Anyone wanna play?

[gayalondiel_bak]

I am fed up with being a grumpy sourpuss bitch, I want to have some fun instead! So, in the hope of getting me out of my angsty mire of character death, anyone fancy playing a Sherlock round robin? Something silly and cracky with appalling writing quality and no time for drafting and worrying sounds right up my street. We can be organised or all pile in, or it could just be me writing crack on my own, I guess.

Anyone want to play with me?

Comments

[marysutherland.livejournal.com]

I can tag along, if you'd like. What would you like to start with? Would a daft plot bunny or two help? Like Sherlock and a plane full of otters? Or the Case of the Stolen Eurostar, which I keep on referencing in my fics, but never write? The Unpleasantness at The Diogenes Club, in which Sherlock has to solve a case in complete silence? Or could we go back to the boatload of cows you came up with once?

[gayalondiel.livejournal.com]

Oh, no, not the cows. I like the idea of something that involves small furry creatures.

I guess for ground rule we should say nothing NC17, no severe triggers and we should decide a tense/person: my preference is past (but I'm not wedded to it) and third unless there's a shining good reason not to be third. Sound ok?

[marysutherland.livejournal.com]

As you will know, I'm not good on sex scenes, so I will leave the pron bits to you. I'm better on past tense than present, so that's fine with me, and 3rd person is also OK. Thought I do reserve the right abruptly to swing into random sections of witness statements, memoirs, Twitter messages or metafic because this is crack, dammit, and there should be lunatic bits.

I will try and avoid obvious triggers, but is there anything particular that might bug you at the moment? And how do you want to organise this? Would it be best if you write an opening scene and leave me to follow it? I claim no particular knowledge of otters or other animals, but that's what Wikipedia and Daily Otter are for.

[gayalondiel.livejournal.com]

Random lunacy is fine. As for triggers the main ones like rape torture and death (ie my main genres) are probably the ones to avoid. I was rather hoping one or two more people might want to play as I'm feeling rather flat and uninspired but if you want to write a little I could join in happily. I think there's a balance between writing whole passages and writing one word each a la I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue, but we could say a short passage/ a few sentences? Some of the best round robins I've seen have writer breaks in mid-conversation so you never know where it's going to go and no one person can drive the narrative.

Wonder if we can nag anyone else to come over here and write...

[alitalf.livejournal.com]

The great tea trolley disaster of '76?

[gayalondiel.livejournal.com]

Depending on your headcanon, Sherlock may or may not have been born then.

Mycroft, OTOH, could conceivably have been the tea trolley disaster himself.

[tearelateddream.livejournal.com]

Hello darling,

May lose internet at any moment so keeping this quick to say "Yes, I am definitely in" and the rules as worked out by you and mary sound good :)

Liking the potential for crack here :D

[gayalondiel.livejournal.com]

Awesome. Mary has kicked off below, I'll add a little bit before I turn in, so jump in when you can. I don't think we need a running order - if we end up with simultaneous continuations we can either pick one or run with both!

Must get Iris in on this if we can possibly get her by a computer long enough...

[tearelateddream.livejournal.com]

Hehe! Wonderful. Will wat for you to do your bit before wading in, as things will likely get rather improbable once I've stuck my cracky little oar in.

Otter madness

[marysutherland.livejournal.com]

Here you go: this is probably OOC, but we might as well start somewhere, and you've been to Devon recently, haven't you? Inspired by this site.

***

"I am not taking the case," Sherlock repeated for the fifth time. "I have no desire to see Dartmoor ever again. Did you enjoy your encounter with Sir Henry and the Hound of the Bodoni? I certainly didn't. It took me a week to scrub the slobber and phosphorescence off."

"There are no dogs involved this time," John protested. "The place is a completely dog-free zone. It is a butterfly farm, containing small, decorative, harmless insects."

"You know what lepidopterists are like, John," Sherlock retorted. "Have you forgotten Vandeleur and the Checkered Skipper? Besides, it's not just butterflies at Buckfastleigh." His voice dropped to a dark whisper. "They also claim to offer an otter experience."

"It's a butterfly farm and an otter sanctuary. I think they may have been picking animals at random out of a children's book."

