bakerstreet | Hell freezes over

Entry tags:

[meme] shipping

Hell freezes over

ʙᴏᴛʜ ɪɴ ʜᴇʟʟ

Of all the places in this world, there's nowhere worse you could be than where you are now. You're in hell - metaphorically or literally - and laying down and just dying seems more and more like the valid action to take. But you can't go any lower and death could be a no escape. There's only one thing keeping you from being a jaded, broken husk: you've fallen in love with someone who shares this fate. It's a love so different than the norm, that only those who've known this desolation can fathom. Perhaps they give you hope, they're an innocent worth keeping safe, they showed you unexpected kindness, or they're simply something to cling to. No matter what, you'll protect them and you wouldn't dream of leaving this place without them. They will leave, though...

...even if you don't.

☣ ＣＯＭＭＥＮＴ．ＩＮＦＯ．ＰＲＥＦＥＲＥＮＣＥＳ．
☣ ＲＥＰＬＹＴＯＯＴＨＥＲＳ．
☣ ＴＨＲＥＡＤ.

ＣＡＰＴＵＲＥＤ → For a crime you committed or not, you're in a prison.
ＶＡＬＵＥ → Something about you is worth quite a deal to the wrong person.
ＳＣＩＥＮＴＩＦＩＣ → You're nothing but an experiment, a lab rat.
ＰＥＲＳＥＣＵＴＥＤ → Your mistreatment is not because of what you've done. It's for who you are.
ＦＲＥＡＫＳＨＯＷ → All of your oddities are on display for the amusement of others.
ＦＯＲＣＥ → You have to do horrible things, though not of your own will or design.
ＲＡＣＫ → There's not just isolation or imprisonment on your plate - there's physical torture as well.
ＢＲＩＭＳＴＯＮＥ → "Hell" is no hyperbole; you're in the fiery pit itself.
ＷＩＬＤＣＡＲＤ

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[romantic or gen, assumed CR or not. he’s just going to hell in general, come join him.]

[Alien hiding on Earth. Perfect for Captured, Value, Scientific, Persecuted, Freakshow. Significantly more likely to be the subject than the persecutor.]

[Obviously the last one. Would love to play something where a mage/witch/religious/someone really dumb is trying to force his help, trap or otherwise contain him via spiritual/magical means]

( 'Benny — for your sake, you must go.'

little more has ever held more importance to Ben than his home. a resting place, a base, something protected that is wholly his. the thought of leaving now racks him with alarm and uncertainty; would he leave only for his own sake? the theory depended on how stubborn the man was feeling about the risks. it wasn't the matter of material possessions — nearly priceless tomes from ages past, or holding precious esoteric information — but the principle of it all. his home. it would be offensive to consider abandoning.

but with his uncle urging him to flee London for his own safety, it wasn't for himself that Ben thought of. his eye, tensely still at the front of his uncle's white collar, knew who was far more susceptible to the church's ire.

Ben moves through his flat with a fervor that is nearly angry, a fire that doesn't catch on him often. he had been careful for so long, for years, reserved and calculated in his travels between the two worlds of study. he made a conscious choice against the priesthood for a variety of crucial reasons, but couldn't accept turning away from this line of work, not when the malevolent continuously prevail under the dispassion of the church's own believers. exorcists, a dying breed. he couldn't let people slip into destruction.

he became sloppy, and his teeth ache in their jaws' tight lock at his disappointment in himself. it was so unlike him, and perhaps vampires are just too different a breed than an essence of evil parading in fleshed-out ventriloquism. intelligent, seductive, independent — Ben knew these things, from books and the mouths of hunters he met in the years. ashamed; this was a rookie's mistake.

traveling cases laid out across his living room, Ben shoves various possessions into particular ones, but despite his movements like an agitated sparrow, everything is placed as a puzzle piece. in his anxiety, he pauses to fret over the assembly of some books...they don't fit correctly, his buzzing brain whispers tauntingly. Christ, this isn't the time. he demandingly adds a tin canister of consecrated salt, hands trembling with the adrenaline heating them, leaving his fingertips staining a warm hue.

a chill runs over the back of his neck, delivered by instinct, ancient and deeply-rooted, obscure enough to call animal in design. looming in his periphery, a shadow lingers at the mouth of the unlit hallway, deeper than he is familiar with in the contours of his home. imperceptibly still, but carrying the airy watchful electricity of another silent person sharing the same room.

