→ sweet dreams are made of this.

[thedominatrix]

Who: Irene Adler and YOU YES YOU
What: Uh- work, shopping, drinking, seeing the sights, picking up chicks, going to dinner, anything you like.
Where: The Vault, various boutiques, restaurants, gay clubs, out on the street, anywhere at all. If you can think of somewhere to be, Irene is quite possibly there.
When: Here all week, baby.
Notes: Just pick where you're setting it and say when/where they are in the header. It needn't be somewhere mentioned here! If you think they could run into each other elsewhere, then go ahead- and if you think it ought to be an arranged meeting rather than a chance one, then that's probably fine too.
Warnings: Sex, drinking, kink, the Vault...and Irene.

Irene's life has changed since coming to Baedal.

Technically, superficially, her life has improved, which she doubts happens to many people once are magically transported against their will to a place where you oughtn't to look too closely at, say, shadows, because there's almost always something that's going to lurk there- but since when was back home safe, exactly?

Here, at least, she can work properly. She likes the Vault, even if she's used to being her own boss. It's enormous and extravagant, dirty and debauched and full of people she likes, whether they're her coworkers or her clients- it feels like a home away from home.

Her job, of course, doesn't stop and start with brandishing a whip. No, she'd get bored too easily that way. It's fun, but it's only what happens on the surface. What she does is single out people who interest her, who can give her something- whether that's money or influence or just fun. She knows how to spot public figures afraid of being noticed, tugging at their suits and sweating- she knows which people don't want her and which want her so much they have to pretend that she's the last thing on their minds. She knows whose CiD she wants to look through while they're distracted (panting, eyes closed, unconscious, sobbing, drugged, drunk- whatever, as long as they trust her and she trusts herself). She enjoys her time at the Vault, and watches a number of acts between working, but never forgets that she's there to do her job.

When she's free in the evenings she can go out, a strange feeling for someone who is so used to being on the run. There is, of course, Mycroft Holmes to contend with, but she really can't imagine him sampling the nightlife. She's careful not to become a regular anywhere just in case, though more often than not she's found in gay clubs. She doesn't often go home alone; in the mornings, she's polite and kind but ensures that the women in her bed aren't in her bed for too long, and doesn't make use of any CiD numbers they might leave.

And then there's money, fashion, food, exploration, a whole new world. Irene loves to travel, and it's not really travelling when you're running. Baedal changes daily and she's barely seen half of the city, or that's what it feels like. She dines out often, alone or with some of the connections (friends?) she's made, and she thanks her stars that her job pays well, because she has a whole new wardrobe to build up.

Irene Adler, therefore, is living again. And if she sometimes finds herself alone, with no distractions, and feels claustrophobic, knowing that she is in the middle of the city and there is no world outside of it, knowing that she can't hop on a plane with a faked passport and be someone else somewhere else, knowing that she is trapped-

-then that is a very minor detail.

Comments

lost society; shundi morning (barely)

[rhinemaid]

Sukkardi night, Ilde goes out alone and ends up that way around Shundi morning-- she hasn't been alone all night, not usually, but by the time she's winding down at Lost Society, the company she's been keeping at varying hours (and in various places; she spent a little while in the Vault earlier, but she hadn't gone to Gutters, not without Ivan) has drifted and she's contemplating whether she wants to find someone new or just call a cab back to Mafaton. Closer than Raven's Gate means cheaper than Raven's Gate, and Ilde's expense of choice is, as ever, her wardrobe.

It's getting close to 5AM, which means closing in a little more than an hour, so she orders something light in the mostly-empty restaurant and considers her options.

[thedominatrix]

Sometimes, Irene comes from sessions exhausted, with barely the energy to shower before she drops into bed, aching and wonderfully empty. At other times, her work leaves her with a kind of humming energy running through her, pounding in her chest- a feeling of being on top of the world, wild with power. In those situations, going home to bed would be a crying shame and a dreadful waste. So, tonight, she leaves work and goes out to have fun.

By the time that ends, it's 5 AM and she's post-drunk, which isn't the same as being in-between drunk and sober exactly; it's hazier, a bit otherworldly, especially when dawn's breaking and she's found herself in the Lost Society restaurant, with one of those particular post-drunk 5AM cravings for something you'd never normally think of. She's clicking through the room to an empty table, her heels echoing, when she catches sight of Ilde. She recognises her- and right now, she'd rather not eat alone. She thinks about uncomfortable things when she's alone.

