pastiches | ➴ o p e n

❝and what does anyone know about traitors, or why judas did what he did?❞

Edited (I CAN'T DECIDE HOW TO FORMAT FORGIVE ME i'm done ) 2013-03-23 04:21 (UTC)

[ sherlock is in the midst of a high on the floor in his shitty flat in london. he's partying, the theoretical spliff ( or was it e or coke - he can't recall anymore ) he took with a complete stranger is taking it's toll. above him the ceiling is dancing. the cracks are looking like waves and above him stands an ocean of acrylics. he's older than the girl, but he honestly doesn't trust himself to be in a state or anything outside of that.

he brought her into the flat. maybe because she was interesting. maybe because she looked like she had a few things she wanted to forget. either way, the invitation came before the inquiry on her name.

( he's forgotten it at this point, just like how he's forgotten how to walk )

the cool of an english morning is coating the room in a soft glow and holmes hates it. how its making the colors dance. ]

Do you ever wonder if you'll just stop thinking one day?

[ he inquires conversationally. ]

Do you know how easy it is to suss out a violent man in a crowd?

[ Sherlock says without thinking twice. He's got a cigarette ( or a joint, at this point he can't tell the difference ) wedged between his teeth. He brings it up because he notices a slight bruising on the edges of Heine's knuckles. He brings it up when he notices the callouses one can form from holding a gun too hard. His mind ( as afloat as it is ) doesn't jump to the conclusion of 'criminal' just yet. ]

There's a few subtleties, I'd imagine.

[ grinning like a cat that's just fallen off the couch. ]

[ it's not just bruising on his knuckles and gun calluses. he washes his hands often enough, but the smell of gunpowder and blood clings to him. heine's used enough to it that he nearly flinches when the stranger points it out. ]

...more than a few. Who are you?

[ not on the offensive just yet. whoever this is, he doesn't look like he's about to attack. his german accent is faint, naturalized by at least a few years out of his native country and a long education. heine makes the distance between them larger, eyes assessing risk while he does. ]

[ sherlock notices everything. he's the man who'd search for a needle in a haystack and mark it as a past time. he's tedious, perhaps borderline meticulous when he wants to be and heine? heine is a specimen. something to analyze and categorize until each portion of his thoughts are filtered in catalogs. ]

Well for starters, there's the bruising. You don't get that without having a good right hook, I'd say.

[ he sniffs the air and then faces heine, to sniff his shoulder. invading his personal space entirely before taking a few steps back. ]

And you smell like ammunition.

[ a pause. ]

Most would take that as incentive. We are legally entitled to preform a citizens arrest on suspicious behavior. supsicious people.

[ however he doesn't provoke, or assault. ]

The name is Holmes. And to who's violent presence do I owe the honor?

[ lord eddard is a second father to me, i do so swear. robb remembers the words clearly. they dance against his memory and they cut sharp. sharper than the sword they're preparing for him in the other room. robb has marched his troops back to winterfell. he knows - the fact burns on the back of his throat, acerbic - that the starks are not entirely innocent for what had happened in king robert's rebellion. robb knows that theon was as much of a hostage as he was a ward but he cannot find the line where he had stepped to make theon hate them. the seize on king's landing could wait - how would he return arya and sansa home if there was nothing left for them?

( robb was all the north had left. )

we've taken him, your grace - his bannermen had said with hushed voices. we've captured theon greyjoy. robb was waiting for the man's arrival. he was pacing. trying to find the words to say. reciting a script in his head. he wanted blood. justice. a reason. a dozen things that only theon could provide. robb makes arrangements. a tent in the camp instead of a cage. he should hate theon as much as jamie lannister, he should give him worse - but there's something about old ties that make the king wish for privacy. he does not wear his crown to the execution.

theon is restrained, in shackles and chains that hang above his head. two of his bannermen sit outside the tent. robb stands before him. expression cold and mouth drawn into a thin line. ]

I told them to spare you, Greyjoy. That I would have your head myself.

