The last time that Henry Blackwood heard tell of Sherlock Holmes, the detective had shot Henry's wife in the process of rescuing his doctor friend. The last time that Henry Blackwood heard tell of Sherlock Holmes, Blackwood had still been male.
(He - well, she, now - is now simply operating under Bar's reassurances that the effects of the mints that had been out on the bar earlier will wear off in a day or so.)
When the woman at a nearby table (now dressed in clothing that fits herself now) spots Holmes, her only reaction is a bemused, "Hm," as if to say, 'Well, you weren't really who I was expecting.'
He might be interested in the one snowy-white and grey-streaked wing extended straight up, quivering as fingers are poked through the feather shafts to straighten and de-tangle them.
Davi hasn't met him, but he will soon, when he folds in that wing and ruffles the feathers to make them lay flat, revealing an unblemished male face with impossibly fair features.
The being behind the wing speaks, shifting on the chair to begin the process with his other wing. Idly, he twirls a fluffy feather between his fingertips.
"It seems that your god is getting sloppy," he says finally. Really, it's getting ridiculous. All this blather about returning from the dead after three days and then...
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(He - well, she, now - is now simply operating under Bar's reassurances that the effects of the mints that had been out on the bar earlier will wear off in a day or so.)
When the woman at a nearby table (now dressed in clothing that fits herself now) spots Holmes, her only reaction is a bemused, "Hm," as if to say, 'Well, you weren't really who I was expecting.'
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His lips quirk.
"Evening," he says merrily.
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"Evening."
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When he looks her way, she offers a wave and a blinding smile.
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Have I worked on you before?"
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He flashes a smile.
"All in good time, no doubt."
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Davi hasn't met him, but he will soon, when he folds in that wing and ruffles the feathers to make them lay flat, revealing an unblemished male face with impossibly fair features.
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The being behind the wing speaks, shifting on the chair to begin the process with his other wing. Idly, he twirls a fluffy feather between his fingertips.
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"An angel. We don't get very many of those, Downside."
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"Hello."
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Politely: "Yes?"
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