(no subject)

[just_cant_lose]

 
As he suspected he would, Jim caught Sherlock's - heh, Rory's - stupid bloody cold. He went to bed angry, frustrated, and sick to the back teeth of this entire bloody bar.

He wakes up with a Welsh accent, a body that feels weirdly exhausted, and a whooooole lot of surprise at finding himself in a bedroom that is not wallpapered in Laura Ashley, cluttered with years' worth of books and theatre junk. Gethin has never set foot in a room so opulent, and so incomprehensible to him. He spends a good hour looking at the clothes, the books, the...frankly pornographic, yet extremely beautiful...photography on the wall of the library (the centrepiece of which involves his own face, and the blurred figure of a much taller man in the background. He doesn't look at it for long.) Everything is very, very weird.

In short, Gethin Roberts does not have a bloody clue what's going on. But at least there are clothes he recognises - comfortably 80s in style - and if the cold he's got means he can't go searching Jonathan out, at least there appears to be a...bar, downstairs?

What. The Actual. Hell. 


[OOC: getting in under the wire! Open until the end of March. :)]

(no subject)

[gravity_shifter]

Seated at a table is a petite redhead, also dressed in red. Close observation may indicate that she's very likely not human.

What she is is hungry. It's feeding time! That means the table is overflowing with food of all sorts that she fully intends to eat all by herself.

She may share if asked nicely. Or just field inquiries. Whatever.