Fantasy The MPC Rushes Story, Cont.

[Lisbeth Walpurgis]

"I think I see what you mean," Lisbeth said to Blott, resting a thoughtful hand on her chin, "So we're basically in a place that's outside of normal Time and Space. It's the idea of a place, but not a real one. Interesting... Well, I say we make use of it for as long as we can and get some rest."


She noticed two things then: one, that there was music coming from somewhere, and two, that there was a hole forming in the air.

 

[slee77]

as Fitz walks around the room he notices two old friends<p><a href="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2015_12/IMG_3166.jpg.541f2993235b8884e62ad57b0af038dd.jpg" class="ipsAttachLink ipsAttachLink_image"><img data-fileid="89373" src="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2015_12/IMG_3166.jpg.541f2993235b8884e62ad57b0af038dd.jpg" class="ipsImage ipsImage_thumbnailed" alt=""></a></p>

 

[Lisbeth Walpurgis]

"GUYS!" Lisbeth cried in alarm as she leapt up from the chair, hands at her sword hilts. She backed away from the widening rift, eyes glued to it, and waited to see what fresh horrors pursued them.

 

[slee77]

"Awww come on!!" Altamonte looks around the room and finds some brass knuckles and an old 6 shooter.

 

[Genevieve Moulin]

Genvieve is on her feet in a moment, sword at the ready, her features again transformed--a version of herself with no feeling, only instinct. She walked to the edge of the rift and growled, "What do you want?"

 

[Genevieve Moulin]

Her brow relaxed as she saw Grim step into the room.


"I never thought I'd be so relieved to see Death walk through the door," she said with a giggle.

 

[Lisbeth Walpurgis]

Seeing their old companion step through the rift, Lisbeth sighed and allowed herself to relax.


"Stone's breath," she muttered, "It's you. Glad to have you back."

 

[Lisbeth Walpurgis]

"Sorry," Lisbeth chuckled, "It's just... been a bit stressful since you left. We got pinned down in an underground bunker and attacked by werewolves. It is good to have you back. What happened to you?"

 

[slee77]

What monster?!

 

[Lisbeth Walpurgis]

"I think he means Thanatos," Lisbeth explained, "He's gone for now. I tried to bind him, but I think I may have only temporarily sealed him away somewhere. I don't know where he is, but I think it likely that he'll keep trying to find me and kill me."

 

[Arkadious]

-After fending off a sudden attack of Werewolves in the tunnels, the party flees through an Idea door conjured by Blott, revealed to be an Artist, individuals with similar abilities to those of Writers. Blott used her ability to draw an Idea Door to 221B, and the party left the damp cavern bunker and found themselves in a quaint little apartment. The feel suggested that they were still in London, but not the Vampire Nazi/Werewolf Knight London of an alternate 1940's. Not entirely sure of the new When/Where, the party head upstairs and explore the upper rooms, finding them unoccupied and cozy. As they are settling in to the new relative safety of this dwelling, a giant hole opens in their midst, from which their previously lost companion, Alaster Grim steps through, looking very sun-battered and dusty from sand. After a moments confusion and fuming, Grim is greeted by his companions, who bring him up to speed regarding the Werewolf Knights. Lisbeth also proposes a theory about Thanatos, the query that Alaster had been tracking on the barren alien desert world before finding his way back to the party.


-As everyone begins to settle down and regroup, they hear the sound of footsteps and a voice from downstairs, coming up towards them. Before any have a chance to react or move, a tall and lean male, in his late twenties to early thirties, wearing a dark wool jacket and blue-grey scarf and a mop of dark brown hair. crests the top of the stairs and strolls into the middle of their company, head down looking at papers...


"Watson, have you seen Mrs. Hudson? She was suppose to..."


-He pauses and looks up, taking a moment to take everyone in, noting every minute detail before scanning the next person. He notes Fitz, wearing a pair of brass knuckles and brandishing a revolver; Blott sitting on the floor, eyes wide but heavy dark circles underneath as well as smudges of ink on her nose and the corners of her mouth; the crow, shuffling side to side on the mantle; Genevieve and Lisbeth, both brandishing short swords and getting flushed in the face as they meet his gaze; Grim, standing tall and imposing, several grains of sand shifting off his shoulders and on his clothing...


