multiversallogs | Noli equi dentes inspicere donati.

Entry tags:

Noli equi dentes inspicere donati.

Who: EVERYONE.
What: Swap meet.
Where: The Apache and surrounding environs.
When: Sukkardi the 14th of Haneden
Notes:
Swap Meet Spreadsheet: Pre-chosen swaps are green. Assigned are blue. There were a few characters that were selected more than once, so objects were assigned on a first-come first-serve basis. If you have any issues or concerns, please do not hesitate to contact the mod team.
For objects that might not be immediately apparent as belonging to their owners, there may be a picture or name attached, or players are welcome to have their characters ~just know~ it's for them. Drr drr drr, bb.
Party post nights are a great time to come join the chatroom.
The topic threads are just suggestions; if you've got somewhere else that your characters simply must be, make your own thread.
Warnings: None yet. Please put warnings up on individual threads.

The Apache is much the same as it always is: dimly lit, with the jukebox playing in the background, and the bartender serving whatever's on tap.

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Well now, this is interesting. Dark gaze sweeps along the man, head to toe and back again, in the way that people sometimes do when judging the fitness of a potential mate. She lets a beat pass, "Certainly," before she leans forward so he can retrieve the garment.

She's amused by him in some way, and it's evident more in a faint change in the tension at the corner of her eyes. It's not quite a proper crinkling, but it's like there's a secret smile there just for him. Like they're sharing some sort of private joke.

"Kalinda." Delivered smoothly, without the context that I'm or My name's would provide as prefix.

He nods, a tiny dip of his head in gratitude, as he sets down his brandy snifter and pulls the dressing gown off the back of her chair. "Sherlock Holmes," he offers in return, hoisting the garment and beginning his inspection. He doesn't try to shake hands or make small talk; he gathers a woman who doesn't initiate such gestures wouldn't want her time wasted on the attempt (and he approves).

He finds what he's looking for--one of the pockets has slightly less lining than the other; Mrs. Hudson scavenged the thin strip of silk to mend a chemical burn down at the hem, the mending also visible once he turns the dressing gown over. He smiles, there and gone, as he dons the robe, leaving it open over his suit.

"I have," he announces, in that deep voice of his, "been rather bereft without this. Thank you for bringing it." He seems like he's about to say more, but he jams his hands into the pockets and stops, bringing out the item his left hand has closed around. The small blue rubber ball.

...Ah. That. His good cheer falters nearly imperceptibly, gaze dropping and the corners of his mouth turning down for half a second before he summons the mask again. He looks down at her, favoring her with another smile (it's warm enough, but slightly odd around the edges, like maybe he's a man who doesn't use them all the time). "I am most grateful for its return, Kalinda."

Interesting and refreshing, it turns out. "It seems like such a small thing," Kalinda opines, and not unkindly, "but I suppose sometimes it's the small things that make transitions like these bearable." That he's part of her cohort means he hasn't been here long, leaving her feeling safe in the assumption that he is still transitioning.

The slip in his mask isn't lost on her, but it isn't commented upon either. It's merely filed away in her mind for later reference. Evidence of something that will be clearer when given further context. "You're welcome," comes almost belatedly, but not as if it was nearly forgotten entirely. More that its placement was a calculated one.

"Join me." It's almost more demand than it is request or an offer, the seat to her left pointed to casually by right hand. Look, see? There's a chair. It's unoccupied. It could be yours. That she didn't leave his robe draped over it in the first place, rather than the back of her own, speaks to how she didn't want to seem she was expecting company.

You can't make a catch without a hook, however. "You're not used to smiling."

He's about to decline, never one for being social, hanging about with no purpose (if he's not working in some fashion, there's no purpose), but her observation stops him. He glances down at her, eyebrows raised. That's interesting. Most people don't notice, and of those few who do, most are too polite--or, at least, too worried about outward appearance or the judgment of others--to give voice to it.

"I'm not a smiling sort of fellow," he says, lightly, sweeping into the offered chair. He makes note of the way she favors the right side of her body; she's right-handed but it's more than that. An injury, most likely. "Neither my work nor my disposition lend themselves to much of it. You're</> very observant. Occupational hazard, I'd imagine."

As predicted. It's nice to be right, and Kalinda generally is, but there's something about Sherlock Holmes that doesn't quite put him in the realm of unpredictability (everyone is knowable), and it means she has to give it some thought. It's a challenge that hasn't actually been issued as a challenge that she's already enjoying.

"I am," she admits with the barest hint of amusement. "And it is." Her eyes don't narrow, but there's something suddenly openly calculating about the look she gives him now. "Amazing how easily placated some people can be by a smile." Now that could be the joke shared between them. "You're not a cop. In-house?" Her head tilts slightly and quickly, almost birdlike, "No, wait. Private."

"Indeed. And how often people rely on it in the attempt to placate others."

He leans in a bit, elbows on the table, hands together near his face. His fingers move, tapping against their opposite-hand matches in sequence, almost a rolling motion. He studies her, blue eyes sharp with frank appraisal.

"Neither, actually. I'm a consulting detective. The only one." He drops his hands, fingertips now drumming on the table top. "You're not police, either, you're too sharp for that." She's dressed too well for public sector or private detecting. She'd also never get away with not being noticed, so private work is right out, no surveilling cheating spouses. In-house, but a very professional environment. Insurance? No--legal. Private firm, big city?

"I imagine your firm must do well, steady cases, good cases, to have a full-time investigator on staff."

The only one. At least makes it logical that she wouldn't come up with that for his profession. Watches him think appreciatively, and open about it. And when he hits the nail on the head, she nods, impressed without being overly indulgent about it. "You're very good," is just a statement of fact. "They do all right. Not well enough to pay me what I deserve, but a sizeable enough portion of that amount that I stay." She could be talking about her firm in Chicago, or the one she works for here. And certainly loyalty could have nothing to do with a willingness to take less pay, could it?

"I trust you've found no shortage of opportunities here."

He nods, confirmation--she can see it for herself, that he's good, there's no need to thank her or beleaguer the point. The loyalty is interesting; she must have someone who inspires a lot of faith to have such loyalty. He supposes he can understand the idea, since John Watson.

(He can understand the idea, he just frequently doesn't.)

"I imagine I will. I haven't gotten a proper start yet--need to find a permanent base of operations, get myself set up. But that will come any day now and once I being I'm sure there will be no shortage of work. Have you found it so?"

"It was a slow start," Kalinda admits with a shrug of her right shoulder. "But it always is when you have to build a reputation and make your name mean something to people who don't even know you." She assumes it was like that for him once, especially being the only one in his line of work. "Finding someone to work for helps immensely. I take it you worked cases for the police." Those who comment on the dullness of them usually do. "I wouldn't recommend seeking employment with the Militia here."

"I did," he admits. "They're not always the best sort but I did have one detective who, while lacking in the imagination and insight to tackle the most intricate cases himself, was, at least, possessed of enough good sense to know when he was beyond his depth. He brought me interesting work; I balanced the rest with cases brought by private citizens."

He leans forward immediately at her mention of the Militia, elbows on the table, fingers touching one another. "I gather they're not the most friendly or trustworthy bunch, from the general attitude about them and some of the network broadcasts I've studied. I'd like to hear your appraisal."

There's a certain thrill that always accompanies someone leaning forward because they're interested in what she has to say. This is a little different than usual, but that doesn't mean Kalinda won't relish it.

"They're not." The most friendly or trustworthy bunch. "They do some good, though. They just also happen to do a lot of bad, too. This is a police state, and you know what they say about absolute power..."

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Noli equi dentes inspicere donati.

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