bakerstreet | hurt / comfort

hurt / comfort

Hurt/comfort is a fan fiction genre that involves the physical pain or emotional distress of one character, who is cared for by another character. The injury, sickness or other kind of hurt allows an exploration of the characters and their relationship.

- Post with Character Name | Series in the subject.
- Others respond.
- Roll 1-10 at RNG for a scene, play it out and have fun!

1. INJURY. You've been injured. Broken bones or bleeding out or maybe just a tiny little papercut. The choice is yours.
2. SICKNESS. You're sick and laid up in bed, at home or in a hospital. The severity is up to you.
3. FEAR/ANXIETY. Something is happening and you're scared beyond belief.
4. LOSS OF SENSES. Sight, touch, taste, hearing, smell, etc. You've lost some important sense or ability and now you're left to deal with it.
5. DESPAIR. Nothing is good or right anymore and you can't shake the depression. Maybe that friend of yours can help though...
6. BREAKUP. You've been dumped. You need someone to comfort you, possibly by the one who dumped you.
7. MAKE UP. Fight or break up, it's time to makeup.
8. RESCUED. You've just been held captive and/or tortured for however long and finally, someone has come to the rescue.
9. BAD ROMANCE. Fight, cheated on, abused, whatever the case is, someone else can clearly see you need comfort from someone who isn't your terrible lover tonight.
10. LOSS. You've experience a loss of some kind and need help getting through it.
11. INSANITY. You're seeing things that aren't really there, hearing voices, or you're just convinced you're at your wit's end finally and you're going to crack. Maybe someone can give you a helping hand.
12. TIRED. You've had a heard life recently and you're just worn too thin to really care anymore. There's no fight left in you anymore. Can someone help change your mind?
13. ADDICTION. Drugs, alcohol, sex, gambling, or any other type of addiction has got you in its grasp. First time or relapse. Will someone be able to save you?
14. INSOMNIA. You can't sleep anymore, no matter how hard you try. Maybe someone can give you company.
15. NIGHTMARES. Or, on the other end of the spectrum, you can't sleep without gruesome, horrible nightmares. Either someone is stuck in your dream with you, witnessing it or they're just waking you up, soothing you out of it.
16. BLACKMAIL. You've been caught doing something you shouldn't and you were blackmailed because of it
17. SEPARATION. You're going to be separated for awhile or were separated for a long time. Either make up for lost time or try to spend every last moment together.
18. VIOLATED. You've been violated in some way. Can include sexual overtones or not. Can someone help you through it?
19. STRANDED. You've been stranded somewhere remote, with no help of anyone finding you for awhile. Can you survive this together?
20. SINS. You're feeling the weight of your sins and guilt clearer than ever. Can someone give you absolution or lessen the ache any?
21. SECRET. It's difficult having to keep that secret of yours, be it a relationship or something you just don't want to share with anybody else. Maybe it's okay to talk about it now though...
22. ADDITION. Babies should be joyous things unless you're in a situation where you know you won't be able to care for them. Either you've adopted or found out you're pregnant.

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Taiki wandered through the hallways of the shop aimlessly, sometimes finding himself looping around to where he'd been before, sometimes coming to the end of a certain hallway. It was well after midnight by now, but the kirin just couldn't manage to sleep again. Not after dreaming about the eyes again. It was always the same, getting lost in a cave and watching in horror as the walls and floor turned into various eyes to stare with malicious intent at him. And it always smelled like blood.

Finding D didn't really cross his mind since he didn't want to disturb their keeper more than he already had. But he couldn't find the kitchen to make himself some tea, oddly enough. Taiki just couldn't concentrate long enough to figure out the right way.

Given D's propensity for keeping strange hours, being awake past midnight was nothing new. He was making rounds, peeking into a room here and there to make sure the youngest residents of the shop were settled in properly for the night, and idly considered the merits of having a fruit tart this late. It was then he felt the distinct aura of an upset powerful being and paused; not Honlon, but... ah. The shop was not often frequented by kirins, and so the presence of one was always something noteworthy. D took special care to be attentive to noble guests, and decided to forego his dessert to seek out the kirin and see what he could do.

