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! ]

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[ For all his incredible accomplishments as a chemist, Sholmes is still a miserable cook; he has managed to both burn a few slabs of toast and over-steep an entire pot of green tea. Still, he is undeterred. This is nothing a liberal helping of preserves, sugar and milk can’t fix--all of which are haphazardly added to a tray.

This spontaneous hospitality is courtesy of a rare fit of contrition: he hasn’t been the most pleasant house guest. Even beyond his ill-conceived pranks and disruptive energy level, his clutter has already begun to cover once-pristine surfaces like a creeping, intellectual mold.

He makes a circuit of the treehouse layout, wondering if his host has snuck out to run an errand--until he hears stirring from Yujin’s room and finds the door slightly ajar. He raps on it with a single, curled knuckle, and waits for only a split second before letting himself in. Boundaries? Pshaw. Herlock Sholmes knows no such word. ]

Mikotoba, can I interest you in some--

[ The door swings open--not to the expected calm of the doctor’s room--but to a blast of familiar air: damp and cold, thick with soot and the last weak whiffs of the Thames’ Great Stink. Cobbles are hard and uneven under his feet, gas lights golden against the blue evening shadows that have settled over Baker Street.

Glancing around, the place feels more like a sketch, or perhaps a backdrop in a play: some elements are rendered as meticulously sharp focal points (the front stoop of 221B), while others are cursory brushstrokes (Windibank’s cluttered shop windows).

He spins back around, fully expecting to see the interior of the treehouse, but no, now a storefront stands behind him, empty but for his own likeness in the dark glass: younger in ways that are easily perceptible to Sholmes’ observant vanity. His mop of blond hair is trimmed and better tamed, relatively speaking. His eyes have a pugnacious keenness that he scarcely remembers, but can’t help but find a bit insufferable in this youthful reflection.

All that aside, his lower back feels fantastic, and that particular suit was always rather flattering--a bitter shame it had been thoroughly ruined during a case.

Taken in total, this odd change of scenery must be none other than the “dreamwalking” he’s been warned about. But is it his own? Or has he just stepped into his partner’s dreamscape? Maybe this calls for more discretion than simply barging into a room: ]

Knock-knock! Mikotoba! Is this your dream? [ A pause. ] ... Are you decent?

[ While he listens for a response, he looks down. His laden tray has been replaced by a sloppy stack of case files. He squints curiously at their labels, but the black text squirms like marching lines of insects and he drops them with instinctual shock. No sooner do the files and their contents spill across the stones than he hears an unmistakable sound slice through the evening quiet: a baby crying.

His eyes follow the sound to the second story window of 221B: wide open and warmly lit. Sholmes rushes to the door and tries the knob. Locked. Blast. He pats his pockets for his key--missing--then his lockpicks--also gone. Confound it. He yanks on the bell pull before stepping back to the sidewalk.

Dream or not, that wailing--so perfectly designed to tug at deep, primitive instincts--is beginning to fray his nerves. In desperation, he finally cups a hand to his mouth and shouts: ]

Mikotoba? Mikotoba?! Are you in there?

[ MAN, that sure is a lot of stuff! And here is the duality of Susato, who finds herself endlessly fascinated by everything, and yet, she unfortunately also works here, so she has no interest in allowing even one table to turn into any part of 221B Baker St, even for a moment. Ever.

She stops by Sholmes' table to clear out the empty dishes and mugs, glasses, teacups--whatever he seems to have lost interest in. She doesn't think he will notice. If he does, well, too bad. It's getting to be too much! ]

. . . Careful not to eat out of those jars of yours by accident. Or knock them over. [ She winces, seeing one of his arms swing a little too close-- ] A, Actually, please don't leave them so close to the edge to begin with. [ She pushes a couple of the jars in, not being able to help herself. She's going into fuss mode, and she definitely isn't going to wait till he leaves to tidy after him. ]

[Weirdly enough, there is an actual reason van Zieks is visiting this particular location, although the timing may be mere coincidence. With the hopeful opening of a drinking establishment he'll be providing for, he's come to the gardens to seek some... inspiration, let's say. To see what others have managed to grow, and what might be appealing.

He probably won't be paying much attention to the plants, though, now that the disjointed playing has drawn his attention to a familiar blond.

Well, you couldn't avoid him forever, Barok.

... even if it's tempting.

...... really tempting.]

Mr. Sholmes.

[His tone is only slightly less biting than previous meetings of theirs; his reluctance is clear, but he is still, for some reason, actually bringing attention to himself.]

I was informed of your arrival. [He glances at the fish, his harsh gaze scrutinizing them.] I see you have taken to this place quickly, as I suspected you might.

[As nice as the words alone might be, it doesn't sound like he's complimenting the man...]

[ Ori frequents the communal garden, especially now that springtime is just around the corner - but a late-day visit is not usually accompanied by the wonderful sound of a violin! She is certainly not from a variant of Earth nor does she have a keen ear for classical music, and thus the piece is lost on her, but she likes music and hearing people play instruments all the same. Even if the music it self seems to start and stop.

The tiefling can't help but find herself curious as to where the music is coming from, and so she goes deeper into the garden. She's met a few people as of late that seemed to be interested in music or were bards, themselves, so maybe it's one of them...?

When she finally catches the sight of Herlock, she startles a bit and drops the basket of freshly-picked tulips she had been holding - silly her, forgetting that there are so many dreamwalkers around, many of whom she hasn't yet met. ]

Oh...!

[ She kneels down to try quickly and quietly pick up her basket and flowers. Hopefully she isn't disturbing this violinist...! ]

[Gina's stopped by for lunch. Her usual lunch food being some fish and chips of course!

It's not unusual to see someone she knows eating here, especially considering that the place is run by Kazuma and has Susato on the staff, to boot! But what is unusual is... well... whatever Sholmes has going on at his table. To be fair, Sholmes doing something unusual is actually very normal, but it still raises questions! Especially as she seems to get a better look at whatever's inside those jars as she draws closer with her food.]

Alright Sholmes. Wot're ya up to now? [She has to determine if this is cool, lame or just plain weird.

Toby scurries along as well, sniffing inquisitively at Sholmes's shoes.]

[It's the music that grabs Alastor's attention. Typically, he has to provide his own music, rifling through the vast catalogue of music in his head before projecting it around himself. But with the arrival of instruments via the theater...]

[Alastor abandons his original stroll, ears swiveling about to catch the direction the violin music is coming from. It takes a few minutes to determine the song due to the constant starting and stopping, as if the violinist was playing from memory when typically they would use sheet music: Violin Concerto No. 2 in B Minor, Op. 7: III. Rondo "La Campanella". A tricky piece to play in general, not just from memory.]

[With only the slightest thought, Alastor begins projecting the song outwards, continuing to walk towards the sound of the original violinist.]

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Closed to professorbestie, expect big fat GAA/GAA2 spoilers

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B... for barok! :D

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