Ben is not wholly unfamiliar with it. )

How long have you been standing there? ( said (read: barked) once he has turned to stare accusingly at the dim void, everything apart from his very eyes telling Ben that it must be him here. nothing is sacred anymore, even the locks on Ben's doors or windows, apparently. it's not an overstatement to say Ben bristles at the realization that he isn't alone, and moreover — has had an intruder here in his home for an untold amount of time. )

[ In his long years of life — or death, one supposes — Dracula has never found the church (left uncapitalized, for it isn't just Western religion that would brand him a monster) to be more than a nuisance. He could be killed, once and for all, could truly be destroyed and turned to nothing but a bedtime story, but— here he is. Years, decades, centuries — perhaps it's arrogance for him to think that it could hardly end here.

Still, there's an unpleasant rippling feeling that comes from the recent turn of events, specifically around the would-be exorcist he's spent some time trying to parse. They owe each other no debt, nor does he truly need anything from any human save blood, but curiosity — curiosity, not fear — draws him to the little flat. After all, it wouldn't be any fun to leave so quickly.

He enters first as a shadow, a creeping darkness that no true shape save for the fear that is struck into the hearts of those he hunts. But as soon as Ben speaks up, the nature of it changes — from the shadow appears a polished shoe, then another, and above it, as though summoned, the form of a man. ]

Only a little longer than it took for you to notice me.

[ He speaks idly, as though there were no hurry, as though he couldn't tell that Ben intends to flee (that he ought to be fleeing, too). ]

I was just passing through. It would seem I caught you at an opportune time.

[ At that, he lets his gaze wander, studying emptied shelves and the half-packed cases strewn across the floor. Everything about him — his manner, his movements, his speech — feel like molasses in comparison to Ben's hurried movements just moments ago. It's intentional, of course; for all the advantages that Dracula has, his best might just be his ability to pull the rug of stability, of comfort, out from under those around him. ]

Are you expecting company?

[ It's a question that demands more than a yes or no answer. He knows, at least in some form, of what storm is coming down upon their heads. What he means, rather, is just how much Ben knows of the forces soon to be pursuing them. ]

( only a little longer. oh, good — so Ben could have been dead as recently as a moment ago. he really hates the narrow liminal separation of vampires from the root of malevolence, removing them enough from the demonic species that his angel does not sense them near him, requiring a summoning forward instead. it's the 21st century, for God's sake — can't they make alarms for this sort of thing? )

Charming. ( his tone is deflated in delivery as he sternly looks away, irate, to shuffle more things into the case immediately before him. just passing through, 'opportune time,' Jesus, he really must not know what's going on—

Ben nearly takes his bored query of Dracula's at face value. he cracks around to look at the vampire again, ready to snark at him, and perhaps too condescendingly at someone that could turn him into a fresh corpse within a measurable minute.

but it does take looking at Dracula for Ben to pick up some nuance here. opportune time. the nonchalance. (the audacity.)

perhaps Dracula does know...moreover, did he come here to warn him? or, perhaps, dangle it over his head? )

Loathe as I am to give you credit...you've just made your appearance useful, for once. ( 'for once,' bold words from a prickling man.

back to his task at hand; holy herbs in boxes, incense in cloth wrappings. ) I'm sure you'll be delighted to know that you're not the only target of the Church now.

Don't thank me. ( an air of a nonverbal but dense 'seriously' hangs over that remark. )

You must already know that they have equipped themselves with the intent to dispatch you from God's green earth once and for all. ( key word there, intent. not that the Church wasn't invested in the idea before, only woefully ill-equipped for the task. look, Ben isn't strictly as worried about the ancient immortal standing in his home as he is about himself. only one of them is...legendarily supernatural, here. the only legendary thing about Ben is that he has never arrived late for work in his near ten years of tenure at King's College... but the Church never came down on him as a modern-day inquisition, until today.

and Ben is just human enough to secretly, deeply attribute the credit of that to the other man in the room. (let him have this thought, just for now. if Ben lives to see next week, he'll make some reevaluations.) )

[ There's no denying that a crucial part of Dracula — who he was as a man, the fact that blood is what has fueled him all these years — is of base nature. He is a predator; no amount of eloquence, of affected civilization, will ever change that. Ben knows that better than most, having spent recent days observing Dracula in the way that prey will keep their eyes glued upon the hungry creature circling them.

For whatever it's worth, none of Ben's barbs really seem to land. Dracula's only response — a raised eyebrow — indicates amusement more than anything else. A result of knowing that the angel guarding the man in front of him won't reveal itself until summoned, one must assume. Though a streak of arrogance runs through him, Dracula is hardly one to invite himself into a house he knows to be more than a little dangerous to him. (An angel is hardly the type of foe he wants to get entangled with.)

