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]

"Or doubly over-weighed." Christopher has become a bit of a puzzle-- each new piece of information he's learned about him only begs more questions. The fact that he isn't easily solved is both frustrating and intriguing. But Sherlock doesn't know whether he has the time to dally and investigate.

"I thank you for the thought, in any case."

[inhumanity]

"My, wouldn't that be an unnatural affair?" Christopher has apparently decided to settle down, shifting his legs to cross them as he toys with the flower. "Further in, this floor has most of the weapons that haven't been stolen yet. If you've a weapon that harmonizes with your heart, you ought to seek it out before it's stolen away."

[costing]

"I'm not a soldier. But I'm sure that much was obvious." He has no use for weapons, not when he hasn't made decisions about this place yet.

"And what about you? You intend to get by with just shattered glass?"