anemoi | first case

Entry tags:

first case

[TEXT]

I've been told that usually recent arrivals announce the few details they remember about themselves over the network. It seems like a rather pointless tradition to uphold, seeing as we're all suffering from severe cases of retrograde amnesia.

Then there's the anemoi--what exactly do they do, besides function as currency and an exchange for our memories? In fact, how did our memories disappear in the first place? I don't see any reason for the "gods" to knock us unconscious and somehow cause our amnesia.

S

[ACTION]

[So after that lovely text has been sent out to the network, Sherlock is off to familiarize himself with his surroundings. And by that I mean he's wandering around the town, memorizing its layout and anything notable about it. To anyone who's been here a while, the way he's analyzing the place screams "newbie", but at the same time, he's somehow managed not to get himself lost.

Want to talk with him? Careful, you might be surprised by what he has to say to you.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From what I can tell the whole point of the 'tradition' is just to give you a chance to introduce yourself. We all know how little you remember, because we've been there ourselves. That's not really the point.

As for the anemoi, not even the guys in the Lab quite understand the mechanism behind them. Don't let that make you distrustful of it though; there are plenty of scientific principles that were put into successful use long before they were fully understood. Also, we won't be in the dark about it forever, not if I and the rest of the science team have anything to say about it.

[There's no signature, but the label lists "53782: 'Gordon'" as the sender.]

So it's nothing more than seeking sympathies. [Well, that is a lot of condescending in one line.]

Interesting.

S

[Though, yes, the mystery of the anemoi is rather interesting. He's already taking down notes about it--"unknown property - exchange for memories - other functions??"]

[Wow. You sir, are an asshole, but at least you're an insightful asshole. He respects that.]

If you want to look at it like that, then that's pretty much all it'll ever do for you. Trust me, you'll want to get to know a few people at least, because you will need their help sooner or later.

I prefer working alone. However, since you brought up the subject, in case I may ever need help, [not that he's counting on that]

who should I call? Not only that, but who should I avoid?

S

Justice League is pretty reliable. Professional heroes. Also a guy named Ike really knows how to handle a sword, and works as a bodyguard if you need to spend time out of the city.

Number one on the avoid list right now is this creepy clown guy called the Joker. Other than that I haven't seen anyone truly dangerous. Just the monsters.

Is this "Justice League" essentially the police force here, or is the actual police too incompetent to keep the peace by themselves? I highly suspect the latter.

What sort of monsters?

[He wants to get samples and everything.]

S

Essentially yes. The whole place is kind of a ghost town, so there's a reason for the police to be short-handed. Doesn't make it any more forgivable for sending confirmed amnesiacs with no past after the bad guys, but hey, they pay our rent.

If you want to know about monsters, it's Dr. Van Richden you need to talk to. He's the one that's opened a project to build a full database on all of them. It's not exactly comprehensive right now, but it's a start. He'd also want to hear about any beastie you happen to eventually recognize.

That happens more often than you'd think.

Their state is rather lamentable, if they employ people who could easily turn to crime if they remembered that they had been engaged in criminal activities before.

Thank you. I'll keep it in mind.

S

And as he's wandering about, he meets a giant white Peacock. A bird of that size is odd enough, but this bird talks, too, and is in fact very well-spoken. He'd have to be, because he's standing on a streetcorner and explaining to everyone who asks why he's wearing a sandwich board that proclaims 'CAN'T REMEMBER WHAT A HOMECOOKED MEAL TASTES LIKE? THEN COME ON DOWN TO JACK'S SHACK O RIBS WHERE YOU CAN ORDER THE RACK O JACK. ONE TASTE AND YOU CAN FORGET HOME FOR GOOD.'

... It's a job.

[...It's a peacock. A giant one. Albino, definitely, pavo cristatus, most likely, though he's sure he's never seen one of that size and wait, is it talking? Seriously?

He's going to approach to ask just what is going on here.]

((OOC: I've got a permissions post, if you'd like to tl;dr a bit. It's just that Sherlock's pretty perceptive, really, and he'd definitely notice some things that other people don't.))

Yep. The bird is talking.

The bird is telling a small group of people, "No, they don't serve peacock. They don't even serve chicken--this is very much an edible land-animal establishment. The more red the meat the better, apparently. I'm only doing this because I need to work."

Closer to, Sherlock can likely spot that the bird has wraps on his feet and is wearing, under the signboard, some rather expensive Chinese robes. Huh.

[He won't just be able to spot the wraps and the robes (expensive, made from the finest materials)--he notices the soot in his feathers (works with explosives, wraps must be for burn scars), the way he carries himself (skilled in fighting, most certainly kung fu, brought up in a well-off family), the skin around his eyes (sickly before), and the smell of cordite and other chemicals (fireworks).

Despite the fact that he doesn't remember, he isn't a consulting detective for nothing.]

