retroductions | reverie overflow.

[ her face—which he's likely to notice with a little distance has begun to take on an indigo flush—blanks out in total befuddlement as he unceremoniously lifts her. she's a small woman, and fairly light, but no matter what, this is not gonna be graceful. really not gonna be one for the record-books.

after that first unsteady beat, wherein she just kind of perches uncomfortably in his hold and digs her claws into the dirt wall, the overwhelming desire to just get the hell out of this hole has her risking a wobbly twist to hook and elbow over the lip of the grave. it's... exactly as elegant a process as you would expect climbing out of a grave to be.

you want to know the kicker? she can Spider Climb. ]

[Oh. Oh boy. Well, it's not as though he can judge terribly, though perhaps Sholmes could make more of an effort to help once she's trying to clamber free out of the grave. But how is he supposed to aid her, exactly, without awkwardly trying to push her out via her legs, or her butt?

No, he waits patiently, a hand on a hip. If and when she makes it out, he cups his hands near his mouth--even though it isn't that far up--and calls out.]

Did you manage it?

[Herlock Sholmes, a very helpful detective.]

And if so, might you lend me a hand up?

[ POKES HER HEAD OVER THE EDGE OF THE HOLE ]

You will pull me back in. No. One moment.

[ he may be excited to hear her begin to murmur in that unknowable language, one hand swishing gently through the air, then the other...

and a perfectly circular disc, as if of a perfectly smooth, flat stone, suddenly appears in the grave with him, floating about three feet off the ground ]

[He is excited to hear it; all of her magical mumblings are a rarity in that he feels they remain beyond his understanding, and therefore all the more enticing. Sholmes waits for something to happen. That something takes the shape of a flat stone, floating a few feet above the soil beside him.

A most convenient step!]

Ah.

[He moves to stand on it! Is that what he's supposed to do? Will this LAUNCH HIM UPWARDS? Or is it merely a convenient platform to put him closer to the climbing point? Regardless-]

Fling me out!

[he always opts for the more exciting option, not always wisely]

It only floats.

[ well. there's your disappointing answer, Sholmes. it only floats. ]

[ …

Well, damn.]

That is not even-

[Fine. With his long limbs, and with a boosted height courtesy of a magic stone, Sholmes latches onto the lip of the grave and hoists himself up. Up and over.]

-half as exciting as I had hoped it would be. But thank you, all the same.

[ tempting to cease concentration and let him find his way out on his own, but she's not quite that petty, this time. because he was making out with her two minutes ago. ]

Oh, did I disappoint you with useful assistance? I apologize for practical magic.

[Straightening almost as soon as his feet touch solid ground. He has dirt on his trousers’ knees, and on the elbows of his jacket.]

I did say thank you, didn’t I? Now then, where to?

[ boy, imagine what her ENTIRE BACK looks like. this is going to be such an obvious walk of shame. oh Mammon. ]

...Motel?

[Come now, it can’t possibly be the worst walk of shame this place has ever seen.]

Motel it is. In the meanwhile, let us not forget where we left off.

[He gestures with his hand in the direction of the motel, a little flourish of the wrist. Ladies first, but he will fall into step with her on the way.]

[ she has a brisk, prim gait. and, because she is a cheater, she Prestidigitates herself clean on the way. :) her ponytail is still lopsided, though. ]

Where we left off? You mean your hands on my rear?

[Here is a fun fact: Sholmes often lives in a messy state, and does not mind when such a mess is smeared across his clothes out of necessity. But beyond those instances, he is almost contradictorily clean -- fastidious, precise in his presentation.

So it is cheating, yes, that she can clean herself off so easily, while he is left simply patting off the dirt accumulated at his elbows. And then the dirt from that from his palms!!]

And my mouth on your neck.

[ you could always ask politely! because it does not appear that she thinks to offer, as she huffs a laugh and arches her brow at him ]

Are you having fun, sir? One might almost think this is not only about boxes on card anymore.

[Oh, he’s fine dusting himself off without the use of magic. Old habits, and all. Sholmes just grins at her while they walk, as if the answer should be obvious.]

Of course. I do not pursue that which I do not find at least a little intriguing. Beyond that, your company has always been pleasant — I hope you can say much the same in return.

[Yes, he’s having fun.]

[ well, what's wrong with a little weirdly-timed sincerity? if she doesn't say it, she'll never say it, and if he's wrong and he does end up in solitary, wouldn't that just eat her alive to have not said it? ] Certainly. I am glad to know you.

You are bright spot in my days here.

[ it seems like she's leading them towards one motel room in particular, once they're there. hm. ]

And I am eager to instruct you, should you have any talent for magic.

[A bright spot? He is glad to hear it; it warms him a little, needles itself right into that sentimental gooey middle that he harbors beneath all of his performative displays, his analytical assessments.]

...And even if I do not, I can at least promise that I will be one of the more interesting students you have ever taught.

[Quite an understatement, that.

The motel is upon them, and yes, it does appear that they are winding their way to a very specific room. She could have just picked any old empty one, after all.]

Aiming for somewhere in particular?

[ a look of surprise flashes over her features when he comments on it—she hadn't even realized the automatic nature of moving to that same motel room as always. ]

...No. Well. It is just my room.

[Oh, even more curious — in the sense that he might be able to take a gander about her room, at some point, like the very nosy detective he is.]

And what secrets lie in wait for me there, I wonder.

Oh. You misunderstand. My room before I took to Basilisk.

[ and, indeed, when she stops them in front of room 7 and opens the door, it looks pretty much like any other room. ]

[WELL there could still be secrets here. Perhaps.

—but that does not seem to be the case, even if his eyes seek out anything of interest as he steps into the room.]

Ah, so I have built up my anticipation for nothing.

[He kids; he is obviously not wholly disappointed. It at least reconciles the wonderment of why her room would be outside the confines of her team’s dorm — simply, that it isn’t.

Sholmes begins to shrug off his letterman’s jacket, idly.]

Before Basilisk, though…?

[ at most, maybe there's some extra toiletries in the washroom, or some extra clothes in the drawers. she watches him shed the jacket from the corner of her vision ]

We were early into this dream. I did not want any part in it.

[He tosses the jacket aside, uncaring where it lands. Takes care of the "remove a piece of clothing" square from his card, at least.]

And only a middling more of a part in it now, I assume.

[Only where newfound friends and connections come in. There is little else enticing about this prison. The last game still has left a sour, lingering note, even if this one feels far more whimsical to make up for it.]

Well, no need to linger on such a dour subject right now. Close the door and- [He extends a hand, beckoning her closer.] -come.

[ only then. he's precisely right. she wants the people who have gone and to keep the people who are still here, and she wants the vast amounts of knowledge that she could wring from Reverie if there only weren't constant trials shoved down their throats.

she scoffs gently at that turn of phrase, nudges the door shut with her heel. and sure, moves into his space, which makes the glaring difference in their heights even more apparent ]

Not on command, I'm afraid.

But certainly with a little encouragement we can manage it.

[-he retorts, his tone indicative of biting back a laugh due to her rather licentious wordplay. When Sprezzatura nears, his extended hand loops around to the small of her back, slipping beneath her jacket, drawing her close enough that their bodies touch. His fingers quest beneath the fabric of her sweater, seeking skin.]

Now, as I recall--during our graveyard encounter--you complained about me not being able to reach certain areas of your body. Might we ply a solution to that problem now?

[ he'll feel the finest fanning of goosebumps up her spine, and also her tailtwitch. with a slow, measured exhale, she sets her jaw and lifts her chin so she can look him in the eye. ]

We might.

What does our great detective deem suitable?

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