the realignment meme... realignmement?

[illbebach]

THE REALIGNMENT MEME

>>> OH NO YOU'VE BEEN EXPOSED TO RADIOACTIVE ANTIMATTER FROM THE EIGHTH DIMENSION AND NOW YOU'RE THE OPPOSITE MORAL ALIGNMENT THAT YOU USUALLY ARE. But don't worry! There are ways to cure that!

THE RULES

01 POST AS YOUR CHARACTER STATING WHAT MORAL ALIGNMENT YOUR CHARACTER HAS SWITCHED TO. This can be the binary Good/Evil or something more nuanced like along the D&D spectrum, just as long as it's an approximate opposite of what your character is normally like, morally speaking.
02 COMMENT TO OTHER PEOPLE either anonymously or logged in TELLING THEM WHO TO CURE! So you'll comment to X's character with Y's name + the curing method number as listed below. Specify if you want X to be realigned as well in that thread OTHERWISE assume X is normal.
03 THREAD OUT THE SCENARIO FOR AT LEAST FIVE COMMENTS otherwise you will have failed curing dear, dear Y -- and how can you live with that guilt??
04 HAVE A TERRIBLY FUN TIME.

THE CURES

1] Physical intimacy. Either hugging or kissing or second base, there's only one rule: it must be a sincere effort.
2] Take them hostage. The only way to reverse the effects of scientifically sound radioactive antimatter from the eighth dimension is to kidnap the patient and hope they develop Stockholm Syndrome, or come to their senses.
3] Self-sacrifice. The only way to bring them back is to let them kill you/maim you. Or make them kill you/maim you.
4] Interrogation. You MUST force them to reveal a secret about themselves, or they'll be stuck this way forever. You can be as kind and persuasive or as Orwellian as you need to be.
5] Make them laugh. If you can make them laugh, you've reversed this unseemly and totally realistic ailment!
6] Therapy. Convince them that talking this out is the best solution -- because it's the only way to save them!
7] Confess your true feelings ABOUT THEM to them! The truth will set someone free.
8] Wait, you actually already have a magicscience/deus ex machina cure! But you have to FORCE the serum into them, by ANY MEANS.
9] Good old fashion smack around. Yes BEATING PEOPLE UP, isn't that what heroes do?!

Comments

[deductives]

[It's a familiar smell, one that might have made Sherlock wryly nostalgic before, but now just riles a sense of anger in him. This is not the time for Bradbury to answer for such things, however. First, Sherlock needs to bring him back to the City, and needs him to stop being this.]

Unless your say is compliance, I'm afraid not.

[He idly twirls the knife in his gloved hand. Bradbury is stronger than him, Sherlock knows. Even in this state, he could probably overtake him if he isn't careful and lets the bigger man nullify his powers. The knife is just the precaution. Sherlock doesn't intend to stab Bradbury, at least not yet, but the blade is lined with a fast acting sedative that would creep into someone's bloodstream at even the slightest nick.]

You're needed as you were.

[waiting]

"As you were." [ Bradbury echoes the words back at him, dryly. He's not familiar with the exact nature of Sherlock's powers, so he doesn't know what to expect, and he regrets not paying closer attention -- or pressing John for information.

He regrets a lot of things, really. ]

And what exactly is that? [ He gestures, with empty hands, wishing like hell his gun wasn't across the room. Worse yet, really, is that even if he could wrestle Sherlock down, it'd be tricky -- there isn't much bare skin to get his hands for his powers to work. ] The Mayor's attack dog? The guy you can count on to be dumb enough to take a bullet for you even if you don't give a shit?

I'm over it. Find someone else.

[deductives]

Right now a dog would give the mayor more dignity than you, Rick.

[Sherlock's voice doesn't have the calm sort of teasing tone it would normally have when talking that way. Instead he sounds perfectly serious. He starts to advance on Bradbury cautiously. The City needs blind loyalty, he's now certain, and he'd bring it back no matter what.]

I came here to find you. No one else.

[waiting]

[ That earns him a sharp, hard laugh, but Bradbury isn't nearly as confident as he sounds, and the look in his eyes is that of a animal slowly realizing he's being cornered, desperate for a way out. ]

You're kidding me, right? What the hell can I do that no one else can't do better?

