concierge: (Default)
[personal profile] concierge
Any entries earlier than this were pre-reboot.
thefinalsolution: (thoughtful)
[personal profile] thefinalsolution
In a looming and grand hotel filled with a myriad of doors that lead to disastrous worlds, to human ones with ordinary people with extraordinary things, and some even leading back to home, Moriarty has kept himself busy. His web has grown, slowly and surely, and he begins to trust that whether he finds himself in ancient Rome or on a ship, there will be someone there who requires a man of his skillset.

What he doesn't expect is to one day walk through a door and find himself in the very same place, but something different is charged in his fingertips.

It's power.

Of course, it's apparently the most minor power he could ever conceive because all he's been able to do is ripen apples and bananas, freshen the taste of fruit salad, and twist and turn designs into various peels of various fruits. There's a mystery for you, Sherlock Holmes. What exactly can give the man the power to compel fruits of all types and varieties and what good could it possibly be?

Maybe it's because he's hiding in plain sight. Maybe this is something more befitting blogger John Holmes instead of Jim Moriarty, who is a spider in a dozen worlds, whose criminal industry has began to leap past one simple world in one simple galaxy and he has become so very much more.

Not that you could tell.

Not when his great and grand power is manifesting now at the gift shop while the apple in his hand spins without a flick of his fingers, a carved image of a goldfish in the peel. "This is, frankly, very disappointing," he informs the apple in his palm, vindictively imagining little dead x's on the eyes of the fish which quickly carve themselves into being.

Wonderful. He can manipulate fruit. If only he had that ability a decade and a half ago. Imagine all the damage a banana peel could do, if applied in the correct pressure point.

Apr. 29th, 2014 08:42 pm
thelostprince: ({fem} 004)
[personal profile] thelostprince
Still a woman, and Loki was doing his best not to worry about it. It certainly did offer an interesting spin on things, though, especially when it came to him going out and about in the hotel. When it came to attractiveness Loki had very little opinion, one way or another, regarding his own face. But as a woman he could easily see that he was attractive, at least to a certain type of person, that person being himself. It brought a strange sort of confidence to someone who was already confident, but not in the ways he was aware of.

So in that regard, he had decided, for a moment, to flaunt it. The dress he wore was a weave of green and black, off one shoulder and cut just above the knee, revealing more pale, creamy skin than he ever had as a man. A good section of calves was revealed, as well, topped in heeled, laced ankle boots. Style from different worlds was never something he had much difficulty in grasping, though certainly he had a tendency to stop once he had found something suitable and wearable. This had a distinct brush of Ruby's influence, though mostly he had simply followed the direction she had pointed him in.

While some of his peers from Asgard were more interested in keeping their body tuned, Loki preferred to keep his mind sharp first of all. He was sitting on a bench in one of the hotel's gardens, which he understood had an 'oriental' theme according to Midgard, and beside him there was a stack of books. The topics were all in relation to one another - they were extensive histories of different continents on a certain planet, covering everything from its societies to geological movements from fresh Stone Age to dirty, polluted end. One, however, described the pattern of movement of that planet within a certain solar system. Whoever could have written these documents, he did not know, for it was information that could be compiled only by a strange, vast mind. Yet Loki had read it all, and now he was translating it.

The original text was a very dead language, and he was carefully and calmly inscribing it using pen and notebook into the alphabet of Midgard. He didn't know of anyone who would like to read it, but it was something to do, kept his mind active. Translations were always interesting - though Loki read, wrote and spoke many languages, there were always words that fell into and out of use, or had no counterpart. In that he was entertained.
burdenofproof: (pic#7524408)
[personal profile] burdenofproof
The carpet of the halls was plush like a cloud beneath his feet and even the air seemed sweetly scented compared to that place he'd found on the other side of a perfectly harmless looking door upon his arrival. The smell of all that wriggling, oozing dead was burned into his nostrils and baked into his skin, or at least it'd seemed that way to him, which was why after he'd figured out where his room was he'd blown half the money in his wallet on some toiletries and a fresh change of clothes. He'd stayed in the shower until long after the hot water had thrown up a white flag and emerged reddened and shivering, but at least free of any invisible flecks of gore that might've accumulated while watching Joan Watson bust open zombie skulls like rotted fruit. It was going to take him a good, long while to get over that, even he could admit.

