bakerstreet | To put it plainly:

Entry tags:

[warning] violence

To put it plainly:

the film noir meme

-Post with your character and fandom, as well as any preferences.
-Go here and generate a random number between 1-10 for the setting
-If you want, you or the person tagging you can roll a number between 1-8 for relationship as well!
- You know what to do next, honey. Do hurry up, the night's not getting any younger.

Possible settings:

1. Crime Scene: Dead body? Burglary? Whatever the crime, the area's been sectioned off for officers to investigate this nefarious deed, and you're getting front row seat.

2. Bar: There's always some hole-in-the-wall frequented by all sorts. The bartender keeps an eye out for trouble, and other things. Of course he keeps an ear to the ground, but it'll cost ya. Perhaps a cop or two will show up demanding answers, but no one ever takes that seriously.

3. Docks at Night: The breeze caressing your face, the sound of the water, the boats passing by...maybe you were called here, or maybe you just like the peace it brings.

4. Alleyway: There's only one way in and out of this little corridor, and what happens in it is up to you and the other character. Just watch for the shadows, if you can see through the fog.

5. Detective's Office: Not too clean, not too messy. Just perfect for the person that's needed to get this mystery cleared up.

6. Rooftop: The wind dramatically blowing about, it's the perfect place to get that person to come and meet you so you can tell them what you want. Or if you're evil, why not kill them up here? It'll be hard to escape you.

7. Dressing Room: For some reason, you're backstage after a performance, and you've gotten into one of these. The mirrors, the costumes, the flowers from fans and the various personal affects...all are present and will be your silent witnesses to whatever occurs.

8. Hideout: You've gotten to the antagonist's spot of choice. Is this a glitzy nightclub with a private room, or is this an abandoned warehouse where they-or you-carry out their plot? The choice is yours.

9. Nightclub: Someone's showcasing their talent tonight, and you may or may not care about it. But it's classic, dimly lit, and it's easy to hide in here.

10. Free choice

Possible relationships:

1. Friends: Maybe you're an unstoppable team, or perhaps your relationship is getting strained. But whatever the situation, you know this person, and you'd be there for them.

2. Coworkers/teammates/classmates: You might not be friends, but you know this person well enough to remember their name. And right now you're being thrown together for a reason.

3. Lovers: This is the one you wanted to stay with for now. Married, dating, or maybe an affair, but you two care about each other enough.

4. Enemies: Utter hatred flows through your veins when you hear this person's name. This is the one you want to take down, and you just might stop at nothing to achieve your goal.

5. Family: Perhaps it's a sibling you're meeting. Or your parent, or some form of relative. Remember that phrase "blood is thicker than water"? It just might apply here.

6. Mysterious Stranger: Someone's been eying you from across the room, or you've been eying them. Will you two speak, or shall they float out of your life? Do they hold information you seek, or do they want something from you?

7. Femme Fatale: You are or have encountered a mysterious and seductive woman, whose charms ensnare her lovers in bonds of irresistible desire, often leading them into compromising, dangerous, and deadly situations. Watch out, you might just get yourself into a real mess of trouble, hot stuff.

8. Free Choice

Originally from

easycompany, with minor modifications.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

[ Peter gives him an incredulous look, an expressive mixture of "yes, and...?" and "is this apparent non-sequitur leading somewhere?". ]

One more stall and I'll stop being nice about it.

[ He says it very mildly, which as ever doesn't predict how sincere he is. ]

Aren't you a gambling man?

[ So, it really doesn't change anything, does it? That Peter keeps everything so blasé is perhaps, the worst part about this.

As for gambling - he's never plays for money. And in this case, he's very much on the side that keep people who have no proven connections to anything out of the crossfire.

He bites the word out. ]

Fine.

