Interlude Conversation: Room 304

FOREWORD:
This is an archive of a text-based roleplay between #8 regret and madotsuki. The section directly below is written by madotsuki;
the writer alternates after every dividing horizontal line.
~ 8

SKYE TXT: [Has dropped a geopin to @K.GAVIN]
SKYE TXT: if you don't hear from me within 48 assume ive been kidnapped

Ema slides her phone into her pocket as she continues to climb the stairs after the lanky man in front of her. She's never understood why someone would want to take them two at a time, or why they'd settle for an office closer to the top floor, but maybe that's her practical side talking.

You can learn a lot about someone by the way they interact with the world around them. How they eat, how they talk, how they walk and bounce up stairs like they have limitless amounts of energy. Ema files each mental note away as they reach the floor Holmes' office is on, her weight shifted onto her good leg as her other tinges in protest.

Damned stairs.

"For someone who's working independently, you've got a good location." She eventually pipes up.

Ah, wonderful stairs. How I loathe thee.

Sherwood's tall, moderately slender proportions allow him to ascend rather swiftly by two steps at once, though at the cost of straining his muscles to reach each step. This, however, is preferable in his mind to the time loss of walking up double the steps.

Several steps ahead of Ema, with the distance only increasing, he responds, his voice echoing slightly to reach Ema's ears.

"Yes, it's quite the fortunate thing." Sherwood half-chuckles, half-scoffs to himself. "My office is subsidised by the government of Los Angeles... though at the cost of not being able to pick the venue myself."

A couple flights and a few stumbles on the lips of the steps later, Sherwood stops in front of one of the doors in the hallway, labelled Room 304, with a brass placard underneath reading S.L. Holmes Sleuthing Agency. The door itself is nothing spectacular, fitting in with the rest of the... rustic looking doors throughout the building. A mail slot is affixed to the lower half of the door, which is also rather rust...ed.

He jams his hands into his coat pockets, beginning to rummage about for his key. "As it turns out, real estate in the city is rather coveted, so it took quite lengthy talks to be able to land such a deal," he adds.

Not being able to pick where you end up is a tale she knows all too well, and that's why Ema is immediately shoving that thought to the back of her mind. Instead she focuses on taking in what she does know, what she can observe. She could probably mix up a chemical to get rid of that rust, but she doesn't even know who bothers sending physical mail anymore.

"The competition must've been stiff. The view's nice." Would be nicer if it wasn't for the climb. "But yeah, the cost of living in LA is atrocious. I don't envy anyone actually trying to own land in this city."

"Yes, Jerry isn't the easiest man to persuade... unless you can wrap your mind around his behaviour like I can." Sherwood chuckles to himself, finally managing to finagle his key out of his pocket, immediately proceeding to unceremoniously jam it into the lock. He has to jiggle at it for a solid moment before the cylinder of the lock actually gives with a loud clack.

He pivots, twirling from standing against the wall past the doorframe, around to the inner part of the door, twisting the handle. "However, you'll find it was quite the nice deal for me indeed."

The immediate sight of what would meet Ema's eyes as she would enter was... "homey". The most prominent things in the centre of the room were a large, buy-and-build wooden desk, a smaller desk of the same origin adjacent, and a couch across from both of them.

Lining one wall is a cheap set of living essentials: fridge, sink, stove-oven, dishwasher... the fridge and sink are understandable, but the other two stick out.

The opposite wall is a nightmare of stimulus: unorganised shelves with unorganised files, trinkets, and souvenirs all scattered about in what one would hope is some kind of fashion at all. There's a single four-drawer filing cabinet at the far corner, near the side desk.

At the far corner, next to the main desk, is a standing whiteboard on a hinge. It's difficult to read from this distance.

Sherwood struts into the office, removing his hat and coat to reveal the criminally pale, criminally lithe British man beneath. Placing his articles on a coat rack adjacent to the door, he pushes further inward, allowing Ema clearance to enter. "Please, make yourself as comfortable as you like. I would recommend it, since there's much to discuss."

Each observation neatly tucked away -- a second desk, an oven with a kettle on it, a whiteboard -- Ema shrugs off her lab coat once they pass the threshold and he does the same. She hangs it next to his coat as she moves to roll up the sleeves of her button up to her elbows.

Her eyes linger on the shelves, on trinkets that seem so familiar, yet so alien. It reminds her of Locke's office, and how he ends to hoard items despite swearing up and down that they mean little to him.

Sentimentality is the bane of any scientist.

"Couldn't get the others to sit down long enough for a chat?" She asks, a light teasing tone in her voice. It's the whiteboard that ultimately catches her attention as she steps deeper into the office, passing the set of desks and general chaos to look it over. Ema's eyes scan the front of it, and she reaches out only to stop herself when she realizes it isn't one of those boards you can touch and move to a new page. "Or is it something you feel like you can't share with them just yet?"

After taking a moment to roll his shoulders, Sherwood wheels around the side desk and over to his own. The cheap plastic-and-felt office chair accompanying it squeaks as the man sinks his weight into it.

"Half of them were there, the other half are attending elsewhere," he remarks openly, allowing his head to lean back over the back support of his chair and look upward at the ceiling. "Short of getting within striking distance of Mr. Justice, you remain the most informed on the situation, as well as any possibly adjacent ones."

The whiteboard is extremely cluttered, filled with ellipses and lines and arrows, scattered thoughts running amok in erasable marker. Musings on runes, victims, who went where... a mind map of the cabal's "case," as it were.

While one would expect it to mainly focus on Arley and the other victims, most of the writing currently seems to be about...

River Wright.

Lines pointing to her, from her, questions, answers, arrows abound... Theories about her origin, her methods, her relationships, sprawling out and intertwining with the other bubbles around the whiteboard.

Most of it is written in a rather conservative size of handwriting to facilitate so much being crammed onto the whiteboard, but some things along the edges of the whiteboard are written in full capital lettering.

The chair, and Sherwood by extension, would snap Ema out of her investigative trance, as further creaking announced the detective leaning back in his chair. "Now that speaking too loud won't break any contracts, I'll admit that it's a rather sordid affair beneath the surface."

Ema's arms cross over her chest as she reads, and reads, and lets her eyes soak in the information. There's a fleeting moment where she wishes she had sprung for the surgery for optical implants like some of the other detectives in LAPD, though it's tossed aside by Sherwood's chair breaking her train of thought.

River is still on her mind as she turns, her hand moving to her hip as she shrugs her shoulders.

"If it makes you feel better, I don't think he'd actually hit you. He's more of a verbal puncher than a physical one." Not that she hadn't heard of Justice trying -- and succeeding -- in a few successful bouts, but Sherwood doesn't need to know about that.

Most of science is messing around and finding out, after all.

Her free hand moves up to curl the end of a strand of her hair around her finger, eyes meeting his for a moment before she looks back towards that whiteboard.

"That's... the vibes I'm getting from it, yeah. I had a bad feeling about this mess from the second they found River."

"Yes, in that department, he certainly has quite the swinging arm," he chuckles... though it sounds somewhere between amusement and laughing off the pain. "Mr. Justice is quite the man to crack, but... I do believe him and I are making progress."

The top margin is, expectedly, mostly metadata for the map as well as a header.
The bottom is lined with ramblings about runes, language, communication... and a list of three runes that notably aren't displacement.

The right side pertains mostly to River: talks of her being a prisoner of some kind lie here, with a note about Justice observing restraint marks.
The left side seems to be something of a vertical timeline of River's "discovery," from top to bottom. It includes details like her being found, what she had to do after, even a space for the interview itself...
At the top of the timeline, circled heavily, "HASHIMA" is written in all capital letters.

Sherwood's hands rise to rest against the back of his head, his eyes pulling his head as they roll over to look at Ema and the whiteboard adjacent. His nose crinkles as he begins to mentally delve into the subject.

"Yes, Ms. River... she was there with Trucy at the studio. I found her to be the pleasant sort, but her involvement does present some complications. Her deep knowledge of the arcane implicates her an amount that I personally wouldn't like it to."

The detective's eyebrows raise for two seconds, and she back tracks in her memory to recall if Justice had actually decked Holmes within the past few months. He didn't seem any more disgruntled than usual, and she surely would've heard something through the office gossip grapevine if he had.

Surely.

"She's a sweet kid," Ema's eyes bounce over to Sherwood. That chair is distracting beyond measure. If it were hers, she'd probably have chucked it out the window already. "Mr. Wright has me tutor her in some stuff on and off." Math, science, the things that a former art major takes one look at and runs to the hills from.

Hashima.

The word feels bitter on her tongue. Her nose wrinkles as she turns from the board.  "And that's the kicker, isn't it? Everything people turn up makes her look suspicious at best." And downright malicious at worst.

"Ah, so it's you? I believe I saw some of her work laying about the recording studio. She's quite studious, as it were; the bright sort."

Sherwood hastily snaps from a neutral expression to a characteristic smile as he sees Ema turn her head. "Yes, such is the case when the barrier to entry for the list of suspects is... let's call it high. Granted, there are some sticking points that leave her with opportunity for an alibi, but if we can't widen the pool of suspects soon..." His expression sours. "...things won't be looking well for her for long."

Sherwood opts to lean back forward in his chair, the furniture crying its lament as he rests his elbows against his thighs, slouching over to rest his upper weight on them. "Places we can look for such suspects are slim, but our collective investigation efforts have led me to a possible place to start."

"Right? She's so bloody brilliant, it almost makes me jealous!" Ema scoffs, placing her hands on her hips as she rolls her weight to her good leg. "Her and Trucy get along like a house fire too." It's been good for Trucy to have a friend her age, even if said friend has made Mr. Wright go gray even faster than he was before.

"I'm not so sure about that." She raises a hand, waving his thoughts off before bringing her fingers up to her cheek. "Unless you can account for her being active for nearly three times her life, she's pretty well off..."

Then again, crime is high, and the world is eager to pin things on the first suspicious person. Ema knows that all too well.

"So. Where were you thinking of first?"

"The two do seem fond of each other; it's quite the refreshing sight, if I'm being honest. The fine folk of our little cabal are lovely, but it tends to get rather... tense after a while."

...Mostly because of Justice, but he somehow doubted he had to specify that.

A silence hangs in the air as the final question is presented to Sherwood. His jaw grinds back and forth a couple times, and his smile slips away into something more pensive. "...From what I understand, