cape_kore | [Action] Arrival post

How do you know that anywhere else is safe? What if this is the safe part and out there is the not-safe part? What if said kidnapper, who may or may not still be you, wants you to go somewhere else?

... And yes, I am pretty damn accustomed to it and I'm carrying a weapon that I am so beyond prepared to use at will, so your threat level is pretty freakin' low at the moment, and--

[She stops in her tracks, staring at the back of his head wide-eyed]

Dude, are you psychic?! You're either psychic or the kidnapper because that's something only the kidnapper would know!

Yes. I'm psychic.

[Sarcasm? Absolutely. But deadpan, uninflected sarcasm.]

You're right, incidentally. I absolutely want me to go somewhere else. Unfortunately I'm also not the kidnapper.

Equally unfortunately, I don't trust you, so while I've a plethora of very good reasons to avoid being seen, I'm not going to tell you what they are.

[This is Sherlock's sorry face. He points up the side of the nearest building.]

Also, I don't like cameras.

[She follows the direction of his pointing and stares slightly-stunned.] What the shit is this? Do I seriously not remember auditioning for Big Brother?

[Yep. She's managed to go from kidnapping to reality television. Her theories aren't that realistic.]

Well I obviously don't trust you either, but you're kinda giving off the psychic vibe here, buddy. Trust me. I know psychics. Annoying little brat-- Not important. Have you seen a totally, flawlessly gorgeous woman, a little taller than me, bangin' bod, dark hair and brown eyes? Use your psychic powers to track her down for me and I'll leave you alone forever, I swear!

[While Sherlock knows it's patently ridiculous to worry even vaguely that his face might get stuck like this, in this expression of utter incredulity, his grandmother's long-ago warnings nonetheless come back to him. The fact that they're his grandmother's is reassuring, though. The woman was an incomparable idiot.]

It doesn't work that way, and you'll really have to be a bit more specific as I feel I'm not entirely qualified to make an assessment regarding what makes a 'bod'--

[Air quotes very much included.]

--bangin' or not bangin'.

[In fact, he's not exactly certain what that even means.]

Incidentally, why are you still following me?

She's got boobs out to here and legs for days! How much more specific am I supposed to get? You'd know her if you saw her.

[Ffff. He air quoted. This guy is hilarious.]

I'm magnetically drawn to the tallest human being in the area? I don't know, dude! I don't know where I am or why I'm here or where my friends are. Don't ask me anything because I legit do not know. Do you want me to go follow someone else? Fine. Good luck not dying. Or, if you're the kidnapper, I hope you have shitty luck and a dumpster falls on you.

As a matter of fact, yes. Yes, I do want you to follow someone else. Or... vanish; I really don't care what you do as long as you don't involve me in it. Unless you can get me back to London, and I highly doubt that you can, I'd be much obliged if you'd leave me alone.

[He stops to peer in the window of a building, frowning.]

Where are all the residents?

[She takes a few steps backwards, hefting the crossbow over her shoulder and checking her pockets for her phone.]

Talking to yourself, real nice. Totally convincing me you're sane, by the way. Maybe they all got eaten by a giant seamonster who was incredibly offended by that fountain.

[See? It kind of counts as her leaving him alone. She's walking away... semi-listening.]

Let me know when you figure out the wrist things.

[She noticed he has one too. Starting to trust him a liiiittle more.] I'm gonna find someone helpful aka not you. Later.

[Taking her leave, she bows as condescendingly as possible and heads back towards crowd of random strangers.]

[So, the girl with the crossbow is kind of scary, and Bruce is glad that she starts stalking off as Bruce is still making his way over to them. Investigating the buildings seems like a smart idea, and Bruce is kind of ready to leave behind the cluster of people, even though he knows this isn't really the time or place to slip away. He has to be conscious of his image here, and he can't be too shady or secretive without setting off alarm bells. Plus he's also invested in figuring out why they're here and in keeping people safe. That involves a certain amount of... involvement.

He steps up beside the tall guy, in front of his own window, and cups his hand against the glass, peering inside.]

I really can't say much for the welcome wagon in this place. Do you think there'll be an orientation session?

[Sherlock eyes the newcomer over his turned-up coat collar, eyebrows lowering faintly in a combination of puzzlement and consternation. The reason for the latter is fairly obvious, the reason for the former a genuine confusion as to why people are approaching him despite the collar and his body language. The sigh, well. The sigh is surrender. Exaggerated misanthropy attracts attention.]

Doubt it. Really couldn't be arsed anyway. Sounds dull.

