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Michael Pierson
The Adventures of Robin ... Hood
Thu Aug 24, 2006 09:50
71.33.60.170

To hell in a handbasket, McCracken!

Michael stared resolutely across the temporarily empty warehouse, nothing to distinguish it from the rows of others sitting placidly across from the docks. It'd probably be a mite safer to find one in Jersey, but Conrad had pulled a few strings and gotten this small but strategically located one in Manhattan. Just across from them loomed a construction site - plenty of hammering and sawing to mask their own activities.

"I stand corrected, this is a good location."

His mild comment produced a smile on Conrad's face, and an echo on the bulky figure behind them. With a grunt, he turned around and began unloading items from the van behind them; stolen tags on an equally stolen vehicle. Printing press, dryer, several boxes of ink supplies - everything Michael would need to reproduce Euros and other continental money in the weeks to come. His mates were willing to wait as long as the forger thought neccessary; after all, he would start off with American cash, just a few bills to determine the adequacy of his own skills. Those would circulate first to test the waters.

Then printing would begin in earnest. One of the small boxs contained several folders of European money samples, each stolen from a fresh circulation during Conrad's incarceration. And really, Michael had put his misgivings aside, most of them anyway, to concentrate on this new challenge. Of the four, he was the only one who could boast already having an inheritance, though he rarely touched the money.

It was the sigh of the tequila bottle that blew his blissful recollections of an earlier, simpler time. Simon had aquired a couple bottles and was sharing the first with Conrad while they unpacked. Suddenly feeling industrious, Michael carefully sauntered over to a desk the previous tenants had left behind and settled down with the box of bank notes. Arranging them into categories by country would take long enough to control his body.

Devon was sprawled invitingly on the floor, his towel serving as a reminder of how Olympian the feeb's frame was. Michael had tried to get himself so horribly drunk in the tub that any response aside of a grunt would be too taxing, and he was sure that he'd managed it ... until he saw the towel. Holding his own bottle at an angle to hide ... certain things... had been a wee but difficult, but Devon had been too far gone to notice.

His passing out during a Terminator marathon hadn't helped anything either. Michael had settled onto the couch, his clothing folded on the bathroom floor. Just too far to move. With a familiar, now unsoothing tightness in his groin, the actor had spent hours just watching Devon sleep, sobriety returning with each rise and fall of the .... erm, nicely built chest.


Michael shifted even now, knowing he would never be able to consume tequila again without those images burned into unwilling eyes. And the dreams had become worse. It had only been two weeks, but he'd still woken up hard each morning, arms unaccountably empty. But that wasn't the worst part.

On the drive back, somehow the topic had become fixated on genealogy (anything to distract from the smell of Devon's aftershave, which Michael was begin to suspect of being laced with something to drive him insane). He'd described Hugh's family as the sedate sort, most of them seafaring souls. Midshipmen. One had even captained his own ship during Victoria's reign. Of his mother's family, the less said, the better.

Especially after Devon dropped his little bombshell.

Holmes. The Holmes. Sherlock. Devon was Sherlock's grandson. Michael had made some nonsensical comment, focusing his eyes on the road to blot out the ... emotions overwhelming his brain. Oh. Lord. He'd gotten involved (on more than one level, thanks) with ... Holmes. Sonnet had told him that was Devon's surname, but .. while it wasn't a blatantly common one, he'd never thought ---

"All set, Michael."

Michael glanced up from his tidy set of piles to blink at Conrad. His gaze flickered towards the remainder of the space, noting with appreciation how tidy Simon had been. Firmly under control now, the forger rose from his chair and tapped a pile of Euros.

"I think we'll be rolling in three weeks. The notes you aquired will take me about a week to make, maybe two--" He raised one hand to cut off the stream of argument erupting between the other two. "Rehearsals, gentleman. If I miss one night, or two, its acceptable. But I can't miss them all. We open next months and I have a reputation to maintain. I can work for a few hours during the day, when no one will be looking for me. I'll print up an American set this week and we'll see where we stand. Alright?"

