songerein | [OPEN] A Late March Catchall

Entry tags:

[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

Ha! Now, was that so difficult? [ He nods approvingly at the portrait, clear sign that he's set things right. Yes, maybe he'll master this dream business yet. ] I must say! I've never met a man so maddeningly prone to selling himself short. Would that I could influence that habit with any degree of success.

[ Notably, he breezes past the topic of lies, otherwise offering the joke nothing but a thin-lipped smile of acknowledgement. He's fairly positive that's a minefield for both of them, and he's too charmed by the current coziness to risk compromising it; for all the comforts of the Mikotoba house, he's been homesick for the cluttered flat.

He focuses instead on something safe: the music, humming along with a swish of his fingers as he wanders to his side of the space. ] Ah, the dulcet tones of Lieder ohne Worte! You always were fond of Mendelssohn!

[ An aura follows Sholmes--within its influence, his clutter continues to clarify in brutally sharp detail: flasks with scribbled labels, inscrutable diagrams, and prototypes with parts half-cannibalized for other prototypes. When he turns around to look at Mikotoba, it all fades again into a nondescript suggestion of mess. ] Have you seen my violin about?

[Yujin would argue that he's always selling himself at exactly the right amount, but that would involve arguing. What with how pigheaded Sholmes can be, the notion of going against him feels simply exhausting. Which is saying something, since he's already asleep right now.

As for Mendelssohn, he's so fond of it that it haunts him even in his dreams. It's no wonder that Sholmes could identify it so easily then, and once the title is voiced, the volume and clarity of the music increases.]

Your violin? Let's see...

[It wasn't the sort of object Sholmes had ten years ago, causing Yujin to glance about in a confused manner. Violin... Where was it? Their surroundings distort a bit and he raises a hand to his chin as he mulls it over. Ultimately, his tired mind admits defeat, causing him to shake his head.]

Ah... I'm afraid I don't know, Sholmes. Were you hoping to play along with the music?

[ Sholmes steps up to the gramophone, impressed by the clarity of Mikotoba's musical memory. He laughs and quips, airily: ] My friend, if you're not in a mood to be serenaded this evening, you need only say so.

[ As he watches the record spin, he wonders how much of this dream--and to what level of detail--Mikotoba will remember on waking. Will Sholmes himself even recall it once he's left? Might as well indulge a bit of whimsy. He lifts the needle, moving it a few times until he hears the familiar notes of "Spring Song." A bit saccharine for his tastes, but it keeps the mood light and has a near-waltzing tempo. ]

Perhaps you would rather dance? [ He offers with a flourishing bow. The suggestion is rendered uniquely absurd by the utter lack of space in the cramped flat. ]

[The serenade remark causes Yujin's brow to quirk upwards. 10 years ago, such a thing would have been entirely foreign. The more recent visit to London, however, had subjected Yujin to several uninterrupted hours of violin solo. That had been too much of a good thing, and a light wave of exhaustion seems to wash through the dream at the mere memory of it.

The offer of a dance, on the other hand... Well, that brings a warm smile to his face instead. The lack of space isn't taken into account at all. With how cramped their favorite Irish pub could get from time to time, Yujin's rather used to making do with a limited space. As a result, his mind doesn't connect the word "dance" with waltzing at all. He rather expects a cheerful jig, some taps of the feet, several energetic leaps and Sholmes's limbs swinging all over the place.]

My dear friend, how could I ever reject such a charming offer?

[ He can easily guess at what Mikotoba has in mind, which makes subverting expectations even more irresistible. As he closes the distance, he shoves some smaller furniture aside with sweeps of his feet. One could almost mistake it for his unconventional mode of dance and, in fact, he does seem to do this with each upswing in the melody. ]

Then will you please join me-- [ Said as he kicks a footstool against a bookcase. A couple of smaller items fall from the shelf. ] --in the world's smallest ballroom?

[ He offers his hand. ] I suppose you have it in your dreaming power to put me in an elegant gown, if that suits your fancy. Though I would ask that you avoid any heeled slippers. I already make for a rather tall lady.

