lostcarnival | OPEN: New Beginnings In Stranger Places

Entry tags:

OPEN: New Beginnings In Stranger Places

Who: Dr. Helen Magnus and [You]
When: Day 92
Where: Roaming around, a little lost
What: Arrival, getting her bearings, etc. etc.

Adventure was something Helen Magnus never shied from and exploring the vastness of the underground Sanctuary, far beyond those walls was something she couldn't deny herself. So it was that she found herself here, under contract to the Ringmaster with her eyes wide with wonder at it all. The lights and colours, the excitement, the darker elements shining through here and there. It was as familiar as it was alien and she drank it in with an eagerness she had long felt lacking. It stirred her as she moved through tents, passed people much like her who had joined perhaps years before her. A bright flash of a tail there, wings, glowing skin, all of these people becoming Abnormals or were in the beginning. The sheer fascination would have been enough, really.

"Excuse me?" she asked, reaching out to catch the attention of one of the people she had fallen into step with, "I seem to have found myself a bit lost. I was looking for the medical tent and I seem to have completely gotten myself turned around. If you could point me in the right direction, I'd be most grateful."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Speaking of alien, the person that turned around was covered completely in green scales, and had a snake-like snout, reptilian eyes, and four little horns sticking out of his forehead and dark, curly hair. He was about six feet tall, and despite his inhuman looks, there was a keen intellect behind his gaze, as he attempted to piece together an impression based on visual clues. It was basically a reflex, he couldn't turn his deductions off. He wore a long, dark gray coat and blue scarf.

"Oh, new person, right." He sounded rather sympathetic. He pointed a clawed finger in the direction of the medical tent.

"It's just over there, you can't miss it."

Edited 2017-05-02 23:04 (UTC)

Absolutely fascinating.

"Quite new," she said with a nod, her accent very much of British origin and her mannerisms still quite proper Victorian despite the fact that her clothes give her away as very much present-day. "I gather this place is nowhere near where I began my day, which I must say is rather an adventure in itself. Much like mapping out this place. I'll have it all soon enough, I'm sure."

He reminded her of various reptilian Abnormals she's come across in the many years of her Sanctuary work, though the horns were an interesting addition. Changes, most likely, almost along the line of Will's save for the fact that this gentlemen's intellect seemed quite intact.

"Ah, wonderful. I suppose I was headed in the right direction after all. I'm Dr. Helen Magnus and will be helping out your doctor and those who need help adjusting to their various changes."

He was also English. Her brow wrinkled a little, just for a second.

"You wouldn't happen to know where I could get a decent cup of tea, would you?" It had to be asked, honestly. Adjusting to the bustling environment, as exciting as it was, would need something resembling tea and a good place to observe the ebb and flow of the carnival itself.

He filed away the information in his mind, noting that despite her clothing, her mannerisms and accent were decidedly old-fashioned.

"Sherlock Holmes," he said, quite pleasantly, despite his reputation he wasn't actually all that rude on first meetings, he was just brutally honest. Despite looking very much like a snake, he still retained animated expressions. "The cookhouse, it's hardly decent, but better than nothing."

It wasn't that bad, but it wasn't the same as he was used to. Plus he's grown rather reliant on the coffee here as well.

"Would you like to join me?" He asked, quite suddenly. 'Helping people adjust to their changes' intrigued him. He'd been here for a bit more than three months, and come from a world where none of this should be possible. Needless to say he could use a listening ear.

Sherlock Holmes.

Multiversal indeed.

Her expression softened further with nostalgia.

James Watson would have been more than a little intrigued to meet Authur Conan Doyle's detective come to life, so-to-speak, as in their universe he had been the inspiration for the man. For Helen, it is as if a little bit of her home and past has been gently brought to life. It's not something she'll mention but it's appreciated in the quietest of ways.

"It would absolutely be my pleasure, Mr. Holmes. I do wonder if they'd let me make it myself or if that's just wishful thinking." She gestured almost gently. "Please, lead on."

He catches the look, but without context he can hardly make any conclusion.

So instead, he gives a polite smile and strode forward, towards the cookhouse.

