๐ฎ๐ฝ๐๐๐๐๐ธ๐ "ACD'S OC" ๐ป๐๐๐๐๐ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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finalflight2025-04-11 08:21 pm
ratiocinations) wrote in finalflight2025-04-11 08:21 pm
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[He doesnโt wish to break down the door because he doesnโt want to frighten her more than she already is โ what would be the point of that? He is a curious man, not a cruel one.
Those sounds of hers, emanating from that tiny washroomโฆ Oh, sheโs doing the opposite of calming down, isnโt she? Time has allotted her nothing helpful. Holmes stares at the door for a moment more, officially deciding on another route, which calls for him to cross over to closer andโฆ
Knock. Gently.]
Come out, madam. No one is going to hurt you.
Those sounds of hers, emanating from that tiny washroomโฆ Oh, sheโs doing the opposite of calming down, isnโt she? Time has allotted her nothing helpful. Holmes stares at the door for a moment more, officially deciding on another route, which calls for him to cross over to closer andโฆ
Knock. Gently.]
Come out, madam. No one is going to hurt you.
[ a thump! as she lunges up and braces on the other side of the door.
the voice which comes through is low, hoarse, accented as if by Russian. ]
No! I am going to be killed!
the voice which comes through is low, hoarse, accented as if by Russian. ]
No! I am going to be killed!
[Russian accent? This becomes stranger by the moment.]
Kill you? And whoever would do such a thing?
[Still, he waits, book still clucthed in one hand, for her answer. It would not be the most harrowing thing he's heard, and it would lend credence as to why she's here, but not why she hides from him.
Why, it's almost as though she wasn't here to meet him at all; nor steal anything away that belonged to him, specifically. He is beginning to suspect that this is all randomness, and that she has somehow found his flat by happenstance.]
Kill you? And whoever would do such a thing?
[Still, he waits, book still clucthed in one hand, for her answer. It would not be the most harrowing thing he's heard, and it would lend credence as to why she's here, but not why she hides from him.
Why, it's almost as though she wasn't here to meet him at all; nor steal anything away that belonged to him, specifically. He is beginning to suspect that this is all randomness, and that she has somehow found his flat by happenstance.]
[ what is he talking about? does he not possess eyes? or did he not properly see? that must be it, or else this human man in a world seemingly without devil children at all would be much more emphatic about getting her out of his home.
she finds her throat tightly closed up, an acute gnawing pain. she touches the forming bruises on her arms, her legs, and doesn't answer him. ]
she finds her throat tightly closed up, an acute gnawing pain. she touches the forming bruises on her arms, her legs, and doesn't answer him. ]
[He saw but a blur of blue and horns disappear into the washroom. For all he knowsโand via all that is actually possible, as he knows itโthis is mere costume, and while potentially related to her fear, it is unlikely to be the full source of it.
He is, of course, very wrong. Sherlock Holmes is not always correct, nor does he pretend to be, but he cannot verify this one way or another until he sees her.
Still no reply.]
Will a proper introduction ease those nerves, I wonder? [He's going to give one, anyway. Better he remain a stranger less and less, if it eases the trepidation even by the smallest degree.] My name is Sherlock Holmes, and I am a consulting detective of some repute. And you, my dear, would not be the first person to walk into these rooms for fear of their life, or to request my aid in resolving some strange, terrible problem.
So! If your feet were not guided to 221B intentionally, then consider it a fortunate twist of fate, instead. One that you should undoubtedly take advantage of.
He is, of course, very wrong. Sherlock Holmes is not always correct, nor does he pretend to be, but he cannot verify this one way or another until he sees her.
Still no reply.]
Will a proper introduction ease those nerves, I wonder? [He's going to give one, anyway. Better he remain a stranger less and less, if it eases the trepidation even by the smallest degree.] My name is Sherlock Holmes, and I am a consulting detective of some repute. And you, my dear, would not be the first person to walk into these rooms for fear of their life, or to request my aid in resolving some strange, terrible problem.
So! If your feet were not guided to 221B intentionally, then consider it a fortunate twist of fate, instead. One that you should undoubtedly take advantage of.
[ he will not give up and that is clear now.
from the far side of the door, sounding, at last... closer? ]
And what are you making of devils walking in skin of man, Mister Sherlock Holmes?
from the far side of the door, sounding, at last... closer? ]
And what are you making of devils walking in skin of man, Mister Sherlock Holmes?
[Closer is progress, a slow improvement. But this is a marathon, not a race.
Butโฆ devils in the skin of man?]
I would say that Iโve faced my share, and often find them lacking compared to those who walk a path of kindness, instead.
