thecapitol | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Who: Topher and OPEN
When: Week Six and Seven
Where: Out and About
What: Reunions and tears. Probably not many tears

It was strange returning to this place. Strange, but not as frightening as one might think.

Okay, the whole death arena thing was kinda scary, but if Topher just ignored that whole issue, then coming back wasn't so bad. It certainly made things that happened back home easier to forget. Whiskey, Claire, whoever was a giant headache. Run around and trying not to die? Only a small headache that was easily soothed by juice boxes and cake.

One frustration was wandering around in a constant state of deja vu. Everything was familiar and yet sometimes he had zero idea why he knew a thing or person. He was normally not one for going outside under the best circumstances, but with this awkward memory thing he tried to at least take time out to wander around and jog his memory.

The more he wandered the more he was annoyed by how many people there were and how they all wanted to talk to him only to become offended when he stayed silent. Socialization was for chumps and Topher was no chump. What he was, was hungry, so he braved the line of some brightly decorated monstrosity of a cafe and ordered an extra large slice of whatever had the most chocolate. He sat at a table in the corner and tucked into his own chocolate profiteroles cake.

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Topher's mouth opened and he did a rather poor imitation of a fish when he heard the man's name. Eventually he realized he looked like an idiot and closed his mouth and offering a wide grin. "Sorry, Sherlock Holmes? The Sherlock Holmes? It's suddenly Christmas!"

His excitement was palpable, but there was also a touch of cynicism. "Is your Watson here?" He tried to take the grin off his face. "Sorry, I'm just a fan of your work. You can say I've used your genius a time or two."

Sherlock's face fell into a flat expression and he waved a hand. "Not the. A. I am a Sherlock Holmes, and not even the only one here. John is here, yes, but so is Joan."

He paused, though, at the mention of genius, and tilted his head.

He was never tired of hearing how brilliant he was, after all.

"Did you," He said, though his tone wasn't scathing. Merely interested. "You aren't a detective," A statement, not a question, "So what use would it be to you?"

Another Sherlock and a Joan. He was pretty sure some of his online friends could have a field day with that sort of dynamic. He had to hold back a laugh at the thought of what those people would come up with.

"Oh, nothing so dastardly as catching a Moriarty, but, you know, sometimes you need the kind of mind that notices the details." Topher rolled his pencil between his palms as he continued talking to the man. "Don't worry, your mind is safe." For now. Topher really wanted a peek as some of the medical technology they had here if only for the chance to see if his build matched the real thing.

He twitched, slightly, when Topher dropped Moriarty's name - couldn't help it, even though he knew that the man didn't mean his Moriarty, didn't mean that he was here.

He smiled, but it was cold.

"Good to know," He said flatly, though unlike Topher he was completely sure that his mind wasn't safe. "You didn't answer my original question."

Topher was used to cold smiles being sent his way; he wasn't much of a people person and didn't try to hide that fact, something that bothered more that a few people. This didn't mean that the smile he shot at Sherlock was just as cold. No, Topher's grin was genuine, mostly because he was talking to Sherlock-freaking-Holmes.

"Right." He leaned in and lowered his voice. "Can't you deduce my answer?"

"Of course I can," Sherlock snapped, looking a little annoyed.

"You are hardly the first tribute to return after such an absence, but the amount of amnesia and memory retention differs wildly between subjects. If I am to ascertain a pattern, then I need data. And since I have yet to learn to mind read, that means I need you to tell me what you meant by fuzzy."

"Snarky. Should have added more snark to the build." This is said more to himself than Sherlock. Topher actually pulls out a blank sheet and adds a formula in the strange code he created for his work in this world.

Finally he looks up at Sherlock and tosses a huff his way. "I remember this stuff, but not-not everything. Names but not always faces, faces but not always names. When Venus shoved that dino bone in me I completely remembered some other dude skewering me." He turned away and looked around at the empty tables around them. They weren't nice memories, but he figured it was better than bumbling around blindly. "So, how does that fit into your pattern?"

Sherlock side-eyed the note, the code, but doesn't say anything, turning his eyes back to Topher again when he speaks.