"Have you ever experienced an otter experience?" Sherlock demanded. "Because I have. And I'm not going near those frog-eating bastards and their spraints again."

"You won't have to," John said. "That's the point. They've been stolen. All of them. The Buckfastleigh Otter Sanctuary is now otterless. But there was one clue left behind, the e-mail said."

"What was that?"

"Outside the otter pool the owners noticed these tracks in the mud," John said, as he handed Sherlock his mobile.

Re: Otter madness

[gayalondiel.livejournal.com]

Sherlock studied the phone with feigned disinterest, but John could see the glint in his eyes that spoke of burgeoning interest nonetheless.

"What do you make of them?" he asked.

"You tell me," replied Sherlock, casting him a challenging look. John rolled his eyes.

"Two distinct sets of prints."

"Good start."

"Both walking."

"As you might expect with arms full of otters."

"Both men's shoes, probably work boots. They're big, heavy, maybe walking shoes?"

"Not quite. There is a distinctive detail on both the treads consistent with..." Sherlock's fingertips were flying over his blackberry and he flourished the resulting webpage at John. "These."

John stared. "New Rocks."

"New Rocks."

"So the otters were stolen by goths? Or bikers. Or biker goths? Come on, Sherlock, you must have more than that?"

Re: Otter madness [Feel free to ignore this - I'm feeling silly]

[alitalf.livejournal.com]

"At least we know why the butterflies weren't stolen" Said Sherlock.

"How is that?"

"Simple my dear Watson. As you know, pixie habitats in the area have been reduced by development, and increasingly pixies have taken to living unobtrusively in such places as butterfly farms, where there is an adequate food supply. We also know that elves have an affinity for pixies. When you consider that important fact, it becomes clear that the unusual appearance of the tracks in the mud confirms the presence of elves. So, John, I deduce that when elves stole the otters, they refrained from stealing the butterflies out of respect for the pixies.”

“I daresay that makes sense to you Holmes!”

“Quite”, said Sherlock “and the mystery remaining to solve is what the elves wanted with the otters”

Re: Otter madness [Feel free to ignore this - I'm feeling silly]

[tearelateddream.livejournal.com]

"Err, Sherlock, are you sure you're feeling quite alright?"

"Absolutely fine. Why?"

"Oh no reason at all really, I just wondered if you might want to re-examine the fact that you just said we're looking for a pair of ELVES. Elves wearing biker boots!"

"New Rocks aren't necessarily biker boots, John."

"IT DOESN'T MATTER! Seriously Sherlock, what are you playing at?"

"Well obviously I don't mean REAL elves. Elves don't exist. You know that of course ... don't you?"

"YES of course I do, but, but ... What do you mean not REAL elves?"

"I mean people, John, people dressed up as elves, as evinced by this strand of rather whimsical fabric caught on the brambles here."

"People dressed up as elves wearing New Rocks?"

"Of course. It's the only logical explanation."

John looked like he'd just been force-fed a frog. Sherlock, meanwhile, continued to tap away at the keypad of his phone.

I feel like a subplot (and some Mycroft!)

[marysutherland.livejournal.com]

Mycroft had been the Minister's fag back at Eton. He sometimes regretted that when he'd been expected to clean his shoes back then, he hadn't poisoned them. How on earth had this clown ended up in charge of science policy, when he didn't have a classics degree? Still, he had to be told a little of the truth.

"So this Froggie has invented some ingenious gadget, has he?" the Minister was saying.

"Professor Calculus is Belgian," Mycroft said, staring down at him haughtily. "If there was any justice in this world, he would be the most famous Belgian ever, for his developments in the application of chaotic string theory. "

"Um, yes, that's...remind me about that again, will you, there's a chap." There was a frown of concentration on the Minister's face. Mycroft wondered if he was able to put on his own trousers unaided. Though, judging by his operatives' reports, he could take them off on his own, and all too frequently did.

"Chaos theory, of course," he said hastily, trying to remember his own cribsheet, "posits that a butterfly flapping its wings can create a hurricane several hundreds of miles away. String theory, meanwhile, argues that there are hidden dimensions in time and space that are compactified, too small to be observed normally. The combination of the two theories produces the obvious result."

"Which is?"

