True Reflection (Ĺค∂rєภgเℓσภ & King)

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Rowlet, Jun 10, 2015.

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    Warning: Please Read
    Read at your own risk. The RP might contain the following:

    ✖ Mild language.
    ✖ Varying degree of violence.
    ✖ Varying degree of blood.
    ✖ Varying degree of gruesome cases.
    ✖ Possible Fade to Black smut.



    James Moriarty, world's greatest consulting villain, has met his match. Or has he? A mysterious force dwells in the underworld, unleashing havoc in London. Figuring out his adversary's identity was child's play. However, was his deductions genuine or did his opponent slip up intentionally? A dangerous rivalry festered between two criminal masterminds; The King vs. Chameleon. Who will win the title as greatest consulting criminal?

    One day, Chameleon framed Moriarty for a meticulous string of murders, attracting a certain consulting detective. His hatred for Sherlock Holmes is far greater than his morbid fascination for Jim Moriarty. Holmes believed his archenemy, Moriarty, is behind the murders. However, Moriarty discovered a darker secret involving his rival. An impossible phenomenon in the world of humanity. What happened if both of them teamed together to outwit Sherlock? Will Holmes discover Chameleon's secret?



    The RP is set between Season(s) 1 & 2.


    Main Pairing ↔ James Moriarty x Misha Volkov

    James Moriarty: Played by King.

    Misha Volkov: Played by Ĺค∂rєภgเℓσภ.


    Ĺค∂rєภgเℓσภ & King can post here only.


    In a world of locked rooms, the man with the key is king. And honey, you should see me in a crown.❞
    ~ J. Moriarty

    #1 Rowlet, Jun 10, 2015
    Last edited: Jun 10, 2015
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    It was like looking in a mirror.

    Jim walked into the empty bar, eyes on his own body. "Seeing myself from this angle really does make my hair look good." He said softly as he walked out from the shadows, his voice an eerie echo. The room was lit by the bar light, illuminating the dusty stools and glasses. He admired the person in front of him, internally amazed by what he was seeing. Moriarty saw himself. But how?

    It wasn't hard for Moriarty to find out about the murders and who was behind it. And over a couple of text messages, Jim could meet his framer. Of course he knew his competitor looked like him, but this was a whole knew level. As a King who has sat with the metaphorical crown of criminal activity, it wasn't often he faced serious competition. But now, now he was both intrigued and fascinated by who was standing in front of him. "I hope that's Westwood." He walked a couple more steps to stand right in front of his competition, hands in his pockets as he admired his suit.

    Of course, he knew Sherlock would know by now. But, did he know that it was this complicated? Probably not. Jim wasn't a team player, but did it count if he worked with himself? Moriarty had considered it. With Sherlock to mess with, the idea became more and more likable.

    "What's it like then? Being me." Moriarty couldn't mask his amusement as a small smile appeared on the corners of his lips. "I think its great." He added. As they stood in front of eachother, Moriarty wondered how this was possible. But he'd never admit his confusion. Or even worse, ask the man about it. Hopefully his doppelganger would explain all without his having to ask. The light made both of their faces shadowed in a dark manner, making his menacing expressions more twisted.

    This was going to be interesting.

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    "What's it like then? Being me. I think its great."

    Amusement flickered through his mocha hues. Misha, or Chameleon, tilted his head, staring at his adversary. He leaned against the dusty counter, jamming his hands in his pockets. Chameleon watched his rival approach him, fascination evident on the King's expression. A charismatic smile plastered on his face. He stepped away from the counter and circled Jim. "Becoming you was perfect," he began. He retrieved a cellphone from his pocket and swiped his thumb across the touch screen. A text message flashed across his screen, evoking a wider grin. "Your mind is marvelous. All your thoughts, memories- framing you was exhilarating," he continued. His voice was an impeccable imitation of Moriarty's. If an innocent bystander stumbled across the abandoned bar, he would suspect identical twins conversing. "Poor ol' Sherlock found your next victim. I think he's growing desperate. So many people are dying and he can't stop it," he drawled, raising his cellphone. A single message was displayed on the screen,

    #006 has been uncovered.

