First Person: ---asksjahsfjsk kkkkk i see. a keyboard. NTS: PNKD [note to self: potential note keeping device] :)
1: ND [novel design] , pocket watch. ideal.
2: COTI [camera on the inside] : recording? will test this.
3: pick up lettuce. clyde is eating scarf. problematic.
[The typing ceases now as the feed turns on. At first the only image is of the sky as he is currently examining the underside of the watch, but soon enough a scruffy looking man with a small tortoise snug inside his scarf is now peering into the lens.]
I see. [He's tapping at it then, clearly impressed by its design.]
Broadcasting, I'd imagine. To whom, I'm not sure, I suppose time will be the deciding factor there. It's also amazingly sturdy, it refused to break with my prodding and dropping it from varying heights.
[Pulling the watch back so he's in better view now, he offers a smile to the camera.]
Hello there, my name is Sherlock Holmes and I am looking for a grocery store, and my colleague: Joan Watson. The former is far more important than the latter, I'm afraid. I am in a dire need of lettuce, my associate here is feeling peckish and is currently dining on my scarf. Any help will do, I'll be waiting.
Third Person: "These fliers could not possibly be more maddeningly unhelpful." The statement was made with an exasperated sound as he thoroughly crumpled the one in his hands and threw it down on the ground with considerable force, but given that it was nothing but paper it just rolled lamely and settled against his shoe. Puffing out a breath he promptly stomped at it before turning sharply to his right so he could glare most impressively at the train tracks. The cynical part of him was quick to jump to drug consumption, or sleep deprivation. The intelligent part of him, that thankfully outweighed all other parts, knew better than to think that. Clearly he was somewhere else entirely; not at the precinct, his home or the grocery store.
"She's going to be insufferable when we get back, Clyde." He happened to be the only one on the platform, and Sherlock was looking to his left where... no one actually stood. The statement was aimed at the small tortoise nestled snugly inside his scarf and against his neck. It was not a common practice, bringing Clyde along on any visit to the precinct and to a possible job, but he had wanted to make a trip to the grocery store to pick up more lettuce and green things for the tortoise to eat. If he didn't bring him along he would have forgotten and the last thing he wanted was a dead (and too thin) tortoise he couldn't do anything with. Joan had grown attached to the thing regardless, sometimes he needed to spare her feelings.
Perhaps he also had Clyde around because Joan was busy today, on her own personal 'errands' that she refused to share with him. In other words: a date. Why she insisted on hiding her abysmal love life he could never understand, but that also meant he had no one to talk to during the day. Sherlock needed someone to talk to, and people tended to give a man talking to himself wide berth, or they would phone authorities. Clyde may not be a puppy, a baby or some sort of pet that one would normally talk to (where one would not be frowned upon) but he would do. "Although it says here that we won't be going back."
He had no intention on leaving this particular area just yet. Instead he sat on the floor to stare ahead at (seemingly) nothing. "There's a puzzle here, Clyde." Fingertips steepled and were pressed to his lips, eyes wide in excitement. The detective in him was terribly intrigued, there was nothing better than a new mystery begging to be solved. "And we ," he began and gently reached up to stroke at the shell, "are going to solve it."
[ooc note: normally I will put his acronym translations under a cut at the end of a post, if he's texting.]
[2/2]
1: ND [novel design] , pocket watch. ideal.
2: COTI [camera on the inside] : recording? will test this.
3: pick up lettuce. clyde is eating scarf. problematic.
[The typing ceases now as the feed turns on. At first the only image is of the sky as he is currently examining the underside of the watch, but soon enough a scruffy looking man with a small tortoise snug inside his scarf is now peering into the lens.]
I see. [He's tapping at it then, clearly impressed by its design.]
Broadcasting, I'd imagine. To whom, I'm not sure, I suppose time will be the deciding factor there. It's also amazingly sturdy, it refused to break with my prodding and dropping it from varying heights.
[Pulling the watch back so he's in better view now, he offers a smile to the camera.]
Hello there, my name is Sherlock Holmes and I am looking for a grocery store, and my colleague: Joan Watson. The former is far more important than the latter, I'm afraid. I am in a dire need of lettuce, my associate here is feeling peckish and is currently dining on my scarf. Any help will do, I'll be waiting.
[ooc: also: here is an additional sample taken from the test-drive meme]
Third Person: "These fliers could not possibly be more maddeningly unhelpful." The statement was made with an exasperated sound as he thoroughly crumpled the one in his hands and threw it down on the ground with considerable force, but given that it was nothing but paper it just rolled lamely and settled against his shoe. Puffing out a breath he promptly stomped at it before turning sharply to his right so he could glare most impressively at the train tracks. The cynical part of him was quick to jump to drug consumption, or sleep deprivation. The intelligent part of him, that thankfully outweighed all other parts, knew better than to think that. Clearly he was somewhere else entirely; not at the precinct, his home or the grocery store.
"She's going to be insufferable when we get back, Clyde." He happened to be the only one on the platform, and Sherlock was looking to his left where... no one actually stood. The statement was aimed at the small tortoise nestled snugly inside his scarf and against his neck. It was not a common practice, bringing Clyde along on any visit to the precinct and to a possible job, but he had wanted to make a trip to the grocery store to pick up more lettuce and green things for the tortoise to eat. If he didn't bring him along he would have forgotten and the last thing he wanted was a dead (and too thin) tortoise he couldn't do anything with. Joan had grown attached to the thing regardless, sometimes he needed to spare her feelings.
Perhaps he also had Clyde around because Joan was busy today, on her own personal 'errands' that she refused to share with him. In other words: a date. Why she insisted on hiding her abysmal love life he could never understand, but that also meant he had no one to talk to during the day. Sherlock needed someone to talk to, and people tended to give a man talking to himself wide berth, or they would phone authorities. Clyde may not be a puppy, a baby or some sort of pet that one would normally talk to (where one would not be frowned upon) but he would do. "Although it says here that we won't be going back."
He had no intention on leaving this particular area just yet. Instead he sat on the floor to stare ahead at (seemingly) nothing. "There's a puzzle here, Clyde." Fingertips steepled and were pressed to his lips, eyes wide in excitement. The detective in him was terribly intrigued, there was nothing better than a new mystery begging to be solved. "And we ," he began and gently reached up to stroke at the shell, "are going to solve it."
[ooc note: normally I will put his acronym translations under a cut at the end of a post, if he's texting.]