bakerstreet | YOU WANT, UH, A TISSUE? MAYBE SOME SOAP? NEW CLOTHES?

YOU WANT, UH, A TISSUE? MAYBE SOME SOAP? NEW CLOTHES?

COVERED IN BLOOD MEME

So you're a bit of a mess. Or you're stumbling upon a mess. What happened? There's blood everywhere, what the hell? Is it your blood, animal blood, the blood of someone you murdered? Hell, maybe you ran out of tampons. Anyway, no matter how it got there, you're (or someone you know is) covered in blood. Can it be explained away? If not, is someone going to prison? The hospital? Going to die of blood loss? Get in trouble for playing catch with the blood bags? Man, we don't know. The point is you have a mess to clean up. Or roll around in gleefully, you nasty fucks.

• Top level your character. Include any details you might think are relevant. Or don't. As always, we're not the cops.
• Reply to other people's top levels!
• While this meme is bound to have a lot of potentially triggering content, content warnings for anything ott or very extreme are probably a good idea!
• Have fun!

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"I understood this is an undercover operation and the queen only wanted me," Williams says with a small smile. He speaks with confidence, a full on secret agent, then.

Charlotte returns and he gives her a nod. "I'll handle these items. Meet me at the west gate once the light is out. I'll be waiting. The guard is informed of the situation, though, they don't know who they're letting out."

"Seems like a plan," Charlotte tells him and pats his shoulder. "We'll be there."

Then she looks at Zaira with raised brows. "Shall we?" she murmurs and guides her towards a hidden door at the end of the room. There's a small passage way that will lead to her room.

Boom, done. Relatively painless, no unnecessary questions, no need to negotiate or raise her voice. She's left a little confused as she meets the queen's look and follows her to the other side of the room. There's another surprise with the smaller passageway, but this is less so when she thinks about it further. Important people, secret escapes. No, not so surprising.

After they step out and into a new room--which looks like a personal space, automatically making her feel like she's intruding on something private--she speaks.

"When we headed to Siberia, demons sabotaged the train we traveled on." She watches Charlotte, leaning against the wall, out of the way. "Kadmus will help us get out of the city, but anything can happen on the road." And she means anything. "The airport could be just the start of what you'll see."

"I know. I'm ready," Charlotte says with a nod. She really needs to get to Oslo. This is important to her future plans and her future governing.

"Come help me pack," she says and nudges Zaira towards her bedroom and then a walk in closet there. Everything in the room is awfully big and fancy. She doesn't even notice that anymore. It's just how it goes. "I don't have a lot of practical clothes but I'm sure there's something in there."

She eyes Zaira for a moment, looking at her from top to bottom. "We're not so different in size. You could probably fit into my clothes if you want to change or something."

A little nudge shouldn't get her moving, but it does, and she's shuffling into the gargantuan closet, her gaze finally sweeping over everything. Of course it's big. She's a queen. Still, Zaira's never seen anything quite so extravagant before. Racks of dresses, shoes--so many shoes she has no idea how one single woman could possibly wear them all... and in so many colors. It's like a rainbow. "Do you have shoes for every day of the year?" she absently asks, genuinely curious as she fingers the strap of a teal colored heel.

"We'll have to find you some eventually. It's good to have." She doesn't realize she's thinking longer term, or that she may not be around longer term. The offer to borrow something has her glancing down at her own outfit. Right, there won't be time to stop by her flat to grab better gear. "Thank you. Let's get you settled, first."

It does take some time to weed through the dresses and get to the pants and tops. Layers are her aim, so she looks for tops in all sleeve lengths, sweaters, scarves, and pants--something a little thicker, sturdier, warmer for Oslo's temperatures. "Gloves. Have they ever taught you self defense?"

"I like shoes," Charlotte says with a small shrug. "They make me feel happy when I'm not." She doesn't mind Zaira ruffling through her closet. A lot of the clothes are for meetings and professional situations.

But there are some actually useful clothes. Not made with this situation in mind but they'll work.

She pulls out two old twill jackets she had for riding. Some boots that have been used for hunting before and trousers for the same purpose. A few really sturdy twill skirts and thick sweaters. Then come the leather gloves that are more warm than sturdy, soft leather with fur lining. Then she dives in further to pull out a box that she barely ever goes into. This box has a pile of jeans and other clothes. Like little tops and tiny skirts. Some pretty impressively slutty underwear.

