Sherlock Holmes (Ruler) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
improbablenotimpossible) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
daybreakacademy2019-10-05 08:53 pm
improbablenotimpossible) wrote in daybreakacademy2019-10-05 08:53 pm
Entry tags:
Case 2
Who: Sherlock Holmes, Open
When: Post Hunt, early October
Where: All over.
Warning: Talk of Hunt induce wtfery, will update as needed.
TEXT, September 27
UN: ThreeCoffins
I know I am not the only one who had fallen sway to the Wild Hunt's influence, and I want to apologize for what I might have done. My memory is unfortunately a blur for much of the night - this is an explanation not an excuse.
All I can say - I can assure you, that I have no intentions or desire to harm anyone when I am in my right mind, but I can understand any wariness you might have.
[Garage]
[The car he had driven off on that night was hauled back instead of being taken to a junk yard, and in the evenings, one can find the vampire dressed shockingly casual in oil-stained faded jeans and an old white with a hazy camel on the front. The windshield was shattered, but the hood is popped up, and he's leaning in, seeming completely focused on the engine block, for once not noticing if anyone's approaching, muttering to himself]
Figures there's misalignment... suspension needs work... when the hell did they last change out the oil filter?
[He seems quite absorbed in this]
[ANGRY VIOLIN NOISES]
[Music is his focus, and his escape - normally he would be in his room, but it was late at night so he sought out one of the auditoriums in Theater Lenormand, playing to what he thought would be an audience of zero, the bow angrily darting across the strings, his entire body jerking and twisting with the angry, frustrated melody that is coming out for almost an hour. Then as if he just burned out all his emotion, his bow drops from his hand, and he pitches backwards, falling into a chair, cradling the violin in his hand like it was a precious newborn]
[Library]
[Someone can be seen with stacks of books, many of them pertaining to the Hunt, and others towards mind-influencing magic, he is constantly cross-referencing and doubling up, writing by hand in a huge book filled with sticky notes and faded newspaper clippings, as well as typing it out into a laptop. Doubling the work, but also making sure he's less likely to lose his work.
Unfortunately this means he's hogging those books for the time being, as well as making an entire table unusable due to the mess he's making]
When: Post Hunt, early October
Where: All over.
Warning: Talk of Hunt induce wtfery, will update as needed.
TEXT, September 27
UN: ThreeCoffins
I know I am not the only one who had fallen sway to the Wild Hunt's influence, and I want to apologize for what I might have done. My memory is unfortunately a blur for much of the night - this is an explanation not an excuse.
All I can say - I can assure you, that I have no intentions or desire to harm anyone when I am in my right mind, but I can understand any wariness you might have.
[Garage]
[The car he had driven off on that night was hauled back instead of being taken to a junk yard, and in the evenings, one can find the vampire dressed shockingly casual in oil-stained faded jeans and an old white with a hazy camel on the front. The windshield was shattered, but the hood is popped up, and he's leaning in, seeming completely focused on the engine block, for once not noticing if anyone's approaching, muttering to himself]
Figures there's misalignment... suspension needs work... when the hell did they last change out the oil filter?
[He seems quite absorbed in this]
[ANGRY VIOLIN NOISES]
[Music is his focus, and his escape - normally he would be in his room, but it was late at night so he sought out one of the auditoriums in Theater Lenormand, playing to what he thought would be an audience of zero, the bow angrily darting across the strings, his entire body jerking and twisting with the angry, frustrated melody that is coming out for almost an hour. Then as if he just burned out all his emotion, his bow drops from his hand, and he pitches backwards, falling into a chair, cradling the violin in his hand like it was a precious newborn]
[Library]
[Someone can be seen with stacks of books, many of them pertaining to the Hunt, and others towards mind-influencing magic, he is constantly cross-referencing and doubling up, writing by hand in a huge book filled with sticky notes and faded newspaper clippings, as well as typing it out into a laptop. Doubling the work, but also making sure he's less likely to lose his work.
Unfortunately this means he's hogging those books for the time being, as well as making an entire table unusable due to the mess he's making]
no subject
There's quite a few musically inclined people in both the faculty and student body, so the instruments do get a work out...
[He closes his eyes, listening to the tune as the violin soon returns to position, bow resting]
Debussy - more low-key than I usually hear this being played...
[Then he joins, the bow gently gliding, fingers dancing against the neck]
no subject
[Though after he says that, he speaks no more - letting his fingers go forth and play for him, spilling himself out on the keys.
It's no surprise, then, that the music that springs forth is melancholic but also strangely hopeful and determined - along with a strong core that refuses to be drowned out, playing along as if to drag the violin with him...for the moment.]
no subject
[His eyes slipped closed, letting the melody catch him, seeming to wrap around his spine and wash over him. A counter melody started to come from his strings, inquisitive, seeking, with the same tones of melancholy and willfulness. For the moment, he seem content to follow along, but there's a few streaks of an impish chord, demanding to be noticed.
Perhaps Darwin was right - that music did come before speech, thus how it's so effective in changing one's state of mind]
no subject
At that inquisitiveness, that impish chord - he draws it in, a liveliness suddenly coming to the forefront, as if asking to play...or dance, causing a smile to cross his face.
Always the same, no matter the era.]
no subject
no subject
He's grinning now, rushing along, trying to sweep the man up in his own pace.]