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rpmissionboard:

opinions and judgement

• Send me a ♠ for what my character thinks of yours in three words
• Send me a ♤ for what I think of YOU in three words
• Send me a ❖ for my character’s personal thoughts about yours
• Send me a ♣ for my characters thoughts during any general conversation between your and my character
• Send me a ♧ for my character’s reaction if your character were to express romantic interest in my character
• Send me a ♖ for a hastily written ‘good-bye’ letter from my character to yours
• Send me a ♔ for a word that I think sums up our character’s relationship
• Send me a ⊗ for my thoughts OOC on your character
• Send me a ▲ if you’ve ever wanted to talk to me, but have been too nervous to do so. (Now’s a good a time as any!)

(credit goes to niquetamereencore)

[[like this post for a starter~~~~~~]]

Spider’s Web

freckledloudmouth:

silvertonguedgod:

Loki’s eyes shift subtly and slowly, now and then, from Irishman to Irishwoman – though for the most part, they tend not to leave the former, lest he miss a cue. He takes careful note of the objects brushed by the mastermind’s fingers, categorizing them according to their potential usefulness to him; only Iris knows what might be of use to her.

His gaze never leaves Jim’s face as Iris speaks to him, or if it does, it does not stray from his person. It alights on the fingers moving deep within a pocket – moving around something small and solid – and then flicks quickly to his face just in time to meet those deep, black eyes. The corner of his mouth twitches lightly in response to the unspoken question. Perhaps yes, perhaps no. If you show her, then we shall soon find out, shan’t we?

Because it is important to note that while Loki may regard Iris as a friend, he’s not really in the habit of mollycoddling. He’ll pick her up off the street, broken and bleeding, and bring her home. He’ll teach her some weak magic so that she might be better able to protect herself against the arcane evil she has chosen to hunt. He has brought her here for the same reason. But he is not her chaperon or her caretaker; he is a friend. And he has brought her here knowing full-well what may await her, with confidence in her capability to both govern and guard herself. 

“A - er - a tour?” Iris asks, visually taken aback. She hadn’t really been expecting there to be more to the shop; and it shows. Or did he mean a tour of this room? She had already looked at this room. Or at least she thinks she’s already looked at this room.

Her brows knitted, she looks about the shop she’s already standing in as though she’s unsure if she’s missed something, before her eyes drift back to the proprietor, resolve unshaken; she is at least certain that there is nothing out here that suits exactly what she was hoping to find. Loki wouldn’t have brought her here unless this place was extraordinary - and so far, as interesting as it has been, extraordinary it isn’t.

“Aye, tha’ may be best.” She capitulates, with no small note of bewilderment in her voice. “Coul’ do with a wee bit’ve both, I reckon? Ain’ right sure wot’ll work fer wot I’m after, but th’more I ken get my ‘ands on… er, the more I ken afford, y’see, I figgure the better off I’ll be. Aheh, though - well.”

She grins, nervousness back in her demeanor. “Afford’s the… well, ne’ermind that. A tour, firs’, aye? No sense gettin’ ahead’ve m’self, I ain’… actually given much thought’s wot I’m lookin’ fer… M’sure I’ll find sommat.”

The shopkeeper affords her a small smile, seeming to find amusement in the way she visibly looks over the shop again. The doors in the walls are purposefully well concealed, things that you wouldn’t see unless you (like Loki, like Jim) had seen them prior. After the cue he’d received from Loki, he’d switched most of his attention over to Iris, though he did make certain to keep an eye on the god. It wouldn’t do to be hasty and leap to conclusions as to the god’s purpose here.

Even if his purpose had been communicated already. 

Many things (the truth admittedly included) are communicable. Nonetheless, he nods, the picture of professional decorum. “You’ve seen this room, already- it hosts the… everyday objects. The sort a shop of this genre would be expected to carry.” 

A smile, quicksilver and pleased with itself flashes across his face, and then he turns, gesturing for Iris to follow. “What I believe you’re looking for- and do correct me if I’m wrong- is through here.” 

He has to skirt a few desks to get to the wall hosting the magical extension of the shop, running his fingers almost absently over them. If Iris and Loki are paying attention, they’ll see that he’s slightly cut one of his fingers, just a knick, really. Stopping in front of the door, he raises a hand to the centre of it, flicks his fingers through the small well of blood, and then traces a complex pattern on it, every finger moving individually in a blur.

He’d swapped out the system that Loki had previously observed months back, with the shop’s latest overhaul. 

The door fades into perceptibility, and with a quiet look of appreciation for it, he turns the handle.

There’s no easy way to describe what happens next. 

The shop doesn’t really dim at all, except the light seems… sucked into the revealed room. It’s not that any power becomes noticeable, not with the strength of the wards Jim has up and around the place, except the surging of power is enough that it almost steals Jim’s breath away.