[ theon greyjoy is no kingslayer, but in many ways, he's much worse.

once, he swore an oath to eddard stark, and then to his eldest son, to robb stark, his brother-in-arms, his lord, his king. his friend. once, he called him brother and knelt at his feet and promised him his sword, his loyalty. once, he said i love you and meant it, and even now when he's brought to robb in chains, the memory of those words burn through his chest and heart and threaten to seep from the gaps in his ribs. i love you, i'm sorry, i'm not sorry, i'm. i'm —

if the gods are good (or cruel), one day he'll look back and realize that he never hated robb. he never hated the starks.

what he hated most of all was knowing that he never belonged.

( not with the starks, not with the greyjoys. )

and now he's left alone to face his fate, bruised and bloodied and on his knees, his head hanging low. robb speaks to him as if he's a stranger, a trespasser, and theon doesn't know whether that's worse or better than he was expecting. what was he expecting? a warm welcome? a quick death? most men wouldn't allow a vile traitor like theon to speak his mind, to explain why he did what he did, because what does it matter, in the end, when the knife is in his hand and he's marked for what he is. a turncloak. a betrayer. a coward. but then — robb's not most men. of course he'd ask why, of course he'd demand answers. theon's not sure if he wants to laugh or weep.

he tongues the blood from his cracked lips, from his teeth, swallows around the hard knot in his throat. cowardice is what drove him to rip winterfell from the hands of his former friend, and courage is what drives him now to lift his head and look him in the eye. ( gods, robb deserves that much, doesn't he? ) ] I'm not sure you have the brass for it, Stark.

Edited 2013-03-24 10:31 (UTC)

[ robb had thought he had theon pegged down. that he knew every inch of him. his capacities, his thoughts and the extent of what he was willing to do. how could I have been so blind -- robb wonders. he had placed so much faith in the young lord. he had skipped out on his mother's warnings and put so much in theon's grasps. it had never factored in that perhaps theon wouldn't come back to him.

theon was always older, and robb had always treated him with respect. with adoration. the brother he never had, someone else to look up too outside of his lord father. but the tables now are turned. it is theon who has restored his family and it is robb who has nothing left. it is robb who will come home to empty castles and ashen lands. theon may be the one in chains, but it is robb that knows who is the real captive.

robb is lord eddard's son. forged in his likeness and with the same steel. a leader who will not kill until the full scenario is painted. that is how he is. how he has been taught. to try to find redemption in the men who seemingly have none, but to never forget what had transpired.

the north remembers, after all.

if robb speaks to theon like he's a stranger, it is theon who replies like he is an enemy. like robb himself had stripped him from the falling towers of the iron islands. like every sin against him is robb's fault. ]

You do not think I will?

[ the tone in his voice is worn. you can only be so confident around the man who you openly give talks of fear too. ]

I've killed over a dozen Lannister men. You are no different.

[ lies. ]

[ robb has always been an innocent, in many ways; theon does not blame him for his father's actions. after all, when theon was torn from his home and sent to the hard north as old ned's ward, robb had been little more than a child, little more than a baby. and it was robb who approached him first, robb who smiled at him with all the slowly fading sweetness of a little northern lordling, the first to trust him, the first to truly welcome him to his home.

winterfell was never supposed to burn, but it did. balon greyjoy was never supposed to cast his only living son to the wolves, but he did.

theon was never supposed to love the north, the wolves, the starks, robb, but —

but. ( but he did, and how could he not? )

theon speaks with knives and daggers, with cutting words meant to push robb from him. in the end, robb will do what he must to please his people, to please his conscience, and theon is only an anchor designed to drag him down, down, down. there is nothing left for robb here, just as there is nothing left for theon to say. ]

Aye, maybe so. [ looking robb in the face is worse than death, theon's sure. he sounds more confident than he feels, but — tired, too, the metallic clanking of his shackles mostly masking his acerbic tone. ] You could end this now, then.

Edited 2013-03-24 12:11 (UTC)

[ somewhere in new york, there is a heist. a pollock is stolen from the met and holmes is requested by gregson to be hot on the case. a sniffer dog in charge of finding out who has what is essentially arcyrlic jizz on a black canvas.

