OPEN POST; [ HERLOCK SHOLMES / TGAA ]

[retroductions]

(( hold you in my dreams ))

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[retroductions]

[The outburst... Well. It startles him. The mannequin hand—long forgotten until now—clatters loudly upon the ground, but it's nothing compared to the utter enmity in her tone.

Her actions should offend him; her attitude, unwilling to give him any direction or intent, should frustrate him even further. But he simply finds himself speechless, and perhaps... a bit concerned for her state of mind.

Sholmes merely crouches down and picks up the hand. Sets it aside on some other pile of mess that it'll be engulfed in later.]

Ms Sapione... it's really too much to see you in such a state.

[S-steps forward and offers a tentative hand on her shoulder.]

It's all right.

[velluminous]

It is nothing like that!

[ it's been building since the alley... that bubble inside her. and now it pops, completely and utterly, spilling over hot tears on her cheeks and the scent of burning heavy in the air. she is overheated, trembling, small in Sholmes' coat.

no ring, no key, no husband, no Iris, no friends, no home, no college, no cure, no fucking thesis, no reprieve no matter what she does. she's never felt so angry. ]

You... y-you... This is all wrong. I have fallen through cracks of time? Is that what this is? You too young, this flat—all wrong. I feel like ghost in this place!

[retroductions]

[There it is, spilling forth. The information she's kept from him, the context that can finally build the foundations of this strange tale taking shape. But all of it sounds... improbable. Fallen through the cracks of time? Too young? The flat all wrong?

Pieces slotting together. They form a fantastical picture, and yet they lend credence to certain suspicions.]

You have been here before then? Is that why you knew my flat was upstairs? Why you seek something specific in this room — left behind?

[Some part of him—empathy that still exists, despite his listlessness—informs him belatedly that quick-fire questions might not help her calm down.]

Sit, sit. Sit and breathe, my dear.

[velluminous]

[ his empathy would be right—because now she's breathing faster, harder, angrier. she shouldn't have said any of that.

totters onto her knees at the beside and rests her forehead on the edge of the mattress.

deep breaths. deep breaths. deep. ]

[retroductions]

[He is not good with people. As an adult, he is strange with people, but amiable enough — this personable eccentricity is not something he has yet grown into, or encouraged, by any stretch of the imagination as a teen.

So, what's a boy to do? He isn't.........sure. Sholmes lets her sit where she pleases, resting her head against his messy mattress and shuffles closer. Close enough to sit down at the edge of his bed and look down at her.]

...Would you like my pipe again?

[velluminous]

[ the softest yet his voice has been. for whatever reason, her mind can conceive of that, even with so much of it reserved for grief of all that is continually clawed back from her. her eyes sting and her face is hot, but for him, Sprezzatura makes herself look up. her hair sticks in tear tracks all the way down to her neck. her dark eyes shine like glass.

still. he's beside her, making the mattress dip under his slight weight. ]

Da... da. [ gasped as she wrings her stupid plait in both hands ] I need... I need to calm down.

[retroductions]

[A soft tone, but also an uncertain one. This situation is the equivalent of holding a baby bird with bumbling hands, and while he doesn't particularly like feeling inadequate, the priority is to get her level-headed. Comforted. It is a miserable thing, to watch someone else so miserable, too.

He can do it. He's Herlock Sholmes, after all.

He'll even give her the good tobacco, which is what he intends as he bends down and reaches under the bed for a newer pipe and a finer blend. As he gropes around, he feels his knuckles knock into a different container.

Should he...? Or... Hm.] You are free to smoke as much as you like until your nerves are quelled. But... if you feel you that you need something stronger, let me know.

[velluminous]

Stronger? What... like, what "stronger"?

[ the way she leaps at this with hardly any thought to the contrary: only the lure of oblivion for a moment, and freedom from the ache.

there is a note of suspicion in her voice. ]

[retroductions]

[He'd be surprised if she didn't ask for clarification, or sounded even a little dubious, despite her desire for something calming.

And Sholmes has no reason to be coy about it. This drug, after all, is restricted and yet still widely available for those seeking its use.]

Opium. I don't know how familiar you are with the substance, but it will lead to a sense of... languidness and calm that transcends anything tobacco could achieve. But it will also render you quite useless for a time.

[velluminous]

[ were he anyone but Herlock Sholmes, she might greet the idea with stony disregard. at best. drugging her—that is the start of a very foul tale...

...

... except that he is Herlock Sholmes. she trusts him implicitly, even perhaps when she ought to harbour a little more doubt.

on her knees, gazing up at a beautiful young man so close to one she loves... ]

How do you take this "opium"?

[retroductions]

[Her eyes are so dark, he thinks, even if they glisten with tears.]

It’s a paste which is vaporized in the bowl of a long pipe via lamp flame… and smoked.

[Finally, he pulls out a rather ornate-looking box and unlatches it open on the floor, revealing its insides.]

Best consumed while reclining.

[And certainly an activity that requires trust in the presence of someone else. However, pale imitation of the Sholmes she knows he may be, he is not blaggard enough to take advantage of her. Ever.]

[velluminous]

[ funny how, upon seeing the pipe, she instinctively relaxes. she knows this. right down to her stress-flushed fingers, some tension winds out. ]

I sound mad to you.

[retroductions]

[He sits up, hands on his knees, letting the accoutrements remain on display for her consideration, though he notes some tension draining from her.]

Mad? No. You sound afraid.

[Like someone desperate to return to where she came from. His brows pinch a little, glancing aside.]

