![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
TEST DRIVE MEME
TEST DRIVE MEME
Considering apping to EACHDRAIDH? Why not give the setting a test run here! OPTIONAL SCENARIOS 01. ARRIVING IN THE DRABWURLD. The Seelie and Unseelie courts welcome you with mirthful revelry and hearty food. After you have been briefed on your purpose here, you will find an endless feast and a night filled with entertainment to placate your concerns. Mingle with new arrivals, sneak down the castle halls and make sure your eyes are always on your glass; fairies and imps have no bias when it comes to tricks! 02. THE STATION. Looking for a little slice of home? The Station gives you all that and more. Take advantage of the wifi, have a cup of fairy-brewed coffee (the one they didn't spit in) or sit back and relax on the patio. You can even move your things into one of the available rooms! 03. WILDCARD. Your own scenario! Explore the Drabwurld or simply take advantage of your Locket! |
jesse pinkman | breaking bad
[ Seelie. Unseelie. To be perfectly goddamn honest, he hasn't really been allowing any of it to sink in. All of his listening? Half-assed, at best. It's not that he isn't concerned — it's that he knows better than to let himself submerge fully into what sounds (and, seems, and feels) like a night or more of extended partying. Paranoid delusions aren't new, but ones this vivid...
It's got to be guilt bleeding into his subconscious, mixing with some chemicals, fucking him up. Right? Right?
So far, he's ignored just about anyone he's passed, human-looking or otherwise, not ready to completely trust their tangibility. Worse yet: not ready to trust that their tangibility isn't directly harmful to him. Soon enough, he's found the station — the nicest looking one he's seen yet, not that he's seen many, mind. This isn't exactly some worldly traveler, by the looks of him. His stride inside is somehow both pinched and loose, long steps and bent in shoulders, hands buried in the pockets of a coat that looks as if it's trying to devour him.
His incredulity is prickly, fizzing soda. He's antsy about something as simple as sitting, and one might catch him lightly rocking on his heels in a mental plight of stand or sit, stand or sit, stand or sit. Three chairs are passed up, and when he's nearly at a fourth, he sweeps back, and unceremoniously plunks on the edge of that third chair, knee bouncing almost instantly. One of his elbows finds the corner of the table, and after giving the cup of coffee placed there an almost dramatic rise of one his brows, he digs in his pocket to pull out a small, sleek black and red cellphone.
For the twentieth, or thirtieth, or one hundredth time since he's arrived, after everything he's heard, he's making another futile attempt to dial out. ]
Come on. Come on, [ mumbles against knuckles curled against his mouth. ]
(note: haha! Wow, really, really late at doing this, but I'd still like to try, yeah!)
no subject
so, then, he'd watched. quickly — immediately — it'd been clear that everyone who'd been brought here was in the same boat, figuratively speaking, even if their methods of arrival had differed. there had, he'd gathered, been those who'd followed a creature of lore with willingness, and there'd been those who'd been dragged against their will. it spoke of a conscious choosing of individuals, an unwillingness to compromise, of being observed. more than anything else — that any of it exists, for example — that's the part that bothers sherlock the most. that he'd been watched and he hadn't noticed.
he hadn't stayed at the feast for long; it appeared to be of little use and, he'd reasoned, it'd be easier to get answers, conclusions, a basis of facts about all who'd been gathered to fight (fight!) in a quieter, more intimate venue. he'd also wanted time to think, but that was neither here nor there.
he's watched various individuals come and go from the station. some had known each other (curious in and of itself, and he'd wondered about joan, before pointedly, deliberately attempting to shove that consideration to one side. she could take care of herself, whether she was here or not, and there was absolutely no use in worrying—
which he wasn't.) lips pursed, he's no qualms (in spite of an intense dislike of small talk) in approaching strangers, alone or otherwise, it was simply a matter of who. who was better to observe for the moment, and who was better to converse. jesse catches his eye when he enters — not for his appearance, for that's entirely uninteresting, but for the mannerisms. the lack of surety, the indecisiveness and the nervousness. sherlock doubts the nervousness is linked entirely to their situation, but—
it's only when he withdraws the phone that sherlock makes the decision to approach. (evidently he's decided to disbelieve the facts in front of him, preferring instead to cling to the absurd notion that this is — what? a dream?) ]
I assume [ the words are enunciated carefully, with pointed questioning and a hint of condescension, and he seats himself opposite jesse before continuing. ] you've turned on international roaming? I doubt your network has made a point of extending coverage to the Drabwurld. [ a tight wave of his fingers at their surroundings accompanies the remark. there's nothing, not the slightest sign. the court had been entirely devoid of anything one would consider technological in the human sense, and sherlock, from recollections of stories read as a child, from myths perused as a teenager, is certain that there was a truth in what he'd so believed as fiction for the longest time. (the weakness of fey.) nevertheless, he doesn't give jesse time to answer, not really, before: ] The station is an anomaly, intended, perhaps, for the likes of us. [ not that jesse will be able to get through to anyone; sherlock has already tried, the effort as entirely futile as he'd expected it to be. ]
( i apologise for any kinks etc, i am super new to playing sherlock! but huff jesse. )
no subject
in that short period, his gaze has traveled — darted — away from him and back again. that edge of paranoia to him surely won't go missed. half of him is trying to distinguish the real from the not-real, and the other is making a desperate attempt to pick out who looks familiar (if anyone). at least the station, over all, doesn't look entirely like something out of a bad dream, inspired by a combination of stupid movies and memories he's unable to shed himself of.
