dear_mun | [post!Reichenbach]

Explain? How could you have a body that's not the one you have?

[His hands go into his pockets. He just watches for now. This entire place has turned out to be positively fascinating.]

[Ooh, an uncomfortable topic if there ever was. Oswin's going to press on anyway.]

Conversion. They wanted this. [She taps her left temple.] And they couldn't have it unless I was one of them.

[Yep, this has taken a trip straight into strangeland. Sherlock doesn't seem to mind all that much, taking up a listening poise by leaning against something nearby and convenient. Maybe a stool, a wall, the arm of a couch. Something.]

Alright. I'll play - suspension of disbelief. Someone or something wanted your mind, and made you like them so that they could have it, correct?

... Why?

[Welcome to Doctor Who, Sherlock. Check your sanity by the door.]

That's the way to do it, dear. Get used to it. [And she sobers up after that.] Dunno. Guess I was the nearest available genius. Crashed on their planet after just a few days out, went to go explore what I could and they found me.

[Of course, she was the one calling her fool head off. 'Where am I?!' over and over again. Honestly, what had she been thinking?]

[Sanity checked, carry-on universe stowed, it would seem. He's content enough to follow her line of reasoning. His grey eyes affix themselves to Oswin, but he's not making eye contact, his gaze focused somewhere above her right eyebrow.]

So you pilot a spaceship. And crashed on a planet... [Be patient, he's trying. Spaceships are slow and not really capable of traveling to other worlds yet, in his time.] And your brain was captured in order to be used by... what I'll assume is an alien race, for their own purposes.

Well. How do you fix that? Are they done with you? [Nevermind how insane that sounds, he's Sherlock Holmes, and this entire conversation is at least not boring enough to keep his focus.]

[Exits are to your right and rear. Should this conversation plummet into awkwardness, air bags will drop from the ceiling. Please secure your mask before aiding any children.]

Not pilot, really. More like worked on one. They needed a Junior Entertainment Manager, I needed a lift to the stars, these things worked out. Sort of.

[She shrugs.] Didn't fix it, really. By all accounts, I should be dead. Mun didn't like that though, and decided to bring me here. Or...at least that's what I'm guessing happened. M'certainly not a Dalek anymore.

... and I assume a Dalek is what... decided to convert you? What can you tell me about them?

[Noted. Sherlock settles into a couch, drawing up his legs to his chest in typical Sherlock-is-thinking posture. He rests his chin on a bony kneecap and loosens his scarf.]

Aren't you curious about how you lived?

Edited 2012-10-23 20:03 (UTC)

[She nods.] Most advanced warrior race in the universe. I landed where they keep the mad ones. A Dalek asylum. [Oswin could say more but she doesn't really want too.]

[Watching him still, Oswin shrugs.] Don't think I'm in much of a position to question anything. Better this than dead.

"Warrior races of the universe? The universe" That definitely gets a long, considering stare from Sherlock, and his eyebrows just a funny dance of confusion above his pale eyes. He looks away, shaking his head slightly. "Right. A place for ... crazy... Daleks."

There's a pause now, and Sherlock narrows his eyes to regard Oswin thoughtfully. "You're always in a position to question whatever you want. Whyever wouldn't you?"

[What did I tell you about your sanity, Sherlock?] 'S a bit arrogant to think we're alone in the universe, yeah? [She grins, totally undeterred by his reaction.]

Ask too many questions, and you might find an answer you don't want to find. I'd rather be alive and human, thanks.

"Carl Sagan was particularly adamant on that fact," Sherlock notes, but he turns, and there's a comfortable couch for him to sprawl artfully on. He's certain Oswin can find or ... ask for one? If she wants, so there isn't one for her at the moment. Sprawl he does, artfully, draped like a cat over the cushions, one leg haphazardly hitting the floor as he folds his hands on his chest.

"Humans are arrogant. Most of them, anyway, and the ones that aren't hopelessly self-deprecating." A dramatic sigh from the lanky man. "I've found that there are never too many questions and that one can never ask enough of them. You ought to try at some point, you might learn something."

[Which is fine by her, Oswin is completely okay with her stool and table. She swings her legs idly, listening to Sherlock.]

