Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
alldeduction) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2013-05-13 12:33 pm
alldeduction) wrote in thecapitol2013-05-13 12:33 pm
[open]
Who| Sherlock Holmes and OPEN!
What| Sherlock returns from the dead and isn't very happy about it, and the events that happen leading up to and after the interview with the capitol. He'll basically be wandering around scowly-like so feel free to run into him anywhere. District 2 mates feel free to pounce on him when he gets in, and he'll also be showing up in District 7.
Where| Wherever!
When| From Sherlock's death up to current
Warnings/Notes| Might have graphic description of his death in the arena, if it comes up, otherwise none.
Sherlock half-hoped that he wouldn't wake up this time. That perhaps after all, the world still made logical sense and he couldn't return from the dead, perhaps that after the second time of feeling his life leave him he would be left to rest in a semblance of peace.
But it wasn't to be.
He woke up with a shuddering start, breath slamming into his lungs as he sucked it in like drowning. His hand immediately went to his chest but there was nothing there - no bruise, no shattered sternum, no broken bones. His lungs functioned normally. He was clean, again, and the ravenous gnawing hunger in his stomach was gone. He sat up. Exactly the same as he was the first time he had been brought here. The first time he had died.
He scowled, darkly, at nothing, and threw himself from the bed. Fine. This time, he would be prepared. This time, he would have a plan. And he did have one. Oh, but he did.
What| Sherlock returns from the dead and isn't very happy about it, and the events that happen leading up to and after the interview with the capitol. He'll basically be wandering around scowly-like so feel free to run into him anywhere. District 2 mates feel free to pounce on him when he gets in, and he'll also be showing up in District 7.
Where| Wherever!
When| From Sherlock's death up to current
Warnings/Notes| Might have graphic description of his death in the arena, if it comes up, otherwise none.
Sherlock half-hoped that he wouldn't wake up this time. That perhaps after all, the world still made logical sense and he couldn't return from the dead, perhaps that after the second time of feeling his life leave him he would be left to rest in a semblance of peace.
But it wasn't to be.
He woke up with a shuddering start, breath slamming into his lungs as he sucked it in like drowning. His hand immediately went to his chest but there was nothing there - no bruise, no shattered sternum, no broken bones. His lungs functioned normally. He was clean, again, and the ravenous gnawing hunger in his stomach was gone. He sat up. Exactly the same as he was the first time he had been brought here. The first time he had died.
He scowled, darkly, at nothing, and threw himself from the bed. Fine. This time, he would be prepared. This time, he would have a plan. And he did have one. Oh, but he did.
Capitol Zoo and Aquarium | Post-Arena
For ten they had a number of the west's most impressive on display. A trio of wild paints - the handsome stallion and his harem of two. A pack of dusky coyotes. A whole field of chirping groundhogs.
But it was the buffalo Wyatt returned too most often.
There was a bench just outside their enclosure and he could sit and watch them. The sunlight gleaming off their dark, curved horns and their the wide, wet noses. As they shook their great, shaggy hides and bellowed low to each other as they grazed.
Once upon a time, in a world long gone, he had hunted them. Had valued them for the coin their skins and their meat could put in his pocket. Now,...now he was just happy to be near them. To know something had survived.
Today he sat on the bench, hunched forward, his elbows on his knees, his jaw shadowed with several days growth and working gently as Howard's rabbit's foot worried between his fingers like rosary beads. His eyes tracked the newest member of the herd - a calf that hadn't been there when he'd been sent to the last arena - as it gamboled about, bouncing on stiff-legs.
no subject
He passed exhibit to exhibit, cross referencing each species with his memory and lingering at those that didn't exist in his world. Every moment that passed in this Zoo reminded him how he hated this place. He was about to give up in an annoyed flurry when his eyes fell on Wyatt. He recognized him, of course - it was difficult not to. He had been here for the last five arenas, and his face was common on the televisions that surrounded them all.
