The ceiling of the chasm closely resembled the surface of an alien planet. Dangling stalagmites that, inverted, make up an eerie mountain range. And the reflections of the glowing water like veins of a strange new earth, a network of openings into the shimmering innards of a planet born of crystal and moonlight. It was 2 AM. But he wouldn’t know that. Eric snored softly near a corner of the cave, the very end of his tail falling into the water. So that the tendrils of the tuft turned heavy, stuck in time with the lack of current, a rusted sort of gold. Dull and yet glowing. There was such a strange, fragile peace. The moon had long fallen from its apex, but the chasm still had an underwater quality about it. It’s a tie really, between the ocean floor and the alien planet. Can’t decide what imagery I find more…aesthetic. Though is there really anything truly aesthetic about having a cat nap? After all, not all of us dream of ballgowns and pink. Nobody would wanna wake up if we did… Rest up, buddy. I have a feeling you won’t be sleeping for long. @Anybody! But "Sentimental Boy" is my nom de plume Art by Swan, Code by Swan (fixed by Cala)

Previously, he'd explored just as far as the entrance to the cave system. He'd found birds, and a ready source of fertilizer if he ever chose to start up a garden for whatever reason, as well as a few very useful crystals. He was already devising a system to get more light into his den without sacrificing any of the ceiling. Light was all well and good, but not at the expense of allowing rain inside. Mostly it involved quite a lot of crystals at creative angles. Possibly a very small, tame, fire if he could stand the heat and solve the problem of letting the smoke out without, again, letting rain in.

This time, he ventured deeper. There was a thin hope that, somewhere within the system, he might find a more reflective material than clear crystals. A strategic pool of water might be another solution, but there was still the problem of artificially angling the sunlight so that it would reflect off the surface. And the fact the light would waver and shift with the water itself.

Turning a corner, his thoughts were brought to an abrupt (if brief) halt as the cavern opened up into a new chamber. A glowing chamber. "Oh!" A surprised, pleased, noise, the man still entirely oblivious to the fact he wasn't actually alone. Plans revolving around crystals were piled neatly to one side in his mind as new ones involving illuminated water began to take shape.

Quick, excited, steps brought him to the edge of the pool. It was captivating. Tiny, glowing, things, lending their own eerie light to the rest of the chamber. It wasn't much, just barely enough to see by, but it was quite fascinating. Not nearly enough to properly light an area, but definitely enough to warrant further observation.

A toe dipped into the water, a pleased look crossing his face at the temperature and the ripple effect of his touch. Whatever was causing the glow, was it alive in some way? Creatures far too small to see properly? Or was it a mass of some sort of plant life?

@Eric

code by corvus

They were cheering, no, ROARING! Roaring in approval. All of them, all those same faces that had looked down at him. Laughed at him. Made him feel like lesser. Look at those smiling mouths in which those snake-like tongues slept, calmed by his victory. No longer did they utter whip like words but instead praises. Here, he was a god. King of wind, sun, and water. Ok, maybe not that impressive. But, hey, they sure looked happy. And as he stuffed himself with the last slimy piece of fish, oh, his ears would never be the same! When Eric swallowed the crowd went absolutely wild. He’d won! He’d finally won that stupid fish-eating contest. Now they’d never call him a blood freak again. And, YES PLEASE, he’d get so many bitches that Elena would have no choice but to realize what a great guy he was. I mean, her rejecting him probably was a bout of indigestion or something. But just when they were about to put the seaweed wreath on his head, and throw him to all the young pretty girls of the pride so that they’d kiss his cheeks and giggling in his ear… Wait, why was there a weird sea monster in his dream? OH GOD THERE’S A WEIRD SEAMONSTER IN HIS DREAM. Eric woke up with a hiccup, rolling onto his belly and yet failing to get up. His legs betraying him, as all unruly body parts usually do when it is time to run or act or do anything that’s actually productive. He squinted at the monster, watched it dip its toe in the water or what not like it didn’t live there at the bottom of the sea in his little coral lair with all its ugly little sea monster friends. Hey, at least he has friends. Hold up, who said that? All sorts of colors bled into each other, the shadows and lights touched and pulled away. In a matter of blinks, the gods had molded the world from clay again. And for a moment he couldn’t recognize the strange, underwater cave he was living in. Augh! Man, he missed the best part of that dream! Oh, shit. Was this hell? Eric rubbed his face, finally sitting up. “So is ruining people’s beauty sleep your hobby or do you do this full-time?” He didn’t look at him. He was still pissed. He’d really wanted that seaweed wreath, man! @Corvus ★ But "Sentimental Boy" is my nom de plume Art by Swan, Code by Swan (fixed by Cala)