[He watches with no end to his amusement as Sholmes uses his unique, fluid movements to sweep some of the smaller furniture aside. On rare occasion, he forgets just how eccentric his friend is, only to feel quite foolish when he's reminded once more. Foolish and wistful, and delighted, with just a touch of exhilaration. Never a dull moment with Sholmes around. Their environment grows brighter. Warmer.

But then the word "ballroom" is uttered and a hand is extended, which gives Yujin pause. Elegant gown? Tall lady?]

Hah?

[Reflexively, he takes a single step back and instead of taking Sholmes's hand, his fingers instead curl inward and are raised to his chest. It isn't that he's never seen Sholmes in a dress before; in fact, the memories of the Great Detective's 'woman' disguise seem to overlap Sholmes's dream form, just for a few seconds. It's only the abruptness of the remark that jostled him. But he needs to respond, doesn't he?]

Ah- No, I... You don't need to... [???]

The look on your face! Is the thought really so terrifying, my friend? [ That was exactly the reaction he expected, but the startling afterimage of his old disguise sends him doubling over with laughter. He's chagrined, though, to find that it dissipates before he can try to pinch the skirts in a curtsy. ] Rest assured, we can skip the dress. Flattering as they may be, they're quite cumbersome.

[ He takes a step closer, reaching for the hand that isn't currently coiled against Mikotoba's chest. ] I must admit, it's been some time since I learned to partner dance--all the way back in my boarding school days. A rather futile endeavor. It was all boys, of course, so this is quite familiar, hah!

[ His head tilts, eyes flicking down to those well-shined shoes. ] And you--surely those feet of yours are capable of more than a lively jig. No doubt you treated Mrs. Mikotoba to an occasional waltz?

[Sholmes's sense of humor still leaves much to be desired. Deep down, Yujin knows that it's 'all in good fun' and there's no actual intent to tease him. Still, even after so many years, the directness of such remarks clashes with Yujin's more discreet, withheld nature. When Sholmes takes his hand and speaks more seriously, for a moment everything is rectifying itself. There's the assurance that there isn't anything out of the ordinary happening here- that Sholmes has done this before and it's just another typical bit of fun, as they've often had.

Unfortunately, his friend does not know when to stop talking and this is another one of those instances. No matter how much time has passed, Ayame is a touchy subject for him, and she always will be. He pulls his hand back from Sholmes's hold and truly does take a good, firm step backwards, this time. A particular coldness washes through the room, along with a mixture of smells. It's incense and blood.]

... That was a long time ago. [His reply is curt in more ways than one. Normally, he's not so easily agitated, but he finds Sholmes to be far out of line, this time.]

[ He regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth, but that guilt doesn't last long; it's quickly replaced by a hot twinge of irritation.

Swiftly approaching two decades, he almost blurts, but the abrupt shift in the dream keeps his teeth set. After their years together, he's plenty adept at reading Mikotoba's subtle moods. He's not so accustomed to being immersed in them. Certainly not prepared to smell his grief or see his self-loathing projected so plainly on Susato's face.

And now, the mysterious spectre of Ayame continues to frustrate both his ferocious curiosity and his concerns as a friend. Of all the topics they could discuss with ease, to have such an important part of his partner's life perpetually locked away, verboten ... It's vexing to say the least.

Sholmes keeps pressing the attack, advancing again, reaching for his friend's wrist instead of his hand. Not to draw him into a dance--he's positive his careless words scuttled any chances of that--but to discourage him from further retreat. ]

Tell me about her, then. [ He's not sure what this might invite, but maybe the context of the dream will allow him to finally wedge a foot in that door. ] Please.

[Sholmes succeeds in taking hold of Yujin's wrist, if only because actively dodging the gesture would boil down to causing a scene. He doesn't want to cause a scene. He just wants to return to the pleasant atmosphere that they had before- that they usually have. Sholmes has always done so well when it comes to distracting him from his darker thoughts, so why is the opposite happening now?

The cold increases and the room grows a bit darker, more and more of their surroundings becoming a hazy blur. All of Yujin's attention is on Sholmes now, and how much he doesn't want this situation to unfold the way it currently is.]

There's nothing to tell. [Ayame is dead. That's all there is to it.] ... Please, Sholmes. It's not important.

I very much doubt that.

