Zev Monroe

drugsandcheetos:

zevmonroe:

“I’d… I’d look in a library?” Zev squinted at the girl. Was she messing with him? Probably. “We don’t even have anything on medical history, really. Had a Bubonic Plague display come through, once, but that’s— that’s about all. Y’know this is a museum, right? I mean the facade out front looks all studious but— we’re a little lacking in books.”

“Nono,” Cleo starts, smiling as she shakes her head. “I heard there’s an exhibit on Psychology right now. That book is supposed to be in it, and I need to take a picture of it. But I can’t find it anywhere. Unless it’s not until next week and I got my dates mixed up?”

“Oh, the portfolio copy! Righrightright. We’ve— definitely got that. Ethics and the Early Twentieth Century. Dark stuff… And five-fifty admission, ‘cause it’s a temporary show,” He rang up the price. “Oh, unless you’ve got a student card, then you can get a discount.”

thecharmingkiller:

zevmonroe:

“I don’t if I’m having a conversation— kind of the point, right?” He waited for the directions to load with impatience; the whole Moriarty family was just not something he was prepared to deal with. And he had to assume he was a Moriarty, not a Hooper— Molly was a peach.

Another roll of his eyes before Victor verbally directed where he needed to go. “Don’t be a smart arse, kid. You’ve been asking strings of questions while I can barely get a word in edge wise. Now unless there’s something you want from me, get the fuck out of my face.”

“Smartass, I’m not being a smartass, who— naah.” The panic was rising in his throat. Load, dammit. Almost on cue, Siri piped for him to walk 500 metres and turn left. “Well, there we go,” he laughed, showing the screen. “You, uh— have a good one?” With a half-salute he swiveled and nearly bolted.

thecharmingkiller:

zevmonroe:

He raised his eyebrows, genuinely shocked to find someone related to Meredith in a backalley— scratch that, no he wasn’t. “Her— uncle. Her uncle? You’re two, three years older than me, tops! I mean— whatever, people have kids later in life, it’s cool, but that’s gotta be— y’know what, nevermind. Uh, nice to meet you and stuff, but I really do have to go— to the thing I gotta do. I’ll just— get some directions on my phone,” he pulled it from his pocket, an iPhone encased in a thick rubber cover emblazoned with Superman’s iconic logo. He spoke to Victor while typing.

“Weird, just running into someone that closely linked— London’s a lot smaller than I think sometimes. You said— I never really took Meredith as someone to talk about her life much, but you, uh, you know me? Is she close to you?”

“It’s really not that impossible. I’m not her father.” He snorted softly at the sight of the other’s phone before looking back at him. He didn’t look 27. In fact, he looked 17. Victor was accused of having a baby face though so he didn’t exactly have room to talk. “Do you ever stop talking? I’ve heard about you and I recognised your face. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“I don’t if I’m having a conversation— kind of the point, right?” He waited for the directions to load with impatience; the whole Moriarty family was just not something he was prepared to deal with. And he had to assume he was a Moriarty, not a Hooper— Molly was a peach.

motherspsycho:

zevmonroe:

Zev hated working outside the archive, but staff had been short lately— layoffs were had, despite the oncoming Summer rush. He was lucky to keep the job he had, so he didn’t complain when sent to tend the front desk or exhibits. But the Natural History display made him want to, for sure. Arrays of mouldering taxidermied animals— which, beyond the information on their plaques, he knew nothing about— all staring down. It made him shudder, and he’d had more than enough to shudder over the past year. But by far the worst was fielding questions, and as the young man came in, Zev feared he’d have to do just that. All the same he gave the man a wave and smile.

“Hello, there. Enjoying your visit?”

Before stepping into the museum, Norman was completely reluctant since he knew Mother wouldn’t like him disobeying her. Mother never approved of his strange hobby— not that he’d call it a hobby. But it was all he really had to call his own. Besides he only planned being gone for a few hours! Oh, but he did feel awfully guilty… perhaps she’ll let this one slide.

It was only when Norman came across a wall dedicated to the various kinds of birds did he feel less guilty, and even at peace. He had seen some bad taxidermy  but these were well made; gosh, what he’d give to see the taxidermist at work. He was so engaged in inspecting each bird that he was slightly startled by the courteous question. “Oh, uh, yes— oh yes, very much!” Norman nodded towards the guide with a warm smile, “By chance is there more? I’d love to see more of them. You know, the birds.” He wasn’t so fond of stuffed foxes and wolves, no, none of those would do. He couldn’t even bring himself to stuff any of them, why would he want look into their stare? 

