monsieur de la nuit

ETA: here are your weirdest pairings. remember

Chapter 01: Ondine (deity's seduction)
Chapter 02: Le Gibet (executioner's bell)
Chapter 03: Scarbo (fiend's mischief)

One rule Jim Kirk has always set for himself: when he graduates into Starfleet proper, and hopefully with a ship under his command, he'll never try to date any of his crew members. There's too much chance for unsavory conduct, abuse of power...he's not a science officer, or an engineer, or a doctor (and even they have hierarchies). One day, he'd hope to ascend to a position where no one is his equal.

But right now, he's still in the Academy. He's still equal with all the other cadets, and he figures he'll make the best of his collegiate experience before those opportunities are gone - before his days and nights, measurable only by accustom, are filled with the voyages of that starship (his starship, his starship), shore leaves providing a sort of "you can look, but you can't touch" to normal human (and inhuman) civilization.

This is before the Kobayashi Maru. This is before all distinction. This is even before three-dimensional chess, and Kirk finds himself at chess club watching a Vulcan cadet coolly check the king of a human with a shock of gray hair and active, darting golden eyes.

The human laughs heartily at his own defeat, even asks the Vulcan to point out where he went wrong. The Vulcan deliberates for a moment, then mechanically arrays the pieces back on the board in reverse order.

"Ah," the human says. "I'll have to remember that one." And then he laughs again.

Kirk's only half been paying attention, but when Addam, as the stellar young man introduces himself to be, mounts to a similar scenario in their following game, he finds that he did, indeed, remember it.

He smiles, and his eyes are keen - sharper than they are warm, at times and at points. Is he training to become an officer, or a politician? He'd excel equally at both, but maybe wouldn't really want to be either.

There's something of Iowa in him. He remembers.

He promises to remember Kirk, too.

Mr. Addam Origo is exceedingly charming, if a little short of witty. This, the great Herlock Sholmes categorizes quite simply, upon meeting him. He is quite frank; sometimes he calls people and their games for what they are well before those very same people would seem to prefer it.

And Sholmes admires that, to be sure. It's as if he has no choice to be genuine with the man! There may be depth he misses, if not depth he is missing (note the difference, there), but he is honest, and he is dependable.

Sholmes takes him out for tea. While there, he comments commendably and commendingly on Sholmes's debt of public service - the described party, of course, takes it all in stride. It is only natural, based on his deductions about this man.

Addam offers, "It's brilliant, the way you engage yourself with your work. You can be calm and cool, and then again lively and bright. It's all at your disposal, and yet all so genuine...marvelous."

He's dressed smartly, in slacks and a polo and oxfords with prim polka-dotted socks. He is capitally handsome. Much like a certain consulting detective...?

Herlock responds, "Thank you kindly, Addam. I'm sure you would do the same, were the same responsibilities in your hands."

He is effusive, surely. He is a veritable fount of useless information, quite often. Were he to have useful information to impart, he would do so with the utmost clarity and gravity.

This is where Sholmes begins to doubt himself; when Mr. Origo begins to ask him about his work in greater detail, and wonder about his cases and commissions, and Sholmes thinks to himself, ah, yes, my suspects and my witnesses, those whom I have sworn never to consort with in impropriety, for as much my sake as for theirs' and for that of the public.

But, you see, the trouble is...

He cannot remember where he met Mr. Origo in the first place! So it's all right, isn't it?

"Addam."

Hershel speaks quietly, and the addressed answers in kind. "Yes?"

There's a gravelly sort of note to his voice, like he hasn't had a good strong cup of tea recently. Well, the other gentleman prefers coffee, just as strong and black, but if the remedy were to be mutual...

He's a business student, and he's not a stupid one. His classes don't run him very much difficulty, and he spends a great deal of time with Hershel, especially where their differing methods of statistics collide and they can compare notes.

Notes that they very much would not like to spill coffee, or tea, as the case may have it, upon.

Running a finger loosely over the ridge of his right eyebrow, Hershel further considers his next comment. Comment? An inquiry, rather. A careful grasp at the unknown, but an unknown which has been telegraphed and can be mildly approached. The excitement belies the trepidation.

"What will you do, once you graduate? Will you become an accountant?"

An accountant isn't as illustrious a profession in London and its proto-suburbs (metropolitan environs, more generally) as it is in some other countries' urban centers. Surely there are more interesting things a man of Addam's many talents can do.

Addam purses his lips upwards, appraisingly and approached - mild, in other words. Gamely. "I suppose that had been the general idea. Have you got some other scheme cooked up for me?"

Layton is an aspiring gentlemen. He'd never concoct anything so nefarious as a scheme. It's merely a concept - an idea, as Addam had said.

Likely, with all the time they've spent together, reviewing each others' topics and tediums, Addam would be a fine candidate for assist in Hershel's post-graduate work, towards becoming a tenured professor of archaelogy at Gressenheller.

Now, is it ever wise for such endeavors to be undertaken with personal relationships also in mind? Not so. But...

"I wouldn't call it that. But when I tell it to you...do take it into consideration."