The room extends back far further than the shop, rows upon rows of weaponry and armour of all shapes and sizes, from delicate earrings that grant a semblance of immortality in exchange for blood to a full suit of armour standing in a corner, effects unknown. The room has only gained objects of further strength since the god’s last visit.

Jim steps aside, gestures for them to precede him in.

Coffee Coffee BuzzBuzzBuzz

marksmanbarton:

“Eh, ‘s more tha’ I trust ya ta know what the fuck yer doin’ with the creepy shit, an’ you’d appreciate how rare it is. I’d rather not lose a repeat buyer ta Darwinism.” He shrugs.

Oh no, Clint, you’re going to make him laugh. In fact, he’s already laughing, amused beyond belief for reasons known only to him. It’s quite clear that he’s not laughing at Clint, at least. Not on any level that the archer can pick up on. There’s more delight to it than anything else. “Smart of you~” he remarks, when he can speak again without dissolving into giggles. We’re sorry, were you expecting him to be a mature adult?

Because that’s not happening. He’s still sort of killing himself with amusement over the (frankly almost too accurate) Darwinism line, frankly. 

teinesmuirich:

[Everyone needed to eat occasionally and Emery was getting to the point where she didn’t even want to be out of her flat long enough to pick up food and she sure is everything didn’t want some errand boy to come to her flat with food, no telling who might have picked up her cell number. Okay, perhaps she really had gone completely paranoid.

However it seemed that her paranoia wasn’t unfounded as she entered her flat, dropping her keys into the red bowl on the kitchen counter, grocery bags in her arms when she stopped dead, hearing the voice before she saw the face. Emery set her items on the granite counter top before she turned to assess how much in danger she just might be.

Except the Irishman in her home, nothing else appeared to be out of place and Emery pulled herself to her full six-feet, stepping from the kitchen into the adjoining living room.]

‘Ello sir.

[He looks tiny next to her, when she’s remembering her height. It would be ridiculous, except… no. It was ridiculous. What was even more ridiculous was just how comfortable he seemed, how in control and untouchable he managed to appear almost unconsciously, despite the fact that he was intruding upon her space.

Then again, she was calling him sir in her own home. Perhaps it wasn’t so ridiculous that he should seem so self-possessed. He shot her a brilliant smile, just slightly skewed, and then allowed his expression to fall into one that seemed… mildly hurt.]

We haven’t heard from you in a while, my dear- I hope you haven’t had any trouble, lately? [He raised an eyebrow, previous expression switching easily into one that was all solicitous inquiry as to her well being.]

metuere:

[She’s been thinking about that—whether this was chance or if Jim carried around two cups of coffee if he just so happened to stumble upon somebody he knew. Or if the somebody if her, specifically, and how that should be making her feel.]

[Right now, she’s feeling mild to moderate discomfort, because there’s the Chesire teeth and there’s The Thing she can’t afford to throw a hissy fit over twice in one week. She does flinch, though, biting down on her tongue for a few seconds.] Don’t—call me that thing.

It’s—not me-size sweaters,mostly, and. The lighters are kind of shitty unless you just want to burn tiny things, and. All of the food is just chips and applesauce. So that’s your opinion, if any of it’s good.

[Quite frankly, she can think about that all she’d like- he makes a habit of being sure that his motives are difficult enough to let any who desired chew away at them for hours on end with ease.

Oh Spirit I am very sorry but he is going to sort of chuckle, like there’s some great joke you’ve just told, and then shake his head a bit, fall into an accent like he doesn’t know that it’s infuriating when he does so.]

I’m not quite fond of eating, personally. [A delicate shudder at the concept, like it’s not absolutely ridiculous for the word ‘delicate’ to be applied to anything having to do with him.] But seeing as it remains necessary… [He hums, thoughtful.] I suppose so~ [Whether he means he supposes the food is good or something else entirely she can guess. If she cares enough to, that is.] Bright out, isn’t it. 

silentlymunchingcorpses:

“A direct route please.” Hannibal noted the man’s icy grip and smile. He gave his own taut smile as a reply. “I believe the title of this book is ‘The Storytelling Animal’. Quite an interesting book actually. Gives the reader a chance to figure some things out on their own, gives a psychiatrist the chance to study. I’d recommend it to anyone that likes a nice long read.”

Hannibal took a few steps away from the counter, eyes drifting to a painting. “Do you mind if I take a look around Mr. Moriarty? A man of fine things can never have too many pieces.”

Jim moved to the familiar keys of his keyboard with ease, nodding as he did so. “Certainly- and please, do call me Jim.” 

His own eyes followed the skew of Dr. Lecter’s, and he felt a deeply buried momentary flare of amusement, only possibly betrayed by the slightest tilt upwards of his lips- that particular piece had a habit of ending back up in his shop no matter how many times it was sold.

It didn’t take well to those attempting to own it. 

His fingers tapped away at the keyboard, calling up the indexing program and rattling off the name.

He looked up, flicking his eyes across the shop ostentatiously to re-locate Hannibal. He had the man’s answer with regards to the book’s availability.