Open Post 002

[2020mod]

• Step one: start a thread in this post!
• Step two: specify who the thread is for (or open) in this post!
• Step three: make people reply to this post!
• AND THAT'S THE WAY YOU DO IT.


And don't forget, there's still the ooc discussion post! And nothing needs to be contained to this post! Create new logs to your heart's content! This AU is yours, so have at it!


musebox • rules • character list

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[foreshadower]

The Shade has his own pipe, tapping it gently against his palm to pack the tobacco, pressing the loose leaves on top with a thumb, before he pulls out a small flipbook of matches, and he sets it alight, the musky, rich scent of tobacco filling the air. It was woodsy and rich, a hint of cocoa in the leaves.

He smiled at the other man, one moment he's still stepping behind Sherlock, the next a cloud of dark wisps of shadow fabric materialize into a man shape on the bench next to him. He pulls his hat off to take a good look at the monument. He felt no attachment to it, of course. Even now, he didn't think of himself as a Briton, but having it here was still... odd.

Even now. He never voiced such concerns, but it still felt wrong. "Indeed it has been. I trust you've been well in that time? You hardly look worse for the wear," his voice was light.

He was, however, somewhat concerned. He liked Sherlock, and for an immortal, it was terribly rare to find gentlemen he enjoyed. It was always hard to see someone lost, and know that he would still be there long after.

[deductives]

It's easier to relax once Shade is out in the open, and the sumptuous smell of his straight tobacco helps. While he may be in the habit again, Sherlock doesn't splurge on his cigarettes; they're cheap and always disappointingly low tar.

Shade's increasing ratio of shadow to man quietly alarms him every time they meet again. Sherlock always wondered in the back of his mind if relying on shadow walking too much could have adverse effects, and indeed some days he found himself staying within the dark far longer than he should. Deep down, his own power instills fear into him. Not only has it become a social boon, how long until it consumed him completely? Unlike Shade, he isn't an immortal. It's not common for Sherlock to admit being outmatched, but Shade is his elder in every way, especially when it came to the dark.

Sherlock pushes those thoughts away with another puff of smoke. The present is more important.

"As well as can be expected. Had a close shave with German customs last month, but nothing insurmountable." He furrows his brow. "I'm sure you've heard there's talk of lightening restrictions in Eastern Europe. We'll see how the rest of the Union feels about that."

[foreshadower]

"My, my. I would hardly get your hopes up on that one," he mentioned, lightly. "You know how the union gets," he held the pipe deftly, one handed, fingers lightly gripping the fine wood, even while his other hand held his hat, cane leaning against the back of the bench, somehow perfectly still.

He leaned back, smoking. The words weren't important, to the idle passerby who may hear. Just idle things, mere speculation. "They're often stuck in their ways far more than a rather new collaboration should be."

The Shade had been listening. Sherlock had good reason to fear the shadows, of course. He hardly knew the circumstances of Shade's transformation. He'd never been human, since receiving his powers. For some time, he was better, actually, than he'd been in a long time. However, isolation did funny things to a mind that was all shadow and only attempted at being human.

The Shade was an odd sort, all in all. It was a lucky thing Sherlock hadn't seen him bleed.