Richard Brook (England's Best Storyteller) (richardbrook) wrote in expresslogs, @ 2012-03-27 19:57:00 |
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Entry tags: | {ginny weasley, {james moriarty |
Who James Moriarty Richard Brook, Ginny Weasley
When Tuesday Evening
Where Their shared cabin
Summary All tears and hurt feelings, Jim Rich convinces his cabinmate to fix his nose after that mean ole'Watson broke it!! D:
Rating/Warning Well, some blood and a ton of lies.
Status Closed/In Progress
So living with a witch was something that had taken Jim a few days to wrap his head around. He knew they were here, he'd certainly seen that people didn't even seem to try that had to hide their different ways of speaking or their magical...powers, or whatever they called them. For the most part, Moriarty had made sure that 'Richard Brook' was an excellent cabinmate. He was shy, polite, and always let her have the bathroom first or whatever else her little heart desired. He'd bring them tea (well, Sebastian would bring them tea, but Jim would meet him in the hallway so it looked like he'd taken it himself) and he tried to be as sweet as was possible. He needed allies and the best way to make them, particularly if Sherlock continued to be rather rude to people, was to be a sweetheart.
Of course, with a swollen, broken nose and at least one eye that would certainly be black by tomorrow, Moriarty was finding it hard to remain his usual chipper-Irish self. Watson had hit him and hit him surprisingly hard. Moriarty hadn't reacted at the time (refusing to give John, of all people, the satisfaction) he'd been all kinds of furious.
When Jim was younger, he was picked on quite a lot by people who were bigger than he was or better at sports and being the bookish, awkward child that he was he could never do anything about it. When he was really small he used to try and fight back, run or cry until they'd finished but as he got a bit older -- a bit wiser -- he stopped running and he stopped fighting. He's just stand there and let them hit him as much as they liked and it was then that they stopped. Apparently, it just wasn't any fun for them any more. Jim hadn't understood it at the time, but years later he could certainly see the joy in making someone else cry. Not that he'd ever managed to do it with his fists. Not that he'd ever have too.
He sat on the bed, his head lowered and his mobile device in his hand. He smeared his own blood on the buttons as he typed a quick message to Sherlock Holmes and then dropped the phone onto the bed to return his attention to his nose. He pressed a few fingers into his cheek just to see if that too had been shattered and smiled a touch at the dull ache.
But then a noise snapped his attention away from his injuries and towards the door. Ginny Weasley that bright little ginger witch seemed to be making her way back into the room. Without needing so much as a moment to gather himself up, he threw himself into character, hunching over and covering his face with his hand. His eyes welled up with tears and he sniffed back the blood that was still clotting against his lip.