all_inclusive | Entries tagged with zz: sévérine

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.

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.

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an apple a day

At least it smells better in here.

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