“More… Birds?” Thank god he didn’t have any questions; Zev would have exactly zero idea what to do then. He was no zoologist. Ornithologist? Maybe this guy was. He looked almost enraptured by them, but avoided the rest of the displays— not that Zev could blame him. “We’ve got a little alcove with some birds of prey, just down a ways. Falcons, mostly. It’s a British thing, the falconry.” Summer was just starting, so the influx of American tourists was just beginning— it was nice to hear somebody without an accent for once. He worried sometimes he might be picking one up, almost self-conscious.

With this man being the only one in the exhibit, Zev could give him his full attention; he pointed the way down the hall and walked with him, trying his best to give some additional information about the falcons. “Uh, it’s mostly local birds, I think. Well not local as in London, but more— England, generally. Falcons and a couple goshawks, are they called goshawks? I’ll level with you, you probably know more than I do.”

therestlessfox:

Her breath was even despite the pain. It was demanding to be dealt with, every few seconds sending shot of pain up her arm, but she ignored them. There were other flames to be dealt with. The absolute hatred towards the woman who fled from the studio, for instance, and how to make her pay for what she’d just done. 

At least it felt like something. The cool air circled around her, and she shivered onsetting another shot of pain from her hand. A mirror leaned against the wall across from where she sat. She looked like a mess, hair rumpled and her face smeared with paint.

Carefully she tried curling up her fingers as a test. With her right hand she pulled her phone out of her pocket and looked through her contact list. Her mother wasn’t an option. Too many questions. The others weren’t worth the bother either. Scrolling and scrolling she finally reached the bottom to Zev’s number, pressed call, and held it up to her ear. 

The night was going more or less without incident; the stir fry and egg rolls didn’t arrive late, the cable was working fine, and nobody (so far) had made any attempt on his life. All in all, a successful evening. He was lying on the couch enjoying the last few morsels of soy-soaked broccoli, watching “The Measure of a Man” and repressing manly tears when his phone started buzzing on the coffee table.

Looking to see the number, he frowned. Be cool. Why so late at night, though? After the incident with the paints he wasn’t really sure where they stood. He trusted her— enough, anyway— but still couldn’t tell much about her. She probably had him pinned, he thought resignedly. Down to a T. He paused the show and answered the call, clearing his throat.

“Hey, Mer, what’s up?”

therestlessfox:

zevmonroe:

“Well, blame the clueless American. I still need help in the underground— do you know that guy?” He’d become suddenly aware of an overly attentive pair of eyes on them, a man in that nondescript bracket between thirty-five and forty, aimlessly stirring a cup that had long since stopped steaming. Zev realised, in a groggy way, that he had been glued to the armchair for hours, had watched him go to the queue and back again, lazily surveying the transaction made with Meredith.

How could he have been so clueless? Easy answer, putz.

Zev grimaced and shot a cautious glance at the man, his gaze meeting a pair of steely blues that frankly would probably be quite at home behind a near-comically oversized gun (well, near-comical if it weren’t muzzled against his head). Was seeing your life flash before your eyes— brains splattering against the wall and all— normal?

Meredith’s smile fell and she turned her attention back to the mirror. Searching, studying the surrounding people she looked for who. There was a small movement,  a leveling of his head and an upturn at the corner of his mouth, and she spotted him. Recognition pulled her from the daze faster than the coffee could have as the reflection of the cold, blue eyes met her own. 

“I thought he was dead… the last time he…,” she trailed off, pulling the hair tie out and letting the straight, light brown hair fall over the back of her neck. Satisfaction wasn’t something she would allow him to have.

Her mind began producing numerous routes they could run. The paints would need a safe place, especially if they were pursued. She glanced at the box, settling that it would prove difficult to both carry and conceal. She didn’t want to lose them, or him. A number of the plans she had deemed useful involved leaving them here, but he was so suspicious of her. As he should be. Smart boy.

“How much do you trust me?” She inquired, making eye contact with him only after asking the question. Her boldness might work to dispel any suspicions. Hopefully she’d prove herself worthy of his trust, though she wasn’t sure how that worked. It wasn’t as if he had much choice. Either follow her plan or risk a business deal. 

He’d nearly blurted “yes” before realising that wasn’t a qualitative answer. She wasn’t just thinking of bolting, was she? He couldn’t be sure either way. But it seemed this guy was… exceptionally bad news for them, and he could only begin to think why. Probably her father’s, he thought, some hired muscle to keep an eye on her and anyone she associated with. Which meant him. If only “meeting the parents” meant something remotely normal with her. But no such luck.

