songerein | [OPEN] A Late March Catchall

Who: Herlock Sholmes ... and you?
Which: Open Log
Where: Around Reverein (The Wild Harvest, The Communal Garden)
What: Sholmes enjoys some intellectual pursuits in public
Warnings: Threads may include spoilers for GAA/GAA2 and will be marked accordingly. Feel free to opt out or simply write an OOC note in the tag.

A. The Curious Tale of the Man with the Jars

XXnd of March(?), Throughout the Day
The Wild Harvest

[ If one happens to visit the Wild Harvest today, they will find one of its tables has been completely overtaken by a single guest and his clutter: a stack of books*, a (normal) journal, a handful of measuring tools, and--depending on what time you find him--half-eaten plates of food, a sweaty glass of ice water, a cup of tea, or a neglected pint of beer. His overcoat, deerstalker, and leather bag are discarded on the seat next to him, leaving the detective to comfortably study in his rolled shirtsleeves.

However, all of that aside, one may find a mismatched collection of jars to be of much greater interest. Judging by the stubborn residue from their labels, the containers previously held pickles, jams, and spices, but peering into them now will reveal various specimens, living or otherwise: insects, plants, colorful stones, mysterious fluids, one or two familiar orange hate feathers and a few four-leaf clovers. ]

[[ * OOC: This is a random mix from the bookstore. Feel free to make up titles or recognize a volume from your character’s canon if you’d like another excuse to make small talk! ]]

B. The Adventure of the Fickle Fiddler

XXst of March(?), Late Afternoon, Trending into Evening
The Communal Garden

[ Alternately, if one happens to be enjoying a late-day stroll by the communal garden, they will catch the sound of a violin. A few bars of a tune play, followed by a pause, some muttering, and a bowed revision. It's a bit difficult to make out the song or the violinist's actual skill given the choppy progress, but if, by chance, one hails from some variant of Earth and has a keen ear for classical music, they may recognize phrases of Paganini.

Venturing deeper into the garden, one will find the source of the music: a man standing by the pond with a violin tucked under his chin. After bowing out a bar, he bends to write (or erase) notes on the makeshift sheet music paper laid out across a bench. A chorus of singing fish poke up from the depths of the pond to helpfully parrot his melodies. ]

C. WILDCARD

[ Hit me up via PM or discord if you have other business or scenarios you'd like to address with Sholmes! ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Hell! [ He throws up his hands in an odd mix of exasperation and amusement. ]

Why, earlier I was speaking with a young woman and I implied she might be from such a place. [ Sorry, Oriphi. ] She took offense at the notion! Imagine!

And not an hour later, I find myself speaking with an actual citizen of Hell. What a magnificent coincidence!

[Alastor laughs.]

Well, you're certainly taking it a lot better than most I've talked to!

Ah, should I be afraid? When not manning the infernal radio, is it your occupation to hang sinners from their toenails?

[ He shrugs. ] I don't put stock in a Christian Hell, you see. When I was a boy, I could conceive of no greater corporeal or spiritual punishment than being made to sit still on a hard pew for an hour once a week.

Ha! No. Though I did make a habit of dining on my fellow sinners who crossed too many of my lines.

[Like the old overlords. They were a tasty lot.]

You certainly would've hated my upbringing then! Yet that didn't stop me from taking the one-way train south!

Dining on— [ He brandishes the bow like a blade, but still doesn't seem to be taking him seriously. ] Well! Should you be getting any ideas: not only am I gristly from living on a tight budget, I'm thoroughly suffused with chemicals.

Oh, I'm sure with the right marinade you'd be palatable enough. Or at least a little less gamey.

[Alastor chuckles.]

But in all honesty, I'm very selective with my meals. And I've made it a point not to snack on any of my neighbors here. The redcaps do just fine.

[ Sholmes puts the brakes on his train of thought before he can get distracted by macabre questions like: what would make a good human marinade? And what does human flesh taste like? Pork, surely ... ? ]

How very kind of you! Although I imagine there are more selfish reasons for such restraint. One quickly finds himself quite lonely once he's devoured all of his neighbors.

[ As to the ethics of eating leprechauns ... maybe best not to think about it. ] Though that does explain why the little fellows have gotten more skittish.

[If you want to know, Alastor has some recipes he can share!]

Redcaps, not the leprechauns...though I did give those quite an earful when they attempted to steal my shoes.

[Don't ask.]

You'll know the redcaps right away: They look like the leprechauns but their hats are dyed red by dipping them in fresh blood. There's usually a request for thinning them out every few months or so. That's when I take the opportunity to restock my larder. Everyone wins!

[...If you can call that winning.]

Ah! Those little rapscallions! Then I must thank you for providing an invaluable public service, Mr. Alastor!

[ As much as the idea of a pantry filled with any variety of butchered, tiny men, feels antithetical to efforts to curb nightmares. At least he's not eating dreamwalkers?

... He'll keep an eye on it. Not like the activities of a large, red demon are hard to track. ]

Let us hope their population remains adequately bountiful.

[You'd be surprised what one can get up to when others aren't paying attention, Mr. Sholmes. He was a serial killer in life who only stopped due to a hunting accident, after all.]

[Alastor's ears prick with excitement at the potential implications of that last statement.]

A fellow connoisseur?! How delightful! I like to make my own sausage with the little creatures and take them and the venison sausage to the butcher's to properly smoke. Hand over some of the sausages as payment for letting me use part of his smoker, too!

[He means the venison sausage, but he doesn't think to specify. (Enjoy that potential worry the next time you go meat shopping!)]

[ Rest assured, his next plate of bangers and mash is going to get some serious scrutiny. ]

Ah, no. Even in the anonymity of a sausage casing, a bit too approximate to human for my sensibilities. I was merely expressing the hope on your behalf ... lest you cast a hungry eye upon your neighbors.

[Alastor clicks his tongue.]

Honestly, I lived in civilized society without eating my neighbors on the regular. Ate a lot of venison, true, but human flesh was when I found a scoundrel suitable enough that no one would miss them.

[He won't say he's an ethical cannibal, just very particular.]

Really, when I invite someone over to dinner, I'm not planning on serving them. Most days.

[OPEN] A Late March Catchall

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