𝒏𝒂𝒑𝒐𝒍𝒆𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒎𝒆.

𝒂𝒔 𝒊𝒇 𝒎𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒂 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒐𝒍𝒚 𝒐𝒏 𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒓.

[lifeinpoetry]

Inside longing, there is more longing. Why do I always end up here?

— Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore, from The Freezer Door (via lifeinpoetry)

[jamiemoriartes]

0wlprince​:

Stolas prided himself on being a good father, he tried his hardest, he really did

He wasn’t a nice person- he knew that- he wasn’t “good”, he didn’t perceive himself as being particularly special- gifted in wealth and power yes, but he wasn’t some narcissistic perfectionist who always tried to better himself or anything of the like

…But the one thing he truly put effort into was being a father, it was the only thing that truly mattered to him, and the only thing that gave him any real joy, so it always just… stung.. a bit that he and Octavia weren’t as close as they used to be, that her interests had evolved so much with age and yet his had stayed somewhat… stagnant... through his own fault, maybe, or through nature, he wasn’t sure, but it was the truth all the same, and it made it harder and harder for him to close the disconnect between them

But damn it all if he wasn’t going to try anyway

“Ah!! Excuse me, you look relatively… young…” he mused, pulling aside the first person he saw and making no effort to not be in their personal space as he held up two t-shirts

“My darling daughter is a fan of death metal, torture, and human suffering- she gets it from me- so wich of these do you think would suit her tastes best? Panic At The Disco or Metalica? They both seem to imply some level of cruelty don’t they? What do you think?”

Since coming to Echo Springs, Jamie had relied entirely on her wardrobe from England -- blouses from Hobbs and Nordstroms, jackets from Belstaff, skirt suits and trousers with price tags befitting of a six-figure yearly salary, courtesy of the British Museum. But now, she found there to be certain areas in which she was lacking. The same rotation of clothes had become rather dull, and she was searching for more monochrome items, which still befitted her distinct style. She was holding up a black dress to herself when a stranger approached her.

Before she could speak, the man had taken her arm and turned her around. Jamie stared at him coldly, unable to pry his grip from her while she was holding the dress. She looked at the two shirts as the stranger spoke, and ascertained several things in the space of a few seconds. This man was either socially inept, extremely arrogant, or insane. His accent suggested an education, and certainly wasn’t local, and his attire was reminiscent of the short-lived Goth fashion. She gets it from me was another very telling phrase, and certainly fed into her deduction that he was probably not entirely sane. And Jamie ascertained all of this in a matter of seconds, as she looked at the shirts.

“What do I think?” she repeated, her usually soft British accent sharper than usual. She looked away from the shirts, and at the stranger. “I think that it was rather unusual of you to interrupt me while I was shopping, but you seem in some need of help, so I’ll gladly offer it.” And she smiled a smile which barely reached her eyes. “From what little I know of the subject, Panic at the Disco are a more relevant band to young people today.” She paused, wanting to broach the topic of his daughter, but not wanting to seem overtly obvious. So, still smiling, she said, “Do you make a habit of introducing yourself to strangers this way, Mister...?”

[jamiemoriartes]

obxsarahcameron​:

*** Sometimes she wished for nothing more than to get on a boat and pick up John B and sail until nothing surrounded her but the blue ocean, where they could just be together without having to look over their shoulders. Then another part of her would remember floating for hours in the icy waters of the Atlantic Ocean, bones aching as they gripped what was left of The Phantom, not knowing if they would ever set foot on dry ground again.

It was a day a lot like this one that had John B first crashing into her mundane life with his drama. It hadn’t been the first time they’d met – he’d worked on her father’s boats for a few summers – but the power outage led her to take a nap on her dad’s boat for an afternoon and… she could never stop her own curiosity. Echo Springs gave her plenty to be curious about, but she knew where curiosity led… straight into danger.

Sure, the accents were of a more mild variety on this side of the coast and Sarah didn’t expect to hear any kind of Southern charm this far from the Carolinas, but the distinct British accent caught her by surprise. “Yeah, I guess she’s a bit of a fixer upper. But my friend–” Not boyfriend anymore. “–he knows a few things about fixing up boats. Figured I could get him to come visit and take a look if the price is right.” If John B or any of the Pogues still wanted to see her after everything they’d lost because of her father.

