OPEN POST; [ HERLOCK SHOLMES / TGAA ]

[retroductions]

(( hold you in my dreams ))

Comments

[velluminous]

[ NOT! GOOD!

he steps into her purview, his lower half and the pipe in hand, for she's slouching already on the sofa in a defensive huddle. all the trappings of the same home she has been living in for weeks, months, and in the end that only aches the keener. the melody rolls softly behind her. hardly seems like she notices.

only him, standing above her, looking beautiful and young and overwhelmed. only the pipe in his fingers.

she takes it and sets it with only halting uncertainty to her lips. ]

[retroductions]

[Ultimately, the pipe is merely an invitation. He has prepared the paste for her, and slipped it into the bowl, but it must be continually heated via the lamp for her to smoke its vapors. She must return to his room, or he must bring everything back out here.

Still. Maybe even easing her into it will still offer her some semblance of comfort to start.]

Return with me to my bedroom? [Ah that request feels... weighted differently, if what she says it true about the nature of their relationship. He clears his throat again.] If this music selection pleases you.

[velluminous]

[ can she help the fraught tingle that runs through her when he asks that? no. but her teeth click down tighter on the mouthpiece, her fingers twist in his coat. she's beginning to get too warm, indoors and bundled up and worked up, but for now it is a barrier between her and—the rest.

oh, to rewind five minutes to the pure, buoyant eagerness in his expression. for a second, she was a source of joy and not struggle. ]

Bring it out here.

[ safer out here. ]

[retroductions]

[Ah... blast. Of course she'd choose for him to bring it all out here, the more trying of the two options. But he must be......a.....gentle....man about it, or so he's been taught. So others have tried to teach him.

Which, too, only underlines how baffling this future of his must be. If he struggles to manage ordinary decorum, how could he possibly have tangled himself up in a romantic situation, and with— Well. Someone inhuman?

...Mm. They can discuss it at length later.]

...Very well, Ms Sapione.

[Returns to his bedroom!!! Give him a moment. Eventually, he returns with everything as a comical bundle in his arms, with the exception of the lamp, which hangs from one hand.]

Have you ever smoked anything like this before?

[velluminous]

[ isn't that the question, Herlock? how, indeed?

when he returns, he'll find her already strewn back as though she's in the throes of her high already, though holding her arms close around herself, and her tail wound close around a bared ankle (the scandal). ]

No. My family would have disowned me had I so much as tread near Waterdhavian opium den. [ the slightest bit calmer, now, and having seen the contents of the box, the memory comes back to her: yes, she does know what opium is, even as far away from "home" as this, and she knows how it is used. ] Laudanum... once or twice.

[retroductions]

[He saw her in her night clothes; nothing more scandalous than that.]

My family disapproves as well, but I'll not let them dictate every pleasure in my life.

[He hovers for a moment, then places the lamp down on the trunk. Easier for her to use.]

Heat the bowl of your pipe above the lamp's flame, my dear.

[And then he crouches down and places everything on the floor, one at a time.]

[velluminous]

[ very well.

hauls herself upright and leans forward. only a fine tremor in her hand, through some concerted effort, half-lidded eyes affixed to the flame quivering in time. ]

As you say, Mister Sholmes.

[retroductions]

Mm, and what happened to “Herlock?”

[He says it as he plops into a sit next to the trunk, all long legs pulled in, and fusses with the second pipe. Preparing the opium paste into a small pea-sized ball with a thin needle-like instrument when he’s satisfied with that.]

I’ve discouraged you with my reaction to this… news of yours. For that, I must apologize. [Then, instruction again-] When the opium starts to warm and vaporize, inhale slowly.

[velluminous]

[ all the measured movements of a man who knows well what he's doing. not even a devil woman can put him completely out of his own depth. she's watching from the corner of those dark, heavy-lashed eyes. ]

Strange woman has just claimed to be your wife. This is behaviour man should discourage.

[retroductions]

But what you say is true, isn’t it? I believe you when you say you have no reason to lie.

[No, logically, there is no reason to spin something so wildly shocking as the truth when there are far easier lies to sell. And his gut is telling him her misery is real — and thus her words are, too.

He’ll need a turn at the lamp, but Sholmes has no problem waiting. His gaze drifts to her.]

It’s simply that I never thought I would get… married. Ever. It might surprise you to learn that I’m not a terribly romantic fellow who falls into affection and infatuation on a whim, much less act on it. That would require a level of…

[He hates. Admitting that he’s not good at things. In this case… he will make an exception.]

…gregariousness with others that I don’t possess. Naturally.

[Good at reading people. Bad with people. Bad bad bad bad.]

/3

[velluminous]

[ either her misery is real, or she is delusional enough to believe it. but in all other respects, doesn't she seem lucid? and thus, in others, she supposes she ought to count herself lucky that she makes for so poor a liar. ]

Perhaps you change. [ fatherhood changes him? ] But... I also push first.

[ she lifts the pipe from the flame. ]

[velluminous]

[ and takes a slow drag ]

[velluminous]

[ and sags back ]

... and second...

[retroductions]

[The slightly chemical scent is already wafting about freely. He sits up and warms the opium he’s molded over the flame, still looking at her. Sholmes takes on a curious tone.]

Whatever do you mean?

