bakerstreet | thursday pic prompt

The gentle circles being rubbed into the palm of Legolas's hand stopped. He met the elf's eyes, and for a long moment only stared at him with a hard, indescribable look.

There was something to that otherwise innocent question...something that left a tightness in his chest that he couldn't explain. He had no doubt of the sincerity behind those words, despite how hard a small part of him still looked for the ulterior motive hidden within.

He was surprised to find how much he found himself wanting exactly what Legolas was suggesting.

With a soft exhale he released the man's hand, his gaze dropping as he reached up to rub at the back of his neck - an anxious gesture unnoticed even by him.

"It sounds like a nice dream," he murmured softly. Something he can't say he had ever had in his life, when he thought about it, for when was the last time his dreams of the future had been free of pride and blood? He chuckled at that. A forced sound, as he shook his head and smiled a crooked smile, needing to keep this light, keep this joking. Keep this from dragging his thoughts to darker places. "And I can think of a great many people that would take offense to the vile Artemis Entreri outliving them all."

[Ahh good. I got the job I mentioned above and now everything is frantic prep and planning nonstop.]

Aurus accepted this with a nod. He was in no rush. There was plenty of time as far as he was concerned--it wasn't like he had anywhere he needed to be. Actually, though he wanted to meet the students, given the choice his priority would still have been seeing Charles again and spending more time with him. They had so much yet to talk about, and while Hank was certainly very good company, the connection and interest that Aurus felt for Charles was something else again.

Cutting himself an experimental bite of waffle, the sylvari shifted the conversation slightly to something he was wondering. "How did you and Charles meet? Did you come here just to teach or did you know him before?"

[ It does annoy the hell out of him. So would most of those steps if he was aware of such an instruction existing. His fishy cousins deserved better than becoming some losers' soup, okay? ]

[ Squalo isn't concerned with Cavallone's lackeys, mostly because being Pride incarnate comes with being certain he'd trash them without breaking a sweat (you'd think losing to a baseball tween would've punched that overconfidence out of him, but nah). He is concerned about Dino mouthing off against the Varia, because it is, for better or worse, his baby and nobody savages it without answering to him. ]

[ He stares at Dino for a long moment, not moving but not letting go either, his grip on the other man relaxing slightly. ]

[ Then he's smashing their foreheads together in one hell of a headbutt. ]

He -- he said they're just hanging out.

[She half shrieks and half hisses, in relief and anticipation of keeping Alya from giving them away by being too loud. All while kind of flailing a little with the phone in her hand.]

For your birthday...? [ Excuse a soon-battered horse the drunken installment of evening bitterness. Or maybe it's the creeping hole in his cup, born of grasping the thing too keenly and not letting the recipient's rings relax back to form. ] No. I'm doing too many favours, of late.

[ And the scant drops of whiskey he's earning for it in between the juggling act of balancing his stool after Xanxus' kick — they're barely worth it. He sighs (again; with feeling; shut up; it's habit) and rights himself in his seat once more, downing his liquor with an ugly look at Xanxus' leg, then throwing the cap at an impolite distance behind him. Some Varia out there's playing housekeeper - Dino's got to keep him in business.

After, he's down to thug mores again, pointedly lifting his hand and rolling down his sleeve for the display of a long strip of spoil-bruises bluing his arm to the elbow. ]

Here's a favour. This is Vongola's new Cloud. [ A calling card, really, and Dino stuck trafficking it back to Rome. ] I'm not sure just what Japan feeds them.

[ Middle-schoolers really shouldn't come out like this, and hapless Cavallone shouldn't be tricked about their gentleness to babysit them, for fuck and hell and Dino's collective sake. ]

[!!! CONGRATS! That's awesome! (The job not so much the crazy XD)]

Really, sometimes Hank wondered if he and Charles had met by fate, by chance, or purely because of what they both were. The very fact he had been working on something that couldn't have fit Charles better if he had known the other existed.

