execution only

MR. JAMES MORIARTY. PRIVATE COMMODITY BROKER BASED IN LONDON, SPECIALISING IN ARMS TRADE IN THE MIDDLE AND FAR EAST. CHARGES AVAILABLE ON REQUEST. Ex-BA colonel, seasoned gambler, and somewhat reluctant sibling of Jim Moriarty. [est. March 2012].

[ghisborne]

[mancandykings]

“A sense of freedom is something I highly value. That’s why I love riding my motorcycle and travelling so much. That frees me from the intensity I apply to my work. I’m very conscious of taking time off to appreciate my life and finding out what makes me happy. All I need is a few books, my motorcycle and my helmet!”

[larygo]

[richardcfarmitage]

Richard Armitage’s appearance is interesting. On one hand, he’s leading man handsome. But there’s something about the arrangement of his features - the long sloping nose, the sharp cheekbones, slim lips, pale blue eyes and fair skin - that’s identifiably villainous. […] “I enjoy playing the bad guys…and I’m not desperate to play a good guy. My ‘thing’ that I’ve always really enjoyed doing is when you do do get cast as the hero you look for all the flaws, for the dark side to the hero. And then with the bad guy, you look for the good side (of him).” (x)(x)

[moran-sm]

Lookin’ good, Irene.

[cardsharper]

I don’t want to know what the thousand words this picture’s worth are.

[richards-smile]

[moran-sm]

cardsharper:

[Text] if it’s that bad, shouldn’t you be driving toward the fire? JM

[Text] James. - SM

[cardsharper]

[Text] 20 mins. I’ll be outside. JM

[moran-sm]

[Text] Let me rephrase that. Potential security breach. I’m picking you up in twenty minutes. - SM

[cardsharper]

[Text] if it’s that bad, shouldn't you be driving toward the fire? JM

[cardsharper]

[Text] Potential security breach. You in? - SM

[Text] if it’s only potential, I’m busy. JM

[lotsofchocolateicecream]

[rmhurts-deactivated20140830]

[mrpuddingston]

[cardsharper]

wise men at their end

[cardsharper]

James shook his head. No, he had nothing on tomorrow. The sluggish memory of his work mobile inbox reared its ugly head, and he washed it back with his last shot of—whatever.

He followed the initial gesture up with a verbalisation; it occurred to him that for some reason it might need clarification. More for himself, he realised: it confirmed a feeling of peace, a fickle state though it was.

"Nah. It just crept up on me." James put a warm pat on Moran’s arm. Sebastian had been welcome company so far; the perfect line between familiarity and unobtrusiveness. Their meetings were generally irregular—this might be the last night he could fully and trustingly sink into for a while. Why not scrape the most out of it? "You want to try somewhere else, mate? I know this great little Moroccan place. Does some really nice beer."

[moran-sm]

Sebastian shrugged, glancing down at his watch. If Jim had been at home, he’d have been back hours ago, if he’d ever even left him in the first place.

"Yeah, why not," he said, getting slightly unsteadily to his feet. It wasn’t good, being tipsy, getting drunk. He never knew when he might be called upon to aim straight. "Let’s get out of here," he said determinedly, because Jim wasn’t here and he wasn’t going to have to aim straight until he was.

[cardsharper]

They ambled out into the street, took a turn, carried on two-abreast towards the next bar. Gaggles of middle-aged all-female groups stumbled past on the same side of the road, sheepish pockets of teenagers hung around on the other.

Sebastian and James' sparse conversation continued to pick up with the steady percolation of the alcohol into their systems as they walked. James glanced slantwise at Sebastian.

"You starting to enjoy yourself yet?"

[cardsharper]

And how the silence surged softly backward

[cardsharper]

"You should probably wear five hats." They met the central stairwell and started up it. "How about we start on the island tomorrow? Doing the paperwork for a hire car’s an arse; we wouldn’t be off until mid-afternoon. I’ll go to the reception this evening and book one."