She had a life before being a queen, okay.

"These might work," she says as she keeps piling them up on the floor. "Uh, I know how to shoot a riffle," she offers to the last question.

The brutal honesty is not something she expects. It stills her hand, has her sparing the queen a look. "I hope you don't have a pair for every day."

It's not a very elaborate thing to say. Not something fancy or witty, but it's genuine. Thinking about the happiness of another hasn't been something she's done in ages, but now that Charlotte's mentioned it, she can't help but wonder how often the queen isn't happy.

Zaira squats to watch what Charlotte pulls out, snorting quietly at the underwear. If the redhead looks up, however, she'll only see a carefully blank face. No visual reaction to those skimpy panties. Nope.

"If someone's attacking you and a gun's not already in your hand, it won't help. They'll already be on you by the time you pull it out, click off the safety, aim, and shoot."

She presses her palms to the floor and scoots closer. Closer enough to reach up and press her fingers lightly to a spot below Charlotte's ear, on her neck. "Your vagus nerve is here." She reaches with her other hand for Charlotte's, bringing the queen's fingers to the same spot on her own neck. "If you're close enough, aim a hit in this spot. A weaker hit will cause intense pain and muscle spasms. If you hit someone hard enough, you can knock them out."

"Not for every day, no," Charlotte says softly with a look that is both surprised and rather gentle. She doesn't have a lot of the same delights in life that she used to have. Which means shoes have kind of replaced partying and friends and hookups and everything. The tabloids love her as the virgin queen after all.

She merely grins at the snort and pushes down the skimpy underwear into the pile of probably even skimpier tops. She's not ashamed of that part of her life. She never was meant to be the queen after all.

Then Zaira is scooting closer and she's watching the other woman with curiosity. She feels Zaira's neck with her fingertips, lightly touching her and wondering what would happen if she'd press really hard. Zaira would probably knock her out. She doesn't want to give Zaira pain, though, and that's why her fingers trail down from that spot along the blond woman's neckline.

"How hard is hard enough?"

"Good."

What kind of queen has naughty clothes? Maybe that's why she has it hidden, so that her advisors don't see it. Lots of little puzzle pieces about this woman, she she's not entirely sure which other pieces she's missing to see the bigger picture.

"As hard as you can manage." The trailing fingers tickle in an entirely pleasant way. She licks her lips, resisting the urge to bare her throat at the touch. That would be silly. "If they're someone you're thinking about using it on, use it. Don't hesitate. It's the same idea behind hitting your funny bone, nailing that nerve."

Her hand sweeps down, aiming for a spot right below Charlotte's breasts next. "Solar plexus." She applies a light amount of pressure, not to hurt, but for it to be slightly uncomfortable. "There's less openings for this, but you'll knock the wind out of whoever you do hit. Also, don't aim for a man's balls, he'll expect it. Kick him in the knee instead. Or you could poke him in the eye, or clap him on the ears."

Charlotte's eyes sweep down to Zaira's chest when she pokes her solar plexus. She can imagine the place but that's not the same as finding it in a stressful situation. Plus, there's some blood on her neck.

"Neck, solar plexus, knees, eye or ears," she counts down dutifully. "To be honest I'm probably not in a most opportune place to reach any of the places above shoulders." She's tiny and to get enough strength behind a hit, she'd really need some speed behind that. "But I'll keep it in mind."

"Do you want to take a shower?" They probably have time for that. She thinks she would probably like that if she were Zaira.

"Maybe not," she says, not sounding concerned at all about that. Height and force both play a role, she won't discount that. "I don't expect you to fight, that's why I'm here. You never know what sorts of situations you can find yourself in. If you have to, play timid, then hit them when they drop their guard."

That won't help with demons, but if demons are getting past her, then they've got more problems on their hands.

Her hand drops away. "Are you trying to tell me I smell?"

Charlotte nods and then smirks at the playing meek comment. She hopes it was meant as it was said, that she's not coming off as timid...

She snorts out a chuckle at the question but then shakes her head and reaches up to touch Zaira's neck again, her fingertips this time flirty and light. "You have a little bit of blood here," she says with her eyes on the other woman's gaze.

"I thought you might want to freshen up."