I suppose the fireworks industry isn't very profitable here, then.

This startles the bird a little. "Hm? Wha?" Blinkblink. "Well, no, actually, not at this time of year... how did you even know?"

The soot on your feathers, indicates that you've been working with explosives for a while, the wraps on your feet protect scars sustained from earlier failed attempts, rather miraculous you didn't somehow blow yourself apart, the fact that you smell of chemicals once used in China for the purpose of making fireworks...it was easy enough to conclude that you've worked with fireworks, though using dated methods.

[He smirks. And yes, all that was said rather fast.]

"..."

You've stricken him speechless, which is quite the achievement.

"I... yes. Dated... How dated?" Interesting that that's the only thing that sticks.

[Like he needs anything more to add to his ego.]

5th century methods, to be exact.

Finally, his scepticism kicks in.

"You got all of that from the soot on my feathers, did you?" he asks archly. "Pray tell what depths of information my moustaches hold!"

Well, probably nothing, except to corroborate that 5th century theory, along with his robes. Jeez, Shen, you're a dead giveaway to anyone who actually bothers to look.

You're an aristocrat, at the very least, who may be obsessed with the 5th century, especially with the way they made fireworks.

[Never mind the fact that he's a talking bird.]

"Hardly, I've barely studied history--there isn't... much... to...." he trails off as a thought hits him. "...much to study."

His eyes dart from one random thing to another as his thoughts whirl furiously. "No... no, I definitely recall these things being normal, everyday occurrences.... Something about it is too natural...."

[...huh, that's a surprise.]

Like what, for instance?

"The chemical scents... they make me think of home. Even though I can't remember what home is at the moment. And this...." he plucks at his robes with one wing. "It feels too... normal. As though I've worn it or something like it for ages. The way I put together the fireworks feels almost instinctive."

He stares at the sidewalk for a few beats. "I thought my lack of facility with most of these everyday machines was due simply to the memory loss but now... I'm not as sure."

[Down some random street, there is a little boy laughing and doing what little boys do best - running around, falling over, and chasing after a fat ol' frog.

Nothing is especially noteworthy until he scoops up the frog in his hands, whereupon it transforms into a bewildered squirrel in a puff of smoke.]

[He'd ignore the kid, really, if it wasn't for the frog turning into a squirrel as soon as he'd picked it up. It's impossible, he's sure. But then again, he ran into a talking peacock earlier in the day.

Certainly, it's caught his attention.]

((OOC: Um, I don't know if you're aware of this, but I've got a permissions post for Sherlock, since he notices everything. That okay?))

OK, this time we're gonna play Hide and Seek! You'll hide and I'll find you, but since you're so much faster, you're gonna hafta be handicapped again.

[The squirrel just looks terribly agitated. Palom does not speak animal at all.]

Count to 10! Go!

[Poof! And it is a frog again that Palom tosses underhanded into the brush.]

Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! Here I come!

[Right, and there he goes again (possibly ten years old, maybe younger).]

How did you do that? [No awe, no amazement...just curiosity and the need to find out just how this little boy pulled off a trick like that.]

Huh?

[Palom whirls around, surprised.]

Oh! The frog thing? Magic! It's pretty amazing, right?

[Sometime after their text exchange, Sherlock is bound to find one of the bookstores around the city. There he'd find a lanky man with a beard and glasses mulling over the periodicals. As he pokes through the magazines with his right hand, in his left are cradled a science journal, an optical standards handbook, and carefully sandwiched between the two... the glossy technicolor corner of a comic book.]

[He glances at the man (chemical stains on clothes, hair and hands, scientist, possibly enthusiastic but sloppy, mid-to-late twenties yet has a beard, wanted to be taken seriously by his much older colleagues, rakes his hand through his hair often, clothes are professional but wrinkled, glasses' frames are just a little too tight to secure them, possibly a long-distance runner), then at the stack of books cradled in his hand.

...he sees that comic book there.]

I'd have thought you'd prefer something more intelligent than comic books to pass the time.

[His head jerks up at the sound of the voice, actually concealing the books before he realizes what he's doing. Then he fixes the other man with a sidelong stare. May as well own up to it.]

Well, you can only read Kierkegaard so many times before the spine wears out... Besides, it's more for curiosity's sake than anything. A different world with different heroes, that whole thing.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

first case

[TEXT]

[TEXT]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

[action]

no subject

'leucistic,' actually, though I still can't tell the difference. :p

/headdesk augh self why

D: It's okay! I didn't know that was even a thing until I researched peafowl.

I have a feeling I'll be doing a lot more research, playing Sherlock. Pfft, this is fun!

\o/ Yay for research! :D

Research FTW!

Snarky bird is snarky

Well, everyone's a bit snarky these days.

no subject

no subject

no subject

[Action]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

[Action too, because that's how I roll]

no subject

no subject