Sherlock was in a particularly melancholy mood. He was sulking, brooding unceasingly, and folded up like origami in his chair beside the fireplace. Nothing seemed to assuage his apparent somberness, and as such the lanky man in his current frame of mind had somehow managed to run off both his flatmate and landlady all at once.
Good riddance, he thought to himself petulantly. Before that train of thought could continue, however, a rough clodding up the stairs that led specifically to his flat could be heard rather distinctly. It was an unfamiliar set of footsteps, and judging by their tentative approach, it was likely a person unaccustomed to their environs. They moved with hesitance, perhaps even uncertainty. He really could not deduce much until the awaited entry occurred.
When the rapping at his door finally transpired, Sherlock unfolded himself and leapt from his seat, clambering to get to the door. Once there, he eagerly threw it open and took a moment to digest the individual standing there before him. This had to have been a case, all things considered. People dressed as such would not show up otherwise.
The consulting detective stepped aside, his housecoat askew from his previous bouts of mulling around in self-pity. "Come in," he finally said, gesturing specifically to a chair between two other rather mismatched chairs. "Take a seat and do not -- I repeat -- do not spare me any detail."
Good riddance, he thought to himself petulantly. Before that train of thought could continue, however, a rough clodding up the stairs that led specifically to his flat could be heard rather distinctly. It was an unfamiliar set of footsteps, and judging by their tentative approach, it was likely a person unaccustomed to their environs. They moved with hesitance, perhaps even uncertainty. He really could not deduce much until the awaited entry occurred.
When the rapping at his door finally transpired, Sherlock unfolded himself and leapt from his seat, clambering to get to the door. Once there, he eagerly threw it open and took a moment to digest the individual standing there before him. This had to have been a case, all things considered. People dressed as such would not show up otherwise.
The consulting detective stepped aside, his housecoat askew from his previous bouts of mulling around in self-pity. "Come in," he finally said, gesturing specifically to a chair between two other rather mismatched chairs. "Take a seat and do not -- I repeat -- do not spare me any detail."
Fortunately the artist didn't have her brush against the canvas when the knock came; as such, this time around she was spared a ruined painting.
Unfortunately, she was in the middle of washing out dirty brushes and paint-water cups, and the sound of the knock made her turn to look over her shoulder. That, in turn, led to her elbow knocking against one of the glasses still filled with murky paint-water, which promptly turned on its side and spilled all over her russet sweater.
"Oh--" Maisi let out a frustrated huff, snatching a small towel from the counter to try and mop the water from her sweater as she headed to the door.
"Good afternoon," she started, a little distracted before looking up to see who exactly she was talking to. "Oh! Wait--Mr. Holmes?"
Well, this was on add turn of events. But, she recalled the consulting detective being quite civil to her in the past and even recently offering her a peck on the cheek--so, despite her soiled sweater, she stood aside to welcome him in with a smile.
"Please, come in! What are you doing here, if you don't mind me asking? And... Uh, how did you you know I live here...?"
Unfortunately, she was in the middle of washing out dirty brushes and paint-water cups, and the sound of the knock made her turn to look over her shoulder. That, in turn, led to her elbow knocking against one of the glasses still filled with murky paint-water, which promptly turned on its side and spilled all over her russet sweater.
"Oh--" Maisi let out a frustrated huff, snatching a small towel from the counter to try and mop the water from her sweater as she headed to the door.
"Good afternoon," she started, a little distracted before looking up to see who exactly she was talking to. "Oh! Wait--Mr. Holmes?"
Well, this was on add turn of events. But, she recalled the consulting detective being quite civil to her in the past and even recently offering her a peck on the cheek--so, despite her soiled sweater, she stood aside to welcome him in with a smile.
"Please, come in! What are you doing here, if you don't mind me asking? And... Uh, how did you you know I live here...?"
