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Private Forget Me Not

Discussion in 'Pandopolis' started by Sebastian Moran, Sep 20, 2018.

  1. Sebastian Moran

    Sebastian Moran Sherlock Holmes

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    September 4th, Year 108
    Elusion Night Club
    @Irene Adler



    He had not been prepared for Pandora.
    At all.
    It was a thought that was once again sinking in on him as he took a sip of Whisky - 4th glass? - and leaned back in his chair.
    Shooting tigers, fighting wars, taking out people for a mad criminal genius - fine. Unusual for the average citizen, certainly, but nothing beyond the imaginable.
    Much unlike this damned place.

    Sebastian had died when the world had ended.
    He had died clutching his 9 year old daughter who wasn't really his daughter at all, and not even normally 9 years old, to his chest while crashing off a cliff in an ice cream truck alongside a woman who's once shot him in the leg and then told him to fuck her on the hood of that same bloody ice cream truck.
    He had died.
    But as if that wasn't quite enough, he had awoken in a place he didn't know, in a flat he hadn't had, filled with family pictures of him surrounded by people he didn't know. Suddenly he was father of two kids, one of whom had stopped appearing on the photographs at some point and was thus very likely dead.
    Suddenly, he was known for acts he never had participated in, nor seen happen.

    The world was going mad - more so than usual, for good this time - and travelling through portals was no longer the weirdest shite around.
    It took a lot to shake Sebastian's calm demeanor, to get on his nerves, to drive him to a point at which he'd stumble into panic. And currently he was feeling it.
    For a few days there had only been resignation and ignorance, but this morning he's woken up with an unfamiliar dread of existence, and he's had a hard time shaking it since.

    The Whisky was helping.
    And Basher hoped he'd never see the day when Whisky wouldn't be helping.
    This place was a tad too high-end for his taste, a bit too luxurious. Filled with rich, obnoxious people in attires that did nothing in hiding their shapes. It was like London, like his father's mansion decades ago, when little Sebastian had begrudgingly tugged at his bowtie and attempted to make time pass faster by imagining various creative ways of killing off all his father's wealthy politician friends.

    Now he didn't need to imagine such scenarios anymore.

    Waving the bartender closer, he ordered another glass, downing the remains of his current one.
    There was money in his pocket that he still had the intention to gamble away sometime this night, but the seat he's occupied was presenting itself as much too comfortable to abandon quite yet.
    Sebastian adjusted the rolled up sleeves of his black shirt, dim light dancing across the scars upon his hands and forearms. He didn't look like he belonged here.
    Even in a button-down shirt and a suit jacket draped over his lap, he couldn't line up with the obnoxiously wealthy and luxurious - though perhaps it wasn't as much that he couldn't, as that he simply had not the slightest desire to even attempt it.

    The glass of Whisky was placed down in front of him, and the marksman nodded his gratitude wordlessly.
    Before his fingers wrapped around the glass, he caught sight of a vaguely familiar shape in its reflection. Like a scene in a bad novel - and even Basher himself couldn't ignore just how pretentious it was - the light fell just right, for just one brief moment, to reflect the blurry silhouette of a dark-haired woman upon the side of his glass.

    With a thoughtful frown, the marksman turned the glass between his fingers in an attempt to call the reflection back once more, but it was no use - the moment was gone.
    Mostly, he was willing to settle on the possibility that he had merely imagined it. After all, he was a few glasses in already, and today wasn't his proudest day either as far as mental state was concerned.
    But curiosity drove him to straighten up in his seat and take a look across his shoulder regardless.

    His eyes fell upon a familiar figure - dark-haired, graceful, every step of heels an unspoken threat wrapped in temptation. She was as beautiful as he remembered her being, and likely just as fucking nasty.
    Before he had a chance to make up his mind on whether he wanted to be clever and walk the hell out of here this instant, or whether he was willing to take a risk, screw everything, and approach her regardless, if only because she was somebody familiar (to him, anyway; there was no way knowing if she'd recognize him at all), she looked towards him. Probably by mere chance. And mere chance was always particularly skilled at fucking everything up.

    Their eyes met.

    "Balls."
    Sebastian mumbled to himself, with feeling.

     
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  2. Irene Adler

    Irene Adler BBC Sherlock

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    [​IMG]




    Irene was now convinced that Pandora was the afterlife. And, not Heaven or Purgatory, but probably Hell. Perhaps they'd even been here a thousand years already. Dying obviously did not mean what she had previously thought because she had been dead. She had been so afraid of death but now, this Hell had changed and shifted. It was still Pandora, sort of and maybe, but it was grossly different. At least James was still here. She pushed her thoughts away from James knowing he had experienced what he had been trying to avoid for so long.

