piles of broken bricks, signposts on the path;

[workaphilic]

Who: Sherlock Holmes and YOU
What: The fly in the ointment.
When: Oct. 5 - 8, throughout
Where: Sherlock's mind (palace)
Rating: PG-13, may get to R depending on which path you take. CONTENT WARNING: SUICIDE

[This place is extravagant. Tasteful marble floors, muted colors, expensive silver. Every hall is lined with doors; the building is sprawling.

If you pay close attention, you'll find that the decor gets odd in places -- piles of soil and clay set along a bookshelf, flowering plants curled around doorknobs, packs of cigarettes arranged in a centerpiece, various guns set in a decorative display over a sink in a bathroom. Every room is different from the others; some are warm and inviting, others are stark in their minimalism.

But other than that meager evidence of a (very eccentric) owner, you're completely alone. The silence is ringing.

Welcome to the mind palace.]

THE GARDEN | DOWNSTAIRS | UPSTAIRS

Comments

[alias_savant]

[Neal goes to the garden first, drawn by the outdoors and the fresh air. Even if the air isn't really fresh -- he's realized that at this point -- but it's outside and not the castle, so as curious as he may be to look around the house, he wants a moment to breathe first.

He steps out and starts to look around, already trying to put together what the odd things out mean. He probably won't get very far, but it's always worth it to try.]

[workaphilic]

[The objects seem to be sorted into groups. Besides the others, there's also collections of shoes where flowers should be (one patch of trainers, another of boots, another of women's stilettos) and hats emblazoned with logos of various sports teams on the heads of statues.

The longer Neal looks, though, the less clear-cut they become. It's getting steadily darker, and the line between reality and optical illusion is growing thin. Are they boots, or flat-headed snakes?

Is that rustling in the bushes just another quiet noise of nature, or something else?]

[alias_savant]

[His eyes are focused on the shoes for a moment, blinking occasionally to see if he can get a better view of what it is.

He ignores the rustling for a moment, trying to move closer to get a better look.]

[workaphilic]

[Ironically, even as he gets closer and looks more carefully, the objects still won't stay static. Maybe they're shoes, or a resting flock of pigeons, or a collection of exposed landmines. There isn't nearly enough light for the shadows to be shifting, but every time he blinks it's like seeing them from a new angle.

The rustling gets louder, moving parallel with him.

Whatever it is, it sounds like it's following him.]

[alias_savant]

[Eventually the sound gets to the point where he can't ignore it anymore, and he turns to look, trying to find the source.]

[workaphilic]

[The rustling stops when he looks, but it's replaced by a low, rumbling sound. Growling -- from what sounds like a wolf, or a very large dog.

But where the rustling seemed to be following the path, the growling spreads, is harder to pinpoint to one specific hedge in the darkness.]

[alias_savant]

[ ... Oh dear.

Neal starts to back towards the house, eyes still scanning the darkness to try and find the source.]

[workaphilic]

[He's definitely farther away from the house now than he was before. Or have the lights just gotten dimmer? In fact, they're fading fast, swallowed by that unnatural darkness.

There's scrabbling in the bushes. It's definitely moving, maybe crossing behind him -- or is it in front? A large animal like that, it should be easy to tell... but it's so difficult to keep things straight out here.

Then, suddenly, there's an extra source of light. What looks to be a flashlight, cutting through the darkness.]

[alias_savant]

[His hand comes up to shield his eyes as he starts traveling towards the source of the light. Light meant safety, or at least this point.]

[workaphilic]

[The light bobs and sways, like whoever is holding it is on the move. By the time Neal catches up with it, it's been wedged in-between the branches of a tree, casting a pool of light around the roots.

Everything becomes more clear once he reaches it. The ever-present growling fades, the lines of the plantlife start to look less menacing, and the darkness seems to recede to a more natural state.

(In other words, yes. Light most definitely means safety.)

There's a man in a dark coat rummaging through a bush just outside the beam.]

[alias_savant]

[he frowns, watching him for a moment before taking a step closer.]

Need a hand?

[workaphilic]

[He jerks around, squints hard. There's a gun in his hand, but it looks wrong, like he's not the one who should be holding it.]

No.

[He strides back into the light, rolling his shoulders uncomfortably when he crosses out of the darkness. He studies Neal carefully.]

How did you get out here?

[alias_savant]

I'm ... not sure.

[and that's a valid answer. He doesn't know how he got here, though he could hazard a few guesses.]

It's probably the castle.

[workaphilic]

What?

[There's a completely lack of understanding on his face. The concept of Paradisa doesn't register with him at all.

He's not really in a mood to deal with it, though.]

Never mind. Take this.

[He holds the butt of the gun out in Neal's direction.]

[alias_savant]

[Neal hesitates for a moment, before taking the gun. He's never liked guns. He knows how to use them, but he doesn't like them.]

[workaphilic]

[Sherlock pulls another gun from the inside of his coat, clicks off the safety, and stoops to fetch his flashlight back from the tree.

Then he's on the move again.]

Come on.

[alias_savant]

[Neal blinks at him for a moment, but not for long. Getting left behind doesn't seem like the best idea, so he'll follow right on Sherlock's heels.]