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alias: Jessica
age in ##: 35
story: Elementary
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Jamie Moriarty

Tomorrowland

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Dec 4 2017, 02:59 PM
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<div class="jmbox">
<div class="jmlyr1">women </div>
<div class="jmlyr2"> can be a little more difficult to read </div>
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<div class="jmmain">
<div class="jmpb">"A field trip," she'd said to Sherlock. "A chance to observe how they all behave. Consider it a..." She had paused, then. "A project. Between colleagues." <br><br>

Not that Sherlock had to know, of course. He spent all of his time with them all - all the dregs of society, heroes and villains both. But since Jamie had been so far removed from the commoners, as she called them - the sheep, the herd, the crowd, in such terms as to become nameless and no longer individuals but some group mentality, all as stupid and as slow as the next one - she considered it almost educational. Normal people went to parties. Normal people went to masquerades. And it was fitting, she thought, to study them in their natural environment. <br><br>

And, naturally, there had been no chance to do that from prison. As she had said to Joan Watson once upon a time, there was very little in a prison environment that proved to be conducive for conversation. There was little to talk about in the way of art, one of her favourite topics, and there was certainly little to talk about in the way of human nature in her holding situation anyway. The guards had been trained not to talk to her, which was disappointing. And talking to yourself was so very bland, as easily as that was a route to vaguely intelligent conversation. It did also have that reek of madness, and Jamie despised beyond measure all of those who could not keep their mind ordered. <br><br>

Speaking of which there was, of course, the sense that she was becoming increasingly normal herself. It was not a feeling that sat well with her, but it lingered at the back of her mind in the way of rot and mould and growing lichen, creeping over her thoughts over time. Jamie was more than her career, more than the title she had made for herself - that she knew. She had always believed she was destined for more and she would be more, through sheer will, through the remorseless turnings over of her superior mind. But she had lost her principal identity, she felt. Had lost her ability to tower over all. And here she was, attending parties. Something inside of her hissed at this, bore its teeth at such normality, such mediocrity. <br><br>

She didn't know why she'd invited Sherlock. An attempt to stave that off, she supposed - from what she knew of her own fledgling emotions, still fluttering in her mind amid all of the logical circuitry, the reason-driven machinery off her mind. Sherlock was one of hers. One of them, one of the few - and in her view, even, the only one - who was different. They had so much in common. Perhaps he was not as unique as he thought, as she had once said, but still exceptional, still fine as any piece of art. She was drawn to that, as he was to anything so unparalleled, and he was more familiar to her than any here. She didn't know why that was almost more important than anything else. <br><br>

Practically, of course, he'd probably ask anyway to ensure she didn't get any trouble surrounded by other people; the spider had calculated so as likely given her record, her history, the reason why they had ended up here in the first place. But Jamie didn't see any need for him to ask. It was a raw, bare thing to have to broach and if there was one thing she could not abide it was not a tasteful facade. And so she asked, made the first move. And looking around at the characters here she was glad she'd asked...if she could see them at all. A masked ball. How very extravagant. <br><br>

The red dress ran under her fingertips as she moved, and she peered towards the party now behind the mask. It ran with her own artistic flair to see through a mask. A good metaphor for what she did, she thought; or had done. She brushed away those thoughts. "Masks," she commented, and she looked towards him through her own red one, her blue eyes almost mischievous. She rose her voice to combat those of others. "They make seeing as we do that little bit more...intricate. I do hope you've been keeping up practise, Sherlock." They had a whole party to deduce here, after all. And this was a little exercise for their abilities. <br><br>

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<div class="jmbb">ADD.: Sherlock Holmes | WORDS: 746 | NOTES:</div>
</div>
<div class="tcred"><a href="http://shine.b1.jcink.com/index.php?showuser=1892" target="_blank">♛ Ames</a></div></center>[/dohtml]
Nov 29 2017, 01:39 PM
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<div class="jmbox">
<div class="jmlyr1">i have reserves of creativity </div>
<div class="jmlyr2">I HAVEN’T EVEN BEGUN TO TAP </div>
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<div class="jmmain">
<div class="jmpb"> Really, this place was fascinating. <br><br>

