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was_a_soldier) wrote2012-11-18 10:34 pm
Blog Entry 001 - Action/Voice
[John Watson had recently moved out of 221B Baker St. He'd told Mrs. Hudson it was temporary a month prior, and he'd left a few of his things like notes of reassurance that he would return. But for now, he had to live away from the familiar 17 steps and shared space at the end of them. It was a habit he had to break, expecting Sherlock Holmes to come bursting in at any moment with a harpoon or a limb or a poison in hand and a brightness in his eye that was terrifying and fantastic all at once. A habit, like making two cups of tea in the morning or eating quickly expecting to be dragged off at any second on a chase through the city. Unnecessary.
He convinced himself yesterday he'd only go back for a box he'd left. The one with his thicker jackets and gloves now that it was getting colder. But he'd ended up sitting into the night and contemplating the armchair turned towards his, the box by his feet, forgotten. The flat had been clean, far cleaner then it had been while lived in, no doubt at Mrs. Hudson's hand and Mycroft's penny (though John wanted to spare little time thinking about the elder Holmes). Sherlock wouldn't have stood for it (Mycroft paying, not the free cleaning) and it made something in John's chest fold onto itself.
When John closed his eyes last night, against the ache of the empty chair across from him, he hardly expected to be laying down when he opened them. Nor did he expect to be outside, atop a bridge over a small river, with the afternoon sun high in the sky. John let out a grunt, rolling his head on the wood before forcing himself to sit. And it is only as he sits up that he realizes that his back hurts. His back hurts and nerves sing and extend beyond what he's experienced before, like a phantom limb.
Oh. Not phantom. Wings, then. Tan and dark brown with speckled white exposed as the feathers shift.
Eventually, the stunned doctor finds the journal by his side, and after briefly skimming through the information at had, he makes a general voice post as he stands, wobbly.]
...I'll admit, this is a tad difficult to wrap the brain around.
Such as suddenly gaining wings without some form of serious cosmetic surgery.
[He clears his throat. There's a shuffle as he shifts his weight, knee stiff, hands steady.]
In any case, more information would be greatly appreciated. I know this place is called Luceti, but why am I here and not in London?
Re: [Action]
But he placed the order anyway.]
I have always had a preference for Green Tea myself...[Spock took them to a table...]
Normally I would be able to make an approximation of the time-period in which you come from... However, the universal differences vary so drastically that I am unable to make assumptions. [That was Spock speak for... "what year is it where you come from?"]
[Action]
[John's mouth quirked, knowing that a year ago or so he might not have realized right away that he was being asked a question. He had been right to compare Spock and Sherlock, they talked so similarly.]
I'm from London, England in 2012. I can't think of another way to be more specific about it, since I'm guessing there's various versions of "Earth 2012" around here. Put it to you this way; the oddest things I've had to deal with before this were--of their rocker, mind-- but conditionally human criminal masterminds and drug induced visions of super-dogs. I'm a little out of my element, here.
[He cupped the hot mug of tea between his hands, licking his lips thoughtfully.]
What about you, if you don't mind my asking. What year are you from? Are there... others from your world here?
Re: [Action]
I have had an opportunity to witness the television series that my counterpart was apart of. It was rather... interesting. [Note that it did not get a 'fascinating'... he was not amused.]
Though you are not alone in...feeling out of place. There are very few who are familiar with the technology that is available from my time. I am from the year 2258 according to the Starfleet standard time calendar...and my Captain... Captain James Tiberius Kirk... appeared here shortly after I did. [Spock gave John an amused smile... ] Perhaps I can introduce you to him soon. [He takes a sip of his tea... enjoying the warmth that it offers....]