Within the flat of 221B, a sallow-faced man paced in a frenzied, sleepless way back and forth between a collective clutter that would have otherwise barricaded his path.
Cardboard boxes containing archives of information, references, cold cases, and whatnots littered the floor, the once empty armchairs of his and his associate, and that of any available tabletop. There wasn't so much as a gleam of space for any trivial necessities like tea or the plate of food left untouched from the night before tittering precariously on the backside of a closed laptop.
Sherlock Holmes bore all the resemblance of a man on the brink. Whether that brink was of madness or discovery, the difference was indecipherable, for his fevered expression and brightly intense gaze were the only signs to gauge his growing anxieties.
And yet, there it finally was! The knock at the door was deliberate yet casual, as if the individual on the other side was in no particular hurry with no real important place to be.
Sherlock silently begrudged the other for his nonchalance, but they were there nonetheless and as swiftly as his house shoes could carry him, the consulting detective bounded over the files and snippets of several years worth of commissions in order to make his way down the narrow set of stairs.
"I've got it!" he called out to the approaching landlady in an effort to deter her.
He flung open the door looking much like the disheveled mess he unfortunately was. When he noted the man on the other side, his countenance fell flat, and Sherlock assumed that languid impassiveness that was characteristic of him.
"You're late," he spoke sharply, but it was far from disapproving. "Come in, come in."
At long last, he could finally gain reprieve from this everlasting calmness the world now suffered from. His aid was here and likely with the means to assist in his efforts to escape the encompassing respite of peace that seemed to suffocate Sherlock Holmes.
Cardboard boxes containing archives of information, references, cold cases, and whatnots littered the floor, the once empty armchairs of his and his associate, and that of any available tabletop. There wasn't so much as a gleam of space for any trivial necessities like tea or the plate of food left untouched from the night before tittering precariously on the backside of a closed laptop.
Sherlock Holmes bore all the resemblance of a man on the brink. Whether that brink was of madness or discovery, the difference was indecipherable, for his fevered expression and brightly intense gaze were the only signs to gauge his growing anxieties.
And yet, there it finally was! The knock at the door was deliberate yet casual, as if the individual on the other side was in no particular hurry with no real important place to be.
Sherlock silently begrudged the other for his nonchalance, but they were there nonetheless and as swiftly as his house shoes could carry him, the consulting detective bounded over the files and snippets of several years worth of commissions in order to make his way down the narrow set of stairs.
"I've got it!" he called out to the approaching landlady in an effort to deter her.
He flung open the door looking much like the disheveled mess he unfortunately was. When he noted the man on the other side, his countenance fell flat, and Sherlock assumed that languid impassiveness that was characteristic of him.
"You're late," he spoke sharply, but it was far from disapproving. "Come in, come in."
At long last, he could finally gain reprieve from this everlasting calmness the world now suffered from. His aid was here and likely with the means to assist in his efforts to escape the encompassing respite of peace that seemed to suffocate Sherlock Holmes.
Riik peered around the edge of the door hatch from what appeared to be an impossible position. At first one might guess that the gravity had been flipped in this particular room of the secret facility, but the real reason was far simpler. Riik was simply clinging to the wall like a spider or lizard.
It would take a genius to get this far into the facility without tripping any of the alarms. Which instantly made Riik quite wary. Why someone would take the effort to visit their chamber, however, was something else entirely. This room, decorated like a chunk of forest with various artificial branches, leaf piles and a floor of real grass turf, was impressive only from an aesthetic point of view. It was otherwise unremarkable.
Riik grabbed the doorframe and hauled themselves free of the wall, landing on their feet in the threshold and gazing up at the mysterious man. The low lighting of the room behind them only served to increase the visibility of the various patches of bioluminescent fur on their body. The tip of their tail was perhaps the most notable example. "Um... if you're looking for who built this place, you're in the wrong room," they explained quietly. "I just live here."
It would take a genius to get this far into the facility without tripping any of the alarms. Which instantly made Riik quite wary. Why someone would take the effort to visit their chamber, however, was something else entirely. This room, decorated like a chunk of forest with various artificial branches, leaf piles and a floor of real grass turf, was impressive only from an aesthetic point of view. It was otherwise unremarkable.
Riik grabbed the doorframe and hauled themselves free of the wall, landing on their feet in the threshold and gazing up at the mysterious man. The low lighting of the room behind them only served to increase the visibility of the various patches of bioluminescent fur on their body. The tip of their tail was perhaps the most notable example. "Um... if you're looking for who built this place, you're in the wrong room," they explained quietly. "I just live here."
"I'm coming", she ran to her door and opened it. Robin had a small porch with a small red welcome mat outside her door and the overhang of a roof brought shade for whoever stood on a porch. Robin looked at the petit four-armed creature with a look of curiosity then proceed to speak, "If you are looking for hunting services, you will have to leave a message on the village board or leave a voicemail on my answering machine." She then tilted her head, "Did one of my neighbors lead you here? You must be exhausted, come in. I am right now preparing dinner and have a guest room prepared if you want to stay overnight."
