(no subject)

[just_cant_lose]

 
Jim has been made to hike up a mountain. 

No, wait. Jim has been made. To hike. Up a mountain. Never mind that he agreed to it, that doesn't matter. Of course he was going to agree to it, because he generally has to make up for having done something awful, or put some goodwill in the bank for the next awful thing (not that Sherlock thinks in such terms, but Jim figures it can't hurt anyway). Point is, there was hiking. It was hot. There were bugs. And just when they got back and were going to the beach to get all this gross off, this door shows up. Maybe it's trying to be helpful, seeing as it's time for his three-day 'don't do the ghost thing' top-up, but he's still going to go ahead and consider it bad timing.

At least there is a cold drink. And a sofa to collapse onto, whereupon his legs immediately stiffen up to the point of pain. This is going to be agony tomorrow. Jim drinks some water - then some vodka - and internally groans.

Also, there appears to be some very small people around the place. He suspects Fuckery. Bravo, whoever did it.

Comments

[cottoncandypink]

Wilford was very confused about the small people as well. And then he saw someone else more interesting.

He looks like his usual pissed-off self, but it still bears investigating, so Wilford comes over and gives Jim a light poke on the shoulder.

"Is that you?"

[just_cant_lose]

'No.'

He has hiked up a mountain, and now he has been poked on the shoulder. Today is great.

'Who're you?'

[cottoncandypink]

Ordinarily, Wilford would be able to just roll right along with the sarcasm and lies, but well. He's not so sure, given what was going on the last time they spoke.

"Jesus, when Jim gets back, he's gonna pissed."

He really wants to be there for it.

"You're an improvement over the last guy, at least."

Jones was hopeless.

[just_cant_lose]

Jim rolls his eyes.

'Of course it's me. Not that I should talk to you after the last conversation we had.'

He'd be pissed about it, but it's funny. He is absolutely going to murder Wilford for it - literally - but it's still funny as well. He'd extend the joke by pretending to be someone else now, but he just hiked up a fucking mountain and there is only so much effort he's prepared to make in one day.

[cottoncandypink]

The gears slowly turn as Wilford puts everything together.

"Wait, that was you?"


Wait for it.



Wait for it...






Yep, that's the funniest fucking shit Wilford's heard in ages. Jim was so scared and innocent and pure. And now Wilford cannot. stop. laughing. The entire bar can probably hear him.

[just_cant_lose]

So. Slowly. Jim almost dies of boredom in the time it takes for Wilford to put it together, and then rolls his eyes at the laughter.

Whatever. He'll just be sitting here drinking his water, and then his vodka, and trying to stretch his hamstrings out without wanting to die.

[cottoncandypink]

Wilford laughs so hard, he's starting to cry. This is great!

"The fuck was even going on? I've seen you act. You're not that good."

Oh god, it's hard to breathe.

[cook_the_rude]

Among the small people there is Dr. Hannibal Lecter, in the rafters, on a small couch, stroking an equally small rat and reading an equally small book while drinking wine from an equally small glass.

Miniaturised Hannibal is still Hannibal.

[just_cant_lose]

Jim notices this little scene when he flops back on the sofa, trying to stretch his hamstrings out without actually getting up. Getting up is just...not happening, possibly ever.

'Hello, Hannibal.'

Lookit! He's almost cute.

'What went on this time?'

[cook_the_rude]

"Some blue flash of light," Hannibal says, from the rafters, "and then everybody present was small, including some rats, who were smaller."

He sounds unconcerned.

"I take it the best scientific minds are already on it. I don't doubt that Jay, or my science-fiction-y doppelganger, or somebody like them, will come up with a solution. I've begun to suspect Bar does this sort of thing to keep their kind pleasantly occupied."

He strokes the tiny miniaturised rat on his lap.

[just_cant_lose]

'Then I'm extremely offended she's not going to the same lengths with me.'

Never mind. He can make his own fun.

'I quite like your doppelganger. I need to find him again, actually. Why aren't you off trying to find a way to fix it?'

[cook_the_rude]

"You do get all the tiny panicking people to observe," Hannibal points out. "With which you have my answer -- I know this will be fixed, and it is quite amusing to watch them scramble to do so. You want a little Death Star?"

[just_cant_lose]

'Not as much fun as making something to fix the issue.'

He probably doesn't need to point out that there's nothing stopping him fixing it off his own back, but is clearly not going to bother. Things are funnier like this.

'And no, I don't want a little Death Star. I'd take a big one, but I haven't got a garage big enough to park it in.'

He could park it in the vicinity of Wilford's version of Earth, perhaps. That'd be hilarious.

[fry_sandhu]

On a nearby table, a very tiny Fry is busy constructing a working go-kart from Lego Technic.

[just_cant_lose]

Jim tilts his head from where he's reclining on the sofa. The reclining is necessary, it's not just a Mood. His legs hurt.

'Is that for you to drive?'

[fry_sandhu]

"Yes." Fry says. "We need an easier way to get to the Waitrats' Bathroom. Coral says it's demeaning of us to keep riding them."

[just_cant_lose]

Jim blinks.

'The waitrats have a bathroom?'

He can't decide if that's ew, or the opposite of ew. Maybe both?

[fry_sandhu]

"The infirmary ones do, for Hygiene." Fry says. "It's got a flushing toilet and everything."

[just_cant_lose]

He is inclined to think ew. He does not want to consider rats using a bathroom.

'Why can't they just go outside?'

For some reason, this is less icky.

'And it's probably not hygienic for you to be using their bathroom regardless.'

[mightbeagoodone]

"Jim, are you ready--"

Sherlock appears in the doorway wearing his swimsuit, a beach towel tossed over his shoulder, and looks absolutely not surprised to see the bar instead of the Magpie's stateroom.

His face lights up when he sees Jim sprawled on the sofa, and immediately makes himself comfortable under Jim's legs.

"Hello, darling." He leans over for a kiss.

[just_cant_lose]

Jim groans in pain - legs ow, legs ow - but returns the kiss with a smile.

''lo, beautiful.'

Mmm, so beautiful.

But ow. That's on you, Sherlock.

[mightbeagoodone]

Sherlock takes pity on him, and starts massaging his left calf. "You know, if it's farther than you're able to go, you may tell me so. We could have gone back down before we reached the peak."

[just_cant_lose]

That's better. Jim looks much happier, and picks up his vodka.

'Not reach the top on something I set out to do?'

And right next to Sherlock Holmes? C'mon.

'Anyway, getting to the top wasn't the problem. Stopping was the problem.'

[mightbeagoodone]

"You may also stop sometimes," Sherlock says tenderly, and kisses Jim's knee.

[just_cant_lose]

'But then I'd never start again.'

For example, right now. He may never walk again, Sherlock. It's very tragic, and he looks very sad. Well, pouty. Either or.

'Come here and kiss me at once.'

Beat.

'Please.'