bakerstreet | Questions.

Questions.

A QUESTION FOR A QUESTION

YOU MAY KNOW EACH OTHER ALREADY - OR YOU MAY NOT. UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, YOU'RE NOW PASSING THE TIME ASKING EACH OTHER QUESTIONS. IT'S A GAME! A QUESTION FOR A QUESTION. YOU START OFF ASKING YOUR OPPONENT A QUESTION OF CHOICE AND IF THEY ANSWER IT, THEY'RE ALLOWED TO ASK YOU A QUESTION IN TURN. THE RULES ARE SIMPLE, ONLY AS LONG AS YOU ANSWER THE OTHER PERSON'S QUESTIONS ARE YOU ALLOWED TO ASK QUESTIONS YOURSELF, BUT THERE IS NO EXPECTATION OF TRUTHFULNESS HERE, LIE IF YOU MUST OR WANT, JUST KEEP THE MOMENTUM GOING.

How to play -
1. Comment with your character's name, fandom and preference.
2. If you want, leave a question in the comment field that your character is asking their opponent. Or don't. I'm not the cops.
3. Pick other characters to question and have fun!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ He lets that expression of hers roll on by, with maybe just the barest wry brow-arch in awareness of it. ]

Ain't always a thing, rich people being uncomfortable with animals. But it sure is sometimes.

Making spaces more liveable for humans. Less so for all the stuff that can mess us up.

What about you? [ Implicit in the question: what do you do, anyways? ]

[ he's got her there. she's got firsthand account of how animal friendly they are, after all. ]

I love that what I do is high risk, high reward. It's not easy, marketing yourself in a way that'll keep the media from turning on you, but it's fun. Almost like a game.

[ a game of perception, really. but she knows what he's asking: ]

Being a socialite isn't anything useful, but I do what I can. Am I correct in assuming you're not a fan of people from my tax bracket?

[ He mulls that over for a sec. Not like the reasoning is unfathomable, just like he's taking his time, no leaping to pick it apart.

Her question gets a chuff from him, though. Light and through his nose. ]

That'd slot in nicely, huh? Blue collar lunk, salty at the upper crust. [ His voice is all bemused and blunt, devoid of even well-leashed bitterness. ]

But nah. Wish I had a gazillion bucks myself sometimes, sure. And richer's more likely n' not to mean a certain kinda asshole. But there're assholes at every income level, last time I looked.

You ever get sick of that? Toeing the tripwire between success and shitstorm.

That's fair. [ there's an apologetic twinge to her words; unspoken acknowledgment of her initial misguided assumption.

and then it's her turn to mull over his question. ]

Yes and no. It comes with the territory of staying relevant. It wouldn't take much effort for me to disappear quietly from the public sphere but I'd lose leverage, too. And that's not an option.

What would you do if you had a gazillion bucks?

[ He breathes out a low-thrumming, equable huh, as much in consideration of what she says as what she doesn't. And then moves on. ]

Aw, that's the age-old question, yeah? Have to give some to my parents, assuming my da'd even take a dime. And I'd wanna buy myself a bigger workspace. [ A beat. ] For shit I work on outside of work.

What kinda hobbies you got?

Well, now I have to ask what you work on outside of work - if that's alright? [ she can't help the way her head slightly tilts, eyes widened with hope. ]

I genuinely like staying active. I get really restless easily, so I'm always on the go as much as I can be. Hiking, riding, swimming, sailing, traveling, all of it as much as I can when I'm free. I think it's why I also sleep so well at night even though my mind never runs out of thoughts.

I like to build things. And blow them up, [ he tacks on, with no further explanation, and only the same level of game sure, here's your answer! readiness. ]

Travel for me's just driving to some land upstate, but I get where you're coming from. Gotta be moving even when I'm at home.

There a country you wanna visit you ain't been to yet?

[ her confusion is apparent, although she easily accepts without pressing for further details. maybe it's safer not to know specifics? ]

Bolivia is high on my list for their massive salt flat. I really don't know how it's not the eighth wonder of the world. A lot of my traveling is for work-related trips, but the next time I get some time for myself, I'll be heading there.

You must meet a lot of people through your line of work though. Who's the most memorable client you've ever had?

[ He acquires his own mild puzzlement, though of a very different nature, as she answers. ]

Didn't know Bolivia had a salt flat. Didn't know jack about Bolivia, period. Sounds worth the google.

Ha, yeah, I've had some interesting ones. Tough to narrow down. But I'll always remember this one apartment in Bushwick. Not even that far from our first, after we moved stateside.

Landlord calls me in, says the place is infested with rodents. Doesn't know what kind. I figure he's just a rarity who ain't been close enough to mice and rats to tell the difference.

