bakerstreet | Roommates

Roommates

Perhaps you were best friends who decided to make rent cheaper by living together, a couple who took the plunge and moved in together, or you could just be some random people thrown together by circumstance and really needing a place to live.

Either way, you're sharing a flat (or maybe even a room) now! What's going to happen?

You know this drill:
- Post your character name, series and any preferences.
- Go to RNG (1-12) and tag around.
- Have fun!

PROMPTS:
( moving day )
Boxes. So. Many. Boxes. Whether you're moving in or out, they've got to go. Is your roommate willing to lend a hand?

( chores )
Whose turn is it to take out the trash? How about the dishes?

( pets )
Not only are you sharing a living space, you're sharing space with an animal. There could be allergies, behavioral issues, or an unexpected exercise partner. Most importantly, do you have to hide them from the super? Hmm, maybe not the fishtank.

( uninvited guests )
Could be a party, could be a significant other that seems to have moved in... you just weren't expecting company tonight.

( the noisy one )
Is there anything worse than paper thin walls and a noisy flatmate? You can hear everything they're doing... even (or especially) the TMI.

( the friendly one )
Oh, lucky you, you've scored someone who wants to try and make things as good as possible for you both! Don't waste this now. It might just be the greatest thing you could have.

( the tmi one )
OH GOD why did you walk in during that? Nope, backing out now... unless you're into that. Why do they keep telling you things, as well? Gosh.

( the disaster )
There's not even words. These are the ones the internet warned you about. A little TMI or noise? That is nothing compared to the crazy you're stuck with right now.

( a night in )
Game night, movies, TV marathons, whatever you like. You and your flatmate are going to hunker down with some popcorn and have fun.

( the fight )
Chore chart not working out? Someone is always late with the rent? It just isn't working out. Time to have that confrontation you're been putting off. Good luck.

( shopping )
Whether you're going for groceries or furniture (or fun!), you and your flatmate are hitting the shops and spending some cash.

( the other )
Thought of something not on here? Go for it! Mix and match your options or anything else!

MEME ORIGINALLY BY

attentionboys. with minor modifications

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

"Well, I don't know about that," he answered, Irish accent light but noticable, rubbing the finger of his right hand under his chin. The tattoo there not particularly visible until he turned his body more. Even then, the lettering was hard to make out from the angle. A word of some sort.

"But at least have a fucking fast lane."

"I've worked retail. I blame the customers over the staff, any day. That poor kid's likely the only one working right now."

He catches sight of the tattoo, but, hey. Loads of people have tattoos. No big deal. There was something... Familiar about the guy he was talking to, though. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"Aye, but the old woman's just doing what she needs to," he argued. Not because he liked the wait, but because he at least understood the needs of people that age. Murphy wasn't really in the mood to keep it up, though. He wanted gone. Back to his brother.

"She's almost done. As long as no one else in in front of us takes their fucking time, we'll be out of here like we should have been already." He patted his coat, absently searching for the cigarettes that weren't there. The tattoo on his index finger became much more recognizable. 'Veritas'. Truth.

He gave up on finding his non-existent cigarettes and instead rubbed at his neck, where another tattoo was visible when he pushed the cloth of his turtle neck done. One that had been described and flashed across several news sources more than a decade ago. Mary Magdalene wasn't an uncommon tattoo, but the stabilization of his was.

On seeing the tattoos, everything starts slotting into place.

No... It couldn't be.

But, yet, here it was. Plain as day. Out of curiosity, Peter had let himself into the archives in Boston when they left him alone to roam the Federal Building one day whilst waiting for Olivia.

Well, let's just say he found a certain almost twenty year-old file.

He tears his eyes away, clearing his throat as the queue starts moving forwards.

This was impossible.

Murphy catches the awkward look and can only wonder what the man had against tattoos. Maybe it was the religious significance?

"Irish-Catholic," he offered in clarification, as if that would make it tattooing okay. "You?"

"I'm, uh..." How, exactly, do you describe the religion of a half-fae? "Complicated."

Either way, Peter offers a slightly apologetic grin, knowing the answer won't appease someone who's die-hard religious... and he's not quite sure how one of the so-called Saints would react.

Regardless, whatever awkwardness in Peter's gaze is gone, mostly masked.

They take a step forward. Murphy is now one person away from being served.

Murphy nodded in understanding, feeling a lot better now that there was only one person between him and getting back to Connor, "It happens."

The guy in front of them only had a few items so he got rung up fast. Then Murphy was up and the kid at the register obviously recognized him. He sighed and Murphy made a face, "What?"

"You know what."

"It's all I got," Murphy answered, already pulling out the wad of cash and bag of change. "I'm not going to pay for an exchange when they charge that much to do it. I already know how much it'll be."

"I still have to get the calculator."

"Then get it. I've got places to be."

Peter peers over Murphy's shoulder, spotting the decent amount of dollars in change, and frowns.

He watches the cashier make a chore of leaving the register and going to get the calculator, as well as something with the exchange rate on.

Interesting.

The man hovering at his shoulder was more than a little noticeable. He turned to look at him, grimacing, "Sorry. I've been in here enough I know the rates, but they make a big deal out of getting the calculator every fucking time."

He looked back at the kid, who was dragging his feet over the card and calculator.

"They act like they don't get plenty of tourists in here every fucking day. Fuck."

"Hey, no problem. I've been a tourist before." Peter withdraws back to a more respectable distance, watching the cashier, who mumbles something about tourists having the right currency as he gets back to his till.

