bakerstreet | Caged bird

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Caged bird

THE CAGED BIRD
shipping meme

From the moment you first set eyes on them, you've been drawn - but this is no meet-cute. Thy are beautiful, interesting...and so, so sad or angry, like a bird with clipped wings in a cage. They're a prisoner: mentally, physically, or both. Again, caged. You? You could be anyone, from an innocent bystander who happened to catch a glance in a faraway window, just a cog in the machine that keeps them trapped, to a fellow entombed creature. Even if you've never felt a thing like "compassion" before (or thought yourself incapable), you are sympathetic towards them now and your feelings only begin to grow, a fixation forming. At a certain point, you realize that you have but one option. You have to free them by any means necessary. You want to see them safe and content, more than anything in this world.

...even if they're free and don't want to be with you, that's enough. Right?

HOW TO PLAY

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Reply to others.
RNG if desired.

WHO

Caged: You're the victim here, kept locked away.
Passerby: Here you are, minding your own business, when - who's that? Why are they there?
Rescuer: Whether you're a knight in shining armor type or someone simply paid or commanded to do this job, you never thought you'd fall for the one you had to rescue.
Conflict of Interest: You're a guard, but you can't very well do your duty if you want the person you're guarding let go.
Unknowing Villain: You had no idea your allies were keeping someone and you don't agree with their methods.
Enemies: They did wrong by you in the past; even they don't deserve this, though.
Should Be Reviled: Your people and theirs have never gotten along. You should hate them, yet you don't. You want to save them.
Who's the Monster?: They're being locked away because they're a monster. No one could be further from a beast in your eyes, however.
Never Felt Before: Usually, you're stone cold, but their plight has gotten under your skin.
In this Together: Both of you are prisoners, so you can't easily save them, can you?
Not All Bad: They're been told that they're being protected. You want to show them the outside world isn't so bad.
The Better Devil: To be honest, you're not much better than their captor. Still, you're something new.

HOW

Plot and Plan: You know busting them out won't be easy, so you'll put your mind to it.
Sneak: It's an old-fashion escape with all the subtleties and espionage to get out undetected.
Fight Anyone: Maybe you're more brawn than brains, or maybe you're just in a tight spot.
Bargain: Their freedom for yours. Seems like a fair trade.
Guilt: You can't really free them, can you? This fact tears you up inside.
Give You Hope: You might not be able to get them out of here now, but you'll keep them looking towards the future.
Keep You Happy: You'd do anything to see them smile again.
Be Healthy: They're being mistreated or ill-fed. You can at least try to remedy that.
Saved Themselves: They only needed an extra push. At the end, they pulled themself out of the pit.
Selfish: No denying it, you freed them for selfish reasons.
Selfless: What you want doesn't matter. Their safety and peace are paramount.
Sacrifice: If need be, you'll put your life on the line.
Used You: They didn't really love you. But they did know you'd be useful.
Failure: Your attempt failed and now both of you are looking death in the eyes.
I'll Steal You: They didn't want to leave their "home." You stole them away.
Indebted Friends: So they weren't romantically attracted to you. They, however, did platonically bond with you.
Finally "Together": You've wanted to touch them, hold them, kiss them, and be with them in every way possible, even if it's only for a moment. The smut option.
Happy Endings: You're both safe, far from danger, and together.

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[ open to whatever role, and always willing to write starters. feel free to pm for plotting purposes? ]

[ well. she's kept in a tower, so.]

Edited 2017-10-28 01:33 (UTC)

He is ... growing up. Without parents, orphaned at a young age, brother sent away... he doesn't write and Sherlock doesn't know if he should. He knows better than to ask and see the disappointment on his guardian's face. William does hate to disappoint Mr. Charles. He's not a bad man, not in William's naive eyes.
Though he's clever there's some things he chooses not to see.
When one learns to accept their situation at a young age... one learns to choose not to see.
He buttons the jacket and stands up straight.
Time for breakfast in complete silence. His guardian gets headaches too easily, early in the morning

On Sunday's, Magnussen comes upstairs to have dinner and a 'lesson' with his ward.

