OPEN POST; [ HERLOCK SHOLMES / TGAA ]

[retroductions]

(( hold you in my dreams ))

Comments

[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. ]

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[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

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[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-!]

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[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.

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[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.

1/2

[retroductions]

[ACE ATTORNEY DAMAGE ANIMATION]

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My- My what?!

[velluminous]

[ i have got to get out of here

she stares through him with the wary, wet-rimmed eyes of a wounded animal. ]

1/2

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[Now that she's said it, though, it crashes into place, and somehow throws all else into a more sensible light. Of course, he could question the validity of her being shorn out of time, label it ridiculous, but he can't. Sharing a space with a devil-woman is also ridiculous, and yet here she is. What was once impossible is no longer so.

...

And that look she's giving him, so wounded... God above.

...........

How's a man supposed to think in these circumstances? The great machine of his mind has blown a gasket and stuttered to a stop, and with such ease, it's almost embarrassing.]

You... I...

[retroductions]

[He shuffles down onto the floor, reaching for box to remove its contents and lay them out.]

We are smoking this now.

[velluminous]

[ keeping the truth from him had been with the intent of keeping him from the shock and disbelief of it all, but somehow she hadn't considered... whether he might hate the idea. find it impossible, and moreover, unsightly.

his sudden movement to the floor—we are smoking this now—seems to make the room shake. her stomach........... hurts. ]

I... I want to... put on some music.

[ Sprezzatura drifts to the door and passes through ]

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[He makes no attempt to stop her, laying out all the necessary items. Lighting a match to give the little lamp a burning flame.

Is she going to wind up the gramophone? If so, she might wish to switch out the vinyl, because what plays at first is not terribly soothing.]

[velluminous]

[ Mammon! in response, Sprezzatura's tail ripples straight out in displeasure.

grabs the needle. and moves it. and ducks down to search for literally. anything else. ]

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[With enough shuffling, she will find a few nearby, vaguely labeled only as:

-Hummingbirds

-Sheep

-Diamond

She could also ask him which is what, if she wanted.]

[velluminous]

[ to look at him right now is a little much. she puts on... Diamond. ]

[retroductions]

[Well. Enjoy.]

[velluminous]

Why is your music all in this way!

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[From his bedroom-]

What way?

[WHATS WRONG WITH AN ENGLISH SEA SHANTY HUH]

[velluminous]

[ ugh! forget this. takes the vinyl off again and drops bodily onto the chaise and all its paper, still crumpled from her bottom before.

so much softer, ] I want to go back.

[retroductions]

[The papers only protest with their usual crinkling.

Sholmes appears a minute later, one long pipe in his hand, peering into the sitting room with vague uncertainty. Silence greets him; he wanders closer and takes in her state.

Not good.]

…

[He wanders next to the fallen record. Looks at it. Picks up the one called “Sheep” and plays it, instead.]

Perhaps something with more universal appeal.

[The music sounds as he moves closer and offers her the pipe, regardless of whether or not she’s facing him. He clears his throat.]

[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. ]