"Then they ain't really tourists, are they?" he asked as the kid started scanning the items and putting them off to the side. Murphy moved to the end so he could bag them himself and watch to make sure none of the money he'd set out got 'accidentally' misplaced. At this point, he was grinning though, "Second thing they teach you in tourist school is to always assume you're the center of the world and everyone takes your currency. Right after they teach you not to bother learning the language 'cause everyone speaks English, obviously."

Despite himself, the cashier snorted in amusement. Murphy could be rather charming when he wanted to be.

Peter chuckles at that. "What, you mean speaking louder doesn't make it so everyone can understand me?" He asks, with a mock afflicted tone, shifting his basket to his other arm.

Someone else walks into the store, wearing a grey hoodie with the hood pulled up and over their face, hands stuffed into pockets and a general slouch. Nothing too unusual, just a teenager. The figure is dismissed from his mind.

Murphy noticed the newcomer as well. Hard not to with how he looked, like he was trying not to be noticed. Only drew more attention to himself that way, as far as Murphy was concerned. But his attention was drawn back to to his groceries as the attendant called out the total and then started to calculate what it would be in American.

When the new total was said, Murphy spread his hands to either side, "I could've told you that."

And then the kid in the hoodie had a gun up to the cashier's face and was yelling loudly, "Everyone get your hands up! You! Open the drawer and put all the money in a bag!"

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Murphy called out without thought, hands definitely going into the air and looking fairly concerned. "There's no need for all that!"

Peter's hands instantly go up as the kid barges past him, gun drawn. He gets a glimpse of his face as he passes...

...And it's the kid from his file. The one he's supposed to assess to see if he had any talent. Well... Luckily, that means Peter knows his name. Let's see if it's his true name.

Keeping his hands up, Peter moves a few steps to the right to get in position.

"Hey." He calls out, calm as anything, aiming to catch his gaze when he looks up. "Your name is Ian Glaives."

A statement, not a question.

Ian is not the only one who turned to look at Peter in surprise and confusion. Both Murphy and the cashier did, as well.

"You know this asshole?" Murphy asked, surprised, lowering his hands slightly.

"Hands up!" Ian snapped. Murphy's hands lifted again. "He doesn't know me!" The gun swung around to point at Peter. "You don't know me, man!"

Murphy shared a look with the cashier. The guy definitely knew the kid.

And their eyes lock. Bingo.

"I want you to put the gun down, Ian." Peter says, almost as if commanding. His voice is calm... Oddly so. "I want you to put the gun down and step away from the cashier."

He keeps his hands up, eye contact maintained. He's not moving other than to speak.

"Can you do that for me, Ian? Put the gun down."

Ian stared, like he wasn't able to look away even if he wanted to. And the guy talking to him wasn't any less weird. But as far as Murphy could tell, he might actually be getting through to the kid. Or at least had his full attention. To the point that Murphy began slowly shuffling to the side, around the back end of the check out, and the cashier went still, hands in the money drawer but not doing anything.

What the hell was going on?

"Lower... The gun." Peter persists, sweat beading on his brow. This wasn't exactly easy for him, but he was managing to keep his voice laden with fae mesmer to start to crack through.

"Ian, lower the gun and put it on the counter."

Ian couldn't even blink. He just stared at Peter, less and less aware of the situation and surroundings as the seconds passed. Slowly, ever so slowly, his arm started to lower to the side.

Murphy let his hands drop as he came up alongside the cashier. He settled his fingers on the shoulders of the kid and quietly urged him to step back so he could get through. By the time the gun had been set on the counter and Ian's hands were being pulled away for it, Murphy had gotten into the perfect position to jump him.

And jump him, he did. He hauled back and punched him in the side of the head, sending the kid sprawling. He twisted around, grabbed the gun and had it aimed for Ian in the split seconds that followed so when Ian came to his senses and started to scramble to his feet, he was at the other end of it.

"I think that's far enough," Murphy said, breathing a little heavily.

The second the contact is broken by Murphy, Peter stumbles, squeezing his eyes shut to stop the world from spinning.

He opens them when he hears Murphy's voice.

"Call the police." Peter says to the cashier, before looking at Murphy. "Don't shoot him. He's just a kid."

The cashier is scrambling off to call 999, leaving the three all alone.

"Wasn't planning on it," Murphy said, staring down at the kid. "But if he moves, I will. You know how to tie any fucking knots?"

That needed to take care of that before he could begin to address anything else. "If you do, there's some twine under the register. Could take care of his hands and make sure this doesn't go any worse for him."

Does a bear shit in the woods?

"Right."

Peter's wiping the sweat from his brow, pulling on a pair of black leather gloves. He doesn't want his fingerprints all over this place. As he gets closer, he can tell Ian doesn't have any supernatural signal.

Shame. Kid would have probably done better at Redbright.

He grabs the twine and starts tying it around Ian's wrists.

"There. It's not a fucking knot, but it'll do until the cops get here."

Just trying to lighten the mood.

"Good," Murphy grinned before his face went deadly serious and he swung the gun up to point at Peter's face. "Now keep your fucking hands up and your goddamned head down. I see even a hint of those eyes trying ta find mine, I'll make sure you don't get the chance to see anyone again."

Peter's expression shifts into a frown, before he quickly ducks his head down.

"Okay... This is a bit much. After all, I just kinda saved the day."

He's sharp. Further proof that he was dealing with Murphy MacManus. That said... The Saints always worked in pairs. Where was the other one?

"You fucking ensorcelled him, is what you did," Murphy bit out. "Used your voice to twist his mind. Thought no one would fucking recognize it. Well I fucking did. Now turn the fuck around."

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That was supposed to be stylization not stabilization :(

I was wondering

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