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[ The lecture is, of course, another rerun of the case with the Ripper. It seems that all Crawford has Will doing these days, between the cases of fleshy totem poles and girls mounted on stag’s heads, is this same case file. This same appeal for outside input — as if getting any would actually help. Given the same speech, some of the same faces, and the same order of uniforms filing out of the room, however, it’s more than easy to see the man in the navy suit standing with his cavalier attitude in the doorway. Graham’s assumption? Some über-Lounds fellow come to try to snipe an interview regarding the case with the Ripper. ]
Fascinating word you’ve chosen to use. ‘Fascinating’.
Most people would say tragic.[ A pause. He straightens his glasses and drags an uncomfortable glance around the room. ]
I have to be at the morgue in forty minutes. If you could speed this whole awkward social thing up, then it would save me quite a bit of time.
[Oh, but no, Mr. Graham, please do not behave that way because it is so very difficult to not just eat you up. Not that any of the possibilities that flash through Jim’s mind make it to his face- that would be careless, and one doesn’t stay alive with as many enemies as he’d (have) made (if he was actually traceable in the business) for so long without a bit of care.
Care that is perhaps evident in his bearing. Who knows? He arches an eyebrow, turns his body slightly in concession.] I’d thought tragic went unspoken- do accept my apologies.
[The pause is actually the definition of interesting, and Jim’s going to have to be careful not to be too overt about it. Especially considering he walked in here and handed Mr. Graham his real name.] Is the morgue far? I must confess myself …unfamiliar with the layout here.
mirrortouchsynesthesia s’est abonné à votre blog
[Jim doesn’t really make a habit of leaving his stomping grounds too often- he’s no real interest in the world outside his reach. It’s all the same, right?
On the rare occasions that it’s not all the same, though, he certainly wastes no time in making arrangements. One Will Graham has been causing quite a stir, in his circles and out of them. Which explains the fact that Jim is - yep, Jim is leaning in the doorway, dressed to the nines in an impeccable navy suit. Not getting in the way, not interrupting, because it looks like Mr. Graham is in the middle of an explanation, of something not too interesting, judging by the images.
He waits it out, allows the flow of people out the doorway to simply slip past him, and then moves in, leaning on the side of the table at which Mr. Graham’s standing.]
Jim Moriarty- fascinating stuff, that is.
[[all right all right another round churned out! as per the usual, like this post for a starter~~]]
[Her height was always something that Emery had learned to use to her advantage, a silent testimony to what was probably her only advantage here. His relaxed nature put the Scots-Irish woman on edge even more than if the criminal had been holding a gun to her head. Emery’s tongue wet her lips and she swallowed waiting for him to speak.
If there was something at which Emery was good besides faking multiple deaths, it was her undeterrable sense of authourity. To whomever that may belong at the moment, and without a question, when Moriarty was present his authourity trumped all.
The new scars along her visage bespoke of trouble, but she shook her head. “No sir, e’erythin’ ‘as been well.” Still not knowing who was behind her last near death encounter Emery wished to not rock the boat, so to speak.
[Whomever it may have been responsible, it was not him. He didn’t deal in near death encounters unless specifically requested, not even when speaking of one as (shall we say) uniquely talented as Emery. Not that she needed to know that. Not that she needed to know much. Much besides who to kill and where to be, and that he was completely inescapable.
Much though she mayn’t have been aware of it, the first time she took work from him was when she tangled the threads of her destiny inextricably with the mass of weaving he liked to refer to as his web in his more theatrical moments.
His eyes flicked over the scars, but as she’d said all was well the only thing he did was smile a gently admonishing smile, the expression so far out of place that it mightn’t be unfair to say he wasn’t even trying at all.]
Always good to hear. I presume you’re still taking work?
To be fair, her hair is quite fond of him at this point. With all the attention it’s getting, how could it not? So the Hair, who has no name as of yet, is very fond of him and is probably going to bite him very gently.
Lilly would be pleased, I think, to know the level of regard that he holds her; even more pleased that he enjoys her company. As it is, she’s flattered that she’s in his bed with his fingers curled around her hair almost lovingly.
It’s definitely more than she could have ever asked for.
“I know you don’t approve of getting your hands dirty, but sadly that’s in my blood and I can’t avoid it. I promise not to bring you with me though, unless of course you want to come.”
Her head tilts to the side when his fingers tug on her ear, smiling at him. He’s cute, in a murderous criminal sort of way and she doesn’t seem to want to mention how much she enjoys having the physical affection.
Talking about how it feels to have his skin next to hers is apparently a topic not up for discussion.