    A fleeting laugh escaped his lips. It sounded more derange with Moriarty's image. "Six orchestrated deaths on your head. My, my, you're working fast," Misha mused. He locked his screen and slipped his phone in his inner blazer pocket. He lifted his hand and snapped his fingers. Seconds later, a tall man appeared out of the shadows, holding a tray with two glasses and a bottle of expensive scotch. He picked up a glass and poured himself a drink. "I wouldn't dare admit my confusion. I prefer my doppelganger explaining everything," Misha deduced. He flashed his rival a wicked smile. "Since I'm me, why should I elaborate? Wouldn't it be beneficial if my doppelganger explained himself?" he added mockingly. He sipped his drink, gouging his adversary's reaction. Chameleon snapped his fingers, dismissing his subordinate. He placed the tray on the counter and vanished in the shadows.
  4. Compliments weren't a surprise, Moriarty knew he was exhilarating. A small smirk tipped the corner of his mouth as he stood straight, allowing his other self to circle him. "Well, when did he ever stop anything?" Jim said with sarcasm, hatred in his voice for Sherlock. This was the only thing pulling him towards this man, the possibility of the destruction of Sherlock Holmes. What one Moriarty could do, two would be better.

    "That's how I like it." He snorted in amusement as he sensed another person present in the room. His back was against the man, but he knew he must be someone to do with his new friend. A micro-twang of annoyance flashed down Jim's back as the man mocked him. "So thoughts as well?" He mused, turning sharply to the man with a smirk, "Don't look too deeply..." He stepped closer, "You might find something you wish you didn't." He narrowed his eyes, mouth open to wait for a reaction. His eyes studied the others, "Or if you're anything like me; You might like it." His voice got quieter and more menacing as he spoke.

    Quickly, Moriarty diffused the quiet tension by spinning around, breaking the serious stance, "Go on then!" His voice ringing, "Please explain." He turned again to face his other self with a sarcastic pout, a whiny tone in his voice.
    #4 King, Jun 11, 2015
    Last edited: Jun 11, 2015
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    "Don't look too deeply...You might find something you wish you didn't. Or if you're anything like me; You might like it."

    His mocha hues flashed an illuminate silver. A carnivorous grin plastered on his face. Misha sipped his scotch, offering a glass to Moriarty. "Oh honey, you're not my first criminal," he drawled. He brushed a flick of dirt off his blazer. Chameleon swished his glass, watching the amber liquid swirl inside his pristine glass. "I'll admit, I haven't been this amused in years. We're alike, you and I. We share common goals and a personal vendetta against Holmes," he continued. His tone was light, almost playful. It contradicted with his appearance. Misha downed the rest of his glass and placed it on top of the tray. He wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. Chameleon glanced at his adversary.

    "Go on then. Please explain."

    A fleeting chortle escaped his lips. "Do you know what I do with my costumes?" He referred to his current appearance. His eyes illuminated a brilliant silver, glowing in the darkness enveloping half his form. "I kill the original. That's what my people do. However-" He folded his handkerchief and pocketed it. "-you're an exception. Killing you would be fun, but letting you live? I find that twice as entertaining. It would benefit me, especially with Holmes among the living," Misha continued. He fished out his phone and checked the screen. A new text message displayed on the lock screen. "There's a whole world out there you're not aware of, Jimmy. Do you believe in folktales? I do," he pointed out. He swiped his thumb across the screen, unlocked it, and typed a response. "I am what you call-" A ripple trickled down his form. He morphed from Moriarty to his original form, Misha. "-a shapeshifter. How did you think I earned my alias?" he inquired. Despite his original form, he maintained a British accent. He pressed sent, locked his screen, and slipped his cell in his inner blazer pocket.

    "I could elaborate more, but wouldn't it be funner if we played a game of deduction? You figured out my identity. How about my ethnicity?" Chameleon declared with a mischievous gleam in his silvery blueish-grey hues.
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    The comparison between the two made Moriarty twist his head. Were they really? Obviously the consulting criminal had his doubts, but the look the man was holding did make them pretty similar. Although he did know he was amusing to be. Out of all people he knew that. Yet, he kept an intrigued look on his face as he leaned down to pick up the drink.