[velluminous]

[ another puff. ahh, she sees why it's best done resting back. she adjusts herself slowly... delaying her answer. ]

I desire him. You. So I beseeched him for... things. [ disclosing her bawdy intent is perhaps not the direction to drift in. she thinks. yet still: ] Always so receptive, him.

[retroductions]

[That really telling pause before “things”. He isn’t sure what to think of it.]

You nearly make it sound like you seduced him. It’s true that time may change me in ways that I cannot foresee, but I would like to think one trait remains unchanging.

[Now he finally gets to set the paste into the bowl; and now he can briefly warm it above the flame, putting pipe to mouth and leaning in. (He hasn’t the pleasure of a bed or a chaise.) Wait a few seconds.

Inhale.]

That I only show interest in things which I truly am interested in. I think you may give yourself not enough credit.

[Exhale. And so-]

Tell me more about yourself.

[velluminous]

[ Well, even then, from that moment forth, she had my interest!

yes, that remains true. but it's so much easier to try to obfuscate things than to face the ache of the truth of them, talking about a man she's been pulled away from again and again. her eyes crinkle. she mimics him, only semi-consciously: warm the bowl over the flame, bring the mouthpiece to her lips, inhale, hold. exhale.

the warm blanket of the drug beginning to weave itself at her feet. ]

I am... just woman. I was scholar. Now I am not knowing what I am.

[ she lists her head to one side and looks at him there on the floor. ]

[retroductions]

[It will take a little more for Sholmes to feel the initial effects of the drug seep through him, but he seems all too happy to take his turn after she's done. The taste is familiar, a tang on his tongue that roves languidly into his lungs.

He continues his lean, elbows practically on the trunk, since this is the best he'll manage in terms of reclining for now. He can sprawl on the floor later when he's a bit less lucid.]

Once a scholar, always a scholar, is that not true?

[He continues gazing at her, as though the mystery of how and why he chose to marry this woman might come to light. If there is some affection to be found in how she frames her own likes, dislikes, personality.]

What do you wish to be?

[velluminous]

[ she's a small woman. the opium will have its easy way with her. and she's exhausted besides, sinking down into the chaise as though her entire body leaden.

murmured, eyes on the flame and not his face, though she feels his gaze, ] I want everything. To be... everything. Unravel my world's truths, and then pick them apart. Find weakest points of its inconsistencies and make new realities from those spaces between. Magic without barrier. Knowledge without restraint.

But I am getting... older.

[retroductions]

[Oh. Such dreams. The kind that resounds so lovely to his own ears — unraveling accepted reality, tear away at inconsistencies like chaff to reveal the gem of truth beneath. Magic, he knows nothing about. But knowledge without restraint?

That sounds nice. Sounds like constant mental stimulation, a contentedness he seeks in his own life to fill the listless void, the gnawing of ennui.

He can see... why he might be pulled towards that. (She has a lovely face, too. A wayward thought needling in.)]

Nonsense.

[A more stringent inhale of his pipe, then exhale. He's beginning to feel warm. Good.]

And why is age a barrier to pursuing what you enjoy? What you wish to achieve? Especially when it's... [waggles his pipe] ...When it relies so heavily upon intellect. It does not seem to me like your mind is fading, Ms Sapione.

[velluminous]

[ she pulls harder, too. ]

It is years of work and research to get anywhere. There was fire. I...

[ here, her voice lowers to an unintelligible murmur. ]

[retroductions]

[Oh, having lost physical records of research is a difficult thing. Sholmes oft relies on his mind to pursue his interests, and for him, loss of information is no great thing since he expunges all he doesn't care from his own thought processes. But the scope of which she speaks sounds... grander than going about solving crimes strewn about London. Same appreciation for finding the truth, different application.

Even so, his advice, so simple, does not change. He heats his pipe again, leaning forward, puffing to draw it in.]

Do not give up, my dear. You will feel... unhappy, if you do.

[That, he knows.]

I should hope this is what your husband tells you, too.

[velluminous]

[ beneath low lids, she watches him lean, and watches him work the pipe, and scents the chemical tang on the air. ]

Da. He does. [ he's you. she strains forward on the chaise to heat her pipe. after him, still copying, and sighs. she doesn't know why. ] Call me... dear girl.

[retroductions]

Dear... girl?

[That sounds a smidge closer to the realm of actual affection, and though this should not surprise him, he blinks.]

Dear girl. I've never...

[Called anyone that affectionately. Romantically?? Why would he have? Why would anyone wish him to? Why should-

Ohh. He feels that telltale warmth crawling up his spine, spreading like warm hands caressing outwards. The indulgences are making themselves known. He really leans onto the trunk now, resting his head in the crook of an elbow.]

Do we... [Long, long pause. Word stuck on his tongue.] ...love each other?

[velluminous]

[ in her, too, that warm bloom. paints spreading through water, diluting as it goes, but a little but of it now in everything.

she sets her pipe down, not really meaning to. it slips through her loosened fingers as she thinks, or thinks she thinks. he is so shy... ]

Yes. [ coming out a croak, fingertips twitching. ] I can tell you it is not marriage of convenience.

[ everything about what she is makes their coupling a conscious and irresistible choice. they could never have been any other way. ]

He... you... make me feel like more complete me.