Log Who: Iris Thorpe, Micah Braden, and Warren Eliot. What: The Holmesians go investigating the screams Where: The catacombs, basement and first floor. When: After this conversation, and during the back end of this log. Warnings: Language.
When another ear-splitting scream got through her apartment wall, the carpet, the closet wall and a layer of clothing, Iris had enough. She kicked her way out of the closet, dropped her laptop on the bed, and moved out of the apartment. She picked up her knife--not the pocket one with the bottle opener, the Other One--hid it in her jacket, and came out of her apartment with a black look in her gray eyes that was not leavened by jewel tones or deceptive expressions.
Micah was already halfway down the stairs when he heard the footsteps behind him. He had grabbed his medical kit, and he had his gun tucked into the back of his jeans, and when he heard the person behind him, he hurried the rest of the way down and ducked behind the bottom stair landing, out of sight. He waited there to grab whoever it was, if he deemed it necessary. He too had heard the screaming, once he'd left his apartment, and he could see the trail of blood from where he was standing. His shoulders were tense and his nerves were on edge. He waited.
Iris's words had forced Eliot to his feet and out the door before he had had the chance to actually made a decision. He didn't know what it was about her that was making him act before thinking, but right now he didn't have the luxury to sit back and reflect. There was blood in the hall and Iris had heard screaming, and as much as Eliot wanted to just stay away this time, he had been pulled in. It wasn't that he worried about Iris or Micah's safety, per se - he was certain they could both take care of themselves - but that for some unknown reason, he simply couldn't let them go down there alone. This must be what people meant when they said they felt protective of someone else.
He hurried past the elevator to the staircase, and began descending quickly, not caring about the racket his shoes echoing up and down the shaft. Without pausing at the second floor - Iris and Micah would surely be downstairs by now - he headed straight to the first floor and began looking around for the familiar figures.
When Eliot's feet reached the first-floor landing, Micah relaxed. He relaxed, that is, until he heard feet on the stairs again. He grabbed Eliot's shoulder, using his height and strength to pull the other man behind him. All of his senses were tuned to the footsteps, and after a few seconds he relaxed, recognizing the cadence of the walk.
Iris was so on edge that she could practically hear her blood in her veins, but she moved rapid and catlike across the carpet and onto the landing, jacket loose over the backs over her hands, thick hair wrung tightly together in a braid down her back. It made her features sharper and almost unrecognizable as her profile came into view from around the corner.
Micah looked over his shoulder at Eliot, and then he looked at Iris. He suspected that calling out to her would get him stabbed or shot - no, not shot. She didn't care for guns. Stabbed, then. Surprising her wasn't an option, because while he knew he could subdue her, he also knew she would panic, and he didn't want Eliot seeing her that vulnerable.
He shoved Eliot back hard (out of range), he cleared his throat, and he ducked before she had a chance to swing.
Eliot registered Micah's face a split-second before he was roughly hauled away from the foot of the stairs. "What the fuck, Micah?" he grunted without feeling, before turning up to see Iris right behind where he had been. She looked tense and on edge; a look he couldn't remember seeing before. Even when she was being carted off to jail, Iris had never looked this agitated.
He wasn't sure he liked it.
Something flashed silver in her hand, but when she caught the strike--a hard, inward jab that ducking definitely would not have helped--her hand opened, metal slithered, and there was nothing there. "You idiot," she glared at Micah, turning as if nothing had happened. Her eyes moved to Eliot, and then away, past him, toward where the stair descended. She kept her expression neutral. Great, Eliot could now consider her armed and dangerous. Perfect.
Micah just quirked a brow, looked at her hand, and opened his mouth to return the compliment. But a sharp scream stopped him before he could even say anything, and he looked over his shoulder toward 104, then back at Eliot. "Are you carrying?" he asked, wanting to know if the man needed to stay here for his own protection.
He had no doubt he could take care of Iris on his own.
Eliot furrowed his brow at Micah. It was easy to forget how little they actually knew about each other. Warren Eliot did not carry a gun. Sure, he knew how to use one, and had even had to shoot someone, but hell would freeze over before he'd consider packing. "No," he stated flatly, before turning in the direction the voice had come from. The lack of firepower didn't disturb him in the least; if there was one thing Eliot was certain of, it was his ability to take care of himself.