[He pushes himself away from the window, straightening, and gives Bruce an assessing look. Well. Canadian pickpockets with crossbows and shifty American physicists. Unlikely. Bit worrying.]

Well then, doctor, if you've any particular moral qualms about breaking and entering, now would be the time to start examining the masonry quite closely. If the door should happen to mysteriously come open while you're at it I'll be certain to let you know.

[Misanthropy loves... well, no, no it doesn't. Still, over here there's only one person who's doing something, as opposed to over there where there's this big cluster of people. Over here wins.]

It sounds dull to see who might've brought us here? Or at least their representative.

[But sure, okay. He lifts his eyebrow at the doctor comment.]

If they don't have qualms about kidnapping us, I don't have qualms about some petty crime. [He nods at the door and crosses his arms in front of his chest.]

Mm. Don't need people when I can look at what they've left us. I don't intend to stay, regardless.

[He curls his hand around the door handle and pauses to fix Bruce with an intent stare.]

Does the name James Moriarty mean anything to you?

[A highly important question. Essential, really. His response will be watched closely, assessed, catalogued. Trust, or a relative degree of it, will be earned or lost by the unspoken details of his reaction.]

Aw, really? The weather seems so pleasant.

[Who expects to stay? No one likes being put in a cage, especially Bruce, but he doesn't need to start banging on the bars yet. At Sherlock's question, Bruce presses his lips together and really thinks, trying to decide if that's anyone he met at SHIELD lately, but he doesn't remember anyone by that name.]

No. Why?

[Sherlock is silent a few more second, eyes travelling Bruce's features, before he hums softly.]

Then I don't mind telling you that lives depend on my getting out of here. Potentially quite a lot of lives. So. Don't care who brought us here or why, I need to get home and I need to do it without anyone recognising me. Bit of a mess. Bit of a long story.

[Bit of a pain in the arse. He still doesn't know who he blames most for this, ultimately. Moriarty, obviously, yes. But he'd not have had the tools without John's blog, and if Sherlock had just been able to leave well enough alone there wouldn't have been any John -- a miserable prospect to be sure but he'd have been safer. More secure. Probably dead, but there are less comfortable things than that.

In any case, he turns the handle of the door to test it quirks an eyebrow.]

Unlocked. How delightfully ominous. Shall we?

[Well, someone's important. Not that Bruce doubts what he's saying; on the contrary, Bruce finds himself on a team of superheroes, and he's spent a lot of time around military types and pretentious med students. A lot of people think other peoples' lives depend on them. He is curious as to what's up with this guy, but unlike him, Bruce thinks figuring out who brought them here and why is pretty useful in figuring out how to reverse it.

He gestures to the door, giving a slight bow.]

Be my guest. After you.

Ta.

[If you want to know who someone is, you look at where they live. People leave marks on their surroundings. Sherlock recalls having read once that one of the marks of sentience is the exertion of will upon one's surroundings, the shaping of what exists to one's own form. Nonsense. A mark of life, perhaps, yes, but sentience certainly isn't required. It is, however, an inviolable trait of humanity more than any other creature. And so it isn't, really, in the end that he disagrees with Bruce. It's just that he prefers to approach the problem this way.

The house is dark, utterly silent, empty. Sherlock enters unhurriedly, eyes roaming the walls, the floor, the furniture, everything that might give some clue as to who lived (lives?) here and why they're absent. Idly he drags his first two fingers along the top of a table, leaving a trail in the fine layer of dust that's collected on top, and sniffs thoughtfully at the residue on his fingers before moving on to the kitchen. Kitchens are lived-in, used, eloquent, and this one still has dirty dishes in the sink and half-eaten meals on the table, dried and crusted to the plates in some places and beginning to mold in others.]

Family of three, mother and two children. Left in a hurry, whoever they are, roughly...

[He bends to get a closer look at one of the plates, sniffing delicately.]

A week ago. Bit more.

[Bruce purses his lips, impressed, but he's being calm about it. The leaving in a hurry and the timeline of when they left he could guess, at least.]

Are you a detective? What're you thinking caused them to hurry? It didn't seem like there was any kind of forced entry...

[He isn't thinking a murderer, because whatever booted them is likely to have booted the rest of the town. He's thinking, as he so often does, military, or at least mass evacuations.]

I wonder if there's some kind of plant or laboratory nearby...

I was, yes. Before my untimely and tragic suicide, or what looked quite like it, anyway.

[He opens the refrigerator door and sticks his head in, humming thoughtfully.]

