capeandcowllogs | Over the laws of light

WHO: The Shade and Sherlock Holmes
WHERE: SHADOWY PLACES AND THEN ELSEWHERE?
WHEN: Tuesday night!
WARNINGS: Bastards.
SUMMARY: Shadow walkers meet and Shade is a mentor or something?
FORMAT: Tagger's Choice, paragraph to start!

The Shade, as the name would elude, preferred darkness. The way even the smallest, most innocent of things could appear sinister, the way shadows were long, the way the chill would spread out and into everything. The lack of light didn't bother him, of course. He was of shadow, of course he liked the dark. Thanks to that odd little accident so long ago had left him with this, but he enjoyed it.

Stepping into the shadows was so easy, slipping into something that wasn't like the shadowlands he had back in his world, but he could still step into them, the comforting, eerie silence. The kind of silence that was truly silent. So silent that one could hear their heart beat, and Shade would, if he had a heart that still beat.

Which he didn't, of course, but that was beside the point. Poetry was important to make the point.

But it was always quiet in the shadows, even his cane didn't tap against the surface that he was walking on, if it even existed.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I am the Shade.

[ He let the man circle, tipping a hand to his hat with the introduction of his name, always peering from behind tinted sunglasses that were just a bit too outlandish to really be anything but costume. Some parts of his dress, of course, were. The sunglasses, the cane, essentially there for show. After all, did he need a sword buried in his cane? Of course not, he was immortal, but setting the stage was vital to someone who was a former supervillain.

It was the little things, he'd learned, that mattered in that line of work. Intimidation and theatrics not only benefited him in his work, but they were fun. At least for someone who was far too bored in his life. ]

And you? It is rare I find others in my shadows like this.

[ The possessive term deliberate, as if he were laying claim to them, and why not? From the way this man moved, slow even for him who sauntered everywhere, he was new to the experience. ]

[An alias. That figures. Sherlock slips his hands into his coat pockets to keep his air of nonchalance evident.]

Sherlock Holmes. [His eyes narrow, more from false curiosity than anything else.]

So did you arrive here this way, or can I expect to lose my accent, too?

[ His eyebrows rose only slightly, but the spunk was appreciated. At least a fair amount. Most people couldn't pick it up anymore, at least most Americans, and even those who also came from his country of origin were often less than able to pick up on his particular accent.

Just a hair posh, perhaps like someone who was a bit too full of themselves.

Which, of course, he was, so there was that. ]

When one spends so much time away from that place, things simply happen. Including the loss of accents. It's a tragedy, I'm afraid, but you'll learn to live with it.

[Sherlock could easily read the arrogance, but knew it had to come from somewhere. Then again, this power could make anyone who used it properly rather smug.]

I'll stick with it, thanks.

[He could already speak in an American accent, among others, but losing his own posh London drawl was too revolting to think about. To let something like the Brooklyn accent stick-- perish the thought.]

You've been following me. So what do you want?

You could say that I'm often watching things that catch my attention, Mr. Holmes. [ It was an oddity. He had no doubts, of course, that this man was supposed to be Sherlock Holmes, and yet, he found himself wanting, for the lack of a better term.

This was not the sort of man he imagined when reading Doyle. ]

Particularly when we share a power. I have always found it important to keep an eye on others with similar abilities. I'm sure you can understand why.

[ He watched with the sort of air a predator would hold. Still, and yet his eyes continued to track every movement, if one could catch the shift beneath his sunglasses. He was a picture of Victorian sensibility in some ways, even in the way he never shifted, or even adjusted his clothing. ]

Obviously.

[As well as obviously vague. Purposely so, if he isn't mistaken. However, Sherlock is as of yet unaware of his fictional counterpart in other worlds, but he does so love to shatter people's expectations of him. Especially if they involved proving people wrong with an intellectual trussing, or anything about that bloody hat.

When the Shade goes on to explain, Sherlock listens with a careful ear for any sort of deceitful lilt, or any hint of false pleasantry. The man isn't circling him physically, but he can feel the gaze, see the slight twitches in his face around the sunglasses. He can imagine a myriad of reasons for monitoring people with this power. They have virtually free reign anywhere a shadow is cast.]

Don't like sharing all your free space, then. That's hardly charitable of you.

Oh it's hardly that, but you never know who you can trust, hm? [ He reaches out, fishing into the dark, before pulling free a pipe, which he promptly lights, tossing the small, disposable match into the pool of shadows at his feet.

Drawing in the smoke from his pipe, he continued to watch him, but this time it was accompanied by the smoke, and he waved a hand to emphasize his words. ]

I hardly have a problem with sharing, but I should certainly like to keep an eye on whomever wants to share with me. Just in case. Power such as this, as I'm sure you've noticed, could so easily be abused.

[ His tone still light, it was no surprise that he spoke with confidence. After people like Culp, and yes even like himself in earlier years, he knew how easily the power could be abused. ]

[Unfortunately, the irony of the smoking situation doesn't strike Sherlock, but the enticing smell of the tobacco does make him glad he wore an extra nicotine patch that day.]

So then you know people who do abuse it.

[Sherlock is certain Shade can't be talking about him. He's hardly mastered this new ability enough to make either ill or good use of it, though he isn't going to let on to that. Not in words, anyway.]

Are they here, or in your home world?

Ah, primarily in my world, yes.

[ He says no more than that about the subject, moving on rather quickly, all things considered. At least in comparison to to the rest of his other motions, lethargic and unconcerned with the world around him. ]

And what, exactly, do you plan to do with your budding competency with such power?

Over the laws of light

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