"Oh, we can certainly make our own," he said, almost cheerfully. Even if they said no, he'd do it anyway. Though he'd visited the kitchen enough times that he knew where everything was. He quite liked the heat by the stove, it was comfortable and helped him think. Between that and sunning himself or taking a trip to the hot springs, he'd discovered that being overly warm, not only was physically helpful for his current appearance but also stimulated his thought processes.

"So what sort of doctor are you?"

"Medical," Helen said, keeping up with him easily, "though my specific areas of speciality are biology, anatomy, chemistry, teratology, crypto-zoology, and xenobiology." The breadth of her studies itself at least speaks to her qualifications. Helen has always enjoyed the challenge of a puzzle, to say the least, and Science itself had given her many of them in her life.

"Oxford University for the medical degree," she added a beat later. "I did do extremely well in the field of surgery. I had some wonderful mentors."

Oh, he could jump for joy. It was like a breath of fresh air in a stifling, non-academic, scienceless land. He was a (somewhat) logical man adrift in a sea of nonsense and magic. There was a definite spring in his step as he looked sideways with a smirk. "Xenobiology? Crypto-zooology? Really? Interesting world you come from."

"Ah, Oxford," he said with he slightest trace of irony. "I went to Cambridge."

The Cookhouse was within view, and it didn't seem to be particularly busy. Good, they could steal a kettle.

"Surgical skills, very good." He filed away the information in his mind. A pang of missing John almost derailed his thoughts. How indeed did he miss his own Doctor. "I'm sorry to say you'll probably be needed, we could have used someone like you not too long ago."

Edited 2017-05-03 07:59 (UTC)

"In my own universe, I've aided many creatures and many people going through their own metamorphoses, giving them sanctuary when they wish while providing a safe, comfortable place for those Abnormals who prove too dangerous to be allowed to roam free," she said shaking her head a little. "I've quite the practical experience with xenobiology and crypto-zoology. It can be challenging to create proper living spaces for creatures and people who, for example, don't breathe oxygen."

Helen's laughter is honest at the schooling. Ah, rivalries and alma maters.

"I am still in very good surgical practice," she assured him, though there's a quietly grim note to it. Not all of those times she's been at the table have been remotely normal. Helen is sure this Carnival will not be any different. Her next words are quiet but firm as she seems to settle into her role.

"I suppose it's all the better that I'm here, then."

That was fascinating. He'd come from a world where the fantastic and impossible that he'd seen here were just figments of imagination, but even as much as he'd seen here, that was a new concept.

"I should like to hear more about that," he said, looking a bit deep in thought. She'd come from a world where people were 'metamorphosizing' enough that specialists and assistance were warranted. He could only imagine how awful it would be to not be able to breathe oxygen, to be trapped in a small climate-controlled space.

"My brother went to Oxford," he said, with the tone that he really might have just gone to Cambridge just to spite him. (Though it wasn't just to spite him.)

He nodded, as he walked through the opening that led to the interior of the cookhouse. His forked tongue flicked out, scenting all the varying cooking smells, old and new, spices and steam and stale breakfasts.

Edited 2017-05-03 08:41 (UTC)

"I do have quite the collection of incidents and some fairly fascinating facts of Abnormals throughout history," Helen said with what was definitely a genuine smile and a slight quirk of her eyebrow. "Some of them involving presidents and influential figures." It was such a tease of information really, but she couldn't help herself.

"Ah," she murmured and laughed once more. "My life would have been much, much different if I hadn't gone. I did meet the most fascinating of people in the process."

She glanced around, taking a moment to adjust to the new surroundings and noting all available exits as she did a habitual scan of the room. Helen had her eye on Holmes as well - fascinating, a forked tongue as well? She was sure there was a story there, as well to his current appearance. Her year and a day, Helen mused, was definitely going to be interesting, to say the least.

That was very unfair. A curious gleam in his eyes that signified he probably wouldn't let it go until he found the story out. "I can only infer that 'Abnormals' means a person who's not quite human, or more than human?"

