Entry tags:
ic inbox | LITTLE HADES
TEXT | AUDIO | VIDEO
this user has an a+ would text again rating!
TEXT | AUDIO | VIDEO
this user has an a+ would text again rating!
[ First of all: Papyrus gets the first ever video reply from Sherlock Holmes, so he should be considerably proud about that much. Second of all, when the screen finally clicks on, Sherlock is quite obviously somewhat startled.
As much as he knew he'd be coming his way (seeing as he is, in fact, bees - obviously), he didn't actually expect him to be a talking skeleton.
He really should have expected it. He recovers quickly enough and nods once, squinting into the camera with interest. ]
That depends on who's asking.
As much as he knew he'd be coming his way (seeing as he is, in fact, bees - obviously), he didn't actually expect him to be a talking skeleton.
He really should have expected it. He recovers quickly enough and nods once, squinting into the camera with interest. ]
That depends on who's asking.
to scienceofdeduction | un: 130.1120.1110.1 (putting it here for you)
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archconsultant
2016-07-24 07:13 am (UTC)(link)
[attachment: picture.jpg]
[ The meaning here is clear. Someone, somewhere, has discovered the link between himself and his alter-ego 'Bees?'- oh, he knew it'd happen sooner or later, especially if the likes of Lestrade had been able to work it out after some snooping.
Disappointing as it is, he might need to retire his little winged friend before more people start cottoning on just who pulls his strings behind the scenes. Still, no sense allowing the alias to disappear into the shadows; it'd only make it all the more obvious that he is 'Bees?'.
He'll just need to be more cautious in what he says as he works on building the next anonymous account up.
Probably a threat, then. Well, not necessarily a threat, but definitely a warning. Or is this just the desperate attempts of a man clawing at straws as his mind decays with the lack of stimulation, seeing underlying threats interesting nuances where there are none? Oh, it could be, but that's no fun, is it? So he'll dismiss that line of enquiry, instead opting to obsessively pour over the image and the username itself.
Because there's something here. Either they're aggressively guessing at his identity and hoping his reaction to this particular text will give him away or they're simply dangling the fact that they know over his head, hoping it'll incite... what, exactly? Panic? Fear? Excitement? As ever, not enough data.
Sherlock had been so blind, so caught up inside his own head that he's let his obsession with observation falter, barely caring enough to string the clues and signs together over his attempts to come to terms with his death (and the chaos that ensued shortly after as one by one his friends and acquaintances met their end, all because he'd been reckless with his recreational indulgences).
He's not a consulting detective any more. There are no crimes to solve, no murderers running rampant carving up corpses whilst he follows the ever elusive breadcrumbs in their wake. He's nothing but a face in the crowd, keeping his head down as he laments the way his mind rots from the inside out. He'd do anything to hold onto his mind, anything to distract it away from crumbling down into ruin; his mind palace is staggering under the weight of nothingness, constantly reaching out and grasping for data to keep him occupied as he works himself into exhaustion. But with one image, he can feel the decaying cogs start to turn, mind gearing up as he finds a focus that's consistently eluded him since his untimely death.
The sheet music is one thing: ominous, certainly, but it could be an attempt at phishing for information. He won't be giving any out if he can help it. It's the username that gives him pause. Either it's a random sequence of numbers, automatically generated as a default username or it has actual meaning; does is it follow a pattern, does it translate into anything intelligible or is he just over complicating matters? Clearly not a cipher, as both the number cipher (M0.KT.KJ.A) and alphabet cipher (na.lu.lk.b) bring up nonsense (unless it's an acronym, but there's still not enough data to draw any significant clues, so it's back around to square one unless he can get them talking). He can't help but feel as if it's staring him in the face; he's so very rusty, and he hates that it almost shows.
Still, replying seems like his best bet, and it gives him enough time to set about tracking down wherever this message came from. ]
Is that a hint? Sorry, I don't take requests. Besides, I've always been more partial to Piano Sonata No. 17.
Disappointing as it is, he might need to retire his little winged friend before more people start cottoning on just who pulls his strings behind the scenes. Still, no sense allowing the alias to disappear into the shadows; it'd only make it all the more obvious that he is 'Bees?'.
He'll just need to be more cautious in what he says as he works on building the next anonymous account up.
Probably a threat, then. Well, not necessarily a threat, but definitely a warning. Or is this just the desperate attempts of a man clawing at straws as his mind decays with the lack of stimulation, seeing underlying threats interesting nuances where there are none? Oh, it could be, but that's no fun, is it? So he'll dismiss that line of enquiry, instead opting to obsessively pour over the image and the username itself.
Because there's something here. Either they're aggressively guessing at his identity and hoping his reaction to this particular text will give him away or they're simply dangling the fact that they know over his head, hoping it'll incite... what, exactly? Panic? Fear? Excitement? As ever, not enough data.
Sherlock had been so blind, so caught up inside his own head that he's let his obsession with observation falter, barely caring enough to string the clues and signs together over his attempts to come to terms with his death (and the chaos that ensued shortly after as one by one his friends and acquaintances met their end, all because he'd been reckless with his recreational indulgences).
He's not a consulting detective any more. There are no crimes to solve, no murderers running rampant carving up corpses whilst he follows the ever elusive breadcrumbs in their wake. He's nothing but a face in the crowd, keeping his head down as he laments the way his mind rots from the inside out. He'd do anything to hold onto his mind, anything to distract it away from crumbling down into ruin; his mind palace is staggering under the weight of nothingness, constantly reaching out and grasping for data to keep him occupied as he works himself into exhaustion. But with one image, he can feel the decaying cogs start to turn, mind gearing up as he finds a focus that's consistently eluded him since his untimely death.
