OPEN POST; [ HERLOCK SHOLMES / TGAA ]

[retroductions]

(( hold you in my dreams ))

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[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.

[retroductions]

[Pink blossoms across his cheekbones. Is it the opium or her admission that they were married not out of convenience but out of love? Yes. The drugs, at least, are a perfect excuse to lean on, rather than admit to himself that the notion, fantastical and romantic, makes him feel self-conscious. Tingly and aware.

Herlock Sholmes does not care about the fantastical and romantic, after all. He tells himself this, so sure of his own predilections at the age of eighteen.]

A more complete you. I admit, I'm jealous.

[For he'd only marry if he felt the same, he's sure of it. In that tiny, tiny less-than-one-percent chance the mere presence of a person could make him feel the same way. One more large inhale, and an exhale to match, exuding smoke like the twinkiest dragon she'll ever see.]

I would like to feel that way someday. Maybe with you, along with this detective work of mine, it is not so far-fetched an concept?

[velluminous]

[ her mouth opens but no reply comes. she's thinking: it is more than concept, it is truth—but what if by telling him this, she has altered the indelible? the path may be changed now, and this young Sholmes walking different strides. it's frightening to think about. the drug beginning to wend through her limbs deadens the fear but does not discourage her speculation. she can imagine all outcomes with the selfsame clarity of a sober mind. ]

Mm...

[ at least a minute passes in silence, contemplative at least, while a small furrow appears between her brows. her gaze—iris and pupil and sclera all a deep violet, challenging to track in minutiae—lingers just past his ear. she can see his blush.

she can feel his blush. fizzy bubbles in her chest.

abruptly, frowning, ] Why are you on floor? Room for two up here.

[retroductions]

[He registers the question with a delay, as if unable to see the issue.]

I’ve spent many an evening sprawled on the floor, my d- […] My dear girl.

[Aaa—]

Would you like for me to sit with you? I wanted you to be comfortable.

[Strained attempts at being a host.]

[velluminous]

[ without looking away from him, Sprezzatura feels for her discarded pipe, bumps it, and brings it, languid, to her lips. sprawled on the floor? but why?

(she thinks idly of Sholmes, decades older, knelt on a ratty motel room floor, dressed like her, and she in turn dressed unlike herself, holding her foot nestled close into the vee of his groin)

furrows her brow again... ]

Hurm.

[ low, sable, a little raspy.

he can stay on the floor, and she on the chaise lounge. as she considers it, she brings one leg up and tucks it along the length of the cushions, as though only now making herself at home. he's right. it is more comfortable like this. ]

You look stern but behave kind.