The corner of his mouth lifted on that thought, working into his plate as he explained. "I was working with a team designed to work on new devices like the world had never seen before and suddenly, there was Charles, walking in with his sister and-" There was the most momentary of hesitations, "-an associate. He'd been brought in to meet me because of something I'd designed, to see if I could help him." Cerebro was not something he was willing to specifically mention to an outsider, considering how many people would want such a device and the mutant who could use it.

"He accidentally outed me as a mutant to everyone standing around at the time, and well, the rest is history." He gave a quiet chuckle, remembering that moment of utter surprise on everyone's face and his own terror. Funny, now that he was looking back on it. "The one and only time I ever got one up on Charles Xavier, I think."

That's good...see? Nothing to worry about.

(Seeing Marinette flail again, with phone in hand, caused Alya to take action. She giggles lightly, reaching out to tickle, tickle, tickle her friend's stomach. Marinette had to get it out, even if it meant some more cute flailing.

If she did get too loud, they were still close enough to the Tower that a quick sprint wouldn't hurt.)

[ even this isn't a topic that shiro wants to ford. his connection to black has been without ripple from the beginning, her understanding of their partnership much like shiro's own. he may have not been the ideal pilot, but he's all there is.

but she'd felt what he'd felt in the aftermoments. his wariness is hers, too.

he holds his silence for a moment longer, swallowing and swallowing again past the initial stickiness of a spoonful of freeze-dried food goo. ]

Comms down. We're lucky that we landed in the water — she's got some cosmetic damage, but no real problems. We'll be out of here by tomorrow.

[ another spoonful, followed by a swig of water. the unnatural firelight licks up keith's skin, the yellow pigment pooling. in his white fingers, in his white sclera.

shiro's smile quiets, a simple logistical necessity: one can't eat and smile at the same time. he waits for the silence to curl up into its customary comfortable sprawl - they have sat in silence under the stars many, many times in the past, after all - but it never does. minutes pass, marked only by the clatter of utensils. shiro finishes the last of his water supply.

and then he sighs, the pretense leeching from him. ]

Look, Keith — what happened out there. The first thing we'll have to do during debrief is to tell the others about it. To be honest with you, I don't remember much of it, so I'll be relying on you for the details.

[ it's the only way he can think to broach the subject: couched in the parentheses of duty. ]

What happened.

[ in flat, dumb echo. between them, silence stretches a little, pearled with disbelief. his eyes snap up, trace the wavering mouth, the tension threading down shiro's jaw, every fire-stark line. his knuckles brighten over the flask, but he doesn't set it down -- there's a kind of comfort to be had in holding onto something that won't break. ]

You saved me.

[ a three-word memory. it doesn't tell the whole story -- won't frame the questions still tangling in his muted throat; the heartbeats clumping down between them as they'd wheeled from the shore, one after another into a looming wall; the way shiro'd looked on the shore, hands curling and his shoulders drawn like a puppet's cut from its strings, the last of his glass-eyed adrenaline draining away to something human, shaken.

he doesn't look away. ]

But I'm guessing that's not what you want me to say.

His hand released, Legolas made sure it was free of slippery suds, then wiped both hands dry in a towel. He needed a steady, firm grip on the dagger, and it seemed like there would be no better moment than now to begin — Artemis was relaxed and distracted both —, so he picked up the knife and continued talking to keep up the distraction.

"I do not care for those people," he said, gently tipping Artemis's face to one side, with a simple touch to the temple, to have best access, "What they like or what offends them, it matters little to me."

He had to bite back his own fraying nerves, for reasons entirely different than Artemis's own. It was not something he had ever done before, for reasons obvious enough; elves did not shave, and never was he close enough with a Man or a Dwarf to get to do it for them. Artemis was first, like he was first in some other matters that Legolas had yet to voice. To his credit, at the very least, his hand did not shake, not a single tremble disturbed him, and the first swipe, while unpractised and not particularly successful in a clean shave, did not take off a chunk of skin with it. Legolas frowned, wiped the blade on a clean rag and tried again.