Fortunately, D possessed a much greater knowledge of the labyrinthine halls of his shop (or might have willed them to lead them where he needed to be, it was a mystery) and it wasn't long before he peered around a corner a few feet ahead of Taiki.

"There you are," he said, gently. The late hour didn't seem to matter as he added, "Right on time for tea."

Taiki had felt the sleepy concern of several of the older residents while he'd been wandering of course. He'd always enjoyed being around various animals more than he had around humans, even the family he'd been raised in. A kirin who'd grown up thinking he was human, the universe really did have a sense of humor sometimes. But because of that very reason it was hard for Taiki to feel the sense of self-worth, arrogance even, another kirin felt.

So it was perhaps a little predictable when he was a bit startled at D's seemingly sudden appearance just ahead of him. The only reason he didn't actually take a step back was a pale hand gently pressing against his back from the shadows around him. It was Sanshi of course, the creature who's only purpose was to look after him. The nyokai were the real reason a kirin never had a bad hair day, wrinkled clothes, or a growling stomach from a missed meal. And Sanshi had once again saved him from making an even awkward situation than he'd already created.

But all of that was pushed away by D's gentle invitation, one that had Taiki visibly brightening at. He didn't have to stammer out some sort of excuse or apology over like he had with his human family, nor did he have to try and hide his distress. It just naturally shifted forms so only moments after he brightened into an open smile the kirin's expression fell. "But... I don't have anything to contribute..."

((ooc: I'm so very sorry for the late response! RL mugged me in a dark alley and then ran me over with a car...))

[ Pretty girls make pretty graves - and crafty policemen follow. It isn't the first colleague he's lost to women, or weapons, or vice, and in their industry, it's hardly to be Leon's last. Still, he's never before buried a man a year his senior, who's successfully consigned every oath once happily taken to flagrant abandon in less than three weeks' time. He's hardly as much in awe of Harris' weakness to fall in love and complicity with the drug dealing suspect he was meant to interrogate; a beautiful face and a bleeding heart never make the best of arrangements, and he'd heard word that Harris' wife had only recently filed for separation. And of course the young woman's former associates would have done away with both her and her recent, badge-bearing paramour as soon as soon as word spread that he'd secured her freedom.

No. What astounded - what astounds Leon even now, leaving him to toy helplessly with his spoon, twirling it in the second cup of Count D's tea that he's left to spoil, untouched - is that he had no gut feeling about it. He took his dinner with the man two hours before the... incident, and he found nothing out of the ordinary with anything put before him.

He can't quite say when he left the funeral to arrive at the Count's, or how, or perhaps why. The shopkeeper won't ask, he supposes. It's all very well to come and intrude on Count D's tolerable evening, and make a mess of his plans, and ruin his tea, because there'll be no questions. That's what his instinct says, but, then, he's been wrong this week before.

In the end, it occurs to him to treat his host with something the littlest bit past bleary-eyed silence. ]

...sorry. [ He sets his cup down - repicks it - sets it again, quietly. ] I didn't bring you anything this time. That's... being a bad guest, isn't it?

[People, Count D has always believed, are unbearably moody. There is a special art to being cagey, to wanting all and none of the attention one can give, that humans have perfected while other animals mercifully have not. The wild has little time for sulking, after all, which mankind seems to have in abundance. That, he supposes, is one of the many problems with Leon Orcot, which the Count has had plenty of time to muse over as he sips his tea because it isn't as if anything else is happening.

He watches Leon fuss with the tea and frowns, just slightly. It's become a bad habit to set a cup down in front of the officer whether he wants it or not, and today is decidedly a Not day, apparently. His decor, the errant noises of much livelier individuals behind the doors to the rest of the shop - Leon hasn't complained about a single thing, yet, and that (of all things) is enough to hint that something is amiss. D is at an impasse; as a rule he will not pry, why should he, but the days when Leon does not interrupt his business to cause a scene are few and far between, lately, and this variant is...

