It was the only possible solution!
She looked at Sherlock skeptically then folded her arms again while she let John attend to her legs. ”I understand you about as well as you understand me, but you don’t see me throwing around accusations just because I’m not getting my way,” she said sourly. ”I didn’t act so self-entitled even when I was heir to the crown,” she said, rolling her eyes. ”But let me guess. ’Delusions of grandeur’, right?” She scoffed, spitting a fireball again, though it popped out of existence before it burned anything. ”Maybe I’m not even from this planet, that’s what it’s starting to sound like. You both look bizarre.”
She eyed the food, frowning as she considered it. ”I don’t know if I trust food from you…but I don’t have much choice, do I?” she asked, reaching out to take the plate. Her stomach was almost completely empty, and she felt utterly horrible for it. She couldn’t keep denying food forever, no matter how much the idea appealed to her. She frowned as she settled down, hating every moment of what was going on.
“Suggesting you’re from a different planet would mean that we’re all admitting to an extraterrestrial encounter, and I’m not at all prepared to make that kind of accusation,” Sherlock started and although he sounded as if he were suddenly calm, he was nothing close to it. His eyes roamed every inch of her and every time her little fire trick appeared, he was watching that as well. Every single instinct he possessed told him that this wasn’t real. He was hallucinating or she was projecting some sort of illusion in attempts to trick them. Sherlock, however, knew real fire when he saw it and maybe if these little bursts only erupted from her hands, he could check her sleeves for some sort of mechanism, but the flames were even bursting from her mouth, for god’s sake. Even fire breathers couldn’t spit fire at will.
“How is coddling her going to help anything, John?” Sherlock asked as John continued to clean her wounds and bandage those that were on the verge of infection. “We’re not going to understand anything if we just keep beating around the bush. Clearly there’s some sort of riff between us, but alien? I rather doubt it, but if we’re as odd to her as she is to us? Then clearly there’s something we’re all missing and I’d like to know what.”
This was just typical behavior for Sherlock Holmes.
Sighing, John shook his head. “I’m so sorry,” he muttered to Azula. “When Sherlock gets like this… Well, Sherlock’s always like this. He’s hard to get along with.” Sherlock was used to people speaking to him the way Azula was now, he didn’t even seem to notice, but John saw both sides easily. “The food’s fine, I promise, the only thing you have to worry about is that Sherlock cooked it.”
I haven’t done munday in FOREVER, so why not? :D
Name: Amber (and the above icon IS me, but it’s edited to look like a comic book, my skin is not actually that white :P I just felt my comic book profile pic was appropriate because of my muses).
Personal account: dearlokimunofmischief
Birthday: September 15th. Oddly enough, Loki’s is September 1st.
Nickname(s): I’ve been called “Loki” and “Sherlock” by a lot of people. I’ve also been called “Hiei” but I don’t have an official nickname :P.
Reason for nickname(s): Characters I’m emotionally attached to/write/create/play/ect.
Roleplay character(s): On tumblr, in addition to Loki (dearlokigodofmischief), I have a Sherlock Holmes blog (BBC version) and his URL is violinsonthebattlefield. I also have an AU Loki blog where Loki Laufeyson is actually Iron Man. He’s mortal, still has the arc reactor, and is set in post-Iron Man 3. His URL is dearlokifatherofiron. Loki is the most active out of the three. Outside of Tumblr, I’ve role-played at least fifteen different characters, mostly OCs, but you’ll never find an OC of mine on Tumblr.
Roleplaying History: I wanna say… seven or eight years now. Like, official roleplaying. I’ve done some casual roleplaying between just friends, usually face to face for the better part of my life.
Typing style: It depends on the thread. I’m mostly used to para. I’ll accommodate the length of my reply to whatever my partner is comfortable with. I don’t mind short threads, and I don’t mind long threads. I prefer to have a mix of both. I’ll also do casual conversation, meaning that the muses are talking and there’s no physical description at all.
