bakerstreet | throw it out the window

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throw it out the window

The Defenestration Meme
...it seemed like a good idea at the time.

dēˌfenəˈstrāSHən
noun
the act of throwing a thing or especially a person out of a window: the defenestration of the commissioners at Prague.

- Post with your character.
- Reply to other characters.
- If you need a prompt, hit up the RNG and...

1. You are about to defenestrate yourself. Is this a suicide attempt? Is it merely because you need a quick exit and fortunately the building is only one or two stories tall so it's not that much in the way of defenestration? Well. Either way, you're about to throw yourself out of a window and somebody caught you in the act.
2. You're defenestrating your/someone else's belongings. Is it because it's a messy break-up? Is it a fit of rage? It doesn't matter, because unless someone actively stops you you'll end up defenestrating the contents of the entire room.
3. You're defenestrating/defenestrated a helpless NPC! Or maybe they're not so helpless. They could be an assassin or something.
4. You're defenestrating the person who replied to you! (In the event that person happens to be your long lost brother, your beloved mother, your one true love, or someone equally close to you, you may assume that mind control was involved.)

(...it feels kind of weird to only have only four RNG prompts, but there's only so many ways to throw something out of a window. I mean, really.)

- And kick ass and take names.

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[You're so worried about projecting your thoughts and hearing others and blah blah your enemies, but so far, genius, I'm the only person you can hear clearly. I'm the only person who hears you. So your image, your whole cold and calculating persona? It's still in place. The world still sees you the same, Shaw.

And that was the crux of it. Right now, she was his weak spot. She was the only person that could hear those thoughts, those moments of doubt, those slips of his temper. He could hate it all he wanted, hell, she would too, but it was limited.]

[He hesitates, because yes, she's right. Setting his jaw he keeps walking faster until he's alongside her, turning to try to get her to look at him as they both keep moving and he talks.]

But what if it doesn't stay that way, though? Things like this, people tend to keep on getting stronger, as they master their ability. Wasn't that the way it was with you? You figured out new things as you'd go?

[He's guessing with this but he thinks it's an educated one. He's been doing more research, reading whatever he can find about people who've gotten superpowers that isn't all guessing and internet rumor. Actual research and first-hand accounts are rare, but they're out there.

A lot of this seems to be like exercise. You get better, stronger the more you use it. Or it develops with time. Growing. We still don't really know what happened in the first place, what if I keep changing?]

Then you adapt. You figure it out. Right now, you're lucky. It's just me. Which means all those slip ups aren't being shoved into some little old lady's head. Or a kid. Figure out how to block it with me. Think of it as... training wheels. I'm the training wheels before they come off. Before you have to deal with the rest of the world.

[She kept walking, glancing at him for a moment before looking back at the sidewalk.

If you do grow, if you do wind up reading more people, being able to transmit to them, you'll know how to block it already if you've figured it out with me. So start practicing. It's your power, Shaw. Learn to use it.]

[I don't want to.

He winces, slightly, even as he keeps on walking, before he goes back to just looking annoyed. But it's true. He would much rather this not be a thing he has to work around long term. If he could act like he really thought it would wear off.

Of course if that was all there was to it, then there'd be no reason to worry and complain, would there? He should probably stop pissing and moaning and make up his damn mind. Either it's a temporary bump in the road and he has to ride it out - or it's not, and he's got to put some work in.

He doesn't like either idea. For once there's nothing he can tackle physically until it goes away, so the only outlet for his unhappiness is complaining.

He's walking along at her same speed but has fallen back slightly so he's off to one side, staring at her back. He glances at her.]

I don't find this "lucky", for the record. There's a list of people who I'd rather not be stuck sharing thoughts with but you're definitely one of them.

Oh? And why's that? Afraid I might find out there's a genuine feeling under all that bullshit?

[That hurt a little, but she couldn't really expect anything less. She wasn't sure, and she was trying not to think it, but she had a feeling he was lashing out right now. Finding things to be mad about and just rolling with it because mad was better than scared. She didn't really blame him. Hell, she understood.

Didn't take the sting away.]

Yes. [It's blunt, because there's no point in denying it. He'd probably end up thinking it anyway.] It's bad enough that anyone could be able to hear my thoughts. But people that know me, that hate me, that already want to get at me...it's a disaster waiting to happen. It'd destroy me. Being able to ferret out my real weaknesses, hold them over my head...

[He reaches out and grabs her arms, both of them, holding on as he tries to get her to look in his face.]

It's those that already understand me enough to know exactly what to do with that information, to fill in the blanks and know just what to make of it, that worry me the most. People that'd have gotten under my skin. Mostly it's enemies, but. [He falls silent, nodding towards her.]

[She stopped when he grabbed her, looking up at him and listening to him pour out this speech about people out to get him. People that would use him. And she was apparently put in that category because... why, exactly?]

