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[just_cant_lose]

 
Jim is having a Crisis. A real, honest-to-God, capital-C, Crisis.

He doesn't know what to wear for his stag party. And this may not seem like a big deal, but it so is, and it comes with the added annoyance of being a thing that never happens. Knowing what to wear is easy! But this is complicated for Reasons, and it's doing his head in.

So anyway, he's at the bar, demanding examples of shirts and hating every single one of them. Every tie is useless, and in the end he waves all the formalwear away and starts looking at smart casual. The pile of 'maybe' starts growing (leave him at it long enough, and there'll be a pile up to the ceiling).

Along with the clothes, there is soon a new pile of Christmas decorations - that have to double as wedding decorations, so they're particularly tasteful and elegant, and feature rather a lot of skulls - and then a load of books on metalwork. Jim doesn't look outwardly frazzled, but internally...well. Speak to him and see. 


[OOC: Open all week, as I now have some time to plaaaaay. :D

Content warning: thread with Sherlock gets NSFW.]

Comments

[cook_the_rude]

Dr. Hannibal Lecter approaches the bar in flawless plaid and paisley, and orders a caffé coretto before greeting Jim with a smile and a nod.

[just_cant_lose]

'Don't look so smug,' he says, because hello is boring.

Or perhaps he's talking to the bar? It really could be either at this point.

[cook_the_rude]

"It is a beautiful Sunday afternoon," Hannibal says. "I think some snow was spotted outside."

[just_cant_lose]

'Yes, yes, snow.'

He runs his hands through his hair, leaving it sticking up all over the place.

'I'm sure we can build a snowman later. And you-' this, to Bar, 'I said no.'

A forest green shirt that would really match his hair colour, does not get added to the steadily-growing 'maybe' pile.

[cook_the_rude]

"What are you doing?" Hannibal asks, sipping his coffee from which the very Italian aroma of grappa is rising beautifully.

[just_cant_lose]

'Finding an outfit for the stag party.'

He has tons of clothes upstairs. Tons in Los Santos. But he needs something very particular to fit his state of mind that night, and he hasn't seen it yet.

'What are you wearing?'

[cook_the_rude]

"I'm not sure yet, but something loudly pinstriped seems appropriate," Hannibal says. "I will be bringing a small bag, though, in case of any accidents or opportunities."

[upwiththisiwillnotput]

"What are you actually looking for?" Bernard asks, when the maybe pile starts to slide in his direction.

[just_cant_lose]

'Something to wear?'

Obviously? Jim sounds distracted.

'On my stag night.'

[upwiththisiwillnotput]

"Congratulations." Bernard says, lighting a cigarette. "Who's the lucky bride?"

Probably out picking him some nostril hair trimmers at this exact moment.

[just_cant_lose]

'Sherlock Holmes.'

And if anyone tries to emasculate him by calling him a bride, Jim will not be pleased.

[upwiththisiwillnotput]

"Ah, right."

Bet he's still getting the nostril trimmers. Bernard has nothing against gay people. He thought he might be gay himself, once, but dismissed the idea due to the prohibitive standards of hygiene.

"That here, or on your world?"

[just_cant_lose]

'We're from the same world, but we're getting married here because I'm dead.'

He remains internally horrified at Bernard's lack of literary knowledge, considering his career, but heigh ho. He holds up a two-tone shirt, then throws it back over the bar and picks up a white shirt.

[mightbeagoodone]

A pair of arms slide around Jim's neck, and lips press to Jim's hair.

"I think you need to step away from this project for a bit."

[just_cant_lose]

'Sherlock.'

He's tense for a second, surprised by the touch he hadn't noticed coming...and then grins and melts back into him. He was holding a shirt in one hand and one shoe in the other; they both fall to the floor, discarded.

'I can't. It's of Vital Importance.'

Emphasis on the capitals, obviously. But he can break long enough to tilt his head back for a proper kiss.

Hello.

[mightbeagoodone]

Hello.

Sherlock lifts his mouth just enough to smile at him. "It's a bit like sampling perfumes. Eventually you just have to step away and smell something else."

[just_cant_lose]

'I'm not going to ask why you know anything about sampling perfumes.'

Except he sort of just did? Never mind. He turns in Sherlock's arms and wraps his own around his waist. Weird; he feels more calm now. Can't think why.

'I've looked through everything here, and at home. I have to find the right thing. What are you going to wear?'

[mightbeagoodone]

"Because I needed to know what perfumes smell like."

He rests his chin on Jim's head a moment. "Jeans and a comfortable button-down, I think. Probably the purple one."

[just_cant_lose]

'Oooh. I like the purple one. It's sexy.'

Aren't they all? But particularly that one. Jim pulls a face, and kisses Sherlock's neck on his way to resting his head on his shoulder.

'If only it were that easy. With everyone that's coming, I need-'

There's a pause that indicates, something. It's not just clothes, it's the persona. There are people coming he can only be a certain way in front of, which means one costume...completely at odds with the way he should be in front of other people. Ugh, what a mess.

[cottoncandypink]

Wilford's in his pyjamas again today, and otherwise looking like the sort of mess that's just spent all day in bed.

Because he has. And then some. He was very tired.

He comes up to the bar for a new pack of cigarettes, but stops when he sees whatever this is.

"What in the hell are you doing now?"

[just_cant_lose]

'...if any of these would fit you, I'd insist you put something on.'

Who the hell goes out in pyjamas? Once, caught by accident, might be explainable. Not multiple times like this. Unacceptable.

'I'm choosing something to wear for my stag party.'

Duh, Wilford.

[cottoncandypink]

Someone from a world where dressing like an absolute moron in public is acceptable and even somewhat encouraged.

He gets his cigarettes and slides them into his pocket.

"Something appropriate for a party. An old t-shirt and jeans you don't care about."

Ha. Ha ha. Look who he's talking to.

[just_cant_lose]

Jim fixes him with a Look.

'Jeans and an old t-shirt are not appropriate for a party.'

Like, oh my God. Even a regular stag do requires more effort than that.

'Not even one of yours.'

[cottoncandypink]

"Whatever you say, pal."

He starts digging through what he assumes is the "hell to the fuck no" pile just to see if there's anything interesting. There is! So Wilford puts it on.

"But I wouldn't wear anything you'd cry over if it got a stain on it."

He has Plans, after all.

[just_cant_lose]

'If anything gets a stain on it, I'll just throw it away.'

Jim loves looking good, but is not attached to individual items. He'll just buy more.

And he is not going to comment on the sweater, because hell to the fuck no.

'But if there are going to be stains, they'd better not be anything worse than blood. I'm not spending the night with anything disgusting on my clothes.'