[ He could drop it. He could laugh this off as a stupid mistake, pull Mikotoba into an absurd dance, see his friend smile and the room light up. That would be a simple, easy, safe choice. But a selfish one, frankly. He’s already granted Mikotoba the benefit of a six-year escape. The mounting evidence that this suffering has continued unabated for another ten is distressing.

On an exhale, Sholmes’ youth evaporates, leaving a contemporary version of the man. One that has long since given up trying to tame his unruly hair and, at this distance, it’s easy to spy a few of those mortifying silver strands peeking out from the blond. Shallow creases etch around his eyes, mouth, and brow while hands and forearms pepper over with another decade’s worth of careless scars. This is not the young Sholmes who was so content to provide wild distraction.

Any hint of irritation softens into a exasperated sympathy, and his fingers drop down his sleeve to catch Mikotoba's hand. ]

My dear friend, if it’s not deeply important, why is this [ A nod to the surroundings. ] happening at the mere mention of her?

[The transition from younger Sholmes to his present day self is curious, but only for a moment. Then Yujin's subconsciousness accepts it as something normal. Something to be expected, even. This is how it ought to be, and if indeed this is how it is, Yujin ought to be leaving soon. He doesn't belong in 221B anymore. He's expected elsewhere. Yes, he should go-

Except he can't, because Sholmes's fingers have wrapped around his hand, holding him in place. Now he's trapped here, in this distorting reality, enduring the most unpleasant of conversations.]

There's nothing to be done about it. I loved her and then... I lost her. [The flat quakes, just as Yujin's voice does. He hangs his head a bit, his gaze drifting towards a distant corner of the room.] That sort of loss will never stop hurting, and so... There's nothing left to discuss. It is what it is.

[And he would insist that Sholmes could never understand this grief, but he knows it isn't true. Over ten years ago, perhaps it might've been, but if- God forbid- something were to happen to Iris? His friend would sympathize all too well.

The surroundings don't distort further, but there's something else invading the dream now. It's drifting in through the crack beneath the door, rather like the fog which pervades London so very often. The trouble is, it doesn't hold that typical pearl-grey color to it. Instead, it's black. It's nightmare corruption.]

[ His grip tightens at the resistance. Sholmes maintains it even as frames rattle and skew on the wall, some dropping from their nails completely. Even as items plunge from the mantle and shatter on the floor.

Sholmes himself has never been subject to intense loss, but he's seen it time and again, with every expression of it as unique as the suffering individual. Usually it was fresh and bleeding, but he's still witnessed this older grief: fermented in darkness into something different, but no less potent. ]

Why pretend someone you loved never existed at all? Do you mean for her to stay lost? [ At these words, he spies the darkness on the edge of his vision, creeping like an invasive weed. It's distinctly, unsettlingly different from the natural, surreal features of the dream. He takes a deep breath, trying to slow the sudden staccato of his heart, and leans to catch his friend's gaze. ] The pain may never subside, but you needn't endure it alone, Mikotoba.

[Pretend she never existed? No- He could never. The memory of her follows him wherever he goes, more often than not. Though after all these years, she's no more than a haze. A cold, looming presence, twisted so far from who she used to be that in truth, there's very little of Ayame Mikotoba left. And perhaps Sholmes may catch a glimpse of just that, projected against the wall. The silhouette blends in almost seamlessly with the darkness. Regardless, he could never erase her from his mind. Frivolous distractions are no more than just that: distractions.]

That's not what I'm doing, Sholmes. [He does try to pull his hand out of his friend's hold, this time. This conversation is a lost cause. It doesn't even matter. None of it matters, because none of it will stir change.] I told you, it is what it is. And I really should be going.

[He turns towards the door, where the nightmare energy is still flooding in. He doesn't see it. All he knows is that his destination lies beyond; outside 221B.]

[ Senses keen with adrenaline, Sholmes' eyes immediately flick to the vague human shape. It's not difficult to deduce whose afterimage it is, and a tightness forms in his chest. Is that really all that's left of her memory?

At least it doesn't exude the same terrible menace as the black fog oozing through the door. Yes, Sholmes had wanted to catch a glimpse of this threat for himself, but now that he feels the imminent chill--not in his body so much as his being--he regrets his flippant remarks to Kazuma.

And Mikotoba standing here, asleep and vulnerable, only makes the situation that much worse. How can he rectify this?