Do you really think I'd do that? For what purpose? I don't know what you do outside of being an asshole who's good in bed. I have an idea, sure, but I have enough shit to deal with here without having to run around picking up all your baggage. Whatever circles you run in, or ran in, they don't involve me. I'm not going to just... fuck your life up because it's Sunday and I'm bored. If you think I'm capable of screwing you over for the sake of it, then you don't know me at all, mind reading ability or not.

Everybody does it. [He grips her a little tighter, voice rising in anger at the fact that she just doesn't seem to get it.] Everybody does, if they know how to live, how to play the game! Yes, even with people they care about. If they want something from them. If they need them. It wears many forms, but it is always there. You just have to wake up, open your eyes and see it.

[It's the one good thing that Cipher taught me. How to really see the big picture. Figure that's where Deckard gets off, jawing on about how she "corrupted" me. He just doesn't like to admit the truth. That I'm smarter than he is.]

What do you think I'm going to use you for, Shaw? What terrible thing do you think I'm going to try to get you to do? Watch a movie with me? Have a good fucking time? God forbid you actually do something mundane and normal for once. Fuck, it's a stretch getting me to. I'm not your enemy, you dick. I'm-

[She growled in frustration, moving to pull away from him, to keep walking. She was trying incredibly hard not to finish that thought, watching her feet on the pavement instead, counting each step she took to redirect her mind.]

[He lets go and takes a step back, with a startled face, like she pushed him. It's far from the most cutting thing she's ever said to him, but he knows the implication she made is not far from the mark.

He doesn't know how to "normal". To just be. And relaxing like that, feeling simply happy, it makes him nervous. He doesn't know what to do with such a feeling. The calm in the eye of the storm that has otherwise been his existence.

He doesn't keep walking as she does. Instead he stands there, hands at his sides as slowly he makes two fists. Finally he calls at her back.]

Jessica! The night we first met, I said something about how I was made for this life. What I really meant was, I was born to it.

[His shoulders tight, tension in his arms, he hangs with head with a quiet sigh.]

Both my parents. They're career criminals. They both have...organizations. Like the one I went on and tried to set up for myself.

[She stopped, but she didn't turn around to face him. She was angry and confused and, yes, hurt. She was trying not to be, but it was there, like a prickling sort of sensation under her skin, and it was what was making her lash out the most.

I'm not your parents. Neither are you. You're not born into anything, Shaw. You choose it. You chose to follow after them. You can choose to stop. Or not. I'm not even asking you to be what you're not. If that's who you are, that's who you are. But I'm not like that. I'm not going to do things like that. Not to you.

She lifted her head and looked at him over her shoulder.

If that hasn't sunk in yet, if you can't wrap your damn head around that, then this can't happen.]

[I don't want to stop. He displays blank surprise that she would even mention that as option. I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I did stop.

The idea that there was a goal in mind, taking a big payday and then retiring, was never something that appealed to him. He liked what he did. Or, he had. Nowadays he kept hitting walls and it was starting to drive him crazy. But that was about getting back into the game - not missing out on it.

He stood there silently another moment, frowning at what else she said. He has to run to catch up to her when he chooses to move.]

Does it really bother you that much? That I would think it? I've told you, it's nothing personal; it's how I see everyone.

Thinking it once is one thing. Everyone is unsure of everyone else. But you keep thinking it. Have I ever done anything that's made you think it's a possibility that I would do anything like that to you? Have I thought anything like that? Jesus, Shaw. You've seen the way I live. What I do. Who I know. Is that me?

[That was what bugged her. It was one thing if he was uncertain about her during that feeling out period. Which, technically, they were still in. But he could read her thoughts. He had a window into her that no one else would ever have. And he still thought the worst of her. It pissed her off, but it also terrified her. Because what if he saw something she didn't? Kilgrave had told her he hadn't explicitly told her to kill Reva. Just to 'take care of her'. What if that was all on her? What if she was just as much a monster as Kilgrave?]

No, but... [He struggles for a moment, not sure how to word it.] You do know how to read people. You know you do. I've seen it. And you're not afraid to play things to your advantage. Little tricks, going outside of the lines.

You are like me, Jessica. Maybe not as much, or even the way you seem to be afraid of. But it's in you. That part of it.

[And he only assumes anyone who has it is going to use it, because why wouldn't they?

Although even as he speaks his brow is furrowing, as he replays back over their entire acquaintance. Trying to find proof of what he expects to see and realizing that it might not be there.

Has he just been seeing what he thinks he should, because he assumes that's how people are? Looking at her, noticing the similarities, and then imagining the rest? When what he's really seeing is just a warped projected reflection of himself.]

Hey, I'm no saint. I'll be the first to admit that. I can use things to my advantage. I lie. I bend the law. I'm not denying that. But to you? To the people that matter in my life? I'd take a goddamn knife to the heart before I'd do something to intentionally fuck you over.

[She would for Trish. She'd stand in front of a barrage of bullets for her not-sister. She'd bleed for Luke. And now Owen was in that small little list of people that mattered to her. People that she'd put herself in danger to protect. People she'd lie and cheat and hurt others for.

Because I don't want to be in a world that doesn't have you in it. Even if you're not with me-.