That last statement, however, gives him pause. The smile that seems ever-present upon his features fades, leaving behind a moue of— frustration? Thought? Certainly not resignation, at least. ]

I had suspected as much, [ he allows, with a slight sigh.

Time to move on, he supposes. That, or prepare for a bloodbath that might very well destroy him, which, while he doesn't relish the idea of running from a fight, seems preferable to having to lick his wounds, or risk a more permanent end. (It's a particular brand of cowardice – or practicality, should one feel generous — that he's always harbored, only sometimes trumped by his pride.) ]

Do you know where you'll go?

[ It's a question he has no real reason to ask besides, at best, genuine curiosity, and at worst, boredom. Either way, it requires some level of investment in the answer. (That's one of his faults, he supposes — he'd never quite committed to the idea of refraining from playing with his food.) ]

( cowardice is self-preservation, but it isn't a truth that helps the idea sit any easier in one's stomach. talking about it aloud again, and to the only other person caught in this sudden predicament, has Ben feeling his pulse thump more adamantly in his carotid, still with the same anxious speed. he has no qualms for doing what has to be done to save himself, to save his life so hard-won from irreparable damage, from his profession to his day-to-day... it's the uncertainty of it all that has him stricken. what will he have to do to outrun the looming hammer on its way to fall? how long will this go on for? where will he even go—?

Ben's attention snaps back to Dracula with severity. the question rings hotly in his ears like a slap to his skin — his thundering pulse is nearly suffocating, lungs pressing and stretching with wider sweeps for air. shit, no, not now — now is a terrible time to slip down that howling slope. he wants to laugh in contempt, a small shard of a sound to pierce the bubble of tension under his sternum. it comes out as a scoff. it doesn't afford him any relief.

tension makes Ben rude, evidenced by what becomes his reply. ) Looking for recommendations?

( where his ire flares, his mind grapples for the reigns; Ben's eyes shut, he pulls in a deep breath, and he turns back down to his luggage, hands still. regretful, ashamed, he stands, teetering, waiting for the shimmering kaleidoscope of color to fade out of his vision. )

...Can't decide between hoofing it north to hide out in the middle of bugger-all, or go south, get a ferry to the mainland and just... ( Ben swallows, mouth painfully dry. inching shoulders are forcibly smoothed out in a rigid manner. ) Drive indefinitely. ( or maybe he'll forego the ferry completely and just drive straight into the ocean. it sounds like a solid consideration at this point. he's petrified by the curse of choice.

a murmur, to himself, but with full acknowledgement that he has an audience: ) You'd think I'd have made a plan for this. ( he always does, over every little thing — but not the one Worst Case Scenario situation. the man updates his will once a year, and never made himself an escape plan if the Church might finally take notice... was it arrogance, that kept Ben from seriously considering the potentials for falling under the inspecting eye of the Church?

or was it reluctance, ignorance, cowardice? not very self-preserving, here.

Ben knows the waltz of small talk. even as he counts his stuttering inhales and exhales, building a barrier between his mounting panic and himself, he senses the next step. he doesn't look up when he continues. ) ...You? Back to...Romania, or do you intend to stay for the party?

Or, well...considering how well this went for either of us, I can imagine if you might not want to divulge your plans. ( his withering tone says it for him: he wouldn't take it personally if Dracula chose not to say to the likes of a hunter. he isn't entirely sure that he wants to know (...but he knows it would torture him not to know.) )

[ It's easy for him to pick up on the swelling thrum of blood running through Ben's veins. It's a part of what separates him from the human lives that flow around him like water passing by a particularly sharp stone in a river; had he less resolve (or perhaps, simply, were he hungrier), the temptation to sink his teeth into Ben's neck would be overwhelming. He's not quite a sadist, but fear has become inextricably tied to his feeding.

For now, however, he remains still, an obelisk whereas Ben's manner is more that of a crumpled piece of paper slowly coming unfolded, buffeted intermittently by a gust of wind. Each moment he spends here is another moment in which the Church grows closer. He should go, for the sake of keeping the risk of being caught as low as possible, but— here he remains. ]

Plans are overrated, [ he says simply, with an almost teenage carelessness — a rebuttal, in a way, of Ben's irritation.

At that last note, he lets out a breath of laughter. He's had to be careful all these years not to let most of the people he comes into contact with cotton onto the fact that he's been alive longer than any other being on this Earth, but time, in that respect, is a double-edged sword; he only has to worry about any given enemy for a few decades. It's the blink of an eye, for him.