[ Though he's not going to be offering his arm, agreement doesn't mean he'll make things go smoothly. ]

[ When Stiles doesn't hold out his arm, Peter heaves a put upon sigh. He has been intimidating in the past in using his speed and strength. This time he takes visible, normal steps towards Stiles and reaches for the left forearm. His grasp is impersonal, almost polite, except that Peter is never really polite. ]

You see what I mean about your stage potential? It's endless drama with you.

[ The words are not meant to put Stiles at ease (implausible, impossible), but to return the tenor of the conversation to something Stiles is more familiar with. A distraction from the suddenness with which Peter uses a claw to slice a shallow cut into the arm — through the sleeve if necessary, and away from major arteries, but enough so that it does bleed.

And immediately, he releases Stiles' arm and steps back, out of the way. Claws hidden again, face a pleasant mask. Now it'll be much easier to track Stiles through the city, for tonight. Cities are full of thousands and thousands of smells, but this should make the job simpler. Especially since he knows generally where Monique, and thus Stiles, will go. ]

See? Done. Have a good time. Don't do anything I would do.

[ He pulls back reflexively, checking the wound. It's thin, and the location means that it'll be aggravating as it heals - he'll probably reopen it a couple of times before it fully fades.

Which, there are no thanks for that. He feels a flash of irritation at the way he can't figure out what the cut could mean. As a powerplay - it seems lacking. ]

Oh, I'm sure I'm not going to have any difficulty with that.

[ Wiping his arm along his coat, he keeps his distance as he makes his way out the door. ]

And it's stubbornness; not drama.

[ He adds over his shoulder, letting it close before Peter can get a word in edgewise. ]

[ Without counting, Peter gives him almost a whole, oh-so-generous minute head's start. He checks the note behind the mirror and replaces it just as carefully as Stiles had; he rearranges the flowers neatly on the dressing table; and somewhere within the minute's activity, quite without any reflection upon the action, extends the claw again to lick it clean. Then he leaves, ducking the distracted assistant on the way out.

Stiles should be loitering around somewhere, waiting for Monique. Peter leaves through the theater's back entrance without looking around, trusting his sense of smell instead. Though losing Stiles doesn't mean the night's a waste, he's interested in seeing the guy work.

Hopefully, the audience won't be too enthusiastic. ]

[ There's standing room behind the seats, a space usually reserved for ushers as they escorted guests to their seats. It'll do for the remainder of the play.

Towards the end, he heads out to the car, taking it for a quick spin around the block as a way to avoid the rush of people who would be leaving the theater after the show. He ends up parked a little further down than he had been, by a taxi stand halfway between the main and side entrances.

It does good business after show hours.

It isn't until he starts seeing people leaving the theater that he makes his way back. ]

[ You learn patience when you're a fairly young werewolf in a fairly large pack, which is good because it's a long time before he catches any hint of Stiles. Peter moves past the car screened by a busy and growing busier crowd, completing an unhurried circuit of the theater and its surrounding buildings. Just in case.

And soon, yes, in her assistant's coat and a borrowed dressing room wig, the actress emerges from the side entrance, hurrying for the taxi stand with a battered old valise clutched to her chest. On the verge of hailing one, however, she hesitates, then goes to a phone booth to fumble with a coin. Dialing, waiting, speaking — Peter is much too far away and there are too many people for him to pick out anything, but he can see renewed confidence in her body posture, renewed determination despite having come almost directly off the stage. She hangs up and moves off in quick strides, ignoring the taxis now.

Peter feels a flash of simultaneous irritation and amusement. Is it all off? Did he bully Stiles for nothing other than his own entertainment? But it's not technically something he's really concerned about. Technically, he's here to see what Stiles does. If she's double, triple, or not crossing anybody at all, it doesn't matter to him. Technically. ]

[ So either the meeting is nearby, or there's a car waiting for her. He's hoping for the former - his vehicle's too conspicuous to follow anyone for long.

It's not hard to follow Conway for the first leg of the trip, she looks over her shoulder too much to blend in fully, not really settling until she leaves the bright lights and heavy crowds of the entertainment sector behind her.