The door to his hotel room creaked open, the chain lock rattling some as it held it in place. Sam peeked warily between the crack at his visitor and gave a look of confusion when he noted the ears and tail.
What monster-of-the-week was this? She looked hardly formidable with her large, doe eyes shimmering like a pair of emeralds and the sweet, diffusing smile she sported. Whatever it was, she appeared almost entirely innocent looking, but one could never be too careful.
However, with Dean being out currently, Sam thought it best not to resort to his methods of shooting first and asking questions later. Sam unlatched the chain and brought the door entirely open revealing his towering form in the sickly, low lighting that casted shadows in all the wrong ways.
"What are you doing here?" he inquired softly as not to draw too much attention to the scene. Her clothing was dated, and her appearance was childlike. It would have been a mess if the wrong type of people spotted her.
"Look, you better get back to where ever you came from before this turns into a bloodbath. Go on," he ushered gently, his voice at the very least consoling. He didn't want any harm to come to her. He was hardly as discriminatory as his older brother.
What monster-of-the-week was this? She looked hardly formidable with her large, doe eyes shimmering like a pair of emeralds and the sweet, diffusing smile she sported. Whatever it was, she appeared almost entirely innocent looking, but one could never be too careful.
However, with Dean being out currently, Sam thought it best not to resort to his methods of shooting first and asking questions later. Sam unlatched the chain and brought the door entirely open revealing his towering form in the sickly, low lighting that casted shadows in all the wrong ways.
"What are you doing here?" he inquired softly as not to draw too much attention to the scene. Her clothing was dated, and her appearance was childlike. It would have been a mess if the wrong type of people spotted her.
"Look, you better get back to where ever you came from before this turns into a bloodbath. Go on," he ushered gently, his voice at the very least consoling. He didn't want any harm to come to her. He was hardly as discriminatory as his older brother.
Kane opens the door and takes one look at the legendary Hunter, "You're late." He says an annoyed gruff in his voice as he steps outside, locks the door and gestures at his car, "Lets go kill that monster together. I'll follow you in your brothers car."
She quickly looked at Kane through her window and opened slightly, hiding behind it. “I know you are a monster hunter and they aren’t welcome here in Chiamos”, she said to him, “Your profession might get you killed here.” She paused for a second then spoke, “There is a shed nearby around here. You can stay there until night then go and far away.”
He rolled his eyes and opened the door "babe you know you live here too, right? You don't have to just stand there on the porch..." He kissed her on her lips before bringing her inside. "How was your day?"
A single eyebrow raised in curiosity; ruby red eyes took measure of the stranger's countenance, and Zubair crossed his arms in clear disapproval.
"It's not in anyone's place to make assumptions, but I daresay you will have no reason to enter my abode, much less remain standing at its entrance." No invitation for tea, none of that sort. "There is naught for you, here. The market's a half-hour walk west."
"It's not in anyone's place to make assumptions, but I daresay you will have no reason to enter my abode, much less remain standing at its entrance." No invitation for tea, none of that sort. "There is naught for you, here. The market's a half-hour walk west."
Sherlock threw open the door geared up for a confrontation. His features were clearly distraught, face twisted in a grimace of sheer agitation.
"If you are not a client then --" he cut himself short now that he was able to bear witness to the man that stood before him.
Sure, there was the obviousness that permitted the consulting detective his basic inferences of the individual, but it was the gaze that Sherlock became keenly aware of.
"You," he declared exuberantly. "My God, get in here. Finally, someone with an ounce of intelligence. Please tell me you have work?"
"If you are not a client then --" he cut himself short now that he was able to bear witness to the man that stood before him.
Sure, there was the obviousness that permitted the consulting detective his basic inferences of the individual, but it was the gaze that Sherlock became keenly aware of.
"You," he declared exuberantly. "My God, get in here. Finally, someone with an ounce of intelligence. Please tell me you have work?"
He glanced down at the detective from the Fate's Circle temple door and narrowed his eyes. "What do you need? How did you find this place? Speak quickly...."
He opened the door with haste and looked up at the tall man who stood before him. Judging on his attire, he noted that is probably best to be cautious around his guest. "Go along", he said,"If you are looking for bounty hunting services, you got the wrong place." He then sighed,"The sign was from the previous people and it can't be taken off."
Maggie had just gotten into bed and managed to sleep for several minutes before the knock on the door woke her. With a grumble she tossed off her blanket and stomped to the door. She yanked it open, revealing her messy hair and sleep attire. "What do you want?!" It was easy to see, and smell, that she had been drinking that night. She took one look at the man before making an assumption. "I don't have anything left and, no, you cannot crash here."
Ah, to be woken up from his precious and desperately-needed rest by an unexpected knock on the door. Was there anything that got Sol's temper running hotter?
Yes, actually.
When the person standing on his doorstep was A) far too young to be doing so and B) smelt faintly of alcohol.
One disparaging look over the stranger was all it took for him to intone a very definitive and extremely peevish, "no," and, without waiting for a reply, slam the door shut again.
