it's 2012, baby!

[stregadoro]

the modern au meme

Drop the beat. Is your character King of Westeros, a soldier from the '40s, or even an assassin from the Renaissance Era? Not anymore.

▶ HOW THIS WORKS

1. Post with your character, explain what they are now in the year 2012.
2. Optional: Make an open tag to go with your post. It is encouraged, not forced.
3. Have fun, tag around!

Comments

[avengement]

[The first pause goes straight over his head, and he doesn't notice it. He's too busy trying to accumulate a professional atmosphere that by the time he actually looks at the man in the doorway, he's already spoken. Benjamin looks at him with a smile and hopes it meets his eyes. He never used to appear unnerving when he did that before; what could have happened?]

Not usually. It's rather slow around this time. What can I do for you, Sir?

[His hands move quickly, finishing polishing one last razor with a cloth. He gently sets it down on the table in front of his mirror.]

[the_new_sexy]

Doing some investigations on the missing people from this area. I assume the police have already asked you or your landlady questions?

[Actually, he assumes the exact opposite. Lestrade's officers are irritating at stupid, they'd have never followed the trail to Fleet Street. It's all cold after this, though. He'll figure it out. Right now, though, the man before him is far more interesting.]

[avengement]

[There's a sharp intake of breath and Benjamin swears his heart stops and he eyes the man. But he's nothing but smoothness and manners when he replies.]

Missing? I haven't heard a thing. [He gestures downward to the floorboards and the bakery below.] And if Mrs. Lovett has, she hasn't mentioned it.

[He narrows his eyes ever-so-slightly at the man.]

You aren't with the police?

[the_new_sexy]

I dislike working with the police, they make for too much stupid in one room.

[Like a cat circling prey, Sherlock starts to pace the room, taking in little details. The silver of the razors, the age of the recently straightened photograph.]

Only you up here now.

[avengement]

At times. [He says it wryly. Perhaps not stupidity so much as corruption.]

But yes. Just myself, unless you'd care to count my landlady. [As the man paces the room, Benjamin takes care to watch him closely. He's not sure that there is evidence for what he's done, but just the fact that someone else is taking authority in his shop puts him on edge. He gestures to a chair in the corner, a makeshift waiting area in the small shop.]

You may take a seat, if you'd like, Sir.

[the_new_sexy]

So your wife and daughter are dead or simply left you when you were sent to prison?

[Tact? From my consulting detective?]

[avengement]

[A beat. A flicker of angry confusion before he looks at the picture in the mirror. Well, that's half the explanation.]

My wife, unfortunately, is.

[As for that second half, there's a long moment before he answers. There's only one person who he's confided that much to, though he hasn't purposefully made a secret of his release.]

You've been talking to Mrs. Lovett.

[the_new_sexy]

No, it's not difficult to deduce, all you have to do is look around this room. [Tone says: "Obviously."]

The men you murdered, though, they had nothing to do with your wife's death or the disappearance of your child---a girl most likely, though with modern ideals on toy-giving it could be either.

But why kill them? They have nothing you could want.

[avengement]

[Shoulders tense and then - a low chuckle.]

There's been a mistake. I'm a simple barber, nothing more.

My daughter - she hasn't disappeared. I know quite well what's become of her.

[the_new_sexy]

[Sherlock looks at the man's eyes, trying to discern truth out of what he's saying. Does he actually believe that?]

You're a barber, yes, but hardly simple. You've been educated in engineering, enough to rebuild your chair, and make better use of it. For transport. Tiny scuff marks on the edge of the floor, not from your patrons, but from metal being moved, being slid and laid down. Your razors are regularly cleaned and sharpened, but not for shaving. The strop has some action to it in the last few weeks, but not enough for regular customers. Business isn't that bad, because you've had enough dust move along this floor in order to show people entering and leaving. People entering and leaving but you don't need to sweep up hair on the floor? That says they don't make it past the razor. And that's enough to move past what is simple about your shop.

What does it have to do with your daughter, though? I know it does, but how?

[avengement]

[Should he actually expect an answer to that question, he'll certainly be disappointed as Benjamin's mouth sets into a thin line. He concentrates hard, willing himself not to look at the razors on the table.]

Who are you?

[the_new_sexy]

Sherlock Holmes.

And you?

[avengement]

Benjamin Barker. [His head jerks in the direction of where the sign would hang outside the shop. Really? Come in here making all kinds of accusations, but have to ask for a name. Fantastic.]

[the_new_sexy]

[Sherlock's brow furrows.] Benjamin Barker. [Where has he heard that name before?]

[avengement]

Same as on the sign, Mister Holmes. [And that smile is too cordial.]

[the_new_sexy]

No.

[No. Something else. Something he saw a long, long time ago. He'd need time in his Mind Palace to pull it out properly, to figure out what he was missing. He had a feeling it was a case he'd read in the papers when he was young, something that didn't sit right with him. Something that felt off.

But this, this doesn't feel off.]

Why the murders, Mr. Baker? Why those men?

[avengement]

There are no murders, Mister Holmes.

[And he'll keep insisting it. He doesn't know how or why Sherlock's come in here, determined to take him down, or how he's unraveled everything about his shop in nothing more than five minutes, but even so, until a body is found, a confession is the last thing he'll get. And even that doesn't seem likely, given that any bodies aren't here.]