Advice to RP with me: Just no god-modding! Basically I’m good with just about everything, but I don’t like when someone else tries to control my character/tells me what to do with them. While I don’t mind short threads, I put a lot of effort into my blogs, I’d appreciate some effort in return. I also don’t like roleplaying with people who have multiples of my muses… Mostly because it makes me feel like I’m a number and I don’t matter too much, so if you already role-play with a lot of Lokis, there’s a good chance I won’t like it. Insecurity is not cool, but it’s there sometimes. >.<
Azula continued to scowl. ”They did this to me because my brother says I’m insane. It’s brilliant, you accuse someone of it and that’s all it takes, you’re locked up for days on end, denied basic food and personal care items, put in chains, beaten, all ‘for your own good’. It’s the greatest con the world’s ever seen…” Her clothes were hand stitched and hand-woven, as if she were from an era several centuries back. An era when that was what ‘mental healthcare’ was. ”And then if you complain about it, it’s ‘proof’ you’re insane, because you’re complaining about receiving medical treatment…” Her injuries were consistent with the sort of maltreatment she was describing.
"But I don’t trust you. And I don’t believe that you believe me. What sort of backwards place is this that there aren’t any benders here?" she asked, huffing a breath of flame. "You think it’s faked, don’t you? You keep staring at me like I’m a freak," she said, getting a bit emotional at that point—her flawless mask had broken, shattered under the strain of her defeat and subsequent imprisonment. "Well you know what?" she asked, tears welling in her eyes. "I am a freak, and I’m proud to be a freak. If my skills make me a freak, then I’ll be the best fucking freak you’ve ever seen… No one else can do what I can do, you’ll have to accept that I’m good for something…”
John had to work to keep himself from sighing as she spoke. Even if she was “insane”, no one deserved this kind of abuse, but he truly didn’t understand what was going on. It was easy to right her off as crazy, but there was proof in her abilities that there was at least some amount of truth in what she was saying. The woman could literally produce fire and as much as he and Sherlock both wanted to believe it was fake, he could feel the heat radiating from it every time it got close to him. If it touched his skin, he had no doubt in his mind that it would burn his flesh.
He wasn’t exactly willing to test it though.
“I’m not asking you to trust Sherlock or myself,” John finally said as he carefully cleaned the cuts and small wounds that littered her skin. Some of them were so bad, he actually took the time to properly dress them. “Wherever you are from, we’ve never heard of it. No one here can control fire like you can and it’s… strange to us. Even Sherlock, who literally knows everything, doesn’t understand…” He paused for a moment, glancing back at Sherlock as he dished out what looked like some left over chicken and rice. “To be honest, if you and Sherlock could actually talk civilly, you might realize you have a bit in common. There are more than enough people who want to send Sherlock off to the mental ward because he’s so different. People don’t understand him. Please don’t be too hard on him, he doesn’t deal well with things he can’t make out logically.”
A moment later, Sherlock came back into the living room and set the plate down on the coffee table. “This was all we have,” Sherlock said. John would need to make a trip to the grocery later. Sherlock never did the shopping. “How’s everything going over here?” He couldn’t deny that Azula peaked his interest. It wasn’t often he came across something he didn’t understand, but his first instinct was to reject it completely…
“I never doubt your love for me, Rose, although sometimes I still try to figure out how insane you have to be to be with me.” His momentary look of speculation changed into something far happier. “Up until I shared moments like those with you, I never would have imagined that I’d enjoy them, but you… You proved me wrong. This is the one time I’m glad to be wrong.” He went to her and he kissed her gently. “I love you too, Rose, you helped me realize I was capable of it.” Rose was the only person who would ever hear him say something like that.
Actual photo of Tony Stark and Pepper Potts’ microwave.
Actual photo of Sherlock and John’s microwave.
With as quietly as they were speaking, it was easy to drown them out. She just held still and focused on her fireball until John came back over to where she was. She scowled lightly at him, but put the fireball out and offered him one of her arms. There were abrasion injuries and bruises consistent with severe physical abuse and long periods with her arms in restraints, and her wrist was very obviously hurting her. ”You think I’m insane,” she said sourly.
Sherlock had already written the woman off as insane. What choice did he have other than to admit he didn’t understand something? Knowledge was what Sherlock had, the ability to look through everyone and know everything there was to know. Take that away and he was just a lost child, that’s why he needed the excuse. He could understand insane, he could understand that someone was clinically insane and that they would, therefore, make very little sense to those who were no.