This sure was turning out to be more difficult than he initially thought it would be.

['I should make some the next time your mom makes stew and bring them over so you can see if they go good with it or not.'

Cloud blinks, opening his mouth and closing it again, ducking his head and burying his chin in his scarf. Confused, and pleased and very much wondering when the other shoe will drop because why...

Why would this be happening now? At all? But nothing happens at all, just Tifa continuing, talking about even further into the future and Cloud... doesn't know what to think of it.

Frowning, some small, petty part wonders if it's because he happens to be here, now, or called her out but... this is Tifa and she's not--- He doesn't even know. He wants what she's talking about to be true.]

Um... Mom wouldn't mind. [Of course she wouldn't. She'd be delighted... Looking down at the ice, blue in the darkening afternoon, he makes a hard turn, shoots away from Tifa and then, inevitably trails back to their former parallel orbits, Cloud nods slowly.]

... probably. Old enough, I mean. It'll probably take a while before I can... [Well, he hopes not. He wants to succeed as soon as possible, of course.] ... can become SOLDIER. But I will.

But um... I... like that idea. [Flustered shyness has him hiding his face under his bangs and in his scarf again, and hopefully the darkening blue of the afternoon hides his blush.]

[ Word to the street-smarts wise: hell hath no fury like a parietal bone scorned. It's not that Dino loathes headbutting in practice — if you're getting battered, you're getting battered, why dally in details — it's that the principle of it insults every last one of his accounting sensibilities. An offensive move that equally damages both parties, or risks the initiator more, is downright inefficient. If you're gonna take matters into your very literal fins-slash-hands, might at least be productive.

Most men would agree and avoid headbutting out of sheer practicality.

Unfortunately, Superbia Squalo is a shark that's sadly missed his cue to bank on the latest cinematographic tornado, its dazzling sequel, the unexpected triplet or the still-dragging hideous monstrosity to rule them all.

Squalo has not so far proven himself the leather-clad picture of solid life decisions.

All of this is to say, when an oversized, strategically fringe-shielded forehead collides into his own, Dino isn't exactly surprised, horrified, or overall capable of more than meeting his quota of hissing, groaning, moaning and muttering. His grasp on Squalo's hands weakens at first, then steels, and — the first haze of confused nausea dispelling — he takes a step back, then another to follow it. Distance, it turns out, doesn't quite produce revelation when you've just had the world's least worthwhile injury inflicted on you.

Dino's tongue clicks. Clacks. Makes an orchestra of slow-soft, useless sounds. Then, finally, he lets go of Squalo's hand just enough to vaguely touch his arm, then warmly pat his shoulder. Repeatedly. ]

Squalo...? That... hurt.

[ You know, in case the Varia needed another five-out-of-five-star review. ]

[ shiro's lips tighten, but it's a frustration he won't voice. he'd had a notion that this wouldn't be an easy conversation, and keith doesn't disappoint. ]

It's not about the end result.

[ he's made a habit of tucking in his rough edges, knowing that what voltron needed was a leader without visible flaw. the rest of them - even keith, in his way - know nothing about war or the way violence corkscrews into your mind, changing everything. no weakness. no hint of anything but strength and patience. a leader to whom trust comes naturally.

the thing is, takashi shirogane was all of those things once. but shiro's someone else now. he can tuck in his rough edges, yes, and adopt a calm demeanor as he does now: but it's all a facsimile. bricks laid and mortar carefully smoothed between each. ]

What happened was out of my control. Safeguards need to be put into place.

Edited 2016-09-18 22:11 (UTC)

[ like war isn't nothing but a series of ends. ]

What kind of safeguards?

[ echo after echo. he sounds very young -- stupid even to his own ear, all demands and no help to be had. there's a problem that comes with following first, following every time. he doesn't know where most of the castle hallways twist and lead; he doesn't know what red wants from him -- half the time and even now, curled away in the dark, all lidless eyes over a spine like battlements; he doesn't know takashi shirogan--

no.

it's an open question. he waits it out. ]

[ even so, keith's questions are helpful. they keep shiro goal-oriented rather than allowing him to think too hard about the shape of that goal. ]

Something that can stop me if it happens again. We'll have to talk to the others about it, but I'm sure Pidge and Coran can rig something up. Some kind of tranq, maybe.