"Ah, you must be...Jumper, Artist, Gypsy, Writer, and Reaper...well, I see you have already made yourselves at home. I am Sherlock, how might i be of service?"...

 

[Genevieve Moulin]

Lowering her sword, Genevieve stepped forward. She found it difficult to hold Sherlock's piercing gaze. She felt him reading her, saw him take in everything. She dearly wished she were not covered in blood and dirt and that her cheeks didn't feel quite so hot.


"We seem to need no introduction," she said, holding out the Knight medallion to him. "What can you tell us about this?"

 

[Arkadious]

-He steps forward and takes the medallion from her, running his thumb across the engraving. His brow furrows slightly as he studies the design and then he walks over to his desk, setting his papers down and pulling a smartphone from the inner pocket of his jacket, snapping a pic of the emblem and scouring the web. Moments later he closes his eyes and starts muttering under his breath. With an exasperated sigh, he opens his eyes and looks to Fitzgerald.


"Stop it!"


"Stop what" Fitz replies


"Stop thinking. It's distracting! Just, go in the other room, thank you."


-With a dismissive wave, he closes his eyes again and begins the tidious journey through his Mind Palace, looking for where he last encountered the emblem. With a start, he looks to the party suddenly.


"The Knights Order. Time traveling and altering individuals that on the small scale are seeking world domination. I sense their motives may be grander than that and I suspect there is someone more powerful behind them. When did you encounter them, more precisely, which When and Where?"

 

[Genevieve Moulin]

Fitz's face radiated outrage at Sherlock's dismissal, but Genevieve shook her head slightly at him and mouthed, Please.


To Sherlock she gave a derisive laugh. "Which when? All of them. But we found that in London 1940. The one with werewolves."

 

[Arkadious]

-Sherlock arches an eyebrow at Genevieve then looks back at the medallion, murmuring "Werewolves..." With a sudden flurry of motion, he moves past Genevieve & Lisbeth and begins scouring through several dusty tomes on his bookshelf, first pulling one and discarding it then another and another, his actions growing more frustrated until at last he finds the one he's searching for. A quick scan through it confirms it's the one and a barely perceptible smile forms on his face. Turning to face the party, a pile of books scattered around him, he holds open the book, showing a section on London WWII history, one in which the Nazis won. The Vampire Nazis, aided by Werewolves.

 

[Arkadious]

"This book was given to me a couple of years back, by a man who referred to himself only as A. It used to be his book, I believe, because inside the front cover are the initials A.G., as well as some text written in a complex code I have never seen before and been unfruitful in deducing."


-Sherlock strolls forward, nimbly stepping over the cluster of books now scattered over the floor. Rounding his desk, he opens the book back up, turning to the section on Nazi WWII, where he skims through the text, which is all hand written it would appear, with several notes written in a variety of inks crammed into the margins. Lisbeth looks over the handwriting and feels a familiar twinge of, what, nostalgia? No, was it longing? Familiarization? She shakes her head, not positive but sure that she knew that handwriting from somewhere...


"This journal contains numerous references to points in time that the Knights altered, including your other London. From the American Civil War, to the French Revolution and the Hundred Years War, even the Crucifixion of Christ, all events that the Knights altered or influenced in a way that changed the world, or, rather, worlds. Nearly all of these events are from separate Whens and Wheres, so none of which were influenced by the others."...

 

[Lisbeth Walpurgis]

Lisbeth ambled up next to Sherlock, all intimidation of the tall, slim man forgotten as the writing on the pages of the book in his hands drew her in. Her hand reached out of its own accord to touch the words, and in them she felt the hand that wrote them. Long, slim fingers, immaculate nails, callouses from many, many hours of writing, much like her own. That hand was attached to an arm, slender but strong, an athletic body, and his face was-


"Ahem."


Sherlock was looking down at her, his brows knit in irritation. She had gotten so close that they were touching now, and she jumped a step back, her cheeks coloring furiously.


"I-I'm sorry," she stammered, "I was just..."