He guestured to the mostly empty seats and tables with a webbed, clawed hand (the webbing was courtesy of a stint in an underwater world where they all became mermaids (and mermen) of varying sorts. He certainly had a story behind some of his more unusual traits. "Feel free to sit anywhere, or you could come round back and help me with the tea?"

"You would be very much correct, Mr. Holmes," she said, enjoying that gleam immensely. Helen was curious to see how they were stocked and laid out so there was absolutely no inclination to sit anywhere as of yet.

Not until there was a cup of well-made tea in her hand.

"I'll take option two, I think. I may need an emergency cup of tea at some ungodly hour, an act I do hope won't be considered some sort of trespass." Or dogged with some sort of penalty considering their current arrangements.

"Option two it is then," he said as he motioned for her to follow with a movement of his hand, and a smile.

He led to the kitchen, where he dug around for a spare kettle, drew some water and plopped it on the stove. He seemed fairly comfortable, and the general humidity and heat of the place felt great to him. "I wouldn't worry about this place, it's leaving the Carnival which gets you in trouble." There was definitely a story there, as despite his casual tone, it sounded like it came from a difficult place.

"The tea should be around there somewhere," he grumbled as he moved some instant coffee around before he found a box of tea. "Aha."

"I can believe that leaving without satisfying your contract would incur quite the heavy consequence," she murmured as she glanced at the box of tea almost fondly. Helen found two clean cups, though they were not remotely china and she wasn't sure about a tea set. She neatly placed them withing Sherlock's reached, her voice quiet and warm with quite genuine interest.

"It must have been important enough to risk punishment."

"As I can attest to first-hand," Sherlock said, wryly. "I tried. It didn't end well."

He dug through the box, taking out two tea bags and placing them in the cups. He glanced at the kettle, which would be boiling shortly.

"Important, or just a culmination of things. I had enough of magic, I didn't like being covered in scales, I wanted to go home, I was tired of all of this, I missed my friends, I thought I could get away with it," he leaned against a table casually. "There was no way out, I was captured, and turned into a chameleon for my troubles."

His voice hitched slightly, evidence that the memories weren't pleasant. "I don't know if it's anything you have data on, if it was even possible in your world, but I highly suggest doing your best to never get turned into an animal. It's...not like a cartoon or a children's story. It took its toll on my mind." His voice trailed off, feeling like he was probably being over dramatic, but it was true. His massive intellect shoved into a tiny brain was not fun, especially when said tiny brain had reptilian instincts that easily overwhelmed the higher mammalian reasoning that was crammed in there. Reptilian instincts, which also came with his appearance now. He'd done a tremendous job of suppressing them, though his efforts had failed not long ago during the Vampire incident.

Edited 2017-05-04 08:48 (UTC)

A chameleon. Helen let out the softest noise and looked at once horrified at the punishment and yet she understood just how limiting that could be for a man of his intellect. Her eyes swept across his face as she listened to him, shaking her head gently.

"My protege, Will Zimmerman, went through a change that was not dissimilar as a reptilian species overwrote his DNA, changing his body and his mind in the process." Her expression was worried even now as she recalled it. "We tried everything, exhausted all avenues, and it was only at the very last moment that, through a mutual friend, we were able to reverse the process. It was terrifying for all of us but I am sure more so for Will."

Her eyes found his and for a moment there were no words.

"The limits of the reptilian mind must have been maddening for you especially. With a mind as sharp and extensive as yours, I can only imagine how--" Helen remembered the early days when James Watson had yet to get a grasp on his own senses and pull himself together. He had frequently felt trapped, limited by his own body at times.

"I will endeavor not to tempt fate too much," she said, her voice soft. There was nothing overdramatic about such a traumatic event. "Mr Holmes..." Helen said, trailing off for a moment, honestly wishing she could do something that would help ease the trauma.

"Have you approached the Ringmaster about perhaps restoring your natural appearance?" she asked very quietly. "Or if that is an impossible request, at least gain control over it so that you may be yourself when you wish?" Honestly, Helen might even attempt to talk to her given the circumstances.

"If you don't mind me asking, what was the exact nature of his transformation? And the extent of his mental degradation?" He would very much like the chance to compare notes. His own changes, as time went on, didn't seem to be stopping. Not that he'd expect to suddenly become a little lizard again, but who knew how much worse this was going to get. The veteran carnival workers hadn't degraded so, he still had hope. Maybe his worry was just irrational fear.