And besides, Ben, hunter as he may be, has yet to truly acquit himself as an enemy. ]

I was thinking of making my way across the Atlantic. Staying on this continent seems inadvisable, and I could do with the fresh air. Have you been to the Americas? [ He speaks of it as though of an upcoming vacation, rather than a forced eviction from his current residence. ] I hardly mean to invite you to keep pursuing me, but—

[ He ends the thought with a shrug. It's not an invitation to travel together — there are limits — but he's not being secretive, at least. ]

You might consider putting a greater distance between you and ... your erstwhile friends.

( 'plans are overrated' is liable to put him into a fit of hives. this is probably the keenest attack Dracula has laid on Ben Dearborn to date.

the commentary laid thickly in this stony voice is accentuated by zippers being pulled briskly shut, Ben almost stubbornly attentive to his packing, nearly giving an air of ignorance... but cautious and nosy in nature, incapable of avoiding a good dropping of eaves, Ben isn't missing a single word. never malicious in nature — information means survival, only after it has been weighed and evaluated for merit.

what Dracula knits in verbal threads is so unexpected, its quality and density for merit obscured, Ben is beginning to subsequently expect being thrown for wild loops by this point. )

Oh, you're giving me recommendations. Next you're going to tell me we have the same travel agent. ( it's all Ben can do to keep focused, caught between roiling tension and the very cause of it, wanting to block it out while being too dire to ignore. the banter is so uncharacteristic for their volatile climate, but the environment around them has now changed, vaulted sideways into new territory. they're both being ousted together — what a bizarre realization to hold.

Ben doesn't know what he feels about it, yet.

he can be biting, but he is not without manners, and is loathe to ignore a question being posed at him. ) ...America. Yes. I visit with...moderate frequency. Enough to know how to drive on the opposite side of the road. ( it helps.

he hadn't considered the distance, only what was accessible. the notion of traveling so far for a lonesome escape settles uneasily in his gut, but there is an edge in the idea: Ben has connections there, those who he has supplied favors for in his years in this field. people who might be willing, and capable, to repay him.

damn it. it's a good idea. Ben wishes he could hate it on principal.

cases are secured shut. Ben's shoulders drop as he rests his hands on this last one before him, stuffed to the brim with the strangest belongings of his, old little books and containers of components, antique icons, every material known to oppose the damned. even after all of this, he won't be able to abandon the very purpose that risks his safety now. he can't. Dracula must know that, too. )

Why the advice, now? ( Ben can't force his tone to sound more pointed; leveling his voice over the drumming of his urgent pulse drains it of any real inflection. too calm, and yet, not calm enough. why come here to see Ben now, who could put an end to him, who almost made the attempt? is it a game, a taunt?

or does Dracula see why Ben, ultimately, didn't? the knowledge of that choice still sits strangely in him, guilty mercy, conflicted conviction. it's enough to keep Ben from looking at the other man, as if afraid Dracula will be able to read it too well on him. God knows, Ben might already be doomed in that regard anyway. this is the first they've spoken since his rescinded attempt, after all. )

[ Ben bristles — Dracula smiles. One might think his true sustenance was getting under people's skin rather than consuming their blood — that is, if one didn't know better. This is how he chooses to pass the years, now, taking people apart both literally and metaphorically, as the way the human heart and mind work together (or fail to) has proven a source of endless entertainment, especially as the years wear on yet the base problems plaguing the species seem to remain mostly the same.

As for what he thinks of their current situation, it would be incorrect to say that he's happy with it, but whereas his counterpart in this conversation mulls over how to parse his feelings, Dracula has mostly moved on with them. Introspection can wait.

Instead, he lets out a breath of laughter as Ben mentions the reversed driving lanes (and seats) — he drives, but rarely chooses to if the luxury of having someone else do it for him is on the table. The perks of being able to pull people into his thrall. ]

Advice doesn't cost me anything, [ he says, which they both know is a bit of a lie. A route of escape to a man whose aim has, for a while now, been to remove him from the face of the Earth doesn't quite make sense — the best course of action would be to have never come here at all, to leave the other man to a life on a run, likely quickly extinguished by the Church. ]

Besides, I like to deny the Church as much pleasure as I can.

[ And that, if not untrue, is too blasé a reading. But if there is some deeper truth, Dracula isn't about to let it go easily. Call it another indulgence in the long game he's played with the humans in his immediate vicinity.

God only knows (no pun intended) that there are other possible answers. A favor owed, perhaps, or a gesture of good will or truce given that Ben had chosen, ultimately, not to go through with trying to destroy him. Years and years of life have meant dozens upon dozens of attempts on his life — the magnitude of his legend suggests that he did not take so kindly to most other such actions. ]

Are you considering it, then?