The puzzle, now, was whether or not whatever was glowing depended on this specific cave for survival. Could he transport some back to his den and keep the glow? It wouldn't light up the whole of the interior, but it would be marginally better than putting holes in the roof and letting the rain in. Unless....could he find a clear slab of crystal or some other sort of rock to put over a hole in the roof? Allow light in and prevent the weather from invading his home? He was already toying with the idea of some sort of cover for the entrance that could be easily moved depending on whether he wanted the entrance closed or not.

He remained entirely unaware of the other man, so focused on the water and the glowing mystery within. Until the hiccup reached his ears. Then he was lifting his head with a mildly puzzled, tiny, frown, gaze seeking the source. Which was easy enough considering how pale the stranger was in comparison to the surroundings. Large, pale, no distinguishing markings, healthy. Finer details were difficult to make out in the low light.

Sherlock would have been content to return to his investigations, and to let the man return to his nap, if the stranger hadn't spoken up. Attention shifted back to the younger male, a brow lifting, "I didn't know anyone else was here." It wasn't as if he'd purposely sought the man out with the intent of waking him up. This wasn't a pride area, he could hardly be blamed if he was unaware someone was sleeping in it.

A beat of silence, and his head cocked to the side in curiosity, "Do you live here? Do you know anything about what's creating the glow?" Plant or animal was the big question in his mind, but he wasn't sure how to go about finding out. If the stranger was more familiar with the glowing substance, he might as well get what information he could out of him. The irritation coming at him from the younger male went unnoticed, he was far too focused on the mystery of the water.

@Eric

code by corvus

All that work and no play must make this guy a very dull boy. How is to be one of those people whose mind is constantly working? But not like those of us who are plagued with fear and worry and possible ends of the world. Not like us, the dreamers. How is it have a mind built of surgical precision and cold hard fact? Man, their showers must be really boring. Or like Nobel Prize science stuff. The other creature seemed unconcerned with his well-being, neither apologetic nor insulting. He looked odd and sullen, draped in darkness so that he sometimes seemed to melt into the floor. A sort of living goop. Eric still hadn’t fully discarded the sea monster idea, though now that he was slightly more awake the glistening water seemed a lot…smaller. Another Nessie, shall we call him? Nessie 2.0. Reinvention isn’t invitation only. He opened his mouth to quip back at him, but any words he might’ve spoken were stifled by a yawn. Now that he was reminded of where he was, this dark and wet place, his body was ready to finish up that dream. And yet his mind was not so easily sedated. The stranger had plans of his own as well. For before Eric could even finish yawning, he was asking questions. Questions that definitely shouldn’t be asked to someone with the veil of sleep still draped over their eyelids. Eric squinted at the man, then at the water, then at the man again. “No, I’m just…wandering. Going on adventures.” He sat up, rubbing his eyes with a paw again. “And I don’t know anything about plants, except which are the fun ones.” His chest sank as he breathed out, the exhaled air a contrasting warmth to the cool and wet air. You know, he wouldn’t call himself dumb. Then again, nobody would really call themselves dumb, right? Our egos are too big for that... But he knew, well enough, that he was superficial in his interests. And couldn’t quite imagine why someone would care so much about glowing water. Sure, it was beautiful. And when he’d seen it for the first time, it’d made him think of a lot of things. Happy things. Sad things. But at the end of the day, that water wasn’t gonna do anything. It wasn’t going to FIX anything. So, he’d gone back to thinking about the usual things. About Elena and her disgustingly pretty mug. About blood and how he hadn’t gotten a hit since he’d left home. About his scars and the place in his family he’d never get back. About death and loneliness. About food. About all sorts of things. The things that come to us when we lay awake at night. What could be so interesting, so enthralling about sparkly water? “Why’d you care anyway, are you one of those witch doctor types?” @Corvus ★ But "Sentimental Boy" is my nom de plume Art by Swan, Code by Swan (fixed by Cala)

As the stranger explained, Sherlock's mouth opened, briefly, in a silent 'ah' of understanding. They were similar, then. Unattached, wandering, adventuring. That last one was, technically, a match. Sherlock spent much of his time exploring and investigating and it did, occasionally, turn into something one might call an adventure. Which was always interesting.