And I want to assuage those fears. I simply require you to trust me enough to hand me the tools needed to do so. But first… if you like, we can take this moment to relax before you decide on what you wish to do next.

[He’ll smoke this with her if that’s what she wants. Maybe that’d make her more comfortable — maybe less. He isn’t entirely sure.]

[velluminous]

[ the ornate box left open on the floor—Sprezzatura already knows that it will not be put away again untouched. she eyes the pipe once more, because it is easier to look at than him. ]

There is nothing you can do. This will end when it ends.

[ she'll make sure of that.

so, to that end, she reaches a slender hand out and traces the slim and slight curve of the pipe nearest her. ]

I knew you already. Once... or one day.

[retroductions]

[She is free to examine it as much as she likes. It is one of the few items in this flat that he clearly takes care of — along with his tobacco pipe and his violin (sometimes.)]

You… [More pieces snapping into place. The familiar use of his first name. The mention of her falling through a crack in time. Asking his age—]

Are you saying you’re from my future? [A devilish blue woman from some foreign land knows him? Will know him?] How?

[velluminous]

[ what if by telling him, she upsets the flow of everything from "now" until "then"?

utmost exhaustion. shading her eyes with one hand, she stalls out on the answer for nearly too long. ]

Alice in Wonderland.

[retroductions]

[Huh?]

Down the rabbit hole?

[That could mean anything. It could mean nothing. But Sholmes thinks of a strange world in which the dreamer eventually wakes up to reality.

An awkward attempt at humor, a concept that is so tamped down in him that he nearly stumbles it-]

My… future self has made you well-versed in English literature, I see.

[velluminous]

It was first thing he did. [ telling Iris this story had felt like a warm embrace behind her ribs. telling him merely aches, a uniform bruise in his shape. ] He was... so unlike everyone else. Herlock Sholmes, great detective.

[ a sigh strangles out of her; what was the point of thinking she might protect him from this? the truth always comes out. ]

[retroductions]

[He blinks. His eyes widen.]

A great detective?

[A spark of life flickers across his expression, equal parts surprised and full of wonderment, and all else temporarily falls by the wayside. A detective — now, that would be the height of a life defined not by the doldrums, but by mental stimulation and constant variety. The ideal, what he wishes for, what he thinks of dabbling in. And that she called him great? Is that flattery tinted rose-colored by their future acquaintance?

Or the truth?]

Is that true? Life has more designs for me than government paperwork, or fiddling about with hospital chemistry? I can exist beyond the rote? God, let it be so.

[velluminous]

[ there he is! the man, and the life, the verve of him, hinting through ever more strongly than before.

of course—

is she stupid?
(wisdom -1) ]

Da. Yes. It is true. [ life has a daughter. life has a prison. she finds herself abruptly steadier, and touches his cheek with one hand. the gesture is perhaps too intimate, again. too late for that thought now. ] I have no reason to lie of this

1/2

[retroductions]

[What a future. He can already imagine it, the pictures playing behind his eyes: every foggy London night, stalking down lamplit streets and alleyways in dogged search of a clue, like a hunting hound sniffing out its prey. The thrill of finding a skein of truth in a mire of confuscating lies, dredging it free, and displaying it with aplomb for all to see and consider. And to possess the freedom of doing it on his own, tied down not by obligation or societal expectation, but simply doing what he's good at because he's good at it.

Aha, never struggling to pay the rent ever again-!]

[retroductions]

[Then she reaches up and touches his cheek, and Sholmes blinks again. The images disperse, her warmth suddenly very keen, and his eyes flick down at her, surprised.]

Er...

[This is indeed a very intimate gesture, and though one might chalk it up to her mental state seeking affirmation anywhere it can find it, Sholmes is reminded that it highlights yet one more mystery in this strange tale she weaves him.]

Ms Sapione, precisely what is the nature of our future acquaintance?

[velluminous]

[ oh shit. she is stupid.

snaps her hand back, quick as an adder, and cradles it in the folds of his coat, in her lap, as though personally betrayed by the limb. a barely-perceptible glance towards the ring adorning her left hand. she feels a smothering discomfort. a light flush rising in her cheeks. ]

We were—inmates together.

[retroductions]

[An older version of himself called this teenaged version callow, once. And while that remains true, the foundation of Sholmes' inquisitive mind still thrives within him, and some of the most basic talents remain steadfast.

Which includes baseline observational skills. "Baseline" by his own standards, anyway. He follows her gaze as though she had painted a sign pointing at her ring finger, where there glistens... well. A ring.]

Inmates? [Wait, what? No, don't get distracted.] So you say, bafflingly so, I might add— But your wandering gaze betrays you, madam. Follow its trail and it leads to glittering ring adorning your hand.

[He reaches down, taking her hand and lifting it up to further examine, as long as she doesn't pull away again.]

Which holds some meaning, I would imagine.

[A ring............. wait. What? What????

One small blessing in Sprezzatura's favor: the most obvious connection to make, when it comes to a relationship and a ring, resounds so utterly improbable to him that even Sholmes has trouble keeping true to his philosophy of finding the truth once the impossible is sheared away. The gears in his mind stall out, as though straining to make sense of it.]

...

[velluminous]

[ SHE HAS NEVER BEEN DEDUCED LIKE THIS...

as expected, she twitches her guilty eyes away from the ring just as soon as he draws attention to it, and she's utterly unresisting in his grasp. to fight it now would make it worse... wouldn't it?

the ring, simple in its construction, with a pale blue stone, a ruby, and a topaz inlaid across the top. she waits, heart in her throat, for a conclusion which does not come.

...

......

............ ]

I am your wife.