Butโฆ devils in the skin of man?]
I would say that Iโve faced my share, and often find them lacking compared to those who walk a path of kindness, instead.
[Well, now he is certainly getting the distinctly fascinating notion that this may be well beyond what he's expecting.]
Then if you are speaking literally, I'd have to admit I've never had the pleasure of properly meeting one.
[??]
Then if you are speaking literally, I'd have to admit I've never had the pleasure of properly meeting one.
[??]
[ the door slams openโyes, slams, Sprezzatura buoyed on a wave of masochism and emotion. every part of her anticipating consequence and her pride unable to let her continue cowering behind closed doors.
she does not look well. the left side of her face swollen and bruised; her lip split, eyebrow cut; hair hanging around her face, which is, of course, blue and horned and undeniably devilish. ]
I do not play games, Mister Holmes.
[ her voice shakes, but she manages some degree of elegance as well, even if it's as fragile as cracked porcelain. ]
she does not look well. the left side of her face swollen and bruised; her lip split, eyebrow cut; hair hanging around her face, which is, of course, blue and horned and undeniably devilish. ]
I do not play games, Mister Holmes.
[ her voice shakes, but she manages some degree of elegance as well, even if it's as fragile as cracked porcelain. ]
[HELLO??? HE WAS STANDING RIGHT NEXT TO THE DOOR--
She comes upon him like a storm, and Holmes is not so infallible that he's immune to the pure shock and surprise of it. Stepping back on startled instinct is all that saves him from getting his poor aquiline nose smashed in, probably.
Who stands before him is a woman, certainly. An injured one, quite obviously. Running on the fumes of exacerbated emotion, most definitely. But the color of her skin, her horns atop her head. The strangeness of her eyes, and is that the tuft of a long tail he perceives? The question concerning devils is an apt one. Immediately, he seeks proof of this being a farce, a well-constructed disguise that would make even he envious, but he sees none. Where she bleeds, it is most evident that this is her pure flesh and blood that has been attacked, no doubt, by those frightened by her visage. And why wouldn't they be?
Even Holmes, ever the bohemian, is not immune to the immediate biases of a Victorian upbringing, living in a world where people do not look as such. How is this possible, he wonders, and is she dangerous? Has the devil itself graced his flat on this day, and for what reason? His mind whirs, gears shifting and spinning.]
...No. I see that this is quite a serious matter.
[But it is evidence and action, ultimately, that overrides all else, as it often does. She is scared, she is hiding, she is probably very, very lost. And she has already been so accosted, figuratively and literally, by the flagrant disdain for all those who appear different. No, there's more to it than a demon now standing before him; set aside her appearance, and everything about her feels very human.
He steps back, regaining his composure โ gestures a splayed hand towards one of the chairs beyond him, next to the fireplace.]
You're hurt. Please, sit. I am no medical professionalโ [ironically, that is not the man who found her here today] โbut I still have enough knowledge to tend to such... injuries.
She comes upon him like a storm, and Holmes is not so infallible that he's immune to the pure shock and surprise of it. Stepping back on startled instinct is all that saves him from getting his poor aquiline nose smashed in, probably.
Who stands before him is a woman, certainly. An injured one, quite obviously. Running on the fumes of exacerbated emotion, most definitely. But the color of her skin, her horns atop her head. The strangeness of her eyes, and is that the tuft of a long tail he perceives? The question concerning devils is an apt one. Immediately, he seeks proof of this being a farce, a well-constructed disguise that would make even he envious, but he sees none. Where she bleeds, it is most evident that this is her pure flesh and blood that has been attacked, no doubt, by those frightened by her visage. And why wouldn't they be?
Even Holmes, ever the bohemian, is not immune to the immediate biases of a Victorian upbringing, living in a world where people do not look as such. How is this possible, he wonders, and is she dangerous? Has the devil itself graced his flat on this day, and for what reason? His mind whirs, gears shifting and spinning.]
...No. I see that this is quite a serious matter.
[But it is evidence and action, ultimately, that overrides all else, as it often does. She is scared, she is hiding, she is probably very, very lost. And she has already been so accosted, figuratively and literally, by the flagrant disdain for all those who appear different. No, there's more to it than a demon now standing before him; set aside her appearance, and everything about her feels very human.
He steps back, regaining his composure โ gestures a splayed hand towards one of the chairs beyond him, next to the fireplace.]
You're hurt. Please, sit. I am no medical professionalโ [ironically, that is not the man who found her here today] โbut I still have enough knowledge to tend to such... injuries.
