Profile
Personal Photo

No Photo

Options
Custom Title
Jamie Moriarty doesn't have a custom title currently.
Personal Info
Location: No Information
Born: No Information
Website: No Information
Interests
No Information
Other Information
alias: Jessica
age in ##: 35
story: Elementary
gif (150x150): http://orig06.deviantart.net/7393/f/2017/042/7/7/mori_profile_gif_by_mycers-daybmv1.gif
Application: http://ourheroesandvillains.jcink.net/index.php?act=ST&f=9&t=3241
Plot Page: http://ourheroesandvillains.jcink.net/index.php?showtopic=2386
Wanteds: http://ourheroesandvillains.jcink.net/index.php?showtopic=2386
Statistics
Joined: 5-March 17
Status: (Offline)
Last Seen: Nov 21 2017, 02:18 PM
Local Time: Nov 23 2017, 06:45 PM
58 posts (0.2 per day)
( 0.18% of total forum posts )
Contact Information
AIM No Information
Yahoo No Information
GTalk No Information
MSN No Information
SKYPE No Information
Unread Message Message: Click here
Unread Message Email: Private
Signature
View Signature

Jamie Moriarty

Tomorrowland

Topics
Posts
Comments
Friends
My Content
Nov 14 2017, 01:38 PM
[dohtml]<link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Abel|La+Belle+Aurore" rel="stylesheet" type="text/css">
<style type="text/css">
.jmbox { width: 320px; background-color: #252629; padding: 20px 40px 40px 40px; }
.jmlyr1 { font-family: la belle aurore; font-size: 25px; color: #883d3d; text-align: center; padding-top: 10px; }
.jmlyr2 { font-family: abel; font-size: 11px; color: #ccc; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: uppercase; }
.jmmain { height: 200px; padding: 0px; border-top: 1px solid #aa4d4d; border-bottom: 1px solid #aa4d4d; }
.jmpb { height: 200px; overflow: auto; text-align: justify; padding: 0 10px; line-height: 125%; color: #ccc; }
.jmbb { font-family: abel; font-size: 11px; color: #ccc; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: uppercase; }
.tcred { text-transform: uppercase; text-align: right; width: 400px; }
.tcred a {font-family: calibri; font-size: 8px; letter-spacing: 1px; }
.jmpb::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb { background-color: #883d3d; }
.jmpb::-webkit-scrollbar { width: 8px; background-color: #252629; }
</style>
<center>
<img src="https://orig00.deviantart.net/9420/f/2017/042/d/3/mori_post_box_pic_by_mycers-dayolu7.png">
<div class="jmbox">
<div class="jmlyr1">she rules</div>
<div class="jmlyr2"> with a rod of iron </div>
<div style="background-color: #aa4d4d; padding: 2px; margin-bottom: 2px;"></div>
<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>

</div>

</div>
<div style="background-color: #aa4d4d; padding: 2px; margin-top: 2px;"></div>
<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
[dohtml]<link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Abel|La+Belle+Aurore" rel="stylesheet" type="text/css">
<style type="text/css">
.jmbox { width: 320px; background-color: #252629; padding: 20px 40px 40px 40px; }
.jmlyr1 { font-family: la belle aurore; font-size: 25px; color: #883d3d; text-align: center; padding-top: 10px; }
.jmlyr2 { font-family: abel; font-size: 11px; color: #ccc; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: uppercase; }
.jmmain { height: 200px; padding: 0px; border-top: 1px solid #aa4d4d; border-bottom: 1px solid #aa4d4d; }
.jmpb { height: 200px; overflow: auto; text-align: justify; padding: 0 10px; line-height: 125%; color: #ccc; }
.jmbb { font-family: abel; font-size: 11px; color: #ccc; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: uppercase; }
.tcred { text-transform: uppercase; text-align: right; width: 400px; }
.tcred a {font-family: calibri; font-size: 8px; letter-spacing: 1px; }
.jmpb::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb { background-color: #883d3d; }
.jmpb::-webkit-scrollbar { width: 8px; background-color: #252629; }
</style>
<center>
<img src="http://orig03.deviantart.net/1355/f/2017/042/3/9/mori_post_box_pic_by_mycers-dayolue.jpg">
<div class="jmbox">
<div class="jmlyr1">you see puzzles</div>
<div class="jmlyr2"> I SEE GAMES </div>
<div style="background-color: #aa4d4d; padding: 2px; margin-bottom: 2px;"></div>
<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>

