(A man wearing an expensive and immaculately tailored suit comes in through the Door. His eyes zero in instantly on Ivy and her books. Then he slides his hands into his pockets and makes his unhurried way to the stairs.)
Ten minutes later, he comes back down in a much cheaper and less flattering suit. He's carrying a briefcase.
He hasn't slipped into character per se, but his body language as he crosses to Ivy's table is ambiguous, in a liminal space that could become inhabited by himself or by someone else at a second's notice. Less than a second.
He slides into a chair at Ivy's table, placing the briefcase next to the books.
"Evening, darling." The words are ones Jimmy O'Malley might choose, but the voice and accent are entirely Jim Moriarty. He looks at Ivy as he speaks, but his attention is focused in narrowly on that pile of books.
"I'm myself at the moment," he says, "though Mr O'Malley mmmight put in an appearance. He's made a connection or two that I don't care to spoil for the time being."
The most important information about that is, of course, a little something he's saving for later. If he decides she should be told.
"You got the entire set, then." There's almost a question mark at the end of that sentence. He'll have to take her word for it; Bar's refusal to indulge him included even providing a list of the full canon.
"Victorian novels aren't my area of expertise," Ivy drawls.
"But I have A Study in Scarlet,The Valley of Fear, The Sign of the Four, The West End Horror, The Seven Percent Solution, a whole slew of short stories, and something called Sherlock Holmes vs. Dracula."
Her eyebrows arch. "The Return of Sherlock Holmes was out, but I took the liberty of tracking it down ... so it's here, too."
"Well. Aren't you lovely," he coos, his delight and approval shining through in his face and his voice.
"I'm afraid mine isn't quite so comprehensive. Your canon is rather more . . . diffuse than mine and some of it simply doesn't exist any longer. But I got together all the comic books and trade paperbacks I could find, years' worth of material, and I threw in some movies, too. There's a key to a room upstairs in the briefcase if you want to see the original collection for yourself, but I took the liberty of having it all scanned into a tablet, which is also in the case."
The tablet will make for easier browsing, plus it has the added bonus of not being thousands of pages' worth of dead trees. Isn't he ever so thoughtful?
She swings her legs down and sits up, demurely closing The Hound of the Baskervilles and setting it down on top of the Conan Doyle pile. (Spinoffs and adaptations were classified separately. She's a scientist, after all.)
He watches her put the book she was reading back in its proper place. The way his eyes look right now, so dark they're almost black, and focused so intently on their object of interest that they become almost like black holes pulling everything in, is not something people often see when he has the intention of letting them go (more or less) unscathed.
"It's all yours," he confirms, voice not reflecting the depth of his preoccupation. "I hope you find it useful."
Slowly, reverently, he curves his hands around the bases of the book stacks and draws them toward him.
"As you like," he says. He smiles, a short, sharp smile that is very happy indeed and not at all nice. "I'm going to be difficult to distract for the next few hours."
Not so difficult as to put himself in danger; this is Milliways, after all. Situational awareness pays. But difficult enough that Ivy's continued presence would hardly be a distraction.
"Tablet technology has advanced quite a bit in the past few years."
The near-singsong quality his voice tends to have is all but gone; he's opened Hound of the Baskervilles to the listing of the full series in the front and is rearranging the Doyle pile accordingly. It's taking up what appears to be his full attention - one might never have guessed just from looking that he had any awareness of Ivy's difficulties at all.
But it's true, apparently: it is a touchscreen. As Ivy clicks around, opening files, she's met with a curious sartorial sight. She snorts incredulously.
Ten minutes later, he comes back down in a much cheaper and less flattering suit. He's carrying a briefcase.
He hasn't slipped into character per se, but his body language as he crosses to Ivy's table is ambiguous, in a liminal space that could become inhabited by himself or by someone else at a second's notice. Less than a second.
He slides into a chair at Ivy's table, placing the briefcase next to the books.
"Evening, darling." The words are ones Jimmy O'Malley might choose, but the voice and accent are entirely Jim Moriarty. He looks at Ivy as he speaks, but his attention is focused in narrowly on that pile of books.
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"Good evening yourself."
She looks him over, though she doesn't yet close her book.
(She's earned it, after all.)
"Who are we tonight?"
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The most important information about that is, of course, a little something he's saving for later. If he decides she should be told.
He flashes her a brief smile.
"I see your trip to the library was successful."
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Ivy shrugs, giving a luxuriant stretch.
"I was all kinds of successful."
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"But I have A Study in Scarlet,The Valley of Fear, The Sign of the Four, The West End Horror, The Seven Percent Solution, a whole slew of short stories, and something called Sherlock Holmes vs. Dracula."
Her eyebrows arch. "The Return of Sherlock Holmes was out, but I took the liberty of tracking it down ... so it's here, too."
That pasty college kid never knew what hit him.
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"I'm afraid mine isn't quite so comprehensive. Your canon is rather more . . . diffuse than mine and some of it simply doesn't exist any longer. But I got together all the comic books and trade paperbacks I could find, years' worth of material, and I threw in some movies, too. There's a key to a room upstairs in the briefcase if you want to see the original collection for yourself, but I took the liberty of having it all scanned into a tablet, which is also in the case."
The tablet will make for easier browsing, plus it has the added bonus of not being thousands of pages' worth of dead trees. Isn't he ever so thoughtful?
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She swings her legs down and sits up, demurely closing The Hound of the Baskervilles and setting it down on top of the Conan Doyle pile. (Spinoffs and adaptations were classified separately. She's a scientist, after all.)
Her eyes flick to the briefcase.
A smile. "That's for me, then?"
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"It's all yours," he confirms, voice not reflecting the depth of his preoccupation. "I hope you find it useful."
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Ivy doesn't know she'll be seeing this look again, on a wide variety of professional acquaintances. Occasionally it will show up in the mirror.
Her fingers close over the briefcase's handle.
She thinks she's about to learn some things.
"Should I leave you and Sir Arthur alone?"
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"As you like," he says. He smiles, a short, sharp smile that is very happy indeed and not at all nice. "I'm going to be difficult to distract for the next few hours."
Not so difficult as to put himself in danger; this is Milliways, after all. Situational awareness pays. But difficult enough that Ivy's continued presence would hardly be a distraction.
Unless she does something interesting.
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Upon removing the tablet, she realizes that she ... doesn't actually know how it works.
But, as she is after all a scientist, surely a few moments of discreet fiddling should solve this. Isn't there supposed to be a pen somewhere ...?
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The near-singsong quality his voice tends to have is all but gone; he's opened Hound of the Baskervilles to the listing of the full series in the front and is rearranging the Doyle pile accordingly. It's taking up what appears to be his full attention - one might never have guessed just from looking that he had any awareness of Ivy's difficulties at all.
"It's a touchscreen. No need for a stylus."
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"Thanks."
But it's true, apparently: it is a touchscreen. As Ivy clicks around, opening files, she's met with a curious sartorial sight. She snorts incredulously.
Oh God, what are those tights?
I am never dressing like that.
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(The adaptations can wait. Given the time difference, he doubts very much that his adaptation exists in Ivy's reality yet.)
He exhales slowly and begins to read.
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Sadly to say, however, it can't be all about her.
There's one character in the Batman universe that you can't read too far without coming across.
"Wayne?!"
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