“In about a week. I can help you find appropriate dressing for it since everything is about appearance where we’re going and appearance there is nothing like it is here. I think you’ll find it quite interesting though, so many immortals in once place. I always had fun, and I could introduce you to a few people you might want to have in your debt.”
She turns her head to nip at the inside of his wrist playfully after she finishes speaking.
Should they name the Hair? Would it appreciate that, do you think? Bites are a common fare around the Moriarty household, especially lately, and it’s likely to get a sense of gentle amusement at the bite. What a darling thing to accompany his darling Lilly.
He hums his acknowledgement of her promise, and then he just grins back, light and easy and only slightly traced by the continued pain that is a staple of his existence.
“New clothes, mm? I can’t wait.” And it’s true- though he mayn’t spend too much time with material things, he has an appreciation for new information, and this seems as though it’ll offer some.
Without the healing magic that is woven into his being his wrists would be mangled wrecks, a fact that he finds quite amusing. Instead of jerking it away from her, as another might, instead he simply twists it so he can reach up and tweak her nose, smirking.
Mmm.
{She looks him over, as if assessing him before grinning.}
Give yourself a few more days of practice to get to your optimum strength and ability and if you’re not satisfied with your results; I might be able to help if that’s what you’d like.
[Honestly it’s downright amusing that Lilly is comfortable enough with him to assess and smile. Amusing, and mildly gratifying. As well as completely expected.
Pardon him, he just every once in a while contemplates exactly how worthwhile a calculated showing of his hand had been.
He smiles back at her, brilliant.]
Let’s make a date of it~
Sen didn’t bat an eye at the mention of blood sacrifice. It wasn’t a new concept to her - blood was life, and life was power and potential - many magics called for it, though she preferred hers willingly given. Besides, she ate meat and she had been a child when she made her first kill.
She filed away all the information he had given, but was reminded of something. Something important.
She wasn’t truly here.
How could she have forgotten? That she had almost made her laugh. How foolish. How futile.
Still, if that was right, if this wasn’t real, then what did it matter?
“What is your price?”
(He might comment that they were known for delivery, if he knew that she wasn’t truly here. Delivery to even the farthest reaches.)
It’s with that same steadily mounting quiet sense of approval that he notes Sen’s seeming familiarity with the concept of blood magic- believe it or not, he’s had patrons who claimed themselves well versed and yet would not hear of it.
He hums softly at the question, glancing his eyes around the walls of his shop. He’s well warded, really has no need of anything she can provide, that he knows of at least.
“Your demonstration- are you capable of something of a more …permanent nature?” He’d had news of someone who might appreciate something like that, and it always did to have something someone else would appreciate.
[ And the thing most relevant to you, perhaps, is that—in case you haven’t gathered it already—Devon’s very, very protective of her House. More so, perhaps, than the standard slamming doors and sighing winds sort of ghost that doesn’t present itself in any other physical way.
Not, of course, that she can do much against the aforementioned protective wards; but you can bet she and the House conjoined will certainly raise something of a scene about it.
As such, unchecked by the others, her eyes are already sharp when she opens the door, observant and silently questioning. ]
Yes?
[…Are we really mentioning scene-raising already? The man’s hardly done more that step foot on Devon’s property- perhaps that’s not behaviour kindly looked upon, but I can’t help but think that that sounds the slightest bit… extreme. After all, he’s hardly here to do anything but some minor curiosity assuaging.
His hands are back in his pockets, an inquisitively friendly expression on his face. He and his well tailored suit should perhaps look out of place with such an expression, but he manages. (After all, no matter how many people might assume that no one wearing a suit quite that expensive managed friendliness, for any rule there’s an exception, and Jim glories in embodying them.)
But enough of a segue. Onto what really matters here. He sticks a hand out, smile already in place.]
Jeremy Adams. Nice place you have here.
[It’s come to Jim’s head of security’s attention that he’s taking more and more risks, of late. ….It’s come to his attention mostly because Jim’s re-taken up vanishing for days at a time, with naught left behind saving perhaps instruction as to matters that must be handled in his absence.
Which really has nothing to do with anything, save to explain why exactly he’s dressed in a ball cap, a pair of jeans of all things, and what looks to be a fairly comfortable sweater, deep brown. He’s been wandering for a while- originally had been wandering without purpose or destination, but for the past little while wandering in the path of one possibly interesting person.
And he’s decided he’s done simply wandering the path.
Slipping out from his little niche, he meanders (saunters) (?) over to the object of his attention.]
Nice weather, mm?