[ this is what the shiro of old would have done. thought about his team and the success of their mission first. being leashed like a slathering beast seems a fair compromise when it comes to keeping the others safe.

maybe shiro's tired of thinking about eventualities. maybe it would be easier to put the power over his own fate into someone else's hands again.

( sometimes - sometimes - he misses the arena. the rhythm of it. the absence of thought. ) ]

[THANK YOU! :D The crazy will pass...the crazy will pass... (This is my mantra; maybe if I say it enough it will come true!)]

There was a lot of information held within those words, and Aurus farmed it all, mostly storing it away. He didn't plan to do anything with it per se. It was just additional material for his mental file on Charles. He had a sister for one thing. And the "associate"? He thought he did detect a hint of pause on the selection of that word--something just slightly freighted with ambiguous implications. They could be a former lover, perhaps, but that seemed almost simplistic.

"He knew just by looking at you? And said so to others? I think I'm surprised. There's nothing revealing in your appearance at all, as far as I can see, and I'd taken him to be quite intent on discretion. That was my impression last night at least."

He also didn't see how any of this by any means constituted Hank getting one up on Charles. It sounded almost like the opposite. But maybe there was yet some piece of vital information he lacked.

[ a moment drags out -- swallows a second, a third. but he looks down at last; his shoulders twitch once in the universal sullen language for right, fine, whatever. not even space academy could remake him, apparently, the last of the garrison's dutiful little obeisances scrubbed off with the sway of the stream and the ache in his throat.

( what'd happened out there? how'd he learned to move like that, crossing from water to sand like a lash? could it happen again in voltron? in an empty hall? )

the flask's still dark in his grip -- clanks against a knee as he sits up a little. blinking, keith stares at its metal, sets it aside. more little distractions and delays. ]

Are you okay?

[ it isn't a real question. but then, it's not like he has the words to piece together a better one. ]

[ it's no resounding agreement, but it'll do.

his gaze flicks down to the dull sound of metal against sheathed bone. he can see his own shadowy reflection in the flask's surface, distorted by the fire, by the distance between them.

it used to be so easy to talk to keith. garrison work, sims, shitty instructors, new breakthroughs in flight technology, the terrible slop served in the cafeteria. now he has to weigh each word before delivery, thinking about what he's willing to reveal. sometimes he's certain that something inside of him has been charred black: one day he'll breathe out and smoke will pour from his nostrils. ]

I'm out under the stars with a buddy of mine.

[ the smile flickers back into being. shiro scuffs a hand through his hair; leans back on his palms. there, in the eastern corner, the false cassiopeia. ]

It's not all bad.

[The spice will flo--- wait wrong mantra.]

Hank looked up, amusement in his eyes and across his lips. "That's because you didn't know Charles back then. Sometimes, this room wouldn't have been big enough to hold his ego. He," he touched his temple lightly, "and assumed. The problem is, what he assumed was wrong - that my coworkers knew what I was. He didn't mean to do what he did, but he couldn't have looked more surprised when he realized what he had done." Hence how he had 'gotten one over' on Charles. "...He's grown a lot since then. We all have." They had been forced to, in many ways.

It was about as deep as he was willing to tell about Charles. Innocent things, nothing that could give someone a great advantage over his friend. There was a part of Hank that was and always would be protective of Charles and that had nothing to do with his disability. They had been through hell and back, seen each other at his lowest point.

[ he draws up a knee, rests his chin against the heel of his hand as he watches shiro settle. it's not a moment to smile -- and still reflex tugs a corner of his mouth, eases the sling of his shoulders. it's a corny sentiment, sure -- but familiar footing and all that. he's never been good at disguises, spinning subjects, makeshifting peace. it doesn't mean he can't spot an attempt to slide something under the rug. ]

I trust you.

