open rp post!

[ineffabilities]

RULES.
1. Post with the muse you want! Here's my muselist for your convenience. Optional: a scenario, an image or just a prompt, in any form.
2. Threading happens!
3. PROFIT.

Comments

before S2 finale probs also whoops icon

[selfportrait]

[yo sherlock]

[Still haven't gained a proclivity for astronomy, have you? There's a star map on the table. Resting atop it is a freshly brewed pot of tea and an empty cup. Irene's made herself at home in a plush chair, reveling in the feel of his coat. From the look of her hair, it doesn't take a master detective to tell she just came out of the rain. What's strange about it is that the sun is burning hot as can be outside...]

Not quite dinner but it'll have to do, hm?

I'M SORRY FOR HOW RUSTY HE IS

[solvings]

[No. No, he hasn't, as he eyes the star map with distaste. And also some confusion because, really, what in the hell.

But, oh, there's tea, and that's...well, it makes things marginally better. Marginally. He settles into an empty seat and steeples his fingers, taking in every detail.]

And what inspired this little visit, then?

IT'S OK!

[selfportrait]

[She's heard about his run-in with a big black bitch out of town. Or maybe not. She's always been wont to assume that anything particularly deadly was of her own sex. A dog with a tendency toward femme fatale mannerisms maybe...]

Karachi wasn't particularly welcoming. You would know. I just thought I'd drop by before hopping on a plane headed across the pond. No dead bodies aboard as far as I know.

w/e casual texting; take a chance AU lol pb account idek

[prevents]

So you laugh at funerals...

...WELP

[northless]

...Une please tell me you aren't watching the latest ep, I already got that from Uncle Edmure.

[Ten minutes later:]

And I don't.

Je ne regrette rien | guess who

[runarevolution]

[sceptique]

[They've been on the road for about a day or so by now, and it's occurred to Grantaire that the entire time, Enjolras has been driving, drinking coffee and slamming Red Bulls like Grantaire himself slams absinthe. Which means, of course, a sleep-deprived Enjolras, and a sleep-deprived Enjolras = bitchy, cranky, excessively-caffeinated Enjolras.

It's simple math, really, and hey, miraculously enough, Grantaire isn't as drunk as he usually is. Granted, that's because he's trying to make the alcohol in his flask last longer, but he's sober enough to drive for a while, at least for long enough for Enjolras to do two things:

1.) quit bitching;
2.) and get some sleep.

So, to this end, he nudges Enjolras's shoulder.]

I know you find it hard to believe, but even you need sleep. I've slept in the backseat, and I can attest to how comfortable it is.

also w/e let's test that sci-fi AU with "oh i have a bastard btw"

[prevented]

[The girl had been most uncooperative over dinner. By what right did this man lay claim to what had belonged to her father? Lady was not meant to replace His Excellency in her heart. If that came to pass, then what would Mariemaia be? Just a bastard for whom no one held any fondness; His Excellency's daughter out of wedlock to Leia Barton. Lady only cared for Mariemaia now out of love for His Excellency. If she ceased to love him...

The child had asked to be excused before the appetizers had even been laid before her. Once denied, she kicked their "esteemed guest" in the shin from under the table before hopping off in a huff. From behind her, she could hear Lady raising her voice, scolding such disrespect. She paid it no mind, letting the words fall onto deaf ears as she retreated to the manor's library, running as fast as her little legs could carry her. There's no doubt in her head that she'll pay for her little stunt in the morning but it seems worth it for now. One supper ruined. Maybe it will be the catalyst to some spat and dissolve the idiotic engagement. Who knows? Right now, she's content to find a little corner between the shelves, letting herself sink into an old book by some frustrated Frenchman who couldn't draw a boa constrictor to save his life.]

[needsnoheadsman]

[A kick to the shin, while painful, isn't exactly as painful as a half-dozen arrows to various parts of your body, or almost dying in general. Robb knows this from personal experience, and all too well at that.

He excuses himself from the dinner table to follow after the young girl, though it takes him a while longer than he thought it would to even just catch a glimpse of her. He's just going to blame not being overly familiar with Une's manor.

But he does find her soon enough. When he does, he takes a seat beside her.]