[ she reads the incredulity in his expression no matter how bad she is at discerning any other emotion. tieflings know fear, disgust. that is a generational knowledge.
those dark, lambent eyes watch him keenly; she waits on tenterhooks for him to recoil. she has seen no other tieflings here. none but humans. he will recoil.
and he doesโbut only to gesture her into the room. that very real tail lashes behind her. to turn her back on him now would be idiocy. so, when Sprezzatura steps forward, it's with the aura of a deeply mistrustful cat...
... and in her hand, she grips a fire poker she evidently armed herself with before his arrival. ]
those dark, lambent eyes watch him keenly; she waits on tenterhooks for him to recoil. she has seen no other tieflings here. none but humans. he will recoil.
and he doesโbut only to gesture her into the room. that very real tail lashes behind her. to turn her back on him now would be idiocy. so, when Sprezzatura steps forward, it's with the aura of a deeply mistrustful cat...
... and in her hand, she grips a fire poker she evidently armed herself with before his arrival. ]
[Oh, yes, he does not expect her to trust him while in that state. Such a thing is not so easily earned after the beating sheโs gotten, he thinks, and her slinking past like a leery cat is not so surprising.
He spies the fire poker in her hand. Ah. A makeshift weapon โ funny how that item is always the object of such abuse (the slight bend in the iron is proof of that), though he can only hope she feels no need to brandish it against him. Holmes doesnโt intend to give her a reason.
So. He waits. Patiently. He certainly wonโt rush her to move to the chair (his) and take a seat.]
He spies the fire poker in her hand. Ah. A makeshift weapon โ funny how that item is always the object of such abuse (the slight bend in the iron is proof of that), though he can only hope she feels no need to brandish it against him. Holmes doesnโt intend to give her a reason.
So. He waits. Patiently. He certainly wonโt rush her to move to the chair (his) and take a seat.]
[ her entire body is upright and tense, as though flooded by electricity, as she finally passes him. her eyes sidelong fixed on him the entire while, though this may not be immediately evident given their dark nature. no way to tell sclera from iris from pupil.
it's unbearable to stand with her back to him. she turns around, amid the mess she made, and looks hard at him. ]
I will stand.
it's unbearable to stand with her back to him. she turns around, amid the mess she made, and looks hard at him. ]
I will stand.
[She treats him like he were a tiger ready to pounce, and she is lost in the jungle. Maybe that isn't too far off the mark, but Holmes can't help but lift a sharp brow at her, finally stepping forward and... past her.
She will not have her back to him, but he will. Holmes is banking on the fact that she will not have a sudden surge of violence in her veins and decide to strike a man showing a willingness to aid her. He spins on a heel, mercurial as ever, then gestures again to the chair in question. Ma'am he is offering you his chair, this is no small matter.]
It will be easier, and quicker, if you sit.
She will not have her back to him, but he will. Holmes is banking on the fact that she will not have a sudden surge of violence in her veins and decide to strike a man showing a willingness to aid her. He spins on a heel, mercurial as ever, then gestures again to the chair in question. Ma'am he is offering you his chair, this is no small matter.]
It will be easier, and quicker, if you sit.
[ he gestures, yes, but her knees will not bend. her mind won't allow for it. she has been nearly killed alreadyโwhat is different about another man? they are all the same here until proven otherwise, and proven again. ]
I stand.
I stand.
[Ah, yes, this trust will be hard-earned, indeed. Holmes mentally curses the hooligans who gave her those injuries; not only for their acts of violence, but for making his job more difficult now.]
Then we will opt for the longer and more difficult process, if that's what you prefer.
[She's so short. He's so tall. It's going to be awkward to stoop and tend to her cuts, but so be it.]
Wait here, if you please.
[A spin of the heel again, and he's off into his room to gather up the needed items. He suspects, though this gives her the opportunity to go flying out the front door, that she will not โ what else awaits her on Baker Street, after all, than the potential of drawing more unwanted attention?]
Then we will opt for the longer and more difficult process, if that's what you prefer.
[She's so short. He's so tall. It's going to be awkward to stoop and tend to her cuts, but so be it.]
Wait here, if you please.
[A spin of the heel again, and he's off into his room to gather up the needed items. He suspects, though this gives her the opportunity to go flying out the front door, that she will not โ what else awaits her on Baker Street, after all, than the potential of drawing more unwanted attention?]
