-- watch the world [open]

[basil]

It was a gentle night, really. A hushed breeze settled over the streets, parked cars glinting faintly in the light off street lamps. There were a few wandering individuals out for a stroll during the warm evening. Indeed, it was a gentle night.

In the opinion of one Mister Basil Brightwell however, this meant trouble.

It was the 4th night he had been tracking a certain drug lord by the name of Arthur "Ziggy Stardust" McKinney. An Irishmen, from the detective's sister country as far as he knew, but dangerous. The man's rap sheet was particularly long, ranging from petty theft to all out battery and assault. Unfortunately, it wasn't nearly as simple as catching him in the act. Oh, old Ziggy was too smart for that!

No, he was an underground sort of fellow. He rarely made appearances in public and when he did, it wasn't for long. He had what Basil could easily assume was an army of loyal brainless brutes at his command, avidly doing his dirty work. And oh, ordinarily Basil wouldn't let himself get so caught up in a such petty criminal. But that was exactly the thing. He wasn't some petty criminal. Not after a month prior, anyway. This beast had indeed stolen from a place very personal to Basil. That place being from the historical house of Benjamin Franklin.

The teacher had been tracking this man for a very long time. So long, in fact, that it was long enough for the trail to go cold! And though that did irritate Basil to a degree, having been forced to drop it, it did nothing to discourage him. And now, having once again picking up the scent of a deranged man who would steal history itself, the detective was all too keen to drop everything in search of the dastardly criminal.

Unfortunately, the trail lead to a rather.. promiscuous night club.

And so here he was, the usually covered body dressed in what most would call very classy clothing. Now perhaps he had overdone it a tad, going more for the sophisticated look than (to emphasize his thoughts, Basil formed quotation marks with his fingers) "cool", but it would do.

It was fitting, some could say. Perhaps a little too flattering around the thighs, waist, and if he did say so himself, bum, but Basil never was one for paying his body much attention. As far as he was concerned, he fit the part for the night, and tonight his part was that of a casual (and suggestive) encounter.

Not that he'd let it get that far, god forbid. He was dressed as such to blend in, not to fraternize with anyone. The mere thought of contact with the swine that habited the dank sewers of date rape and alcohol made Basil's spine shiver. No, he was here on a purely professional basis, nothing more.

With both hands in his pockets, the detective approached the front door, very high-class in appearance though no doubt left much to be desired once inside. After flashing a rather convincing fake id card, portraying him as a VIP, Basil strode confidently into the seizure-inducing lights frantically coming to life within the otherwise pitch black building.

He stood back for a moment or two, taking in the mass of bodies on the dance floor grinding together in a revolting way, before averting his gaze and carefully making his way towards the bar. After taking a seat on an empty stool, he laid his elbows on the marble surface.

It would take time, of course, as did all cases this early in the investigation. Basil only prayed no distractions decided to drop in.

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- tag : anyone~
- notes : shove a surprised college student in there or something. a villain would be groovy too. <3
- words : 6 0 2
- outfit : oh basil, you tease.
- credit : template brought to you by The_Actress. lyrics from RIVER by LIGHTS!

[jsyk]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=background,http://i52.tinypic.com/2yvs6xh.png,true][atrb=width,420,true] [atrb=cellpadding,15,true] Jim was given a project earlier this afternoon that involved the layout of the thruster of a rocket. Now, although he'd rather work on his own (as always), the teacher had indicated that it was strictly a pairwork effort. Considering people asked Jim to be their partner left and right, aware of his intelligence (and, no, Jim didn't boast of this fact - but it was hard to ignore his constant perfect scoring), the teacher had set out to assign the pairings herself. This is why Jim was paired up with the biggest party-goer in aerospace engineering. This is why Jim is sitting at a bar, awkwardly nursing a Coke in his right hand. Of course, on the outside, it looks like a Cuba Libre, but in truth, it's just a Cuba Libre without the alcohol. Sure, Jim's partner is drinking shots of tequila with a bunch of his friends over at a booth, but Jim doesn't find the need to join him. "Jus' one round at the bar, a'right, Jimmy? Then we'll work." That's what Jim's partner said, earlier, at around seven o' clock in the evening. Now it's something past nine, and Jim is drinking his third Coke of the night, and his partner is downright pathetic-looking. Admittedly, said partner has his arms around two women, one of them laughing his ear like he made the joke of the world (Jim doubts this), and Jim is all by himself, at a bar, nursing a drink that isn't even alcoholic. If anything, everyone must be thinking Jim is pathetic. He's the one who's at the bar, looking like he doesn't belong, after all. He's the guy who's by himself when there are bodies grinding and hormones going wild on the dance floor. Hell, Jim can count seven couples making out in the shadows. He's not even going to try counting the ones who actually blend with the darkness. "Jeez," he mumbles to himself, taking one last swig of the Coke before finishing. It's not soon before he's making his way over to the douche who took him here, towards the booth, and Jim clears his throat and attempts to call over the noise of the music. "Hey! You done yet?"