.

Jamie studied the boat -- she could see the chipped paint, the damaged hull, the weathered wood. Though she was hardly an expert on seafaring travel, this boat seemed destined for short trips only, provided that one had the money to fix it to be seaworthy. As far as purchases went, she could see no merit in it at all, and she turned to look at the young woman who had first spoken. Sun-kissed, slightly tanned skin, blonde hair, and a slightly Southern twang. She was not an Echo Springs local, that was certain. Then again, she wondered, was anyone local to this insipid town?

“Yes, the price would have to be very right,” she said, walking closer to the edge of the dock, and smiling at the young woman. “Your friend,” she asked, “Is he a sailor, by any chance? Or is he simply very good at fixing vehicles?” She was curious, in the distant way in which she was curious about most things -- with no stakes in the matter, or real vested interest in boats. This was merely a line of enquiry for the sake of taking her mind off the more pressing issues in her life. “Because -- if you want my opinion -- this would be a rather long and expensive project to undertake.”

[jamiemoriartes]

[ 🐣 ] does your muse have anyone they look up to?

SEND ME A SYMBOL FOR A HEADCANON!

[ 🐣 ] does your muse have anyone they look up to?

In Echo Springs? Not overtly. She has to admire that Kaz has her cornered and blackmailed (as much as it angers her) so I suppose she respects him, in a way, for beating her and forcing her to do what she wants. In a similar way, she has some begrudging respect for Jessica Jones, who was able to track her down to the Echo Springs Museum, where she works, from a photograph alone. But as for the other denizens of the town? There's nobody else that she looks up to. Interestingly, in her canon life, she mentioned having a "mentor who shared [her] proclivities", but it's never explained who that was, how they knew each other, or what became of them. I'd imagine that Jamie looked up to them, given that they apparently taught her what they know. And, of course, there's Sherlock Holmes, who Jamie found fascinating, and looked up to for her intellect. But the two of them could never see eye to eye on moral matters, so she didn't look up to him in every respect.

[jamiemoriartes]

[ 🏆 ] is your muse afraid of failure? what do they do when they fail?

SEND ME A SYMBOL FOR A HEADCANON!

[ 🏆 ] is your muse afraid of failure? what do they do when they fail?

As a compulsive perfectionist, Jamie is absolutely afraid of failure. She might not be afraid of it on a conscious level, but a lot of her actions reflect her hidden fear of losing, or failure. She carries herself like someone who has succeeded, someone with a lot of money and status, and that speaks to her secret fear of failing at just about anything. Because she is a sociopath, she sees failure as something that is beneath her, something for "lesser" people, and she avoids it at all costs. When she sets out to do something, she has it in her mind to succeed. And so, when she does fail, she takes it on the chin, and mentally plans her victory. In her run-in with Kaz, for instance, where he currently has the upper hand, rather than have a tantrum about it, Jamie has quietly accepted her current defeat, but is planning to get back at him when she has the opportunity. She is a schemer, and a patient one at that. So, the short answer is, when she fails, she simply bides her time, waiting to return and win.

[jamiemoriartes]

[ ⚖️ ] what is your muse’s moral code? what kind of morality do they have?

SEND ME A SYMBOL FOR A HEADCANON!

[ ⚖️ ] what is your muse’s moral code? what kind of morality do they have?

I would say that Jamie does operate by a moral code, though it might not be one most people would recognise as such. In her Echo Springs life, she is willing to blackmail, lie, murder, and steal to get what she wants, though she has yet to have cause to do any of those things. I think she would get rid of anyone who got in her way, but she would draw the line at murdering children. She would (and has) put children in harm's way in her criminal life, but I don't think she would literally pull the trigger on one herself. I suppose, if I had to define her moral code, I would say that she doesn't desecrate, or permanently kill, anything she finds "beautiful". She said to Sherlock that he was a work of art, "too beautiful to destroy". Her motivation for stealing fine art was the preservation of it. So, she is willing to do anything, provided it does not harm children, or whatever she considers "art".