A nod, it would all be very fascinating if it didn't happen to himself. "Indeed. The instincts were very difficult to override, and I wasn't sure what was me and what was the lizard. My sense of self suffered...though I was coherent. Half the time I was frustrated at being slow. Chameleons take forever to get anywhere. And the bugs...the bugs were quite tasty." It was a joke, but actually true.

A wry smirk, though there was a furrowing of his brows, indicating that it wasn't a smirk of amusement, but of irony.

"She was the one who turned me into a chameleon." A pause. "She doesn't like me, I have...angered her before. I'm afraid of what might happen if I do ask." He thought back to the time she caught him snooping on a supervisor's meeting, and gotten slapped for it. It wasn't entirely underserved, but it was probably best not to anger her further. He actually had a reason to get on her good side, because he wanted to sign up for another year if he could bargain something out of it that may possibly fix a terrible mistake. In any case, he had a more healthy respect for the Fae now, unlike when he'd first arrived.

"To be fair, I don't think I'll get as bad as your protege, after all the Veterans here seem somewhat sane, I just..." he wasn't sure why he was being so open, but she seemed to be the kind of person that would understand, at least. "I don't like not being able to trust my mind. I've been betrayed by it before. I attacked my friend after the vampire incident. I didn't mean to."

Of course, this was a man who was tempted enough times by drugs to experience an addled mind without the benefit of having magical changes to blame his problems on.

Edited 2017-05-04 11:10 (UTC)

"The spores of the Cillobar, a plant/animal hybrid, change the host organism one cell at a time until it completely takes over the body. Skin changes, reptilian scales are present and go on to form a thick, tough skin and exoskeleton, structural changes to the cranium, secretions the hands and feet, as well claws and merging of fingers. He was unable to speak or write late into the changes and before that, he expressed aggression and the sense of losing himself," Helen explained quietly. "Total rewrite of his cellular structure and DNA would mean that his mental degradation would have been total had we not come up with a cure."

She nodded and smiled, thinking about his brushes with the Ringmaster for awhile before he started talking about the Veterans and she leaned a hip against the table, settling next to him thoughtfully.

"What were you feeling just before you attacked your friend?" she asked, glancing at him. "If we can isolate a trigger for the violence, you'll at least have a warning."

"Fascinating. And horrifying."

He seemed quite into her story, as much as it sounded like outright fiction, he certainly knew better now how real the impossible had truly become. Well, it was fascinating from an objective point of view, probably not so exciting from the actual victim's point of view. But that's how Sherlock thought with even the most gruesome of murders. He'd trained his mind to divorce his feelings in order to look at things objectively.

A thoughtful look, before he answered again.

"To be fair, I was injured at the time, and suffering from the effects of blood loss and whatever nonsense being enthralled by a vampire had done to me. I was no longer enthralled at that point, but they had pulled something...I don't know...what I was trying to suppress...instincts..." he seemed embarrassed. "Anyway, I was in a lot of pain, and the first thought I had was to lash out mindlessly."

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

"I...was also coming off of the effects of a variety of mind-altering substances."

"So much of life is," she murmured. There is a look of sympathy, a kindness, but not pity for the situation. Her eyes say she has seen many things and been through them herself.

"That does not sound like a particularly pleasant situation to be in," Helen said, her voice soft and carrying a note of kindness with it. "Pain alone can be enough to make anyone lash out and mind-altering substances can make even the simplest things into your worst nightmare. I can't imagine the effect that had on you but it sounds absolutely terrifying."

Her thoughtful words and sympathy resonated with him greatly, though he felt rather guilty about it, as with most things it seems as of late.

"I was high of my own accord," he admitted, his voice tensing even as he tried to sound casual. "That place...before the vampires attacked, it was--it offered anything a person could ever want. Which turned out to be a very bad thing, we were caught off guard and I was completely useless when they came."

He seemed quietly furious with himself.