[professionallythewoman]

She nodded, quietly agreeing as they moved up the stairs. “Mhm, you’re the expert. Any chance of getting you in the sea, then?” She was pretty sure they’d had this conversation about the pool, and it didn’t go quite so well.

[cardsharper]

James rubbed the back of his neck with a pained expression.

"Errrrrr…"

They hit the fifth floor and he quickly outpaced Irene to the corridor, hands in pockets, rooting for his key. “Remember: room services between eleven and midday,” he grunted over his shoulder, changing the subject.

[professionallythewoman]

"Awh, don’t like the sea either, do you, baby?" She teased in some kind of mocking tone, smiling gently. That meant that she ignored his comment, and was later in getting her key to hand and retrieving what she needed from her suitcase.

"I haven’t even unpacked yet."

[cardsharper]

"'Baby'?" He intended a scoff, but it came out more as a bad-tempered mutter. He shoved the key card into the slot on the door and lightly shouldered it open.

He wasn't much advanced on his unpacking, either. But the imminent creasing of various items of clothing was always a concern, so--after giving the room, en suite and balcony a quick check--he made a start.

At a quarter past seven, he rang up Irene and prompted her towards getting down for dinner. She scolded him for not giving her more notice (what kind of woman do you think I am and do you know how long it takes to fix my hair, God, you idiot) and hung up. James stood blankly staring at the receiver for a few moments after, fancying he could hear her still spitting indignant rhetorical questions to her bathroom mirror from across the corridor. Eventually, he wandered out onto the balcony again, hands in pockets, mulling over the strange turn his path had taken over--the past few months? Last year he'd been unattached, wholly unbothered by being attached. The names Adler and Moran hadn't been ones in his directory. He wouldn't have used Moriarty to indicate anyone but himself. London wasn't 'home'.

Now. . .the lax position he'd slid into was unthinkable. 

He went back inside, shivering through the solid wall of arctic air that owned the threshold. He turn the air conditioning off and decided to change his shirt.

[glenmcniven]

glen, sitting like a whore

[cardsharper]

wise men at their end

[cardsharper]

James glanced at Moran. “None,” he repeated, softly.

Moran’s drink arrived, and several more after that for the both of them. The bar’s liveliness swelled and dissipated well into the early hours of the morning, catering for crawlers, students and the more general, aimlessly wandering members of the public. Sometimes, Sebastian and James went for tens of minutes without talking. In other instances, they were stuck on lengthy discussions which didn’t seem to go anywhere, but appeared to be entertaining enough.

After the closure of a particularly animated conversation about the best take-away north of the Thames, James checked his watch. He rubbed the ball of his hand over his eyes and muttered.

"Shit."

[moran-sm]

"Early start tomorrow?" Sebastian asked dryly, his words only just beginning to slur into one another. The thought of James leaving now sent a spike of panic shooting through his chest; he was just about content here, with him. He wasn’t on edge anymore, at least.

[cardsharper]

James shook his head. No, he had nothing on tomorrow. The sluggish memory of his work mobile inbox reared its ugly head, and he washed it back with his last shot of—whatever.

He followed the initial gesture up with a verbalisation; it occurred to him that for some reason it might need clarification. More for himself, he realised: it confirmed a feeling of peace, a fickle state though it was.

"Nah. It just crept up on me." James put a warm pat on Moran's arm. Sebastian had been welcome company so far; the perfect line between familiarity and unobtrusiveness. Their meetings were generally irregular—this might be the last night he could fully and trustingly sink into for a while. Why not scrape the most out of it? "You want to try somewhere else, mate? I know this great little Moroccan place. Does some really nice beer."

[richardcfarmitage]

[cardsharper]

In “The Crucible”, Proctor — decent, tormented and flawed — is the centre of the audience’s attention.  "I can feel that the audience are breathing his breath as they watch the play." (x)(x)