Damn this thing to hell—

[ This is the thunk thunk thunk sound of a device being slapped. The audio snaps on, then shuts off, then shuts on again, then off, until finally settling on the video setting.

Enjoy a nice shot of Edward's forehead, guys. ]

I see the custom around here's to introduce yourself. Never been one for customs, myself, so don't expect me to bother.

Rather, I've come to inquire about these gods-- as they see fit to call themselves. Any fellow know where I might find one? Perhaps in a castle, somewhere up in the sky, surrounded by their servants and riches? [ A laugh.] Any other time, I would've spoken in jest, but... this is no illusion. One night of drinking can't leave a man muddled up for days.

[ He would know.

And finally, after several shaky jerks of the camera, its finally positioned so that we can see edward's face . ]

And though I am capable of many feats, crossing an ocean in mere seconds is not one of them. And yet, here I am.  [ A beat. ] Could you fathom the utility of such an object? Something that allows a man to travel instantly across miles... across.... wherever this place may be.

A drink, to the one who can answer me!

( VIDEO )

[ yeah, out of all the curses that's transpired in this fair city - this one - holmes possibly likes the least. he's had this insatiable urge to sing Franz Schubert's die forelle - each note that he is forced to sing ( or in the manner of his attempts at suppressing it, to hum ) - leaves an acerbic after taste in the back of his mouth. die forelle reminds him of two things: a game and an opera singer.

to save everyone from his voice, he switches to text. ]

You'd picture the gods would have a more creative curse up their sleeves, would you not?

I understand that we are faced with most inconvenient circumstances. But must you all carry forth in broadcasting your misery? You're all tone deaf. Spare our ears with your contrived melodies.

[ someone's grumpier than usual. ]


( OPEN ACTION FOR THE HOLMES-WATSON FLAT / ANYONE NEARBY. )

[ all you see is a weft of black smog emitting from holmes' window. it seems a chemical experiment of some sort has gone awry and holmes has decided that lethargy has trumped his need to sort things out. you're not sure if the smog is actually dangerous, but it smells oddly of rotted cheese and desperation. any noises of urgency are replaced by the melody of a sad, screechy out of tune violin that is desperately trying not to play die forelle.

from the inside, a goat peeks it's head from the window of the room. looking sad.

save the goat? y/n. ]

[ guess who's back? now with a canon update. holmes looks far scrawnier than he used to. his hair longer now, than it used to be. he seems more - unkempt than he was last time. Aged a little and underfed. A black bruise decorating the area below his eye. ]

You all must be quite elated at the promise of my return.

A tourney is a bit excessive.

[The video starts in the air as Finnick's light chuckle can be heard. His hands are over his head as he holds his newly made net over his head swinging it round and around.]

Are you sure you're ready? This is going to be really heavy!

[Annie doesn't really look one-hundred percent sure, but she exhales and with a roll of her shoulders, nods her head.]

I know that...

[She shakes her head and then is motioning for him to get on with it.]

But yes, I'm sure I'm ready. Come on.

[Finnick chuckles again and can't help but smile.]

On three! One...Two...

[He whips around the net once more before tossing it at her, the net sails through the air over towards Annie as it opens up to encase her.]

Three!

[She had squeezed her eyes shut at two, her hand unconciously clenching at her sides as she waited for the net to ensare her. And sure enough, ensare her it did. The heaviness of it dropped her to her knees and immediately her hands were up, attempting to push it up from her body.]

Well, it's... Heavy.

[Finnick moves forward laughing as she tried to push the net away from her body. His arms wrap around her as he leans over her kissing her cheek through the net.]

That's the point.

[After a second he moves to grab the net and slowly works it off of her body until her head is out of the net.]

Why, hello there ...I think I caught a beautiful fish in my net. What to do, what to do!

Finnick!

[She's trying desperately to sound stern but that's actually hard to do when one is laughing. She struggles for a moment, but soon gives up, resigned to be caught, for the time being.]

You could set the fish free.

[She widens her eyes, giving him the most pathetic look possible.... But then, she's sucking her cheeks in and makes a fish face at him.]

No. This is my fish.

[With that Finnick leans forward kissing Annie, his eyes sliding shut. It's not the type of kiss that one would show on the network on purpose. His arm tightens around her as he leans her forward a little. Obviously for those who knew that they were fighting, they've made up. Completely oblivious to the fact that they are indeed recording for the whole of Asgard, Annie is pulling Finnick closer as their kiss deepens and somehow manages with their movements to cut the feed to the video.

Topic of the day, little friends of the world: wasps. Not bees, mind you. Wasps.

There's an number of you roaming about this place. Why doesn't one of you come forward and tell you know how to care for them.

[ This is actually his way of saying: please take these damn things off my hands. ]

Sherlock Holmes need not apply.

So it seems, Asgard, we meet again.

These gods are persistent in their meddling. They callously insist that I stay in this world. I had presumed once was enough.