Sholmes uses their clasped hands to yank Mikotoba back around and wrap an arm over his upper back. His other arm twines firmly around the man's middle, head notched tight over his shoulder. It's as much a genuine, comforting gesture as an urgent attempt to thwart Mikotoba's urge to retreat into danger. ]

I didn't intend that as an accusation. Forgive me. [ Sholmes' arms constrict tighter for emphasis, and to pull his friend a few steps deeper into the flat, away from the door. ] If you saw your most cherished friend suffering, wouldn't you be stubbornly compelled to understand his pain?

[Yujin's resigned to his fate, which is without concrete shape or detail at the moment. In the rougher sense, it's the same fate it's been for seventeen years already; he doesn't truly belong in 221B, nor even in London. He was always meant to return to Japan and stay there, half a globe's distance between himself and his most trusted friend. It's inevitable, and so, he doesn't think twice about walking out the door.

What he hadn't counted on was that Sholmes wouldn't let him go. The forceful yank is already enough to throw Yujin's mind into a bit of disarray, but the arms around his body intensify that confusion. There's a chin pressing down on his shoulder now, soft hair brushing against the side of his neck. He can't truly feel it, but his subconsciousness is aware all the same. The spoken words are no more than a triviality compared to all that.]

Sholmes... [He takes those few extra steps deeper into the flat, because really, what choice does he have? Several blinks later, he moves his own arms around Sholmes's ribcage.] ... I'm sorry. I don't mean to cause you concern. Not everything is an investigation for you to delve into, you know.

[ If he wasn't so consumed by the present threat, Sholmes might have been warmed by the reciprocated embrace (why didn't he do this more?) and taken offense at that chiding remark (this isn't just another case). But he continues to maneuver them both from the encroaching, inky blackness in what is easily the most stumblingly haphazard partner dance ever conceived.

After his calves blindly knock into yet another piece of hazy furniture, Sholmes finally pulls back into a proper dancing pose--left palm tightly clamped on Mikotoba's shoulder, the right groping for the hand resting on his back--to afford him a better view while still maintaining a secure hold on his friend.

Does he even recognize what's happening? Certainly not if he was so dead set on walking directly into the maw of the nightmare. ]

Mikotoba, it's time you wake up. [ Sholmes declares as he spins them abruptly away from another slithering tendril. ]

[Yujin doesn't realize that they're moving away from something. He barely registers that they're moving at all. Something else is trying to dawn on him. It's a feeling similar to deja vu. This is all reminiscent of something else. A faded memory? Or a dream he's had before, perhaps. Yes, that's it. He's dreamed of similar scenarios. When was that again...?

When Sholmes adjusts his hold into something more suitable for a dance, Yujin allows him to take that hand and move it away from Sholmes's back. In fact, his own fingers curl around the palm and he meets his friend's gaze unblinkingly. He doesn't quite know what to think, though. It's a state of mind that only increases when Sholmes speaks and spins the both of them.]

What?

[ Is the nightmare getting worse? Maybe it's emboldened by his own conscious unease? Sholmes takes a deep inhale, focuses on Mikotoba's eyes, and releases it. Just a silly nightmare. ]

If you hadn't noticed-- [ Low along the floor, a rope of darkness lunges like a snake and Sholmes jerks himself around to block its trajectory. A cold, burning sensation twines around his ankle, and he yanks his leg free with a sudden chassé into the darkened kitchen. ] --this is a dream. And we're both in a nasty bit of trouble, my dear fellow.

[ Sholmes forces a wincing smile as he shakes off the lingering corruption in his leg. ] If you don't wake of your own accord, you leave me no choice but to get creative.

[Yujin certainly wasn't increasing the nightmare's intensity too much himself. The moment he got pulled into an embrace, his inner turmoil settled to some degree and eased itself back into more neutral ground. However, if Sholmes then continued feeding the noctaere energy himself, it's only natural things would turn out like this.

It's only when Sholmes kicks the tendril of darkness away that Yujin finally sees it. His gaze sweeps the floor, taking in all the black swirls and murk he'd somehow overlooked before. When did it...? Wait, a dream?