The halls of Moriarity's residence rang with the fortissimo of a Steinway grand piano facilitating the purging of negative emotions from its tormented virtuoso. Nimble fingers glided over ivory keys effortlessly, while the sounds of Johann Sebastian Bach's Partita No.2 in C Minor resonated against the walls of his massive London estate. The even timbre delicately traversed through open doors, up carpeted stairs, beyond gilded windows, and echoed brazenly amidst the manicured gardens that surrounded Jim's home.
It was a wonder that the knock at his rather grandiose door was even heard at all, and yet it's gentle, almost hesitant rhythm seemed to somehow mingle with the mathematical keystrokes of the pianist. He was expecting this day to come for some time now, and yet Moriarity continued to participate in his private concert until he was greeted by a rather nervous member of his staff.
The music abruptly ceased submerging the homestead once more into a stillness that left the inhabitants with a sense of unease. James Moriarty never stopped playing in the middle of a piece -- not unless he was interrupted somehow and everyone there knew; that was a punishable offense. However, there was something sparkling in the criminal's eye, an impish smile snaking its way across his face. His mood seemed, if anything, improved as he made his way toward the door.
Once there, he drew it open slowly, revealing one of two people he had expected to see on the other side. "Maisi," he gushed upon seeing her. "What a pleasant surprise."
"Do come in, darling," he invited with a sweeping gesture. "What brings you to my neck of the woods? I know it was bound to be quite a long trip for you."
Opportunity knocks, as it were, and perhaps this was Maisi's chance at said opportunity.
It was a wonder that the knock at his rather grandiose door was even heard at all, and yet it's gentle, almost hesitant rhythm seemed to somehow mingle with the mathematical keystrokes of the pianist. He was expecting this day to come for some time now, and yet Moriarity continued to participate in his private concert until he was greeted by a rather nervous member of his staff.
The music abruptly ceased submerging the homestead once more into a stillness that left the inhabitants with a sense of unease. James Moriarty never stopped playing in the middle of a piece -- not unless he was interrupted somehow and everyone there knew; that was a punishable offense. However, there was something sparkling in the criminal's eye, an impish smile snaking its way across his face. His mood seemed, if anything, improved as he made his way toward the door.
Once there, he drew it open slowly, revealing one of two people he had expected to see on the other side. "Maisi," he gushed upon seeing her. "What a pleasant surprise."
"Do come in, darling," he invited with a sweeping gesture. "What brings you to my neck of the woods? I know it was bound to be quite a long trip for you."
Opportunity knocks, as it were, and perhaps this was Maisi's chance at said opportunity.
“Oh….I see.” She yawns. “Mein Freund, I think you have the wrong door.”
When dusk descended upon the Twilight, so did the creatures that inhabited it.
A particular Noah Harrison wasn't particularly fond of being eaten alive. What he was fond of, however, were movies. Alien; Predator; Terminator; The Thing; all the monstrous classics and more. The only thing that made what would normally be an excellent (albeit lonely) night better was Sophie curled up against him, her little arms wrapped around his waist. Life was good.
Then, the doorbell rang. Harrison ignored it.
It rang again.
Cursing under his breath, the old mage rose to his feet, sparing a quiet apology to the half-awake teenager before shuffling over to the door. With visible annoyance, he swung it open, revealing an incredibly well-dressed man. Harrison was likely about to say something abjectly rude when he caught a glimmer of animalistic eyes shining in the night. Did his vision betray him, or was something stirring behind this most unwelcome visitor?
There was no time to waste. Without a word, he pulled the classy criminal into his house.
A particular Noah Harrison wasn't particularly fond of being eaten alive. What he was fond of, however, were movies. Alien; Predator; Terminator; The Thing; all the monstrous classics and more. The only thing that made what would normally be an excellent (albeit lonely) night better was Sophie curled up against him, her little arms wrapped around his waist. Life was good.
Then, the doorbell rang. Harrison ignored it.
It rang again.
Cursing under his breath, the old mage rose to his feet, sparing a quiet apology to the half-awake teenager before shuffling over to the door. With visible annoyance, he swung it open, revealing an incredibly well-dressed man. Harrison was likely about to say something abjectly rude when he caught a glimmer of animalistic eyes shining in the night. Did his vision betray him, or was something stirring behind this most unwelcome visitor?