Now I spend most of my time hoping nobody recognises me. I jumped off a roof so my friends could live; I've no intention of getting them killed now.

[He straightens, shutting the door, and offers Bruce a slight shrug.]

As I said. Lives depend on it, mine included, so I'd very much appreciate it if you'd refrain from mentioning my existence to... anyone. Anyone at all. For the time being.

As for the previous residents of this house... forced eviction, I'd guess. Making room. All the technology by which we might access the outside world is completely absent, rather telling. And then there's the cameras.

[He points up to the one aimed down at the kitchen table, and then over Bruce's shoulder to the one in the living room.]

[Sure. Because that all makes sense. Still, he can take it all in stride with one nod of the head. Fake suicide to save everyone's lives. Average Thursday. Bruce holds his hands open.]

I'll keep it quiet, but if you're worried about someone talking about you not being as dead as previously thought, I'd worry more about them than the rest of us here. [He points to a camera.] Like you said, it's not like any of us can alert the presses about you.

[About the cameras... He hadn't noticed them until then, and now he can feel his skin crawl as he identifies every one in the room. Not a good sign. They definitely seem to be on, and so the question becomes, who's watching them? He rubs his hands together in front of him and paces around the room, looking for more signs of who was here.]

Speaking of lives depending on it... We should find out what our single mother here did for a living, her and the neighbors. If we're looking at a bunch of scientists, that might be a problem.

I assure you, I am. I'd be much more worried if this felt like Sebastian Moran, but it doesn't. A bullet in the head feels more like Sebastian Moran. This...

[He turns about, eyes travelling between the cameras.]

I've a nagging suspicion whoever's on the other side of those cameras won't want anyone to know about this.

[He should know. He's worked with the sort, every time he fails to find an excuse to ignore his brother's requests.]

As for the previous occupants of this house, I concur. Bedroom, then.

[Clothing carries secrets, particularly if it's not been washed – that, and the bedroom closet is a common place to store bills, receipts, and other important paperwork.]

Mm. If you knew who I was thinking about blaming, you'd be a lot more worried than that.

[Mainly, Bruce's favorite culprit -- the government -- and his most recent -- Loki. He wouldn't put this past either one of those.

He follows after Sherlock, eyes roaming, occasionally pausing to look over something, but he's mainly struck by how crushingly normal the things in the house are. Where are they now? There doesn't seem to be much sign of distress, beyond leaving in a rush.]

What're you thinking?

Faceless government string-pullers?

[Sherlock pulls a long-sleeved blouse from the hamper and looks it over.]

My darling brother is one of the best. Rather lose their impact when you're related to one. Mostly they're just annoying.

[He moves to the window, one knee on the bed, to examine the cuff of one of the shirt's sleeves in better light before giving it a thoughtful sniff.]

Food service. Barmaid. Waitress. Something like that.

[He frowns. It's good that she's not a scientist, probably, but maybe this was just an outlying town, near a plant. If they were all nuclear physicists, they'd have a better idea of what they were dealing with. If they're all civilians...]

I wouldn't put this past the government. What's weird though is... Your brother's in it. A couple people I know out there are in it. Makes you wonder which government, and what kind of technology they're working with...

[He examines his watch more closely, slipping it off his wrist to inspect the back.]

They don't want us to have anything remotely electronic. Think that's a weak spot?

Oh, it wouldn't be the first time our governments have cooperated to deceive the general populace, if that is indeed what's going on here. The technology is easily enough explained; any idiot with a working knowledge of simple circuits and the supplies can build a radio. They don't want us to have any access to the outside world at all.

[He shrugs.]

Of course it's a weak spot. Information always is. It's not just the technology.

An equally good question is: why us? If my brother had found out I'm alive the first thing he'd do wouldn't be to whisk me away to North America and secret me away, it'd be to take me home so Mummy could shout at me. So it's not likely to be my government. Yours I can't say, but it seems unlikely on the whole. The girl before is Canadian -- her government, perhaps? One might wonder, but then, what would any government want with a hyperactive pickpocket, crossbow or no?

Or a physicist, for that matter; why you, why here?

One question leads back to the other, you see. Who would want to hide us, and why?

Did you just suggest Canada?

[Let him hold onto the ridiculous while he still can.]

I don't know. I'd say maybe we were pissing some people off, but I met a girl who's definitely a high schooler, and I can imagine easier ways for a government to dispatch of her than this elaborate setup. Random selection of the populace for experiments?

[And okay, Bruce wrinkles his nose.] You're good at this detective stuff. How'd you figure all that out?

[Action] Arrival post

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