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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?
[Voice]
If you don't mind my asking, how long have you been here?
[Voice]
That's a bit of a tricky question. See, I came here for the first time less than two weeks ago. But then I found out I've been here for over a year before without remembering it. So maybe that gives an idea of how weird this place could be.
[Voice]
[John muttered under his breath, running a hand down his face.]
What I wouldn't give for a cup of tea at the moment.
[Voice]
[Voice]
I believe you. Where I come from there's usually a logical explanation for anything "supernatural." The wings are pretty convincing but it's hard to make your mind accept what has always seemed unbelievable.
[Voice]
Right. The wings would be a pretty good example of extremely weird things to start with. If you can find one of those logical explanations for that, be sure to let me know. In the meantime, all we know is these wings kinda keep us alive here.