thoughtformed | (voice)

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(voice)

[ the voice coming through is rough, sibilant, and oddly steamy -- literally. literally steamy. as in, it literally sounds like there is steam in the background when Sherlock breathes. ]

If you see an idiot running around with plate armor and a sword yelling about the dragon of the east, don't worry, that's just John having evidently lost his mind.

Would that we could all be so fortunate.

[ there is clattering, like someone is trying to press buttons wildly with a stick (or several sticks), and then a frustrated growl that coincides strangely with the sound of a building shaking, before the transmission ends abruptly. ]

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Foul beast! Do not think that I will not find you in your corridor maze!

[ amused: ] Well, the doors are numbered, so you'll probably best me there eventually.

Just you wait, you monster. You've taken your last innocent life from these peaceful lands! My blade shall taste your blood and stop your evil heart.

Innocent life?

Do not think me a fool. I've seen the houses you've razed, the blood you've spilled, the lives so full of potential and promise that you've so cruelly cut short in your greed.

Pillaging? Not really my area.

I've seen the blazing hell fire in your eyes... That night you took my family from me and made off with our village's gold.

I know you. I could never forget.

Oh, naturally, there's nothing new under the sun. I don't even have to actually do anything to get a horrible reputation, and I reap none of the benefits. Gold? I don't have any gold. Though now that you mention it...

Well, whatever. Let me know when you're done being dramatic and fictionally revenge-driven.

Edited 2013-04-20 06:55 (UTC)

'Being dra-'. Do you mock me? Do you take me for a fool?!

Regularly.

Well, less often than I do others.

Then for your sake you would do well to sleep with an open eye, wretched monster. I swear that I will end your life.

Boring. Are you almost here? The kettle presents an unexpected difficulty with my hands like this.

[ As it so happened, he was nearly there. With little difficulty at all, John's foot slams into the door, bursting it open. He enters, sword drawn, gripped tightly in one hand while a broad shield covers his left arm. ]

I am here, you bloated salamander! Come and face me!

[ (better not expect him to fix that door, John.)

it's funny how the huge physical transformation of additional scales, wings, horns, and fangs has only enhanced Sherlock's natural penchant for dramatic lounging. the whole image is probably shattered by the inclusion of half a dozen rabbits left over from the earlier invasion that don't look to be so much as quivering in Sherlock's presence, but whatever, it's not like he has a pile of gold to nap on either, so image isn't really his problem right now.

while he doesn't have experience in deducing things via plate armor, because frankly if he can't be bothered to keep the solar system cluttering up his mind he's certainly not going to care about something even less relevant, Sherlock does have experience in deducing John; so, he takes an exaggerated glance at the invading knight (if he comes out of this without being introduced in a painful way to the business end of that sword, he's going to laugh himself sick later) from under his lashes, makes a few connections and a few things he would be lying if he said weren't wild guesses, and drawls: ]

Doctor and soldier, recently returned from war abroad, looking for a place to settle permanently but can't afford it yet. How am I doing so far?

[ John is stunned to see him lounging as he is, covered in, of all things, tiny furry creatures. Was this truly the monster that had attacked his people and stolen their treasure? No... surely this had to be some kind of ruse.. a trick to get him to lower his guard so that he could swallow him whole! And what of that treasure? He can't seem to find even a trace of a gold coin or fragment of a gem.

There's a clack in his armour when he is addressed by the.. beast and he readjusts his grip on his sword. ]

Do not think you can fool me with this game. Your mind tricks will not work on me, and I will see you slain!

[ And yet, he expected something.. more. Something dangerous and, well... at least for him to attempt to put up some kind of fight. ]

Why will you not stand to face me, coward?

[ Sherlock's expression doesn't change, but he is a little disappointed. he was even going to let John catch him on the "brother" mistake, too. ]

What would I have to gain from it?

I.. I can't be certain of what goes on in those evil minds of yours...

[ He snorts a little and sheaths his sword. Clearly he's not getting up for him. He can't, however, help but feel just a little insulted by his attitude. Is he unworthy to fight? Even after his tour of duty out of the country? ]

Furthermore, how did you come by this knowledge of me? You know me, but will not fight? You truly are the arrogant monster of rumour.

[ immediately, Sherlock pounces -- figuratively speaking. ]

Armor like that is for function, not fashion, so most of the damage it's taken were from using it in serious battle, but it hasn't seen actual combat in a while. This island is much too stupidly small to support a full army anyway, let alone two engaged in war, so you'd have to have been elsewhere for that. It still shows signs of wear even though it's also clear that you haven't fought in it for a while, so you're still traveling -- why? Because you haven't found the place that says "stop traveling."

You hold your sword and shield in a familiar way, but they're designed for a right-handed man, not a left-handed one like you, so they don't belong to you but someone who cares enough about you to leave you their weaponry. Father, maybe, but why wouldn't he give provide his son with his own weapons if their handedness is different? All right, could be an uncle too, but I'm going with what's likely. No, I didn't know these things, I noticed them.

[ well, and he shamelessly fabricated them based on actual previous knowledge, but he's pretty sure John will thank him for the manipulation later. he lolls his head to the side, looking mostly smug and a touch apprehensive. ] So?

Edited 2013-04-23 04:13 (UTC)

[ Not for the first time since he'd entered the dragon's lair, John has been rendered stunned and completely mute. He looked down to his shield, and then to his armour, trying to follow his line of logic and thought. How could he have possibly gotten all of that just from old battle damage? His face screws up in a number of different, no doubt amusing manners as he puzzles through it. ]

That... That is incredible. You managed to get so much information about me just from my battle wear...?

[ He stares at Sherlock a moment longer, slack-jawed. ]

Are you some sort of wizard as well as a dragon?

I just explained to you how I came to my conclusions and you still think it's magic?

[ okay, it's still closer to cheating than not, not to mention that magic is clearly not in the realm of impossiblility considering Sherlock is a dragon thing right now, but he'd probably have been able to figure out as much ANYWAY, so he unabashedly revels in john's compliments, his tail flicking back and forth an air of smug pride. and of course he wouldn't admit it, but he's pleased that John's reaction to his deductions is evidently always at least some amount of awe. ]

I don't need magic, I simply observe and deduce. It's hardly the most difficult thing, but most people are too vapid to manage it properly.

[ What an arrogant monster. And yet, John can't help himself but to be intrigued and interested in what he has to say. After all, he'd only just 'guessed' all of these things.. or had he truly noticed? He pulls his shield from his arm and sets it against the sofa. ]

So this is what you do when you're not out ransacking villages for their treasures in the dead of night? You lounge about and belittle people based on the things they may or may not be wearing?

Do you consider the truth so belittling?

Certainly! When you say it like that, anyone would! As if all of the answers could easily be... seen. What rot. And to think that I nearly believed your nasty lies.

Now stand! [ He takes up his sword again, the pointed end directly in Sherlock's face ] I refuse to strike my enemy while he is ill-equipped to fight back.

I literally just told you how I know -- oh, never mind.

[ ok, nope, there's clearly no getting out of this without a fight, which is a shame because he'd prefer to avoid one of them dying at the hands of the other. he's perfectly capable of unarmed combat against a sword-wielding assassin, but one thing he isn't experienced in is the accommodation of working with three extra limbs. perhaps he could simply snatch John up and fly away with him until they're high enough that killing Sherlock in midair would be a suicidal and irrational counterattack and John will simply be forced to dangle until Sherlock can drop him in a tree? hm. maybe as a last resort. either way, Sherlock slowly climbs to his feet, dislodging several napping bunnies as he does so, and settles himself to his full and impressive height. ]

I hope you're not expecting any kind of compensation for my execution, considering as you may have noticed I don't actually have any treasure, stolen or otherwise.

[ a beat. ]

Unless you're especially fond of rabbits.

[ He looks much larger on his feet than he did while he was lounging on the sofa, and for a moment, he's stricken dumb. But it's only a moment before his grip has re-tightened on his sword and he's looped his shield back over his forearm. ]

It would be better for the both of us if you did not waste any more time trying to be clever. Tell me where the treasures are and I shall spare your wicked life.

By all means, search away. There's nothing to find.

[ Sherlock spreads his arms (though not his wings, not wanting to look particularly intimidating) in a manner reminiscent of when he took on the CIA agent so long ago -- only this time, he doesn't plan on subduing John like he did the agent, just watching him. ]

[ John watches Sherlock warily for a moment before leaning in to pat him down and even search his pockets, hoping for some trace of treasure; a coin, jewel, or even some kind of key. He comes away clean and lowers his shield again, looking rather disappointed with his empty hands. ]

Well, of course it wouldn't be on you. What've you done with it?

Would that he should be fortunate enough to drive a sword into your throat. Or that you should be so foolish as to cross my path.

That seems like excellent motivation for me not bothering with you then, doesn't it?

Not unless you wish for death. You would hardly be the first dragon to fall on my sword if you did. But I imagine later, much later, you would regret that decision.

[Loki told her that strange things happen, but she's not quite sure if she kills some poor person who is a dragon but should really be a human what happens when the dragon part ceases.]

[ a deadpan drawl: ] Sooner rather than too much later, I imagine, unless your aim is terribly poor.

I've given no cause to be accused of such a lack of skill.

And was it the sight of you that had such a salutary effect?

No, he believes it to be an old score.

You'd say he's in error, then?

Well yes, particularly as I seem to rather lack all these stolen treasures I'm meant to have spirited away somehow.

Alas. That must be a disappointment.

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