Like the man's self-proclaimed knowledge of 'fun' plants. Which sparked a gleam of interest in Sherlock's gaze. "Are you familiar with the local ones?" He had yet to find anything good in that regard and, whether he intended to go right out and gather them up or not, it would be a...strange comfort to know what was and wasn't present on the island. Just in case. He'd left all those who disapproved of that particular vice behind. No danger of suffering their disappointed looks if boredom (or other difficult emotions) grew too great and his willpower faltered.

His brother's disappointed face floated into his mind's eye and he pushed it away. He'd let the man down before and it was very likely to happen again. It was the thought of what a relapse might do to his singular friend that gave him pause. If Watson found him, high out of his mind, in a dirty hole somewhere...would that be the last straw? He couldn't bear the thought of losing the man once and for all.

Hm. Perhaps it was better if he erased the information from his mind once it was shared.

The stranger's voice pulled him back to the present moment and he made a slight face at the very idea he could be mistaken for something so absurd as a 'witch doctor'. "Of course not, that's ridiculous." For many reasons. "It's just very interesting. I haven't seen anything like this before." He considered the glowing water. The man had mentioned plants, so was that what made the glow? "I'm also looking for ways to light my den, but this is far too dim and without knowing exactly what causes the glow, I won't be able to maintain it very long." Plants, generally, needed sunlight - provided here by the opening in the roof - while animals needed food. Even very, very, tiny ones. He had no idea what he'd need to feed them if they were actually animals instead of plants.

@Eric

code by corvus

This guy? An adventurer? Yeah, right! What kind of adventures did he go on? Book club meetings? I mean, maybe he had some sort of sad backstory. You know, the strong silent types always do. But he was actually sort chatty, which did make Eric like him a little more. That’s what he did best, you know? Talk. God, it’s so much easier to talk than to actually do things. Eric examined the man thoroughly, gaging whether to share his precious, top-secret information with him. Though he had to admit that seeing this guy high would probably be hilarious. “Well,” he breathed out, adjusting himself as the floor was hard and stony, “you do look like you could use some fun.” Eric clicked his tongue in a reprimanding manner, shaking his head ever so slightly. “What are you, a poppy guy?” He drew lines on the ground with a claw, recounting his travels to himself in his head. There was still so much he needed to see, so much he hadn’t explored. Was he going to? I mean, was he ever gonna go home? Quit this stupid trail to see if anybody really missed him, or at least felt his absence in any way. The answer was already too clear… No. Not yet. He still had to find more places to get high with his new buddy, right? “Mushrooms? Valerian?” Eric looked up again, “pick your poison.” He wondered what kind of place this guy came from, for witch doctors to be such an odd, ridiculous thing. Were all the lions there like him? Maybe he was a scholar or something, someone who believed in the POWAH OF SCIENCE. What use is science when you can have magic instead? Even if it isn’t real…doesn’t it just make you feel like everything is possible? Things like fate, like gods, like ghosts…why would you want to live in a world where those things don’t exist? Don’t matter… Well, maybe the gods and ghosts could go away because he wasn’t THAT big of a believer anyway. But fate, now that’s just too good of an excuse for all his problems to pass up. “I don’t think you can remove them,” he looked now at the glowing waters of the pool, “I think this is where they’re meant to be.” What a nice way to round up our conversation on fate, right? “What do you wanna light your den for, anyway?” Eric smirked at the man. “If it’s not for your edgy witch doctor aesthetic, I mean.” @Corvus ★ But "Sentimental Boy" is my nom de plume Art by Swan, Code by Swan (fixed by Cala)

Oh. Wonderful! The stranger was willing to share his information. Two sides of himself still argued over whether to keep or erase it later - the former was winning. It would be useful if the very worst happened. If his singular friend finally grew tired of him some day and left for good. His confidence that the man would follow him here hadn't let him feel the absence as keenly. He couldn't bear the thought of well and truly losing his companionship; it was likely to send him into a very deep spiral, and, well, drugs took the edge off.

