❝ infect me with your love and fill me with your poison ❞

[ham]

❝ permanently public roleplay post ❞

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Comments

That one guy who's a pimp or something (GBverse)

[misswatson]

[Joan Watson has gotten used to living in space. Crazy as it was, at least there was always a job to be had so she could take care of rent and her current residence was beginning to feel rather homey (it wasn't the brownstone though since it wasn't reeking with oddities that had Sherlock's name all over it). And most importantly of all, this crazy spaceship has given her the opportunity to meet all sorts of unique individuals, from different worlds, timelines, lifestyles... Different EVERYTHING really.

There are some things that stay the same though and observing people's habits and those small blips of abnormalities are one of them. Joan has been working at the clinic (clerical work, she's done with practicing) and of the patients that left seems to have forgotten a scarf of some sort. Watson thinks it would be a shame if she didn't get it back so she takes it upon herself to return this nice clothing item to its owner.

... And it's led her to the seedier part of the ship. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. ]

drop it like it's hawt etc etc

[pimping]

[It's not often that Littlefinger comes across another human face at his establishment. After all, the place is made to cater to a particular sort of clientele. The creatures come and go to work and play at his brothel. He copes as best he can, doing what he can to discover their desires and please them.

Though he works under the guise of being a mere receptionist, he holds all the power here. The brothel is registered under one Gnarrmz of Ggrawg but it's Littlefinger's through and through. On the outside, it looks like dilapidated ruin but once you push through that splintered door lacking a knob, you'll find yourself in an inviting lobby furnished with polished wood benches and floors that shine. In a corner, Littlefinger sits and balances his books, resisting the impulse to stop writing and dip his ballpoint pen in an ink well that isn't there. Old habits die hard. Upon looking up to raise a brow at the woman who's just walked in, he manages his patented genial smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He moves to stand with grace, offering a small bow with a slight flourish of the hand as the mockingbird pin twinkles at the neck of his doublet.]

I'd ask if we might offer you something you need but I think we both already know the answer to that.

[He then raises himself to his full height, smile never faltering.]

If you happen to be lost, I must tell you that it's terrible judgment to seek directions from the depraved.

[It's never been in his nature to hide what he is but he sugarcoats it well enough with easy candor and a joking tone. Then again, as poor Ned Stark learned all too late, Littlefinger has a rather sick sense of humor.]

[misswatson]

Oh!

[Watson pauses at the sight of Petyr. She remembered meeting him a while ago, but they only briefly introduced themselves to each other so her first impression of him wasn't all that clear (but the smile that doesn't reach his eyes is nonetheless, unsettling).]

You're... Sorry, your last name was Baelish right?

[Her dark eyes cast a quick glance of the inside. Quiet, a little too quiet. Business going behind closed doors? Best not to come to hasty conclusions, but...]

I'm Joan Watson, if you don't remember. And actually I'm here to return something someone dropped at the clinic.

[pimping]

[The woman with the man's name, yes. Joan. Quite the novelty. To him, it sounds like the name Jon with some syllabic affectation. All the better to make it dance on the lips of the lady who bore it. The fairer sex was much fonder of vowels. There's no consonants to be found in most screaming whether from pleasure of pain. As he's heard first hand, women's throats were far more prone to those particular sounds. His best whores back home could make it sound almost like a song.]

Petyr Baelish, yes. Clinic? You'll have to enlighten me, my dear. I'm not quite familiar with all the places aboard this ship just yet.

[misswatson]

It's the Refugee Clinic, the place where medical services are offered? I'm surprised you haven't at least heard of it since you've been here longer than me.

[She rummages through her bag and produces a silk scarf. It's brightly colored and well-worn.]

A female alien came to visit the clinic today and she dropped this. She's about six feet tall with purple scales fins on the side of her head.

[Watson was about to say "I think," but then that wouldn't be true.]

I know that she comes here often.

[She's deduced that much.]

[pimping]

You mean the local healer. Hm, as for the being in question, I can neither confirm or deny if he happens to be a regular customer. Client privilege. I can only say that I've seen someone who looks familiar occasionally passing by. If you see fit to leave the garment in my care, I'll extend it to him should our paths happen to cross.

[misswatson]

[He. Of course.]

Right.

[Some things are best to leave alone so she'll place the scarf nearby within Petyr's reach.]

The scent it has though... It's incense isn't it? I'd say it's the very same that's coming from one of the rooms. It's safe to say he's a regular.

[pimping]

Or he's been meeting with the same incense merchant. Perhaps he's a regular there.

[misswatson]

[Ok, she's just visibly rolling her eyes. Not going to fight him on that possibility even though she's very much set on her conclusion.

Not like she won't call him out on it though.]

Not that I don't understand client confidentiality, but there's no need to be obtuse.

[pimping]

Legalities are an acute annoyance that holds the tongue captive.

[misswatson]

I have to say, this is definitely not a mission I saw on the listings.

[Mostly saying this to herself, but hey it's audible.]

[pimping]

The management doesn't make a habit of hiring refugees.

[She'll get an answer nonetheless. Perhaps it will discourage her from further visits if she knows it's not a place to be frequented by others like her. People are a vain lot. They don't much care if they can't find others like them or things that remind them of themselves.]

[misswatson]

So you found your way around it didn't you?

[Watson lets out a light sigh and turns around to leave.]

Thank you for your time.

[Living with Sherlock has exposed her to interesting sides of sexuality and practices that veered off from what she considered perfectly healthy. What Sherlock does has always been puzzling and off-putting to her and she has this odd feeling he wouldn't mind "investigating" this sort of place.

She wouldn't put it past him, but she's definitely not that kind of person who goes whore fishing.]