finalflight | OPEN POST; [ HERLOCK SHOLMES / TGAA ]

[ it's as if, wherever she goes, there she is. ]

I thought maybe I might try being human for change. And that you might not like what you see. Most humans do not—tieflings could be considered ill omen, after all. I told Herlock this, too... after he [ they ] failed to catch rabbit.

[Sholmes is dutifully biting his tongue to correct that with a "they!", instead opting to drink more of his tea with a hum.]

An ill-omen? However can that be? You were one of the reasons why he survived that awful place. And Hurley's only ever described you as very beautiful.

[ her heart clenches. Sholmes will feel her free hand drift to touch the small of his back. ]

Miss Iris... how are you thinking London might react if one day, perfectly human woman was giving birth to little horned, red-skinned baby? This... indelible mark that her family line has been tainted by some Mephistophelian bargain, that all who see that babe will know their sordid secrets and lay down judgement?

[ you must first know the reason why before you can despise it ]

[This Victorian age in which Sholmes and Iris reside relies so heavily on appearances and legacy. Even at her young age, she knows this — to an extent. A ten-year-old still should possess the innocence of being fully unaware of how deeply certain prejudices run, and Sholmes has made certain to preserve a modicum of that wholesomeness as is reasonable. (There's a reason, after all, why the shoulder patch on Sholmes' coat is a flower... encircled protectively by a gear.)

But even so, the blatant picture Sprezzatura paints leaves no room for doubt.]

Treated unkindly and with fear, I would assume. Oh, but that's not at all fair to the child. They didn't have any control over who their parents are, or their family line.

[Aha, the tiniest bit of tension runs through Sholmes' back, which Sprezzatura might feel, but his voice is as lilting as ever after he clears his throat to interject.]

Indeed, appearances are vital to navigating London society, an unfortunate truth that I've found asinine on more than one occasion.

[Sholmes, being an eccentric, and who can see through outward appearances quicker than most, of course would think as much.]

But I think what Iris wishes to say, my dear, is that there's no need to hide yourself here among us should you ever want to shed that lovely human disguise.

[ a tension she ought to feel, but doesn't—if not for her own poor perception, then because she herself is so tense. this is Sprezzatura being tactful, unfortunately, even if her stomach clenches at the sadness in Iris' little face. something as simple as that: that London would be afraid, it hurts for her to think about. Sprezzatura hasn't even said anything about the many, many newborn tieflings who lived only long enough to draw one or two breaths.

and she won't. she will never speak of that again.

but it does linger over her, forever, like a malaise. in a place like Reverie, Herlock had no choice but to accept what was laid out in front of him. he may have told Iris stories, and she may delight at the idea of such an unusual woman ensnaring her daddy like this, but she's still just a girl from London. devils are a different beast here, but they're still beasts. ]

She won't like it.

[Lowly, not quite somberly, but as though he speaks naught but a casual truth — like water is wet and the sky is blue.]

She will think you are beautiful, my dear. As I do.

[Finally, he sets his tea down. Sholmes is not the sort of person to take his time with any sort of indulgence; he's finished already.]

However! Do not mistake her curiosity for obligation. It is merely an offering of comfortability, for who are we to ask you to remain in a form that is not yours for the duration of your stay?

[With Hurley's words, her eyes widen with the realization that she might have mistaken that as, indeed, obligation.]

That's right! Of course I'm curious, I won't deny that, but you're our guest. No, more than that, you're like family now.

[STEP MOMMY]

You have a right to feel comfortable in our home. In your home, Sprezzie.

[ stop, you're both going to make her cry. ]

You are very grown up little girl.

[They will not stop. Though Iris seems pleased to have earned the compliment.]

Oh, well, someone has to be, in order to take care of Hurley.

[She jokes — though there is the sense that Iris might exude more level-headedness than Sholmes himself at times.]

[ there is. she does. she is so grown up. ]

And who takes care of tsvetok?

Oh? “Tsvetok?”

Little flower. [ points a finger ] You. Has "Hurley" been teaching you nothing?

[Sholmes barks a laugh; Iris seems nothing but pleased by the pet name.]

Come now, I teach her all the things that matter in life. My own mind only has so much room for excess, besides — what it lacks, perhaps you can make up for, my dear.

Does your wife's own language not matter?

[ she's giving him a hard time. the hand resting upon his back slips away—this time to extend to Iris as she picks up her teacup once more with the other.

the ring glitters upon her finger. she holds her hand as steady as she can for the girl to see. ]

I want you to do something for me.

Ah, of course, of course. I will add it to the list — no doubt she can grasp the basics of Russian within a week.

[Not Sholmes dishing out homework to Iris, though the girl probably would enjoy it. And has even more motivation to do so, now that Sprezzatura is here.]

[Meanwhile, Iris remains focused on that ring — it sparkles beautifully in the light, though her eyes flick up to meet Sprezzatura's upon the request.]

And what's that, Sprezzie?

[ lays her hand down upon Iris' knee. ]

Would you take my ring?

Your ring? Oh…

[She cannot imagine why the ring has any bearing, but to ask would be silly. She’s about to find out.

So she nods, and-]

Of course.

[-with permission given, gently slips the ring off her finger.]

[ her fingers flex at the last second—a repressed urge to curl them and bar the ring's removal. ]

[ the disguise washes away. like watercolours, blue flooding from the core of her and down to the tips of her fingers, which taper into dark, clawed points. her eyes flood, too, to a violet so deep they nearly present black—pupil and sclera and all. the sprouting of tall, straight horns, and the shade shedding from her hair until it has returned to its chestnut hue. now, curled around her ankles, a tail. the faint, warm smell of burning. teeth like so many fangs in a tense mouth.

here she is. this is her. ]

[Now, no one here is surely naive enough to believe Iris would not show any surprise on her features. Sprezzatura's true form is new and unusual for her to see, even if all she does see matches everything Hurley has described to her. And though the detective no doubt painted a flattering, possibly embellished picture, she too gazes on nothing before her that wasn't characterized in loving detail.

To view it in person is still quite an experience. Iris can easily see the devilish parallels — why, she thinks she even catches the faintest whiff of burning. But all else seems a sharp, pointed elegance. The curve of her tail, the line of her horns, the darkness of her eyes that might compel a man to think her mysterious. Ohh, maybe that's one of many things that made Hurley fall for her, isn't that an exciting thing to think about?

But moreover: Sprezzie's tense. This is an act of trust, and Iris finds that such a precious thing. If her hand is still in her lap, she cannot help but give it an excitable squeeze.]

Hurley was right. You are uniquely beautiful. And so grand.

[This ten year old girl, already faced with someone she is keen to look up to, will of course subscribe grandness and admiration to Sprezzatura from the start. She's even inches more taller with those horns!]

It's no wonder daddy fell in love with you!

[ the hand-squeeze makes her jump, and— ]

[ snf. snf. ]

Oh, why could Waterdeep not have been more like you?

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