bakerstreet | Let's never speak of this again.

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Let's never speak of this again.

Let's never speak of this again.
An Assorted Excruciating Scenarios Meme

Sometimes you meet people, everything goes smoothly, you become good friends, and you both recall the moment fondly for years. This meme is not about that. This meme is about situations that are so jam-packed full of second-hand embarassment, illegal activity, awkward misunderstandings, and potential arguments that we have to both agree to never discuss it again. It never happened. Got it? Good.

Instructions:

Post with your character (name, fandom, preferences, feelings on assumed CR)

Other people reply to yours with a prompt

We agree(d) to never discuss this again.

Inevitably discuss it again.

01. Mutually Mistaken Identity

"You told me your name was Chris!" "Well you told me your name was Susan!"
A long time ago both of you met under assumed identities and then parted ways. Why did you meet? Who knows, maybe it was a party, or you were doing a crime, or one of you worked at a cabaret? It was supposed to just be a one off encounter--how were you supposed to know you'd run into them again?

02. Trysts and Turns

You had a wild night of passion with them at one point, or maybe you had a summer fling? You enjoyed yourself (probably) but it was all done in relative, spur of the moment, good ol' anonymity. Now you've run into them again in a professional, formal, or otherwise extremely official setting and neither one of you is comfortable about this situation.

03. Citation Needed

Look, sometimes we make people up. If we have to get out of a fancy dinner, an after work engagement, or we just don't want to go to our annoying 3rd cousin's wedding, we can just say our...fiancee is sick? Or our roommate broke her leg. Our imaginary girlfriend needs help studying? Unfortunately, your lies have caught up with you. Now you need to get that person, who it turns out wasn't entirely fictional to corroborate your story. Or rope someone else into the situation. Either way, you better be convincing.

04. A sticky situation.

Is that person over there being harassed? Hounded? Stalked by someone who won't take a hint? Are they being plagued by paparazzi? Admirers? Cops? Well, lucky them, you're here to pretend to know them and extricate them from this situation. Time to swoop in, get familiar, and lie like you've never lied before.

05. Dirty Dealing.

You need something extremely suspect (and quite probably illegal) and you need it right now. Drugs? A human skull? A crate of bobble-head geisha dolls? Why? It's none of anybody's business. Why are you asking? What are you a cop? Whatever it is and why-ever you need it, you know that this person can get it for you. Unfortunately, that means now you have to ask for it.

06. Get your eyesight checked.

Hey! I know you! You wave from afar at someone familiar down the street, or maybe you spy them across a room, or recognize their silhouette at a party. In any case, you rush right over to greet them. Only, you realize with horror after you've thrown an arm around their shoulders or called them a chummy nickname, they are not the person you thought they were. Do you even know them? Did you just forget their name whole cloth? Do they even remember you? Are they a total stranger? Oh no. Time to try to figure out who they are without giving away that you clearly need new glasses.

07. You need WHAT? And you came to ME?

It's rotten work. Especially to me, especially if it's you. I'll fucking do it but Christ alive.

08. Sure, I own a shovel, why are you asking?

Through a series of unfortunate mistakes, by pure happenstance, or because they had it coming, somebody is thoroughly dead. (Or, perhaps, just very unconscious.) You have to dispose of this body and quick! Who do you call to lend you a hand? A close friend? Family? Someone you have blackmail on? Whoever it is, you better move fast--tick-tock, time's a wastin'.

09. It was one time!

Once, in college, or high school, or on a drunken dare, you did something extremely risky, stupid, and absolutely amazing. After many years, you have finally lived it down and everyone forgot about it...or so you thought. Now someone is in your DMs, at your door, or interrupting your lunch to request you do it again. Even if they have a good reason, or blackmail, or whatever--is it worth it?

10. Wildcard.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Open to 1, 2, 5 and 8!]

[3, 4, and 7 apply best for Marlowe for sure. He’s a nosy bitch who can’t keep out of other people’s business. Anything he’s not supposed to talk about will come out in the form of a monologue. He’s also a messy drunk bitch so very fruitful ground for never speaking about something again. Hard on crime, however. He will not help with crimes unless you have a very good reason and no other options]

"I am not interested in continuing this conversation," T'lyn said firmly to the nosy fellow who had catcalled her and had immediately fallen into lockstep at her side. He he repeatedly tried to ascertain her name, despite her overt rejections. She knew humans were tenacious, but this era was proving more taxing than she'd have liked. He had been keeping pace with her for three blocks, now, and didn't seem inclined to disengage.

It would be best to avoid violence lest she risk damaging the timeline. She considered another tactic.

"If you will excuse me," T'lyn attempted and pivoted to enter the establishment to her right. It was a diner or a bar, T'lyn was hazy about the distinction, but it had large windows and several customers. As she pulled the door, the insistant fellow leaned on it and requested that she 'not to be that way'. She had no idea what way he was referencing.