After a minute, his compatriots nodded slowly. Michael rarely rushed into decisions when he didn't have to. Plan, plot and always have a plan B. Three keys found their way to three hands. Equality. Almost as one, they exited and locked up the new workspace, each thinking on what their future activities would net them. On Michael's part, he was simply glad to have a distraction to his own personal hell.

Until he remembered that Lucy had invited him over for dinner that evening. A look at his watch produced a low fit of extremely naughty slang words, there was less than two hours to make it to his dad's, wash up and get to the Holmes residence before he could be considered fashionably late.


Or, unfashionably late, he sighed. You just didn't arrive at your host's residence almost half an hour late, even with traffic as an excuse. Everyone else was already there, Michael concluded on arrival. And 'everyone' meant, well -- not just just the immediate Holmes clan, but their extended family. Sean and John. The patriarch James, whose name still brought a mental tweak. Holmes' grandson. Great-grandsons and daughters. Minus one, the redhead was living in Italy with an acknowledged mobster.

He hadn't expected to see his father and Ben holding sway in the kitchen however. Lucy took the small boquet of forget-me-nots that he'd stopped for on the way over and stuck them in a lovely vase. That pleased Michael no end, thought admittance would never be told, because his last attempt at flowers had gone over horribly.

Ben put down bread dough long enough to shake his hand, "And why is our favorite stage villain late?"His moustache twitched in amusement.

Michael didn't even think about his answer, just lobbed off an "Extracuricular activities" before he realized he'd just told his father that he was delving in less than legal activities. To backpedal would be an affirmation of such so, steadily avoiding Hugh's suddenly narrowed eyes, Michael took himself rather quickly out of the kitchen and wandered into the backyard. The one person missing was Devon, and he wasn't sure if his absense relieved or disappointed.

Minutely trembling fingers pulled a cigarette pack from his jacket, nicotine would help him get through this evening and tonight. Tomorrow? Hell, he wasn't going to even contemplate it yet. First he had to endure dinner. Michael didn't make mistakes often, but when he did, the world was known to tilt on its axis and deliver him into an array of private hells.

It was all part and parcel of being Professor James Moriarty's great-grandson.

    • Dining In and Eating OutDevon Holmes, Fri Aug 25 00:19
      “Y’know, she’s gonna kill you when she finds that handprint on her ass.” “Yeah, but won’t it be great?” Devon had to admit, his youngest sibling’s grin was infectious. And it never hurt to have a... more
      • Everybody Ought to Have a MaidMichael Pierson, Fri Aug 25 18:41
        Alright, so the footsie idea had been a bad one. The first brush really had been an accident, he’d slid off one of his loafers to work out stress across his toes; something he could completely blame... more
        • Glass DoorsDevon Holmes, Sun Aug 27 00:54
          “So, you mentioned a liquor cabinet? Dare I hope it’s been filled?” Devon had the temerity to snort at Michael’s idiotic question, motioning towards the very well-stocked liquor cabinet hiding in a... more
          • No Day But TodayMichael Pierson, Sun Aug 27 12:14
            Oh, god. The moment Devon sauntered into the bathroom, Michael slid to the floor, legs too wobbly to reasonably support his weight. Flesh tingled everywhere that Devon had touch—no, he’d caressed.... more
            • Surprising at MarketHolmes at Large, Sun Aug 27 18:35
              Will I Lose My Dignity Will Someone Care Will I Wake Tomorrow From This Nightmare… Devon had to admit it, while being seated in the center section with a fantastic view of the stage, that Michael... more
              • Reviewing the Situation Pt 1Michael Holmes, Mon Aug 28 00:32
                How about our place… If you want? …stay over but I can't… I can't commit like… Hugh eased his head back around the corner, grateful his son and his son’s … friend hadn’t noticed his attempts at... more
                • Reviewing the Situation Pt 2Michael Pierson, Mon Aug 28 00:33
                  Grazing. Wound. Conrad had actually shot his father. It didn’t matter that the bullet had only sped past without leaving any lasting damage, it wouldn’t have … Michael blinked, forcing himself to... more
                  • AddendumsDevon Holmes, Tue Aug 29 01:00
                    He could do this. No hyperventilating, don’t trip over the curb, and resist the urge to smack Michael on the ass when he walks in front of you like that. Hell, he wasn’t even really staring at the... more
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