    At this point, the club was just a distraction. She received little joy from running it like she used to. Walking through like she did every night before she decided to allow things to run themselves, she caught sight of something of someone...

    "Oh my god." She breathed, her blue eyes widening in shock. She approached the man quickly, conflicting thoughts and so many questions rushing around in her head, "Sebastian..." She hadn't seen him since he had confronted The Governor after their meeting.

    She looked him over as if she expected to find the scars the tiger had left upon his skin. It became clear in a moment that he did not share these memories but he clearly recognized her, "It's good to see you." She said, more guarded now. After all, he might no longer be her friend and she kept her cards close to her chest. She gave him a small smile, which was not exactly warm but it was friendly.

    "What brings you to the Grand Elusion?"


     
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  3. Sebastian Moran

    Sebastian Moran Sherlock Holmes

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    He thought he's seen her form the words Oh my God, but it was hard to tell with the dim lights, and even harder to judge whether it was shock, relief, or frustration that reflected in her eyes.
    A part of Basher wondered whether he'd manage to escape out the door before she could reach him, but mainly he just couldn't be bothered.
    What did it bloody matter at this point, really? He had survived the apocalypse. Or at least he's come back to life afterwards. Or something.
    How much worse could Adler be?

    Sebastian...
    There was something in her voice that spoke of ... sentiment, almost. She recognized him, at least. Whether that was good or bad was yet to be seen. But whatever that tone of voice was - Basher couldn't put any sense to it. He couldn't remember any happenstance in the past that would have sparked such a reaction, and his confused frown probably revealed that.

    When she spoke again, her words were more guarded, and the marksman would have considered the possibility that he's merely imagined her near-whisper of his name, but he didn't want to question his senses quite yet.
    For a moment, he just looked at her, seeking any give away for this woman being not at all the one he's briefly known. Not the one who's managed to make a fool of him and Moriarty several months back - or, well... over a century back now, if the Pandoran calendar was anything to go by.
    But nothing seemed to give her away.
    Nothing but this odd look in her eyes that Basher had a hard time judging.

    Christ, he needed another drink.

    What brings you to the Grand Elusion?
    "Holiday."
    Was his brief answer. And he left it at that for long enough to down the remains of his Whisky, before adding:
    "Celebrating the end of the world, belated, if you will."
    One might think a celebrating man should have found more joyful words to explain the reason for celebration.

    "I didn't know you were here. -...are here."
    The end of this world had made many aspects rather confusing. Had Adler even seen the world ending? Had she appeared here sometime during the century that's apparently passed in a single bloody day?
    There were too many questions without clear answers, and mainly that just tired him at the moment.

     
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  4. Irene Adler

    Irene Adler BBC Sherlock

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    [​IMG]




    Irene cocked an eyebrow when he gave her his one word answer but before she could speak, he extrapolated.

    "Celebrating the end of the world, belated, if you will."

    "Or the beginning." She said smoothly, "Or this is the afterlife screwing with our heads." She theorized, before ordering a drink of her own form the bartender who made it up quickly and set it on the bar. Irene took a long smooth drink, trying to think of exactly how much to tell Sebastian and what to say.

    "I didn't know you were here. -...are here."

    "I've been here for over a year...well, over a hundred and one years." She scoffed at how ridiculous it was, "You were here before as well." She told him finally, deciding that the truth was best. She watched for his reaction before moving on, "You worked with Moriarty then. He isn't the same either. People come and go and come back again with new memories." She told him, deciding to throw caution to the wind. Perhaps Sebastian could be useful in tempering Moriarty like he had before. The mad man had already been fairly harmless back then, unlike now.

    "How long before the Calamity had you been in Pandora?" She asked, "Can I buy you a drink?" She added with a knowing and coy smile. Talking about Pandora always made her want to drink, especially after the Calamity. She remembered dying and then suddenly the effect was reversed and she was whole again. Sebastian was here dealing with similar events, she guessed.


     
    #4 Irene Adler, Sep 28, 2018
    Last edited: Sep 28, 2018
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  5. Sebastian Moran

    Sebastian Moran Sherlock Holmes

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    That she was a clever woman, he's known always - that was part of the reason why staying away from her was always the better choice. He's learned the hard way, he would know.
    Though he's kept her photograph regardless. In fact, it was in his notecase still. It wasn't like there were any other worthwhile photographs for him to keep, and at least Adler was beautiful to look at.


