thearena | there is nothing more deceptive

His first thought is that the entire situation is ludicrous. The outfits, the setting, the very premise. After entering the arena, Sherlock’s first thought is to wrap his head around the entirety of the situation, but that proves easier thought of than done. He takes to rubbing his forearm where the tracker had been implanted, a gesture he knows comes off as a nervous tick but one that he can’t help.

The need for cover doesn’t seem real to him, yet, but he bets on the fact that the explanation he was given was true. So when he finds an overturned car in the basement, he ducks around it for a moment. He tries to take stock, listens carefully. If he hears anyone approach, he’ll try to observe them before making himself known. He isn’t much of a runner, but he’s counting on his ability to distract if it comes down to it.

--

A little while later he can be found at one of the doors to the staircases. He knows that the elevators would be faster, but they’re also more easily controlled. He doesn’t have any of his lock-picking tools with him, but he’s good at improvising. So for several long minutes, Sherlock toys with the locks with bits of thin rubble, trying to rig them open.

He looks as though his concentration on the lock is absolute; he doesn’t turn his head or even pause. But his senses are acute, trained to notice if anyone comes at him. He knows of his own tendency to get lost in his own head, and so tries his utmost to be as alert as he can.

--

And finally, he’ll grow tired of the door’s lock and abandon it. That’s a tough pill for him to swallow—failing at something—but compared to all else going on around him, it’s the smallest on his list of grievances. Instead, now, he turns to the elevators and picks a random number once he’s inside.

He ends up on the fourth floor. He lifts a brow, as he prepares to exit the elevator. A museum. He supposes that’s fitting, given the atmosphere of the arena. A museum is a place of past spectacle. They’ve just now combined it with a live, present one. It’s almost too fitting, in a campy way that makes him feel like he’s being mocked. But he takes a deep breath, rubs at his arm again, and prepares to explore.

( ooc: feel free to encounter him at any point; i'll edit things if anything major occurs. i have a permissions post for deductions here, if there's anything you think i/sherlock should know. and if you'd like any more specific scenarios or want to plot a bit further, please let me know. )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Personally? No. However, I've been assured of it by people I...let us say my relationship to them is such that I trust them implicitly, even about something so hard to believe. I've also seen...footage, from the previous Arena, with some of the Tributes I've seen here." He looks more than a little sick at the thought.

"Well. Have you any more questions?"

Footage can be faked, his mind supplies helpfully. And death can be, too. Even when there's blood and DNA. But he can tell that Kankri believes what he says to be the truth, so Sherlock sees no point in voicing his doubts aloud.

"That will suffice, for now." He gets to his feet, but doesn't move. "I believe we were bargaining, however. So now it comes to me to help you."

Not something he's really in the habit of, but fair is fair.

"Ah, yes." Kankri hops down from the counter, and now the red-stained bandages on his side are clearly visible through the tear in his sweater with the change in position. "You had mentioned improved measures for security."

Even if they've kept safe successfully for the most part, he doesn't want to take extra chances with Venus so wounded and still fighting the infection in her leg.

He notices the wound, but can't really offer to help in that regard. Not for the first time, he wishes Watson were with him. Not that he'd want her to be here, but he knows he'd do better with her around.

He spreads his hands, looks around as if making a sales pitch. "Are you planning on staying here, in this location?"

"For the foreseeable future," Kankri replies, and ticks off the points Venus impressed on him to remember for this sort of thing on his fingers. "It's close to exits in case we need to run. It came stocked with food, which has meant we've been able to barter quite a bit so far while keeping a significant amount of rations for ourselves. There's running water, so for the foreseeable future we can keep our bottles filled in case they shut it off and also clean any scrapes. It has plenty of spots to duck into and hide if need be, including the pantry, which we can shut ourselves in in a pinch. And it gives us a good view of all the approaches, so if we're vigilant we won't be taken by surprise by anyone. It's also close to the elevators, which deliver our Sponsor gifts, so there's less chance of someone getting to them before us."

"A mildly impressive strategy. Assuming you're always aware of the people coming from or towards the elevators themselves." He steps back for a moment, surveys what he'll be working with. It isn't much, but he's resourceful. The chime on the elevators is one layer of defense for those on the other side, but it's still possible to be caught off-guard. "If you set up an alarm system along the perimeter, it'd afford you more time. If anyone did approach."

"They have to pass by here to get to the elevators, and the elevators make a different chime for Tributes and Sponsor gifts," Kankri replies. "But what were you thinking? I wouldn't mind another layer of defense."

"Use obstructions to your advantage, not theirs." Sherlock says, simply. If he's ever strapped for cash, he'll make a really good private security consultant. "Set up a path of obstacles in your line of sight with known weak points-- places you know to look to see if anyone's using them for cover. Then know the blind spots they create, so you can use that cover without weakness."

"I see. Make it more difficult for people to come in unannounced while not making it look as if it's occupied, so people looking to take out competition won't target it unless they already know we're here." He nods. "It's sensible. And it's easy to make it look as if things were scattered about in a tussle."

He glances to the man, then to the pantry. Bites his lip. They're short on food. He can't afford to give it away anymore. Hunger gnaws at him near constantly now. He could afford it before, but he can't now. He can't.

He digs in the tote at his side and holds out a stale cinnamon roll, not looking Sherlock in the eyes. "You need it more than I do," he mumbles. "Most of the food has been picked clean by others already, and the edible plants and the cafeteria were destroyed last week. We're not likely to get a lot more."

His stomach growls slightly. He pointedly ignores it.

Sherlock nods, then continues to point out several spots this might work best in. There’s about three or four in all, scattered so that if Kankri needs cover he’ll be able to get it wherever he is.

He doesn’t immediately reach for the roll, shaking his head. “That was not part of the bargain. You owe me nothing else. It would be smarter to conserve your resources.”

"It's not about the bargain," Kankri snaps. "Or what's owed. Or what's smarter. Just because I'd rather not die doesn't mean I can't be a decent person. For that matter, it would be smarter for you not to turn down any such offer."

"Though I may not be the best judge, I was already under the impression that you are a 'decent person.'" He says it lightly, but he can tell that here, that means a lot. What kind of person you are, particularly if you're doomed to die.

"I've gone longer without food," he continues. "It won't be a problem."

"Longer than four weeks?" Kankri says tartly. "Because that's how long we've been here, and as I said we're down to just half our previous numbers. Just take it."

"Fine." He's not going to argue with a child. That is (occasionally) beneath even him. "But if end up dying of starvation, I refuse to see that as murder on my part."

"As do I," he retorts, and hands over the cinnamon roll. "I'd like to think my choices are my own, thank you very much."

He pauses a moment. Then: "I'm Kankri Vantas. I'm guessing you haven't seen a troll before."

He takes the roll, then glances Kankri over with more assessment than before.

"Sherlock Holmes." He nods. "Your assumption is correct. Am I correct in assuming you aren't native to Earth, at all?"

"I'd never even heard of this planet before coming here. Which isn't surprising, since I've been informed we belong to entirely different universes." He shrugs slightly. "And all the other trolls present are apparently from an alternate timeline from mine, so in a way I'm the only representative of my people here."

"Which gives you the opportunity to present yourself in any way that you wish." It seems logical, to him. But also lonely. It's been a long time since he's felt truly lonely-- not since he decided he actually enjoyed Watson's company. "I imagine that flexibility could be useful, here."

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