[/color] Jim's voice leaves him a little louder than he intended, and Douchebag lifts his head from staring at one of the girls' cleavage. "Wha's tha'?" he asks, voice slurred, and Jim hits his forehead with his palm. He isn't normally this irritable, but it's past nine in the evening, and Jim has a project he wants to finish as early as possible. He frowns, and when one of the girls pulls Jim in to sit beside her; Jim winces.

"Are you done yet?"[/color] Jim yells, voice louder, and the girl's fingers sliding down his torso are not unnoticed. He has to grab her wrist with firmness to keep her away, and her breath smells like alcohol. "We have a project to work on, if you haven't forgotten!"[/color] Douchebag looks momentarily enlightened by Jim's words, but the enlightenment is only temporary. He ends up laughing loud, the girls laughing with him, and the one who wanted to molest Jim is leaning her head against Jim's shoulder. He pretends to not be a little disturbed by this.

"Y' do it by y'self, Jiiiiimmy," Douchebag replies, grinning stupidly. "If y' wan'ta do it so baaaaad."

"You can do me," Bimbo says as she purrs. "I like the way you hold my wrist.."

Jim snorts, standing, letting go of the girl's wrist; and as much as he'd like to hurt her, he does it gently. He can't let go of habits, not even if he's associating with a woman who wants in his pants. "I will!"[/color] Jim shouts back, almost defiant, but Douchebag isn't listening. He frowns, a little pissed off, but ends up making his way throughout the dancefloor once more towards the bar. "One more Coke. To go."[/color]

The bartender looks amused because this is the first time Jim hasn't called it a 'virgin Cuba Libre'.

Jim sits, elbows on the counter as he winces, pressing his forehead against the surface. It's when he hears the chair beside him creak a bit that he lifts his head just slightly, and the boy's eyes widen momentarily at the sight of--

Isn't that Professor Brightwell?

"Professor Brightwell?"[/color] Jim says, the music nearly drowning his voice. "What the hell are you doing here?"[/color]

He's too bothered to not be crass.[/justify][/color][/size][/blockquote][/td][/tr]

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TAGGED: basil WORDS: 746 MUSIC: porn star dancing - my
darkest days (don't ask. they're at a club, right?)
NOTES: i couldn't help it. basil is gold. ♥ post image is hot

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[basil]

This night isn't going according to plan.

It went without saying that a night club wasn't Basil's more--comfortable place to investigate. What with gyrating bodies and pulsating music, it was much too modern and hectic for his somewhat refined tastes. He was a gentleman (while still managing to have zero friends), and as such didn't exactly appreciate the vulgarities this establishment had to offer.

The man's keen eyes swept the vicinity, trying earnestly to seek out the crop of fiery red hair he knew was supposed to be here. Unfortunately, the rapidly flashing lights served as more a distraction than an aid, because Basil was having quite a lot of difficulty finding his target. There was just too much commotion to manage anything in this place, which irked him to no end.

Where were the days when parties were for the civilized few? Where drinking was moderated and dancing couples stayed a strict 4 inches from each other? The detective's shoulders slumped in disappointment. To think that his surroundings was what romance has been reduced to. Drunkards dancing (if it could be called that) to obscene music. Was there no class anymore?

Heaving a sigh, Basil waved one of the bartenders over. She was an attractive young girl, couldn't have been more than 23, and looked quite harassed. He thinned his lips irritatedly; it took little thought to wonder why. The countless men hunched over the counter were eying her closely, leering really.

With a sympathetic smile, the man fished out a $20 and slid it towards her discreetly. "I'll have a glass of water, thank you," he spoke clearly, ignoring her shocked look. He wasn't here to make friends, least of all with a woman with this sort of job, his rational mind reminded him. But he wasn't without compassion, so perhaps the few extra dollars tip would help her mood fractionally.

So, with another small "thank you" as he was handed the water, Basil took another sharp look around the vicinity. He had definitely underestimated the population this club could hold. He'd counted on a crowd, but surely this wasn't ordinary? Truthfully he didn't know, and if he was honest, he had no desire to come back another time to find out.