He moved closer when the pale stranger began questioning his preferences, appearing to draw something on the ground that Sherlock was curious to get a look at. He made an affirmative hum, a small, slow, calm, smile forming as the stranger continued. Perhaps, in the right light, the expression may be interpreted as something sad but he would deny that if confronted. "All of the above." Anything. Everything. Whatever he knew could be found in the land. It all had different uses for different moods.

As the stranger scratched at the ground, he let his gaze drift back to the water, an ear turning to focus on the man's voice when he spoke again. Perhaps he was right. Maybe moving the creatures or plants or whatever they were would kill them. Maybe it was an entirely hopeless cause from the very beginning.

Reclining to sit, he reached out a toe to drag it back and forth across the surface of the water, "It's dark. Obviously." It was a den, and such places were, often by necessity, deprived of light. "I often conduct experiments, and from time to time, there are those that need to be kept out of the elements. If I can't see, clearly, what's happening, then it's all pointless." Growing mold or fungus, observing the way different environments affected the decay process, and so on. Some things simply needed to be kept out of the sun and the wind and the rain from start to finish and it wasn't practical to move them in and out of the light for observation - especially if light, itself, would change the result.

"I thought about containing a small fire inside, but that requires more work and puts out too much heat." It would cause him discomfort, yes, but that was secondary to the effect the heat itself could also have on whatever little experiment he was running at any given time. And he didn't honestly need to endure Watson's probable concerns about keeping fire in the den, cozy as it would be in the colder months.

@Eric

code by corvus

OOC: Sorry for the depressing intro, I was on the sad part of my playlist xD There it is. That loneliness. Where even the most twisting, mismatched paths converge. And of course, we all wish it were something with a little more fluff, things like love, compassion, etc. How-how HEARTBREAKING is that the sentiment that is supposed to unite us is the very same that keeps us apart? It’s like we’re all trapped in our very own little birdcages, wishing for someone to reach out, to reach INTO us. But no one comes, no one comes because we all believe the same dagger-like fallacy. That the rest of the world is going on, moving in slow motion, passing us by in blurs while we’re the only ones perfectly still. And there’s simply no way to break it, there’s no…there’s no way to get rid of that loneliness. No matter how much we cry for help or reach out try and touch the hearts of those around us…there’s always that underlying whisper. We’re nothing more than a never-ending tragedy. A VHS tape of misery constantly rewinding, our shiny black innards spilt only to be shoved back inside without a whiff of kindness. And not even the drugs were going to wash all that away… But how could they know that? How could the admit it to themselves when that meant leaping into the blackness of the void? No, Eric would fight it. He’d fight the whispers, even if they seemed to be proven true at every turn. His very own sort of prophecy… Ignorance after all is absolute bliss! The stranger’s smile, if that even was a smile, twisted something in his stomach. Maybe it was the darkness of night outside, or the reliable, nostalgic glow of the pool. But it was all painted in some sort of terrible light, whether it be misery or mystery he might never know. He’d never been any good at reading people. Eric watched the man, allowing him to get closer, ears pricking at the sound of his hum. “Further inland there’s a poppy field, you can’t miss it’s a big red splotch,” he looked down, a sardonic look flashing past his features, “looks kinda like blood.” He breathed out, licked his lips, and continued. “I’ve never been, but I’ve passed by it.” Only now did it occur to him that it could’ve been any other sort of red flower, that rippling scarlet sea he’d glimpsed that day. No, it must’ve been poppies. I mean, he couldn’t fail at his one defining character trait, right? Being a gorgeous bad boy. “And in the north, there’s a forest, you should be able to find valerian there, and mushrooms if it’s damp enough.” Eric shrugged, peering into the other man’s face in earnest honesty. “I haven’t been there either, but hey, a forest’s a forest!” God, it’s like he was a really subpar tour guide. Yeah, so that’s kind of the Eiffel Tower, but if you’ve seen one you’ve seen them all so we’re gonna SKIP IT! Book your tickets now, folks. The man began his explanation, with Eric’s teal gaze locked onto that outstretched toe as it cut through the water. “What kind of experiments?” The boy cocked a brow, curiosity easily mixing with suspicion on his face. Where Sherlock was a man of science, Eric was more of a believer in magic. Crazy, I know! But even as he’d renounced the gods, thinking very little of them, there was still that miniscule part of him that remained as impressionable as toddling child. At the mention of keeping FIRE in his den, the young blond’s eyes went wide. And in this light, in this cave, he looked more like a deep-sea creature rather than a handsome ex-viking. It’s all about perspective, isn’t it? “Hold on. A) how are you gonna get the fire and b),” he paused for breath (and dramatic effect of course!), “how are you gonna keep it from, oh, I don’t know, BURNING YOUR FACE OFF?” You know what, at the end of the day, whether it be magic or science or whatever you wanna call it, there is one truth upheld by all creature of the earth! Anything that can go wrong, will. @Sherlock But "Sentimental Boy" is my nom de plume Art by Swan, Code by Swan (fixed by Cala)