Then I get in there, and packed into this one room studio there's more stacked pens than you can shake a stick at. Egyptian spiny mice, groundhogs. Spotted pacas. A freaking porcupine, hanging from the ceiling in a birdcage. Flying squirrels and nutria and beavers with a kiddie pool.

Tenant was some kinda collector/hoarder. Animal control had a goddamn field day, you better believe.

Oh, and capybara in a dog crate. You ever seen capybara? 'Bout as chill as the memes claim.

[ she's settled in more comfortably when he talks, expression the appropriate measure for someone who's listening earnestly. half the animals he mentions, she's not sure what they look like, but she knows enough to wince, especially at the mention of porcupine.

a capybara, at least, seems really cute, but - ]

Was the tenant still there? Did the landlord just discover it that day when he was doing rounds or something? That's gotta be breaking so many laws, right?

I suppose I'm glad you didn't go in and find an alligator in the bathtub, or something like that. [ a pause, and a rueful: ] Maybe that's more Florida than New York.

Landlord took me in alone. Never did meet the tenant. You might be surprised, how outta hand that shit can get before somebody puts their foot down. And yeah, there's laws, but people squeak past 'em all the time.

[ He seems comfortable, more than willing to share his account. Trusting that if she's asking, she's good with hearing it. Yet he's got a certain casual self-awareness, suggesting he doesn't overestimate these details' importance, in the great scheme of things. ]

Down south's a different beast, for sure. If I was working there I'd be juggling Burmese pythons left and right. Most snakes we deal with up here are little indoor escapees.

You mentioned falcony — what's that like?

[ it's scary, to think that something unknown and completely unexpected can wait for someone in the most innocuous places, but he looks like he can take care of himself - very very easily. ]

Falconry is a whole complex system onto itself. They have specific names for the types of birds, how they've been captured, along with several laws about who can train a certain type of bird and whatnot.

But there's something humbling about it. I'm always reminded that we're only on top of the food chain because of our brains, and not because we possess any other survival skills. Maybe because we train these beautiful birds to get them to do all the work of hunting for us while we get the credit.

Would you ever be interested in that sort of sport? Working with an animal to achieve a goal?

[ His relaxed approach to what he's talked about doesn't extend to how he listens. It's not that he leans in, or makes a bunch of dramatic thoughtful faces. But there's a gathered quality to Fet's posture, subtle despite his size, which if you notice it indicates every bit of his attention. ]

Birds are some of the toughest animals to trap, I've found. And duh, 'cause wings, right? But it's more'n that. Kinda an alien intelligence, there. Always makes me think of the whole avian dinosaurs thing. Like maybe deep down somewhere, even a chicken knows it evolved from something that was around when mammals were just skittery little creatures in the undergrowth.

I like animals. Like being around 'em without needing to exterminate 'em, which surprises people, sometimes. [ A fractional lift at his mouth's corner. ]

Spent some time in the boonie oblasts, when I was a kid. Worked around horses, herding dogs. Can't say I ever picked it up like the real farm boys do, or that I been anything but a city mouse since. But I see the appeal, whether it's for your daily bread or just for kicks.

Hey, ain't your family in some kind of farming? Fancy, like.

If dinosaurs evolved into chickens, I wonder what evolution has in store for us.

[ there's something about the way he talks that makes it intriguing for Margaery to listen. she's been trained for it her entire life, knows how to stay awake through a whole night of boring dinner speeches, but it's distinctly easier, almost, to allow herself to smile naturally at city mouse and trying to imagine a smaller version of her new friend herding dogs.

maybe it's that he's not trying to sell her anything at all. not a vision or an inflated ego. just telling her who he is, in small paint strokes. dense but meaningful splashes. ]

So you do know who I am. Or at least, have some idea.

[ she offers him a hand to shake, and a small smile. ]

I'm Margaery.

[ Her remark about evolution hikes his lips a little higher. Not quite into smirk territory, but it doesn't need to get there for his cheekbone on that side to start sharply delineating.

Then she goes on, and his expression regroups into lighter amusement. ]

Yeah, well. Spend a lotta time down in the sewers, but I ain't that far under the rock.

[ He accepts her hand, careful not to swamp it with his own, though it doesn't seem careful. Just a single shake, short and firm. ]

Vasiliy Fet.

[ his expression's enough for her to wonder what he's thinking about, in that split second, although her curiosity doesn't extend as far as filing the memory away for later. a private joke, perhaps? ]

It's nice to meet you, Vasiliy. [ she repeats his name slowly, in an attempt to get it just the way he says it. ] Russian?