"Remove your hand, I am endeavoring to meet with someone inside," T'lyn lied. Mostly. She would voluntarily meet with anyone in this establishment if it got rid of this specific human.

"Oh yeah, who?"

She had not expected the follow-up. T'lyn glanced through the picture windows and the very first person she spied was a middle aged man with a cigarette and a cup of coffee in the same hand and a newspaper in the other. Sufficient.

"My husband," she declared and opened the door, dislodging the pushy human with her superior strength. He was surprised, knocked off kilter, and she had just enough time to step inside to the building and up to the counter. She dropped down onto the seat next to the multi-tasking human without hesitation.

Her dress was era appropriate, if brightly colored, and her current hair-style covered her ears. Hopefully he would be amenable to helping with her ruse. She would have asked, but the pushy fellow sauntered in and promptly began to loom over her, leaning his weight against the service counter.

"This your husband?"

T'lyn spared a sidelong glance toward him. Her expression was painfully neutral but she did attempt to communicate some urgency with her eyes.

“This your husband?”

It had been floated, here and there, by women in dire straights who could have made a home with Marlowe that wouldn’t, truly, have been unhappy. But they had never followed through, nor had he wanted them to. The absence of unhappiness was not enough, even if it left Marlowe with the same gloom he always carried around.

But he was not, on that Tuesday morning in October, married. And he didn’t know the woman with green-olive skin, big ears and big hair, sitting next to him. He looked into her strange, intelligent face.

Something about the set of her eyes, the shape of her nose and jaw seemed off. But then, he wasn’t winning any beauty pageants himself.

He crumpled the paper onto the counter in front of him, pinning his mug down on top of it and poking the cigarette into his mouth. In a show of above average husbandry he pushed his plate of ignored eggs and toast in front of her.

Then he stood, barely taller than her as T’lyn sat on the red topped stool, put the cigarette between his fingers and kissed her complicated hair. His lips brushed the top of it, he didn’t smell any perfume except a sort of chemical cleanliness. He moved his eyes to the hanger-on, whose momentary eagerness seeing how short Marlowe was had been disrupted by the kiss.

“Sure I am.” Marlowe put his cigarette between his lips again, looking the man in the face with a stolid expression. His lack of excitement was complimented by the dark bags under his eyes and the unhurried burning of his cigarette. He was neither impatient for a fight, nor anxious to avoid one. “So I didn’t buy a ring, what does that matter? Are you going to pay for one?”

“I wouldn’t pay for a girl like that,” the man smirked nastily. “I don’t even know if she’s worth three blocks. She can’t be any great shakes, taking a man like you.”

“Three blocks in the middle of the day for a woman who wants nothing to do with you.” Marlowe slipped his hands out of his pockets. No need for the gat, the sap, or even a penknife here. “You must be a real Casanova. Now are you going to do something about it, or just stand there?”

The man, a slim built slugger with ropy arms, cocked back one shoulder and grinned. Marlowe let him start the swing then lunged close and cracked him on the ear. He grabbed a fistful of the man’s coat, pulling him off balance as his head rang and jammed his back against the edge of the counter.

Marlowe, bracing the man with the counter chewing on his spine and nothing but a low center of gravity keeping the slugger from bowling him over, threw a fist into his gut as hard as he could. The slugger gagged grotesquely. Behind him the heavyset cook pushed the back of his hand through the air.

“Take it outside if you’re going to be like that!” He told them.

Marlowe puffed on his cigarette, pushed against the gagging man’s weight and tossed him through the front doors into the street. He didn’t look back as he came back to the strange woman. He took his seat beside her.

“Sorry about the kiss.” He said.

T'lyn watched with placid neutrality as her impromptu, temporary husband rose and brutally assaulted the pushy catcaller. She had been hesitant to repudiate him with violence but that was not, apparently, a sentiment her savior shared. As he was native to this era, however, she saw little harm in him assaulting the man. T'lyn was confident that the timeline would not suffer unduly.

"It was an acceptable liberty, given the situation," T'lyn replied as he rejoined her. She kept a momentary eye on the doors and the jilted human beyond them. Unfortunately, he seemed committed to loitering. She resigned herself to waiting for him to leave and turned in her seat to face her savior.

"My sincere thanks, he was rapidly exceeding my tolerance for hamfisted flirtation," T'lyn explained in as casual and conversational a tone as she was capable of. "I apologize for the inconvenience. Would you like your..."

She glances down at the plate of scrambled eggs and toasted white bread.

"Breakfast back?"

Marlowe makes a face like he’s talking to an alien. He’s met plenty of smart women but none who talk like an encyclopedia. It takes him a moment to shake it off.