[ preference means nothing when it's about pride. she will stand because it does not make her feel weak. it does not leave her vulnerable. she can strike and run, if she needs to.
to that end, the devil woman merely stands rooted in place while he vanishes into his room, and still she shifts her fingers minutely around the poker. a throbbing haze has descended over her one eye. her lip hurts. and her magic is still so far from her.
when he emerges again he may find her all but staring into the middle distance with a hard look in her dark eyes. ]
to that end, the devil woman merely stands rooted in place while he vanishes into his room, and still she shifts her fingers minutely around the poker. a throbbing haze has descended over her one eye. her lip hurts. and her magic is still so far from her.
when he emerges again he may find her all but staring into the middle distance with a hard look in her dark eyes. ]
[He returns, and she looks not unlike someone carved from stone, and Holmes merely wonders how far she is from breaking down. Her pride must be made of steel, indeed, to still manage to appear so indignant.
He strides over, carrying a bowl of lukewarm water, a washcloth, and smaller cloth soaked in rudimentary antiseptic. The bowl is sat down on a table nearby, and the dry washcloth soaked in water, then diligently wrung out with deft fingers.
Then, he turns to her, approaches, and gestures at her chin and upwards. He would touch her, normally, but that seems unwise to do so without warning.]
Chin up. I am too tall to do this with your eyes forward.
He strides over, carrying a bowl of lukewarm water, a washcloth, and smaller cloth soaked in rudimentary antiseptic. The bowl is sat down on a table nearby, and the dry washcloth soaked in water, then diligently wrung out with deft fingers.
Then, he turns to her, approaches, and gestures at her chin and upwards. He would touch her, normally, but that seems unwise to do so without warning.]
Chin up. I am too tall to do this with your eyes forward.
[ a muscle in her jaw works. she has not met his gaze since she first flung the door, but she doesn't need to in order to watch his quiet, clinical process. biting back a cold reply like, so how better had I sat?
poorly though Sprezzatura Vaux reasons through emotion, she won't risk making another enemy in this sphere so soon.
chin... up. like something her mother would say. even as her face lifts, revealing this close the true extent of damage, her eyes stay low, stay lidded.
she scents of brimstone. she holds the poker, feeling so ready. ]
poorly though Sprezzatura Vaux reasons through emotion, she won't risk making another enemy in this sphere so soon.
chin... up. like something her mother would say. even as her face lifts, revealing this close the true extent of damage, her eyes stay low, stay lidded.
she scents of brimstone. she holds the poker, feeling so ready. ]
[Tension in the tick of her jaw. His comment has annoyed her somehow, that much is clear, though he suspects it will take very little.]
Iโm going to wipe away excess blood, so I can better clean where your lip has been split.
[Warning enough, he supposes. Holmes lifts the washcloth and slowly, gently, starts with the near vicinity of her lip, where dried blood has wandered farthest. The cloth presses in.
And then, a little lighter, seeking more information and also trying to unwind her tension:]
Might I have your name? Youโve mine already.
Iโm going to wipe away excess blood, so I can better clean where your lip has been split.
[Warning enough, he supposes. Holmes lifts the washcloth and slowly, gently, starts with the near vicinity of her lip, where dried blood has wandered farthest. The cloth presses in.
And then, a little lighter, seeking more information and also trying to unwind her tension:]
Might I have your name? Youโve mine already.
[ to her credit, now she does not flinch. ]
Sprezzatura Vaux. You may call me Ms. Vaux.
Sprezzatura Vaux. You may call me Ms. Vaux.
[She is safe from overfamiliarity; this is Victorian England, after all.]
Ms Vaux. [Her first name, though, how unforgettable.] And what can you tell me about how you find yourself in thisโฆ fantastical situation?
Ms Vaux. [Her first name, though, how unforgettable.] And what can you tell me about how you find yourself in thisโฆ fantastical situation?
[ that's her. unforgettable.
scoffs, those dark eyes still lowered. ]
You will find no satisfying answer. I simply turn corner, and here I am, in stranger streets of stranger city.
scoffs, those dark eyes still lowered. ]
You will find no satisfying answer. I simply turn corner, and here I am, in stranger streets of stranger city.
[With a name like that, Holmes might wonder if she were Italian in descent, were it not so very clear thatโฆ she isnโt.]
And which city are you from?
[Properly now, heโs going to dab the split of her lip, heedless of the fact he just asked her a question.
(This close, and he can see so many details of her face that baffle him, so clearly not makeup or a disguise โ he concluded this already, but now there is no room for doubt. The blue skin, the dark eyes, the horns, they are entirely real and oddly alien.)]
And which city are you from?
[Properly now, heโs going to dab the split of her lip, heedless of the fact he just asked her a question.
(This close, and he can see so many details of her face that baffle him, so clearly not makeup or a disguise โ he concluded this already, but now there is no room for doubt. The blue skin, the dark eyes, the horns, they are entirely real and oddly alien.)]
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