bakerstreet | 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Absolutely not. [Though he lets her pull his hand away from her he keeps his grip on the bottle. Holding her gaze as he emphasizes his point. Pretending to care about a stupid argument to district from all the bigger things on his mind.] Seriously, do all our accents sound the same to you? Mary Poppins is a lot more...highfalutin, fancy-free, prissy upper-crust, oh I do say, old sport.

[Clearing his throat beforehand he speaks crisp and with more of a lilt, doing a favorable enough impression of Julie Andrews' accent. After a beat he goes back to sounding more like himself.]

It's just not the same. Not really.

Is it weird that I like both on you? I'm trying to picture fancy pants Shaw in bed and now all I can picture is you in argyle socks whining about tea and talking about your bangers and mash.

[She let him keep the bottle, figuring out of the two of them, he needs it more.]

Chim, chim, charoo. I guess I'm ordering in for dinner tonight. We can hit the laptop and do a little research.

[He pauses on the verge of putting the bottle to his lips again, as if struck more by her comment than she likely intended. He looks off as he takes a hit, thinking.

Might as well tell her. Not like it matters. He grimaces.]

You know, I'm not exactly...I'm from Sidcup, originally. I'm an East-Ender. Y'know, a lot more working-class. Or, lower than.

[His accent's basically middle of the road, British. Not aristocratic but hardly guttural either.

Which might raise a few questions, had she ever met his family. Not that she has, but.]

[She probably wouldn't think much of it. America was like that as well; accents and twangs varying from family member to family member. One sibling could go to some Ivy league school and come back talking like Kelsey Grammer, the other could talk like they grew up in a Brooklyn pizza shop. There might be a passing bit of curiosity about his family, mostly because he didn't talk about them much, but she'd already decided she liked the way this Shaw talked.

Other than his tendency to try to push her just as much as hers to push at him, she liked a lot about him.]

You're talking pretty gibberish to me, Poppins. It's all just tea and crumpets. Now, what flavor of delivery do you want? I'm attempting to get into research mode now that coddling mode is done with.

[He sighs.] Never mind, then.

[The one thing he never liked being thought of as was stupid. And just like in America, if you talk a certain way it gives off a certain impression. Which was why he did the best he could to lose anything resembling Cockney traces he had, long ago. Catches some people by surprise when they figure out the truth.

But if she doesn't understand, then he supposes it doesn't matter.]

I don't really...whatever you want.

[He's hungry but also his stomach hurts. Right now he's so stressed out he'll probably barely taste his food.]

[Jessica judged people by what they did, not where they were from or who they came from. Shaw had proven to be more than worth the trouble, which was why she stayed and put up with him. He was smart, when he wasn't letting his own pride get in the way of what he wanted.

His answer is half assed and she moves to take his free hand, sliding her fingers in his and looking up at him.]

Hey. We're going to figure this shit out. I need you to get on that same page with me, otherwise this isn't going to work.

Fine.

[He looks at their hands laced together, almost sadly. Like it pains him. It's not that he thinks she's "too good" for him. She's a better person, maybe, fine, whatever. But she's no saint, and her character can be as sharp and muddied as his at times.

But she wants, needs something out of this that he doesn't know he has it in him to give long term. He doesn't want to hurt her. But he already has. And he can't take care of her, either.]

I -- fine. What d'you want me to do?

[She was trying not to think long term. There was too much that could go wrong in her life, that had gone wrong. The idea of any kind of permanence was just too fleeting for her to put any trust in. She liked him. She wanted to keep liking him. But a part of her was already walling off from him, waiting for him to leave. Because that's how it always was. That's the only constant she had.

But blustering through it was the way she survived.]

Look up some meditation techniques. It's a mind thing, so you need to learn how to get a hold of your own shit. I dunno, breathing techniques. Chakra shit. I've got someone I need to call who might have some insight into that.

[He glances at her laptop, slipping his hand from hers to shove it in his pocket loosely. The bottle hangs from his other hand at his side.]

Sure. I'll give that a try.

[He's...doubtful, to say the least, but he can acknowledge it's good an idea as any. Or none. Not like there's anything to be lost at this point.

He takes a few shuffling steps away, back to her. He can sense that she's walling him off, less needing his powers than just his understanding of her, his intuition. It's a survival technique, he's sure. And he's proven himself to be just another dangerous liability. Not worth the fuss of keeping around.

Not like they had almost convinced each other he might be, earlier.

He stops and glances back at her, over his shoulder.]

Does this mean I finally get to meet some of your other weird friends?

[Upon closer inspection of that wall, one might see that it was pretty damn similar to the same one she used with Trish, but that was neither here nor there. For now, it was probably best if they both took a step back. He needed to get a handle on himself. On his new abilities. He didn't need to worry about her. She was just fine. She was always 'just fine'. Even when she wasn't.

She rolled her eyes at him, digging her cell phone out of her back pocket and pulling up her contact list.]

He's not my friend.

[Just a rich white billionaire with a glowing fist. No big deal, Shaw.]

Sure. [He tilts his head, giving her a dismissive smirk. He doesn't buy it.] You sure do have a lot of not-friends, Jones.

[He's not jealous. He's just...not sure where he fits into all of this, now. Between Claire and the other woman and now whoever else.

Before he could have been, hell, support staff or whatever. One of the normals with special skills she called on from time to time. Part of her life if not part of her world. But now? Now if he's not careful he's going to get dragged into white hat vigilante-ing with her. And he really isn't made for that.]

Don't worry. You're the only one I'm sleeping with.

[Said almost casually before Danny got on the phone and she headed off to the bedroom, mentioning something about needing a favor and how the fuck do you control your chi?]

[Not the point, Jones.

He sends that her way pointedly, wincing as he does. It sends off a slight echo of sorts inside his head to push right now, still sore there as it is. A brief twinge of resonant pain.

He'll just go hunch over her laptop with his head down and do his best to pretend he can't hear her neighbors' thoughts rising and falling as they go about their evenings.]

throw it out the window

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