    Or the beginning. Or this is the afterlife screwing with our heads.
    He gave a light but thoughtful shrug. At this point her theories were as likely as anyone else's, and if this was afterlife indeed, Sebastian only regretted how rather unadventurous his death had been.
    He's always imagined something more dramatic than crashing off a cliff in an ice cream truck - if it wouldn't be a tiger that'd tear him to pieces in the bitter end, he had mused, then it would have to be a poisoned blade of Moriarty's, or something equally sneaky. Perhaps some grand plan that'd go on for weeks, with the inevitable goal of Basher's disposal.
    Or, at the very least, he should have died from a bullet. That would have been fair.

    Well, it was over now. And if he was dead, he couldn't change anything about it anymore. If he wasn't dead, then he was probably in a bloody coma. Or - no, drugged, perhaps?
    But even he couldn't come up with something as crazy as this.
    So maybe it was all real after all.
    Screw it. Would it even make a difference, as long as he was stuck here?

    Miss Adler joined him for a drink, and somehow Basher thought so far she wasn't that bad a company - now he definitely had something more interesting to look at than the bottles lined up behind the bar.
    But clearly he wasn't meant to enjoy himself today.
    You were here before as well
    With a frown, he raised his glance from Adler's ass his empty glass, wondering what exactly she was speaking of, but finding his wondering answered soon after.

    She was talking about Pandora. A previous Pandora. In some way.
    At least a previous time in Pandora - something he could't remember, and that was certainly not old age talking (yet).
    Again Basher considered the possibility that everything that was happening was just some drugged illusion of his. Maybe he's been abducted and tortured - wouldn't be a first. Maybe Moriarty had fucked with his morning tea.
    Whatever the case, there wasn't much he could say, really.

    "Were you and me, by any chance, a thing - last time?"
    It was a joke, really. He couldn't imagine himself being stupid enough to go for that - at least he hoped he wouldn't have been stupid enough to go for that, but who the hell could tell for sure.
    The hint of amusement in his eyes hopefully gave away that he wasn't being entirely serious. Perhaps it was curiosity about Adler's initial reaction towards him, or maybe it was just easier to cope that way with the information handed to him.

    He's been here before. Done fuck knows what. And he couldn't remember a single bloody thing.
    This sure must be a version of hell, then. Maybe he should join in on Adler's afterlife-theory and spread the word.
    As long as he could still shoot those who'd (by this theory) be already dead, he'd be fine.

    How long before the Calamity had you been in Pandora?
    Adler's question brought him back to reality, - or whatever this place was (this was really becoming annoying) - and Basher reached for his drink just to remember that he's already emptied it.
    It seemed like a good time to get wasted.
    "Uh.... three weeks, give or take. Shortest time I ever took to die."
    The humor was dry - real dry tonight. And he couldn't even get himself to care about his missing wit.

    When Adler offered to buy him a drink, he gestured towards the seat next to him which had been abandoned a short while ago, inviting her to join him.
    Because why the bloody hell not, right?
    There was a god-awfully stunning woman buying him a drink, what kind of daft bastard would he be to decline?

    "How's your death been? Any fun?"
    If his company wouldn't get up immediately and leave just because he was kind of initiating a conversation about her very own death, then this would already make it to his second best night in this fucked up place yet.

     
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  6. Irene Adler

    Irene Adler BBC Sherlock

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    Race:
    Human
    Age:
    33
    Alignment:
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    Directory:
    link
    [​IMG]



    Irene gave him a small smile, remembering his long and thoughtful pauses from before. At least that hadn't changed, she thought fondly. His question shouldn't have come as a surprise but her blue eyes flashed for a moment with unexpectedness.

    "Were you and me, by any chance, a thing - last time?"

    Her expression quickly changed from surprise to serene amusement and she gave him a coy smile, "Taking out all the mystery, I see." She commented, catching on that he was half serious but might also be covering up a real curiosity with a joke. She decided to give him a little lure anyway, "We faced death together and came out of it alive. In fact, you quite bravely saved my life." She left out that she had turned around immediately afterwards and saved his life as well, for now anyway, "Faced a crazed tiger to deliver me, quite literally, from the jaws of death." Alright, so that was a bit over the top, but he had turned into a tiger after Sebastian decided to face him.

    She joined them and they were promptly served another fresh drink each. She was the owner after all and enjoy some perks. Crossing her legs after sitting, she sipped the drink out of the crystal glass as he started what was actually small talk in Pandora right now.

    "How's your death been? Any fun?"

