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[just_cant_lose]

 
Jim has ventured down only rarely since his birthday, and only then because there's a party on. He is liking Bar's decision to paint his face for the duration! It's fun!

And then he comes to the bar for lunch. His gentle internal wondering of why Sherlock wasn't in bed when he woke up this morning is answered when he's presented with a note.

Jim goes very still. He remains very still for a long time, the paper crumpling evvvvvvvver so slowly in his fingers, creases cracking like ice dropped into water. He's glad of the face paint for a whole different reason, because oh, he's proud of Sherlock, he's proud of him for this, but he's going to fucking kill him as well, and do it properly this time. The game plays on. Yes. Yes, it does, and thank God, because at least this proves they really will never be ordinary.

So he laughs. Loudly, and with a manic edge he doesn't even try to hide. Well done, Sherlock. You even left the note in the bar, rather than somewhere private. Well, then it deserves a public reaction. Jim shuts up and shakes his head, almost fond. He straightens his pristine jacket, and smooths his hair back. 

Then he turns and picks up the nearest chair, swings it over his head and smashes it to pieces on the floor. He smashes it until he's left with nothing but a leg, which spins out from his hand across the room, whipping through the air.

Sorry if it bounces off you? 


[OOC: Birthday link is lots of NSFW, natch. And it's probably obvious, but Jim's a tad erratic in this EP and may be prone to outbursts.)

Comments

[cutting_edgex23]

X catches said spinning chair leg, the smack of it against her palm loud in the sudden silence.

Well. Relative silence.

"Jim."

Beat.

"You are angry."

[just_cant_lose]

He doesn't even look at her. He doesn't acknowledge people who state the fucking obvious.

He does pick up the bottle of vodka he'd ordered, spins and throws that at her head.

He knows she'll catch it, break it, or move.

Hi, X.

[cutting_edgex23]

She catches it, of course.

Then slices the bulk of the neck off with a popped claw, and takes a drink.

Then she hands it back to him, expression perfectly composed.

[just_cant_lose]

Oh, hurrah! Exactly what he wants. Composure in the face of fury, causing him to look ridiculous if he even attempts to escalate.

This would be one of the reasons she's an effective head of Security, of course. Jim could not currently care less. He drops the bottle, and lets it smash.

'Fuck off, X. Not in the mood.'

[cutting_edgex23]

X considers this, head tilting slightly.

The air is full of alcohol fumes.

"I do not think I care."

[just_cant_lose]

'That makes two of us.'

Yay! Welcome to the club, friend!

He steps closer to her, the note still somehow in his hand, and his eyes dead flat with repressed fury.

'What's it going to be today? More meditation and kiddie blankets? Blowing the garage up? Which way do I get neutered so you can protect the innocents today?'

[have_no_mercy]

Tess manages to avoid being hit by the chair leg, but just barely. Normally, she'd be furious with whomever threw it, but Jim requires certain precautions.

So she's only mildly annoyed.

"What's got you ticked of all to hell?"

[just_cant_lose]

'Ohhhhhh, nothing.'

He sing-songs it to the air, breathing hard, and rolls his head on his neck. Hi, Tess. How wonderful to see you.

[have_no_mercy]

Thrilling to see Jim like this as well.

"Bullshit. Is it Sherlock?"

Educated guesses and all that.

[just_cant_lose]

'Would I bother being angry about anything else?'

Does anything else matter part from Sherlock? Has it ever? He can't remember. Everything is red and hazy in his mind, apart from the bits that are so proud of the man, he could burst. There is definitely an inner child back there, bouncing up and down and clapping his hands in glee.

He spins on one neat heel, and stalks over to her. He looks her up and down.

'What happened to your hot dress from the party?'

[have_no_mercy]

No, he wouldn't. It's always about Sherlock, so she shouldn't feel so smart abut being right.

Tess shrugs.

"It wasn't so easy to get back on once I took it off."

[yinyangwizard]

Shortly after all the broken bits of chair have come to rest, a Japanese macaque in a short monkey-sized blue kimono bounds down the stairs and across the bar to where Jim is sitting. It hops up on his table, bows to him, and presents him with a bundle wrapped in red furoshiki cloth.