when he does sit, jesse swallows visibly, and by now, he has his full attention, though the nervous air to him only seems to intensify. it disperses into obvious, impatient annoyance, even before the question is entirely asked. don't think he hasn't picked up on that hinting tone. he gives the wall opposite an agitated, harsh stare, and thumbs the side of his phone after closing it. ]
Uh, yeah. Thanks. [ mobile pinched between the knuckle of his first digit and thumb, he holds it up to gesture with it. this dry response is coated with doubt, and for a bit, he nearly doesn't say anything more. drabwurld. he's glued himself to it, staring at the edge of the table before him, eyes widening steadily in spite of himself. sherlock receives another pointed gaze, but jesse still doesn't look positive of anything. of himself, or the stranger in front of him.
finally, he does angle himself to face him now, leaning toward the table. ] Yo. Um. You said, 'Drabwurld.' Where is that, exactly? I mean, like, what continent?
[ he'll eventually come back to the likes of us. ]
(not at all! it was lovely, i've been beaming over working out a response for you. i'm embarrassed to say, i'm super, super new with jesse, too! gah. so, please, if you can, excuse the clunk and clumsy of it. eee! i'm excited to thread with you, hehe.)
no subject
[ it's a convoluted way of admitting that he doesn't know. as far as his understanding of linguistics go, it's a nonsense word with no discernible etymology that would (or does, even) lend itself as to locale. the topology has served to help little, particularly when one keeps in mind — considers — that the individuals brought here are from (claim to be) from entirely different locations themselves. given jesse's question, however: ] You're not much of a traveller, are you? I assume you've stayed in the southwest for most of your life. I, on the other hand, have travelled, but for what it's worth, I was in New York. You weren't. One could assume from that piece of information that we're within the United States, but that would be wrong.
[ or: the popular name for magic, if he recalls correctly (he does), in relation to fairies, is glamour. assuming the folklore has any basis in fact, they're capable of disguising themselves, other people, objects and, he'd guess, entire places from the vision of ordinary (ha) mortals. in theory, this realm could be anywhere. that said, the folklore is, he believes, to be primarily western european in origin. if the realm does have any real-world comparison, he'd lean towards germany, or to the british isles. the lay of the land, he believes, does support that (and the linguistics — perhaps. he'd need to hear and read more.) as for the folklore— if he were in new york, besides a trip to a library or two, he'd consult an expert. he's never seen much need to delve into all of it in an overly in-depth manner. the crux of it, then: they could be anywhere. ]
Honestly, it's all very fascinating and I'm at a bit of a loss as to the hows, the whys and the wheres, and I don't, therefore, have much interest in discussing a hypothesis at present. There's [ a larger, more broad hand gesture this time, as if he's pushing something away. ] still far too much that I don't know [ "and understand" ] that makes questions, at this point, absolutely worthless. What I will say is that the bare bones of it is true. Your resolute — but entirely understandable, I assure you. There's a reason they say ignorance is bliss, and that's because familiarity is a comfort — desire to believe that none of this is happening is not going to get you anywhere. The sooner you accept that we are here, that your coffee was served by fairies, the happier you'll be.
[ sherlock leans forward after this statement (series of statements), the palms of his hands resting downturned on the table. his studying of jesse, this time, is wholly undisguised. ] What was it? Either you believe you're dreaming, or you believe this is all a bad trip. You're far too physically unsure about this entire situation to really believe this is a dream, so it's the latter. I can't imagine anything you've taken mixing too well with fairydust, so I'd recommend taking a bit of care with what you consume in the meantime.
[ a glance downwards and across at the coffee. ] They're not entirely shy about slipping something, or spitting, as it happens, into mugs.
[ he leans back again, his own posture becoming a little more relaxed. getting that all out was quite cathartic, it would seem (or: you may speak now, jesse. if you tried to interrupt, sherlock would have had none of it.) ]