Underneath all of the grime there was beauty, she could sense it. Artistic beauty in the few rooms she had seen in their architecture, their design, the dusty furniture and - what interested her the most - the paintings on the walls. It was like a moth to a flame. Of course last time she had been busy saving Sherlock with that other girl - Gwen. But now? Now that Sherlock was safe and sound Jamie couldn't help but be fascinated about the castle and what it held. There were treasures here, artistic works...maybe even some paintings that survived zombie occupancy. Others were fighting the zombies, trying to make their way down to the dungeons to rescue their friends as fast as they could.<br><br>

Her?<br><br>

You could say this was an art project, of sorts. <br><br>

No no no. Not to the dungeons, of course. It would be quite distasteful down there, she would imagine, and hardly befitting someone like her. And besides, someone might actually want help - and that sort of situation where she actually had to weigh up morals wasn't exactly her cup of tea. Yes, she was teaching people at Sherlock's defence school to defeat people like her. Yes, she was willing to share some of the secrets that had made her as the ultimate criminal. But she wasn't exactly too keen on pressing the issue with something like that. Empathy was still new to her, the prospect of caring for others still a prospect that she couldn't entirely grasp after years of making herself deaf to others' cries. They would have someone to save them, she had no doubt. So she kept out of the dungeons, preferring the airier rooms of the castle above them. And someone had to rescue and recover all of those beautiful pieces, those lost gems that the Horned King and his associates would never appreciate. <br><br>

Yes; this was far more refined. And artistically fascinating too, Jamie couldn't help noticing. It was a treat for the eyes, even with the cobwebs and the mould and the sense of decay lingering in the air. Some of the rooms had been ruined by the zombies, yes - tapestries torn to pieces by uncaring talons, carpets stained beyond recognition with dirt and what looked suspiciously like blood. But some rooms looked barely touched at all, like they'd been left exactly as they had once been lived in. By whom Jamie couldn't tell. The Horned King, perhaps, or some other tenant - whose bones probably lay somewhere in the foundations even now, displaced from their home, and their life, in a very permanent fashion. <br><br>

Maybe the zombies just had difficulty with stairs, or maybe there was nothing interesting here - nothing important to find, or more importantly no inviting smell of flesh. Thinking of her particular scent she turned around, trying to hear the zombies coming. She'd kept the gun from the defence school with her this time. It was just a training gun - nothing special - but it would be just enough to stun or propel any zombie away from her if there came an opportunity. She went to grasp it now, her fingers deftly taking off the safety. But there didn't appear to be anyone there. She stepped back a second, exhaling sharply. She was getting jumpy now, wary after Sherlock's abduction. Beauty and danger should have been enthralling to her - but it did little but make her nervous. Unnecessarily, it would seem. There were no zombies here, no panting corpses dragging themselves down the hall. <br><br>

There was, however, a shadow. <br><br>

Jamie stilled, staring. The shadow had definitely not been there a few moments ago. Calculations leapt into her mind, trying to see how tall the person was, whether they were male or female by their stance. It wasn't a zombie, she knew that much - zombies didn't linger anyway, and they didn't stand as straight as that, usually hunched over something. But she couldn't tell anything about this figure. How strange...and how very concerning. Maybe I can wait for it to pass. It. He. She. Whoever. Yes, it was a good plan...if it decided to move. But there was no way out of the room other than by that door. The weighing up of her options over, she lifted her chin. Nothing for it. "Who's there?"<br><br>

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<div class="jmbb">ADD.: Kozmotis Pitchiner | WORDS: 730 | NOTES: HOPE THIS IS ALRIGHT GEO! <3 Gisaille art technique - reference to pitch of course xD</div>
</div>
<div class="tcred"><a href="http://shine.b1.jcink.com/index.php?showuser=1892" target="_blank">♛ Ames</a></div></center>[/dohtml]
Nov 14 2017, 01:38 PM
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<div class="jmbox">
<div class="jmlyr1">she rules</div>
<div class="jmlyr2"> with a rod of iron </div>
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<div class="jmmain">
<div class="jmpb">Jamie heaved a sigh as the door finally closed, leaving the classroom in a flurry of notebooks and pens and talk. <br><br>

Another day, another class. <br><br>

She had the distinct feeling that it was easier in this college-type school than in a real school, where the students couldn't choose to be there. At least the students who came to the defence school wanted to enrol, wanted to - for some odd reason - learn to stand up against the local villains. But it was still hard work. Day in, day out, organising a curriculum based on things she would never dream to tell others before she came here - the modus operandi of a mastermind, the workings of her mind and the reasoning behind her plots. <br><br>

