bakerstreet | monster, how should i feel

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[meme] shipping

monster, how should i feel

the monster & the maiden fair meme

There's a long precedent in folklore and myth of beautiful young people - both men and women - being kidnapped by monsters: dragons, beasts, goblins, demons, elves, vampires, wolves, or even evil humans. In the end, however, these prisoners are almost always rescued and brought back to civilization to live a normal and happy life.

But what if they didn't want to leave their jailor?

They've seen behind the surface and have begun to sympathize with this "monster;" no, more than that, they've fallen for them. Will this story have a happy ending? Will the monster believe that anyone could love them? Most importantly, though, can the two of them be left alone without any attempts at a "rescue?"

how to play

Comment with your character, your preference, and what role they'll play. Feel free to AU characters to your desire role.
Reply to others.
Thread anything that could remotely fit under the umbrella theme. Was the kidnapping just that, or did both parties know (and care) for each other before, making it a collaborative, mutual effort? Perhaps you'd prefer to play the actual Beauty and The Beast-style getting to know each other or seeing behind the grizzly facade. What about an attempted "rescue?" Or maybe you could thread out a scene where the prisoner runs away from the society they were forced back into and returns to their beloved beast! It's all up to you. You could even do smut if you wanted to, but this isn't a smut meme.

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[Most likely as a wandering spirit or a protective guardian of the forest, Link's seen better, fleshier days.

also available in fleshy version for you monsters out there!]

[ A noble monster with a monstrous past. Looks like this without his armor on. ]

(When the demon Avatar of Gluttony can't bring himself to eat his prisoner...)

[ here for none smutty things ]

[ Fine with playing the younger version, just ask! Humanoid/ability to change back to humanoid is preferred. I'm open to smut, as well! ]

[ definitely the monster. ]

( Absolutely the monster! )

OOC | Monster man comin' at ya live. Either standard homunculus, or if ya wanna go nuts, some sort of monster AU. Cross-canon is more than welcome and all's green! Non-smut is a go. Anything smut-worthy, 21+.

She's valuable. That's all she is. She's the daughter of a rich man, she's pretty as a princess, dresses like one too. Ivory tower, she doesn't exist like other people do, she's what her namesake is, terrifying and removed. Terrifying removed. She sees too much, knows too much, there is a galaxy of information in her mind, but that's not what anyone ever cares about, or at least they don't let themselves.

But here Angel is, sitting in her captors club. She'll never know how he got into her father's mansion. She'll never know how he got her out. Someone was very clever along the line and never let her be conscious to scream for help. She doesn't even know why she was taken except the obvious, she supposes, the ransom.

But this isn't like all the other times someone's stolen her. Taken her to punish her father. They don't even know, often enough, how much she wished they would fail in giving her back, and knife in her throat. Almost as much as she wished she could put one in theirs for proving her father right about how she'll never be safe. Not ever.

She's never had a captor take care of her before. Thought she knew what to expect at this point. The back hand if she cried. The bite to shut up if she pleaded for help. Granted, she was afraid, but not half as afraid as what would happen when she went back to her father. Locked away again, under chains and keys so he could never, never lose her.

Here, with this new... Person that had stolen her, she hadn't even been hurt. He just liked to leave her sitting where he could... Admire her like a possession? She didn't know. Oh she was never left alone, and just because he didn't hurt her didn't mean she was liked, she was the daughter of a cruel, rich man. Which meant there was a certain delight some of his crew had in pouring drinks and thrusting it into her hands, with an order like she was a servant. Go give Boss his drink.

But he wasn't a person, she didn't know what he was, he barely seemed real. He was a fairytale story, the monster on the edge of the page, grinning and wicked and telling sweet foolish heroes that there are wicked things this way if they'll just step off the edge of the map. Not the huntsman, but the wolf. The promise of a sin. She knew so many things, but she didn't know what to make of him, even a little.

Angel did as she was told, her nervous and furious quick glances aside, she wasn't stupid. Angel walked slowly out of the way of everything so she wouldn't attract attention, even when she knew they were always keeping an eye on her. Small, delicate steps like she was worried to take up even the space she would need to exist as a person. "Your drink, uhm, - sir."

It's what her father liked to be called. It seemed fitting now. The man, or monster, or whatever he is, lazed like a king on a throne. Master of everything he surveyed. Angel didn't meet his eyes, just held the drink for him to take.

Whereas whatever Jack has is grand in the very realist sense (electric towers made of lights and glass, robotic cat-calls hissing on lips of static, generators and screens always blurting the next, big bounty in the form of crude commercialization), his is a different kind of palace. The town carves itself out in both sand and stone like a backwards cathedral; one strung upside down, drawing from a different kind of energy much darker and deeper than what the sun could ever hope to offer. Red lights throb across pitches of black rock and dirt, reaching up into the arches of what could best be described as a pit-stop bar promising nothing but sin, sin, sin.

He's been around long enough, lived long enough, to cut out his own slice of the pie.

Which could be what made him interested in her in the first place. She was, is, a mortal, touched by a certain kind of grace. A specialty, rare even, to come across. And isn't he the same? Another kind of other, breathing over the barren nothingness and sucking it dry for all it's worth.

No, despite what sets them apart, his intrigued hasn't changed.