[ His shoulderblades dig into the armchair as he leans back, retreating as far as he can. ]

[deductives]

[In response, Sherlock just smiles. It's not one of those rare, genuine ones he kept stocked away in the past, and it's not even one of his plastic, perfunctory ones. Instead it's a grin of absolute malice.

He seems to almost slide through the floor to suddenly be looming over Bradbury, and the knife tip presses against his prey's throat. Not pushing too hard, not breaking skin just yet.]

Don't sell yourself short.

[City Hall is an insurmountable joke of incompetency outside of Mitch's office without him. The Sherlock before him now won't stand for that. The knife pricks Bradbury's skin, and Sherlock can only hope he hasn't done enough drugs in so short a time to be resistant to the sedative.]

[waiting]

[ He registers the pinprick of pain, and he's about to sass Sherlock for it -- something about that being the best he's got, or something equally cliche -- but then the room tilt sharply sideways.

You bastard, he tries to say, You fucking roofied me.

He doesn't get the chance, and he slumps in his chair, out like a light.

When he comes to, an indeterminate amount of time later, he feels queasy, and he's dimly aware of an engine's hum, vibrating through his bones. They're on the move, he can tell, but the question is to where? ]

[deductives]

Though it probably wouldn't have been an unusual sight for someone to be dragging a passed out Bradbury around town, Sherlock opted for the safer route of traveling through shadow to a nearby harbor. Before carrying out his plans, he'd paid a small, local cargo ship a few hundred dollars for passage back to American waters; the foreign traders always needed the money. There weren't many men on the crew, and none of them asked questions when Sherlock arrived on time to set sail with an extra man.

Now he waits for the sedative to wear off and smokes a cigarette near the window inside the shabby first mate's cabin he'd taken over. Bradbury was handcuffed to a radiator against the wall, where struggling would only burn him if Sherlock decides to turn it on. He toys with the thought, but doesn't touch it yet.

"You had an insult prepared?" he asks idly when his captive starts to show signs of life.

LMAO SUDDENLY PROSE

[waiting]

Waking up from being sedated is a slow process, trying to shake off the stupor and get his bearings. His mouth is dry -- he doesn't know if it's the effect of the drugs, or the alcohol that had been in his system before he passed out -- but it's unpleasant, and he grimaces, tugging at the cuff to test its strength. The solid-sounding clank is far from reassuring.

He doesn't respond to the question, at least not initially. Instead, he takes the time to try and shake off the daze while looking around the room; he figures at least it's better than being thrown in the hold, but that's not saying much.

"There are better ways of getting a date," he rasps at last, smirking at Sherlock despite the queasiness he feels. It could be the drug having an unfortunate reaction to everything else in his system, but he sincerely hopes that Sherlock will do him the favor of coming close enough for him to throw up on him if it persists.

WOW I DON'T KNOW HOW THAT HAPPENED oh well

[deductives]

The cigarette in Sherlock's mouth adds as sinister glow to his face as he watches Bradbury come around. He can see the sedative still packed the punch it needed to. His new companion wouldn't be trying to resist for a while yet.

"If we're going by your newest methods, I don't think paying you would have worked." The boat is rocking a little, which probably doesn't help Rick any. "Lost your sealegs, then? Unfortunate."

Sherlock keeps his distance. He doesn't actually want to fight with Bradbury, he only wants to return him to his duties in upholding the order back home.

[waiting]

The sight of Sherlock with a cigarette makes Bradbury's mouth twist in grim amusement. Of course, he'd been able to peg Sherlock as a smoker before, but he's never actually seen the man indulge.

There's a touch of envy to the expression, too. God, he'd kill for a cigarette right now. He never actually used to need the damn things, but he figures the chances of Sherlock giving him one are zero, right about now. Besides, as Sherlock's observed, he's having trouble just keeping upright.

"Haven't lost anything," he hisses, ignoring how blatantly untrue that is. "The hell did you hit me with?"

[deductives]

Before whatever changed him, Sherlock was still restraining his nicotine addiction. Now, he saw no problem with it-- a legal vice in the face of whatever else tempted lesser people.

"Are you sure? I've yet to see you recover your dignity, for one." He takes a long drag, pleased with his own wordplay, more visibly than usual.

"Chloral hydrate," he breathes out with the smoke. "Easy enough to make. Even easier to use. That's hardly what matters, however."