And all the time she knew whatever she taught them here wouldn't end with them. Of course it wouldn't. For one thing, they'd go from here knowing the secrets of her trade that it took her years to harness - but she knew the nature of knowledge, too. The spider dealt in knowledge, in forbidden information and secrets. She knew how this worked - everything she told them would soon spread and her methods wouldn't work anymore, for any aspiring criminal or herself. It went against every fibre of her being. By doing this, Jamie knew, she was segregating herself off from her work for the foreseeable future. Just like that, all her other lines of work would be cut off, her methods for manipulating others, for breaking the law in a variety of inventive ways struck off and identified for what they were: criminal activity. And with criminal activity came trouble with the law. All of her carefully made plans - gone, in an instant. Her life's work. <br><br>

Here, anyway, in Storybrooke. If there was ever a chance of getting out of here then the situation would look very, very different. But with the town line as it was? That was unlikely. And she was...tired. Even at her desk now she cradled her forehead with one hand, letting her eyes close for a second. The thrill, the rush of manipulating events, of getting her own way, was what she was looking for - but with that came the fatigue. She was tired of dealing with idiots. Tired of having to deal with those who dared to try to usurp her. Tired of running an empire that could turn around and bite her the moment her back was turned - as it did when she was in prison. She had never really met Kayden, didn't know anything about her life - but that one of her own had dared to touch her daughter meant everything. Suddenly the barrier between herself, commander in chief, director of the enterprise as a whole, and those who worked for her had been shut down. Jamie Moriarty wasn't invincible anymore and that...that made her own actions have a bad taste in her mouth. Add that to the tiny budding empathy that she'd fostered recently by sparing Agent Mattoo and what had once been her sanctuary was turning decidedly toxic. She had to lie low. Maybe temporarily, maybe even permanently....<br><br>

But for now here she was, selling the equivalent of state secrets - not actual state secrets; that had lost novelty by the early 2000s - to a bunch of young adults. It didn't matter, not..not really. Jamie was nothing if not versatile, and she'd find other ways of managing. Sometimes, though, she didn't know what she was worrying about. Some didn't seem to...believe her. They knew her as some woman that the director of the school had brought in and called a mastermind. There were rumours, of course - something about how she'd been brought in in handcuffs, that she was only a risk assessment from being placed in jail. But none of them knew what for, until in her first class she had described under no uncertain terms what her job had been. Had that set things straight? It was hard to tell, but she had a duty of sorts to Sherlock to set accurate lessons and that was what they were getting, regardless of where they thought she was getting her information from. They'd learn. In time. <br><br>

As it was she'd learnt about them already - had seen all there was to know about them, had read them like books. The smallest detail could betray all kinds of things and there was nothing saying Jamie couldn't exploit that even if she had to give up her villainous roots. She could read their insecurities, their home lives, the ins and outs of their identities. It kept her going in lessons. <br><br>

But between them? <br><br>

She had to have something to do. In her job she'd only come in for her own lessons so far, and hadn't thought of the others Sherlock had employed there. Her job was more cerebral than physical, and she'd never needed to go to the open space where the students were trained before. But with Sherlock not around all the time that had to change. Moriarty was nothing if not curious, and the time had come to work out who her colleagues were. Properly. So as she walked into the gym space, looking around at the defensive materials used to teach the students how to protect themselves. Charles...Vane. She'd seen the man around before, but had never had a chance to really talk with him. Today that would change. <br><br>

"Mr Vane?"<br><br>

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<div class="jmbb">ADD.: Charles Vane | WORDS: 867 | NOTES:</div>
</div>
<div class="tcred"><a href="http://shine.b1.jcink.com/index.php?showuser=1892" target="_blank">♛ Ames</a></div></center>[/dohtml]
Nov 14 2017, 01:16 PM
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<div class="jmbox">
<div class="jmlyr1">you see puzzles</div>
<div class="jmlyr2"> I SEE GAMES </div>
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<div class="jmmain">
<div class="jmpb">The hands on Moriarty's watch ticked by, second after second. After second. After second. <br><br>

She couldn’t help being drawn to it, to pick it up and study it. Something about it drew her in - her appreciation for art, for beauty, for something different. Maybe it had been tossed into the woods, but someone had kept it clean and it looked expensive at the very least. At first Jamie just thought of that - the straightforward ways to make a bit of money. Beggars couldn’t be choosers after all. She could sell it, maybe find someone who appreciated art as much as she did.<br><br>