"Evening," she says, bending at the waist slightly to put her forearms on the back of the empty chair opposite Ilde. The smirk on her face has a strangely conspiratorial edge to it; she finds people like feeling as if they're in on some big joke with her. "Well. Morning." Smoothly, remembering they hadn't exchanged either names or faces, she adds, "We spoke, I think, on the network- about earrings and the Vault, amongst other things."

[rhinemaid]

Curious; it's like a light coming on when Irene gets to how she recognized her. It's not that she'd looked unfriendly a moment ago, just that she'd been oddly blank, doll-like, like she hadn't quite caught up with the moment to react to it-- then she has a solid reference point to go from and that moment passes like shuttered lamplight, a key turning somewhere and the right reaction plugged in.

(Sometimes it's more obvious than others how much of Ilde's public affect is-- just that, the charming persona for public consumption that Ivan had described.)

"I remember," she says, smiling, resting her hands together without putting her elbows on th table because somebody took the time to make sure those etiquette and comportment lessons stuck and they tend to linger, even in her posture sitting in a restaurant at five in the morning after a very, very long night out. "I don't think I got your name-- I'm Ilde. Ilde Decima. Do you want to--?" Join her?

[seeyaduke]

Ana Lewis was fond of shopping. She'd always been fond of it really, ever since she was a kid. Clothing shopping was one of the few times when she felt that she'd had her mother's attention. Oh, normally she didn't mind (Ana was such a Daddy's girl) but it was nice to have that time to herself. The shopping piece of being the Baroness De Cobray had been the easiest bit of character for Ana to get into, and it had carried with her over to Baedal.

She'd picked up an older gentleman to pick up the bill for her, and because of that had found herself at one of the more expensive stores. Oh, this wasn't quite what she was used to, but it was still better than what she'd come with from the Barge. Shifting her wrap a bit, Ana studied the fabric on display with an appraising eye.

[thedominatrix]

Irene is a little way off, holding up two different black velvet coats and then handing one to a sales assistant (well, alright, half-shoving it at her) to try on the other. She smooths it down and walks to a mirror closer to wear Ana is, twisting to get a decent look at it and then glancing over her shoulder to the other woman with a wry smirk on her lips.

"You look like you've got taste- is it a bit goth, do you think?"

She's not terribly worried as to whether it is or not- truth be told, she likes it- but she likes conversation, too.

[seeyaduke]

Ana did her best to always pay attention to the people around her, and she had noticed the woman from the corner of her eye. Inclining her head as she came closer with a smirk, the Baroness matched it quickly watching the woman as she tried it on.

"I don't think it's too goth," Ana announced quickly, and she reached over to adjust the collar. Her gloved fingers didn't quite touch the fabric before she ventured, "may I?"

the vault; veerdi night

[whattigerscanchange]

She'd heard about this place, the Vault. It seems to take a strength of will(ful ignorance) to avoid hearing about it. And it's taken some resolve on the part of the young blonde woman to venture out on her own to experience the club for herself.

It's a curiosity, but she's careful not to look as though she thinks of it as such. And the last thing she wants is to look like a wide-eyed teenager amazed they got into their first nightclub on their cousin's ID. She's at least dressed for the surroundings (she thinks), and comfortable with her choice of yellow chiffon, with waist cincher and bustier in black. But it's the four inch heels on the patent leather knee-high boots that make the ensemble, if you ask her.

It's being here by herself that's the worst of it, she thinks. No wingman, as they say. Not that she needs one. There's hardly any situation she can't instantly remove herself from if she needs to. And she's hoping not to need to tonight, not when she's exploring a side of herself she hasn't often elected to in the past. A clear drink fizzes away in the glass in her hand, heedless of her anxiety, as she takes in the sights.

Where does one even begin?

[thedominatrix]

There are certain questions one should ask oneself when considering a workplace. In Irene's opinion, the most important is this: can I wear a lace catsuit as professional attire?

