Westwood and Green
2 posters
Westwood and Green
by Edward Nygma Sun Jul 30, 2017 3:13 pm
Revenge. That had been the plan, initially, after he’d woken up only to find that Oswald has put him on a brick of ice and displayed him as a trophy for all of Gotham to see. Revenge. He had to get revenge. But life rarely went how he planned it, no matter how much Edward wanted it to. After he’d found himself a back-alley doctor to heal him from the frost and a new hide-out to stay at, Edward had found his desire for revenge had turned into something else entirely. … A sense of pure humiliation. Ed thought he could be a master villain; that he was too smart to be beaten by anyone. But Oswald had beaten him. And it had been too easy, in the end. Far too easy.
For over two months he’d done nothing but sulk in his hide-out, using drugs and alcohol and talking to hallucinations of himself and even hallucinations of the very man that had put him in the ice to begin with. He was manic. Edward felt like he was losing his mind. And honestly, he probably was.
But then one day… something happened. He’d been working on a cross-word puzzle in the news, like he did every day, when his heavily shaking hands suddenly dropped the paper. It fell upwards to a large article on the front page. Something about a triple assassination of important people in London; masterly performed. Edward picked up the newspaper and read the article with interest. There was apparently just one clue in this case. A name. … Moriarty.
From the corner of his eyes, he spotted something else. A small advertisement. On first sight there was nothing off about it, except that it was a bit odd. Something about donkey’s for hire. But there was something else with it. And the longer he stared at it, the more he began to realize that it was due to the odd formation of the sentences. They were correct, but.. not quite right. Someone had formed the sentence in a way any average person wouldn’t normally do. – And well.. Ed had experience with that work himself. He’d created numerous anagrams and code-messages of his own. And once he realized this, it wasn’t hard to crack the code. It was an address. An address in London.
Intruiged, he jumped up of the chair and smiles for the first time in months. Dropping the paper, he stepped over it and walked over to his closet. Opening the double doors, he looked right upon his beloved green suit. … There was a riddle out there. And Edward was going to be the one to solve it.
For over two months he’d done nothing but sulk in his hide-out, using drugs and alcohol and talking to hallucinations of himself and even hallucinations of the very man that had put him in the ice to begin with. He was manic. Edward felt like he was losing his mind. And honestly, he probably was.
But then one day… something happened. He’d been working on a cross-word puzzle in the news, like he did every day, when his heavily shaking hands suddenly dropped the paper. It fell upwards to a large article on the front page. Something about a triple assassination of important people in London; masterly performed. Edward picked up the newspaper and read the article with interest. There was apparently just one clue in this case. A name. … Moriarty.
From the corner of his eyes, he spotted something else. A small advertisement. On first sight there was nothing off about it, except that it was a bit odd. Something about donkey’s for hire. But there was something else with it. And the longer he stared at it, the more he began to realize that it was due to the odd formation of the sentences. They were correct, but.. not quite right. Someone had formed the sentence in a way any average person wouldn’t normally do. – And well.. Ed had experience with that work himself. He’d created numerous anagrams and code-messages of his own. And once he realized this, it wasn’t hard to crack the code. It was an address. An address in London.
Intruiged, he jumped up of the chair and smiles for the first time in months. Dropping the paper, he stepped over it and walked over to his closet. Opening the double doors, he looked right upon his beloved green suit. … There was a riddle out there. And Edward was going to be the one to solve it.
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Re: Westwood and Green
by Dead Is The New Sexy Tue Aug 01, 2017 6:06 am
Jim wasn't looking for new blood.
Far, far from it, in fact.
He was currently occupied with his newly blossoming relationship with Sherlock Holmes, the very last man anyone would ever believe would become his lover, and his first relationship with Sebastian Moran, his long time love and right hand man. Juggling the two had turned out to be extremely difficult, with both men despising the other profusely and violently, for reasons that were more far reaching than merely sharing their infamous little Irishman. One might call them being at 'cross purposes' but that would be a very gross understatement. But it was what it was, and right now, Jim was busy with affairs of the heart as well as calculated murders of a business-y nature.
When he got the knock on the door, at 4: 21 AM precisely, he went to answer it with Beretta in pocket and aimed squarely at the head of whoever the blob was that was standing there. He was extremely groggy, half awake and his eyes had not yet decided to work for the day. But he was, as always, aggressive at the drop of a hat, and the idea of someone daring to knock on his door ... the ad, of course, had been posted by Sherlock. A dry and insane attempt at a prank on a man he was just beginning to realize meant more than he ever should have.
"WHO. THE. MOTHERFUCK .." In deep Irish tones. "OR WHAT."
Jim cleared his throat, only in a soft white robe.
