035 || dictated;

[workaphilic]

[He spent the first full day locked in his room.

He didn't even try to wash it away. The outburst on the journals, with the way the stain faded against his skin -- it was clearly something not meant to be washed away. Streaks of red across his forehead, his eyes, his nose, his ear. Like he'd fallen from a great height and smashed his head against the ground.

He spent hours in front of the mirror, staring at himself. He can see the castle's little joke. "Blood" a shade too bright, close enough to be mistaken, but to a discerning eye.... To his eyes, perfectly trained, it looks like betrayal plain on his face.

He hasn't eaten, he hasn't slept.

On the second day, he doesn't care.

He goes about his business. He tends to his bees, he collects (steals) supplies from around the castle, back straight and eyes hard like he doesn't look like he made himself into a crime scene.

In the kitchen, sitting on the counter eating an apple, he opens the journal in his lap to read. Eventually, when he speaks, his tone is flat and bored.]

It isn't actually required that everyone come up with a sermon. As a reminder.

((Open over the journal or in person, if you like!))

Comments

[savethedarkness]

And thank you for that.

[she sounds infinitely relieved to not have to hear another, herself]

[workaphilic]

Yet another thing that shouldn't need to be said, but somehow still is.

[savethedarkness]

I've always been of the impression that common sense is a terrible misnomer. Here almost moreso than home.

dictated;

[panicswitched]

[ she really shouldn't be doing this but she just can't help it. ]

Amen.

[ y e p ]

[workaphilic]

[Clever!!]

Shall we have a hymn, as well?

[panicswitched]

Only if you can turn it gospel.

[ why is she doing this, why does she care. ]

[last_rat_standing]

[James strolls into the kitchen, two black teardrops stained on his cheeks and the stain of a silhouette of a black stag bleeding through his otherwise pristine white polo shirt.

He raises an eyebrow at the blood but otherwise doesn't react as he puts the kettle on. He's heard the news... repeatedly... and doesn't find it necessary to point out the obvious]

[workaphilic]

[Small miracles.

Sherlock, though, seems to be unconcerned about weirding strangers out by staring at them, because that's exactly what he's doing. Staring and crunching loudly on an apple with bloodstains all over his face.]

[last_rat_standing]

[Bond doesn't get "weirded out" so easily. He DOES, however, get suspicious of people taking more than a passing interest in him. As the water heats he turns his head to look at the man.]

Can I help you with something?

dictated;

[gottaknockhard]

You can't blame them for seeing a perfect opportunity.

[workaphilic]

I can blame them for seizing it.

[gottaknockhard]

Some people wait a long time for one to come up.

[ofhope]

Spike is right. Opportunists.

[workaphilic]

If they need to be preaching that badly, they could at least try to say something even marginally worth hearing.

[ofhope]

It doesn't matter how worth it, nobody listens when they're preached at. But they're certainly happy to argue back. Arguments can be enlightening, too, at least for other people.

[ Especially when on display for all to see. :> ]

[onlyanapple]

And then the people of Paradisa sayeth: shit happens, deal with it.

And lo the other people sayeth: but I want to complain and whine

And the first people sayeth back: we don't give a fuck, shut up.

[workaphilic]

Print it on a plaque and hang it by the door, maybe then people will pay attention.

[onlyanapple]

That's expecting far more from the residents here than they're actually capable of.

[Sherlock Holmes]

[jimfromit]

IKR? Doesn't panic just make everybody chatty?

JM

[He misses you baby.]

[ Jim Moriarty ]

[workaphilic]

[He wants to set you on fire.]

Feeling outmatched by a few spots? Not any tabloids to cry over you anymore, after all.

SH

[Sherlock Holmes]

[jimfromit]

No no no far from it, I'm actually finding it rather enjoyable.

So many secrets on display, it's enough to keep a gossip queen satisfied for months. :-D

JM

[Is he getting some kind of smug satisfaction from all this?

Yeah pretty much!]

[signedlefthanded]

People don't like dealing with their pasts. [She says as she enters the kitchen. For a girl with blood down her arms and hands, she's relaxed.]

[workaphilic]

[He watches her, his eyes dropping down once to her hands and then back up again. He'll leave it there.]

You'd never be able to tell, with all this chatter.

[peacockherald]

<sub>[ Like many, Vanyel had wished to remain hidden inside of his room, but he needed to tend to Yfandes, to the other animals - though that had turned into a bloody disaster. Well, not bloody, but only Yfandes and Onyx could rightly stand him as he was.

He came into the kitchen to fetch himself something to drink, someone warm, for he was so cold. His hands were coated in ice tinted red with blood, his lips frosted blue. Around his throat were inked the words to a spell he dared not utter or have uttered again, the shadow behind him long and bulky, out of proportion to himself. He at least kept the more gruesome of his wounds hidden beneath his jerkin, though a patch on his chest suggested something was there.

He glanced up at Sherlock as he came in, catching his last words. ]</sub>

I think it just makes them feel better.

[workaphilic]

[Oh. There's a lot to look at, here.

Sherlock takes it all in with a few calculated saccades... and then his eyes drop back down to the book in his lap. He takes a bite of his apple.

He won't mention it.]

Good for them. Doesn't mean we all need to be subjected to it.