If the answer is yes, it's a good place to work, and that is precisely what she's wearing to the Vault tonight. The suit is high-necked and long-sleeved, reaching to just above her ankle bones, and essentially covers quite a lot- except that's all entirely irrelevant, because it's completely sheer and the rest of her outfit can be summed up as follows: stilettos, thong, and diamond earrings.

She is getting rather a lot of appreciative looks as she sways through the room, riding crop in hand because it pays to advertise exactly what she is here for and because it's what she brought from home. She likes it; it gives her balance. On her travels across the club, she leans in to whisper in a man's ear and receives a look of hunger mixed with something unnerved and not-quite-daring; she just laughs, touches his cheek, and tells him to find her if he ever feels ready.

She carries on, drawing closer, eyes flitting over the crowd in a predatory way.

Odessa is alone, which makes her unusual, and perhaps a little vulnerable, and Irene likes vulnerable people. She also likes those boots. She's quickly become an expert at sorting out just who is likely to be into the sort of thing she offers, and spiky patent leather boots tend to be a good omen. She doesn't, however, move in with purely her work in mind- her clients are usually male, after all. Then again, if you don't try, you won't succeed.

"Having fun?" she purrs, suddenly in Odessa's personal space, brushing the handle of the crop briefly against her upper arm to catch her attention. Her eyebrows are up and she smirks- be afraid, but be afraid in a good way- and doesn't relent. She likes noisy clubs- they give such a good excuse to lean into people. There's a lot in her voice; it's husky, teasing, wry, with a suggestion of I know this is a cliche, but let's go with it, shall we?

[whattigerscanchange]

There is very little question as to what a woman in a lace catsuit is after. On the surface at least. Following a quick turn of her head, there's an appraising gaze that doesn't masquerade as anything else the moment the blonde realises it's her attention that's desired. That the brush wasn't accidental, or just something done in passing.

It is fairly cliché, but that doesn't at all bother her. "As much as one girl can spending Veerdi on her own." The weekday's pronunciation isn't quite stumbled over, but the careful emphasis on it does almost sound that way. It implies a newness to the city and its conventions, but there isn't any self-consciousness about it. If she's even conscious of it.

Then, as if she can't help herself, her gaze drops to eye the crop as if it were a creature with a mind of its own to be wary of. But only for a moment. "It's quite the sight." The corner of her mouth quirks up just slightly. Sly.

some boutique on newdi afternoon;

[fuckyouboots]

Long ago, Cindy quit that little job she had at a local Baedal shoe store. It was just a cover and she's created other ways to make ends meet with a little extra to support her habits. One habit in particular has her standing in front of a boutique mirror, turning at the waist as she inspect how a green dress drapes along her body. It's slimming and snug, just how Cindy likes it, but the color and the giant bow leaves a little something to be desired.

It would help to have a little neutral advice, but the shopgirl looks younger than Cindy's newest pair of shoes and she wouldn't dare ask an amateur about fashion.

[thedominatrix]

Irene is inspecting jewellery, contemplating earrings with a thoughtful seriousness that some might deem excessive. She is distracted, however, by Cindy angling herself in front of the mirror, and takes a few moments to analyse the dress out of force of habit; she's an ardent observer (and critic) of other people's fashion.

"Suits you," she says, glancing back at the earrings as she does so. "But for the bow. Know anyone who could alter it?"

[fuckyouboots]

Wiggling her bare toes in the store's fluffy carpeting, Cindy purses her lips to one side just before noticing the dark-haired woman watching her. There's an easy answer to that question and it comes in the form of Cindy ripping off the bow herself and tossing it to the ground.

"As a matter of fact, I do." Hey, she broke it, she'll pay for it. Who's going to argue with her?

[toldastory]

Martha had been out and about. One of the good things about being here was that she had the chance to actually be out and about. Coming from the Barge, she'd still had a lingering sense of claustrophobia which was one of the reasons why she took as much advantage of eating out as she could. Of course, it didn't help that while she was very slowly becoming better at cooking (and much better about burning things, even if they went too far in the other direction.)

Today she was out and about for lunch, and she was doing it all on her own. There was a book in her bag, but at the moment she was just sitting at the table doing a bit of people watching and waiting for the server to come round.

