Blinding Tree (Dolphin)

[Basil Holmes]

» - - - - - - he's as blind as he can be
JUST SEES WHAT HE WANTS TO SEE - - - - - - - - - - «

It hadn't been a particularly troubling case. Very shut end, if Basil did say so himself. The tragic murder of a young woman with very good manners, a wealthy estate, and virtually no obvious enemies was bound, of course, to have enemies.

It was rather cut and dry. A .38 bullet had punctured her left lung, causing a death the detective wasn't all that keen on relaying. It was slow, and evidently quite painful, but he'd long since let himself feel a real emotional tug for victims. Those that were dead were dead, and it was the alive ones he had to watch his manners with.

As it was, whilst carefully observing the exact details surrounding the woman's prone body, Basil came across the unmistakable petal of a Bush Lupine. With furrowed brows, he'd taken this as a strange sign. Though it was a common plant, it grew mostly in forests, woods at the very least, and Miss Woodbed (or whatever) lived quite within the city. He'd then volunteered to personally search nearby, inspecting every thicket of trees where the evidence might have grown.

After seeking high and low throughout each nearby wild habitat, eventually Basil had caught sight of the plant very near a house just on the outskirts of the city limits. A lone man resided, quite bitter and even going so far as to threaten Basil mind you, but had a nice bush of Brush Lupine growing very near his front door.

After that it was like taking candy from a baby, which would actually be quite rude. Mr. Durbanheim (or whatever) was a relative of the late woman, and because she was the heir of her family's fortune, he sought fit to get her out of the picture. Doing so would cause him to be next in line, thus becoming rich outrageously quickly.

Again, it was a closed case rather quickly. However, the current mystery of Basil's irritated skin and suddenly poor eyesight was another thing entirely. The man wasn't given much time to ponder much however, as he was quickly alerted to another case he was to assist in.

So the detective strode what he believed to be confidently down the academy's halls, accidentally tripping over many things and even bumping into the students.

"So sorry," he commented absentmindedly, hands held out before him in a sign to keep one's distance. "Excuse me," he muttered as another body collided with his own.

tagged » - - - - - - Dolphin Watson
4 0 0 - - - - - - « words
lyrics » - - - - - - beatles
brooke - - - - - - « credit

[dawson]

|| But I'll always look back on that first with the most fondness; ||

|| my introduction to Basil of SSotR Academy, the great detective. ||

“Oh. Uh, young lady, that’s actually…” Furrowed brows nearly jumped from his forehead as his student tossed it into the nearest trash bin and the departing crowd busted into laughter. His lips pursed, finally expressing his admittedly meager frustration, and Dawson proceeded to retrieve his pen. It was, afterall, a nigh perfect imitation Montblanc Mystery Masterpiece. While a rip-off, it had fetched the seller more than a few of his paychecks. The students, however, were certainly poorly acquainted with such fine craftsmanship and less than impressed by his weak presence before large groups of people. Couldn’t it have been a smaller class?

“Why, I’d never met such disrespectful…”

The murmuring led off with a huff, hand stretching out courageously before stalling and hovering over the rim. Determination dwindled as his imagination prodded at him; cautiously, he leaned his face over to ascertain the exact contents. Ah. Quite fine. Several crumbled papers, soda cans and a few Gatorade bottles, but nothing especially unsanitary. The Englishman drew his hand to a sleeve to roll it up, carefully, ignoring the passing glances. It was a rather uncomfortable situation, but that couldn’t stop him—he’d need to watch his desk from now on. Keep everything hidden. Exhale.

The portly man finally leaned over, hand lowering carefully, but not quite reaching the pen below the scraps and plastic. One leg lifted as he through his weight into the reaching, waving off a few questions—and then the trash tumbled, chafing his arm on the way. The plastic bottles rolled noisily and, apparently, one had been nearly full as it there was soon a blue puddle. Oh dear. He stepped back as the blue spread out before glancing over to the trash-tipper.

It appeared to be another professor, and quite the unfocused one. Fairly young compared to him. Thinner. A meek smile spread at the words and he shook his head, holding up a hand as to hold of the oncoming apology... which he needn't have done. In fact, those eyes hand't even seemed to pay the mess mind for an instant.

“Ah, it’s quite fine but…” He watched as the eyes remained unfocused-directed elsewhere- and leaned towards the direction they were looking. Dimly, he was aware the little display had gained even more attention than his performance. But it wasn’t as noticeable at the moment. “Are you alright?”

[Basil Holmes]

» - - - - - - he's as blind as he can be
JUST SEES WHAT HE WANTS TO SEE - - - - - - - - - - «

The sound of tumbling bottles and what sounded like crumpled bits of paper caught Basil's attention, though he shrugged it off. It was probably some student or another, so clumsy as was the curse of being an adolescent. Nothing but oily skin and awkward changes was this detective's opinion. Yes, stumbling over one's feet while their body underwent uncomfortable modifications was an unfortunate side effect too.

“Ah, it’s quite fine but… Are you alright?”

Basil blinked, unseeing eyes quite certain they could see, and immediately outstretched his hand in a greeting.

"I must say, that's an English accent isn't it?" he asked, a smile crawling onto his lips, "Why, I didn't think I'd meet another of our Queen's men here of all places!"

It was a comfort, though. The brunette, though most definitely not homesick, did feel a sort of fondness for someone who he had a common ground with. Granted of course, the man in question was to be someone with whom he'd like to be acquainted with.

"Basil Holmes, my good fellow! And yes, quite alright if I do say so myself. What name my I call you, sir?"

tagged » - - - - - - Dolphin Watson
2 4 3 - - - - - - « words
lyrics » - - - - - - beatles
brooke - - - - - - « credit

[dawson]

|| But I'll always look back on that first with the most fondness; ||

|| my introduction to Basil of SSotR Academy, the great detective. ||

The pudgy fingers lingered but a second, manners reflexively sending his hand to reciprocate the polite gesture. The meek smile grew into something authentic at the accent, hand taking a loose grip of the offered hand (peculiarly aimed away from his person). Dawson had missed the company. Especially the initial year, he had found himself somewhat uncomfortable in the dodgy crowds seeking free treatment, something quite illegal in America. Ah, but wasn’t this a pleasant surprise?

“Why-- yes, I’m-” Lips parted with the words, prepared to spill out his name, and he paused. Wait, Basil Holmes? According to them, that would mean he is the reincarnation of… but that’s simply not possible. Whilst the man had indeed accepted the invitation, he’d primarily done so to avoid the difficulties of private practice. It would be daft to accept such a ridiculous fairytale.

“I’m Dr. David Dawson. It’s certainly a pleasure.” Mithered, he watched for a response, hoping he had been the only one to receive the childish prank (though it is unlikely they had spawned that children’s film for a prank…] because, while it may be comprehendible, it was definitely not sane. A moment and he leaned forward:

“Pardon me, Mr. Holmes, but does it-…” An empty bottled whimpered upon being kicked suddenly and he glanced to the huddle of trash, hair standing on end at the sight of his pen dipped in blue goo just beyond the can. The man backpedaled and swiveled, crouching down to lift the item while his free hand drew a handkerchief from his pocket. The cloth soaked up the viscous substance and even stained his gloved fingers; queue horrified expression followed by a defeated one.

“Do excuse me—this is an important fairing from a friend. In any case, as I was saying…” He glanced, fingers still working the Gatorade from his pen as he stood. “Your eyes haven't met mine... or focused... this entire time. Are you quite sure you’re alright?”