033 || dictated;

[workaphilic]

[Sherlock has been keeping to himself. Experiments to run, theories to test, thoughts to be had. He knows how to keep himself busy when it's necessary.

Unfortunately, his new hermit lifestyle doesn't agree well with the high-energy, high-maintenance puppy that's been passed down to him. Walking Gladstone around the flat doesn't seem to be cutting it, and he has no concept of what to do to make it better.

So predictably, when the journal opens, it does so to absolute chaos.

It must have fallen or been thrown, because it catches the tail-end of a BANG. There's a far off groan of frustration, followed by the much-closer snuffling of a dog that's found something new to investigate.]

Stop it. Stop-- [There's a series of small yips as Sherlock stoops to pick the journal up off the floor...

... Followed by an awkward pause while he debates between slamming it shut for the sake of his dignity, and asking for the help he clearly needs.

Well, the castle's heard the worst part already, and he is desperate. He clears his throat.]

My dog [the words sound stilted even as they come out of his mouth, but he presses on like what he's about to say isn't patently ridiculous] has been... energetic, lately. Too much. Walking isn't enough, apparently, and since I'm not about to let him loose through the hallways, I need someone with a dog approximately the same size and age to give him something to do.

Bloodhound, three months. Let me know.

[And the journal shuts, dignity only mostly damaged.]

Comments

[workaphilic]

Oh, we finished with our monarchy phase ages ago. We're on to democracy now, hadn't you heard?

Not to worry, though. The Queen still waves at us on special occasions, and there's a prince or two on a magazine cover every so often.

[ensorceler]

[ Wow what? Give her a break, what is democracy? ]

You mean to say, in so many words, that England has fallen.

[workaphilic]

No. I mean to say that England has continued to function just fine long after you became irrelevant.

[ensorceler]

[ There's a sharp inhale at that, and her response is more delayed than she would like. But it can't be helped. Anne's truly shaken by his claim, even if she really can't believe it. She still has trouble even believing that this isn't a dream, that Paradisa really exists and that there are people from the past, future, from other worlds...

And then there's this man, just a man, making declarations that would rightfully earn an execution in any kingdom. And she wants this. She wanted it before, but even more-so now, so long as his tongue is first ripped from his blasphemous mouth. ]

There are none so close to God in a kingdom than it's own king, and His Majesty made certain that England held onto it's true faith, but not without his grace and majesty to guide it along. Do you deny the Church of England?

[workaphilic]

Never been one for organized religion. Loads of more important things to be doing on a Sunday morning.

[ensorceler]

[ This time she snaps without hesitation, a deadpan hold to her voice. You prat. ]

Only Sunday?

[workaphilic]

The other six I just can't be bothered.

[The way he says it, he might as well be laughing.

bad life choices.]

[ensorceler]

I find myself only asking out of the most morbid of curiosities, what does an over-zealous, blasphemous traitor do with his time in a fey castle? I imagine you read a lot, do you? You have the pomp of a scholar, though at least retaining the decency to drop the feigned humility.

[ Anne doesn't give him much time to answer, as it really is just rhetorical. She doesn't give a fig what he does with his time. ]

What do you know of me, then? Speak, as you are so want to do.

[workaphilic]

Absolutely nothing.

[It's not strictly true. This is one of those situations where he'd relish the opportunity to put himself on display, drill through all the things he can gather just from a handful of short-lived conversations. It's been nearly a year and a half, he misses the feeling. But that's exactly why the castle took it away from him, and now he has to adapt.

Besides, this is just as fun.]

Oh, I'm sure I've read your name at one point or another. I'm sure I had it memorised, once. They like to do that at school, parade the names of royals in front of children, have them memorise each with an accompanying fact, and call it historical perspective. I was very good at school.

But I don't have any use for pointless information. Takes up space, slows me down. So whoever you are, whatever blurb about you has made its way into our history books, I can't be bothered with that, either.

You're as irrelevant to me as your politics are to my country.

[ensorceler]

[ It's as if with every comment he knows just what to say to insult her most irrevocably, leaving her so stricken that she has to choke through both rage and humiliation to even find any words.

It takes willpower not to just rip out the pages again, but it would do no good. She can't have temper tantrums like Henry, it just won't do. She can't let men have anything more to hold over her, her sex being enough of a limitation in their eyes.

It's a wonder Anne's voice sounds so cool and detached when she responds, though mayhap the shock is helping with that. This is just a dream. Nothing he says is true. This is just a dream. He is lying. ]

The more you speak, the less I worry. There is most certainly no fear of such a fantastical deterioration of the people's loyalties, all in thanks to His Majesty's sanctified reformation, God bless him. I believe you merely enjoy hearing the sound of your own voice, sir, but if you think there to be no consequence in besmirching the crown, you will soon find yourself with no tongue to wag.

[workaphilic]

[The temptation is too big, and it's too late to reel himself in now. He was never good at self-censorship.

(Can practically hear John's exasperated scolding now, halfway across the dimensional rift. "You don't always know what's around the corner, Sherlock, especially here. One day you're going to mouth off into something you can't handle.")

But John isn't here, is he?]

Cutting out my tongue? Is that really the best you can do? I've had better threats from teenagers in jail cells. Come on, if history is good for anything, it's torture. Wow me.

[ensorceler]

You mistake me for a tyrant, sir. I do not know what sin I committed to receive such bitter appraisal, but I will not forget.

[workaphilic]

Of course you won't. That's what makes it fun.