Lots of us don't get our questions answered is the thing. Dunno if my mun even knows how I'm here.

"I'm certain I could solve that," his self-assured manner glows, and he actually offers Oswin a tight, faintly amused half-smile. He practically preens, in fact. "I can solve just about anything, really. I just need the details."

He stretches on the couch languidly, flopping over onto his side to watch Oswin carefully from his spot. He does look rather comfortable, even with his legs akimbo.

"Though, after what's available to the public, even my own ah... did you call it a mun? Had to make up a few things. They're all relatively rational, and some of them are taken from other versions of myself, but there you have it. Couldn't yours just come up with something for you?"

Yeah? Want to give it a go, then? [She leans forward a little, chin still resting in her palm and offers him a grin. Yes, Sherlock, that is a challenge.]

Well, most of these games can just pluck a person from after their death. No explanation needed, just...[She makes a plucking gesture with her free hand.] 'S a bit jarring for some, but most deal with it just fine.

"Certainly," Sherlock replies with a faint smile. He loves a challenge, and this woman is presenting him with a rather difficult one. "Everything you remember. Every detail, every precise moment, as accurately as you can."

He settles into his couch, chin propped on his hand, and waits for Oswin to answer his question. He's been dead, too, once, but she's not about to know that, and technically, he didn't really -die- so much as vanish.

"Now that -is- fascinating. So if I stayed here long enough I might meet someone who's died?" That does intrigue Sherlock, but his brows furrow, and his eyes flicker open and closed quickly in a sharp blink.

Starting from? [It's rare that Oswin wants to discuss these events in full, but since she presented such a challenge, and she'll definitely follow through on that.]

[Her grin widens ever-so slightly.] You've already met one, dear.

"Where most things start from, Miss Oswin, the beginning," the impatience in Sherlock's voice is well covered by his eagerness for new information. He taps his feet on the ground and twitches in place for a second or two, and then settles to gaze at Oswin with single-minded fascination.

"I know that, yes. You're dead. If you weren't here, you'd be who-knows-where-anditdoesn'tmatter. Murders, deaths - it's what I do, Miss Oswin, so please, from the beginning. I'm lucky enough for the corpse to talk this time and I do want to know everything"

Not quite a corpse. Haven't gone cold just yet and I'm not really planning on doing so.

[And sobering up now.]

Not really much to tell you, m'afraid. The planet I'd crashed on exploded, I died letting the people that were on it get away. Better them than me at that point, wasn't much point to me going alone in a Dalek's body. Didn't really feel myself dying, things just sort of...went black. [She makes a little cutting motion with her free hand.] Just like that.

And then, I was here.

"That was quite noble and decidedly disappointing," Sherlock states flatly. Oh. He'd been expecting something else. A story, a tale, a start-to-finish sort of deal, but the possibility that it really -could- be that simple was intolerable (and likely the truth.) You make a sacrifice. Things go black. You wake up somewhere else.

Oh.

Sherlock frowns faintly, watching Oswin. He hates being played at his own game, but this woman's unfortunate circumstances are not so intentionally trying to frustrate him as they are just wholly vague.

"Well."

Well indeed.

[She's back to giving him a half-smirk, her legs swinging idly.]

He stares back, expression blank.

"I think we're done here. Best of luck to you, Miss Oswin. ... really."

Bored now, Sherlock wanders away, hands tucked in his pockets, his mind deep onto other topics. Oswin might could catch him fairly easily, he's not moving too quickly.

[She calls right after him.]

'S not me that's going to need it!

Sherlock only raises a hand in response to Oswin's call. What she can't see is the smirk pulling at the corners of his lips as he moves off to pester someone else.

[ooc: considering the institute (for a watson and an old friend), siren's pull and exselium. I genuinely wish there was more canon information for Oswin, and damn it all to hell Moffat she was -nice-. >( )

[post!Reichenbach]

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I'm switching formats, don't mind me...

feel free~

<3 thanks, prose is easier for me.

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forgive him, he can be a jerk.

he's forgiven <3 you are a fabulous sherlock by the way~

thank you. i've been tremendously nervous about playing him.