moritat | Call Me Out/Open Post 2016

[what she knows about Servants is minimal, at best. only second and thirdhand knowledge, pieces ripped from the memories of others. but it makes sense to her that when one man became two, one Servant became two, they would each need a Master. a tether to the world to stay whole and alive. Henry Jekyll has that, and she's glad for it. Henry is one of her friends.

Edward Hyde, by contrast, does not. And he is also dear to her, and she had felt the searing pain across her left side that she had marked out for him to be able to tell her without words that he needs her, and so she had practically flown to find him.]

You're dying, Edward.

[she knows this, being a part of death like she is. Hyde is dying, but he can at least die while she holds him. (look, it added to the scene, for as serious as it is Grell never neglects what would look best. holding him in her arms felt dramatically perfect.)]

[PICK SOMEONE YOU'D TAG HER WITH I DON'T KNOW

i can do the rest]

[ it only makes sense that the patron saint of hosts, homemakers, hoteliers and caretakers is at home in a kitchen. The smell of cakes and cookies wafts down the hall, filling the air with their sweet aroma. Martha herself is starting another batch of sweets, pouring a ten pound bag of flour one-handed into an industrial mixer. Yep. ]

[ It's a beautiful day outside! It's sort of a pointless statement in a house like this, actually. Elaine is not lazy, but it's significantly easier to just make a maid go out and get food or water or whatever it is this fleshbag of hers is keening over today. She's in the middle of war preparations, she can't just leave!

If "in the middle of war preparations" means poring over books completely unrelated to any magecraft or anything. The important stuff's around, in a tall circle-shaped pile like her star charts and her material lists in her temporary workshop (that was a bedroom, once, until she decided it wasn't anymore), but a pathology textbook is what has her attention today. It took a while, a lot of mulling over it and convincing herself, to warm up to the idea that it was even okay to discuss unrelated matters, but if they're going to be friends they need to talk about other things. Her books and her family told her so. Science is good common ground.

So she happens to find something especially interesting in this particular book on this particular day so she slips on a pair of house-shoes to head to a room she thinks he might be in—

And doesn't knock, of course. The excitement has nothing to do with that one. She just swings the door open, because what even is privacy, anyway? ]

Berserker—?

[Waver hates his life. Nobody hates Waver's life as much as Waver does. But more than hating his own life, he really hates that he can't get any sleep right now, because his stupid Servant is snoring. And she reeks of alcohol, which makes him feel queasy. And he cannot escape it, because she is an evil woman who has pressed his face against her ample, ridiculous cleavage. He's squirming and trying to yell (it's muffled) and giving it his best but he is suffocating in this smelly, noisy trap.

What Waver hates most about his life is that it's really going to end like this...!]

Mmfghss!

Uncle, Uncle!

[Here Archie comes, not so much running as skipping really. After all, she is a girl, and daddy says girls don't run. But they sure do get excited, and there's no stopping that.]

Uncle, I've got a surprise for you! Do you want to see it?

[Another witness dead. That's the fourth one related to this case, gone. It's starting to drive Rafael crazy. Each one has been murdered more brutally than the last, and the most infuriating part is that they've been in the best protective custody the NYPD has to offer. This last one had a full detail and not a single one of the guards heard a thing. The cameras showed not a single person leaving or entering the room.

But one cannot commit suicide by cutting out one's own organs and displaying them artfully on the dinner table, nor by putting flowers that don't even bloom in America in the cavity of one's own torso. It's infuriating, and makes little sense to him when the case started out as an air-tight incest and sexual abuse case, one he could have easily won had the relatives not started dying. A sister of the perp who wasn't put on his witness list had rambled on at length about how he'd enlisted the services of a witch and they were all going to die, but Rafael had dismissed it as paranoid insanity before moving on. Now Liv's team can't even locate the woman, and the prosecutor is incredibly close to just letting the Feds take his case and be done with it. Let it be their problem, not his.

Of course he has too much sense of responsibility to let it be that simple, but the thought is tempting, and he turns it over in his mind the entire way home. He's so lost in his own thoughts that the first time he hears the giggle, it doesn't even register to him that it's far too late at night for girls to be out on the street. The second time he hears it, it's over the sound of his jingling keys and close, as though the girl in question's mouth were right behind his ear. He spins around so fast that he nearly trips over his briefcase, but the dark street is entirely empty.

Great. Now he's hearing things. Rolling his eyes at himself, Rafael steps inside and slams the door behind him, locking it before he puts the briefcase down, sheds his coat, and immediately goes for the cabinet where he keeps the scotch.

The clock on his microwave says 12:06. If he's lucky, he'll get about five hours of sleep before he needs to roll out of bed and deal with another day of bad news.]

(what'dya say to a yakuza son and mother au?)

[It's the day following the ritual and coronation. Flora isn't wracked with it, even if she does have some guilt, and she wonders if this is just another way that she's changed. No...she knows it is, she just has to hope it doesn't end up for the worse, down the line.

But, she is concerned, which is what brings her to Henry Jekyll's door that afternoon, and she knocks firmly.]

I got us tickets to see Hamilton.

[Good ticket prices: several thousand dollars.

Mark up? Just try to calculate it, Judas.

Did Dorian buy these tickets because he wants to see a musical with Judas, or is the best entertainment watching Judas calculate how much money he spent on the show?]

Edited 2016-05-26 21:44 (UTC)

[ It's consultation room time ]

manifestation of gilles' twisted image of jeanne d'arc as a spirit of vengeance

what're you feelin

i want the trash man

no subject

Sinner of your choice??

gimme the panties

RIIIIIDDDDDDEEEEER!!

I kept promising Archie for your Shake n Bake so here we go

Beatrice, o Beatrice, how fast will a thread with u turn disgusting, Beatrice~~~~ also au i guess

no subject

u know who

HEY JUDE