"... More usual than you'd think," Sherlock said, bluntly. "Though the fuzziness doesn't seem connected to length of time spent away. You aren't the first who's claimed that some memories return while others do not. I'm merely curious as to why that seems to be a part of the process, when being revived after an exceptionally long time, since it isn't always a factor. Sometimes they return with all memories completely intact."

"Lucky them." Topher was a little insulted that his brain was apparently working against him. It wasn't like he'd been... No, it wasn't possible.

He pulled out his notebook and scribbled a few notes. "Do they remember waking up? Back here I mean. Have they mentioned what their first memories were upon waking up?" Everything had been in his own code. An unfinished code that only he knew the key for; the Capitol would never be able to finish his work without him.

He watched the code, tilting his head to follow the scribbles, almost forgetting the questions for a moment.

"They wake up like the rest of us," He mused. "As for their first memories, you'd have to ask them yourselves. Some indicated that he only regained them slowly, as concepts and people were re-introduced to him."

"Some?" Topher had to think for a moment. He'd never been too sociable with the other Tributes, but he did think he'd remember someone with such a weird name. "Oh, the alien spider guy!" He gave a mental shiver.

"Yeah, it's sort of coming back. It's like that feeling of déjà vu, or like a word on the tip of your tongue that you can quite recall. Annoying really." He scratched his head with his pencil as he leaned closer to Sherlock. "So, enlighten me. Are they messing with our grey matter or are they really sending us back home only to be dragged back?"

"I hear voices!"

Punchy doesn't appear to have ever heard of the concept of 'quiet' in a library. He thunders down the staircase from the third floor like an avalanche of footfall and slides down the banister at the end before drumming his hands on the desk next to both Topher and Sherlock. Two of his favorite people.

For his part, Punchy hasn't really been looking for books (unsurprisingly). He was just looking to see if this place had a vending machine. He still has that awful face tattoo, although at the moment it's the second least-appealing thing on his face, as he has a decidedly orange smear of artificial cheese under one eye like warpaint. How it got there is anyone's best guess.

"'Ey, homies, what's cracking? Didn't know y'all was tight."

"I think sending us back home is in fact the opposite entirely," Sherlock said. "I think--" But he was interupted by Punchy's appearance, and he wasn't that displeased to be so.

It wasn't a theory he had completely firm in his mind, and he didn't like going into theories without concrete data.

"Punchy, you up on our weebs Topher Brink?"

Edited 2014-04-09 00:44 (UTC)

There's no stopping the smile that spreads across Topher's face when he hears Punchy's loud voice echoing in the library. So far he'd avoided the guy, but for the life of him Topher could figure out why he had wanted to, except maybe the sudden flash of memories that hit him. Laughter, pain, fear, death. It's a thousand emotions all at once and even his brain struggles to process it all. Topher's hands come up so that he can rub his temples and hopefully massage the headache away before it hits him.

"Don't-don't do that," he mumbles to Sherlock. It was weird to see the man take on the manner of Punchy. "Hey, Punch. What the hell did you do to your face?"

"Toph's one of my ride-or-dies here, Holmesboy." Punchy flops down on the table, sprawling over it like a cat and accidentally knocking over a stack of books. He rubs his tattoo.

"What, you don't like it?" Punchy manages to look both stricken and defensive at that. "I was trying to surprise you for your return."

That's Punch trying to joke, bee tee double you.

He arches an eyebrow.

"Well, that's a high recommendation," He said, glancing back at Topher. "I suppose I'll have to give you a smidgen more credit, now."

He catches one of the books while the others clatter to the floor, and slips it back onto the table.

The tattoo is ridiculous, but Punchy's face is Punchy's face, and Sherlock is more than happy to let him do what he likes to it.

"Smidgen? Wow, don't go too far out of your comfort zone, people might start thinking your human." Topher believed he was completely trustworthy, and he was...to an extent.

He looks back over at Punchy and tries hard not to laugh. "You could have just made me a card, or maybe gotten something less W-W-E."

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