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

[costing]

"Whoever controls this game has shown themselves capable of a great deal. They might have taken her moments before," Sherlock suggests. "Or perhaps they have unlocked the secret of human life. Bottled it for consumption-- they seem fond of capitalist cliches. In any case, you can hope for a best-case scenario until you're faced with a different reality. I suggest you take that chance."

[aintyourdad]

Joel snorts faintly. "Pretty fuckin' hopeful of you," he says. Hope is largely alien to Joel's experience, these days. He has a little - enough to keep going on, anyway. Enough to keep driving him forward, putting one foot in front of the other.

Ellie had enough hope for the both of them, really.

"Our odds were never good," he finally points out. "Even before we showed up here. Thanks for the help, though." Even if he was the cause of it.

[costing]

"That's a qualitative assessment of a neutral statement." Sherlock doesn't really hold with hope, or at least wouldn't admit to it. He shakes his head, taps his fingers against his thighs as he rocks on his feet. "I was merely stating an option that is open to you, and that may soon be gone. The typical response to fleeting opportunities is to chase them."

He shrugs off the thanks. "I should thank you for not trying to murder me horrendously for a televised audience." He doesn't say that he thinks he could've maneuvered his way out of a situation like that.

[aintyourdad]

Chase them. At this point, Joel is pretty much done chasing anything. He doesn't necessarily want to die, but people in his experience rarely have a choice in those matters anyway. He's been too lucky, for too long. Maybe he's as ready as he'll ever be.

He glances at Sherlock at his final statement, though, and brushes it off with a grimace. "That ain't what I do. Not for an audience, not for fun, not because I can. I kill if I have to, to stay alive. That's all."

[costing]

It's not death as he knows it at all. It isn't brought on by fits of passion or perverse predilections. Usually, murderers are easily identified, analyzed, predicted. This place tosses all of that on its head, forces people to act outside of their normal parameters.

He doesn't like being so caught out.

"I hope your integrity remains so focused." He honestly means that, too. He's familiar enough with people being twisted beyond recognition.

[aintyourdad]

Joel has to laugh at that - it's a low, humorless sort of chuckle, because integrity is just not a word that he would use to describe himself. Not after twenty years of killing, torturing, maiming. Everything he's done, he's done to survive, but he doesn't delude himself into thinking that he's any kind of good person, or has any particular personal integrity.

We're shitty people, Joel. It's been that way for a long time. Tess was right, of course, Joel just prefers not to deal in moral absolutes. And he's so far from the man he was. If Sarah could see him now, she wouldn't even recognize him, and not just because of the lines on his face and the gray in his hair.

"Sure, pal," he says eventually. "Good luck out there."

[costing]

"I highly doubt luck will have anything to do with the outcome, now," he says easily. "But I thank you for the sentiment all the same."

The thing of it is, while Sherlock doesn't like most people, he knows how to tell the normal from the evil. Intentions are just as easily read as anything else. If Joel's universe was a harsh one, and this one even harsher, does that make him a bad person? Sherlock's not sure, when it comes to shades of gray. Issues of morality are messy, for him, and hard to parse in relation to himself. So he goes with what he feels will be most reassuring-- he doesn't do the best Watson imitation, but it's passable.

He lifts a hand, like a wave goodbye, and prepares to walk away.