(Untitled)

[tohearthesound]

The drugs were a mistake.

He's waited an hour and the shaking still isn't under control. What he needs, much to his chagrin, is a doctor. He pulls open the bedroom door.

The hallway is not on the other side.

It's somewhere new, which most definitely outweighs any misery he feels

Comments

[finaldiscussion]

"...Oh," mutters what is probably a very familiar voice from what is probably a very familiar face, "for fuck's sake."

[tohearthesound]

Rache bursts out laughing.

"Of course. I find my way out, and I'm back where I started."

[finaldiscussion]

"Hit the seven percent solution a little too hard, did we?"

He smirks, but there's genuine fondness in it, and something very like nostalgia.

"Let me see. You haven't been here before." Not a question. "It's 1891," he steps closer, "not long after the Blackwood case," closer, "and you are thirty-seven years old."

The last step leaves him standing directly in front of Rache.

"Welcome to Milliways," he says, studying the face that is so perfectly, perfectly his. "You, my dear fellow, look like hell."

[tohearthesound]

"Just a touch."

(The case lies empty on the other side of his door.)

"What a delightful trick. Do you do that at parties?"

He grins, leaning a hair closer into Strat's personal space. "Believe me, I feel like it."