He's not going to follow her to the apartment - it's enough to know which complex she's head to though he doubles back to be sure it's the brown brick on Leston road. ]

[ Peter trails them both, running a scenario or two through his head as the woman and Stiles make their decisions and act accordingly. By the time Stiles doubles back, Peter is semi-hidden by a sheltered bus stop down the street. A thin, ghostly blood scent passes by with the car. Or maybe he just imagines it.

'Monique' Conway waits for the elevator in the tiny, spartan, and brightly lit hall, glancing from time to time out into the night through the tall windows. When she goes up, Peter represses a sigh and keeps his ears open. What way is Stiles going down with this? Catch Conway on her way out? Grab the note-writing accomplice, grab the buyer? Take what Conway is carrying for himself? That would be really interesting. ]

[ If by interesting, you mean make a phone call to Mahealani, the archivist at the station from the phone booth at the end of the street. He keeps his voice low, starting with small talk before asking what he wanted to know: who's interested in the building on Leston. It'll either be drugs or burglary.

And it takes a promise of returning all the files he'd hoarded to get some sort of cooperation.

He looks around while he waits for Danny to work his magic, eyes following a couple walking their dog down the street. ]

[ He'd been prepared for downtime and a lot of mundane crap, but as an independent, hobbyist stalker, he had forgotten about bureaucracy. Poor human Stiles, unable to overcome the obstacles Peter can, or use his senses to the best of their ability.

Speaking of which, his attempt to listen in on Stiles' side of the conversation means that Peter spots the dog only about two seconds before it spots him. It's like slow motion — he can see the fur bristle, the ears go back, the back and shoulders tense, the jaw start to open — and he can hardly growl at it with the owners right there. He shrinks as far back into the shelter as he can go, unable to control the flat blue flash of his own eyes. Sometimes that and presence is all it takes, but this is a dog on the prowl, with owners to protect. Even if it can't be heavier than forty pounds.

Barking ensues. A lot of it. ]

[ It draws the attention of everyone on the street, Stiles tells Danny that he'll have to call back later, hanging up and leaving the change as he moves towards the bus stop, eventually making out Peter's familiar figure.

The couple try to pull the dog away, apologizing - Cody's not usually like this - before finally picking the dog up. They hurry off, the dog barking and growling until they're well out of sight. ]

Dogs make good judges of character.

They also make good burgers.

[ Peter stares the dog down as it dwindles in the distance, then turns that stare to Stiles, not at all repentant about being found out. ]

Who was that on the other end? Sounds ... obliging.

[ Not that he really could hear the other person, but something in the way the conversation went, the various tones of voices Stiles went through and the body language involved, makes Peter think Stiles more or less got what he wanted. Or will, eventually. ]

Maybe if you're desperate. [ He scrubs a hand across his mouth, the idea of eating dog is gross. Please be pulling his leg with that suggestion.

As for Danny... he's not going to find out if Peter's the sort to go around stalking police officers. ]

It's nobody you would know, unless you have been arrested before?

You haven't checked? I'm a little sad. Doesn't this —

[ Here he makes a small gesture to encompass (apparently) Stiles, himself, the bus shelter, possibly the entire city. ]

— mean anything to you? Or is it just work, work, work?

[ As with some of his questions, there is the feeling of a trap to this one. Then again, it's almost futile to try and predict the consequences of a conversation with Peter. ]

Getting caught and being a criminal are two entirely different things.

[ He says dryly, head tilted just so. Like his words had been anything but obvious. ]

But if you wanted to tell me, I wouldn't stop you.

[ Half-turning, he starts walking away. Does Peter really want to keep talking here? ]

[ The little sigh from behind Stiles, out of the darkness of the bus shelter, belongs in the soundtrack of a movie, the platonic ideal of the wistful sound made by the freshly spurned romantic. ]

You've got to be the least inspiring detective I've ...