[weirdlypersonalrpmemes]

headcanon memes inspired by things i like, part 1. ⤿   inspired by muses i write tw: addiction

send in a symbol i’ll answer the corresponding question about my muse!

[ 🏃‍♂️ ] does your muse have escapist tendencies?

[ 💄 ] does your muse have an aesthetic? do they adhere strictly to it?

[ 👥 ] does your muse have many friends? do people feel they can rely on your muse?

[ 📚 ] what is your muse’s favourite genre of books, tv, movies, etc.?

[ 💐 ] what is your muse like in relationships?

[ 💍 ] how dedicated is your muse to their job?

[ 🍺 ] does your muse have any addictions?

[ 🍀 ] does your muse believe in luck? do they have a good luck charm or rituals they follow to avoid bad luck?

[ 🎀 ] does your muse have any childhood friends or people that are important to them?

[ 💕 ] does your muse believe in true love? do they believe in love at all?

[ 🧸 ] does your muse have any guilty pleasures or hobbies that make them embarrassed?

[ 🌟 ] is your muse comfortable in their identity? are they insecure or confident?

[ 🧭 ] does your muse know what they want? how well can they advocate for themselves?

[ 🎈 ] does your muse have many regrets? what are they?

[ 🏆 ] is your muse afraid of failure? what do they do when they fail?

[ 💭 ] does your muse have imaginary friends? did they have any as a child?

[ 🩹 ] what does your muse do to de-stress?

[ 🚓 ] would your muse break the law?

[ 🧲 ] is your muse generally flirty, or are they more reserved?

[ 🗾 ] how self-sufficient is your muse? are they more independent, or do they need others around them?

[ 🙏 ] is your muse religious? what do they believe in, if anything?

[ 👻 ] if your muse were a fantasy creature, what kind would they be? why?

[ ⚖️ ] what is your muse’s moral code? what kind of morality do they have?

[ 💥 ] is your muse determined, or do they give up easily?

[ 🃏 ] how does your muse handle being lied to?

[ 🥀 ] would your muse betray someone they love?

[ 🥊 ] how strong is your muse’s survival instinct?

[ 🌼 ] what kind of first impression does your muse leave?

[ 🐣 ] does your muse have anyone they look up to?

[ 🎨 ] is your muse artistic? do they want to be?

[faithlehne]

post-love

[jamiemoriartes]

akahellcat​:

*** An excellent cup of coffee seemed to be an understatement, but Trish tried to write it off as the anxiety filling her chest – not focusing on the woman’s incredible memory for detail or trying to remember if she’d even told the woman what she’d ordered the night before at the coffee shop… an event that seemed to have happened eons ago.

Trish blushed under the woman’s knowing looks, as if it needed to be said that Trish had been distracted the night before. (And maybe she was distracted just as much this morning, but now it was eclipsed by the realization of what she’d done.) She forced her gaze away from the other blonde and let it wander to the lightly decorated apartment that reminded her a lot of her own – modern and simple in design. The paintings, though, were exquisite. “Is that an actual Vermeer?” Trish asked, clutching her cup of coffee as she took a few steps down the hall. She wasn’t an art expert, but she could recognize some of the more famous artists and she remembered that Jamie worked with art restoration.

.

Jamie noticed Trish’s uncomfortable expression, but she did not comment on it. She allowed the other woman her obvious discomfort, and merely smiled pleasantly. When Trish looked away, and turned to the wall, Jamie followed her gaze, and saw the painting to which she was referring. In an uncharacteristic ironically gesture, Jamie had hung The Milkmaid just outside her kitchen -- the deep blues and bright yellows of the piece contrasting with her monochrome walls. She laughed, and stood up, following Trish out into the hallway.

“Oh, goodness, no!” she said. “No, it’s a copy.” This was, in fact, the truth. Though a number of originals hung on her walls, this was a copy she had done herself, after a few weeks of boredom in London. “The original is in the Metropolitan Museum of Art,” she continued, “It is very beautiful. I had the pleasure of seeing it myself, when I visited.” She used her free hand -- the one in which she was not holding her mug -- to gesture to the painting. “This one cannot capture the essence of standing in front of the original.”