Greed stirs before Angel enters the room, his one eye peeling open behind his shades like a string of apple, cutting on the edge of a knife. A throb of purple plays under the collar of his throat; a fearsome, unnatural energy kept in check. He raises his eyebrow slightly over the frame of his shades and as the drink reflects back in the lenses, the Sin makes a noise in the pit of his throat. One low, casual, with a hint of a bewilderment.

"Ah-? Sir? What are you - " Greed trails off before catching himself. A look of played exhaustion hangs on his face; his expression, both a mockery and an over exaggeration. Like a phantom trying to figure out human emotion. The Sin unwinds his ankles and as the spurs of his boots skip sparks into the floor below, he heavily shoves his torso forward to plant both of his elbows on his thighs. "Oi, oi, oi - who put you up to this? Was it Dol?" His fingers wave, tossing whatever else he has to say to the wind. "No need for that, lovely. I guess you wouldn't know, but that's just not me. Not in the slightest."

He pauses, licks his lips, and a pillow of old smoke wafts off his tongue. "Whatever you're thinking, it isn't it." Greed grunts. He reaches his hand behind his neck, giving his bones a rhythmic, grave-hollow crunch. "We didn't have time to explain to you back there, but I'm not like the rest. I thought you might have put that together by now. Not that a blame you - all of this. Doesn't look too good, does it?"

Idly, his other hand reaches out. At first, the tips of his fingers seem normal enough. Flesh, bone; nails that cut back into finely-worked cuticles that even the most prominent businessman might be jealous of. He looks her in the eye, or at least tries to. "I'm not interested in hurting you." He times his words in a circling motion - the purr of his voice, seemingly spinning, spinning, spinning like a cocktail, twirling down the drain. He's like predator in every way. How he takes his time, how he counts the seconds, how he waits, merely waits, for the right opportunity.

She's different, he knows that. Different beyond most, fantastic. But she's still human, at least part of her is.

And usually, well -

Crck. His nails find the glass; their fine edges, now crooked-cat claws bent in deep, penetrating blacks. Greed gingerly plucks the glass from her; a gentle touch, regardless of all his sharp points. "You're something, lovely. Something a lot of people would kill to have." The Sin hums and the muscles of his throat tighten. "But that's not what made me take you. I think it's time you knew the truth to things, don't you? There's a lot in this world you don't know. And me, well?"

Greed lifts his shoulder. The fur around his collar brushes against the back of his neck, teasing his skin. "You could say we have that in common at least. Here - " He lifts, his body rising from his pink-leather sofa as lofty as a ghoul, climbing from its coffin. The drink in his hand claps loudly against the table to his side when he leaves it and the sweat on the brim drools leisurely in his wake. To the other end of the room, a single table stretches out across the back wall. It curves in all the right places, diving deep into shadow and disappearing out of sight around the next corner. A few lights buzz along its rim and between the bottles, the ashtrays, and the grime from yesterday(s), a single case waits; its silver-turned surface latched tight.

Greed sighs while he flips the locks with his knuckle. "I'm gunna give you a choice, Angel. It's something I've always been a fan of." The metal clasps click off repetitively: clnk, clck, crckt. "It wouldn't be fair of me to keep you here without you wanting it and, truth is, I wouldn't want it that way either. Choice," the Sin tongues the word as if it has some, surmountable weight. "-wasn't given to me, not in the beginning. But I've never been very good at following anyone else's rules."

The case opens, revealing a fine, blue-velvet interior. The Sin reaches inside. "Greed - it's not just a name. It's what I am. I want everything you could possibly think of. Money, women, sex, status - " A fever burns on his skin, yet not a drop of sweat touches his face. Instead, his veins bulge around his muscles, turning the color from a faint blue-purple to neon sign's pink; a pulse of electricity, foreign to whatever mankind's designed.

Greed runs his tongue along the points of his teeth. The revolver in his hand has enough rad-jammed ammunition to knock a mule off the face of the earth. Even in his hand, the shape of it is bulky. He spins the resolver's cylinder until it sticks into place. "Rumor has it that father of yours is a pretty cruel bastard, so I'm sure you know how to use this." No hatred hits his tongue, no animosity tightens in his voice. Instead, he's merely matter-of-fact. "Never liked these things, but humans are always good at coming up with ways to kill each other."

The Sin jerks his wrist and suddenly, the gun's barrel tips in his direction. He lays it on the floor a second later and uses the side of his boot to kick it towards her. The firearm spins - once, twice. A third, a fourth time. Until, finally, it's inches from her; a trigger begging, just begging, to be pulled.

"They won't come after you, so don't worry about that. And if you're feeling wrong about it, it'll take a lot more than that to kill me. So - " Greed levels his eyes - their points, as thin and vibrating as leopard calculating its next meal. "-here's the choice. You can shoot me and be on your way. Go wherever you think's the best. Or," a pause and he begins to shed his vest. The leather peels off him like a second skin, revealing red-lined patterns along his body that pulse a steady, lightning-cloud heartbeat. "-you can stay here. Be your own person, take back what's rightfully yours."

Thwmp. His vest hits the floor and Greed nudges it away with the back of his heel.

"The choice is yours, sweetheart. The real question is - "

Now, he's really watching her. His gaze maps out her throat, the tension of her skin, the way she breathes.

"-what's it gunna be?"

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