“Uh, don’t worry about it. He needed to be handed his hat. And thanks,” he takes back his plate and mops some egg onto a corner of toast. His bony hand makes a motion for her to have some, running three blocks to escape a nuisance has to make a gap pretty hungry. “I guess I’ll walk you out, since he seems to like hanging around. That’ll give us time to decide where to have the honeymoon. What do you think of Niagara Falls?”

[Info here. Other Tavs, canon mates, or cross-canon are all welcomed. Assumed CR also okay! Let the awkward moments roll.]

[ Open to 2,5,7,8,9. Let’s plot it out. ]

[ ooc: i'm more into taking jesse from s1-3 canon points, but can also take him from later on upon request. prompts 4, 5, 7, and 8 are of particular interest, but i'm up for others! i'm willing to plot things out first and am also willing to write a starter. castmates, cross canon, ocs are cool. some assumed cr is welcome. will toss jesse into your character's universe or come up with a jamjar setting if you don't want it to be in the breaking bad 'verse. ]

Edited 2023-11-22 06:37 (UTC)

[As always, open to basically everything]

[ooc: Leaning towards 4, 5, 7,8, or 10. She's a poison master with a pet beast with blood almost as poisonous as her own, buuuut she kinda ends up in weird places at weird times she can't quite explain well.]

[ Prompts 4, 5, 6, 7, and 8 most likely. 2/9 possible with presumed CR and took place before she got married/became the Prime Mover. ]

Edited 2023-11-22 10:57 (UTC)

[I'm open to all but 2 and 6. It's up to you whether you know that he's an oni or not, just be prepared for him to be shitty, shitty liar ever.]

[No 2, please. All other options are open.]

[Open to any of them, assumed CR, crosscanon, and OCs. Hit me.]

( shady shit, you say? She's got your back, just be careful that she doesn't stick a knife in it. )

[Open to all of them, but definitely have a preference for 3, 4, 7, and 9. (Although 2 would be extremely funny with other canonmates.) Feel free to either have your character stuck in the wild situation or have T'lyn be the one who needs an assist.

Assumed CR is welcome and enthusiastically encouraged.]

[ open to all of the above, crosscanon/assumed cr & au welcome. equally likely to be the one instigating the awkward situation/asking for the terrible favor/etc as the opposite. ]

{{Ask away, apparently, since Eskel is so determined to be helpful.}}

[ oh boy, another chance to harass his favorite witcher. ❤️ i feel like 3, 5, or 8 could be fun with them, any preference? ]

"I'm sure you won't believe me, but I am sorry for dragging you into this." Well. Mostly. Admittedly, Anders is a little too wrapped up in his own business to have wasted too much time feeling guilty for pressing Eskel into service as his faux entourage of one for the evening. But he wouldn't have made for a very convincing nobleman, just waltzing about carelessly without any hired muscle. There's only so much a good glamour can cover for, at that, and Eskel is just the right measure of intimidating to do a fair bit of distracting, himself.

Anders shrugs, gathering his (even more than usual) ostentatiously feathery cloak around himself and stepping surreptitiously out into the street, to join the steady flow of similarly overdressed traffic up toward the manor gates.

"Look on the bright side, though. I'm sure there'll be plenty of booze." All of the upper class parties he's crashed in the past have at least had that little silver lining.

"Are you really that sorry?" Eskel asks, fussing at the tightness of these party clothes. He swears men's trousers are getting smaller by the season (it can't possibly be that his thighs are significantly more muscular than any Novigradian fop's). He follows in Anders' wake with a scowl that's only partially affectation. Bodyguarding isn't really a standard gig for wolf school witchers and Code-abiding Eskel isn't sure how he feels about playing one, even for a friend. He supposes Anders could make up some excuse about being afraid of monsters or a family curse or something.

"Can't drink if I'm pretending to be on duty." He grumbles, pressed close to his companion in the crowd of partygoers.

He's going to pretend he didn't hear that question, as they slow with the crowd approaching the gates, with all his usual magnanimity. He's also going to pretend he can't still see Eskel tugging at his clothing. Yes, the outfit is dreadfully poncy and probably designed to be uncomfortable, even if you do fit in it properly. But it wasn't like he had a lot of options. Or coin enough for a tailor to let quite that much fabric out.

Especially considering the cost of hiring an annoyed witcher to step outside his comfort zone (one can only subsidize so much with potions and promises of future favors, unfortunately).

"Luckily for you, I only need your help getting past the guards and the rest of the rabble. Once I'm inside, you're free to abdicate your duties as you like." They're not actually here to party, after all.

Anders is lucky Eskel's taken a liking to him (in a slightly clumsy, rough way common to witchers), he certainly wouldn't be doing this for just coin and potions.

"What? And miss whatever mischief you're getting up to?" He rumbles, though he does think about banquet tables and barrels of cold beer as they walk.