[jamiemoriartes]

obxsarahcameron​:

The air conditioning in the dorm rooms was broken and while summer in Echo Springs was nothing in comparison to post-hurricane power outages in OBX, today was one for the record books on this side of the country. So, Sarah Cameron decided to make a trip down to the docks in a tank top and shorts, hoping for a breeze coming off the water. She noticed a small, kind of rickety boat for sale parked in one of the spots by the docks and stopped to glance at it. Her inheritance money could burn a hole in her pocket if she wasn’t careful, especially when her scholarships had covered most of the cost of college. “You the owner of this boat by any chance? Or is everyone in town just trying to escape the heat by finding the nearest water source?” Sarah could only imagine how crowded the pool on campus must be on a day like today. Part of her wished for the miles of beach back home or even the sight of the Pacific Ocean, but the half-abandoned docks would have to do for now.

.

Ever since her ridiculous deal with Kaz Brekker, and the sudden appearance of that strange, unexplainable, letter, Jamie had been keeping to herself. She had gone to work, and come home at a reasonable time, and kept social interactions to the bare minimum, whittling down her already rather sparse life to the bare minimum in order to maintain an accepted public image, and keep herself from lashing out at her colleagues in an uncharacteristic fit of anger. She knew that she simply had to bide her time with Brekker, but that did not make waiting any easier.

And this simpler, less involved, lifestyle had brought her to the docks, in search of a change of scenery. Her irritation at her provincial, odd, situation had stymied her creativity, and she had hoped that sight of the sea would change that. But then, when she heard a young woman call to her with a rather grating southern twang, Jamie turned to her. It had been quite some time since she had to react to anyone outside of her work sphere, but a lifetime of facades made it second nature to her.

“I would assume the latter,” she said, smiling. “I’m sorry, but it’s not mine.” She looked at the boat. It was rather dilapidated, and the for sale sign spoke volumes. “I’m sure whomever owns it would be glad to see the back of it,” she continued, tilting her head to the side a little. “It does look rather worse for wear, doesn’t it?”

[hashtagparksandrec]

[jamiemoriartes]

akahellcat​:

***

Jamie’s willingness to actually tell the truth struck an odd nerve in Trish and her eyebrow arched in response. Sure, Trish had seen the woman naked, but for the other blonde felt that this moment was somehow more vulnerable than that had been. That night that Trish felt better not acknowledging and had her even now wanting to run away from this table almost as much as she wanted to stay and learn more. And in the end, Trish Walker’s curiosity would always win out.

“Odd?” Trish’s mind flickered to the mysterious package on her front porch and the letters IGH that were already taking up her thoughts. “What kind of odd?” she asked. “Odd involving letters and handwriting I’m guessing?” That much was obvious. “A secret admirer perhaps?” The thought was almost silly, but there was an opposite assumption that she wanted to make if it wouldn’t make her sound crazy – an anonymous threat. She’d gotten enough of them in her time in the limelight.

.

It was probably a sign of how much the letter had unsettled her that Jamie told Trish the truth. They were practically strangers, after all, and this was such a strange occurrence that it felt almost inappropriate to share it. And yet, for the first time in a very long time, Jamie had the odd desire for connection, for intimacy, beyond simple physical intimacy. She had come to the conclusion, decades ago, that it was a pointless pursuit, but the closeness implied in the letter, and the friendship, made her want to reach out to Trish, to be honest.

She laughed when Trish suggested it a secret admirer, though it sounded a little hollow. If she was entirely truthful with herself, that was exactly what the letter writer sounded like. She slipped it out from under the pile of books, and looked at it, but did not unfold it. “Perhaps,” she said, after a moment of silence. “He seems to know me, but...” Her words trailed off, and she frowned a little. “... I’m afraid I don’t know him. At least... I don’t recall...” She was uncharacteristically stumbling over her words, her soft and calm voice unusually slow. She blinked, and turned back to Trish, forcing a bright smile onto her face, perfected after years of pretence. “Well, I’m sure you’re right. It’s simply a secret admirer, playing some kind of joke.”