There was no time to waste. Without a word, he pulled the classy criminal into his house.
Feldwebel Abigail Ackermann wrote:
“Oh….I see.” She yawns. “Mein Freund, I think you have the wrong door.”
Scimitar-like forearms lashed out from the hole that the woman had so foolishly walked into, dragging her into the darkness. Wrong door, indeed.
Brynjar opens the door, st the sight of seeing the creature, he nonchalantly becomes the werebear he is, picks up his axe and cleaves the monster in two, as it should be.
They took measure of the werebear with a quick look up and down then tutted, an eyebrow raised in disapproval. "Wrong door, darling. There's nothing here that your simple mind can follow. Turn around and return from whence you came; you can understand that much, yes?"
He saw the warlock from earlier. "Get off my lawn you fat ***** if you don't understand that, you might as well be a rabbit sitting on my fire, don't insult others unless you want it back on ya."
The Hunter knew that now was the time, and the opportunity wasn't going to get any better than this. Dean drew up his capture gun and took all the precautions necessary, assessing it accordingly. The anesthetics were carefully attuned to something much, much larger than the common zoologist had to deal with courtesy of his brother Sam and his crafty sleight of hand.
He nodded toward the door initiating their plan into action while assuming the proper stance, gun poised, locked, and loaded. His brother stepped forward, careful to remain out of range, and laid a wary hand over the brass knob. Once the two made one final eye contact to confirm their positions, Sam quickly yanked the door open to unveil their target.
"What did the hunter say when he had to relay an unhappy message?" Dean smirked. This impromptu repartee earned him an unfavorable look from his younger brother.
With that, the elder Winchester fired his rounds of tranquilizers with expert precision and then lowered the gun, still prudently aware that they might not do a damn thing to the creature. Even so, Dean's shenanigans persisted and he provided the finale to his gibe unwarranted. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news!"
He could distinctly hear his brother muttering beside him -- something about not being able to stand him. "Better sit down then, Sammy. I'm gonna be here all night."
[ Please. Please forgive these two. Hah hah hah.... ]
He nodded toward the door initiating their plan into action while assuming the proper stance, gun poised, locked, and loaded. His brother stepped forward, careful to remain out of range, and laid a wary hand over the brass knob. Once the two made one final eye contact to confirm their positions, Sam quickly yanked the door open to unveil their target.
"What did the hunter say when he had to relay an unhappy message?" Dean smirked. This impromptu repartee earned him an unfavorable look from his younger brother.
With that, the elder Winchester fired his rounds of tranquilizers with expert precision and then lowered the gun, still prudently aware that they might not do a damn thing to the creature. Even so, Dean's shenanigans persisted and he provided the finale to his gibe unwarranted. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news!"
He could distinctly hear his brother muttering beside him -- something about not being able to stand him. "Better sit down then, Sammy. I'm gonna be here all night."
[ Please. Please forgive these two. Hah hah hah.... ]
*simply shrugs them off, then knocks both the brothers out* I've ran enough, leave me be.
It happened in the dead-middle of the night, but that was no surprise. Down here, it was always night.
What was a surprise, however, was the honking beefcake standing right outside of Lynx's door. How a rogue shifter had managed to get past all of the guards was a complete mystery. Worse yet, the kingpin himself was caught by surprise in his bathrobe, while behind him a tall, bearish woman loomed with her arms crossed.
Three little heads popped out from behind the corner of the door. Cubs.
"Da-da!" one of them whined. "Food?"
Lynx arched an eyebrow and exchanged a look with his wife for confirmation. Seeing no real reason not to, she nodded.
Something sinister was brewing.
What was a surprise, however, was the honking beefcake standing right outside of Lynx's door. How a rogue shifter had managed to get past all of the guards was a complete mystery. Worse yet, the kingpin himself was caught by surprise in his bathrobe, while behind him a tall, bearish woman loomed with her arms crossed.
Three little heads popped out from behind the corner of the door. Cubs.
"Da-da!" one of them whined. "Food?"