We didn't have a library nearly as big as this, when I was younger.

idek random fluff

[prevents]

❝ Chains do not hold a marriage together. It is threads, hundreds of tiny threads, which sew people together through the years. ❞

OH GOOD THANK YOU FLUFF YAAAY

[northless]

[If anyone ever asks Robb who the sweater came from, he'll say it came from his mother. He's never been one for sewing or knitting, after all, and asking his mother for help seemed easier than risking stabbing his fingers with the needle. But the truth is, he'd designed it and much of the day himself, stayed up one night fueled by coffee and bent over his desk, scribbling out his plans.

In fact, he hasn't really been sleeping much, in the lead-up to this day.

So, yes--there is now a sweater and a bouquet of flowers with a sweet note on the kitchen table, and one Robb Stark slumped over the table, sleeping quite peacefully, when she comes home.]

happy au where everything is rainbows go asgard!verse?

[starktomboy]

[The first week Robb had spent with her not living in Heimdall had been met with elation. Arya barely knew how to cook but she'd made a passable dinner, she thought. Jon had taught her some of the things he'd learned on the wall and out in the world in general. It wasn't all just cooking, of course. He'd made her keep her room clean too, when he'd been there. She still needed to work on that, however. Sitting down with Robb for their little makeshift meal, Arya suddenly remembers the last time they'd ever really eaten a meal together with their whole family. The King and Queen had come to Winterfell with their children. It gives her an idea.

Playfully, she scoops up some lumpy potatoes, timing her spoon so he's not looking and aims straight for him when she lets it go and sends the food flying in his direction.]

GO

[needsnoheadsman]

[Robb can't really bring himself to believe that his life has come to this, sometimes. It's almost like a dream, one that he doesn't dare wake up from. Perhaps one day he'll accept this as his reality, though he can't quite do that yet.

Sitting down at a table with his sister, though, that he can do. He's putting away his plate when the food hits him in the back of his head, and oh, really. It's going to take forever to get that out of his hair.

He turns to her, trying to look stern, but he fails to keep the fond amusement from his face.]

What was that for?

Random made up falderall

[dracosanguine]

Her homecoming wasn't quite the affair that she'd thought it would be. Instead of riding victoriously up through the gates at King's Landing and claiming her throne, she had slipped onto the shore during the night, smuggled on land like cargo.

Too many tongues had wagged of the coming of the Mother of Dragons and Daenerys knew that some of those tongues had arms that wielded steel, steel that would pierce her heart and end the line that had gone strong for over three hundred years. She wanted to see what the land was truly like, what those who lived in it truly felt of her return before she attempted to claim a throne that had been usurped before her birth.

Which would be why she was in a tavern along the North road, a cloak and scarf hiding most of her features as she sipped at weak ale that tasted like it had been pissed out by a goat. She'd grown too accustomed to having the finest things, forgetting her poverty and the scraps she'd lived off before.

The bread was dark and as bitter as the beer, hard and tough to chew. She dipped it in the drink to soften it before eating it, hating the taste even though she made herself chew and swallow with a smile on the off chance someone was watching. Someone was always watching, but she was attempting to fit in, not stand out any more than she might already.

is this okay amnesia is just my favorite trope

[needsnoheadsman]

The Young Wolf is dead. That had become an accepted fact all over Westeros in the past year--Robb Stark was dead, and with him died the hope of the North. Exactly how he'd died, though, was a matter of heavy dispute: the Freys claimed that he'd turned into a monster and tried to rip them all apart, the northmen protested and said he was a good, just and fair king who'd been betrayed by his own man, and the common folk had a hundred different tales of how it went, depending on who you were talking to. And the singers didn't help, either, with a thousand different songs on the Red Wedding.

The truth, though? The one that no one knew?

Robb Stark woke up after the Red Wedding, somewhere near a small village near the Trident, bleeding from arrow wounds and knife wounds and gods knew what other wounds he had, his memory as fragmented and shattered as broken glass. He'd hauled himself to the nearest inn, and once he'd recovered enough, set out north.

All right, so going north probably wasn't one of his best ideas. After all, winter was coming (and the words were familiar, achingly so), and northern winters were harsh and long. Still, there was something there, he was sure, something from what little he could remember to be found in the north.