( has Ben heard Dracula laugh quite so much in conversation before? the answer is a qualifying 'no' in that their exchanges before haven't been quite so conversational, though a haunting rumble of mirth here and there didn't escape the vampire then... but this is different enough to be just significant now. Ben laid down his arms once, and now with his once-quarry standing in his hollowing home, he wonders if the same action has been wordlessly taken by his opponent, as well.

but can he trust that it has? is denying the Church of any righteous pleasure, parallel as it is now, enough for Ben to believe this isn't a well laid trap itself? more pressingly, is Ben willing to cross an ocean on the suggestion of a man who would hunt him just as the Church has begun to do, just because they're both carrying bullseyes? )

They say 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend,' but has anyone ever coined a phrase for 'the victim of my enemy'? You could get a jump on that one. ( because Ben isn't an enemy of the Church, and moreover, this isn't friendship; he won't embarrass either of them to suggest it... but this is camaraderie in some backwards, inexplicable way. neither one's motives are clear anymore, but the time to discuss them isn't available here. )

I'm considering if this is advice, or manipulation. ( said as pointedly as the eraser end of a pencil. Ben almost seems reluctant to look upon Dracula now that he's said it, not in some fear of a lash-out for attempted arrogance... it isn't arrogance. Ben has never been cowed out of openly questioning something before him before; he looks at the vampire and the confusion is visible, tensely pressed between everything else he has to worry about being compressed into such a small space of time.

but Ben...has a thought, a wild and strange sprout peering up through the foundation of his thinking, low down enough under the frantic buzzing of everything in his forebrain to go uncrowded. it blooms a small blossom of logic, ambitious in this unsuitable climate of desperate stress. one small notion that Ben dares to pluck at. )

How will you be traveling? ( in general, where ever he goes is the intention, which is why Ben doesn't specify. for this purpose, the destination isn't the point. ) And who with? ( it's nearly a mockery; Ben ought to know there are no others, as all parties involved worked their way into the heart of the invasion, to the ancient vampire himself. still, Dracula is full of surprises — it's sort of a problem in its own right. )

⟪ particularly interested in captured, value, and brimstone. ⟫

[ sunshine-y bard from a modern (sub)urban fantasy universe; character info here. super flexible with AUs! ota for gen; ages 30+ for shipping. ]

Edited 2020-06-20 22:27 (UTC)

[Adult muses for shipping, ota for gen.]

( gwen is generally in non-trivial danger of being held captive in a tank for an assortment of possible motives, so. )

Edited 2020-06-21 01:51 (UTC)

[By design, rping with Oscar will include major spoilers for RWBY v4-7. Please let me know if you'd like Ozpin to potentially be present for threads as well (or not).]

[ She never wanted it, but in the end there was no other way to save the people she loved. Her home, her world, her family, being a politicians and resisting was no longer enough. She was forced to chose a darker path. ]

[OOC: Cross-canon and assumed CR is welcome as, of course, are castmates.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Hell freezes over

ben k̶y̶l̶o̶ ̶r̶e̶n̶ solo. STAR☆WARS. ota

raven reyes | the 100

john murphy | the 100

Ashe ☠ Overwatch

Kazuhira Miller | Metal Gear | ota

felix hugo fraldarius / fire emblem: three houses

Vanya Hargreeves | The Umbrella Academy | OTA

Connor | Detroit: Become Human | OTA

Anemone | Eureka Seven | OTA

Lotor | V:LD | OTA

'Takashi Shirogane' (Subject Y0XT39) (s3 - s6) | V:LD | OTA

Wrong Hordak | She-Ra | (no spoilers past s 5 ep 11, am still watching)

Yukinami | Begleiter | OTA

Sei Kashino | Mars | M/F romance, OTA gen

Tommy Newton | The Man Who Fell to Earth | OTA

Lucifer Morningstar | Milton's Paradise Lost|OTA

Brock Rumlow ☠️ MCU

Xue Yang | The Untamed

dracula.

as discussed.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Natasha Romanoff | MCU | OTA

azula | a:tla

xue yang - the untamed - ota

jeff calhoun | oc | ota

Sephiroth | FFVII

ice king - adventure time

Caster | Fate/Stay Night | OTA

Mukuro Ikusaba | Danganronpa | OTA

gwen wynne-york | original

Katarina Claes|My Next Life As A Villainous|ota

Oscar Pine | RWBY | OTA

Steve Rogers | MCU | OTA

billy hargrove | stranger things

Clint Barton | MCU

Padme Skywalker - Fallen to the darkside AU - OTA

Bialar Crais | FarScape | OTA