[just_cant_lose]

Jim had just been standing there, vibrating quietly, trying to drag himself back under control. And then there's this.

He stares at the macaque for a minute. Then the package - this is all very Japanese, which rings a pretty clear bell in the parts of his brain that aren't occupied with rage - and then flicks it open with an irritated hand.

One of his drones. One that's been disabled. Jim stares at this for a minute too...and then snarls, snatches it up in his left hand and smashes it down towards the face of the macaque.

[yinyangwizard]

The monkey dodges, but not quite fast enough. The blow lands on its shoulder, eliciting a painfully piercing screech. It bares its teeth at him, but does not bite as one might expect: instead it leaps off the table, dashes across the room and runs up the stairs on all fours.

[just_cant_lose]

Jim bares his teeth right back, snarling in the thing's face. As it runs away, he chucks the drone at its back, not bothering to watch as it misses and bounces, bits breaking off across the floor.

He has other things to think about today. But this is clearly a situation that needs seeing to pretty soon.

[cook_the_rude]

"I suppose that serves a purpose?"

This from Dr. Hannibal Lecter, who steps into the bar room from the kitchen with a steaming pie form in his hand, the purpose of which is defeated by the fact that his clothes not only shift to a beige jumpsuit, he is also wearing a plastic mask over his lower face.

Neverless, he adroitly catches a flying piece of chair with his left hand.

[just_cant_lose]

'Yes.'

Obviously. A duel one in fact, but only one gets to become public.

And Jim is genuinely angry enough to not to laugh at Hannibal's costume, which might well be a good indication of his mood. As well as the chair.

[cook_the_rude]

"Would you like some pie?" Hannibal says, putting it down on a table and retreating half behind a pillar. He doesn't appear to be enjoying his costume much.

"You do seem to both express and publicly flaunt your extreme frustration," he then says, picking up a bit of the chair back and turning it in his hands. "Of course, it must have to do with Sherlock. If I may hazard a guess, he turned out to not be quite as dead as he said, thus mitigating the completeness of your victory?"

[just_cant_lose]

He does seems to do that, doesn't he? One might even think it was - at least in part - on purpose.

'As you very well knew, and tried to poke me with.'

He's breathing hard from the exertion, staring down at the mess on the floor.

'But it doesn't mitigate the completeness of anything.'

[cook_the_rude]

"The word is 'warn'," Hannibal says, maybe smiling behind his mask. "So him getting away doesn't change anything?"

[mogget_cat]

Don't mind the cat curled up on the rafter. He's just enjoying the advantageous vantage point from which to watch Jim's antics, ears perked and tailtip curling and uncurling lazily.

It seems the 'defeated' one of the pair wasn't really most sincerely dead.

Shame.

[just_cant_lose]

Isn't it just a shame?

Also not all that unexpected, and the anger is about a whole host of things - not just Sherlock being alive; not even that, really - but the upshot is, that chair is destroyed to fucking pieces by the time he's done.

Jim's paintwork is still pristine though, and that's the important thing. He straightens his jacket afterwards, and bends his head back to smooth his hair and fill his lungs properly...and notices a flash of white.

'Enjoy the show?'

Heavy on the sarcasm, naturally. Yrael would expect nothing else.

[mogget_cat]

"Indeed," answers the not'cat, his tailtip curling first one way, then the other. "All the best games are spectator sports."

Even if Jim's stage and audience are greatly diminished.

[just_cant_lose]

'I'm inclined to agree.'

With one or two notable exceptions. He cracks his neck to the side, and flexes his fingers to try and unlock some of the tension. The anger just keeps adding to it, swelling it, and it's not a nice sensation. It never is.

'But us mere mortals have to get off the bench some time.'

[mogget_cat]

"I certainly hope so, or else nothing would ever get done," he agrees, getting up just enough to streeeeeeeeetch, forepaws reaching forward, back arched sharply... before settling back down in comfort.

It's what mortals are for.