Honestly, it's almost irritating. Either that or the lack of desserts, but at least the man has finally found his voice. D shakes his head once and pointedly does not smirk.]

Nonsense. [though yeah it is] You've brought your company.

[A beat; he sips his tea and gives Leon a sidelong glance.] In a manner of speaking.

[ There is nothing quite like the distinct feeling that you are being judged by someone who still thinks embellished nightwear is a proper sartorial statement. Really, he remembers some of those tassels.

The cup meets table a final time. He stares at it, then somewhere past.

Then he laughs, nods, and possibly recalls that the rest of his body also enjoys being animate. ]

You sound like someone who's been shortchanged for produce at the market!

[ ...and a faint frown, because old habits die hard. ]

Say, that would fit right in with the human trafficking theory, wouldn't it? You can't be fond of people who don't seem to be in shape, they look ill and don't sell as well. I'm starting to see what this is about...

[Wow those are custom made and much classier than cheap t-shirts. D does smirk now, as he stands and moves away to a nearby (antique!) cupboard. He cannot rightly go without dessert any longer, nor does he much want to sit here and listen to this old hat accusation routine.]

You've found me out, Detective.

[There are some tasty little frosted biscuits he bought just the other day right here in front. He picks up the box - it comes with its own needlessly expensive gold trim and ribbon tied around it in a bow. With a hum he returns to the sofa and tugs the ribbon open.]

This is all a dastardly scheme to prep you for the auctions. Well-- [He places a finger to his lips, mock-pensive.] Not you. Grandfather always stressed the importance of practice.

[Is this helping the sulking problem? Two biscuits find their way to a tiny plate and then the table in front of Leon; D sits back with his own and holds it up, knowingly.]

In my experience, sugar helps improve that sickly, dismal complexion.

[ He likes to think not accepting food and beverage for individuals of questionable character & unreliable intent isn't a survival rule - maybe a guideline, or a precaution, or whatever deems it perfectly acceptable for him to, in fact, take up his biscuits.

It isn't until he's chewing the second half of his first treat that it occurs to him to look up again. ]

...right, right, I give: exactly what number is that excuse on the list?

[ As if they're not both aware the only thing sugar improves are the odds of diabetes and restaurant bills. ]

Besides, is fattening the merchandise smart? You make me look lazy, like hell there's anyone who's gonna rush to buy. I'll get old and dusty in one of your cages.

[There isn't even a reason to humor that with a response; D simply shrugs and hmms, as if there really is a list and maybe that excuse is somewhere between nine and seventeen, with a footnote about how to deal with fussy policemen below.]

Two cookies is hardly fattening. [Which he manages to sound indignant about. As far as D is concerned, each dessert exists in a vacuum, so the daily eclairs and tarts and everything else simply do not count, here and now. It's Leon's own fault for showing up 'at tea time' so habitually, certainly.

There are a number of things he's tempted to say with regards to keeping the man in a cage, but -- perhaps not. He nibbles his biscuit and thinks about how much it isn't an eclair. Disappointing.]

Most people aren't so argumentative about free dessert, you know.

[ There is a giant black hole leading to a parallel dimension, to which the legion of sweets D's consumed have gained passage. This monstrous alien cake species has come together under the rule of one petshop keeper, and now quietly plots and plans and waits to take over the living world.

This, Leon knows and can swear to in any court of law. He just can't prove it now. ]

For most people, it's dessert, and not the main meal.

[ But he chews on, politely, quietly pushing his plate on the table the way of the nefarious evil overlord to be. Best leave these things to those likelier to enjoy them. ]

I'm not here on active duty. You can kick me out, if you want.

[ ...or beg him out, given the statistical probability of a man the Count's size supposedly escorting anyone out of his establishment. Now, annoying them into departure (and an early grave), on the other hand... ]

[Not everyone can eat takeout and red meat all the time. When D's diabetic menace makes this world its own, then everyone will understand.]