[ contrary to popular belief, holmes - holmes is good at what he does. when sherlock holmes decided to devote himself to the passion of crime, the stage lost a fine actor. his tone is firm and he's entirely unflinching. the ratty bathrobe he came to asgard with, draped over his suit. ]

Nevertheless. My name is Sherlock Holmes and I am a returning citizen upon this dwelling. It is my business to know what others do not. I consider myself a specialist in dealing with the criminal mind. Should you need me for anything interesting - you will find means to reach me.

[[ OOC | Guess who finally ... de-anoned. feel free to call him out on his bs. ]]

[The feed opens onto a dim scene, nothing discernible beyond vague shapes in the darkness. A voice is complaining some distance from the feed.]

--rth that revolves around the Sun, not the other way round.

The sun, at this point - Watson, is irrelevant. Which way the sun rotates [ it’s revolves, but details. unimportant details ] is of no import from our methodologies then to our methodologies now.

[Now this voice belongs to the bracelet making the feed. It is unruffled if a little querulous, clearly having better things to do right now then quibble over merely academic questions of orbit. Better things that it gets down to without further preamble.]

It may have escaped your notice, Asgard. [ He doesn’t spare the condescension, not once. ] But these ‘gods’ have conveniently again, decided to throw something our direction.

Two. At the far side, getting closer. One more at the edge, two more at three o clock -- five total.

Six, chap down the ally.

I stand corrected. I’ll take the left; you the right?

[There’s a brief light, match striking matchbox, and something is tossed.]

Three each. Carry on, Watson - this follows the guise of Afghanistan without the threat of a Jezail bullet. [ oh yeah, he went there. ] - To tread on, Asgard. I should need the same form of gun like machination that deployed compressed balls of paint. I have with me, a solution capable of chemoluminescence. [ He really means, the material inside glowsticks ] If anyone should have any of those tawdry machines lying around, perhaps the making of shells is a possibility as we still have resources to our advantages.

[There is an intense flash of light as the firecrackers go off in quick succession. These have obviously been doctored with -- the light from the bursts is enough to illuminate the entire square, and cause screeches of pain from the Six Taken caught out in the open, their dark shrouds ripped from them by the harsh explosions of light.

That is the least of their worries, however -- punctuating the firecrackers are the retort of two guns, fired expertly. The Six Taken are reduced to dust even as the last sparks of the firecrackers fall to the stone street, and Holmes and Watson take their positions again in the darkness, the sounds of pistols being reloaded filling the sudden silence.]

What my esteemed colleague meant to say is that if anyone has the supplies he needs, we’d appreciate the use of them. [ Watson’s tone is as business-like as the click of his revolver’s chamber sliding back into place. ] The clinic in Heimdall’s open for wounded or any seeking shelter and company.

((ooc: Holmes & Watson double post! Enjoy.))

[ HI ASGARD IT'S YOUR FAVOURITE WORST ANON EVER. ]

I am in desperate need of a tiger. Where may I acquire one?
If you have one on hand, I should wish to borrow it.
The person in possession of a tiger will be granted the gift
of knowing my identity. But the tiger should come first.

My demands are simple.

Resume with your meaningless lives if you can provide no input to my cause.

Addendum: I have chloroform in the events the tiger needs to be sedated.
Worry not for my safety.

[Normally she would just resort to text posts, much easier to deal with. But she doesn't quite think her level of severity here would be gotten across with writing.

So -- much sooner than she intended (which was never) -- Lisbeth resorts to making a video post.

Plus this way, everyone will learn to avoid her by sight. She's already been hugged once just walking outside to have a smoke. It was enough to set her off because they would not let her go for hours. Not until she smirked - a twitch of the lips and that was it. But that was enough hugging to last her a lifetime. It was appropriate, she thought, to post a warning.]

If any one of you tries to hug me I'll make sure I'm the last person you get to touch.

And no, before you say it: I don't care if you 'can't help yourself'. Keep. The fuck. Away. From me.

Or I'll use this on you.

[And here Lisbeth brandishes her new best friend. A gun.]

Got it?

[And the feed ends. Scary. First impressions obviously aren't her thing.

Lisbeth will just be holed up in her room. Avoiding people.]

[ The feed turns on to a scruffy looking Englishman with a pipe wedged in his mouth. He is dressed in a rather ratty and disgusting looking red dressing gown. If you do approach him, he smells faintly of chemicals and tobacco. His eyes bare the faintest hints of lethargy. ]

Duly taking the time to praise our gods on their impeccable performance thus far. Their writings imply that they will ensure our entertainment yet there has yet to be neither a cocaine solution in front of me nor casework. Surely, this should stand as a mark against them.

[ His tone has a hint of dryness, perhaps bite a bit mocking when the gods are mentioned. He takes a puff perhaps to calm himself down. His eyes fix on the device, intensely – scrutinizing – analyzing. Holmes means business. ]

I have questions Asgard. Questions that are in need of answering. Do not regale me with trivialities. Idiocy will be ignored.