OPEN POST; [ HERLOCK SHOLMES / TGAA ]

[retroductions]

(( hold you in my dreams ))

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[velluminous]

[ well, of course Herlock Sholmes is quick enough to catch her—but the touch feels veritably electric, and she recoils as she turns to look at him again.

(those young features, that set to his jaw. the listless, only now seeming at all to recede.) ]

I must get away somewhere. I can see from your face that you are realizing that—that if I am seen, they will kill me.

[retroductions]

[The sight of her would send a crowd screaming and flying in the opposite direction, and eventually she would be detained if she wasn’t killed in the street first. Yes, there’s no denying that — but there’s also no point in confirming what they both already know to be true, apparently.]

So then this isn’t some extravagant disguise of yours? [He hadn’t let go of her wrist, regardless of her lurching away. He turns her hand over in his, as though to examine the blue hue of her skin.] This is you? How?

[velluminous]

[ then she tugs again, with a bitter laugh. ]

Bad blood, bad deal—whatever you are thinking, it is close enough to truth.

[retroductions]

[He lets go this time, but makes up for it by stepping forward and leaning in closer, those keen eyes examining.]

I am not the sort to settle for “close enough” to the truth. Who are you? Where have you come from?

[velluminous]

[ she knows exactly what sort he is. but she can't say that. she can't say anything. simply school her expression into one of impassive coldness, lest the rest seep through. ]

It doesn't matter. This is how it is and nothing more. I look like this, does knowing why change it?

[retroductions]

[Closed off, purposefully so. To protect herself, to keep all the details of who she is to herself. Sholmes wants to pierce straight through that, and while he is a blunt man, he is still Victorian-bred and tries to wield that same bluntness with some strategy.

(Or so he thinks, anyway.)]

Because then I might know what to do with you, unless you mean to tell me you've already a sanctuary to flee to? Someone awaiting your return?

[velluminous]

[ the word "do" does a lot of heavy lifting, here. what he intends to do with her, as one might do with a lost kitten found on the side of the road, or moreover, as though she is some fascination or oddity that needs handling because she cannot manage it of her own accord—it's dehumanizing. the stones in her throat have grown numerous. ]

No. [ if he looks like this, then— ] There is no one.

[retroductions]

[In the face of something interesting, being delicate is not Sholmes' priority. He has smoothed over these rough edges decades in the future, as she knows him, but as a teenager, it's clear that he has no desire to skew his words toward making her feel like less of an oddity. As far as he's concerned, what's the point? That is an obvious truth between them.

However, he does perk up, now. Just a bit of light in his eyes, mimicking the kind he carries so often as an adult.]

Ah, in which case, that is no longer true. You do have me at your service, madam, if you'll accept the aid.

/2

[velluminous]

[ this could break her heart. ]

[velluminous]

[ whispered, ] I have you.

[ now she crowds him, acutely aware of the bustle outside the alleyway. ]

Take me somewhere safe. Do not let them find me.

[retroductions]

[A-aaa, he's usually the one doing the crowding, and his eyebrows fling up high at her sudden change of heart. He doesn't pull away, though, not when this gives him even more opportunity to really view her; those strange eyes, that unusual complexion, the apparent sturdiness of those straight horns. She even smells like... brimstone?

CLEARS HIS THROAT.]

Well, I was escaping my brother's suffocating abode for the sake of fleeing to my own flat. I see no reason why you cannot follow for now. Though we'd do better under the cover of a carriage.

[Rather than walking all the way there... The gears begin to turn in his head.]

[velluminous]

[ from tip to toe, this woman looks as she looks. to all intents, a monster in the eyes of London.

she doesn't grab for him, at least, and even retreats by half a step. brother? ]

I will still be seen.

[retroductions]

[A devil. In all but demeanor.]

A chance, but a smaller one if you follow my directions.