[jamiemoriartes]

allonsywho​:

~*~

He had a feeling that for her, keeping something in mind was an absurdly easy task. It wasn’t often that he ran into someone who was as clever as he was — not the most humble of statement, he didn’t need anyone to point that out, but it was a true. It was a fact he just always felt. He stepped into a room and glanced around, knowing that he was the smartest person there. A keen sense of loneliness accompanied it, but right now he felt… connection. 

“It’s informative, sure, but so’s an encyclopedia. Doesn’t mean they aren’t boring,” John insisted, leaning forward again. He couldn’t help himself, she was enticing like a rare work of art. 

“Brilliant,” he declared, absolutely genuine. “I do love a good puzzle. Or a riddle, if you will. An… enigma,” he quipped, clicking his tongue against his teeth. He casually ran a hand through his hair, fluffing it up just a bit while he glanced her over. He hummed, murmuring to himself. “No… Yes. Wait, no. No, no — yes, yes!”

He snapped his fingers together. “It’s not just subtlety you’re concerned with, it’s every little detail, isn’t it? The small things. A fan of beauty, but not necessarily the stars. No, I think you prefer a very different medium, eh Miss Moriarty?” he said, beaming at her. “And precision. When you mentioned your birthmarks, you said they almost perfectly form the constellation. Almost. Most people wouldn’t add in that little word, but you do because you have to be absolutely precise in your own work. All those beautiful little details. Your eyes are sharp, but your fingers are soft. No manual labor or musicianship.” It all snapped together so quickly, so perfectly. “You’re an artist,” he declared. “A painter, probably spend a lot of time doing restorations. It pays the best, and you are dressed…” He trailed off, eyes dipping down for just a moment. “Very, very… Uh, well. Very well indeed.” 

Jamie smiled a little, as John leaned forwards. She could see his dilated pupils, the bright smile on his face (which still reminded her so much of someone she could not place), and she knew that it was very likely he was attracted to her. And here, it seemed, was someone who was just as observant and intelligent as she was. But, unlike with Kaz and herself, John Smith had a strange optimism about him, a warmth and friendliness which should have been unappealing, but wasn’t.

He seemed to revel in the challenge of working out her profession, and Jamie watched him carefully. I do love a good puzzle, he said, and, for a moment, she was reminded of something she could have sworn she’d said, once. You see puzzles. I see games. She kept her gaze on John, her expression unchanging, and struggled to place it. But, irritatingly, it alluded her, and so she focused on John, watching his expression change. She could see him thinking, watch the process in his dark eyes, and as he muttered eccentrically to himself, she smiled her typical sideways smile. It was rare she could see someone of above average intelligence think, and it was an oddly enjoyable experience.

He snapped his fingers, and began reeling off deductions in an impressive way. Jamie didn’t bother to hide that she was impressed, and she nodded a little as he spoke, encouraging him to continue. But he didn’t seem to need encouragement -- he carried on speaking, and she emulated his earlier position, and leaned forwards, staring into his eyes. And, in an instant, he realised what she did. It was surprising -- even as he’d been deducing, she had assumed he might arrive at the wrong conclusion, and her interest in him would have, inevitably, disappeared. But he had worked out what she did in a matter of seconds, making astonishing connections.

“Yes, very well,” she agreed, chuckling a little as he looked down at her clothes. “The British Museum was my main employer, in England, and their salaries were very generous.” She paused, and looked at him steadily. “I have to say, I’m very impressed, Mr Smith. You deduced that remarkably quickly. You’re correct, of course.” She smiled at him -- an uncharacteristically warm expression. “I’m a fine art restorer at the Echo Springs Museum. Not as glamorous as my former employment, perhaps, but I enjoy working there.” She flicked her gaze to his mouth for a moment, and back to his eyes, allowing the silence to speak for itself for a moment. “I also do original work,” she said, in a softer voice. “I display it at my apartment. Would you care to see?”

[jamiemoriartes]

akahellcat​:

***

At least she’d been polite enough to take her shoes off at the door, though Trish doubted her reasoning the night before had been in the interest of manners. The smell of coffee managed to slightly ease her anxiety that had only been growing with every waking moment. Trish could do this. She could have a bit of conversation and then leave the apartment and pray that she never ran into the woman again after their night together. Echo Springs was just large enough that she might be able to hold on to that hope.