Great. Now he'd be awake until sunrise. Again.
Next time, he'd pull no punches.
Yes, actually.
When the person standing on his doorstep was A) far too young to be doing so and B) smelt faintly of alcohol.
One disparaging look over the stranger was all it took for him to intone a very definitive and extremely peevish, "no," and, without waiting for a reply, slam the door shut again.
Great. Now he'd be awake until sunrise. Again.
Next time, he'd pull no punches.
As the Flock usually masqueraded their offices as other establishments, it wouldn't be out of place to see a stranger walking into the foyer. The challenge was in determining whether visitors were there for a dayman's services, or for more... official business. When that happens, it's his duty to step up to assist. At least, that was his job scope in this branch, this way up the High Perch.
Located right on top of a multi-tiered library frequented by all walks of life, it was hard not to miss people as they walked by, but only few dared approach Zubairad's office on the third floor. He closed his book shut, and had a good look at whoever it is that interrupted his reading.
It was a man of formality, of refinery, yet the air he wore was brittle and sharp; the same way shards of glass could be gathered into a bottle and tied with a ribbon. So long as it all stayed inside, Zubairad could be safe from cuts upon the skin.
Could.
"Good afternoon. Pleasant weather we're having, today. I do so love the winter chill." He calmly said, gesturing over to the chair. "Masala chai for you?"
Located right on top of a multi-tiered library frequented by all walks of life, it was hard not to miss people as they walked by, but only few dared approach Zubairad's office on the third floor. He closed his book shut, and had a good look at whoever it is that interrupted his reading.
It was a man of formality, of refinery, yet the air he wore was brittle and sharp; the same way shards of glass could be gathered into a bottle and tied with a ribbon. So long as it all stayed inside, Zubairad could be safe from cuts upon the skin.
Could.
"Good afternoon. Pleasant weather we're having, today. I do so love the winter chill." He calmly said, gesturing over to the chair. "Masala chai for you?"
His door opened and the face plate on his War Machine Mark 4 suit opened. He smiled "a friend!" he stood to the side "come in in!"
the door creaked open, maxi standing at the door confused "do you.. wanna come in?" they stepped out of the way to allow him in
Bon would just kinda look at him "I got donuts, help yourself to whatever-"
Veliai went to the palace gate and he ordered guards to open it. He had his usual gleeful smile and once the gate was opened, he motioned for Bonney to follow him inside. A guard spoke "his majesty Prince Veliai wants you to go inside"
A'sraha mumbled under her breath, eyes weighted with sleep and the exhaustion of a 30-hour shift killing monsters in a desolate crypt. The knocking at the door was not terrible by any means, but it was enough for her sensitive, tufted ears to perk up to. Swearing left and right in Thavnairian, still dressed in last night's work clothes, drenched in her own blood and demonic ichor, the woman dragged herself to the door.
"Lysander Marx Alasdair Casimir Erastus Garon soddin' Nohr, if ye ferger yer darn keys again, yer spendin' th' nigh' out in th' darn wilds ye lov' so bleedin' much. Ye 'ear me?! Maybe that'll teach ye a thin' or two"-- She hollered from inside the bunker, before swinging the door open to see someone who was definitely not the tall, towering blonde knight-errant. "...Okay. You're decidedly not my buddy Lysander. I'm. Sorry about that."
"Wow! You're... all the way out here, in Quarrymill! Right smack-dab in the middle of the Twelveswood. That's gotta count for strength of arm, my good sir, but even the strongest of warriors need to sit down and have a cuppa. How's that sound?" A'sraha smiled, the sailor's tongue completely gone from her lips. In lieu of absolutely no response, which she interpreted as stoicism in the face of seeing someone do a complete face turn, she tried to bargain. "H-hey, y-you know what? For my unwarranted outburst, come inside and have something to drink. We've got toast to spare travelers."
"Lysander Marx Alasdair Casimir Erastus Garon soddin' Nohr, if ye ferger yer darn keys again, yer spendin' th' nigh' out in th' darn wilds ye lov' so bleedin' much. Ye 'ear me?! Maybe that'll teach ye a thin' or two"-- She hollered from inside the bunker, before swinging the door open to see someone who was definitely not the tall, towering blonde knight-errant. "...Okay. You're decidedly not my buddy Lysander. I'm. Sorry about that."
"Wow! You're... all the way out here, in Quarrymill! Right smack-dab in the middle of the Twelveswood. That's gotta count for strength of arm, my good sir, but even the strongest of warriors need to sit down and have a cuppa. How's that sound?" A'sraha smiled, the sailor's tongue completely gone from her lips. In lieu of absolutely no response, which she interpreted as stoicism in the face of seeing someone do a complete face turn, she tried to bargain. "H-hey, y-you know what? For my unwarranted outburst, come inside and have something to drink. We've got toast to spare travelers."
He would open his door and tilt his head "uhh hi......is there something wrong? You should probably come in. Go sit in the living room and I'll go get you my phone. Please try to stay quiet. My son is asleep."
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