And so it was, that he stepped into a tavern along the North road, looking for a place to eat, drink and sleep. The place seemed a little more crowded than usual, the only empty seat near someone wearing a cloak and scarf. It wasn't exactly ideal, considering that there could've been a dagger under that cloak, but he was tired and hungry enough that it made no matter to him.

So he took a seat, unaware of who he was sitting beside.

WAIT I THOUGHT OF A BETTER ONE

[figmented]

we're reaching critical failure, sir. permission to proceed with panicking?

[ what is she talking about what is failing why is he sir who knows it is a mystery. ]

[snowstormed]

[Shit, fuck.]

where are you [That is to say, permission granted, he's panicking already too. He might be holstering a few weapons just in case.]

also this

[owies]

i broke a window

it was in the way

sorry

[onvavoir]

As long as you don't break any more windows coming in, I guess it's fine. You know you can just knock on the door, though, right?

sup han we're doin an au

[fulcra]

[ she can juggle contacts like it's going out of style, but sometimes there just aren't enough of them to go around. the rebellion can always use more recruits - more soldiers to stand up to the empire, more pilots to break blockades, more civilians to pour their soul into the operation - and for the ones who don't find their own way in, ahsoka's been known to go looking.

once upon a time, in a terrible place, she'd met a wookie. later, when the galaxy was striving to be made of nothing but terrible places, she learned that that same wookie had been instrumental in saving a jedi, the same way he'd helped to save her. and so she'd kept chewbacca in mind, noting whenever he came up in rebel intelligence, but not seeking him out. until now, at least, when he'd greeted her with a hug and told her about his journeys with a human and directed her away from the spaceport and into the cantina.

which brings her to now: looking for the person that seems like han solo and moving to sit herself beside him, uninvited. ]

You wouldn't be Captain Solo, would you?

but i don't WANNA be a rebel M O M

[carbonfrozen]

[Han Solo does not, as a general rule, do jobs for the Rebel Alliance.

They want to take down the Empire? Good for them! Han applauds their determination, really. He just thinks they're most likely doomed, considering all the resources that the Empire has at its disposal, and he doesn't want to get caught up in the fallout should this Rebel Alliance go badly. Fallout does not, generally, mean good things financially.

And he wants to be alive to spend his money, thanks.

Still, money's tight these days, and he'd really rather not get into debt with Jabba the Hutt, of all people to owe money to. He's already considering that move when Chewie pops back in to tell him that he found them a friend, and, joy of joys, one who can pay. (Later he will regret taking Chewie's word at that.) All Han has to do is park his ass in the cantina--which he was already doing, if somewhat more depressively--and wait.

So Han waits, doing his best to look calm and casual. For the most part he succeeds, but the very fact that he picked a seat with the best view of the entrance says something about how anxious he was.

Someone sits next to him. He smiles, charming and roguish. It's the sort of smile that hangs a neon smile on his neck and screams hey, don't trust me, I'm a criminal!]

As a matter of fact, I am. [He turns to her.] You're Chewie's friend? [Casual talk, feeling out the potential client and giving nothing away. She might give him his next big score.]

for usingthelaw.

[theyrehorns]

[ continued from here. ]

You're going to be disappointed, because I meant that I might have some idea of how scarred for your life you are.

If it helps, I can send you a gift basket.

[usingthelaw]

Your sarcasm is out of control for someone who just displayed their goodies for all to see.

you know who

[exteroception]

[Matt kisses her cheek as he comes in before sitting down and kicking his feet up against the desk. He's also brought a bag from her favourite takeaway with absolutely no prompting required which he carefully places in front of her.]

How was your day? Did we pick up any new cases?

blows off dust

[mcduffie]

[Her favorite takeout! It's nice having someone who knows what her favorite takeaway is around for a partner, although Kirsten does absently swat somewhat at Matt's feet, to get them further away from the files.]

My day was just fine. Kinda boring, aside from a few tabloid reporters [ugh] and Mr. Miller calling again about his case. [She reaches into the box for some rolls, bites down.] Oh, and Stilt-Man wants to hire us. [She might be grinning delightedly to herself, but her heart rate remains steady.]