[thedominatrix]

Irene, too, was doing lunch. Well, she was trying. She liked this place, but unfortunately so did rather a large number of people, and everyone was coming out for lunch. Stupid, really, not to think of that. She would have turned back, had she not been wearing four inch heels and honestly dying on her feet- she spent most of her life in heels, but that didn't mean it was painless, after all.

She closed her eyes and sagged slightly upon being told that they had no tables but would she like to stand and wait until someone left- no, she certainly wouldn't like to stand and wait for anything, she thought as she scanned the restaurant, eyes eventually alighting on Martha, seated alone with a spare seat opposite her.

"I think I've just seen a friend," she said quickly to the man trying to convince her to wait, vulture like, for the next free table, and clicked quickly past him to put a hand on the empty chair at Martha's table.

"Sorry about this," she said. "Don't mind if I join you, do you? Not sure I'd like to hang around for a free table. Baedal's murder on a girl in high heels- cabs are so expensive when they're horse-drawn. Anyway, I wouldn't mind company."

[toldastory]

There was a small part of her that was feeling a bit guilty about taking up a table for two when there were people waiting, and Martha had fidgeted a bit in her chair as she debated heading out and away from the restaurant for some place less crowded. At the very least she'd decided that the best thing that she could do was burrow her nose into her book. Fingers brushed the leather of her bag when she'd seen the woman approaching her table, and then Martha paused and smiled up at the woman.

She was stylish that was for certain, and it made Martha feel slightly under-dressed in her trousers and sweater. However, she gestured to the chair below the woman's hand. "No, please sit down. I don't mind at all." Martha didn't mind, it was written in her voice and in the smile that matched it. "I'd not mind the company either."

Martha was keenly feeling the loss of her extended social circle, and lately her efforts to expand beyond it had been awkward at best and horrible at worse; the last thing she wanted to do was push away a potential friend. Well, potential friend material.

a bar; givdi

[selfmadman]

The kid who does this is sick. They don't meet his eyes when they tell him; he doesn't shrug and say, "find another kid." It's a small outfit.

He gathers the broadsides under his arm, turns up his collar and takes to the streets. The words were supposed to be the hard part. He slaps posters to walls, to poles, to the doors of abandoned buildings. The day crumbles away and at dusk he's left with more sheets than he'd like.

The kid who does this also has more than two arms.

Don finds a bar, slumps onto a stool. Drops the stack of broadsides in the seat next to his. He rubs his eyes and when his drink arrives reaches for it with fingers still numbed by the cold.

[thedominatrix]

"You look tired," Irene says.

The bar is quieter than the places she's been frequenting lately, enjoying the noise and the rush- half because you can't party much when you're playing dead and avoiding governments and terrorist cells alike and half because the quieter a place is the easier it is to think about how very trapped you are.

She's perched on a bar stool, a glass of red wine in her hand- she gets briefly distracted, glancing at the reflections in the glass and tipping it idly to catch the light. "Missing cat?" The posters. She can't read what's on them; she's on the other side of him.

[selfmadman]

Don lets out a sigh, weary but good-natured. A laugh that's run out of steam. "Any more tired and I'd need help lifting this glass." His smile's slightly abashed and hangs crooked; he wears a white button-down rumpled from the day's exertions, no tie.

He raises his drink to her in a wry toast, takes a swallow. Closes his eyes for that moment when everything starts to ache a little less or maybe just differently. "Not quite," he says, casting a glance at the poster on top of the heap. "These're ads."

a club; veerdi night

[controlledvariable]

It's kind of sad that she has to hide her newly cut hair under a wig, but she really needs to not be recognized, so she just has to deal with it. Her 'hair' is curretly long, dark brown, and done up in one of those messy buns that take about an hour to perfect, with bangs that fall into her eyes a little. She's dressed for a club, in a dark blue, short dress with high heels and jewelry to match. Between the outfit and her make up, which is a little heavy handed but in a way that's been done on purpose, she looks older than normal.

Her mission tonight is following a lead, keeping track of who they talk to and where they go, to see if they reveal anything that might help her investigation. The problem is that they've clued onto her, and right now she really needs an excuse as to why she just followed them into the club. It's a coincidence that the closest person happens to be Irene; Steph doesn't recognize her.