Goodness, you mean I have control over my own business? How extraordinary.

[He is not above forcing anyone out with the, ah, help of a pet or five. But look - he isn't even shouting! No one has used any profanity! As conversations with Leon go, this is practically heavenly.]

We're closed. My apologies, but it looks like this is a social visit.

[Gosh, how odd. Let him just have another cookie.]

[ Let records show that even as he's choking on his tea, because social visits are decidedly not as planned, Leon excuses. He barely catches his breath again, and he's faintly sure he should never touch again, but he. Excuses. ]

Don't get any ideas. We're not on friendly terms. We're...

[ Squinting for such extended periods of times is quite possibly damaging to his left eye; he keeps at it anyway. ]

Coexisting. Why're you here, anyway? Don't you ever go anywhere? [ Quickly - ] Anywhere legal?

[D has to take up his cup again and have an emergency sip to hide the smirk that suddenly breaks across his face. My. Social visits are - different, he supposes. Probably, he should drop it before he has an officer of the law very professionally spilling tea all over his upholstery.

But.]

My dear detective, ["not on friendly terms," aha] your imagination is quite the enigma.

[There is a pause, in which he considers the rest of his tea. Building imaginary tension, surely.]

I'm not bound to the shop, if that's what you're thinking. I even buy my own groceries.

[ His tea stays (blissfully) relinquished; the fingers of the hand that isn't hereby on the sacred assignment of upholding his jaw drum carelessly over the rim of the plate. The table. ]

Right. Five minutes of each day, you're out. What happens the rest of the... the... sixty times... twelve... minus... said five, did I?

[ So much deep thinking, so many looks of sheer determination. ]

So, we said, sixty times... then take away... seven hundred and fifteen minutes. What about those? You spend an hour with me on -

[ ...loitering. ]

- official business, then you gotta put down some five for sleep - that's 375 minutes left. I'll say another 120 go to polishing your hair - 275... guess you have to read your mail and pay bills like everyone else, that's 15 going... and another two hours for transactions, so - 130 minutes left. And you feed and bathe and whatever your animals, so...

[ Hold it. That math might be a little faulty, Leon, because - ]

...wait a minute - are you telling me you actually don't laze about all day?

[At first, the - is it scheduling? Does counting the minutes of his day qualify for the serious designation of "scheduling," like this - at first, it's kind of amusing. But then it continues.

And... continues. And--oh please it hardly takes him two hours to, to, to tend to his hair. Was there a moment his flippant comment about groceries turned into a Serious Thing? Is this, in fact, actually happening?

He finds himself staring, one eyebrow raised and threatening to arch higher.] Ah-

[The biggest problem is how boring that all sounds. D likes his creature (ha) comforts, and perhaps sitting around - leisurely - is not everyone's ideal lifestyle, but there is nothing he can think of to say about this piecewise theorizing about his day except-]

Are you alright?

[-which he says, before he can remember to be flippant about that, too. He recovers with a dismissive wave.]

Don't sound so shocked. You forgot to add the ten minutes set aside for admiring my nails.

[ Is he all ri - ...never mind. As a proud graduate of kindergarten, he should be done shedding his problems at D's door. For now. For the next five minutes that allow distraction -

In the shape of a very intense study of D's peering nails, leaning and squinting included. ]

They're... long nails.

[ Pinnacle of poster manliness that he is, even he can grant that. Really. ]

Very -- sturdy?

[ Look, he has limited expertise. ]

[Leon's willingness to lean towards nails that can rip living creatures to shreds is admirable, D thinks, in a dumb kind of way. Remarkably dumb.]

Well-spotted. This must be your detective's intuition at work.

[Another smirk. (Is that annoying yet?) He wonders- at this distance, it wouldn't be too much trouble to reach over and pat him on the cheek, maybe drag his nails lightly over the skin in an unnecessary fashion- but should he, knowing the man will probably lose it?

He didn't get any dessert today, so yes, he should. He does, before squinting at his nails stops being so fascinating. Then he sits back, the very picture of casual.]