    As his friend began to explain himself, Moriarty was silent, letting his face react to what he was talking about. He pouted dramatically as he spoke about killing his costumes before smirking when told he was too fun to kill. Which was true, killing him would be boring. He strolled over to actually stand in front of the man once again, holding the undrunk liquor in his hand, the other resting in his pocket. Then, something awesome happened in front of him. What was once him had swerved into another body of a man. Most people would be in shock and horror, but Moriarty's face twisted into a menacing grin, his eyebrows raised.

    "Now, that is fun." He chuckled. All he was thinking about was the amount of chaos that could be caused with a man who could be others, just like that.

    A game? Moriarty stuck his tongue out, gripping it in his teeth as he nodded. "I do love a good game." He pulled the drink to his lips and downed nearly all of it in one go, finishing it off with a satisfied sigh. Moriarty knew that he was behind all of it. The face was familiar and most other things, but the mans history was just as mysterious as his own to others. "Lets see." Moriarty circled, hands behind his back. He looked at the mans skin, hair, clothes, mumbling under his breath quickly. "Eastern European, but your eyes are telling me... More eastern. Skin. Hm. A Russian?" Moriarty stopped again in front of him.

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    "I do love a good game. Let's see. Eastern European, but your eyes are telling me...More eastern. Skin. Hm. A Russian?"

    He watched Moriarty circle around him, like a dangerous predator. Despite his stature, Chameleon remained unfazed. Approval flickered through his silvery hues. He lifted his hands and clapped, praising his adversary. "Marvelous!" Misha exclaimed. He flashed his friend a malicious grin. "You never fail to amuse me, Jimmy. Russia is my home country," he confirmed. He snapped his fingers, summoning the tall man who carried the tray. His subordinate appeared next to his side with a flash. He averted his attention to his servant. Misha conversed with him in Russian, ordering him to bring the car around. His servant, or Viktor, inclined his head and slunk back in the shadows, disappearing out of sight.

    Chameleon directed his attention to Jim. "Shall we continue our conversation in a more civilized location? I'm certain it will pique your interest, considering most of my subordinates are different," he offered, emphasizing on the word different. Unbeknownst to Britain, Chameleon was notorious for hiring creatures for minions. He possessed a small amount of human subordinates, but they were lackeys, tools of disposal. After they lost their value, Misha fed them to his pets. He ran a hand through his hair, shifting the color from dark chocolate brown to platinum blonde. It lengthened past his shoulders, brushing against his elbows. His unruly waves straightened. Misha gathered his hair and pulled it back in a low ponytail. His height increased, shoulders broadening. His facial features became more prominent, almost regal. He resembled an aristocrat. His silvery blue hues vanished, replaced with brilliant emerald. Misha morphed into one of his signature aliases, Laurent Fortescue. French Billionaire Extraordinaire.

    "Safety measures," Misha elaborated unabashedly, referring to his appearance. A fluid French accent replaced his British tongue.
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    The male watched the man in triumph, feeling better now he got it right. "Well, you have got me intrigued." he smirked at the mention of a change of scenery. He had only picked the bar just in case his other half freaked others out. Moriarty shifted on his feet as he put his hands in his pockets, watching the man.

    When he shifted forms, Moriarty lifted his eyebrows as he checked out the new skin, "Oh, sexy." Jim's eyebrows twitched as he looked at the man with mischief on his face. His sexuality was always an ambiguous secret, since the male found a way of flirting happily with all genders. Or species, now, as it seemed. He watched the tall man in the shadows. Did he have his own collection of humans who obeyed him? Jim would usually feel a little jealous, but he knew he could get practically anybody to do as he asks.

    "Please lead the way, handsome." Moriarty used his hand to gesture towards the door before putting it back in his pocket, ready to continue their conversation.
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    "Please lead the way, handsome."

    A fleeting laugh escaped his lips. Amusement flickered through his emerald hues. "Very well," Chameleon replied. He picked up the tray off the counter and sauntered toward the door. Suddenly, it opened, revealing his subordinate, Viktor. He handed the tray to his servant, brushed past him, and guided Moriarty toward his personal limo. A smaller subordinate emerged from the front passenger seat and opened the back car door. Misha flashed him a brilliant smile. He conversed with his servant, Lucien, in French. A few seconds later, he slipped inside and scooted toward the end. He averted his eyes toward the door, noticing the look on Lucien's face. A chuckle rumbled through his chest. "Tut, tut, Luci. He is certainly exquisite, but my acquaintance is off the menu," Chameleon announced. His servant inclined his head in response. After Moriarty slipped inside, he shut the door.

    "Can you guess what my subordinates are, Jimmy?" Misha inquired. His eyes glinted with mischief. He leaned back and rested his left arm on the back rest and right hand on his knee. "I'll give you a hint: they are like me, but not the same kind," he added. His comment was vague, but he was curious if Moriarty's brilliance extended to the supernatural. His subordinates, Viktor and Lucien, found Moriarty's blood mouthwatering, but refrained from killing him. When he traveled, Misha preferred inhuman servants. Better protection than pitiful humans. Fortunately, he wasn't plagued with a desire of human flesh or blood.
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    Moriarty followed in an amused manner, eyeing the servant as he passed. He heard the comment and raised an eyebrow. The man made him more and more curious. Jim wondered what he meant by that, the male eyed Moriarty like he was a delicious piece of cake in a shop window. His mind was recently opened to the supernatural, so his brain examined what the male could be thinking. Whatever it was, it probably was a little dangerous for Jim to be around.

    But he was excited. "Fancy." He smirked as he slipped into the limo, facing the Frenchman. He rested his hands in his lap, his eyes flirting with the being that closed the door. When asked, Moriarty looked back to his new friend. "Something that finds me irresistible." His words slid off his tongue as he raised his eyebrows, the inviting look in his eyes again. Jim loved attention, even if it was from creatures that desired his blood. "Then again, a lot of people do." He cockily added.

    "Hm, I don't suppose they count as people, though." He shrugged, still amazed that the supernatural was closer than he thought.

    [apologies for the late reply!]
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    "Something that finds me irresistible. Then again, a lot of people do."

    A fleeting laugh escaped his lips. He rested his temple against his left fist. "Quite the sight," Misha agreed. He scanned his new friend's profile. He licked his lips subconsciously. "Arrogance makes you more appetizing," he commented. He extended his right arm and brushed his fingertips against Jim's cheekbone. His emerald hues flashed a luminescent silver. "If I found human flesh or blood scrumptious, I wouldn't hesitate to devour you," he mused. A hedonistic smile plastered on his aristocratic face. Suddenly, his form morphed into a carbon copy of Moriarty. "Wouldn't it be ironic if I devoured you with this face?" he inquired. His eyes gleamed wickedly. His form transformed into Sherlock. "Perhaps, this would be more entertaining. The world's "greatest consulting detective" consuming his archenemy," he added. Sherlock's face melted away, revealing Misha's true form. He ran a hand through his wavy dark locks.

    "I may not have the appetite, but there are more-" A mischievous grin adorned his face. "-beneficial forms of devouring," Misha announced. Fifteen minutes later, the limo pulled in front of a high-class estate. He carded his fingers through his hair, transforming into his French alias. "In the eyes of the ignorant, we are people. Many supernatural creatures have a human form," he revealed. He glanced at his acquaintance. "I recommend you stay close, Jim. Some of my subordinates can't resist a good meal," he warned flippantly. After the door opened, Misha slipped out of his limo. He flashed Lucien a smile and nodded in Viktor's direction. He sauntered toward the entrance of his home. He surveyed his surroundings. His grin widened in response.

    "I have a feeling you'll be life of the party, Moriarty," he laughed. Despite their hidden locations, he detected a group of guards prowling in the shadows. All of their eyes were directed at Moriarty.
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    The fingertips on his face made him smirk. The morbid desire the things he was conversing with was making him awfully playful. "Buy me dinner first." He poked fun at his friend, who was switching between faces. But when it got to Sherlock's, Jim's smirk twitched a bit. The antagonizing was fun, but the idea of Sherlock beating him irritated Jim. He brightened up again when Misha turned back into the Frenchman, "I think I prefer that one." He chuckled.

    Moriarty shrugged as he was told to say close. He walked next to Misha, his hands in his pockets as he chewed on a piece of gum. He watched the people staring at him, and Jim winked at them. Typically of him, every creature that could smell his blood gained a cheeky smile from Moriarty, like he was flirting with them.

    "Now, I realize if I overstay my time, I won't be leaving at all..." He said as he felt the eyes pressing on him, "So I say we get to the meat of our conversation." He raised his eyebrows, "Sherlock."

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