It. The thing she'd found in the woods. The thing that had almost called to her, the thing she could've sworn she would've gone past if it weren't for something...else. Because there was…there was that feeling about it, too. Something under the surface, something...almost alive, tingling under her palms. The spider was used to the shivering of each strand of her web, the minute brushings of potential prey against her network of spies, assassins and the rest of the rogues’ gallery she employed to do her jobs. But nothing quite so…literal. Or so powerful, thrumming under her fingertips. The lantern she'd found? It was something special. Jamie could almost sense it. <br><br>

She hadn’t gone to an expert. There were some in town, she knew, those more skilled in magic than herself, but it grated on her to consult any expert but herself about any topic regardless of what it was. And from what she’d heard of some of the experts in town, such as a certain Mr Gold, she was wise to keep her prize for herself anyway lest it be torn from her hands and find a new home amongst some other hoard. The thought sent her teeth on edge. And as for allies - there were none to be found. An empire of the kind she was used to wasn’t going to work. Not here. Not with the level of disinterest these criminals showed towards anything that was in the least way ambitious. She shifted in her seat, her new wound still smarting from one criminal's earlier rejection - a certain Ezekiel Jones. Ugh. How dare anyone attempt to commit to anything larger than themselves? How dare anyone try to better themselves? This was the way to do it - to find something people needed and to use it against them; it was textbook, and if everything went well it could be very lucrative. But if no one was interested here, if they were content to wallow in their own petty crimes, she’d just have all the spoils. Maybe she'd said to Sherlock that she'd teach in his school, would deal with his insufferable little protégés, but old habits died hard. To host another competitor in this game would be…foolhardy, anyway. The less people involved the better. <br><br>

That the lantern was a prize was obvious - and, of course, it had to belong to someone. Someone who might need it. Someone who was willing to pay any price to get it back. <br><br>

Jamie had no love for magic - that force that she had only just learnt about, that she couldn't master and couldn't, as of now, understand. The lantern was of practically no use to her - and especially not in a town that was full of people who knew magic better than her. Jamie was nothing if not aware of status, where power lay and who it was harnessed by. Sherlock had said it himself - with a mayor versed in magical skill, and surrounded as she was by people who would be able to stop her if she tried anything, she was unlikely to get anywhere on the magical front. She was…restrained. Restricted. Contained. But as much as those invisible bonds chafed there were other ways, other methods, of getting something out of this that didn’t involve actually using the lantern - other ways of turning this to good use. And so it came that a note was left in the window of Granny’s. <br><br>

Magical artefact found outside town. <br><br>
Lakeside Mansion. <br><br>
Moriarty.
<br><br>

Not in Granny’s itself, of course. The cafe slash B&B slash whatever the hell went for entertainment in America (which was, in Jamie’s view, far removed from the classical entertainments of Europe - obviously) was far too open and the bar too seedy for her tastes. This, whatever this was, had to occur out of the way of prying eyes; but Jamie was still, regardless, a stickler for comfort. She would arrange this matter in luxury, as she always did. And there was one place like like that she could find: the mansion. It was where she sat now, as the afternoon heat blazed down and she swept her eyes over the object d’art, the elegant furniture over beamed ceilings. <br><br>

It was familiar, too. She’d been here once before, and had failed in her mission then. This, she was sure, was going to go far more her way. <br><br>

No time and no date had been attached to the note. That detail, naturally, had been deliberate. Anyone could want to claim a magical artefact - would want to have it for themselves for amusement or otherwise. Jamie certainly would, and she didn't believe that was a desire just left to the intellectually superior such as herself. But it was only those who could be bothered to scout out at the place every day for her to turn up who would be desperate, who would be the true owners - or those who would be willing to bargain. It filtered out the curious, the careless, those that the spider found distinctly...irritating. The detritus of this consumerist little world, the driftwood left broken amid the flotsam and jetsam of the real players on this chessboard. The ones willing to lie in wait for what they really wanted. <br><br>

So far? No luck. No one had come to answer the summons. But Jamie was nothing if not patient. <br><br>