A huff of annoyance at herself as she started to walk again, pissed off that the most intimate things she said to him weren't even said.]

[It's never a good thing to have people you feel differently for. Different from others. That's where you'll always be weaker, sloppier, prone to mistakes.

Even as he counters with this, numbly, it's not much of a protest. He's known plenty of people who'd think he's full of shit even for saying it. Thinking it. Whatever. He's known most who wouldn't listen.

It doesn't really surprise him she'd be one of them, he supposes. She is white hat, after all. A hero, even if she of all people doesn't quite buy it.

He just never thought there'd be a day where he would also start to be drawn into questioning, into doubting that wisdom himself.]

I wouldn't want anything to happen to you, either. No matter if you still liked me or not.

[It's an annoying sentiment to have, severely impractical. And he can sympathize with her annoyance, this mental heart to heart of all the crap they can't seem to say out loud.

He keeps up with her this time, bending forward so he can talk closer to her, even if she has him at her back.]

I get it. I do. People can make you weak. Make you do stupid shit. Having them and losing them hurts. But... Jesus. There's just things I can't control, okay? I didn't want to get to like Trish. I wanted to be alone after- I just wanted to be alone. And yet here I am. You? I thought you'd be fun in bed. And you were. Amazing. And then you were something else and it just is what it is and the more you keep trying to pretend it's not, the more you're lying to yourself. I like you. You like me. We're idiots. Now let's get over that and move on with it.

[She snapped it out, angry at both of them. Pissed off at him for refusing to just see shit instead of painting over the reality of it with what he was used to. Angry at herself for trying to get him to do what he clearly didn't want to.]

Move on with it, how? To what?

[He's never actually done this before. The full on transition from practical relationship to someone you'd go the distance before. Is it any wonder he's left overwhelmed, at a loss?]

Get over that fucking rut of thinking I'm plotting against you and just deal with it. Accept that it's a thing and let's move on. As in find what you need so you can either fix yourself or learn to deal with this if it's your new normal. As in stop making a big production over... this.

[She gestured between the two of them.]

It just is now, Shaw. Unless you leave. And then it isn't.

But... [He shuts his mouth hard, lips pressed together in a way that either looks ridiculous or painful. Or both.

Don't want to leave. Don't know where to go. Don't want to deal with this. Don't know what to do. Stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking STOP.

He clutches his hands to both sides of his head, overcome by desperate anger.] Fuck!

[He yells the curse so loudly it echos off the nearby buildings. If there are any people walking by where they are now, they're going to stop and stare.]

[She's turning to him as she feels him starting to lose control of his line of thought, as he's trying to force himself not to think. She steps up to him as he's screaming, grabbing at his hands and pulling them down, holding them in hers.]

Hey. Hey! Enough. You don't have to like it, Shaw. I don't like it either. But stop. Whatever you think, whatever you can't keep in, I'm not going to tell anyone. You're... fuck. Safe is a shitty word and it's wrong, because no one in my life is safe, but... you're something close to it. With me.

[He lets her take his hands away, standing there stock still where he is, breathing heavily through an open mouth. He stares at her, lost and pissed off and drowning in uncertainty, his eyes watering with how he's being pushed to the very edge of actual possible tears.]

I don't know how to be safe.

[His voice is a broken, intense protest. He's always chased that fire, the danger, because he needs to feel like he's doing something, he needs to feel alive. Before crime it was the military. Before that he was every teenage hoodlum nightmare, stealing candy and beer and hot-wiring cars and picking fights and running from the cops.

Before that it was him peering around the corner as Mum and Dad threw dishes and curses at one another. Her shouting at him about his whores and how he was never around, him shouting back about her coddling his blood, making it soft.

He'd never hit her. She'd have cut his cock off while he slept. No love but they felt such twisted respect for one another. But she couldn't stop him every time he wanted to give us a taste of his fist, or his belt.]

[She got a brush of those thoughts he always tried so hard to keep from her, and after telling him that, she felt it would be a shitty ass move to make a comment about it. But she heard it. And she remembered her thoughts on what she thought his life was like. Seemed it wasn't that far off.

Keeping his hands in hers, she drew them around her, around her back, forcing him to hug her, to hold her. When she felt he got the idea, she moved to wrap her arms wound his neck, pulling him in and just holding him. Not kissing. Not thinking of sex. Not trying to distract him with flashy things. Just... holding him.]

Neither do I. We can try and fuck up together, if you want.

[He sniffs, face screwed up with the effort to keep holding it in. At first he didn't realize what she was doing until she put her hands around him. It feels like his body and mind and heart are all a thousand miles apart from each other and they're all drifting in confusion. He just holds her in his arms, hugging her back tightly as he presses his face down into her shoulder.

Kinda hate that this feels so good. But it does.

After a beat he moves his eyes, warily, seeking out hers.]

[One hand hooks around the back of his neck, the other lifting to trace over the ruined skin on his face, touching it gently, like he was something precious.

Yeah, it does. So what do you want to do about it, Owen?]

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