The both of them were so damn sure of themselves that they'd waltz right into this and end up dead. Silently cursing male arrogance, Iris ignored this exchange and, by the time they completed it, had already started down the stairs at a brisk jog that her ankle didn't much care for, and she ignored it once she got to the ground floor, orienting herself toward the hall and striding off down it. The screams had gone quiet, and in this hallway the light wasn't so good.
Micah cursed under his breath in Spanish. What sort of detective didn't carry a gun? He'd have to get Eliot laid and teach him how to shoot. He was still scowling over that fact, when Iris moved past and to the ground floor. He followed after her, grabbing her as soon as she'd gotten close enough to the silent door to worry him, and he pulled her back, making sure to move his hand wide to her shoulder, so she could see it coming out of her peripheral vision.
There were vines climbing the door, and the blood led away from the door and down, and even from here he could see the forest of green in the lobby.
"Stop, Iris."
Eliot watched Micah go after Iris. The familiarity between the pair was obvious, not just verbally, but physically. He felt a twinge of something, but ignored it in favor of studying the trail of blood on the floor. Whoever the blood had belonged to hadn't been strong enough to walk. His pace quickened as he neared the door. There was only one way to go from here. "Anyone bring a flashlight?"
The lobby was a mass of plants and vines, and there was a close, warm air to the formerly open marble room that Iris definitely did not like. When they moved into the hallway, it was like ducking down a tunnel that progressively became less green and more black as the light from the wall sconces was cut off by curling leaves and ominous thorns. Iris stopped, but not because Micah told her too. "It... doesn't feel friendly, does it?" She looked helplessly at the walls, and drew back as the two men came to a stop behind her. "I don't know which door it is... I can't see where the doors are." Obviously, she had not brought a flashlight.
Micah walked further into the lobby and to the wall with the stairs down to the basement. He couldn't actually see the door, but he pushed at it somehow knowing it was there. He shook his head, starting to wonder if his recent ability to just know things was to be blamed on the building; it all seemed too coincidental. The stair down was dark, but he could see the faint glow of sconces below, and he reached into his pocket for his engraved lighter, which was going to just have to do for now. He hoisted his bag on his shoulder, put a hand out to keep Iris and Eliot safely behind him, and then he handed the lighter back to Iris, even as he reached for his gun. He checked the barrel, readied it, and he pointed it down the darkened stairs as he started carefully down.
No flashlights. A problem, but not a big one. Eliot was a chain smoker, which meant he had at least three different lighters on him at all times. "Micah," he called out, tossing a lighter forward. "That one's new. Should work for a while." He didn't have a problem with Micah taking the lead, as Eliot had never been in the area before. The closest he had come to it was the one time he had done laundry since moving in. "You good?" he asked, his voice softening almost imperceptibly as stepped closer to Iris. He didn't know why he was asking, but he knew he cared about the answer.
Iris said nothing as Micah seemed to choose a wall of vines at random, push on it, and watch it open as if it was as obvious as anything could be. Her eyes, colorless and as silver as the hidden blade, swept toward Eliot, her gaze met his and communicated a wordless dislike for this situation. It was an answer. She pursued, however, so close that she brushed Eliot's arm as they moved down the stair. Firmly, she ordered herself not to think about it. "You think it was from further down?" she asked Micah, snapping the lighter open and looking up as her face was bathed in a soft yellow glow. "She sounded so close..."
"I think this is where those idiots came exploring," Micah told her, and he looked over his shoulder. "We can look, or we can find your screamer, Iris," he said, willing to go with whatever her gut told her. His gut told him there was someone dead down there, but he had no real reason for that belief; nothing beyond a feeling that he wasn't going to discuss here. He caught Eliot's concern for Iris, and it made him stop, made him pause.
"Eliot," he said, looking over Iris' shoulder at the man. "Why don't you and Iris go look for the screamer, and I'll take a look down here," he said, expression fixed on the other man, as if to make him understand with the look alone. Go be with her.