[ it's a clumsy driftwood declaration -- doesn't fit a conversation that keeps battering itself against clusters of all the unsaid things, subjects they're leaving up to the inevitable team discussion to come.

even so. ]

Just so we're clear.

[ in the immediate aftermoments, it's almost as if shiro hasn't heard keith's declaration. he's still looking up at the stars, grounded in the present like he's never wanted to be. the grit under his hands, the breeze against his cheeks. the silvered sky.

keith's loyalty has been a boon on the battlefield, but here it's a stone chained to his ankle. saving a friend, one thing, forgetting his humanity in the process: another entirely.

it's not the questions that reminds shiro how young keith is. it's the trust.

maybe it would be kinder to accept it, but he won't make a liability of himself. ]

Trusting the unknown isn't what you were trained to do, Keith.

[ yet he looks calm, unruffled. as if it's a lifetime ago, and he's asking about keith's astrophysics homework. ]

You're smarter than that.

[ the fire leaps in place, yellow-white-yellow, stirring up sparks, swaying their shadows to and fro. he breathes, and tastes for a beat the faint acidic sting of rain in his teeth -- a coming storm, as promised, churning ready for some faraway hour.

in the interim, keith only shrugs again, a bare cool movement, nearly unseen. there's no real answer he can make to that -- it isn't, after all, an argument. shiro's right: he doesn't know. but it doesn't matter. trust isn't a switch, on and off and on again. it lives or it doesn't. ]

Should've trained me out of it while you had the chance.

You don't think it's cute?

[ he asks, giving michael a sweet smile ]

I figured you'd like a cute one better.

[ the phantomhive household is as prestine as ever upon his late and uninvited arrival. perhaps thereby hangs the thread, the thing pulling taut on all of his little annoyances that culminate in distaste. it sits bitter in the hollow of his throat.

it's unnerving. no one can ever be so perfect without something dark marring and clouding them beneath.

and in his experience, no one serving under the clandestine words of the queen ever truly is without that. oh, it would be delightful to see the young earl let slip that veneer. admittedly, it's something earl grey had turned into a small game.

yet duty is duty, and he has to admit that the brat performs admirably.

the earl settles himself into the armchair, lazily peering through ashen eyelashes before sipping at the tea. smile returned, practiced and coy when all he wants to do is roll his eyes.

hmph. even the darjeeling is brewed exactly as it should be.

not that he would report something like that to the queen.]

Mm, I realize I came unannounced - [ it's a shadow away from an apology, but not quite. even if a real one was to come, it would be formality only. he wasn't actually sorry. ] - though it was under Her Majesty's suggestion.

[ suggestion is as much law as a direct order, to be fair. another slow slip, before he sets the cup down, and throws one leg over the other. ] She had inquired after you. I had realized my knowledge was out of date.

[ indeed, this was just a visit to see if the earl was being a good dog. he let's the statement hang in the air. truth was, while this was as much duty-bound as he said, it could have waited. he could have sent a letter. he could have come for an official date. but he was bored.

which is why he is here to bother the other earl. bother because earl grey isn't so incredibly unaware that he doesn't know his presence is recognized as a nuisance at best.

just another thing to be unnerved about. ]

[ Look, after this she'll keep the map, maybe even put it up on a wall so she can have a memento of this little day trip that they're presumably going to take. And that's why paper maps are amazing.

She pulls her hands back in favor of wrapping her fingers around her cup of coffee and stirring it with a teaspoon as he's looking over the map. ]

There's an outdoor exhibition going on there. Plus, it's springtime, so all the flowers should be in bloom. What do you think?

thursday pic prompt

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MY SIDES

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......that's either a terrible or a sterling whip pun, be ashamed anyway

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Yeaaah. Clearly ShinRa don't care but I sure hope most were at least 16-18 or older...

YOUR CAPS.

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i'm sorry too oh gosh ;;

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