034 || written;

[workaphilic]

[It's some ungodly hour of the morning when a note appears in the journal, for fellow insomniacs or information gluttons who like to read new entries first thing. There's barely any ambient sound recorded; just faint bubbling from a nearby experiment, and the scratch of pen on paper.

(Whether that's out of respect for sleeping residents or something else, well. It's not that hard to say, with him.)]

What are you getting out of this arrangement?

If your first instinct is to say 'nothing,' don't bother. You obviously haven't been paying attention, and I'm not interested in being subjected to your blather. Keep your ignorant bliss to yourself.

The rest of you: there must be something. Paradisa wouldn't bother with you otherwise. If a portal appeared in the lobby tomorrow, ready to whisk you back to your world, your time, your life -- what would be the thing that kept you from stepping through it?

Don't be boring.

SH

((Tags will be slow! Thanks for your patience, everyone.))

Comments

written;

[workaphilic]

A gift like that, from an entity as finicky as this? A second's hesitation is as good as an outright refusal.

Please, enlighten me.

written;

[ofhope]

You owe me, first.

[workaphilic]

How's that?

[ofhope]

Music. How else can I think?

[workaphilic]

[there's a short pause.]

That can be arranged.

[ofhope]

Classical.

[workaphilic]

Brahms?

[ofhope]

[ What, someone who doesn't automatically run to Bach or Beethoven? What is this... ]

Perfect for thinking.

[workaphilic]

[Bro, have some faith.]

Shall I pay a visit, then?

[ofhope]

The gates are open. It's a walk, though...

[workaphilic]

Not a problem. I could use some air.

[ofhope]

Wear a coat.

[ Like he cares. Being polite. ]

The roof is big, if you want lots and lots of air.

[ Okay now just being a twerp. ]

[workaphilic]

[Wow, bro, not cool. And here he is trying to help you out.]

I think the walk will suffice.

[ofhope]

[ Whatever bro could just as easily play music over the journal! He chuckles. ]

Then let yourself in.

[workaphilic]

[What is he, a Youtube musician? No, if he's deigning to play music for someone other than himself he's going to make sure that shit is heard in person.

The journal shuts without further comment, and it's some time later before he's doing just that: letting himself in.]

[ofhope]

[ And he'll just be greeted by silence, at first, where one could hear a pin drop in the expansive foyer. Joshua will be appearing behind Sherlock only moments later, though, shutting the door for him because isn't he the most polite? ]

You didn't mean just a record?

[ What's greeting and smalltalk? Skip that. ]

[workaphilic]

[He doesn't jump, but his eyes do snap from where they were observing the decor to Joshua, the closest he'll come to registering surprise in this situation.

After a moment, they slide back across the room.]

You aren't the only one who needs to think.

[ofhope]

[ There's no shortage of things to look at, for sure. Décor collected from over hundreds of years, including paintings and...couches. Joshua makes sure every room has fresh flowers in vases, at least, to keep a sweet enough smell for Lucrezia.

He walks around in front of Sherlock, then looks around, thinking on what room would have the best acoustics. The library might have a better layout than any other room, especially with the vaulted ceiling.

So he'll start walking that way, past the stairwell. ]

Asking questions like that of simple people, who would have guessed?

[workaphilic]

[Sherlock trails after him, seemingly more interested in the walls.]

You still haven't given me your answer.

[ofhope]

You'll get it when I hear my music.

[workaphilic]

[He hums lightly, shrugging.]

Best be a fair trade, then.

[ofhope]

[ He snorts a little as they enter the library. ]

Fair? That's no fun.

[workaphilic]

Didn't walk all the way out here for you to give me the same paltry answers they did.

[ofhope]

I thought you just needed the fresh air.

[ Sorry, he'll try not to smirk so much. But he won't try very hard.

He'll sit at the grand piano near the corner, though, elbow propped up. ]

You probably got your hopes too high. I have simple pleasures.

[workaphilic]

[He sets his violin case on a nearby table and flips it open. His mouth quirks.]

I was being polite.

[He lifts the bow from the case, taking a moment to lightly rosin it.]

Still, put a little effort in and it won't be a problem.