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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.)

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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.

Edited 2016-11-01 20:47 (UTC)

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.

"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.

'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.'

"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.

Jim stares at him darkly. Does Yrael also turn into an asshole when he becomes a cat? Or has he just not noticed until now?

Yrael's face is less readable as a cat, but he does radiate neutral curiosity.

(The assholery is like the color-scheme - a constant in all shapes he wears, but more noticeable in some.)

"What will you do to take back your victory?"

Just a fan asking a representative of his preferred team. They thought the game was won, congratulations had been given, but a surprise comeback in the third quarter has complicated matters and jeopardized the win.

'What makes you think I've lost my victory?'

Perhaps Yrael was unclear as to what Jim counted as a win. Then again, it's not the sort of thing Jim would admit to most people. Only Sherlock, really. And he might not have got it completely, but he has an idea and that's good enough.

'Him living was always a possibility.'

"I do not know whether it is lost or not, as the game stands now." As much as anyone knows when the game is still going on. "But there does seem some handicap - Sherlock has greater mobility about the field, being alive."

While Moriarty has Milliways.

Yrael's ears turn to follow the skittering of a wait rat across the floor. It is the easiest thing in the world for him to tell the difference between the living and the dead. Even Sameth can do that much, though the Wallmaker's Death-sense is not as strong as one destined to serve as the Abhorsen.

But Jim had been enjoying himself so thoroughly. Yrael hadn't wanted to ruin it.

'That suggests I need mobility to win.'

Jim is aware that Yrael might have known all the time who was living and who was dead in this particular phase of the game, but why poke too far behind the curtain? If either of them want spoilers, Milliways is the place to get them. But it won't mean a thing if they don't play it for real, and he can't speak for Sherlock in this matter, but Jim Moriarty sure as hell isn't going to make things easy. Not on Sherlock, and not on himself. In this case, it really is the journey that matters, not the destination.

He's fully aware he's the villain of this piece. He's fully aware of what usually happens to villains. He will play on that until his final breath, wherever it happens to be taken.

'All I need is him. And I've got him.'

And he will never let him go.

"He will return to you in time, I am sure," Yrael says, easily. There is some sliver of insinuation under the tone of voice, very faint, possibly imaginary, of someone patting another person's hand, of reassuring the housewife that their husband will return from war one day.

Meanwhile, Jim can keep the home fires burning, while his heart is yearning for his Sherlock far away.

"What will you do in the meantime?"

Edited 2016-11-02 13:48 (UTC)

Jim's face goes flat. He's good at picking up on what other people wouldn't see, or hear, or consider. Or possibly he's taking umbrage at the faint voicing of a subconscious fear; whichever it is, it manifests in the same way.

'Oh, fuck off, Yrael.'

It's bitten out, practically spat. It's only with supreme effort that he doesn't throw a bottle at him.

'You don't know what's going on. Insinuate whatever you like.'

He didn't want to get angry at one of the closest things to a friend he's got. But if he's going to be an asshole, that's what happens.

Yrael is not good at being comforting, not really, or at giving advice. He is good at stirring things up, however. He is better at being a galvanizing irritation (just ask Sameth). Anger is useful. It burns. It gets things done.

The not'cat shrugs. "I have every faith that you will overcome, in any case." And he looks forward to seeing how it shakes out.

Jim is not good at being comforted, or at taking advice. He's also not good at people believing they can stir him up because hello, messing with people is his job.

Galvanising irritation might be fine, if there were anything he could do that he hasn't already set in motion. In the meantime, he really does just have to wait.

'I always do. I already have.'

He'd like to hold up the note, and point to yours always. He'd like to gloat that Sherlock has openly and off his own bat, admitted he belongs to the man who wants him dead. No matter what happens with anything else, he's won in that sense.

But he doesn't, because he's not going to expose Sherlock to someone who would use it against him without a second though. Also, he doesn't want it turned back on him.

Ugh, this is messy. He hates messy when it involves himself. It clutters his mind, and makes him feel dirty.

'Are you going to do anything useful, or just sit there?'

"What would you consider useful?" Yrael asks in a tone that suggests he might just sit there. And wait.

'Diversion is useful.'

He's not asking for help. It would never cross his mind. He's just answering the question asked.

'Something more fun than this.'

i.e. anything.

"I suppose I could offer a change of perception," Yrael says, in the tone of one for whom Jim's distraction is not their problem, but who is choosing to be nice.

Rather than hang an interesting man out to dry (and thereby risk losing the source of entertainment).

"For all its tendency to be depressingly nice, the Charter does have useful aspects to it. With a Charter Skin, you might experience the world with senses other than your own for a while. With different senses of sight, smell, hearing... experience flight, perhaps."

'You want to make me sprout wings?'

Sceptical Jim is sceptical.

"Rather, wear them," says the Bright Shiner wearing a cat-shaped suit. "A Charter Skin is a spell that is woven of Charter Marks, and when worn, the wearer takes on a different shape, as well as the senses and abilities of that other shape. Your mind remains your own, only your perceptions are changed."

Perhaps if you spend too long as a bear you might find yourself irritable and short-sighted for a few hours afterwards, or craving fish for a few hours afterwards if you wear an ice otter Charter Skin, or squinting in bright light for a while if you spend too long as an owl, but that sort of thing is hardly worth mentioning... right?

'Oh.'

Hmm.

Jim normally has no interest whatsoever in being anything other than himself.

On the other hand, being himself is fairly awful just now. If he'd lose his mind he'd have no part of it, but if he can keep that and just experience something new...hell with it, why not?

He shrugs.

'All right.'

The cat smiles.

"Is there any particular shape you would like?"

If Jim would want, Yrael is pretty certain he could manage a dragon. Or what humans think dragons looked like, at least. Close enough.

'Why don't you surprise me?'

His tone once again edges on sarcasm, like he doesn't believe this will actually happen.

Yrael streeeetches luxuriously, yawning widely. His teeth are as stark white as his fur, sharp as ivory needles within the small, pink mouth.

Once the stretch is over, he gets to his paws. "I'm sure I can find something suitable," he says, and pads away along the rafter.

The Charter Skin will take some preparation, after all.

(ooc: Fade here? :D)

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