(Untitled)
WHO: The Dreamers; Inception crew + Arthur
WHERE: The Dreaming
WHEN: Thursday the 3rd and ongoing for a few days, until Arthur wakes up.
WARNINGS: Please warn in thread subjects!
SUMMARY: Arthur's powers go out of control, and the innocent (?) cityzens are affected.
FORMAT: As you like it! Please label your threads if they're open for other ( Read more... )
WHERE: The Dreaming
WHEN: Thursday the 3rd and ongoing for a few days, until Arthur wakes up.
WARNINGS: Please warn in thread subjects!
SUMMARY: Arthur's powers go out of control, and the innocent (?) cityzens are affected.
FORMAT: As you like it! Please label your threads if they're open for other ( Read more... )
Tom is currently leaning back against a tree, with a book in one hand and his wand in the other--his wand and not Harry's--practising spells, although his movements are already precise and he's hardly glancing at the book. On the ground next to him is a pile of parchment and a couple more books. None of the books have visible titles, and none of his notes are legible, a stark contrast to the detail put into the rest of the world.
There is no sign of him being Voldemort anywhere in this dream; he keeps those thoughts and memories tightly locked away even while asleep. But a keen observer might notice something else: there is absolutely no one else around. The only sounds aside from Tom's spells are from the wind through the trees and various animals in the forest nearby. He's completely alone here, as he always is in his dreams.]
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He knows almost instantly that this is wrong. His eyes are drawn to the castle and the trees and the - what are those giant hoops in the air?
The details aren't jumping here - not that he would notice - but he's still analyzing every part of it, even if it doesn't make sense.
He's obviously still dreaming but he's never had a dream like this before and --
He stops when his eyes fall on the boy under the tree. The only living thing for miles around and he knows him, he only just met him, but he can't quite put his finger on it because that dream was already fading...
He steps cautiously towards him, hands in his pockets. The gun was there too.]
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There shouldn't be anyone here. He knows there shouldn't be anyone else here. And this man certainly shouldn't be here, though he couldn't immediately say why--other than the Muggle clothes, those were reason enough, really.
There's a moment of harsh scrutiny, and the world itself seems to dim a little, as if a cloud passed in front of the sun--
And then he seems as calm and cautiously polite as ever.] Good afternoon.
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This is not his dream. This dream belongs to this boy and somehow Sherlock ended up here.
And oh, Tom, he noticed that look.]
Afternoon. [His eyes dart to the wand again.]
Studying?
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Yeah, that's probably not it.
The book in his hand gains a title as soon as the question is asked and his attention is drawn back to it somewhat: Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charmes.]
Research. [He closes the book without bothering to check the page number; his eyes are still locked on Sherlock.] For a class.
Are you here to see the Headmaster?
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Headmaster, hm? So a school, then, and a magical one, and the boy was obviously a student. His accent placed him in the British Isles, and the flora would suggest somewhere in northern England... maybe Scotland?]
I'm afraid I've gotten a little lost, however. Perhaps you could take me to his office?
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Still, Tom smiles back and quickly gathers his things.]
Of course. It's a bit of a walk, but I know a couple short-cuts. If you'll follow me, Mr...?
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[He knew better than to lie, about that. Even if a dim memory almost reminded him that people tend to recognize the name. But a pseudonym would ring hollow, and in a situation where almost everything he was about to say was like to be a lie, He wanted to make sure something he said rang with an air of authority.
He smiled and waited patiently until the boy had packed everything.]
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Which meant he had no business being here.
The books and papers are shrunk and stuck into a pocket of his robes and the quill and pot of ink are Vanished, sent back to his room.] Mr. Holmes. It's good to meet you.
[The trip across the ground to front door takes about three steps--it is a dream, after all--and the door is already wide open and welcoming.
The entrance hall is large and well lit for a castle, though most of the light seems to be coming from somewhere other than the torches. Across the hall is a large marble staircase up to the next floor, which is where Tom will be headed, and two staircases leading down, one on either side. The staircase on the right is dim and less detailed--it's unimportant. The staircase on the left is sharply detailed but seems to get steadily darker.
On the right side of the hall is a set of tall double doors, closed for now but inviting. On the left is smaller door that leads to the ground floor classrooms.
As soon as they enter the school, a very faint voice can be heard, although the words are unintelligible at the moment. It's still the only voice; the school is as quiet as the grounds.]
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He was happy to follow and simply observe for now. The architecture was in many ways very familiar - Sherlock memorized much of the architecture styles in Britain (how else would he be able to find all the hidden passageways), and everything in the castle reminded him of pieces of it, but somehow... different. Perhaps it was the magic.
He notes the staircases and he notes the detail and he wonders vaguely if this is more memory, than dream, and if the detail denotes the places Tom is more familiar with.
His ears prick at the voice - everything had seemed so empty, before, but no matter how hard he tries he simply can't hear the words. He pretends he didn't hear it at all, and looks around in exaggerated wonder.]
My, but it is just as impressive as I'd heard.
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The Founders had a flair for the dramatic. You'll have to stick close to me; the staircases like to move around.
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You seem proud. [Of Hogwarts, the tone implies.]
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[But the first floor seems darker than the last. It's probably because the sun is setting outside. Probably.
And as they ascend the stairs, the voice gradually gets louder and closer, until bits and pieces are able to be understood.]
...rip...tear...kill...to me...
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A nightmare? No. The boy isn't showing an ounce of fear.
So no danger for him, then. But danger for Sherlock...?
Just a dream. There was never anything to be frightened of, in dreams.
He let his fingers touch the cold metal of the gun in his pocket.]
Yes, I can imagine. It's a bit far removed from my daily drudgery, I assure you.
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It's mine as well, during the holidays. [Yeah, his tone and the room just got considerably colder. He's not fond of the place. In the slightest. Thank Merlin he would never have to return there.] I grew up in London. It's a far cry from Hogwarts at the best of times.
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He doesn't let any of his growing caution or concern flicker across his features - his stride still easy and confident.]
I can't say I find many resemblances to London, No.
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