Whatever Micah was trying to convey to Eliot got lost somewhere in the dark. But the man had a point regardless. The screaming had put Iris on edge, and it made sense to go look for the source. Anything else would be a momentary distraction at best. "It's up to you," he told Iris, his eyes trying to read hers in the dim light. "You want to go find her?"
Iris didn't hesitate. That was not a scream that left any question in her mind. "Yes. I thought she was below me... she was afraid of someone." It was someone, she was sure, and she wouldn't let her doubts tell her otherwise. She hesitated now, after turning back the way she had come toward the first corridor, and the flame wavered in the center of her fingers. "You shouldn't go down there alone." Her voice echoed hollowly back along the curve of the stair.
The barrel of Micah's gun glinted in the light of the wavering flame, and he used his own lighter to motion to the stop of the stairs. "Get her out of here," he told Eliot, and he didn't wait for confirmation before disappearing into the darkness below, leaving them alone with the flickering light.
"He'll be fine," Eliot muttered, mostly to himself. In the short time Eliot had known Micah, he had made his ability to stand on his own feet abundantly clear. He walked up to her side once more and instinctively held out his hand, lightly touching her on the arm. "Let's do this."
As the pair moved forward in the dark, Eliot felt that strange thing in his stomach once again, this time stronger. It wasn't the smell of blood - he had had plenty of opportunity to get used to that. It was that bastard. The thought had been an idle one, but he knew it was the irrevocable truth as soon as he had it. Sherlock Holmes had decided now was the time to make his presence felt. A full week before expected. Fucking hell.
At least Eliot still had control over his own body. For now.
Oblivious, Iris moved through the dark, one hand out in front of her aglow with the lighter's small flame. The greenery around them seemed alive even as they went back the way they had come and came out in the first floor corridor, where the light had but slightly improved. An alien touch on her arm made Iris gasp and jerk out of the way, entirely overcompensating and requiring a strong clutch at her own personal store of control to stop the panic-run! impulse.
It's Eliot, of course, she realized. She told herself she was being an idiot, and a moment later she reached out and curled a warm hand under the inside of his elbow, all without saying a word. Now she wasn't going to run into him in the dark. Right. "I think it's this way," she said, indicating with the flame into the darker part of the corridor, away from the light of the lobby. Her voice sounded strangely empty, as she had it tightly under control and no inflection was better than a wavering one. "If I'm in six, it couldn't have been that much farther than a couple doors down. We can start at the end."
Iris's reaction caught Eliot by surprise, and he had remained frozen until he felt her arm slide around his. Of course, he had surprised her. Given how tense the situation was, he should have expected as much. "Alright," he said, moving towards the higher numbered apartments on the floor. He held his lighter closer to the ground as they moved forward. There was still blood on the ground. Eliot found himself hoping against reason that it didn't belong to whoever was screaming.
His mind began to flash through the different scenarios of what could have happened, and despite his best efforts, Eliot could not get it to stop. This was worse than the usual blinding pace of his thought process. It was almost as though Sherlock Holmes was at odds with him, pointing out incongruities in the explanations he could come up with. Having his own brain to contend with had been bad enough; now he had a fucking genius in there to boot.
Eliot tried to focus on the situation he was in, and the woman whose arm was intertwined with his own. He should say something, but what? All he could think of right now was blood loss and survival possibilities and the vines on the wall, and none of them seemed appropriate. Topical, yes. Comforting? No. Sherlock Holmes was no help either.
For one of the few times in his life, Eliot was stumped about how to proceed.
Iris could make out the blood trail, and it made her mouth press down thinner and thinner until it was just a grim cut through an expressionless mask. She pushed her way down the tunnel, which smelled and felt like an overgrown deciduous forest, until it was completely black and she got to the end of the hallway. Then she turned, and, not sacrificing her contact with Eliot's elbow, started feeling down the wall for hinges, frames and door knobs.
"The silence is worse than the screaming," she said, through clenched teeth.
Eliot followed suit, trying to feel his way through the vines along the wall without getting himself cut. He felt a change in texture as he moved, and for a moment thought he might have felt a doorframe. It was almost impossible to tell in the dark. Tugging at the vines, he continued upwards. Yeah, that was definitely a door. "Over here," he tugged on Iris slightly, pulling her towards him. "Now we knock, I guess."