Not knowing what else to do, he made his way back down to the lobby with a wary eye on every door he passed, wearing his new, clean clothes and smelling a damn sight better to himself. The bar was an obvious attraction and his first choice, so he made his way inside, finding it casual enough to suit his tastes and taking a seat at one of the empty tables. He wasn't going to be hungry any time soon, so when the waitress made her way over he ordered a whiskey and at least three more after the first one was finished. After the waitress had left him, he found himself looking around at the people in the bar with him. There was no one in his immediate line of sight that would've got a second look on the street for being obviously, physically different than him, but from what he'd gathered there could be people in here that came from a whole other universe entirely different than his own.

It was frightening, but when the waitress returned with his first glass of whiskey, he was pleased to know that at least alcohol was universal. He would have to do thinking, so much thinking, and exploring too, but that could come later. Just then, all John Luther wanted to do was get quietly, thoroughly drunk.

Mar. 22nd, 2014 03:53 pm
scaleshavefallen: (looking to the side)
[personal profile] scaleshavefallen
Being here -- where everything is tranquil, normal, not a threat -- makes it very easy to forget everything that happened, before I stepped through one doorway and ended up at the Nexus.

But it's all still there, lingering in the back of my head, like an uninvited guest. Everything that's happened, all the deaths that have been pinned on me, they just sit there, rotting away, half a story told that I'll never be any closer to finding out the ending to.

It bothers me, how much of my own life I'm missing. I can't piece it back together, not without knowing the evidence, without having some else there to untangle the threads. For now, all I can do is speculate, and the longer I have here to my own devices, the more convinced I am that even my speculation is delusional.

The weather's nice today; brisk. I can stand outside without shivering, at least, although a chill goes up my spine anyway as I let myself think about Abigail, Georgia, Marissa, Cassie. I repeat their names in my mind like a mantra, the four women that a corrupt, imperfect system has been tricked into believing I've murdered.

I wrap my arms tighter around my body and stare out at the empty land around the Nexus. I am not a murderer. No one here has any reason to think I am.

So why do I feel like I'm hiding something very, very significant?

Feb. 23rd, 2014 10:31 pm
thefinalsolution: (thoughtful)
[personal profile] thefinalsolution

John Holmes is a blogger who likes to write about unsolved cases. John Holmes is a bit clumsy. John Holmes is going to find out about Joan Watson.

thefinalsolution: (rejoice)
[personal profile] thefinalsolution
What is it that you break even when you name it?

Riddles, this place is full of riddles as far as the eye can see and Moriarty's eye stretches far, as far as the interminable and never-ending stream of thoughts in his mind is permitted to roam. This place is full of riddles and mazes and doors and death and oh, if that isn't a welcome home gift, then he doesn't know what is. How he came to be here, he doesn't know, but it's enough of a distraction that he finds himself staying longer than planned.

Besides, Irene will keep Sherlock occupied. It's her turn for a playdate and Moriarty will get his chance, but a consulting criminal with a thorough web need not be on demand. The more you take, the more you leave behind. Riddles! So many riddles! Why does one door lead back to London when another takes him to the chilly Arctic? Why does one door open to a world of misfit murderers (many of whom Moriarty would have liked to associate with, if not for the unfortunate need for them to play their part) and others bring him back to the hotel?

His laugh is childish and innocent, such a thrill for such an advanced mind! Riddles! It's full of riddles, he thinks, and vows to become one while he's here. No cause to spoil all his fun so soon. John Holmes, now there's a name and a clever little joke in one. Perhaps a bit too obvious, but when have ordinary people ever looked the obvious in the eye, stabbed it in its heart and said 'I know you'?

"Silence," he answers, scanning the area around him as he stands upon the precipice of a great hall, strewn with the remnants of an old party. Moriarty stands in the doorway and wonders what great festival he's missed. No time like the present to find out.

Absently, with a mind to relax his posture and his shoulders, he steps into the room and into character and sets about making himself a mark in this new world of riddles and puzzles.

Soon, he'll extend his web, but webbing will wait.


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