( he appreciates other masterpieces, rapheal, turner, warhol even - but pollock is a man with a temperament. too chaotic for his tempered mind. )

he goes on a goose chase. a run around trying to piece butchered up security camera files together and going through eye witness accounts of the homeless blokes he speaks with. until he puts two and two together and realizes that what he has there is a forgery. a recreation. and for once holmes is impressed.

he manages to track the other man down to a flat in the city, just before eames arrives. there's a piano. although it doesn't always seem to be used, considering the small blanket of dust now covering holmes' fingers. while he's waiting for the thief he sits down to play a melancholic rendition of problems on the piano. ]

[ if sherlock had spent any more time in such close vicinity to his arm, annoyance would have overcome surprise and he probably would have received a hand in his face. as it is, though, heine just glares. ]

You're with the police here?

[ the lack of provocation keeps him from leaving as quickly as possible. he could probably outrun this guy (at least, he thinks so), but for the moment curiosity is winning over his paranoia. ]

...Heine. [ he doesn't give his last name, because it's actually more recognizable than his first one. ] Holmes. Do English policemen usually smoke grass on their offtime?

[effy's nearby, on the floor a few feet a way. she giggles, smile wide, without anything to hold back. she loves this feeling. the ceiling poses as an interest, and she's taken with the way the cracks are moving. lines breaking across the white. she remembers being in a place with cracks on the wall. the house was falling apart.

right now, she could consider herself alone, even if she's not. her hand is resting on her stomach, the fabric feels alive with the way it moves between her fingers.

her hair is strewn about all around her head, a wave of dark brown strands against the carpet. she turns her head to look at sherlock, a name that sounded too familiar to her.]

Yes.

[ robb will never say it to his face. they've gone through far too much together for robb to consider him anything other than a brother. ( although, bran would disagree - bran, if he were alive would tell robb that robb always paid theon more attention than any of his brothers ). theon is always something else. any words that robb will say, it will all boil down to what theon is. important. when the greyjoy's had left him to the starks - never bothering until theon came at the castle doors like a prodigal child - robb is different. when theon had left it is robb who wished for him to come back. he has to go back, he remembers pleading.

but war was different. fealties chained and it was the only window people had to change their banners.

( we fought with wooden swords a year ago, robb thinks as he fixes his eyes intently on theon. there are memories of winterfell, fond and warm memories that feel like a patch of sunshine on a cool day. they shatter when he remembers that there in front of him is the reason why he'll never have these things again. )

robb will do what he must because theon has pushed him to do just that.

was it not you who said I aught to take throne? ]

You will not try to save yourself, Greyjoy?

[ he doesn't take a knee. stands firm in his place. ]

Edited 2013-03-28 14:25 (UTC)

[ Eames doesn't do New York often. The area surrounding the United Nations is a blast zone for a former special services lieutenant of the british royal armed forced. For all the faces he has in dreams, in the real world he has but one, and he measures his risks carefully. Crime is a betting man's game, and he doesn't bet on a lame horse when he knows it's lame, no matter the hype.

Manhattan is a lame horse indeed, but Brooklyn is a gambler's prize; too close to the lame horse be a sure win, but enough in it's corner to make it worth the chance.

He doesn't keep works he's stolen and replaced from the United States on the walls of any of his US residences. The Caravaggio is from Rome, the Tissot from Rouen, and the Turner watercolor above the piano was won legitimately at auction, in York. The Pollock he stole and replaced was somewhere else entirely, and he hasn't seen it in years. He takes long breaths elsewhere before he ever returns to the scene of a crime.

He hears the piano before he even sticks his key in the door, and debates leaving right then. Catching a flight to Mumbai, not returning again to New York for another two years, until whatever trail ran dry. No cop would be stupid enough to sit down and play his piano though, nor a fed, nor someone who wanted him dead. He weighs his option, taking the safety off of his previously concealed weapon, and heads on in.

