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.
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."