[ He nods, more to reciprocate the nice to meet you than to confirm her pronunciation, though in fact she gets it right. Settling back somewhat, easily ceding the space he closed for their handshake. ]

Ukrainian.

You been over there? [ As though the region were one broad swath. When of course it's nowhere so neatly brush-stroked, as he's well aware. ]

[ she settles back too, although it's with her balancing her weight on the edge of a desk; Vasiliy is easily over six feet tall and being conscious of someone else's height is one of those small, crucial details that make for easier conversation. ]

I haven't. My brother has, when he took a year off before college to travel across the world, and I remember him telling me about Khotyn Fortress and how beautiful it was. I honestly only remember it because I saw the pictures and thought about how incredible it'd be to live in a castle like that.

Were you born there?

Ah, yeah, that's a neat one. Structure gets lumped in with Kievan Rus', but that would've been centuries before the rebuild. Still makes for a great panorama. I couldn'tna been more than six or seven, but I remember hearing they filmed a movie there. Big deal for the province.

Was I born in a castle?

[ Clearly he gets what she meant; but as dumb of an opportunity as it is to ham it up a bit, he can't let it pass.

Fet rocks back on dingy boot heels, side-eyeing her while he mimes a noble stance. Tugging on the lapels of his beat-to-shit duck cloth work jacket, like it's a fucking princely vest. Mouth twitching at that corner again. ]

Can't ya tell?

[ she fails to keep a straight face; Margaery has a moment of laughing behind her hand before she (somewhat) regains control and nods, attempting to frown her way into looking solemn. it lasts just long enough for her to nod and say, ]

Absolutely.

[ but once laughter's fully out of her system, her smile remains. ]

All joking aside, I can totally see you as a prince. Maybe a little more on the fairytale side, where they're actually strong and capable and have good hearts. And adventure around a bit, helping people.

Would you ever want to go back to Ukraine?

[ She laughs, and Vasiliy just grins. Not toothily, but still ear-to-ear, far too wide to simply be termed a smile. And it's easy to imagine he'd grin exactly this way if Margaery were a chuckling babushka, or a giggling kid on a street corner. ]

Yeah, dunno about that. Comes to Ivan types I'm more durak, the fool. Always keeping my eyes peeled for that firebird though.

I'm in no rush. No family left there to visit. Anyways, they'd probably just kick me out for talkin' Russian-Ukrainian with an accent like a De Niro character from Bushwick.

What's home to you? The fam's home, I mean. You got like, an "ancestral seat?" [ He actually puts the air quotes around it. ]

[ if she barely suppresses another laugh at his description of his accent, it's only because she's been wondering what it was through the duration of their conversation!! not because he's got it in one! ]

Ancestral seat? That's probably back in England, somewhere, before my ancestors realized that a country as big as America would probably be a lot better for farming.

But home for me is California. [ and it probably shows with the careful tan that'd be impossible to get anywhere else in this season, and the way she's all layered up despite the smart outfit. ] Central to southern, so long as it's driving distance to the beach. But my grandmother made the decision to send my brother and I to boarding schools after homeschooling us for a good while. A test run, I guess you could say. [ for the lack of real privacy that would inevitably follow them for the rest of their lives. ]

Do you want to stay in New York your whole life?

[ Hey, he knows the accent's goofy, not to put too fine a point on it. You can call it as much and it'll roll right off him. ]

California, huh? Never been. Not really a beach guy, in general. [ A vast understatement, as at least partially evinced by his own complexion. ]

Did go to boarding school though, back in the old country. [ Dialing up the Slavic emphasis on those last two words. ] Pops woulda never settled for state. You go to college after?

Yeah, New York's the one. Other cities I wanna see yet, but can't imagine not coming back home.

I couldn't tell. [ playful sarcasm, although Margaery does do a once over and her approval isn't hard to discern. ]

Yeah. I did my best to make sure no one could claim I got into any good schools because of my name, but the truth is, I'm not sure if I did.

What other cities do you wanna see?

[ The way he would've kept on truckin' through some innocuous mockery, accepting the reaction without it slowing him up? That's exactly what he does with the approval in her glance. Aware of it (clearly genuine, if not weightier than expected under her teasing) but stolidly bypassing any chance to pause. To lend it its own momentum, however casual. ]

Well, the degree's yours either way. Kinda nice, how nobody can take that from ya.

Oh, man. Lots. [ Ticking the names off on his fingers: ] Athens. Dubai. Istanbul. Kuala Lumpur, for those Towers alone. High on my list of crazy cool structures I gotta see in person, one day.

Guessing you seen some of 'em already, huh?

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject