let slip the dogs of war,

Sebastian L. Moran, 38, Chief of Staff for J. Moriarty

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posted 1 year ago + 135 notes — via jiminwestwood, © tigerjaw

jiminwestwood:

Jim chewed his top lip, looking down at Sebastian.

“Oh.” He raised his eyebrows. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Sebastian usually didn’t react like that to little things like getting knocked into the shower wall. “Well then…I’ll just assume that the coffee hasn’t hit your system yet. Get up.”

His stomach was full of starch and it felt uncomfortable all of a sudden. He thought of the heaviness, the digestion, the process of all that food moving through him, touched by someone else’s hands, their germs now inside him, working their way inside him…His stomach churned and he dashed to the bathroom, throwing up the twelve bites of pancake he’d managed to get down. He wanted to kill things, blow things up. The last twelve hours had been wrong. He smacked his hand into the tile as he sat back on his heels, looking up at the ceiling. He grabbed his towel from where he’d thrown it, wiping his mouth.

Sebastian stood up and was about to say something when the expression on Jim’s face stopped him cold. The sounds that then issued from the bathroom were not encouraging. Seb didn’t go into the bathroom but instead prepared his duffle bag for the job they had to do, got his jacket ready and put on his holster, slipping the Sig into it carefully his tie was over his shoulders and he thought that he had spent enough time getting ready when he went over to the bathroom, knocked once and opened the door. 

“What do you say to visiting the Kremlin and then watching me shoot a man mid-lecture?” He asked, leaning against the doorframe, and crossing his arms.

#moscow #the set up! #i'll go crazy the next post