She took a sip of the coffee. Her exact order. Trish doubted she would be able to avoid a woman like Jamie for long in this town. Trish blushed at the suggestion that she was trying to rush out the door, knowing it was the truth. “I can stay for a cup of coffee,” she admitted. Trish worked a later shift today, but she doubted that the other woman had work this morning with it being the weekend. Glancing around, she noticed how immaculately kept the apartment was, but not in the homely way that made it seem always ready for visitors. “The coffee is perfect,” she said as she breathed in the steam and smell of it before taking another sip. Damn the gorgeous woman and her uncanny ability to make the perfect cup of coffee. Trish couldn’t even find a complaint to harbor against the woman to make it easier to leave and never look back at the night as anything other than a drunken mistake.

.

Trish quite obviously wanted to leave -- the question about her shoes had been telling enough -- and, when Jamie asked if she was in a rush to go, it had been a slightly cruel comment, uncharacteristically driven by a very faint sadism, and she smiled pleasantly when Trish blushed. Probably forced by social convention, and politeness, Trish agreed to stay, and Jamie nodded a little. “Good,” she said. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to rush out of the door. I’m not working today, and I can assume you’re not either?” It was a question, but assumed because Trish’s eagerness to leave seemed to stem from awkwardness, as opposed to obligation.

Jamie smiled at the compliment. “Thank you,” she said. “I have been told I make an excellent cup of coffee, but, unsurprisingly, my tea is, in my opinion, far better.” She picked up her own mug and took a sip, meeting Trish’s gaze with a calm, friendly, look of her own. Now that she had the other woman opposite her again, after last night, she realised, perhaps belatedly, that she would have to make small talk with her. Still, she’d spent her entire adult life acting, so it wasn’t exactly a hardship to do so again.

“I’m sorry we didn’t have time for a tour last night,” she said, giving Trish a knowing look. They were rather preoccupied last night. She raised her hand, and pointed into the hallway, in which the walls were very sparse, save for a few of her finer pieces of art. “I’m afraid I’m not one for sentimental photographs,” she continued. “But I have a few of my favourite paintings up on the walls. I find they brighten the place up adequately.” In fact, there was not a single photograph anywhere in her apartment. Jamie had no need for photographs, or personal items accrued on trips, as other people did. The only signs of any personality were her paintings.

[herapotter]

Visit Original Link

Radical Face - “The Crooked Kind”

Elementary 1x12 “The Diabolical Kind” end song

[jamiemoriartes]

kazofdirtyhands​:

For a great art thief, she certainly had poor security. Though, Kaz thought, a woman with her level of pride in her skills likely didn’t fear break-ins. It was also typical of people who lived in apartments; they grew lazy because they had someone watching the door, cameras, and weren’t alone. It was foolish. Security systems were, if anything, more necessary in an apartment complex where people didn’t notice another face. But Kaz didn’t want to bring up her poor security, because he might need to break in again - all the better to have her think he was more skilled than he was. 

He had to hold himself back from rolling his eyes at her comment. She had been the one to point out that art forgers couldn’t necessarily forge documents, so no need to get testy. So many people grew so peeved that he doubted their skillsets, as if he didn’t doubt everyone’s skillsets. 

Prepared and through gloves, Kaz was fine shaking her hand, and he did so without breaking eye contact. He knew he couldn’t backtrack with Jamie’s assumption on his affliction, but he could at least play it off as less severe, as more of an occasional conflict than one that warred at him constantly. But, unlike her, he didn’t smile - not with his mouth, anyway. But a spark lit his eyes of pure pride, because in his little war with her, he’d won this battle. “I don’t think a signature would be necessary.” He said, turning to walk to his own room and returning with the painting, wrapped in a bedsheet. “Not to my taste, I must admit. But I suppose there’s a lot to be said for personal preference.” He said with an almost polite shrug.

