Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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thecapitol2013-12-01 10:36 pm
alldeduction) wrote in thecapitol2013-12-01 10:36 pm
Entry tags:
open;
WHO| Sherlock and OPEN
WHAT| Sherlock is back in the capitol and he is not himself.
WHERE| Choose your own adventure
WHEN| From his death up until the end of the Arena because this is a catch all okay i'm sorry
WARNINGS| Thoughts on murder, otherwise nothing I don't think
OPTION 1: Two Days After Sherlock's Death, Before John's Death (Week 6)
It takes him two days to wake up, and his first breath is a violent one - shuddering right through to the very ends of his fingers as he drags himself back to life.
He'd thought, for half a moment, that he might not come back at all. That perhaps now the Capitol would tire of him, or consider him too much of a threat, and would finally let him go. But of course they kept him now. Now that they had what they wanted. Now that they'd broken him.
He could have sulked - he was a master sulker - but he was too afraid of the own dark depths of his thoughts, in those moments, so he instead dressed himself and left his room in a haze. Out through the suite, down the elevator, out of the tower. He barely looked back.
He just took to the streets like a tall pale ghost, robed in black.
He needed to think.
OPTION 2: Common Room while John's Death is being televised (Week 6)
He'd taken to watching the Games in the common room, instead of in his suite. He sat silently, long coat pulled up around him, feet up on the edge of the chair, front row and center. Sometimes he muttered low commentary but mostly he said nothing, content to cradle the popcorn in his arms and chew slowly, mindlessly.
If anyone tried to change the feed from watching John and Joan, however, he would snap suddenly and violently.
Howard wasn't the only one who could throw popcorn.
OPTION 3: After John's Returned. Wherever you like! (Week 7 - End of the Games)
He's more himself after John comes back. The strange edgy darkness at the corner of his eyes has been beaten back. He seems, and acts, more like he did before the last arena. Flippant. Dickish. But himself. Or at least so it appeared.
He still spent a good deal of time watching the Games, but he's started to be more social again. To try to prepare himself for the next time. Because there will be a next time, and another, and another. He would say that this was his own personal hell except it wasn't - everyone else was trapped here with him.
WHAT| Sherlock is back in the capitol and he is not himself.
WHERE| Choose your own adventure
WHEN| From his death up until the end of the Arena because this is a catch all okay i'm sorry
WARNINGS| Thoughts on murder, otherwise nothing I don't think
OPTION 1: Two Days After Sherlock's Death, Before John's Death (Week 6)
It takes him two days to wake up, and his first breath is a violent one - shuddering right through to the very ends of his fingers as he drags himself back to life.
He'd thought, for half a moment, that he might not come back at all. That perhaps now the Capitol would tire of him, or consider him too much of a threat, and would finally let him go. But of course they kept him now. Now that they had what they wanted. Now that they'd broken him.
He could have sulked - he was a master sulker - but he was too afraid of the own dark depths of his thoughts, in those moments, so he instead dressed himself and left his room in a haze. Out through the suite, down the elevator, out of the tower. He barely looked back.
He just took to the streets like a tall pale ghost, robed in black.
He needed to think.
OPTION 2: Common Room while John's Death is being televised (Week 6)
He'd taken to watching the Games in the common room, instead of in his suite. He sat silently, long coat pulled up around him, feet up on the edge of the chair, front row and center. Sometimes he muttered low commentary but mostly he said nothing, content to cradle the popcorn in his arms and chew slowly, mindlessly.
If anyone tried to change the feed from watching John and Joan, however, he would snap suddenly and violently.
Howard wasn't the only one who could throw popcorn.
OPTION 3: After John's Returned. Wherever you like! (Week 7 - End of the Games)
He's more himself after John comes back. The strange edgy darkness at the corner of his eyes has been beaten back. He seems, and acts, more like he did before the last arena. Flippant. Dickish. But himself. Or at least so it appeared.