She crossed her legs in her chair, leaning back into its padded confines. The lantern itself wasn’t here, of course. This was like any other transaction in her line of business...and no business, blackmail or otherwise, took place with the desired object in full view ready to be stolen. She had a photograph taken earlier that day but she wasn't letting her prize go that easily. She was quite glad she didn’t have it, in reality. Something about it...unsettled her. Even her, with what she had done, with what she had accomplished during her years as director of her criminal enterprise. It was...dark. Not evil - it was far too emotional such a childish word. But something was wrong with it, something not quite right. <br><br>

Tolerate it for the deal. Yes. She couldn't give up now that she was so close to getting something out of this. Her eyes traced the skies out of the open window, waiting for the unlocked door to click. <br><br>

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<div class="jmbb">ADD.: Silas Edel Salina Finkelstein | WORDS: 1147 | NOTES: SORRY FOR LENGTH :C</div>
</div>
<div class="tcred"><a href="http://shine.b1.jcink.com/index.php?showuser=1892" target="_blank">♛ Ames</a></div></center>[/dohtml]
Aug 15 2017, 12:58 PM
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<div class="jmlyr1">she rules </div>
<div class="jmlyr2"> with a rod of iron</div>
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<div class="jmpb"> "It's very easy," she told the man in front of her. <br><br>

Jamie rested an arm on the side of the booth, looking out to the rest of the dingy Rabbit Hole. She gestured to the table. Three cards lay in front of her and she reached out to straighten one, before sitting back and smiling a dazzlingly white array of teeth at the man. Her voice was like velvet. "It's very easy to play," she continued. "Are you sure you don't want to have a go? It doesn't take very long..." <br><br>

One thing Jamie had noticed was that she was drastically running out of money. <br><br>

Well, technically speaking, she did have money. She had enough to buy and run an art gallery, buy a penthouse outright and continue to fund a web of criminals, spies, murderers, arsonists and thieves worldwide while still having enough to bribe the people she needed to bribe. Not that Jamie did any of those things, obviously. But the problem was that all of that money was sitting in a bank. Sitting in a bank outside of Storybrooke. Sitting in a bank outside of Storybrooke in London. Sitting in a bank outside of Storybrooke in London in her own realm. <br><br>

She took a sip of her drink, watching for the man's decision. <br><br>

Unfortunately, it was no use to her here. In the space of one ill-fated plane flight from one prison to another Jamie had lost her daughter, her money, her home, her money, any chance of being free and, to add insult to injury, her money. She didn't hoard the stuff per se - no no no, she wasn't in any way shallow. Jamie Moriarty? Shallow? But the fact remained that it was her opening to everything. That had been hard-stolen, hard-murdered and hard-earned cash, and without it she was right down at the bottom of the pecking order, stripped of all her criminal honours. Without money how was she going to finance herself - her lifestyle? It wasn't a disaster. It was a catastrophe. In many ways she'd gone from one kind of imprisonment to another - she couldn't even leave Storybrooke. <br><br>

Sherlock would kill her if he knew what she was doing now. Well, perhaps not kill. And he didn't have to know. As long as she kept to grungy little bars like this and bandaged up her pride he'd be blissfully oblivious to her and her antics. Besides, it wasn't actually hurting anyone, was it? She was beginning to see why that would bother Sherlock, why hurting others was....wrong, apparently, by his standards. But it was an emergency. She was allowed to look out for herself, wasn't she? Was that breaking the law? She considered. Yeah, in many cases. <br><br>

Most of the people in here were too drunk to care anyway, if the noise was an indicator. She'd chosen this booth deliberately, in the corner, looking out towards anywhere else...and close to the fire exit. She'd only do it for a few nights - make sure she didn't attract anyone's attention, or anyone who wasn't going to be willingly giving her money anyway. Maybe then she could actually do something with herself. She had run a criminal empire! How the mighty fell. This wasn't her usual line of scams but Jamie, despite all of her proclivities - as she called them, as one would call a hobby of stamp-collecting a proclivity - was practical at heart. Whatever worked, she thought to herself as she stretched her smile that little bit tighter. Whatever worked. Whatever got her what she needed. <br><br>

The man was saying something. She leant forward, hoping that the man was too drunk to see that her hair was unwashed. "Oh? The name? The name of the game?" She smiled. "It's called Find the Lady." <br><br>

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<div class="jmbb">ADD.: Felix | WORDS: 634 | NOTES: Trompe l'oeil</div>
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<div class="tcred"><a href="http://shine.b1.jcink.com/index.php?showuser=1892" target="_blank">♛ Ames</a></div></center>[/dohtml]
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