"They took the kids, they turned them into vampires...if maybe I hadn't been blitzed I would have been able to save some of them. At least they were rescued, though I couldn't do a thing about that either because I was recuperating."

Bitter, him? Nah.

"Sherlock," Helen's voice was a soft murmur. "You cannot dwell in maybes and ifs. Those are the things that eat away at you until all you have left is guilt and bitterness and perhaps a little madness. I know all too well what it is like to be unable to stop something like that, only the end I saw was not as promising as your own."

Her hand gently settled on his shoulder.

"I lost my daughter and the guilt, the pain, the madness of it nearly consumed me. There were moments where ifs and maybes were all I could see, all I wanted to see. But in the end, I had to let go for the sake of my friends, colleagues, and the patients who depended on me to keep them safe." She let out a soft sigh and squeezed his shoulder in firm but light support.

"Next time when a dangerous situation arises," she said with a small smile, "you will know better than to let your senses become blinded." She leaned in to catch his eyes, her own bright and honest. "You need them to be sharper than they have ever been, especially here. But first you need to do a difficult thing, you need to take that guilt and channel it into every skill you have and you need to have as much faith in yourself as I have, right now, in you."

Helen searched his face, a half-smile on her own.

"And if ever you need a shoulder or a someone to sit and talk with, my door is always open for you. Some things cannot be undone but that does not mean you are useless. It simply means that you must grow."

His eyes focus on her, floored and astounded that she could have lost her daughter and still remained so wise, and extending this kindness to him even with such a thing capable of rending one immobile with regret.

...you need to have as much faith in yourself as I have, right now, in you.

His brows furrowed, it had been a long time since even John had said that to him. She scarcely knew him, and every bit of his deductions told him that she was being sincere.

And that...that was everything to him.

Maybe she just hasn't been around long enough to see his bad side. Everyone got fed up with him eventually.

"Y...yes, well, I might have to take you up on that," Sherlock's voice cracked slightly as he tried to keep it as neutral as possible.

Oh Helen, even if it doesn't last, as he expects it to not, you've just made a friend.

"Please do, any time of the day or night," she said and then laughed softly as she realised they'd completely derailed the one thing they'd come for.

"I fear we have forgotten the tea," Helen murmured, easing herself away to take care of the now madly whistling kettle. "Let me remedy that and get us a proper cup."

Helen could never be insincere around a man who reminded so dearly of her best friend. Though he may be different in some respects, he is someone she will always believe in. With his sharp deductive skills, brusque manner, and everything else that makes him himself, he is still human. On her part, she will always support him and if he thinks it may not last, well...Helen Magnus makes it a point to keep her friends for life.

Surprise, Mr. Holmes.

She returns with tea not long after and offers a cup of tea that on the first sip of her own reminds of studying medicine at Oxford, turning pages and comparing notes with James Watson and Nikola Tesla. They have come a long way from those days.

"I think," she says after a long but comfortable silence, "that I will like it here." Helen glances over at him with a fond smile. "And it has been an absolute pleasure meeting you. I could not have asked for better time spent."

Knowing the kind of life he led, that offer would probably be taken up sooner rather than later.

"Oh! The tea!" This was why other people back home usually made the tea, rather than himself. He'd end up wandering away to tend to an experiment or get lost in thought on the couch. He burst into laughter, a rare thing these days.

"Thank you," he said sincerely, cupping a hand around it, taking a sip and feeling more like himself, than he did in ages. Never mind how his tongue flicked out to taste the scent floating up in the steam. Nostalgia was, logically speaking, pointless sentiment, but he was certainly not going to say no to indulging in it from time to time.

His face softened when she said that. He was not used to making friends so easily, he had zero friends for much of his life, and only John for some time until the others came into his life--or he realized they'd been his friends all along. But he was a lonely man for much of his adult life, his arrogant and rude ways had all but guaranteed it.

What could he say? What was he supposed to say? He had very little social data to fall back on. He seemed nervous suddenly, floored, and tongue-tied.

"I--ah...thank you." A pause. "And likewise," he added quickly. He meant it though, truly. He found her brilliant and fascinating, and unbelievably kind.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

OPEN: New Beginnings In Stranger Places

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject