Aug 10, 2010 18:28
His investigation continues apace.
Now he is sitting at the bar with a bottle of beer and a contemplative expression. Occasionally, he sips. Between times, he studies the bottle-the typesetting on the label, the play of light through the glass.
knows his way around fish does he,
horribly irresponsible sometimes
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But let's describe his entrance for Sherlock Holmes' benefit. A man walks into the bar. The crutches under his armpits mark him as, besides the obvious, a man of the post-WW2 western world in their style. His hair is cut neat and short, and he is clean-shaven. His feet are slippered, and the slippers in good repair. His dressing-gown is silk, Chinese, with a floral pattern, and was not tailored by any manufacturer Strat will be familiar with. It suggests several things: that he has enough money to afford silk dressing-gowns; that he is from an age when it was in fashion for men to wear such things, or he doesn't care much about fashion; and that he was intending on going to sleep ( ... )
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Interesting.
The time period checks out. The dressing gown is highly suggestive. The way he examines the room is highly promising and the way he reacts can be dealt with.
Stratocaster picks up his beer and crosses the room.
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But he doesn't stand there playing a tiny violin. Here, there's someone approaching.
"Excuse me, sir!"
He hails Strat in an English accent - Cambridge, educated, but softened at the edges a little, as you might expect of someone who's lived for a few years abroad.
"What's..."
No, that sentence isn't going anywhere. He tries again.
"How... am I here?"
Because... if it's madness then his actions are irrelevant, but if it's reality then his bedroom door has led him somewhere very strange and he's going to have to deal with that. You know. Somehow.
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Strat's own accent has migrated somewhat north of the nineteenth century and somewhat west of England since he died. More the former than the latter by far.
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