It was a rare thing when he didn't wish to read and catalogue every thought passing over someone's face. He saw the instant his own expression was recognized and did not care to witness any pity or concern or curiosity that might have shown in the other man's. So he kept his gaze mostly on the water as the stranger spoke, tucking away the locations and matching them to the mental map unfurling in his brain.

Poppies inland. That shouldn't be too hard to find, and that was an intense temptation. Assuming the man's information was accurate, anyway. It was inevitable, if he was entirely, brutally, ruthlessly, honest with himself, that he would slip up again. That he would give in to the utter relief that came in the form of substances so many looked down on when his mind raced without relief or outlet and felt as if it would tear itself apart. When boredom reached a point where destruction turned inward. When his source of focus and comfort disappeared - because everyone did, it was only a matter of time. There was only so much of him any normal individual could stand before they reached a breaking point and left.

Valerian and mushrooms had their uses, as well, and he decided he would scour the northern woodlands for sources on a day he had nothing better going on. It would be a comfort to know where it was, at the very least. And it was a little refreshing to find someone here who didn't seem to judge this particular weakness of his - the man had offered the information, even. Made it much easier than it had been in the past.

A face drifted through his mind's eye - disappointed, tired, staring at him as if he was something tedious, something to deal with or keep an eye on. That first time his brother had found him, a week into a binge, disheveled and alone in a filthy little hole in the ground barely worthy of being called a cave. The insistence that, should it happen again (should he come that close to making a fatal choice again), he keep at least one sample of each item consumed - whether to know how to bring him back from the brink, or for the comfort of knowing what ended him.

It was replaced, soon, by another which strengthened his resolve. The sadness (disbelief, simmering anger) in his dear friend's eyes when he'd learned of his worst habits.

He tuned back into the conversation just in time to catch the man's reaction to his suggestion of keeping fire in his den. Sherlock finally let his gaze drift back to the man, brows raising, "For one, I'll obviously keep my face out of the flame," a dry, wry, response. "As for getting fire, that would be more complicated. The options are finding supplies to make it," and he had a few ideas in that area, "or waiting for a natural source, such as a lightning strike or a wildfire."

A light shrug was offered as he shook the water from his paw and placed it back on dry stone, "A remarkably clever baboon once showed me how to spark a flame with a clear crystal and the right amount of sunlight." But that was all beside the point - he'd ruled out keeping fire in the den, anyway. "Regardless, I've decided against it. It's rather too much work to light, and feed, a captive flame, while ensuring it does not accidentally spread to the rest of the den. Much simpler to keep it outside, and away from anything that might risk setting off a larger wildfire." A little dirt pit, a margin of stone. Nice and safe. "Hence my search for alternative options." A nod toward the glowing water followed - a source which had also been ruled out.

@Eric

code by corvus