we can't think, we can't stop;

[workaphilic]

Who: Sherlock Holmes and YOU.
What: Smoking is permissible in designated areas only. Theoretically.
When: NOW
Where: Library
Rating: PG for nicotine??

[He's an odd one, Sherlock Holmes, if you're somehow fortunate enough not to have noticed already. Usually he keeps the bulk of it restricted to his flat, but today he's taking the library.

Something about the chairs must be interrupting his thought-process, because he's taken a seat on top of one of the tables, smack-dab in the center. Scattered around him are more than a few books on various topics, from apiology to the botany of different worlds. He has one open in his lap.

He's not reading it right now, though. Right now he's apparently decided that this is the best time to light up a cigarette, surrounded by all this paper.

All in all, it's a bit of a spectacle.]

Comments

[persequor]

What would you compare it to then?

[workaphilic]

I wouldn't. [He's picky about his mind-altering substances. They don't lend themselves well to comparisons.] But caffeine is a better fit than chamomile.

[persequor]

—from the coffee!

That tastes awful. It's worse than wine.

[workaphilic]

Doesn't have much to do with the caffeine. It's in your tea, too.

[persequor]

Coffee is still awful.

[workaphilic]

[He shrugs. His gaze drops back down the book in his lap, and he takes another long drag off his cigarette.]

And? Don't drink it.

[persequor]

I don't. What are you looking for?

[workaphilic]

[Little girl, your questions. He turns a page.]

I'm not looking for anything.

[He's absorbing.]

[persequor]

[ Uh...huh. ]

What would you call what you're doing then?

[workaphilic]

[He smirks, just slightly, but doesn't look up.]

Reading.

[persequor]

Reading what? And I mean the content. [ Say "a book" and you're getting a book to the face. ]

[workaphilic]

Plants. [A pause, again, for the cigarette.] Specifically, poisonous ones.

[persequor]

To learn how to make a poison or identify it?

[workaphilic]

Both.

These plants don't exist in my world. It's important to understand them in their entirety.

[persequor]

Earth?

[workaphilic]

Yes.

[His eyes snap back up to her, carefully considering.]

Yours?

[persequor]

[ She smiles slightly. ]

No.

[workaphilic]

[He doesn't return it; he can talk and read at the same time, but he seems to be too distracted to remember to be polite.]

Which one is yours. I could already tell Earth wasn't it.

[persequor]

You didn't clarify.

[ Brat meet brat. ]

[workaphilic]

Didn't think I'd need to.

[It's obvious to him. Obvious enough for him not to consider what other people may or may not see.

He spreads his hands, a "fill in the blank" sort of gesture. He still wants an answer.]

[persequor]

[ Arya just raises an eyebrow at him. ]

Westeros.

[workaphilic]

[Westeros. Heard of it, read of it, but he hasn't interacted much with people from it. It's frustrating, sometimes, only being able to get a rudimentary picture of the other worlds represented here, but other times it's a decent enough distraction to try.

He gives her another long, assessing sort of Look, and then he nods and goes right back to what he was doing.]

I see.

[persequor]

So?

[workaphilic]

[He turns a page!!]

So what?

[persequor]

So what plant are you reading about?