Kaz shook her hand firmly, and Jamie smiled a little -- barely a raising of the corners of her mouth, without showing her teeth. It was odd, given how terribly he seemed to have been afflicted by his aversion to her touch, when they had first met. Was this a cover, some way to distract her, to throw her off how severe his condition was? Why on earth would be bother? It was possible, and she was not against this idea, that she had been mistaken about the severity of his aversion, but she did not have enough data yet to conclude anything. So, she shook his hand, and met his gaze steadily. It was an expression which said, without words, I see you, Mr Brekker. And she knew that he understood that. Here was, at last, an almost worthy opponent. As much as it pained her, he had bested her. For now.

He dismissed the need for a signature, and walked away from her for only a few moments. Jamie stood where she was, and looked around the room, trying to use these precious few seconds to glean more about Brekker by the environment in which he put himself in. But it was irritatingly bare and told her next to nothing, besides what she already knew from her encounters with him. Until, that was, he returned with the priceless, irreplaceable, piece of art wrapped in a bedsheet. Her expression, if possible, grew even colder, and Jamie took it from him in silence, and tipped it slightly to slide the bedsheet off it. The sheet landed in a heap on the floor, and she examined the painting with an expert’s eye.

“Yes, but we have quite clearly established that you know virtually nothing about fine art, Mr Brekker,” she replied, without looking away from the painting. Besides the damage it had incurred during the Blitz, she could not see any signs of further wear and tear. Though he had clearly not stored it in a manner which was befitting of it, at least he hadn’t caused any further damage. She finally looked away from the painting, and back to Kaz, unsmiling now.

“I’m sure you are very proud of yourself,” she said, carefully holding the painting vertically now, her fingertips barely touching the edges, doing the bare minimum to hold it without dropping it, not wishing to leave marks on the paintwork. “But blackmail is a terribly simple thing  to pull of, as I’m sure you’re aware. I doubt I am the first victim of your machinations, nor will I be your last.” There was no shame in announcing herself as a victim -- it was a matter of fact, and a very temporary position. “But,” she continued, “For now, we are allies.”

Here, she smiled emptily, and headed to the door of his living room, intent on leaving now their business was concluded. She paused, at the doorway, and turned back to him with a small, inquisitive frown. “Do let me know when you wish to put my skills to use.” She spoke the final few words with uncharacteristic emphasis, mocking how he had described what he wanted her to do with disdain. “You know where to find me, after all.” And, without another word, she turned on her heel, still carrying the Bruegel, and left briskly.

[jamiemoriartes]

Meetings | Task

This is a surprisingly difficult task for Jamie. The first character I’d want her to meet is the 10th Doctor, and we’ve got that going on here. I suppose it would be interesting to have her meet 12, who’s more gruff and short-tempered than 10? It would be cool to see how she would interact with someone who is just as clever as her, and not as fond of humanity, but who is still ultimately good, and still believes in something. Like her being the antithesis of Sherlock Holmes, Jamie is, in a lot of ways, the antithesis of every incarnation of the Doctor. So, I might broaden this to say “I want Jamie to meet any incarnation of the Doctor”, and leave it there. Besides that crossover, it would be great to have her meet other versions of herself, in the countless different retellings of Sherlock Holmes. But I’m thinking, particularly, of Jim Moriarty from BBC’s Sherlock, and James Moriarty from the Guy Richie films. With Jim, I think she would be ashamed to share his name, because he’s just a lunatic, and he doesn’t seem like a criminal genius at all. But with James, I think there would be mutual respect there, for each other’s cleverness, skill, and calm. I think, of all of the Moriarty’s, Jamie would get along with James the best, and perhaps even ally herself with him. Thinking about other people she would actually get along with, I can see her tolerating the company of Isabella from Gotham (at least, the Isabella that exists in my head? So this is sort of a cheat, since she’s basically an OC, but I wanted to give her a shout-out) and, weirdly enough, Hannibal Lecter from Bryan Fuller’s Hannibal. They’re both classy, both love art, and are both insane geniuses. I can see Jamie enjoying Hannibal’s company, though she would work out he’s a cannibal very quickly, and refuse to eat anything he prepared for her. I would like to think she would refuse politely enough that Hannibal wouldn’t see fit to kill her for her rudeness.