asgardeventide | first whip. ♕ anon text

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first whip. ♕ anon text

[ she'd been putting on her makeup, last she could recall - that, in and of itself, was a luxury considering the excitement of the last few months. it seemed like all she'd had to do was blink and her comfortable safehouse had disappeared, replaced by some sort of strange manor ballroom, with her sitting in the middle of a rug, hand still raised to apply another brush of eyeshadow.

irene adler was still considering what had happened next, turning it over in her brain again and again as she was finally released from what she now knew what was a castle. rather than cause a fuss immediately, it seemed almost safer to keep her head down and test things on her own; like this supposed new 'power' that she had. ordinarily, she was one to keep both feet nailed to the ground...

but given what had just happened, anything seemed possible, if not probable. it would be an elaborate ruse, and even mycroft holmes wasn't that good. he couldn't make people vanish (at least, not in this sense) and appear in a completely new location within the span of a second.

she managed to work her bracelet with relative ease, brushing a finger over the stone inset in it; from her god house? if that was truly what it was? giving the guide a quick skim, she could make a few assumptions.

1. this place was based upon norse mythology.
2. chances of the people in charge being sane were very limited.

well, it was time to jump in, wasn't it?

making certain that the video function was OFF (she didn't need to worry about that introduction, not yet), she fiddled with her settings a bit more, finding a bench to settle herself on. then, carefully, she typed: ]

I have to say, this isn't quite what I expected.
Saving the world(s) through feelings? It's all very touchy-feely and..
Not very me, I'm afraid.

I'd like it if someone could tell me what on earth is happening.
Go on. Impress a girl.

[ and if that wasn't enough of a hint, the text is signed: ]

IA.

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I rather like to consider him my masterpiece.

[ not quite, but this other .. person didn't know that. didn't have to know that. a fairly safe bluff, as far as these things go. ]

[ 'him'. and jamie smiles. she can't keep this game for long, not with sherlock. but she'll keep it as far as she can. ]

Then Galatea had rose to claim Pygmalion. Now there is a play I would read.

The only play worth reading, I think.

[ hints. she wants more hints; people who know sherlock - that could be most anyone in london and beyond given his recent fame before the swan dive off the top of st. barts. ]

And one interesting enough to observe, miss Adler.

You're certainly welcome to it.

Oh, dear Irene, I am already at the first row. You are - much different than what I imagined you to be, the contrast is one of interest. Tell me, how do you take your tea?

You had some preconceived notions of me?

Some milk, no sugar.

Many. I am curious to find out how many would remain and how many I would have to shape anew.

I'm afraid I'm at a disadvantage then - you know my name, but I do not know yours.

[ and this is where she'd keep most people but if this is a game then why not. why not give her an edge and see what she can do with it. ]

Irene Adler.

[ well. to be honest, that wasn't wholly unexpected. if there were two sherlock holmes's - why not two irene adlers? but, she hadn't noticed a second listing when going down the contact list on her bracelet. was it possible to use a pseudonym here on the list? was this woman lying? hm. ]

Oh, of course.

Though, interestingly, there is only one Irene Adler listed.

yes, quite curious isn't it? and now you have your answer, do you not? to me, you have been a work of art, darling.

[ a work of art. the pygmalion reference. meaning that she was a... ]

A creation.

Though I have to say, I am quite real.

Yes, I know. Dear Irene. Always a work of art; once, my own. Now, your own. I dare say I am terribly curious as to how you have designed yourself to be.

[ oh, she just can't help herself. this is dangerous, so very dangerous -- but. ]

Would you like to find out?

dearly so.

There is a lake in the park. One hour.

I look forward to it.

[ not many know to connect a face to the name of Jamie Moriarty. They knows she's a woman by now, no doubt Sherlock had seen to it but which woman is still mostly unknown; Jamie is mostly known as 'Rosalyn' and that has worked in her benefit by now.