</div>

</div>
<div style="background-color: #aa4d4d; padding: 2px; margin-top: 2px;"></div>
<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
[dohtml]<link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Abel|La+Belle+Aurore" rel="stylesheet" type="text/css">
<style type="text/css">
.jmbox { width: 320px; background-color: #252629; padding: 20px 40px 40px 40px; }
.jmlyr1 { font-family: la belle aurore; font-size: 25px; color: #883d3d; text-align: center; padding-top: 10px; }
.jmlyr2 { font-family: abel; font-size: 11px; color: #ccc; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: uppercase; }
.jmmain { height: 200px; padding: 0px; border-top: 1px solid #aa4d4d; border-bottom: 1px solid #aa4d4d; }
.jmpb { height: 200px; overflow: auto; text-align: justify; padding: 0 10px; line-height: 125%; color: #ccc; }
.jmbb { font-family: abel; font-size: 11px; color: #ccc; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: uppercase; }
.tcred { text-transform: uppercase; text-align: right; width: 400px; }
.tcred a {font-family: calibri; font-size: 8px; letter-spacing: 1px; }
.jmpb::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb { background-color: #883d3d; }
.jmpb::-webkit-scrollbar { width: 8px; background-color: #252629; }
</style>
<center>
<img src="https://orig15.deviantart.net/cc71/f/2017/042/2/e/mori_post_box_pic_by_mycers-dayolts.jpg">
<div class="jmbox">
<div class="jmlyr1">she rules </div>
<div class="jmlyr2"> with a rod of iron</div>
<div style="background-color: #aa4d4d; padding: 2px; margin-bottom: 2px;"></div>
<div class="jmmain">
<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>

</div>

</div>
<div style="background-color: #aa4d4d; padding: 2px; margin-top: 2px;"></div>
<div class="jmbb">ADD.: Felix | WORDS: 634 | NOTES: Trompe l'oeil</div>
</div>
<div class="tcred"><a href="http://shine.b1.jcink.com/index.php?showuser=1892" target="_blank">♛ Ames</a></div></center>[/dohtml]
Jul 17 2017, 02:05 PM
[dohtml]<link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Abel|La+Belle+Aurore" rel="stylesheet" type="text/css">
<style type="text/css">
.jmbox { width: 320px; background-color: #252629; padding: 20px 40px 40px 40px; }
.jmlyr1 { font-family: la belle aurore; font-size: 25px; color: #883d3d; text-align: center; padding-top: 10px; }
.jmlyr2 { font-family: abel; font-size: 11px; color: #ccc; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: uppercase; }
.jmmain { height: 200px; padding: 0px; border-top: 1px solid #aa4d4d; border-bottom: 1px solid #aa4d4d; }
.jmpb { height: 200px; overflow: auto; text-align: justify; padding: 0 10px; line-height: 125%; color: #ccc; }
.jmbb { font-family: abel; font-size: 11px; color: #ccc; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: uppercase; }
.tcred { text-transform: uppercase; text-align: right; width: 400px; }
.tcred a {font-family: calibri; font-size: 8px; letter-spacing: 1px; }
.jmpb::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb { background-color: #883d3d; }
.jmpb::-webkit-scrollbar { width: 8px; background-color: #252629; }
</style>
<center>
<img src="http://orig07.deviantart.net/f347/f/2017/042/d/8/mori_post_box_pic_by_mycers-dayolvg.jpg">
<div class="jmbox">
<div class="jmlyr1">for your own good</div>
<div class="jmlyr2">let me win</div>
<div style="background-color: #aa4d4d; padding: 2px; margin-bottom: 2px;"></div>
<div class="jmmain">
<div class="jmpb"> Going down to the morgue had been, like most of Jamie's decisions, the worst and best thing she had done during her stint in hospital. <br><br>

On one hand, she now knew about the zombies, about some of the strange things going on in town - and the nature of the crash that had brought her here, too. Her discovery down in the morgue had been the key to understanding the mechanics about where she was and how she had gotten here. Through the newspapers (which were surprisingly candid about how everyone got here), she had worked out the rest. It appeared she had 'jumped realms' with Sherlock, from what she could pick up; she had moved between dimensions, between the cracks from one reality to another. It explained why Storybrooke wasn't on the map, why there had been the odd turbulence just before the plane had shattered. The puzzle pieces were clicking into place. <br><br>