Is it my turn to guess what you do all day?

[ On a scale of 1 to the nebulous rating only ever awarded to that one X-files season finale the guys totally told him to tape, getting patted like a cat against its whiskers scores, he thinks, surprisingly high.

It's not the gesture that startles, but, like before, the ease. The practice. Someone's lost an eye to these claws before. He'll bet his next gratuitous, three/pack, 20% off floral print T-shirt on it. He'll even bet the matching cap.

For now, he simply draws back - stare - passes a hand over his cheek, as if reconstructing invisible a crime scene. ]

...I file nails. Thought I told you not to touch me again.

[Oh- not the shouting he anticipated, but something subtle. Better. Not to say that he would maul anyone over dessert - unseemly - though a friendly reminder that he isn't the helpless layabout some people seem to think he is is always... helpful. Healthy. Ideally.

He won't stop smirking; the longer it's there the darker it becomes. Bad habit.]

You did.

[Which might mean something about how No One Tells Count D What To Do, sone other time when he's more interested in it.]

And? I'd guess you waste at least two hours daily on cheap beer. How much does that overlap going out with "the boys"?

[His eye-gouging nails have just finger-quoted.]

[ It's all fun and games until you want to punch down wannabe nobility. Then, you start quietly leaning back and considering each and every point in D's face where your fist might leave just the prettiest print. The left jaw, maybe. Leon's fond of that.

But he dissolves into laughter, inevitably. ]

You got it aaaaaaaaall wrong there. All wrong. It's not hanging out with the boys - cause to start with, they're men. I know a boy, he takes you by the collar, he takes me by the collar, then he does weight lifting with us, you know what I'm saying?

[ The incredulous assessment he gives his good host's slim physique might be enough to cement the unfortunate conclusion that D does, in fact, not know what he's saying, and never will. God bless you, skinny Asian people. ]

Besides, you gotta... you hang out with the men. You go out with the ladies. You know what I'm say -

[ ...no. No, he doesn't. ]

[Goodness. He has no idea what any of that means. Americans. D's eye twitches, but only a little.

Going out with the ladies, of all things he is distinctly indifferent to...]

So, that would be... wishful thinking?

[Zing. The man deserves to be left forgotten in a cage, if it will free D from having to hear about the ladies in all manner of colorful innuendo. For at least a few hours, anyway, before the complaining spoiled the whole thing.]

... Weight lifting.

[An eyebrow raises, skeptical. Is that meant to be literal, or... or is he going to regret saying it at all, ah- he already does. The cookie box is lifting, right, being lifted right now while he takes another cookie. Probably symbolic of his pitiful masculinity, the way this conversation is going.]

[ So many cultural references, so little time. It's like training his very own puppy in the ways of the cruel, cruel and McD loving world.

It stimulates enough of his good humour that by the time he covers the ground to pat D's shoulder in the most testosterone-filled of bro ways, Leon's feeling outright generous. ]

Yeeeeaaaaah! You're made for that stuff, I'm telling you, made for it. We'll hit up the gym one day. Grab your...

[ He coughs lightly. ]

...leotard.

[More like an ornery, uppity housecat, if the way D turns his skeptical gaze to that terribly offensive hand is any indication.]

I don't have one.

[A leotard? Only if it's silk and covered in tacky flowers. A thought occurs to him and he makes a face, somewhere caught between definitely not about to laugh and somewhat concerned.]

You do?

[ He has to laugh (again) - what is this double standard of it being perfectly permissible to touch, but not be touched?

The hand is firm, but unhurried in withdrawal. It has, after all, Accomplished Much of Worth and deserves its slow motion moments of glory. ]

That's... classified information.

[ And gentlemen graduates of the police academy are sworn to never speak of their initiation rites. ]

Yeah, that's what you need to do. Get out more. Meet - normal people. Gotta drive a man crazy, listening to... cats and... lizards and... you got some ferrets in there too, don't you? Listening to ferrets all day. Doing their... ferrety... things...

count d | petshop of horrors

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