It only takes about a split second for the realization to hit, though it somehow feels slowed and extended into half a minute with how many steps there are to it. It is a dream. That means this isn't real. He's sound asleep in bed. Sholmes isn't truly here- no more than a figment of his imagination. Or wait. No, people can dreamwalk. And there's nightmare energy. This is trouble. Wake up-

Alarm rising, Yujin scrunches his eyes shut. They reopen when he awakens in Songerein with a jolt and a deep, shuddering gasp.]

[ Those thirty seconds feels like an eternity. He can see comprehension unfurling on Mikotoba's face, but the nightmare has gained ravenous speed as it seeks Sholmes' barely-contained panic. A dark wave surges into the kitchen, and he shoulders all of his rangy weight into the other man in a desperate dodge.

In the mid-fall vertigo, as 221B gives way to the treehouse bedroom, his friend is the only anchoring element in his spinning vision. Sholmes barely stops himself from crashing hard into him. He lands on all fours: splayed palms sink deep into the soft bedding above Mikotoba's shoulders and bony knees straddle his legs.

After a few owlish blinks and ragged breaths, his head and shoulders sag with a relieved sigh. ] A bit too close for comfort, Mikotoba. Age is catching up with us, isn't it?

[ With a grunt, he rocks back on his knees to scan the room for any nightmare energy that may have followed them from the dream. The only immediate sign is the impossibly black, sooty residue ringing his trouser leg. ]

[The moment of awakening was so disorienting and alarming of itself, Yujin never processed the fall. The vertigo blended in perfectly. Still, as his coherency returns to him and his gaze hones in on the face so close above his own, he takes note of the fact that he's lying on his back and Sholmes-

His mind still racing, his breath gets stuck in the back of his throat for a moment. He can't blink. He should blink. There it is. Didn't improve anything though, did it?

When Sholmes sits back to move his weight to his knees, some of that weight also ends up on Yujin's upper legs, occupying most of the area between his groin and his own knees. A red hue dawns on his cheeks from embarrassment and he quickly sits up as well, even when the urge to hide his face beneath his pillow is just as strong.]

That... had very little to do with age, I think. Were you... in my dream, just now?

Indeed! And I must say, your slumbering mind is equal parts charming and terrifying, my friend. [ Though Sholmes well knows he didn't exactly help with the latter. The nightmare energy was more insidious and aggressive than he could ever have anticipated. If it had caught them, would they have both been corrupted into dangerous Noctaere?

So consumed is he by these worrying possibilities, it takes Sholmes a painfully long time to register Mikotoba's flushed cheeks, or that he's effectively sitting in the man's lap. Well ... that's a bit untoward, isn't it? He blinks away and clears his throat. ]

Pardon me. [ Sholmes finally shifts sideways to sit on the edge of the bed. From this position, he can clearly see the ruins of his tea shattered across the floor. ] It seems I've made quite a mess of your afternoon nap.

[The details of the dream are already beginning to slip away from him to some degree. Something to do with the flat in London, Iris and dancing...? But then, he's certain there was something dreadful in there as well. He can tell not only from Sholmes's words, but from the anxiety that's still lingering inside his chest. It had the feeling of a nightmare without a doubt.

When Sholmes finally moves off him, he raises his knees up towards his chest to make more room for the man on the side of the bed. His gaze follows his friend's towards the floor, where burned toast and teacup shards lie in a puddle. Did Sholmes drop that here? He's still fully dressed, he realizes, and remembers the resolve to 'lie down only for a moment'. That moment must've long since passed.]

Oh... Oh, no, please don't worry about it. I shouldn't have allowed myself to doze off. ...What time is it?

[ Sholmes reaches into his waistcoat and flicks open his pocketwatch. ] A quarter past three.

[ Did the time elapsed in the dream match reality? Or rather, reality relative to Songerein? He tries to recall when he entered the dream, but he can't say with any certainty. It's a shame this happened so unexpectedly; it would have made for good data.

On a less objective front, he has to wonder: is Mikotoba really trying to downplay this? To take some kind of responsibility for everything that just happened? He wouldn't put it past the man, but still— ]

How much of the dream do you remember, exactly?

[ Sholmes pushes off the bed and kneels to clean up the mess, stopping partway through to dust off and butter a piece of floor toast. He offers it to Yujin with brows raised invitingly. Yum? ]

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