It's hard to think of anyone as timid when you've seen their racy panties.

The touch has her stilling. There was a peep of a smile curving her lips, but it slips away as she meets Charlotte's gaze, her own eyes slightly widened in surprise. "Oh."

She swallows, not daring to move until Charlotte does. What if she moves and the queen feels her ticking pulse?

"Sure. Yeah, that would be nice to rinse off, before it starts to itch."

Oh. She will pull her hand away when that smile disappears. Gosh, she hadn't meant to do something to upset Zaira.

"I'm... sorry, I..." She sighs, folding her hands to her lap. "My apologies."

Then she builds on a smile, one that isn't as open as the ones she threw in earlier.

"Towels are in there. Feel free. You can enter at that door," she says, pointing at a door at the other end of her walk in closet. "I'll just close this door to my bedroom so you can have all the privacy you need. Feel free to use my clothes."

She's not upset! Just... surprised.

And then decidedly unhappy with that smile which seems like it's been plastered on. It's none of her business. She shouldn't get involved. But so soon after talking about shoes and being unhappy, and she's reaching over to Charlotte, hand cupping her cheek, the pad of her thumb trying to smooth out the smile.

"You don't have to smile like that in front of me." It made more sense in her head. This is stupid. She's touching a queen. That seems like plenty of crossed boundaries. Her hand drops away. "You don't have to smile at all, if you don't feel like it. I'm not going to be offended."

She wants to say something else, but what can you say to a virtual stranger? So she pushes up to her feet, collecting a few pieces to build on some layers for the trip.

Charlotte's brows arch up as a hand cups her face. She's so rarely touched by anyone else but her security detail and they usually either grab her shoulder or some might have a hand on her back. If she hadn't taught herself out of any blushing reactions years ago, she would be flushing right now with colour.

The smile is gone at least. Maybe that will make Zaira happy.

Though, it doesn't seem that way. She stands up and Charlotte is left on the floor with wide eyes.

She clears her throat and also climbs up, her knees red from having crouched on the floor for so long.

"Alright," she says as she brushes her red dress down and walks back into her bedroom, going straight at the bathroom door and closes it by leaning against it. That... was interesting. Not necessarily Zaira's actions but Charlotte's own. She breathes quietly, trying to collect her thoughts.

Interesting is not the first word Zaira would use to describe the situation. Unnerving seems more appropriate.

Why would she reach out and touch a person--let alone a queen--like she's done today? It must be because Charlotte is kind and thoughtful. Most people shy away, and for good reason. It's been a long time since someone's taken her into their home. Though it's difficult to distinguish this from an actual caring gesture, since much of what they're doing now is in preparation for a trip.

With a grunt, she reaches up and tugs out the pins in her hair, allowing them to clatter on the porcelain sink. Her clothing, weapons and all, drop to the floor in a haphazard heap, the heavier things clipping onto the fabrics making a dull, but still loud, thunk. Naked, she twists the crank to warm up the water for a shower and then inspects herself for any injuries.

It'll be ten minutes later that she opens the door, dressed in her pants from earlier, and a number of layers that are too tight in some places, and too loose in others. But it's fine. She won't complain. Her clips are between her lips and she's combing her fingers through her hair as she pads back into Charlotte's room.

"Thank you," she manages to mumble around the bobby pins.

In the meanwhile, Charlotte organises them something to eat. There will be a dinner set on a table under those silver domes that keep the heat in. She tries to find something to do, so she has picked up a book and looked through it a few times.

When Zaira walks out, she is met with a smile, warm and welcoming. Charlotte has had some time to collect herself.

"We still have some time. Let's sit down and eat. Then I can pack up and I would imagine it'll be time to leave then." Dark enough.

She leads Zaira to the table and urges her to sit down before yanking off the covers and sets them on a little cart beside the door. There's fish and steamed vegetables, herbs cut on top of it in an elegant arrangement.

Back to the surreality of the situation. After she's worked any knots of out her hair, she leaves it be, tucking the pins against the collar of her shirt so she doesn't lose them. Water drips from the ends of her hair, creating a ring of wetness around her throat as she stares at the meal.

Fish. When was the last time she had fish?

"It looks..." A pause, as she leans in closer and inspects her food, curious. "Pretty. Are you sure we're supposed to eat this?" Someone obviously put a lot of work into this display. It smells wonderful though--good enough that her stomach growls. And for the first time in her life, her face warms over the fact.