Lynx arched an eyebrow and exchanged a look with his wife for confirmation. Seeing no real reason not to, she nodded.
Something sinister was brewing.
It wasn't like Rosaline to answer the door in the dead of night, and especially not to a face already deemed dangerous. It was mutual respect, and a sense of dread at what might happen if she didn't answer the door was what moved her hands, and she opened the door, but just slightly.
"Yes?" If the Bloodletter had bothered her in the middle of something important, she made sure to dampen the tone enough to not be even detected. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Yes?" If the Bloodletter had bothered her in the middle of something important, she made sure to dampen the tone enough to not be even detected. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Brynjar had just finished eating his lion meat breakfast when the assassin came to his door, he gave her a rose and told her he was done doing killing for the night.
((Seriously tired of having to come back to defend myself against people who just keep trying to kill Brynjar, someone just please turn this forum back to politeness and tea parties, please))
((Seriously tired of having to come back to defend myself against people who just keep trying to kill Brynjar, someone just please turn this forum back to politeness and tea parties, please))
The door to Harrison's front porch cracked open, letting a small stream of light flood into what was usually otherwise a dim and lonely hermit's foyer. A wary grey eye peeked out from behind the sliver of space and scanned around before landing on what was, in his opinion, far too much man-beast. By god, the monsters were only getting bigger.
Nope. Not today. The door locked with a soft click.
((You don't have to defend anything. It's a game. Not everyone is going to be met with a positive response on their doorstep. No one here has killed Brynjar. In fact, he cleaved another character in half. After that, he was simply insulted once, tranquilized once, and invited to an ambiguous dinner. I'm sorry I even had to voice this, but for fairness sake, I'll leave a reply here so we can keep the game going. Please do not respond to me, and let someone else have their turn. Thank you.))
Nope. Not today. The door locked with a soft click.
((You don't have to defend anything. It's a game. Not everyone is going to be met with a positive response on their doorstep. No one here has killed Brynjar. In fact, he cleaved another character in half. After that, he was simply insulted once, tranquilized once, and invited to an ambiguous dinner. I'm sorry I even had to voice this, but for fairness sake, I'll leave a reply here so we can keep the game going. Please do not respond to me, and let someone else have their turn. Thank you.))
Kys opened the door with their ears flickering, focusing on the acoustics of the air around that indicated the location and general shape of what was standing in their doorway. "Greetings," they said, bowing their head slightly. "What brings you to my abode? If you have come for training or spiritual enlightenment, then it appears you have a long way to go. I am of course up for a challenge, but I do warn you that for someone with your posture and breathing patterns, it will not be a quick process."
Kys brought a hand up to their face and rubbed their fingers through their fur thoughtfully. Since when did people visit them in the first place? Perhaps their assumption was incorrect. Which meant the most likely scenario was... "Unless you are looking for my friend Xá... in which case I regret to inform you that he is not present at the moment."
Kys brought a hand up to their face and rubbed their fingers through their fur thoughtfully. Since when did people visit them in the first place? Perhaps their assumption was incorrect. Which meant the most likely scenario was... "Unless you are looking for my friend Xá... in which case I regret to inform you that he is not present at the moment."
The dwarven monk yawned sleepily and opened her eye, noticing a strange figure standing by the end of her sleeping bag.
“Wellp..” She tensed up and reached for her three section staff, staring the creature down. Who would be the first to make a move?
“Wellp..” She tensed up and reached for her three section staff, staring the creature down. Who would be the first to make a move?
The Withered man opened the door to his rundown grain mill, dust seeping down from the rafters, floorboards creaking.
In a gruff voice he said "Salutations, ma'am, what may I do for you?"
In a gruff voice he said "Salutations, ma'am, what may I do for you?"
Harrison squints in disbelief. Wary grey eyes flicker to the dead man's holster before landing back on their skull-like face.
The door slams.
The door slams.
“Sir, I think you may be lost….I just live here with my two sisters and half-sister.” Though, being polite, she kindly gave the man on her doorstep directions to where he was going, and shut her door after sending him off.
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