As a rule, Sherlock was not what one would call 'social'. But when looking into the mechanics of a system, trying to understand and to crack said mechanics, it was always helpful to hear from those who had been submerged in said system the longest. So it was with Wyatt.
He forced a smile to his lips, though even at his best it wasn't quite friendly, and strode over.
"Wyatt Earp. District 10. Correct?"
no subject
Eyes narrowed, he seemed to way the brisk greeting, chewing over whether or not he wanted to encourage the attention. It'd worked well so far, the well-placed stretch of silence more than enough to deter most of the more determined fans... but this one either didn't notice, or didn't care.
As the footsteps continued to approach, the stride steady, he exhaled heavily and turned, leaning on his elbow to peer up from under the brim of his hat-
Not a citizen. Not with that understated getup.
Not with those eyes.
Or at least, not the average one.
"Just Wyatt'll do, friend."
no subject
He clasped his hands, leaning out over his knees and watching the buffalo, clear crisp eyes trained on them with a focused intensity - though really they were not the subject of his gaze at all. Instead, he was thinking.
"Two arenas." It seemed to come out of no where, after that pause, but it was a direct thought from the last.
"You, I believe, have had five."
no subject
"Last I counted," he drawled, low and dry, unsure just where this other tribute was hoping to go with this. Somethin' about that face said he wasn't here hopin' for a slap on the back and the 'keep on, keepin' on' speech. "But iffen yer lookin' for tips, you'd be better off goin' to yer mentor."
no subject
He turned his head to look back at Wyatt - the focused intensity with which he'd gazed at the buffalo now turned on him.
"Information is valuable - primary sources even more so. Tributes with five arenas are extremely rare, comparatively. Only six of you exist - including yourself, and the one - ah - rather flamboyant young woman who has a total of six.
You might understand where personal perspective may be more important than the - ah - official record."
no subject
(The ache of watching it was low, almost gentle, in his gut. That it could be so happy, so easily... that it would never even know what joys its free ancestors had known....)
"They ain't something I care to dwell on, Mr. Holmes." Like wheat rustling in the breeze, his voice was a mild rasp. "Is there somethin' in particular that yer hopin' to learn?"
no subject
"It isn't the arenas themselves I'm interested in," He finally said. He took a breath, and let it out. He disliked having to act for simple conversations like this, but-- "And my interest isn't for myself. I'm trying to compile enough data to-- to accurately be able to predict the effect that exposure to multiple arenas may have on someone." He glanced at Wyatt, his expression suddenly very serious. "Of all the remaining experienced tributes, you have the most in common with him, on a personality level."
He paused, tilted his head, looked back on the buffalo.
"At least, of course, from what the cameras portray."
no subject
Wyatt's eyes narrowed on the animals thoughtfully. He had no idea to whom this man was referring, but he couldn't help a little curiosity, faces tumbling through his mind, wondering which of them he was most like.
Orange fur flashed against his skin as he toyed with the rabbit's foot.
"So ya wanna know how I'm doin', and whether nor not yer friend will end up like me, is what yer sayin'."
The dig about the cameras he let roll him like water over a duck. A might impolite, maybe, but he understood the caution.
no subject
"In a manner of speaking." He forced the frown, forced brows to furrow, his eyes to drop to the floor. He looked, he was sure, incredibly concerned. "I find your tenacity remarkable, considering..." He trailed off, then made a bit of a show of clearing the thought from his mind by shaking his head and raising his eyes, watching the buffalo once more. He crossed his arms.
"Five deaths must have some effect."
no subject
This man wanted to help his friend, Wyatt understood and appreciated that, but he was not prone to sharing the deepest darkest parts of himself with those closest to him, much less a stranger he'd spoken all of a dozen words too.
"There are times I think it certainly would be easier, iffen they were permanent," he said finally, rabbit's foot passing from hand to hand. "But then I remind myself that I ain't never really been one to do somethin' just 'cause it's easy."