“Enough to risk a couple hundred bucks on toxic paint I won’t use? But I mean, that’s kind of my job,” he smiled. Anyone else would’ve gotten a secure drop, in and out, pass the cash and carry on with life. But not you, huh buddy? Wait, no, not her. Well now you get to die on your first not-date with her, congratulations. Zev drummed his fingers on the table anxiously, glancing up as she untied her hair. A trace of dried watercolour, and just something human, musky but not unpleasant— he cleared his throat.

“I guess you can’t promise he won’t shoot me in the face,” He rose from his chair, straightening his cuffs. “Unfortunately, such odds have faced me before. Shall we?”

drugsandcheetos:

zevmonroe:

• drugsandcheetos

“Uh— hey. Wait, sorry. I’m not usually up front— Welcome to the Royal Promontory Museum, how can I help you?”

“I totally get that. I’m looking for a book by Dr. John B. Watson about his Little Albert experiment for my thesis on the ethics of classical conditioning, but I can’t find it anywhere.”

“I’d… I’d look in a library?” Zev squinted at the girl. Was she messing with him? Probably. “We don’t even have anything on medical history, really. Had a Bubonic Plague display come through, once, but that’s— that’s about all. Y’know this is a museum, right? I mean the facade out front looks all studious but— we’re a little lacking in books.”

thecharmingkiller:

zevmonroe:

“I breathe fine, it’s— kid. Good, great, I feel very respected, thank you. Listen, I was looking for this place on Fenchurch, and then there was this construction so I had to go around through one of those really fantastic covered alleyways and now I’m here and unless your name is…” Zev took a reprieve from his fever pitch monologuing, looking over his company. “It’s not Jovan Montegue, is it?”

“Relax, I call most younger people that.” He sighed with a slight roll of his eyes. “That’s a fascinating story, really, but it really has nothing to do with me. I can give you directions though.”

“What? No. I’m Victor, Meredith’s uncle.”

He raised his eyebrows, genuinely shocked to find someone related to Meredith in a backalley— scratch that, no he wasn’t. “Her— uncle. Her uncle? You’re two, three years older than me, tops! I mean— whatever, people have kids later in life, it’s cool, but that’s gotta be— y’know what, nevermind. Uh, nice to meet you and stuff, but I really do have to go— to the thing I gotta do. I’ll just— get some directions on my phone,” he pulled it from his pocket, an iPhone encased in a thick rubber cover emblazoned with Superman’s iconic logo. He spoke to Victor while typing.

“Weird, just running into someone that closely linked— London’s a lot smaller than I think sometimes. You said— I never really took Meredith as someone to talk about her life much, but you, uh, you know me? Is she close to you?”

thecharmingkiller:

zevmonroe:

“Boyfriend? No? I— I’m a friend, sure, and colloquially speaking ‘boy’ could describe me, but— Meredith’s— naah, no. Nope. I mean, she’s gorgeous, but I’m not— we’re not— she hasn’t— wait, where is here? Exactly? I mean I’ve got a— none of your business, nevermind.”

“Take a breath, kid. It was just a question. You seem pretty flustered by her though. Here is…well, if you don’t already know then it’s not really any of your business.”

“I breathe fine, it’s— kid. Good, great, I feel very respected, thank you. Listen, I was looking for this place on Fenchurch, and then there was this construction so I had to go around through one of those really fantastic covered alleyways and now I’m here and unless your name is…” Zev took a reprieve from his fever pitch monologuing, looking over his company. “It’s not Jovan Montegue, is it?”

thecharmingkiller:

princessaurorarose:

raphael-thefourth:

therestlessfox liked your post: ooc*

wow I really need a new theme everyone hold your pants while I do the thing

*blissfully has a character with a stable upbringing, decent home life and no addictions other than diet Pepsi*

Zev hated working outside the archive, but staff had been short lately— layoffs were had, despite the oncoming Summer rush. He was lucky to keep the job he had, so he didn’t complain when sent to tend the front desk or exhibits. But the Natural History display made him want to, for sure. Arrays of mouldering taxidermied animals— which, beyond the information on their plaques, he knew nothing about— all staring down. It made him shudder, and he’d had more than enough to shudder over the past year. But by far the worst was fielding questions, and as the young man came in, Zev feared he’d have to do just that. All the same he gave the man a wave and smile.

“Hello, there. Enjoying your visit?”

• drugsandcheetos

“Uh— hey. Wait, sorry. I’m not usually up front— Welcome to the Royal Promontory Museum, how can I help you?”