She trailed off. What had she been doing? There was something familiar about the writing, that much she remembered, but what had possessed her to touch the book? Absentmindedly, her hand went to her pocket and she fingered the stone there. It was comforting somehow.


"Please, go on," she said, her voice strangely flat, "My apologies. I don't know what came over me."

 

[ArtBlott]

It seemed they had managed to find the modern Idea of Sherlock. Blott was pleased. She liked that show. She watched him work with a faint smile. The room was warm, and it was fun to see Lisbeth all a-fluster over the detective. Secretly she was also glad to see the reaper. Though his temperament was horrid, it wasn't aimed towards their little group, and it was nice to have someone strong in between her and the various things trying to kill her. Not that anything was after her specifically. Still, Blott wanted to protect her new friends. She wasn't used to friends, and had decided to try and keep this lot as long as they would have her. After all, they all had their secrets, maybe hers could be overlooked. She had, after all, proven herself useful, right?


Well, that took an unexpectedly dark turn, she thought. Blott flexed her left hand, ignoring the spiking pain shooting down her shoulder, and tried not to think about it too loudly.

 

[slee77]

Fitz stepped back in the room for a moment and said to the small group huddled around Holmes."Excuse me but May I have a quick word with all of you….with the exception of the, obviously busy Mr Holmes of Course." to which Sherlock replied without flinching and very coldly "Of course"


Huddled in the other room Fitz began to speak softly and in a somewhat controlled manor. "Does it seem odd to anyone else that we are in the Victorian day equivalent of the Holmes era museum and the modern day equivalent of Holmes is here as though nothing is the matter" "It's that a bit mad?" "Doesn't that seem slightly off putting that a fictional character…we can all agree that he is a fictional character here and that Benedict Cumberbatch is an Actor and not actually REALLY Sherlock Holmes…right? I mean wouldn't that mean that any knowledge he has is somewhat…made up?! Weird and fictitious as well?! Not to burst anyones bubble but that thing down there is just an idea of Holmes and not well…a real person!!" He might as well be Benedict Cumberbatch cosplaying Sherlock!!" What would happen if I were to go down there and start recounting his adventures to him?! Would that not make him go completely mad?!"

 

[Lisbeth Walpurgis]

Lisbeth shook her head, "I don't know who this Benjamin Cummerbund is, but it seems to me like he was sent here specifically to help us. I know we've been through a lot of awful things lately, but not everything can be out to get us. We know that this place isn't exactly real, so, yes, it stands to reason that this Sherlock isn't real either, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't take advantage of his assistance. I'm not saying we shouldn't be cautious, but I for one am pretty happy that someone seems to be willing to help us rather than rip our hearts out for once."

 

[Genevieve Moulin]

Genevieve bit the fingernail of her thumb and fixed Fitz with the most uncharacteristically girlish look.


"I don't know, darling," she said with a shrug. "I'm willing to let him go on for on a bit. At least for now. To see where this leads, of course."

 

[ArtBlott]

Blott eyes nearly bugged out of her head. "Do NOT try to tell him." The crow hissed. Her serious stare was a little less effective with the words coming from elsewhere in the room. "He may have guessed he's not 'real', being The Great Sherlock Holmes and all, but in this Idea he might as well be. He knows things because that's part of his very being, it's literally what he does. Everyone expects it of him. Since 1887 he's been building up in this place, changing appearance, small details shifting around at the compulsion of others outside the Idea. He might have noticed, or maybe he can't by the very nature if being an idea. Remember, Ideas are fragile, and I have no clue what happens if you break them from the inside!"


Blott eyes bore into his, a fire lit deep inside the hazel grey. She had brought them here, but she also had to protect this place. "If it broke, so would every connection with this world. It's happened before, and it destroyed every singe Artist along with it."

 

[Lisbeth Walpurgis]

Lisbeth fixed Blott with a sympathetic gaze.


"So that's why they died out," she said quietly.

 

[Genevieve Moulin]

"Oh, Blott. I'm so sorry," Genevieve said. "We'll help you protect this Idea. We won't let anything happen to you or it."


She shot Fitz--who was standing across the room scowling, arms crossed--a warning look.

 

[slee77]

"What I am getting at is I am not sure we can take advice from him…he has no real history and this is a distraction!"