How this was possible she was unsure; although mathematics and space had once been her reading material of choice she was not as well versed in it as she once was. But what mattered was that it was more than she'd had to work with before, and it gave her an answer to the questions that she had been so desperately seeking. She had a lot to think about, a lot to muse over, while she was healing. <br><br>

And it was a good thing she did, as on the other hand she was suddenly under tighter supervision than, surely, she ever had been at the CIA blacksite. To talk to that Doctor Brennan had been a mistake - and to lie to her, too. Jamie had her water, her food, her drugs to heal and a panic alarm if she needed it; that hadn't changed. But there had been a shift in her treatment - subtle, but still there; an adjustment that made life there that bit less hospitable. She had been moved from an open ward to a small room off the corridor, and the nurses had no longer stayed to talk to her. They gave her what she needed and left, without looking her in the eye, and she had gone hours without seeing anyone. Was it her imagination, or had the door clicked with the finality of a lock on the other side? <br><br>

This woman had become a handler, a keeper, a jailer. All because Jamie had miscalculated her intelligence. Attempts to remedy the situation, to make herself look addled, suffering from some vague mental illness and yet harmless did little to sway Doctor Brennan. And all that time, trapped in that pathetic little room, Moriarty's wrath had positively bloomed. <br><br>

She was angry at herself more than anyone else, yet there was only one person who would be paying the price for her treatment. She had left the hospital when she was discharged and had spent her time exploring the town, getting to know her wider constraints. But Jamie's mind had gone back time and time again to the doctor who had done her best to limit her freedom, who now knew the threat she posed - or thought she did. When she returned to the hospital, she would be under no doubt. <br><br>

This woman couldn't be another Joan. She couldn't be. Joan was...unique. Special, in Jamie's eyes - anointed, beyond the rest in a way that none other could compare. So much like Sherlock but so different. So human. And in the same way as Joan Watson this woman had also proven hard to judge, had made Jamie trip up. But this woman wasn't Joan. She was something else, an unknown entity. Untested, and therefore dangerous. And that made her someone to be wary of under the hospital's roof. But Jamie wasn't in hospital now, and was regained to full strength. It was time to tip the balance. <br><br>

Jamie had waited until the hospital had dipped into the dark chasm of the night shift, as the day visitors left, nurses arrived and left their stations and the lights were dimmed. This sterile, white world shifted in the twilight, as the gears changed in the medical machine. Getting in had been easy enough; she had spent the majority of the day in a spare cupboard, waiting until the perfect time to emerge. Now she walked down its now familiar halls to the morgue, dressed in a simple pale blouse and jeans and well enough to manage on her own without drugs nor support. <br><br>

And there she was. Jamie was poised in the shadows. <br><br>

"Doctor."<br><br>

</div>

</div>
<div style="background-color: #aa4d4d; padding: 2px; margin-top: 2px;"></div>
<div class="jmbb">ADD.: Temperance Brennan | WORDS: 761 | NOTES: CHIAROSCURO</div>
</div>
<div class="tcred"><a href="http://shine.b1.jcink.com/index.php?showuser=1892" target="_blank">♛ Ames</a></div></center>[/dohtml]
Jun 9 2017, 03:16 PM
[dohtml]<link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Abel|La+Belle+Aurore" rel="stylesheet" type="text/css">
<style type="text/css">
.jmbox { width: 320px; background-color: #252629; padding: 20px 40px 40px 40px; }
.jmlyr1 { font-family: la belle aurore; font-size: 25px; color: #883d3d; text-align: center; padding-top: 10px; }
.jmlyr2 { font-family: abel; font-size: 10px; color: #ccc; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: uppercase; }
.jmmain { height: 200px; padding: 0px; border-top: 1px solid #aa4d4d; border-bottom: 1px solid #aa4d4d; }
.jmpb { height: 200px; overflow: auto; text-align: justify; padding: 0 10px; line-height: 125%; color: #ccc; }
.jmbb { font-family: abel; font-size: 11px; color: #ccc; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: uppercase; }
.tcred { text-transform: uppercase; text-align: right; width: 400px; }
.tcred a {font-family: calibri; font-size: 8px; letter-spacing: 1px; }
.jmpb::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb { background-color: #883d3d; }
.jmpb::-webkit-scrollbar { width: 8px; background-color: #252629; }
</style>
<center>
<img src="http://orig07.deviantart.net/f347/f/2017/042/d/8/mori_post_box_pic_by_mycers-dayolvg.jpg">
<div class="jmbox">
<div class="jmlyr1">makes the world quite dull, no?</div>
<div class="jmlyr2"> LOOKING AT A MAN, AND KNOWING ALL HIS SECRETS.</div>
<div style="background-color: #aa4d4d; padding: 2px; margin-bottom: 2px;"></div>
<div class="jmmain">
<div class="jmpb"> Another morning. Another day in this strange town. <br><br>