The sheet music is one thing: ominous, certainly, but it could be an attempt at phishing for information. He won't be giving any out if he can help it. It's the username that gives him pause. Either it's a random sequence of numbers, automatically generated as a default username or it has actual meaning; does is it follow a pattern, does it translate into anything intelligible or is he just over complicating matters? Clearly not a cipher, as both the number cipher (M0.KT.KJ.A) and alphabet cipher (na.lu.lk.b) bring up nonsense (unless it's an acronym, but there's still not enough data to draw any significant clues, so it's back around to square one unless he can get them talking). He can't help but feel as if it's staring him in the face; he's so very rusty, and he hates that it almost shows.
Still, replying seems like his best bet, and it gives him enough time to set about tracking down wherever this message came from. ]
Is that a hint? Sorry, I don't take requests. Besides, I've always been more partial to Piano Sonata No. 17.
Edited (data data i cannot make bricks without clay) 2016-07-25 02:58 (UTC)
[About 10 minutes after midnight, 9 hours after this conversation, John sends a text.]
Sorry, last patient. Keeps trying to show me pictures of her dog. Will be out soon.
Sorry, last patient. Keeps trying to show me pictures of her dog. Will be out soon.
permaprivate; and now, a wall of tl;dr that will probably be separated into like 20 different texts
logicals
- 2016-08-03 03:19 (UTC) - Expand[Three storage boxes filled with files and evidence for two cold case murders and one suspicious death. A handwritten post-it sits on top of one of the boxes with the words, "Thanks for the gun."]
[ ooc: about the same time as this! ]
I've got Fido. Can you come get him or should I leave him at Gabriel's house for now?
[ There's probably some kind of joke to be made here about braving buildings being rapidly filling with noxious gas to save a plant, but today has been more actual hell than usual, and Lestrade's not in the mood. He doesn't even know if a hellplant would care about this gas, but he didn't want to chance it.This is where his afterlife is now. Rescuing pet hellplants. God help him. ]
I've got Fido. Can you come get him or should I leave him at Gabriel's house for now?
[ There's probably some kind of joke to be made here about braving buildings being rapidly filling with noxious gas to save a plant, but today has been more actual hell than usual, and Lestrade's not in the mood. He doesn't even know if a hellplant would care about this gas, but he didn't want to chance it.
I'll get him later, busy atm.
[ bUSY TRYING TO SECURE HIS DRUGS. Also trying to keep a cat from being found out in the middle of a hotel is more trying than initially anticipated. especially when it has wings.
especially when it's curious about everything and everyone.
please stop.
this is not what he signed up for ]
[ bUSY TRYING TO SECURE HIS DRUGS. Also trying to keep a cat from being found out in the middle of a hotel is more trying than initially anticipated. especially when it has wings.
especially when it's curious about everything and everyone.
please stop.
this is not what he signed up for ]
text; un: sanguinemed; private (some time after the initiation shenanigans)
infatyuated
2016-09-01 12:15 am (UTC)(link)
what can you tell me about the maw
Why? Found yourself a new career?
If you can avoid touching it, do. It seems to be sentient; it's aware when those traversing through it back pedal or try to escape and it lashes out in fury under those circumstances. Don't step on the tendrils, they get incredibly irate.
Travelling through it isn't quite so bad when you hold your destination in your hands. Do not deviate.
If you can avoid touching it, do. It seems to be sentient; it's aware when those traversing through it back pedal or try to escape and it lashes out in fury under those circumstances. Don't step on the tendrils, they get incredibly irate.
Travelling through it isn't quite so bad when you hold your destination in your hands. Do not deviate.
yuu-chan has arrived. he has a tendency to get into trouble. would you be willing to keep an eye on him?
[ not pictured, mika still upset and concerned about yuu's arrival. ]
[ not pictured, mika still upset and concerned about yuu's arrival. ]
[ Lestrade isn't sure what Sherlock - presumably it's Sherlock, when there are strange noises it usually is - is doing upstairs, but he is so very disinclined to get up from the couch to actually go see unless he doesn't get any sort of response to the text. He's steadily working his way through a decent bottle of rum, which just happened to be the first thing that he found in the cabinet, and he doesn't really plan on doing anything more demanding than flipping through various channels of terrible demon soap operas and reality shows for the rest of the night.
A part of him knows that this is unreasonable. As far as existence in Hell, he has far less to complain about than most people he knows. He's just... worried, caught in bad memories, and still vaguely sore from a situation that he still doesn't know that he handled properly. He probably didn't have much of a choice, just as he doesn't have a lot of choices now, but still. There's frustration there that he can't really vent about, not without spurring someone into being irrationally protective.
Sherlock already knows, of course. It's not exactly an impressive leap of logic for him to make, after all.
Greg sighs, letting himself sink a little further into the couch. Princess has taken up residence in his lap, she's been practically glued to his ankles without Gabriel around, and is apparently content to sleep there even when Greg moves to refill his glass. ]
A part of him knows that this is unreasonable. As far as existence in Hell, he has far less to complain about than most people he knows. He's just... worried, caught in bad memories, and still vaguely sore from a situation that he still doesn't know that he handled properly. He probably didn't have much of a choice, just as he doesn't have a lot of choices now, but still. There's frustration there that he can't really vent about, not without spurring someone into being irrationally protective.
Sherlock already knows, of course. It's not exactly an impressive leap of logic for him to make, after all.
Greg sighs, letting himself sink a little further into the couch. Princess has taken up residence in his lap, she's been practically glued to his ankles without Gabriel around, and is apparently content to sleep there even when Greg moves to refill his glass. ]
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