Quietly. Maybe his guest won't have heard the door, maybe he will have. He locks it behind him.

Eames recognizes the man at his piano when he sees him, gun still aimed and at the ready, and almost, almost chuckles.]

Well aren't you far from home.

Edited 2013-05-20 19:47 (UTC)

[ they meet when the avengers have a job in france. it's mostly tony's idea, really. to go drinking. steve's protested, about his metabolism and not being able to drink - but he didn't hear a word of it. it's a swanky bar called the ABC cafe and they're all out of the clock and out of uniform.

he ends up chatting up a young blonde, as he waits to go babysit. he's charming and determined, and far too serious. the way that nat is far too serious at times. then steve actually gets him to smile and the whole room lights up and he feels oddly accomplished. somehow along the way the topic of patriotism gets involved and then there's spark in enjolras that lights up and captain america seems meek in comparison.

so steve decides to man up the courage. not that he's ever asked anyone ever. ]

Are you doing anything tonight?

{ it's not stark smooth, but he hopes he'll say yes. ]

[ Enjolras does not do this. Not at all, actually--but he'd had a few drinks and the taller, far more muscular man is talking about things like patriotism and he gets it, he's an American but he's not the cowboy wearing stereotype--he gets it. ]

Perhaps drinking more with you, Monsieur? At a place just as hospitable but not as expensive? [ He's rusty, he doesn't normally find interest in things like pickups--and he swears he can feel Grantaire's intense gaze on the back of his head as he finishes his last glass of wine for the night. ]

Care for a tour of a Parisian's room?

[ steve is one of those people who can honestly say he loves his country, and would try to spend every waking moment making it a better place. enjolras longs for the same things steve does and it all just boils down to a passionate man who wants to rid his country of bullies. and there's this insatiable desire to see if he'll bring the same attention to bed.

he'll be texting - tony or bruce later, to inform them that no - he hasn't been kidnapped, tyvm. but right now he has other priorities. ]

Just somewhere quieter. [ he laughs. ]

I wouldn't object to that, at all. [ he says easily as he stands up from the stool and moves to give enjolras the same leeway. ]

~~Robb goes where?~~

[ its his dad's idea. mostly. to come work for the baratheon's in the long summer. there's an instinctive part of robb that knows this is just to keep him binge drinking with theon, small jon and darcy. he's on break from college and he's supposed to be allowed to let loose a little. but ned stark has always held a tight leash so he concedes.

besides, the baratheon's are family friends. even if uncle robert's nephew is a giant shit and he'd really rather like to replace his floor tiling with legos.

( sansa's tumblr has a hashtag of #joffrey: prettiest prince and that just gives robb more incentive to want nothing to do with him. )

so this is how he ends up cleaning the pool. he's in nothing but a pair of swim shorts and he's wielding the lengthy pool net like a spear. his whole body is damp as he tries to fish leaves from the water. it's only then when he looks up, that he notices one of the baratheon brothers by the pool. renly is a little closer in age, so robb can drop the prefix of "mr." entirely. ]

Renly. [ he says smoothly. ]

I didn't know you were in town.

➴ o p e n

gimme annyooonneee

elementary sherlock OR ANYONE WHO STRIKES YOUR FANCY

for robb stark

for Sherlock Holmes of the NYC brownstone

robb stark king of the butts

no subject

ELEMENTARRRRY SHERLOCK IT IS.

no subject

no subject

NO OMG LEAVE ME HERE TO DIEEE. I AM PUTTING ON SOME SNOW PATROL JSYK

cackles

NO HI I LOVE YOUUUU oh my god this thread is hurting my heart.

i know weeps they'll be the death of me

no subject

no subject

no subject

crying tears of manpain.

for one of your sherlocks

no subject

don't even play

m-modern au? IDK HOW THIS EVEN WORKS

i'll get icons l8r

no subject

I literally just stole someone's instagram picture for this i hope you're happy

TEMPORARY ACCOUNT UNTIL I ROLL OUT A MODERN AU Journal and YOU SPOIL ME SOOOO.