Jamie was doing well. She hadn't managed to get arrested yet and was...coping. She had found accommodation at least. A job was not exactly forthcoming, but she was working on that. As much as her pride hated to have to find a job in the first place like an ordinary person she stifled it, at least for the moment. It was necessary. She wasn't going to run back to Sherlock at the first sign of trouble. <br><br>

In her competitive mind she thought of it as a game. That game of who could hold out the most between them, who could go the longest in this new town before approaching the other, before breaking and running back to the only person they really knew here. It was to her a war of attrition: who would withstand it, who seemed the least unaffected by the other's presence here in town. Whether or not Sherlock thought the same way was immaterial. She just assumed he came to the same conclusion she did. <br><br>

But, nonetheless, it was a game she was losing. <br><br>

Sherlock always managed to infect her thoughts in some way or another in the most surprising ways. She herself found her ordered and disciplined mind all over the place whenever she thought of him. Most people barely skimmed across Jamie's mind, brushing across her thoughts before once again being reallocated to that mental crevasse where everyone unimportant went. She never forgot them, of course, in case they suddenly became important in some way, but even so they were rarely of such a status for long. They would crop up in her life, as a resource or an obstacle; if they were a resource they were drained of everything that made them useful, if they were an obstacle they were removed from play. Sherlock, however, remained a permanent fixture, and the more she learnt about this town the more she wondered what he made of it, whether he was thinking anything along the same lines as her. She couldn't help wondering what he knew...<br><br>

..And how he was feeling. The stirrings of empathy were still fledgling in Jamie's mind, the concept of caring for someone beyond herself still profoundly alien and foreign, yet she found herself caring all the same. Was he alright? Did he have a roof over his head? As much as he could follow her without her spies and on the ground with no resources she found it harder to follow him, to understand how he was getting on. It was becoming, quite frankly, irritating. She couldn't deny her own...attachment to him. But it was becoming distracting - he was becoming distracting. She was trying to set up a life for herself and yet her feelings for him were getting in the way every time.<br><br>

Oh, sod it, she decided one morning. She'd go and find him, even if it did mean losing that game. So Miss Moriarty took a walk around town, hoping to see him. It was an indirect way of finding him but it was the best she could do, unused to field work. Storybrooke was familiar to her now, or the central parts were at least, but she still couldn't find him. People had seen him, that Jamie could work out, but she couldn't for the life of her find out where he was staying. Not at Granny's, not at the inn she was staying in. So where? <br><br>

If Jamie had been the emotional sort she would have been concerned. But instead she cast her net further and further afield. The woods, right up to the town line; she checked everywhere. She was scraping the bottom of the barrel, she thought, looking here. The docks, really? One building in particular looked fairly run down - nothing to look at. The kind of building that needed a good arson. She almost dismissed it, turning her gaze back to the far prettier and pleasing to the eye buildings further into town - except for the sign. <br><br>

Idiots need not enter. <br><br>

A smile slinked across her face. Found him. <br><br>

But her smile faded as she walked into the building. Jamie was cautious, lingering by the door. Thinking about talking to Sherlock was one thing. Actually approaching him was another. "Sherlock?" Was he even in? At least she'd found where he was living - no one would put a sign up like that. It was the kind of whimsical little thing that Sherlock would do. She hesitated before knocking. "Sherlock, it's me," she called in, wrapping her jacket around her tightly at the sharp breeze coming in from the docks and the sea. "Jamie."<br><br>

</div>

</div>
<div style="background-color: #aa4d4d; padding: 2px; margin-top: 2px;"></div>
<div class="jmbb">ADD.: Sherlock Holmes | WORDS: 782 | NOTES: </div>
</div>
<div class="tcred"><a href="http://shine.b1.jcink.com/index.php?showuser=1892" target="_blank">♛ Ames</a></div></center>[/dohtml]
Last Visitors


Nov 21 2017, 07:26 PM




Nov 14 2017, 01:41 PM




Nov 8 2017, 11:48 AM



Comments
No comments posted.
Add Comment

OUR AFFILIATES


skin by miss texas at cttw, cc, and shine