You're completely out of your element, Zaira.

"Yes, definitely," Charlotte says as she urges Zaira to sit down and then takes her own seat. "They always do this in the kitchens. If it's not enough, we can get more." It sometimes was the case. Charlotte wasn't a picky eater and she ate like a horse for a girl as small as she was.

"Please," she said and nodded at Zaira's plate. But she didn't wait for her to dig in. Because she had a feeling that Zaira wouldn't before she had taken the first bite. Even if it had been polite for her to wait for her quest to go first.

She took a bite and made a pleased sound at the back of his throat. It was good.

It won't be enough. She'd eat the meal, even if it looked like slop, because wasting food is worse than murder in her eyes. Plenty went hungry. Killing brought a finality to things, quick and (relatively) painless when she was the one doing the killing, versus starving.

Zaira clears her throat and reaches for her fork, resisting the urge to lick her lips. Big Cat's practically clawing inside her mine to eat.

"Thank you," she says, partly because she means it, and partly because manners aren't completely lost on her. Then she's digging into the fish, taking a bite and groaning at the first taste--the sound that comes out is a bit strangled, almost like she's in pain--and then that autopilot kicks in and she's practically shoving as much food into her mouth as she can, as quickly as she can, before someone decides to come and take her plate from her.

The taste and the smell of it has her cleaning the plate off in record time. Still hungry. But she chews her last bite as she sets her fork down, impassively looking up at the queen and giving the room a once over as she savors the last bite. Might be the last time she eats in a while.

Charlotte watches her eat for a brief moment while shoving food into her mouth as well. It looks almost as if Zaira hasn't eaten for a while. Or that she doesn't get well made meals all that often.

That makes her sad and because she can, she slips out of her chair with a brief murmured "Excuse me." She walks to the door where she knows a servant is waiting. She tells her to go into the kitchen and bring them another course and some dessert as well, another pot of tea and maybe some coffee.

Then she returns to her plate and cleans it up, maybe not with as much enthusiasm as Zaira but just as clean as she made it. Because Charlotte just likes to eat. She has to endure with finger food a lot of times in cocktail parties after cocktail parties or what have you meetings, that a day when she can get a warm meal are not that common.

When they finish, someone comes in and takes the plates, replacing them with a plate of pheasant and steamed vegetables, some sweet potato puree and garlic butter.

It's a little bit of both, not that she'd have said as much. Sometimes, food is scarce, whether she's in London or out. More often than not, what she can eat isn't very good. They aren't meals, either. She's not some stellar chef, not like what's on her... new plate (Charlotte receives a questioning look after she examines the pheasant and vegetables) and when she does cook, it's usually when she's out on a job. Not much to make things taste good, unfortunately.

"We'll have food on the road." That's why they're receiving so much food, right? Because Charlotte thinks they won't have access to a meal? "The bars are a precaution. I've been known to be para--oh my god."

She'd scooped up some of the puree with garlic butter, giving it an experimental lick while trying to reassure the queen... and instead just experienced what could only be an orgasm over food. It's like her tastebuds are dancing in her mouth. That's the only reason why she would possibly moan like that. Greedily, she sucks on her fork, staring at her plate with a look of wonder.

Then she pulls the fork from her mouth and shakes her head. Distracting.

"Even in the worst case, I can hunt food down. You won't starve."

"I'm not worried," Charlotte reassures her and smiles at that moaning for good measure. Because she likes making people happy.

"I just thought you might want something more. I wasn't really full after the first plate so I figured you might not have been too."

She eats with less enthusiasm this plate, giving it time to taste everything and anything. It's the least she can do for the kitchen because they keep being such fabulous staff for her.

Once she's mostly done with her plate she leans back in her chair and groans, patting her stomach in her tiny red dress. "That was good. Have any room for dessert?" And as if magic, that someone comes in with a little cart, replacing her plate with another, this one with a piece of chocolate cake topped with french vanilla ice cream. That same someone will do the same for Zaira if she's ready with her food. And a pot of tea is placed on the table, cups provided and poured full of strong Earl Grey.

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YOU WANT, UH, A TISSUE? MAYBE SOME SOAP? NEW CLOTHES?

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