"That is, good morning."
Far, far from it, in fact.
He was currently occupied with his newly blossoming relationship with Sherlock Holmes, the very last man anyone would ever believe would become his lover, and his first relationship with Sebastian Moran, his long time love and right hand man. Juggling the two had turned out to be extremely difficult, with both men despising the other profusely and violently, for reasons that were more far reaching than merely sharing their infamous little Irishman. One might call them being at 'cross purposes' but that would be a very gross understatement. But it was what it was, and right now, Jim was busy with affairs of the heart as well as calculated murders of a business-y nature.
When he got the knock on the door, at 4: 21 AM precisely, he went to answer it with Beretta in pocket and aimed squarely at the head of whoever the blob was that was standing there. He was extremely groggy, half awake and his eyes had not yet decided to work for the day. But he was, as always, aggressive at the drop of a hat, and the idea of someone daring to knock on his door ... the ad, of course, had been posted by Sherlock. A dry and insane attempt at a prank on a man he was just beginning to realize meant more than he ever should have.
"WHO. THE. MOTHERFUCK .." In deep Irish tones. "OR WHAT."
Jim cleared his throat, only in a soft white robe.
"That is, good morning."
Last edited by Dead Is The New Sexy on Sun Aug 06, 2017 9:37 am; edited 1 time in total
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Re: Westwood and Green
by Edward Nygma Fri Aug 04, 2017 7:12 am
Edward stood in front of the door in his favorite dark green suit and bowler hat. He'd considered just picking the door, but.. since he had no idea what he was about to find that seemed like bad manners. So he settled for a knock instead. If no one would open he could always try that later.
But someone did open; at which Edward straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin, putting up a friendly yet mysterious smile. He opened his mouth to greet the man, but before he could say anything he was already barked at by the other man. Edward closed his mouth again at that and looked the man up and down. ... A small, grumpy Irish man in a bathrobe. ... To be honest he'd expected more. Had the code been a coincidence after all? It seemed highly unlikely, though.
"Likewise. I apologize for the late hour of my visit. My name is Edward Nygma. I'm looking for Mr. Moriarty." He pulled the folded news-article from his pocket and folded it open to show it to the man. "This article suggested I could find him here."
But someone did open; at which Edward straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin, putting up a friendly yet mysterious smile. He opened his mouth to greet the man, but before he could say anything he was already barked at by the other man. Edward closed his mouth again at that and looked the man up and down. ... A small, grumpy Irish man in a bathrobe. ... To be honest he'd expected more. Had the code been a coincidence after all? It seemed highly unlikely, though.
"Likewise. I apologize for the late hour of my visit. My name is Edward Nygma. I'm looking for Mr. Moriarty." He pulled the folded news-article from his pocket and folded it open to show it to the man. "This article suggested I could find him here."
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Re: Westwood and Green
by Dead Is The New Sexy Sun Aug 06, 2017 9:41 am
Really, Sherlock?
Jim rolled his eyes, not even looking at the newspaper at all. "Let me guess. Someone said go to this address, pester a man who will be less than interested and who just might possibly do this ..." He pulled the Beretta out of the robe's deceptively soft and innocent looking pocket, aiming it squarely between Ed's eyes. He did smile, and it was the sort of smile that said so much and so little all at once. Lies within lies, a story hidden in every nuanced expression, and all the stories led to more stories, and none of them were true.
Not until he wanted them to be.
"I don't cater to hobos."
He had started to say freaks, but that was much too obvious of an insult. "And I didn't order a whore. Not today, any way. Try again to-morrow. Good day to you, slur.." Yes slur not sir. It was the best he could do at wry half assed humour this time of day. Sighing at his own incompetence, yet he did not close the door. He needed a comeback as badly as Eddie would need his riddles answered or at least attempted. He needed acknowledgement. Validation.
He waited.
Jim rolled his eyes, not even looking at the newspaper at all. "Let me guess. Someone said go to this address, pester a man who will be less than interested and who just might possibly do this ..." He pulled the Beretta out of the robe's deceptively soft and innocent looking pocket, aiming it squarely between Ed's eyes. He did smile, and it was the sort of smile that said so much and so little all at once. Lies within lies, a story hidden in every nuanced expression, and all the stories led to more stories, and none of them were true.
Not until he wanted them to be.
"I don't cater to hobos."
He had started to say freaks, but that was much too obvious of an insult. "And I didn't order a whore. Not today, any way. Try again to-morrow. Good day to you, slur.." Yes slur not sir. It was the best he could do at wry half assed humour this time of day. Sighing at his own incompetence, yet he did not close the door. He needed a comeback as badly as Eddie would need his riddles answered or at least attempted. He needed acknowledgement. Validation.