[ His voice trails off because in listening to city noises distant and near, it sounds like a lot of cars are coming. They're still several streets away. Traffic hasn't been heavy through this area thus far, but he's not really an expert on city traffic patterns. Also, he shouldn't 'help' Stiles in any way, so he merely finishes his sentence. ]

... ever harassed.

Somehow, I doubt that you need the inspiration.

[ He'd noticed the hesitation, and takes the time to make a more detailed sweep of the area. ]

I could take that as a confession.

[ He adds, absently. All the lights are off in the brownstone, even the lobby - those are never supposed to be off.

As much as he wants to check it out, he's got to consider his tag-along, and the fact that he has no back up. There's the mover's entrance, it's easy enough to walk past it, even if they can't stop and see. ]

No night's ever complete without a trip down an alley.

[ The engines on the approaching cars sound ... good? Well, he's not a mechanic either. They sound better than, for instance, most of the taxis. Anyway, Stiles will hear them soon if he doesn't already, and it's his show, at the moment. Peter manages to mentally replay the commentary of the last few moments. ]

I could take that as a confession, too.

[ He can't follow his own rules, though. He's not a long term plotter yet, it's just too irresistible to follow his instincts and see this out. ]

We should get off the street.

That the people of this city need to be less predictable?

[ He picks up the pace, turning into the side street leading back towards the loading zones for a couple of the buildings here.

It's not surprising that one of the doors is propped open, and he'll bet there's someone standing right by the doorway. Judging by the sounds of approaching traffic, he's not going to get any license numbers tonight. ]

Keep going, then take the second left, it should lead to Grover.

Don't ruin my jokes.

[ The objection is purely reflexive; that conversation is mostly over, and the new one, where they're not actually discussing the possibility of being shot by men in cars with well-tuned engines, is ever so slightly more important. Maybe being shot isn't quite as pressing a concern for Peter, but it's not fun either. ]

But you're going in?

[ The stress on "you're" is unkind, a little arrogant, and utterly Peter. He tries not to be the guy going on and on about how fragile and squishy humans are, but he totally did it in his head a few minutes ago and is clearly doing it now. Not that Stiles has ever given any indication he knows exactly what Peter is. ]

[ He snorts, there's no way he's going in there, he's not suicidal. ]

Hale, I told you I'm a gambling man. Figure out the odds on that one.

[ No, he's just going to circle back out front, see if he could catch one of the vehicles that way. There's no way he'll beat the cars going the long way around - they would be long gone. ]

[ He comes to roughly that conclusion after a moment. In Peter's opinion, if you don't already know the identity of the people in cars (with guns?) that you have to avoid, you've stepped too deeply in it to be doing further investigation here and now. This is because he is not a detective, and usually is one of the thing people like to try to avoid. ]

Good luck with that. If you get caught, I'll light a candle for you.

[ He doesn't follow Stiles' directions, though. There's a fire escape he thinks he can reach, but he'll wait for Stiles to circle out of sight. ]

If it'll make you feel better.

[ If he gets caught, it's not like he'll be around to care. See, that's the thing about funerals - they're for the living.

He tips an imaginary hat at Peter, heading back down the street they came from, speeding up into a job once he's sure he can't be seen from the apartment. ]

[ He has to rebound off the wall, but it's doable; it takes him longer to reach the roof, as he's making an effort to be quiet as he climbs. Now he has a good view of the street, where the last of the cars are arriving. Stiles isn't in sight, but he's confident he'll be able to find the detective again if necessary. Unless, of course, he's caught.

Would he make a rescue attempt? Peter plays with the idea while watching, effortlessly still. He'd have to kill a lot of people, probably. This is not a deterrent in and of itself, but it sounds like a lot of work, and his family would probably yell at him, which is so boring.

The men below are getting out of their cars, examining the premises. Some guns, he thinks, but nothing submachine-looking, at least. ]

To put it plainly:

:')

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)