But for Irene Adler, she would venture out and play a different game. After all, with Sherlock here, it is only really a matter of time before Jamie Moriarty would be known (and then the game would be even more entertaining, to play when she's out in the open would be new) and so she can choose who finds out and when and she does so while she still can. If anything, Jamie wants this done according to her own rules.

She is dressed in short boots, a pencil skirt and a blue blouse, a heavy black coat reaches just below her hips. Her hair is short, golden, just barely kissing the lines of her shoulders. Jamie Moriarty is distinct in beauty and sharp of eyes.

Much like Irene Adler. Jamie knows her from afar, Jamie knows her by her elegance.

( there would never come a day when she won't think as irene adler as party her own, vain as she is )

she slides into the seat next to her, folds one leg over the other and turns to look at her with a little smile. ]

Irene Adler.

[ if irene seems bothered by the appearance of a person in the seat next to her, she doesn't show it; in fact, she'd seen her coming from a distance and already drawn whatever conclusions she may. they were fairly similar, as far as irene could tell - at the very least, they had impeccable style and a sense of poise. how they might differ, she had a clue to that as well.

still, she turns to offer a predatory smile, tipping her head to one side. ]

Irene Adler.

[ she returns, though she's learned a bit more since they first spoke. ]

Though that isn't your true name, is it?

[ the question earns her a glance, a smile which turns impish but not at all malicious. she has no desire whatsoever to hurt dear irene adler. sherlock would insist this woman is only of interest because of her relations to jamie's namesake and jamie will allow him to think so because she doesn't quite wish to illuminate how intimate an artist feels when presented with their masterpiece, however changed. moriarty's mind is always dark and always complex and in it, something of irene shall always be hers and no, of course she must never be harmed. she is far too beautiful, too real, too different to ever be harmed.

she places her hands on her knees, against the wool of her coat. ]

Irene Adler has always been more than a name to me. She is -

[ a creation, an artwork, something beautiful and bright that has some of jamie but not all of her, never all of her. ]

She was, to be specific. She is quite dead now though she has been revived before but.

[ she looks ahead and her voice turns amused. ]

I trust you know what it means to have to die until you can be born again.

[ the more she considered it, the idea of being solely a creation by this woman was insulting. she was much more than whatever she had been 'created' to be by this person. she was her own woman, she had her own agency. the idea that she would be interesting only because of her connection to this person that she'd never met was also insulting and it would be best if sherlock (jamie's sherlock) never expressed that particular view in front of her.

recrossing her legs, irene throws her a sidelong glance. ]

I am not her.

[ it's simple enough to assert. though, the irony of them both being dead struck her. ]

Of course. But in the case of your illusion, she never existed in the first place. You cannot kill something that was never there. She may feel familiar to you, but the only 'Irene Adler' is the one I know -- and I promise you, I know her quite intimately.

Existence is a game in its own right. For a few months, she had existed while I did not. That it was false hardly mattered and why should it? for those who needed her to exist, she did and no one doubted it. For the sake of this city, we have never existed and now we do. Do we still exist in our own worlds?

[ she waves a hand as if that is not even worthy of conversing upon. ]

Or perhaps you both existed at the same time, one at the forefront, the other behind, pulling the strings. [ irene is more than happy to muse along that line. ] I prefer to consider the immortal words of Descartes -- cogito ergo sum. Regardless of setting. One could also argue that believing in a world necessitates and confirms its very existence.

[ that does make her smile. M was a philosopher, so Sherlock said and Moriarty is truly that. she considers and debates and reflects. ]

And in a way perhaps we still exist. Perhaps one can pick a part of themselves and name them whatever they want. The different is, Irene is a part of me and a whole of you.

It doesn't follow, however, that I was born of you, as a piece of you.

[ especially considering they are from different universes - or so she has to suppose. were there another irene adler and sherlock holmes, she had a feeling that she would know of it by now. especially after her sherlock holmes achieved relative notoriety and fame. ]

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