He still spent a good deal of time watching the Games, but he's started to be more social again. To try to prepare himself for the next time. Because there will be a next time, and another, and another. He would say that this was his own personal hell except it wasn't - everyone else was trapped here with him.
no subject
After a moment he shifts, idly scratching at one of the scars that rings his eyes. (Scars that he fought with his stylists to keep, scars that he never wants to forget, and he wonders if Sherlock has any idea how he got them.)
"That'th all well and good, but what do you eckthpect to learn from watching everyone die? Do you know anything, anything at all, about me bethideth from my death?" There's a pause, and he purses his lips. "You can learn more about how to thurvive an interaction from thomeone by learning who they are outthide of the arenath."
let me know if this is okay!
"I know that you are from a race that refers to itself as 'trolls', from an alternate universe to mine where you were born from grub form on the planet Alternia. I know that you share an origin planet with six other current tributes, though there have been been more that have come and gone in the past. I know that your blood runs yellow and I know that is not something that you all share, and I know that most of you exhibit powers outside of the natural spectrum - when the capitol allows it. I know that you hear voices - though, let's be honest, thanks to the Capitol, who hasn't? I know that you're closest to the troll that is referred to as the Initiate, and that you yourself are often called the Helmsmen. I know that the scars around your eyes are no natural wound - no blade, no burn, no scrape makes scars like those."
He paused, and offered a sharp smile. "Enough to start with, I think. And if you believe I don't observe outside of the arena, then you haven't been paying attention."
it's all good to me!
"Not bad." He smiles, an actual genuine, pleased smile. He's impressed, and not many humans have impressed him so far. "You obviouthly don't know everything, but it'th not bad for a human, and it'th not like the trollth here are good eckthampleth of our thpecieth anywayth."
He picks at his claws, snorting. "I thuppothe I wath wrong and you've actually got a good idea of what you're doing."
no subject
"Yes well, it would be impossible to learn everything without actually going to Alternia - there are too many deductions that require an extensive knowledge of the environment to be able to make me an expert in the subject, but I do the best with what I have."
no subject
"I thhouldn't have eckthpected you to be able to figure out thomething ath big ath the hemothpectrum, even with all the bloodth here."
no subject
"Hemospectrum?" Sherlock asked, "You're referring to the different colours of troll blood, I assume? I've obviously not had access to a lab, or indeed troll blood, outside of an arena setting."
no subject
He tilts his head. "I don't know if there'th anything like tat with humanth, though I do know that your lot hath a cathte thythtem too."
no subject
He couldn't claim that it wasn't interesting, that a Troll's blood might have more obvious signifiers. It would certainly help when dealing with them in an arena...
"As for caste systems, yes. Often. Sometimes based on race, but more often upon class. Or both."
no subject
He cocks his head, motioning to the room. "The Initiate ith the highetht troll here, and he'th the highetht a land-dweller can get. Hith blood meanth that he'll have a pothition of great power onthe he reacheth adulthood and a very long lifethpan. We're not like humanth, where all of you are the thame, even if you're thayingthere are diffrentheth."
no subject
"Can trolls of different blood colours reproduce?" Sherlock asked suddenly, honestly curious, because to him it sounded like they were different species - though it was possible they were different breeds.
Completely alien, at least, and he quietly longed to have a chance to autopsy one.
no subject
So he laughs at Sherlock, shaking his head slowly. "Thure. All they need to do ith provide to the Mother Grub. Trollth don't carry their children, or even lay the eggth their dethendentth come from. You jutht give the droneth your bucket, they give the bucketth to the Mother Grub, and maybe in a couple thenturieth a troll with genetic code clothe to yourth will hatch, and maybe it'll even thurvive the trialth and make it to itth firtht pupation and get picked by a luthuth."
Sorry, Sherlock. You asked for this.
no subject
He puts his hands up in surrender.
"Alright - alright. Completely incompatible breeding systems compared to humans. No way to tell the genetic differences without actually looking at your blood. You've made your point."