there is nothing more deceptive

[costing]

Who| sherlock holmes & open.
What| an arrival, an exploration, perhaps more than one encounter.
Where| the basement & fourth floor.
When| the beginning of week 5.
Warnings/Notes| to be added as needed.

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. )

Comments

o>

[costing]

“A farmer. The traditional use for a scythe is the decapitation of grain, not men.” Though of course their use as weapons is not insignificant.

But at the mention of his name, at rehab—there’s only one logical explanation. Someone almost exactly like him exists in this place. Considering his relative feelings of isolation and uniqueness, which have persisted for most of his life, this is a tough pill to swallow. Especially if it means people could know of his weaknesses. Addiction is not something he’ll ever be rid of. But it’s also not something he’s ready to share with the world.

“I am not a Victor. In fact, I am convinced this is a game I wouldn’t want to win.”

Re: o>

[sleeplessinalternia]

Karkat squints at him. "Well, you look a fuckton more like him than the other Sherlock, but whatever. Maybe you're another weird alternate universe clone version thing, like that sponsor guy, Timmy, and that other dude from D7. Or the Watsons or whatever. Also, maybe these are just grain cutting tools where you come from, but on civilized planets they're the time-honored weapon of the Threshecutioner Corps."

He could cull this guy, he thinks. Even with his fucked up arm and no mask to make up for it. He's not entirely sure why he hasn't tried, except it kind of feels gross to cull someone after right after having a non-hostile conversation with them.

[costing]

“There are, at any given time, perhaps as many as six people near-identical to any individual on earth.” He shrugs. He’d be able to tell non-related people who looked similar apart, but an untrained eye probably couldn’t. “Given how much this world stretches possibility, I don’t doubt that they could collect such a group.”

But there’s something more pressing going on here. “Other Sherlock? Watsons? You’ll have to elaborate.”

Because he can guess at the basics, but needs to know the facts.

i'm sorry, karkat's account of this is hampered by his imperfect understanding of humans

[sleeplessinalternia]

"Okay," Karkat says, leaning against a largish standing display. "So, evidently there was this guy from District Three who won the Games back when the Capitol was still using their lowblood--well, low caste, humans rank caste weird, it doesn't have anything to do with blood--any-fucking-way, before they used to kidnap people like us to fight in the games, they used the low caste humans from the Districts instead. And there was this guy named Sherlock Holmes who got reaped from D3 and won by using bees somehow, I don't know all the details, maybe he threw a hive at the last guys standing and they got stung to death." It made as much sense as anything.

"Anyway, for some reason or another, some time after they started kidnapping people for the Games, the Capitol decided via its insane human logic that what it really needed to do was kidnap this guy also named Sherlock Holmes from the planet British and his cousin Watson and make them play in the games, only the new Holmes didn't look very much like the first Holmes and he was a way bigger dick who decided he wanted to be Watson's human boyfriend and tried to steal him from his actual human girlfriend, Effie. And then another Watson showed up only this time she was a girl and she didn't look much like the Watson from the planet British. And I guess eventually they kidnapped you for fuck knows what reason, only you actually look more like the original Sherlock Holmes."

[costing]

“I believe the word you’re looking for is class.” That’s about all he can say, at first, because while he’s used to rapidly accessing information, this is a bit much. A version of himself—who used bees—who would’ve been a murderer.

“Perhaps we’re a universal constant,” he says, meaning it lightly. But it’s too much to be written off. And then, immediately, he continues with a sterner tone— “The woman, Watson. Is she still here?”

[sleeplessinalternia]

"Maybe," Karkat says. "I mean fuck, for all I know, there was some troll version of you whose hatchname was Surlok Holmes. And yeah, as far as I know she's still around. She was a tribute for this arena, anyway, and I haven't heard her name get called yet. She's probably with Asshole Sherlock, he's like a Watson magnet or some shit like that. Why, is she your Watson?"