Even still, Sherlock could tell there was something off about her, something that kept her from being “insane”, he simply didn’t want to entertain the idea. Entertaining it meant that he was not able to safely say he understood.
That made Sherlock far too uncomfortable.
Although Sherlock had made up his mind, John was more willing to admit he didn’t understand, and even more so that he believed there was something there that was genuine, that he didn’t necessarily believe her to be insane. “I don’t think you’re insane. I don’t understand how you can do what you do, or where you came from, but I don’t think you’re insane.” It wasn’t a total lie, but it was still partially a lie. He wanted to keep her calm while he tended to the small cuts and scraps along her arms and legs.
She laughed softly her hand running through his hair. "You could have texted me ridiculous statistics or something. It would have been better than boring cases. You didn’t have to take the one about the hamster did you? That might actually make me feel guilty." Rose stood and pulled Sherlock to his feet so she could tuck herself in his arms and nuzzle against his chest. "It was a rough mission, Sherlock. I’m really sorry I was gone this long." She held him tightly, biting her tongue on the idea that they almost hadn’t made it back.
“I wanted to… In fact, I typed out a lot of texts for you, but I figured whatever Torchwood pulled you away for was important and if you needed me, you’d call. I didn’t want to distract you,” Sherlock said. He’d literally thought about sending his findings for everything in massive texts, but text messages were distracting and he was slightly paranoid that if he continuously sent her messages, she would be more worried about replying to him than focusing. Not that he would admit to that aloud or anything. “It’s all right, I’m not angry,” Sherlock assured her. He was just relieved she was back in 221B. “What was the mission, exactly?”
Sherlock had done a few private cases while Rose was away. When she was in the flat, he didn’t necessarily need the work, she kept things interesting, but when she wasn’t around? When he couldn’t follow after her? He needed the work. Not having it was crippling, but the cases he took turned out to be far too easy and he came home to experiment on the corrosive properties of various fruit juices. Rose’s arrival home quickly distracted him though. “I missed you too. I even degraded myself to horrifically boring cases just to pass the time.”
While he was in the kitchen, she shifted over to the couch, but quickly shifted so her back once again wasn’t exposed. She folded her arms and scowled, more than a little bit upset that she’d run so far to escape the ‘insane’ title only to have it applied right back to her the moment she’d appeared somewhere else. She decided to do what she always did when she was upset and needed to calm down—she lit a fireball in her lap, which she hugged like a child with a stuffed toy, and focused on her breathing, trying to meditate. The heat from it was intense, blue flames burning at a hotter temperature than the normal orange. She closed her eyes, and tried to drown out everything around her—unless the two men spoke directly to her, she didn’t have plans to acknowledge them.
“John, we have to do something about this, we can’t just… let her stay here,” Sherlock muttered quietly. Sherlock wasn’t the most friendly of people, but this wasn’t just about not being friendly. When he didn’t understand something, he didn’t act at all proper and that’s why he seemed so off when people were upset, angry, or obnoxiously happy. He didn’t understand interaction very well so he came off as crude. Now, however, he was also worried about her destroying the flat with her abilities that made no sense. “What if she burns the flat down? She could destroy everything here.”
John sighed as he gathered his necessary things to treat her while Sherlock prepared some form of a meal. John couldn’t even tell what it was. “Maybe you should order takeout,” he suggested as he gathered a medical bag. “And I know, Sherlock, but she needs help. Once she’s fit to be off on her own. I can’t have that on my conscious until she can take care of herself though.” Sherlock didn’t look at all pleased.
"I like your commentary, it makes it interesting…." She hummed and was fairly content on staying there for the rest of the show. Eventually falling asleep where she was. Irene wasn’t used to working so much and having to worry about a lot of things she wouldn’t care about before she fell so low. But now each month was a struggle to meet up with the basics without getting caught by the police or any of the enemies she had made
Sherlock made off handed comments about how inappropriate the show was, how people were basically killing themselves to meet standards and pulling everyone else down with them. He was even able to deduce who actually had the afraid. He had gotten so caught up in his commentary, he hardly even noticed Irene falling asleep against his side. It had been so long since he was allowed to have the simple pleasures of life, like indulging in television. Once he did notice, he carefully lifted the woman up into his arms and took her into her room so she could sleep properly upon her bed.