers it to him handle-first without so much as a warning. ]

How about you show me what you can do first?

[Brian grins at the spark in her eyes and doesn't deny it-- hey, a man would have to be crazy to walk away from a girl like Natasha if she makes the offer. But he's not stupid, either. Flirting is just flirting, after all.] Now you're putting words into my mouth. [He's laughing as he says it.

Sandy raises her head as Stephan comes around and makes a lazy bite at him, a snap of teeth that's not a warning so much as a return of the play.

Brian looks at the knife. Doubt is obvious on his face.]

I might be able to hit the broad side of a barn. [He takes the handle, warm still. It feels alien in his hand.] Might is probably an overstatement, though.

So we raise the stakes.

[ An echo of what he'd proposed earlier. Natasha seems to talk more in tips of her chin and lifts of her brows than words; her expression is a little daring and a little doubtful, like she'll be disappointed if he turns her down. (Well— that's assuming that anything affects Natasha that way, that disappointed is an expression she feels.)

The target along the wall is in a cross shape, centered along the outline of a vague human body. One at the head, two at the torso (one at each shoulder), one in the stomach, two at each leg. ]

Hit a target, and—

[ She hums, considering, at the same time that Stepan makes another circle over Sandy, this time a little closer when he swoops by. ]

—I don't know. What do you want?

[Sandy barks this time, but the sound is low, muted. Deference, perhaps, to the quite smaller daemon. As is polite, Brian only has eyes for Natasha.

Not that he's ever been polite.

Not that he wants to take his eyes off Natasha.]

Let me take you for a ride.

[In another place-- another life-- it would be, for Brian, foreplay. Here its just a chance to show off. To prove something. And maybe, just maybe, get an honest smile out of her. Mia might feel like a lifetime ago but the hole she left in his heart never fully healed. Flirting is harmless, like a lion without teeth. A dog without teeth.]

On the streets. In my car.

[He shifts the knife, wipes his palm on his pants, and switches it back-- this time gripping the blade.] Deal?

[ Her eyes fall on the spread of his palm, the curl of his fingers around the slip of a knife, then to the targets on the wall. Maybe Natasha can guess whether he can do it or not, has always been good with people and even better at never letting them surprise her. But whatever it is, she doesn't seem to mind, just ticks a shoulder with a quiet kind of smile. ]

Deal.

[ Between the pause where he lines himself up and throws the knife, Natasha adds, somewhat carelessly: ]

I'll make up something fun for if you miss.

[ Fun, not interesting, which is a promise in itself. (And, to be fair, what their conversation has been about so far.) ]

[The words pull his eyes, his attention--

But in the end, her remark isn't why the knife Brian throws not only goes astray from the cross, but hits the wall handle-first and clatters to the floor amidst a laughing Sandy. He's never thrown a knife before in his life and trying is no substitute, apparently, for practice or talent.

Brian runs a hand through his hair and laughs.] So fun it is. [He turns to her and points to the knife.] Although I probably could have hit a barn, right? A small one. Definitely could have hit, like, a midget of a barn. I don't know, I think I impressed myself.

[Sandy pulls herself to her feet and flicks her tail at Stephan.]

[ That makes her smile. Laugh, too, in a way that's more of an exhale but still a laugh, Stepan murmuring something in Russian that tonally sounds a lot like disapproval. ]

I don't know that international agencies give awards for effort. [ But now she's just teasing him, the tip of her chin almost owlish when she peers at him, though Stepan does a series of figure 8's near Sandy's tail before muttering the first of something audible. His voice is rough, weathered like smoke, accented with an Eastern European flair: ] Perhaps they give awards for idiocy.

[ Natasha, to her credit, tsks lightly. Stepan flies lazily back to Natasha, sits somewhere in the thick of her hair and wiggles his wings a little, which isn't an apology at all. ]

Come on.

[ Natasha gestures for him to follow, the bright of her smile back to muted again. ]

I have an idea.

Now I'm worried, [Brian says, already falling into step,] because it was your idea to hand me knives.

[He ignores the wasp; Sandy, however has come forward to nearly stand on his feet before he moves, her black-lined muzzle rising into a lazy snarl for the off-handed insult. The expression on her tan face seems route, instinct. She's no more insulted than Brian. He never once claimed to be able to win the bet-- only that he would take it. Backing down is not his speciality.]

It would be fair if you told me what you're bad at. Just so we're on even footing.

[ At length: ]

Cooking.

[ Who knows if that's really true, but Natasha says it with a friendly kind of air, a certain carelessness as she looks over her shoulder at him before leading on again. SHIELD corridors are dark, heavily secured, but it's not until she reaches the elevator and presses for the basement that it's evident she's heading towards the garage.

Stepan has seated himself right above the B (for basement) button, his wings almost transparent with how the button lights up behind him. ]

And movies, [ Natasha says, somewhat abruptly, seconds after the doors close on them. (It's a sign that she's being, in some part, honest.) ]

I'm bad at watching movies. Most of them bore me.

[The first Brian takes for truth, because that's how he is. The friendly air he takes for truth too. As they slide into the elevator his jaw tightens fractionally with the press of button, his pulse a little louder against his ears.

It's always like that when he thinks he'll be driving. Adrenaline is bitter under his tongue.

He focuses on the luminescent wings of Stepan until Natasha speaks up again. This time Sandy looks up at her as well.]

No kidding. Kinda thought I was the only one. [It's not bluster, or cow-towing. Brian's face is open and honest and he leans absently against the wall as the numbers tick slowly down toward one, and then B. The doors ding softly.]

Not that they bore me, but I'm bad at them. D'rather be out. Doing something.

[The doors slip open with a hiss.]

Me too.

[ It's the last look she throws at him over her shoulder. A smile, honest but small, framed by the red of her hair, before a yellow and black blur settles behind her ear. The garage is underground, has a winding kind of ramp up into the streets that make it seem like it's a private carpark for an apartment building.

There's a myriad of cars parked around; some of them vintage, some of them personal, others the generic black SHIELD cars with tinted windows. She wanders through the rows for a moment, heels clicking against concrete, before she tips her chin, gesturing. ]

That one yours?

[He likes her smile, the way she puts her chin into it. It's probably stupid but there's a satisfaction in making people give away something honest. He returns it, just a curve of lips, before Stepan has her attention again and her heels are taking Natasha away from him.

Brian jogs a few steps to catch up; Sandy takes her time. Unlike a normal dog she doesn't sniff here or there and the way her brown eyes tilt to things has more intention than curiosity. Like all daemons, their intelligence sets them apart.]

Yeah, that one.

[It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out, honestly. It's the loudest car in the garage, a beautiful pearlescent blue with navy trim. Skyline, 2009. Double exhaust and chrome rims-- and that's just the outside. He's put a lot of time into her.

Brian digs his keys out of his pocket.]

[ For a moment it looks like she might throw up her hand, wordlessly ask him to throw over the keys. But instead she just— pauses, then opens the passenger door, rests her arms over the roof of the car. ]

Take me for a drive.

[ A beat, then her eyes seem to shine again, lamplike. ]

And I'll show you how well I can hit a moving target.

[ Which isn't a punishment, exactly, considering his loss. But it is a form of you've shown me yours, I'll show you mine — harmless fun, if Natasha could ever run parallel with the word harmless. And still, there she is, brow arched at him. ]

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