"I have a present for you. A companion." He presents William with a greenfinch in a cage.

Not the same as the dog who was taken from him on the same day as his brother.

William brightens at the bird. "How beautiful, monseiur." He is old enough now not to express his affection. He looks down shyly, not trying to be over excited.
"My thanks."
He extends his hand to the bird gently, curiously examining it.
Greenfinches can have a beautiful song.

The greenfinch chirps around the cage and nudges at William's finger.

"This one can play for you...as you do for me." He waves his hand to the violin; "I do hope you've improved."

He picks up his violin. He is better. He'll prove it.

He reaches for his violin case, snapping it open, and gently touching the strings, and raising it to his chin. He starts into Partitia Number One, calmer than usual. Taking his time with the notes, concentrating on it. Precision. He doesn't feel this piece as much as some of Mendollsohn's or Saint-Saens. But Monseiur likes this one, he always wants William to play it. The greenfinch chirps as he plays not quite in tune...

Edited 2017-11-20 14:30 (UTC)

Magnussen tilts his head back and listens to the performance, humming slightly.

He gets up towards the end and slowly moves around the back of William. His moist fingers thread through the boy's curls. He hasn't allowed him to cut his hair in almost a year, other than a neat trim. He likes the hair long. Pretty as a rosebud.

Pretty as his mother.

"Are you grateful to me, William?" he asks the boy, as he does every Sunday.

William keeps his head bowed. He doesn't really like Monsieur doing that but he doesn't object or move away. In truth, he really doesn't know what to do and he isn't ungrateful for Monsieur's generosity.

"Yes, Monsieur." He looks innocent ... because he is. He really doesn't understand what's happening. They don't write about it in books he's seen. It's... forbidden.

"It would be nice if you said it more often without needing to be prompted." Magnussen grips his shoulder with one hand; "Have you seen the children passing on the street in the morning? Their faces black with soot? That's how you could have ended up."

He lets him go and takes the violin, putting it down on the table.

"When your heartless brother abandoned you, anyone else would have taken you to the work house, or thrown you in the Thames. But I took you in, out of the kindness of my heart. I gave you a warm bed, fine clothes, an education, music and books - all that you could desire. And I all I ask for in return is your gratitude and loyalty. Do I have those, William?"

"Yes Monseiur! I am grateful, truly I am." He turns up a very earnest face. Is he really terrible at showing how grateful he is? He wants Monsieur to know he is. It seems a bit ... that he might be too old for embraces though. He isn't really a child nor is he ready to go out into the world.
He frets a little, then slowly takes Monsieur's hand trying not to notice the damp.
"It is true that I sometimes forget, Monsieur of how lucky I am."

Magnussen smiles and takes the boy's hand, lifting it to his lips and kissing it, his breath all too warm.

"Silly boy. That can be what you will work on improving this week." he says; "Now...you must know that your birthday is coming up. You have been very good of late. What do you desire, my dear Ward?"

William blushes a little at the affection, not sure how he feels about it. "I... have not thought of it, Monsiuer. I have everything I could want here." He knows it's a trick. He'll tell him later. Over dinner or something or when he's distracted. Not now. Not after "lesson."

"What a good lad. Perhaps I shall surprise you with something special." Magnussen smiles; "Now. You have the rest of the day to read or play as you like."

No studying or chores on Sunday, not that William is made to do any hard labour. Just keep his room tidy and clothes folded neatly.

Magnussen keeps him delicate. Like the greenfinch.

He closes the door, locking it behind. Magnussen has guests, employees and servants walk through the house often. No one sees William other than the mute housekeeper.

Outside on the street, a boy stands on a box, handing out flyers to people passing.

"OXFORD STREET CARNIVAL! THIS FRIDAY! GONNA BE THE BEST ONE SINCE '75!"

William smiles a little and then picks up his violin, he does love to play. This time it's a rather jaunty tune, though probably not too loud.

He can tell the boy is poor, clearly probably barely making pennies for his work. But he seems cheerful enough.

[[ooc: work bbl]]

Edited 2017-11-20 16:56 (UTC)

A young man passes the boy and takes a flyer, handing him an apple in return.

