retroductions | reverie overflow.

[ it is so deeply uncomfortable. knowing that it has been put on display that how she feels differs from the other person. ]

You may.

[Sholmes reaches out for her string— or so it seems. At some point, his hand hovers at her wrist and his fingers encircle it, gently. His brow rises at her, his look is searching.]

Trust me, now. I’m not upset. You don’t think I will be, do you?

No. I have never seen you become so.

If this were anyone other than I, it would be fascinating. I understand, Herlock.

It is because it is you that I wish to tread with care. Or at least not leave bruises where it is already sore.

[After what she told him, especially, that time he tried to lockpick her door to speak with her. He realizes, perhaps a bit belatedly, that these strings are a bit ill-timed on her end.]

[ lol ]

I mean that if this were happening to anyone else, I would be fascinated.

Ah. [A chuckle.] Well, then you understand. But that does not change my own sentiment on the matter.

[Anyhow, slides his fingers away from her wrist to catch her string, gently tugging it upwards. It's a lovely color, though notably not as varied on Sholmes' end.]

No red. Have you been privy to what that means?

[ she lifts her coffee cup so she can feign overt interest in its contents. so she's among the stragglers to figure things out, is that it? ]

...No.

[Sholmes has yet to even lift the coffee to his lips. The scent of it is welcome, but the contents of their strings are of far more interest.]

There is likely some variation depending upon the person, but I do believe the general meaning remains the same: romantic attachment.

[ ........................................ ]

Ah.

[Pinches some of the slack of their thread together and "hits" her with it on the wrist. "Hit" is, of course, a very liberal use of the word; it's just thread, so it barely does anything; it's just an urging.]

Just, "ah"? Come now, you have more thoughts than that. I would like to hear them.

[ the way she grips the sleeve of her other arm happens so slowly, but so tightly, that the fabric creaks. thoughts? she's supposed to have thoughts about this?

like gravel, ] It means... my oni is in love with me.

[ have you seen Fallen Angel by Alexandre Cabanel, Sholmes? well, you're seeing it now. ]

[Oh, he has certainly seen a reproduction of sorts. A description, at the very least, on a printed page.

She suits it.]

As I said, there is variation. Subtlety. "In love" is one end of the spectrum, while "courting" may be another. Even so...

[Still not particularly comforting.]

That is quite strange. I wonder why?

[ white-knuckling ] She exists as torture to me. How better? Hm?

[She'll break her mug at this rate. He nudges her hand with his, a suggestion of calm.]

And yet in this case, what does it matter, if you do not return the sentiment?

[ ya girl needs more than a suggestion ]

Because now I know it!

[Then he puts his mug down, and drifts that free hand over to hers, to gently retrieve it from her too-tight grip if she allows him.]

And you may choose to ignore it, and nothing shall change. Calm yourself, my dear. We may move this subject to the red on my end, instead, else your anger is going to bubble over.

This is how you soothe someone?

[ we're holding hands now. ]

[Because she won’t let go? Neither will he.]

Do you not think it an essential conversation to have? At least you will not be white knuckled over it.

I don't know, Herlock. What do you think about it?

[ he's started to fall for her, then? or he wishes to court her?

she still hasn't made a goddamned choice ]

I had thought, before all of this string nonsense, it would have been a pleasant idea to ask to spend time together. Just for a portion of the day — a dip in the ocean, maybe, since it had been so wretchedly hot.

[Sholmes is often unabashed, but he also doesn't know how to define one thing over the other. Romance is not his forte — he is unorthodox, approaches without planning, and careens about wherever the wind takes him.

Is this courting? His string would suggest something more than that, twined with so many other colors, after all. He only knows that he likes her very much; empirically, that she makes his heart uptick more often than not. He looks as though he’s actually thinking about this.]

I suppose some would label that as a “date”. But after what you had told me, and now with these mismatched strings, I only wish to know how I should proceed.

[Help him out here, Sprezzatura.]

[ bbbbbrings one hand up to her temple. she feels that familiar twinge of baleful acceptance: he has realized her feelings do not live up to his own. the relationships always fell apart fast after that. I wish you would talk to me. Am I always going to come second to your books? Why don't you ever come to visit? We live in the same wing, for Mystra's sake. I can't do this anymore. and she'd snub them, write them off, oh no, too sad, what a shame. she couldn't see the strings, back then, but she always grabbed the scissors.

no answer. no answer. no answer.

she doesn't want to cut the thread anymore. ]

Herlock, I... [ ... ] There's someone else.

[He's quiet as he waits for her reply. A detective knows when pry, when to dig; just as he knows when to ply patience when the moment is critical. This feels... quite like one of those times.

And when she finally speaks, his eyes take in every microexpression on her features, turning this information over in his mind. He looks like a man taking puzzle pieces apart and putting them carefully, carefully back together, something churning behind his gaze. He certainly does not look upset, if she was expecting that at all.]

You did mention sleeping with someone else when we last spoke, yes. But- [His head tilts slightly.] -that is not who you refer to, is it?

[ she feels naked, pinned to the page, open-book and raw, vulnerable, everything bleeding out of her, and it's not nice to feel that way. ]

It... is. But...

[Urges her gently:]

But? You may speak freely, my dear.

[ like, four different threads surge with purple afresh, including the one which connects to Sholmes ]

Someone kissed me. I didn't think he felt that.

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