Open Post 002

[2020mod]

• Step one: start a thread in this post!
• Step two: specify who the thread is for (or open) in this post!
• Step three: make people reply to this post!
• AND THAT'S THE WAY YOU DO IT.


And don't forget, there's still the ooc discussion post! And nothing needs to be contained to this post! Create new logs to your heart's content! This AU is yours, so have at it!


musebox • rules • character list

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[waiting]

Being on the run hadn't been kind to Rick Bradbury, not the least because he'd lit out of Nelson's apartment like he'd been set on fire, once he'd realized who Adrian Maskin was. Truthfully, he couldn't say why he'd reacted that way: one would think seeing a best friend he'd thought was dead would be an occasion for celebration, not dismay. But seeing how much Mitch has changed, how thoroughly he's cut himself off from the ImPort community while at the same time professing to do what's best for them--

Well, it rubbed Bradbury the wrong way, to say the least.

In any case, he'd left Nelson's house rather abruptly. While he didn't think Mitch was there anymore, he'd never gotten around to getting back for a number of reasons. Caring for a fresh wound out on the street wasn't the smartest of ideas, and who knew how he'd managed to avoid getting it infected so far.

Clearly, whatever luck he'd had in that department had run out in others, because the voice out of the shadows had him automatically reaching for the gun he normally kept on his person -- with his injured arm, still immobilized by an improvised sling, and he swore, spinning around to try and look for the source instead.

"The fuck am I supposed to trust someone I can't see?" He hissed, but kept his voice low anyway. Just in case someone was listening, or in case he was going crazy.

[deductives]

Sherlock flitted between the alleyway and the shadows on the sidewalk. It was a blink of movement inside the shadows, so he watched the police getting closer as if they were in a flip book. When Bradbury replied, Sherlock just scoffed. He wasn't going to make this easy, but at least now he knew it was him. He heard the familiar jangling of of handcuffs against sets of keys growing closer.

"Fair enough. Actions before words, then."

Though Bradbury certainly looked worse for wear, Sherlock could tell he was still more of a physical threat than he was. Fortunately, he had the element of surprise on his side, and in his shadows, the physical world tended to change. Arms emerged noiselessly from the wall behind Bradbury, one clamping a hand down on his mouth and the other pulling him back into the darkness.

"Don't panic and don't make a sound," he hissed into Bradbury's ear, watching as the police turned into the alley. It was a more trying request than it seemed; Sherlock knew how the shadows felt to the uninitiated. However, as long as he kept a hold on Rick, things would be fine. Hopefully.

[waiting]

Don't panic was easy enough to say to someone who wasn't getting dragged into -- whatever the fuck this was. Having a hand clamped over his mouth didn't fucking help, either, but exhaustion meant that whatever instinctive struggle he'd made against Sherlock's grip was short-lived.

The kick of his heart was furious, making the wound in his shoulder throb while the police swept into the alley. The roar of blood in his ears was like white noise, drowning out all other sound. Any minute now, he thought, he was going to get called out. Any minute now, he was screwed.

His breath was shallow and quick against Sherlock's fingers, waiting for a fight that never came. They swept through, and though his shoulders didn't relax, there was a huff that might have been like a sigh of relief.

Now that they weren't in danger of imminent discovery, though, he had time to worry about other things, like how familiar that voice was.

[deductives]

Sherlock could feel Bradbury's heartbeat like a hammer against the arm he wrapped around his torso. It was the first time he had ever seen the man actually afraid. How many close calls did he have to chip away at the complete disregard of self-preservation that Sherlock remembered?

Once the police passed through the alleyway, bickering over losing their man as they went, Sherlock shifted slowly in the opposite direction. Bradbury's weight was no problem in the shadows, and it felt like a gentle glide to a nearby vacant lot. Under the protection of some scaffolding, they rose up back onto the ground. He let go of Rick quickly and practically pounced out of his reach as a precaution.

"You alright, then?" he asked a bit breathlessly. His brow furrowed and he sniffed the air. "Besides living on a freighter, I mean."