He makes sure to look as enormous and surly as possible as they approach the gate, which with Eskel's stature and ruin of a face isn't especially difficult.

"Mischief? Perish the thought. I'm offended you think I plan to be on any but my best behavior." He is not, and he doesn't even plan to be on his second best. But his actual plans for the evening are a bit delicate, and playing his cards close to the chest might be best for both of them. He might not mind being an occasional annoyance, but he really wouldn't want to drag Eskel into anything serious.

The crowd presses closer the nearer they come to the entrance to the grounds, where onlookers and would-be party crashers without invitations are being turned back by the guards. (Not without plenty of fuss, though, creating a bit of a bottleneck.) Anders slips a hand into his coat and retrieves an obnoxiously gaudy square of parchment, covered in colorful ink, as they approach, waving it carelessly in front of the nearest guard's face. The gesture earns him a glare, the guard snatching his invitation and scanning it briefly before waving him past.

There's a falter, though, when the guard sees Eskel move with him - and recognizes him for what he is. "Hold on. You can't bring that in."

"I beg your pardon," Anders snaps, a thread of genuine anger beneath the exaggerrated affront that covers fairly well for a momentary flash of panic. "But I don't go anywhere without him. And I am an expected guest."

Maybe the overbearing, surly act is working - or maybe the guards here aren't being compensated all that well (or some of both). After a frustrated moment of further glowering, the guard reluctantly drops it and gestures for them to move on through.

Eskel slips in after Anders, a wolf growling at hounds. But once Anders is in, the guards seem to consign them both to being the host's problem. He doesn't say anything about the way the guard referred to him, accustomed to being spoken about like a beast rather than a man.

"Suit yourself, but give me a shout if you get into trouble." Eskel says, already eyeing a long table laden with food. Looks like there's plenty of beer and liquor as well but he gives himself a stern reminder to not be tempted. Technically he's on the job.

And he doesn't want to be drunk in front of Anders, for reasons he doesn't really care to examine.

"I won't have to," Anders replies, a knowing (and somewhat relieved) smile crossing his face as he catches the unsubtle lean of Eskel's gaze. Well, a free meal is at least half as good as free drink. "You'll know when you start seeing fireballs."

Because if his plan goes sideways, he doesn't really have a better exit strategy, here. (So he's really just hoping it doesn't.)

"If things get that badly, though, I'll at least try to be sure one hits your charming new friend back there."

"Nah, I'll take care of that one personally, if it comes down to it." He might be accustomed to being spoken to in the demeaning manner with which the guard had spoken, but that doesn't mean he likes it or won't throw hands if a convenient excuse presents itself.

"You're sure you don't need me to go with you?" He asks again, even as he starts to drift towards the food. When you're raised in a witcher school, you do not turn down free food.

"No, no. Go on and have your fill." Anders shakes his head, waving him off toward the fancy buffet tables. If he wasn't here on business, he'd be indulging, already, himself. It's more than a little tempting, regardless.

"I'll let you know if I change my mind. I'm just going to... have a look around."

Eskel salutes and then turns his attention to the heaped chargers of food.

He may come to regret separating himself from his charge for any number of reasons. One of which might be the sheer curiosity he garners. He's suddenly swarmed by a little pack of debutants fluttering fans and asking a thousand thrill questions.

After a while he realizes they've mistaken him for his brother, somehow (he wonders how people who so gushingly declare themselves fans of Master Dandelion's work managed to miss all those lines about the White Wolf having white hair).

[Might've found one of his cut off legs or arms .. or something else. I'm not picky!]

[Open to all options. Cross-canon adored.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Let's never speak of this again.

Luka -OC- OtA

Marlowe -Chandler- OtA

A combo of 3, 4, and 7 + time travel and alien shenanigans. I hope this is alright.

Bro I love ST let’s gooo this is a very TOS set up and I love it

Excellent!

Marlowe just on his bullshit bc his order of operations for the morning has been disrupted

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Dorian Storm | Critical Role | OTA

Wolfman | Darkwood | OTA

Jesse Pinkman | Breaking Bad | OTA

Goro Akechi | Persona 5 franchise | ota - m/m for shipping

YunXi | Legend of YunXi | M/F for shipping, otherwise OTA

Sister Imperator, Prime Mover (1969) | Ghost

Shiki | Tougen Anki | OTA

Kuai Liang | Mortal Kombat | OTA

Commander Shepard | Mass Effect | OTA

calanthe 💐 original

T'Lyn | Star Trek (Lower Decks) | OTA

anders | dragon age | ota

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morticia addams | the addams family (90s)

Nakajima Atsushi | Bungo Stray Dogs | OTA

Chigiri Hyoma | Blue Lock

Violet Sorrengail | Fourth Wing

Musa | Fate: The Winx Saga | M/F

Alina Starkov | Shadow and Bone | M/F