He eyed the glass warily, always on the look out for potential threats. Raising his pinky, the man dipped it into the cool beverage carefully, before raising it to his mouth and sucking the digit suspiciously.

Fluorite was detectable by the somewhat salty aftertaste, and definitely a faint trace of cooled metal from where the substance was stored. Apart from that, everything seemed in order. Confident it was quite alright to drink, Basil lifted the glass and took a quick swig.

"Professor Brightwell? What the hell are you doing here?"

Coughing violently, Basil turned quickly to the sudden voice. Eyes widening, he felt his face heat up, but almost immediately fought the natural reaction. He was an actor, quite a fine one at that, and just because he hadn't dwelled on the thought of encountering someone he knew here didn't mean he didn't anticipate it.

"Mister..Hopskotch," he replied haltingly, clearing his throat, "Yes, well you see..." What was he supposed to say? That he was on an undercover case? Heavens no, that was the number one rule, you never tell anyone, even someone that wasn't involved. "What uh..what are you doing here, hm? Yes." It wasn't a good comeback, and it definitely wasn't going to stump the younger man, but perhaps while Mister Harker was replying, he could whip up a plausible explanation. Basil Brightwell was fairly infamous for his improvisation, after all.

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- tag : anyone~
- notes : <333
- words : 5 9 2
- outfit : oh basil, you tease.
- credit : template brought to you by The_Actress. lyrics from RIVER by LIGHTS!

[jsyk]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=background,http://i52.tinypic.com/2yvs6xh.png,true][atrb=width,420,true] [atrb=cellpadding,15,true] The violent coughing doesn't help Jim's suspicions any. Instead, an eyebrow raises in simple questioning. He doesn't question it, though. Jim doesn't see the need to prod. If anything, the coughing like a cat with a hairball in its throat is enough to let Jim know that Basil's probably got a lengthy explanation. For a moment, there, his imagination is entertained with the visual of Basil in the form of a feline, hacking and coughing and spitting out a hairball. Immediately, however, Jim's taken back to reality when his name (or, at least, a terrible butchering of it) is spoken. Jim doesn't find the necessity to correct it, however, instead waiting for an answer; or something that didn't sound like Basil needed cough medicine. 'Hopskotch, though?' his mind questions, sounding a little disappointed. Jim wouldn't have minded, he supposes, if the man called him Mr. Hawk (that would have been nice), but he quietly shushes his conscious from saying anything else. It would do no good, anyway. Jim's come to realize that Basil's constant inability to recall people's names is something he should get used to. It is what it is. The beginning of an explanation causes Jim to tilt his head forward a bit, eyebrows raised. When the bartender comes with his Coke, Jim opens the can and takes a sip. The cold liquid rests on his tongue for a split-second before he swallows, and Jim realizes that he won't have time to begin the project tonight if he doesn't leave right now. For reasons he cannot comprehend, however, he doesn't stand. Brown eyes keep themselves onto the professor, and Jim's expecting Basil to talk his head off (well, he certainly seemed the type). However, what he gets in return is a poorly-versed question. Basil hardly even sounds convicted in what he's asking, and Jim doesn't know why he feels the weirdest tug of disappointment. Perhaps all he scolding and questioning his mother's given him has raised his standards. Whatever the hell that means. "I supposedly came here to soothe a..."

[/color] He trails off, not sure what to call Douchebag - who, from the corner of his eye, he can see making out with the girl whose wrist he held. That isn't classy at all. Jim tries not to look disgusted. "... friend's worries. It's a blatant waste of time, though. He isn't cooperating with me at all."[/color] It's a half-lie, but Jim likes to look at this in a positive way. It's also a half-truth.

He takes a larger gulp of Coke this time, brown eyes looking down at the can held by both of his hands. He makes the end rotate a little, gaze looking down at the can, before he's looking up through his lashes. Jim hopes he looks like he hasn't let go of the question he'd asked at all.

"But that doesn't answer my question. I asked you what you were doing here first."[/color] Jim places his can on the bar, his elbow resting on it after and his cheek in his palm. "And I haven't heard an answer."[/color]

He gestures with his free hand, as if quietly asking Basil to begin his tale.[/justify][/color][/size][/blockquote][/td][/tr]

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TAGGED: basil WORDS: 530 MUSIC: feeling sorry - paramore
NOTES: pathetic post is pathetic. derp. i'm sorry. :C

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