[ Her expression falters, but it's only a glimpse someone like Sherlock might catch. When she responds, it isn't nearly so pleasant, more saccharine than anything else: ] Oh, now, I wouldn't be so sure about that, darling. I think yours has plenty idea what they're doing, bringing round a face like yours to my front door.
[ He's a curious little thing and her mind wonders all too quickly if his blood'd taste like her Captain's. At his words, her chin tilts just to the side, eyes taking him in fully now.
He's older — something to do with the fact he's not had his throat ripped from him (but the day's still young). There's something wise there; a trait the dear Captain never did seem to carry, that one.
Her mouth forms a grin and she toys with her bottom lip, dragging a finger flush across pink. ] You seem like a smart man — what d'you wager, then, eh?
Much to my regret, connivance, [ Sherlock answers, linking his hands together behind his back. (She's not normal, he can tell that much, though the degree to which that strangeness runs has yet to belie itself.) ]
You asking me if I've got a knack for findin' trouble? [ This time, she feigns innocence, leaning against the doorframe by way of her hip. She brushes a few fingers idly over the woodwork, observing this display for just a moment.
Her attention returns to the man who makes her remember — that's something she isn't altogether fond of, if she's being honest. ]
[ He knows she isn't comfortable with him. He doesn't blame her, given the circumstances, and there's a measure of guilt evident on his expression even as he continues speaking. (Guilty, perhaps, but not enough so to cut off the conversation entirely.) ]
And trouble has a knack for finding everybody, [ he supplies, with a bob of his head. ]
[ If anyone understands that thirst, a longing to escape, it's Clara. She doesn't have to say it; there's a reciprocated comprehension here as she observes Natasha and is looked upon in return. ]
[ gretel's significantly less amused; she's never seen a witch with the capability to mimic someone's features and it's not as if she's never seen others with her brother's face before, but she's still wary of doubles of either of them. she's dubious that duplicates can mean anything good.
she's lacking her favored weapon at the moment, but she has a knife tucked away in her clothing, which she discreetly reaches for behind her back. ]
[ She's seen her form in the flesh, (or what she was meant to believe was such) like this once before. It was fleeting and remained something Clara Webb kept tucked away, out of sight, out of mind.
In the cave that changed everything, she'd witnessed something impossible, but this is hardly something so profound. This is simply a case of mistaken identity. Doubles come and doubles go in a place like this one.
This double, however, is ever so eager to shoot first and question the wounded later. Clara remembers that state of being, that ample readiness, but this isn't Clara. This is someone else altogether.
This one's wary; she can't resist playing that up a bit.
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[ Following a pause, and a bobbing nod of his head: ] Then again, it could also be a sign of an extremely conniving spirit.
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He's older — something to do with the fact he's not had his throat ripped from him (but the day's still young). There's something wise there; a trait the dear Captain never did seem to carry, that one.
Her mouth forms a grin and she toys with her bottom lip, dragging a finger flush across pink. ] You seem like a smart man — what d'you wager, then, eh?
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She has rather a knack for finding trouble.
What about you?
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Her attention returns to the man who makes her remember — that's something she isn't altogether fond of, if she's being honest. ]
S'pose I like it when it finds me.
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And trouble has a knack for finding everybody, [ he supplies, with a bob of his head. ]
It does provide a little spice in life.
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[ though she can understand a need for escape, and suspects that this woman can, too. ]
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[ If anyone understands that thirst, a longing to escape, it's Clara. She doesn't have to say it; there's a reciprocated comprehension here as she observes Natasha and is looked upon in return. ]
and you thought sherlock was a mindfuck.
I believe in miracles.mp3
where you from you sexy thing~
she's lacking her favored weapon at the moment, but she has a knife tucked away in her clothing, which she discreetly reaches for behind her back. ]
Sort of. Who are you?
cut from the same sexy cloth as you, wink wink.
In the cave that changed everything, she'd witnessed something impossible, but this is hardly something so profound. This is simply a case of mistaken identity. Doubles come and doubles go in a place like this one.
This double, however, is ever so eager to shoot first and question the wounded later. Clara remembers that state of being, that ample readiness, but this isn't Clara. This is someone else altogether.
This one's wary; she can't resist playing that up a bit.
A grin, one word: ]
Claire.