[He begins to shuffle off his coat. It's not the one she's used to seeing, of course, but it's still long, dark, and of thick material; some preferences have not changed over time. It even still smells like him, the same clinging scent of shag tobacco. And even now, it's far too big for her form — which works to their advantage.]

Firstly, cover yourself up. [He hands it over to her.] Though I doubt you planned to scurry along the streets in your nightclothes, a lady so barely-dressed might be more of a scandal than your horns.

[velluminous]

[ it smells like the Sholmes she knows. difficult not to bury her face in it rather than pull it on, but her frayed nerves have a way of centering her. right now, she has to listen; there is no room for sentiment. ]

I was... in bed...

[ it doesn't matter. once it's around her, the sleeves fall well past her hands. his warmth becomes her warmth. ]

[retroductions]

[It truly does engulf her. The more blue skin covered up, the better — though her horns are still an issue.]

In bed?

[And then suddenly tossed onto the street, unaware? A strange situation, indeed, but it implies something more compelling than before.]

Didn't you just say you had nowhere to go?

[But she had been asleep, cozied up in her nightgown, before now?]

/2

[velluminous]

[ FUCK ]

[velluminous]

I don't. If I did, I would not be here, hm? This morning, situations is different to last night.

[retroductions]

[Aha! GOTTEM]

And where were you last night? How is the situation any different, other than a stark change of locale?

[velluminous]

[ fuck! fuck! fuck! what can she say that won't conjure further questions? ]

I was—staying with someone. No longer welcome.

[retroductions]

[WHAT INDEED]

And you’ll not share with me the address, or the name of the person? Are you truly so unwelcome that you’d be thrown out on the street this cruelly?

[Hm. Sus.]

What is your name, madam?

[velluminous]

[ let him labour under false assumptions if he must. she cannot give him the truth. it may splinter everything. simply the way he looks at her now nearly does it to her. ]

Sapione. And no, this is not some mystery for you to solve—anything I might say, what are you thinking you might do about it? [ storm into 221B, and...? no story she spins, no alternative names or addresses, will hold water. so she doesn't even try, and instead begins to shuffle out of his coat again. ] I should let you get on. Nothing good will come of this.

[retroductions]

[Plainly-]

Help find a place, or a person, you might feel safe with. And after that? Well. Learn of your tale, of course.

[He exhales, slightly exasperated.]

You’re as vacillating as the tide, Ms Sapione. [What an odd name.] First you want to flee from me, then you want my help, and now you say nothing good will come of it? Don’t be so fickle.

[Offers his hand.]

Come along. You’ve already donned my coat. A waste to not see it through to the end.

[velluminous]

[ fickle? a wretched scoff passes her lips before she can stop it, a feeling of twisted longing that carves out a place in her chest. she can almost see the man she loves in him, a thousand miles out of reach. calling her fickle. reflections of one another. ]

You will regret this.

[ to herself. to him. rather than take his hand, she rakes her own up her face and into her hair, pulled free of its sleeping plait. deep breath, then, in and out—shaky on the exhale.

if she goes with him, reaches 221B, perhaps then her ring. perhaps, then, her key with which she can escape this frayed London and return home. she has to chance it.

her voice is low and level and dull: ] If we are to go, let us go.

[retroductions]

[She doesn’t take his hand, and instead of this being a cut against his heart like it would’ve been for a future him, the current Sholmes only views it as a trait of her character: stubbornness.

Still. He feels a small pang of disappointment as he drops his hand.]

Very well.

[And turns on his heel towards the townhouse’s facade, a brisk walk.]

We are to commandeer that carriage. My brother’s guests should be indoors by now, fussing over their own pleasantries.

[velluminous]

[ stubborn to the grave, my dear Herlock. he's already striding away from her, and she frozen to the spot for a terrible moment, thinking—she can't move. and he will leave her. and someone else will find her. and she'll tear this entire city down.

but then her mind clicks, and she's following, though her head craned low, one hand grasping helplessly at a horn. ]

Driver?