"God bless ya, sir!" the kid chirps. Most just take the flyer.

John nods at him, only glancing at the information. He doubts he will be up for a Carnival anytime soon. Odd, as he's spent the last eight months missing London and the rare but welcome festivals, among other things. Now he feels too tired. And the city he's returned to seems to have changed since he was last here.

He's spent over half a year serving as a naval soldier before a canon nearly tore through his shoulder. A miracle he survived, but he was no longer needed and sent home, finding his own way back on a ship with several other veterans sailing from Singapore.

It had been an uneventful voyage, with one exception, when they had discovered a man adrift at sea on a lifeboat. The others had wanted to leave him, certain he was dead by his pale face and lifeless body, before John had pulled him aboard and given him some air, saving him at the last moment. The man gave everyone the creeps. Only John spoke to him and even he didn't dare try to upset him. The man had grey, soulless eyes and never smiled once. He confessed to John that he had escaped from a prison in Australia, stealing a boat that was caught in a storm, one that nearly killed him. He'd told John his sad tale; of how his parents were murdered when he was a teenager and, being the oldest, he was left to raise his younger siblings - until he was sent away for a crime he didn't commit, leaving them alone.

The man had said nothing more until they landed at the docks. He gave John his name; Sherrinford Lock, and that if he ever needed a favour in return, John might be able to find him somewhere along Montigue Street.

Part of John hoped he would never have to see the man again. The others called him a demon. John thought he might have been a ghost.

He doesn't think of that man now as he walks down the road, his few belongings in a bag slung over his back. Instead his head is turned by music. He looks up and catches the sight of the figure the window. Thin, lithe, like some creature out of a Shakespeare fantasy. John stops in his tracks and smiles up at him. How can no one else stop to listen?

It's...beautiful.

Edited 2017-11-20 19:17 (UTC)

William bows and continues his cheerful song on his violin.

He finishes with a flourish and then bows, retreating into the shadows.

John continues looking up, feeling a strange ache when the figure vanishes. Did he even see him watching? For a moment John wondered if the figure was female, given how petite and graceful they looked.

"Alms...alms...alms for a young crone!" a small, pitiful screech disrupts his thoughts.

John looks to see a strange creature in rags, head covered with a tattered gown, holding out a small purse. She wreaks of death and John thinks for a moment he has found someone more frightening than Mr. Lock. But she's just a mad begger woman. He gives her ten shillings.

"Thank you, Sir." she gives a yellow grin.

"Miss...do you happen to know the young man who lives there?" he might be more mad himself to ask her.

The wench gives a broken giggle; "That's...Shh!...Shh!...W-William. Lord Magnussen's ward. Keeps him snug, he does. Best not let 'im catch you eyin' 'im up. 'E'll have you whipped through the streets..."

She turns and goes to find others to follow, begging for alms. Out of her mind.

Lord Magnussen? That's the man he's come to see. He goes to the front door and knocks.

Edited 2017-11-20 22:29 (UTC)

There's a knock downstairs and William hurries to find a book about his greenfinch. He wonders if he can take the bird out of its cage.
He studies the bird stretching out his fingers again. "I wonder if I can teach you to talk or if you just sing pretty songs?"

Whoever is downstairs will probably be sent away. He doesn't allow him to have visitors for his own safety.

One of the servants answers the door.

"I'm...here to see Lord Magnussen." John frowns; "I'm a soldier, invalided from duty. I was told he could assist me in finding new employment."

The butler frowns and gestures him to come in.

He points to a chair; "Sit. Master will be returning shortly, he's just gone to make a quick visit. Tea?"

"Uhm...yes, please. Thank you." he tries to smile, though the butler looks as though making tea for guests is stressful labour.

John waits for the man to disappear into the kitchen. He then slowly creeps up the stairs. He notices there is a painting on the floor. He picks it up to put it back on the wall...before noticing there is a hole supposed to be covered. The hole sees right into the bedroom, not too obvious.

He can see the boy. Sitting. Reading.

He knocks gently on the door; "...Hello?"

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