"That if you position the butterfly just right, the amplitude of its wings' oscillation," – this was the bit of the cribsheet where Mycroft's own eyes always glazed over - "will interact with one of the hidden dimensions and be amplified. The effect is to create a mini hurricane on the spot. Professor Calculus has now refined the concept into what he calls the Papillon du Pouvoir, but we know as the Butterfly in the Box. Just one butterfly in the Professor's box - and I've been assured it is not harmed by the experiment - creates enough energy to power a small house for a week."

"But that's-"

"Incredible. I know."

"Commercially invaluable," said the Minister, grinning. "I might drop in a hint in the right places that it's time to sell shares in generating companies and corner some butterflies. But the thing's been stolen, you fear?"

"The Professor was staying in London, but he didn't return to his hotel room last night. It could be nothing, but it could, I'm afraid, represent the most serious threat to this country's security for years. The Butterfly in the Box has predominantly civilian uses, of course. But if someone could somehow manage to put a large number of butterflies in a Calculus box, the potential energy surge would be a devastating weapon."

Plot A

[gayalondiel.livejournal.com]

I can't write Mycroft this morning!  Back to plot A.  Someone else run with B?  Also, no offence to anyone in a subculture, I'm in a subculture and we rock.

"You've heard of vampire subculture, of course?"

John gave a slight double take at the non sequitur.  "I read Dracula at secondary school..." He trailed off as Sherlock presented him with a disparaging look.

"Vampire subculture, John.  Humans whose grasp of reality so slips that they move from emulating the vampire aesthetic in it's modern trappings..."

"You mean they sparkle?"

"What?"

"Sorry, go on."

"They move from emulation to the belief that they could somehow become supernatural beings themselves.  Vampire is the most common ideal, but there are those who believe they can somehow transcend mortal existence and become, as they term it, Fey."

John hung his head.  "Nutters, then?"

"Quite.  Unfortunately one of the less common rituals does involve sacrificial acts.  Small creatures are often used for this purpose."

"You mean..." John went white as it hit him.  "The otters!"

The plot thickens (or even coagulates)

[marysutherland.livejournal.com]

"We have to track down those vampires immediately," Sherlock said.

"I know I'm going to regret asking this," John said, "but where do you go to find would-be vampires?"

"Well, the last one I encountered was down in Sussex. But where these one are is surely obvious."

"Obvious, as in completely opaque to anyone but you?"

"Think, John! How far could you walk carrying a sanctuary's worth of hungry otters?"

"They could have had a car they put them in," John said, trying desperately to remember the size of an average otter.

"They'd have driven that up to the pool, we'd see the tracks of it."

"Something too big to drive onto the site, but big enough to transport a number of otters? A van, a coach, an aeroplane?"

"Do you often contemplate planeloads of otters, John? It really is very strange in that fuzzy little brain of yours. No, the otters are almost certainly hidden near the sanctuary. Needs must. Prepare a flask of water and we'll be off to North Devon."

"You mean holy water? For the vampires?"

"For the tea, John! I wouldn't trust the water outside the M25." Sherlock's phone started to buzz.

"Text message from Mycroft," he announced, and read it out: "Need your help regarding Calculus and butterflies. M."

"What on earth?" demanded John. "And what are you texting back?"

Sherlock showed him the screen:

Consider the butterflies as approximated by a triangular lamina and apply basic integration techniques.

Mycroft wasn't going to like mathematical jokes, was he? John wasn't exactly surprised when his phone started to vibrate less than a minute later.

Professor Calculus missing. His jacket found with smear of clotted cream on sleeve. Matter of national importance to find him.

"Text him back and say no," Sherlock said, peering over John's shoulder.

"Text him back yourself. He's your brother."

"If you insist," Sherlock said and his thumbs began to tap out a tattoo on the phone. "Mycroft, you corpulent baboon comma...How many L's in pusillanimity?"

"OK," John said with resignation, as Sherlock started smirking. "What do you want me to say?"

"Send this text: 'No time for your butterfly problem. Must leave at once. An otter's life may depend on it.' "

[wellinghall.livejournal.com]

Um, maybe. And I really should write chapter 2 of my existing Sherlock fic. And the unsavoury Sherlock drabble I've been thinking of for ages.