milliways_bar | (no subject)

He adds half a spoon of sugar to his tea.

"I've found that, too. Rather intimidating. I was used to being the strongest on around, especially when I lived in Rebma. But now..."

He takes a sip of tea, and winces, setting down the cup.

"Bah, hot."

"Careful." Too late, of course, but he rather enjoys admonishing Random. He offers the cream, in compensation.

"Rebma?" he prompts, arching a brow.

He sighs at Holmes, arching an eyebrow rather pointedly.

"A city on the bottom of the ocean. Inhabited by mer people who had very little use for me, other than as someone to complete paper work. It eventually got to the point when they just didn't speak to me anymore. I was exploring a cave formation when I found a Door."

"Unforgivably impolite of them." Blithely ignoring the pointed glance, he leans back a bit, tilting his head slightly to one side. "Should I ask how someone as outwardly human as yourself might manage to breathe, underwater?"

He nods at the statement, and then pauses. A moment of thought, another of intense concentration.

"Magic. Complicated stuff. Even I don't entirely understand it."

He grins.

"A lot of my life is like that, nowadays."

"That sounds like a bit of a dangerous risk," Holmes says, but with a narrow grin in return. Pausing for a moment, he chuckles, then adds, "I believe I remember the first of our many conversations. Bemoaning the nature of bureaucracies."

He thinks back and grins.

"Yes. I remember that. Coasters and ammunition. I still hold by that principle."

He blows absentmindedly on his tea, and smiles.

"That was when you had a broken limb. Whatever happened to that? Next time I saw you I was on crutches of my own. And humans don't heal that fast, you know."

"Miss Nita Callahan," says Holmes promptly, with some appreciation in his tone. "And it was merely a twisted ankle, I will have you know. She repaired it the same evening. A singularly impressive experience."

Pity that he hadn't spoken to her since. Sometime in the future, surely.

"I know her. She did my arm for me, though my leg healed itself."

He grins.

"A very capable and intelligent young lady. An especially strong wizard, too. I wish I knew her better."

"Yes, pity there are always so many other matters with which to concern oneself." Matters which appear to consist of lighting a cigarette and lazing about smoking it, at the moment.

"That someone of such a young age should have so much experience," he marvels a moment more.

Random arches an eyebrow. "Time is relative."

He tries to sip the tea again, and finding it too hot resolutely sets the cup back down on the saucer.

"Age has very little to do with anything, as I'm in a very good position to tell you. It's how you treat the experiences the years provide that makes all the difference."

He stares at the tea impatiently, as if glaring at it could make it cool down.

Holmes arches an eyebrow in return. "I grant you that is so, but her accomplishment at a mere fifteen relative years surely measures up in some percentage to yours at..." He pauses. "Exactly what might be your age?"

"9217. On August the first, if you want to split hairs about it."

He takes a sip of his tea and smiles in triumph.

"Hah! Finally."

Green eyes peer up at Holmes over the rim of the cup.

"And this is all you have managed to accomplish in that time?" He clicks his tongue. "How disappointing."

His eyes glint, but he manages to look otherwise perfectly somber, sipping from his cup in return. Strange, that Random's eyes do not remind him of Yrael's--both a little otherwordly. Not that he is about to complain.

Random smirks, and sets his cup down.

"When I was quite young I realized that it was a much greater accomplishment to be happy than to be successful."

He shrugs.

"Of course, the idea falls apart in places, but for most of my adult life I've been doing fairly well."

There's something a lot warmer about Random's eyes than Yrael's. They've also got a lot more gold in them than the ghostly cat.

Holmes slants him a grin in return. "Well said."

A number of very unpleasantly proper people of his distant acquaintance would hardly call Holmes successful, after all, but he gave not a damn for regular business or grandiose living, so long as he had something worthwhile for his mind to pursue.

He smiles triumphantly into his tea.

"It's turned out fairly well, so far. The Touchstones and Audreys of the world get along much better than Lear and his gang of harpies."

He looks up at Holmes, quickly.

"How did you decide to become a 'Consulting Detective.' Surely you must have been under pressure to find a 'stable career' and whatnot."

"Indeed." For a moment, Holmes scowls into his cup, eyes distant with unpleasant memory, but then his lips curve in a grim suggestion of a smile. "Fortunately, I did not and do not give a damn what the majority of society thinks of me." Provided the law did not work entirely against him, of course.

"Honestly, nothing else had one-tenth the power to hold my attention," he shrugs. "I studied chemistry for some time. At Cambridge. A lengthy term of study was good excuse to use a full and functioning laboratory toward my own purposes." His lips quirk.

He snickers.

"I imagine that must have been quite a treat. Though I freely admit, chemistry is one of my shortcomings. I have an annoying tendency to set things on fire."

He sips his tea.

"And I mean things that should have no possible flammabitity. Once, I caused an explosion while performing a simple splint test for hydrogen. It was rather embarrassing, I can tell you."

He snaps his fingers.

"Which reminds me, in a Study in Scarlett you mentioned a test for bloodstains, yes?"

He chuckles at the image of unanticipated explosions, then nods. "Yes. I have improved the process somewhat considerably since then." He traces one fingertip around the rim of his teacup. "Though the police have found more daily use for it than have I. That was the original purpose, of course."

"I was wondering... would it be possible to applicate through a perfume bottle? In a spray like that, it would be much more discreet and much more adaptable to a difficult situation."

He steeples his fingers, leaning his elbows on the table.

"But I don't know enough about the compounds to know if it would work."

Eyebrows arching, Holmes leans forward, an eager spark entering his eyes. "It might. It should." He taps one fingertip against his lower lip. "In fact, I see no reason why it would not. Though a medium to heavy application might be necessary, and would depend upon the bottle in question."

He curves his lips, just a bit devilish. "Planning something discreet?"

He grins back.

"I mean, should you need to be in and out, fast. Being a police officer envolves... constraints that a Consulting Detective need not pander to all the time."

The grin turns positively evil.

"Especially if you don't get caught."

Holmes chuckles, speaking low. "Perhaps you know too many of my habits already, my dear sir."

He hasn't yet been caught taking the law into his own hands, so to speak, and hopefully he never will.

He arches an eyebrow.

"Actually, that was an educated breath, based on my own reaction to the situation. But I'm glad I was right."

He sips his tea, looking relatively smug.

"I suppose it was more of a deduction than a guess, really."