[costing]

"It's possible." He'd need to know much more about her, to be certain. "My partner is a woman named Watson. Whether she is the one here remains to be seen. Particularly since our names appear to be popular."

He spreads his hands. Not enough data, not the right position from which to gather.

"Your species hatches." Not a question.

[sleeplessinalternia]

"Yeah," Karkat says, "like civilized species. What of it? Yours implants parasitical young in the females." He makes a face, because that is still so gross.

[costing]

"I'm merely curious. You're only the second member of your species that I've encountered." He shrugs elaborately.

[sleeplessinalternia]

Karkat shrugs. "They've only kidnapped less than a dozen of us, so I'm not fucking surprised. You're still alive, so you probably didn't meet the fucking Initiate, so which one was it?"

[costing]

"As far as I can tell, he was your relative." See, two can play at that game, Karkat. He can be cryptic about people who look like you, too.

[sleeplessinalternia]

Karkat gives him a withering look. "Yeah, well, was he bigger than me or did he just have a cylindrical wood length shoved up his waste chute, because the latter of those is a self-righteous asshole."

[costing]

Some might consider that assessment harsh. But Sherlock regularly refers to his brother as Fatty and hated his guts until quite recently, so he only shrugs.

"The latter, I'd assume. I wasn't of the mind to examine his posterior." He got the mangled idiom, he's just decided to keep it going.

[sleeplessinalternia]

"I can't fucking think who'd want to," Karkat says. Anyway, it's not so much that he mangled the idiom as the dialect for lowblood trolls favors overcomplication. "So, when did you get here?"

[costing]

"Oh, about two hours and fifteen minutes ago." He says that lightly. Like they're discussing the weather.

"From what I can tell the rest of you have been here much longer. Four weeks, or further into the second month?"

[sleeplessinalternia]

"Shit," Karkat says, "you really are a fucking noob. Did someone give you the whole talk about being resurrected yet? Because that's a thing they do if they find you sufficiently entertaining. Me, I've been on Panem for perigees. This is, like, my fourth arena and the third one where I've been in from the start."

[costing]

"You must be hiding your ability to be sufficiently entertaining quite well at the moment, then."

But four arenas-- and personal experience of resurrection. That's... something.

[sleeplessinalternia]

Karkat rolls his eyes. "Fuck you, dude. You don't even know what these Capitol humans like. They're all about interpersonal drama and shit and I'm just so fucking lucky to have that crap following me around everywhere."

[costing]

"They seem like most examples of humanity, actually." He's deduced that much. "Taken to a frantic, exaggerated end, yes. But the tendency towards drama, and reveling in violence-- that's something we've had all along."

He looks up, as if he's comprehending something.

"If you are the common factor in all your associated drama, it does beg the question of whether it follows you or you originate it."

[sleeplessinalternia]

Karkat can feel his cheeks heat up. "Not all the time," he mutters.

[costing]

"Which leaves most of the time. Which may have proved an annoyance in the past, but is now keeping you alive. That must be grating."

He's more fascinated than amused.

[sleeplessinalternia]

Karkat shoots him a dirty look. "Yeah, must be. You better hope yours goes to shit too if you want to keep going."

[costing]

"Hard-won peace isn't worth a few more days of struggling for survival." He shrugs off Karkat's statement immediately, because his life has been shit, and he's not inclined to go back to his worst extremes. It seems fitting that he would've seen Moriarty just before arriving here, in that sense. As a reminder.

[sleeplessinalternia]

Karkat rolls his eyes. "Whatever. Anyway, congratu-fucking-lations, you've just got dumped into the part of the game where everyone's food's running out, though knowing Kankri he probably gave you some of his anyway because he's a moron with no sense of self-preservation."

[costing]

"If you don't care for his well-being, why would that bother you?" Is he picking at the issue on purpose? Oh, yes. Though he chooses not to confirm Karkat's very correct assumption.