He waited.
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Re: Westwood and Green
by Edward Nygma Sun Aug 06, 2017 12:43 pm
Edward watched the gun appear, but rather than move away in fear he sighed impatiently and lowered the newspaper. "Actually.. No one told me. But there was a clue in the newspaper article. Wasn't hard to figure out.. In fact I almost spotted it accidentally."
Edward was frankly unimpressed at being at gunpoint. He'd been so many times already. And if the man wanted him dead he would've just shot right away. But he didn't know him, so why risk having to clean up the body?
"Good thing I'm not a hobo or a prostitute then. I'm the Riddler. From your attitude and that Beretta 92FS I take it you are in fact Mr. Moriarty. I was hoping there was a meaning to this article in the pages. - I take it it was just a golden egg for the police to never be found or a practical joke. While I appreciate that sentiment, it wasn't what I came for. So I suppose I will just bid you farewell and try my luck elsewhere. But.. should you ever require the help of a brilliant criminal.." He retrieved a card from his pocket and held it up to Moriarty. The card was black with green letters saying 'The Riddler, Career Criminal, Full-Time genius, Occasional Private Investigator.' along with his phone-number.
Edward was frankly unimpressed at being at gunpoint. He'd been so many times already. And if the man wanted him dead he would've just shot right away. But he didn't know him, so why risk having to clean up the body?
"Good thing I'm not a hobo or a prostitute then. I'm the Riddler. From your attitude and that Beretta 92FS I take it you are in fact Mr. Moriarty. I was hoping there was a meaning to this article in the pages. - I take it it was just a golden egg for the police to never be found or a practical joke. While I appreciate that sentiment, it wasn't what I came for. So I suppose I will just bid you farewell and try my luck elsewhere. But.. should you ever require the help of a brilliant criminal.." He retrieved a card from his pocket and held it up to Moriarty. The card was black with green letters saying 'The Riddler, Career Criminal, Full-Time genius, Occasional Private Investigator.' along with his phone-number.
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Re: Westwood and Green
by Dead Is The New Sexy Thu Aug 10, 2017 12:59 pm
"Jesus cunting Christ on meth. Get in here."
Frustrated and sleepy, too groggy to ever be truly angry at this hour, Jim gestured into the flat. "Just -----no, don't. Just get the fuck in here. Were you followed? Would you even have sense enough to know if you were? Coffee or tea?" The genial question was offered right alongside the nasties, and James Moriarty just never really seemed to see anything wrong with doing this. He often did this to Sebastian and Sherlock alike, mingling in the worst and the best matters together, the fair and the foul all wrapped together in sentences going along as if at gunpoint. It was insane, but ...
That rather spoke for itself.
"I have Columbian, Indian, Malay, and then there's the coffee and tea." Wry as he offered drugs, Jim very suddenly laughed loudly. "Make a choice. Going, going ............................"
Frustrated and sleepy, too groggy to ever be truly angry at this hour, Jim gestured into the flat. "Just -----no, don't. Just get the fuck in here. Were you followed? Would you even have sense enough to know if you were? Coffee or tea?" The genial question was offered right alongside the nasties, and James Moriarty just never really seemed to see anything wrong with doing this. He often did this to Sebastian and Sherlock alike, mingling in the worst and the best matters together, the fair and the foul all wrapped together in sentences going along as if at gunpoint. It was insane, but ...
That rather spoke for itself.
"I have Columbian, Indian, Malay, and then there's the coffee and tea." Wry as he offered drugs, Jim very suddenly laughed loudly. "Make a choice. Going, going ............................"
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Re: Westwood and Green
by Edward Nygma Sat Aug 12, 2017 3:36 am
Edward blinked and then lifted an eyebrow in an 'are you serious?' look. No I wasn't followed. If I was, I probably even wouldn't have made it here." He contemplated whether he should enter like Moriarty, - if he really was Moriarty,- had suggested. He did seem a little.. unstable. But, it couldn't be worse than some of the unstable lunatics he knew in Gotham. So on that note he decided to push forward and step inside.
"Coffee will do," he answered the man, looking around the place curiously. His attention got pulled back to Moriarty when he started naming countries, though. It took a moment before he realized he was talking about drugs, at which he forced a smile. "Just the coffee for me, thanks." He wasn't against a little recreational use at all, but he knew better than to accept drugs from strangers.
"Coffee will do," he answered the man, looking around the place curiously. His attention got pulled back to Moriarty when he started naming countries, though. It took a moment before he realized he was talking about drugs, at which he forced a smile. "Just the coffee for me, thanks." He wasn't against a little recreational use at all, but he knew better than to accept drugs from strangers.
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