(no subject)

[just_cant_lose]

After his recent conversation with Sherlock, Jim is in a very strange mood. Sort of angry, sort of excited, a little bit sad and a whole lot frustrated. This is why he can be found in front of the Observation Window today, looking at it practically upside-down - he's pulled a sofa over and sprawled on it, his head hanging over the side to get the view he wants. His phone sends Bach through his earbuds, his favourite, and there's a lot of black coffee half-drunk on the table next to him. Ugh, it's going to be one of those days. 


[OOC: Plotlocked to X, say thankya! Now posted on 100% the correct day. I know when Sunday is, you can't say I don't. You're not my real mom.]

(no subject)

[the_cupbearer]

Ganymede comes in looking rather different than he has been: he's dressed in dark jeans, black boots, a shirt so deep blue it's nearly black, face unpainted. He sits down with a leather portfolio, making notes in quick handwriting, narrow, slanted and elegant.

It's time for a new identity, though he rather likes the one he has; Ganymede liked to be prepared either way. He sighs, and checks his watch, the hammered metal band glinting in the light.

(no subject)

[cutting_edgex23]

X leaves a note with Bar for people that ask about the fire in the stables and the resultant investigation.


I have found the person responsible for the explosion and fire in the stables. His name is Jim. I do not think he will be stupid enough to do it again. Be careful with packages from Bar that you are not expecting.

-- X

[ooc: A cell visiting post for Moriarty is here. He will be spending the evenings there for a week. Happy visiting?]

(no subject)

[sunbaked_baker]

(OOM: Scheherazade)

(no subject)

[sunbaked_baker]

(OOM: Rae had tried to sleep that night. She really had.)

Sunshine stumbled through the bar door, looking pale and sick with nerves, and utterly exhausted. Tiny frizzles of red hair were plastered to her temples and the back of her neck with fear sweat, which had dampened the back of her camisole. The sight of the lit bar room startled her and she reflexively shielded her hurting eyes with her hand, squinting against the sudden brightness. She had been expecting her darkened apartment hallway, had been on her way to her kitchen to get a glass of water and make tea, or possibly get some kind of concentrated caffeine IV-drip thing set up in hopes of feeling mostly human and partially awake by the time her SOFs came to pick her up.

Even as her eyes began to adjust, before she was aware of what she was doing, Rae turned and closed the door securely behind her, leaning her forehead against the cool wood. She could feel the solidity of the door, the world kept safely behind it. She even imagined she could feel that world slip away as her hand left the doorknob to press against the door, and it was an almost comforting thought.

She was safe for now.

It would only come back when she was ready.

If she were ever ready.

(no subject)

[onceaviking]

Eric is seated in a booth, legs crossed, a book in hand.
(Utopia - because he rather likes puns in Greek and Latin)

Mostly, he is people watching.


{ooc: struck down by daylight savings - back tomorrow my time}

(no subject)

[pro_patria_mortuus]

Spring has come to Milliways, in full warmth. The grass is greening, and the trees are in bud, and so forth. There are even trees in the mountains that are covered in pink flowers.

Were they there last year? Were they, in fact, there last week? Enjolras is not entirely certain on either count.

On the other hand: Milliways. He'll ask Bahorel, or Combeferre or Joly, if he thinks to bother, but he may not.

At any rate, he's sitting at the base of one of the pink trees, on a convenient flat rock. He has a book with him, as usual, but he's currently ignoring it in favor of an abstraction of thought.