Steph walks up to her and touches her lightly on the arm -- the sort of familiar gesture that a friend would make, and quietly asks, "Can you please pretend to know me?" Her expression is easy, deliberately not looking at the person she's following, and a small smile on her lips in contrast to the slight desperation in her voice. She's putting on an accent, a light Southern twang that sounds nothing like her normal Gothamite accent.

[thedominatrix]

Irene turns to her with blank politeness until she hears precisely what it is that Steph wants, at which point her eyes widen and a smile appears on her face- the very picture of surprise and sudden realisation.

"Gods, I didn't recognise you with that new haircut!" she says in a pleased, carrying voice- after all, if she's meant to be this woman's friend, there's got to be some reason she didn't recognise her straight off the bat. "It suits you. How've you been, want a drink?"

Her tone is excitable and her smile a beam, even while her mind works; escaping from someone's unwanted attentions? Proving to an ex-lover that she wasn't here alone? Or something a bit more interesting?

[controlledvariable]

Steph's smile brightens, from the outside it just looks like she's pleased to be talking to a friend, but the relief is obvious from close up, "I've been great. I found this great little salon in Chimer, you should try them sometime." She does a little hair flick for extra effect, the tension in her shoulders lessening when the older woman she'd been tailing looks away and dissappears further into the club.

"I'm so sorry about that," she doesn't drop the accent, but her smile turns apologetic and her presence is a little more natural now that she's not being observed, "I owe you one."

some restaurant, newdi evening

[captaincocksure]

Jim is half distracted as he walks along the sidewalk, studying the screen of his CiD. There are a few messages, nothing important; he sends one to McCoy to find out if he needs to stop for anything on the way home later, or if his CMO needs a hand at the temple.

He's been out all day, hunting for this, looking into that, chasing leads and rumors. He's hungry. He looks up from his CiD long enough to take a quick inventory of his surroundings: dress shop, salon, empty storefront, office, office--and a restaurant, on the other side of the street.

He crosses, tucking his device away in a pocket as he walks, and he reaches the door just as a woman does. He's an officer and a gentleman--and a charmer to boot--so he holds the door open, gesturing with his free hand, offering a warm but polite, not at all presumptuous smile.

"Please," he insists. "After you."

[thedominatrix]

Irene is dressed up and taking herself to dinner. She does this often; it's good to treat the most important person in your life to something special one in a while, right? Or more frequently.

A smile flickers across Irene's face as he holds the door for her; it's polite, after all. You could call it patronising, but she decides not to; if people want to do things for her (and they so often do) then she's happy to let them.

"Thank you, dear," she remarks with a slightly sharp-edged smile as she slips by him. "I'm glad good manners haven't kicked the bucket just yet."

[shadeofviolent]

Irene probably first notices Helena when she's walking down the street. There's nothing particular noteworthy about her at first. She's just another lady in a sea of people, puttering about Baedal in the afternoon... but there's something about the way she moves. It's in the way she carries her head, the way she holds herself. Something about her posture screams danger, and it almost succeeds in making her seem powerful. Almost.

There's something unfinished about her. Maybe it's the anger (she walks like she's carrying a chip on her shoulder about the size of London, and her expression is set into a frown), maybe it's her youth, maybe it's something else completely. Either way, right now she's a diamond in the rough -- in need of a good polish and then some before she really shines.

[thedominatrix]

Irene doesn't miss a single person. Some, she ignores after barely a second of watching; in other cases, it takes barely a second to catch her interest and propel her into curiosity.

When Irene gets curious, it's a hungry, demanding curiosity that doesn't let her sleep at night- and she has enough trouble sleeping in this closed-in city anyway.

So when her attention is taken by a young woman walking towards her who moves like anger alone is propelling her onwards because she can't think what else to do with it-

Irene darts to the side to avoid the voluminous shopping bag of another strange woman, deliberately overdoes it and collides neatly with Helena. Some kind of high-speed collision is always a good way to start things, she thinks- physical or metaphorical.

Why? Because she's bored, because she's a people addict who is jonesing something terrible, because for God's sake she doesn't think she can stand a moment more with her own thoughts and at least angry people are fun. Angry women, especially. She used to be one; now she's learnt how to make other people angry instead.

Anyway, life is too short not to talk to strangers.