    Not everyone had died, but Irene wasn't about to point that out since she had, "During the Calamity? Insanely one hundred years ago?" She scoffed, "Just dazzling. I was impaled by debris, at least I was in a gown and stylish. No one wants to die in rags." She joked darkly.

    "Are you in contact with Moriarty at all?" She had to know. The man was not the same Moriarty they knew and therefore, Sebastian's association with him was far more dangerous now, especially since he had forgotten all camaraderie they once shared.


     
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  7. Sebastian Moran

    Sebastian Moran Sherlock Holmes

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    Facing a crazed tiger, saving a good looking lady, escaping death..... while there had been doubt about the whole been here before matter until a moment ago, there was certainly less of it now.
    That sounded like good ol' Basher, tiger included, but whether that was reassuring or not was a question he wasn't quite willing to find an answer to yet.

    He didn't miss the fact that Adler had refused to answer his question exactly, but he didn't push it any further.
    Instead he grinned about the vague summary of what sounded like an exceptionally fun experience, and decided to be content with the information provided - if she wasn't lying (which she really well might have been - which woman didn't, really?), and he really had saved her life, then she owed him, too. An interesting and useful little fact which he gladly saved to memory.

    Soon another drink was placed in front of him, the color of the Whiskey becoming undefinable beneath the lights of this place, but Sebastian simply chose to believe that she would not be poisoning him tonight. Not quite yet, at least. Hopefully.

    I was impaled by debris, at least I was in a gown and stylish.

    Sounded about right.
    The words lured a chuckle from the marksman regardless - and really, what was there left at this point to do if not laugh about their own deaths which had apparently taken place an entire fucking century ago?
    If he didn't laugh about it, he'd probably lose his fucking mind over it instead.
    And while mad sounded dangerous, dashing, admiring and daring when holding the tattered flag in the midst of battle, surrounded by bloodied corpses with bullet holes in them that oneself had put there; mad sounded less impressive written on a medical file issued by a shrink in some high-security asylum one was forced to rot in because some poor neighbor had found one running half-bared through the streets yelling about having died a century ago when the world's ended.

    Maybe humor was really the better option here.

    "I would've been disappointed had you found tragic death in anything other than a luxurious gown."
    Disappointed, surely. But he probably wouldn't have believed it, either.
    He had a suspicion that Adler never wore anything other than luxurious gowns of various kinds - probably even when she was bloody sleeping.

    The thought was torn from him when Adler asked about the Professor - unexpectedly so, though Basher really should have been expecting this to come up at one point or another.
    Downing half his glass, he commented, clearly having drawn the wrong conclusion:
    "By all means, I don't think he'll do you any favours anymore. If you're looking for somebody to do your dirty work for you, I'd recommend looking someplace else."

    Which, of course, had not answered her question.
    Inconveniently so.
    Because Basher's words were no more than an assumption. He hadn't spoken to the Prof in quite a while, and the last time he had spoken to him, the conversation's suffered ephemerality due to... well, the actual bloody apocalypse taking place.
    The fact that he wasn't actually certain whether he wanted to get into contact with the consulting criminal again, was an entirely different matter altogether.

     
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  8. Irene Adler

    Irene Adler BBC Sherlock

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    [​IMG]



    "I would've been disappointed had you found tragic death in anything other than a luxurious gown."

    Irene scoffed a laugh at this, which was probably his intention, "It would either be a gown or a negligee." She said, her voice suddenly taking on a lower octave, "If I was wearing anything at all." She added before taking a drink. She was so used to using her sexuality to disarm or win people over that she fell into the rhythm easily. She wished she didn't have to do it to Sebastian, but they no longer knew one another. They had to start all over again.

    When she asked about Moriarty, she got an unexpected response.

    "By all means, I don't think he'll do you any favours anymore. If you're looking for somebody to do your dirty work for you, I'd recommend looking someplace else."

    Irene narrowed her eyes. This Sebastian did not have the immediate fondness the one she used to know had for her. He was suspicious and guarded. That made things more difficult, "Moriarty has never done my dirty work, perhaps you're thinking of an Irene from another dimension. He used me to defeat Sherlock and then tried to dispose of me when it didn't go to plan." She offered, trying to gain a bit of his trust.

    "No, the man has been quite the nuisance to me." She said, trying to downplay the terror he was causing her, "And I'd wondered if you might parlay between us so that we might come to an understanding. I don't wish to get in his way, but I simply want to continue my business in peace, even if it means cutting him in." She sipped again, "So, no dirty work. You'd be compensated as well." She said, lifting one eyebrow and looking directly at him with soft blue eyes.


     
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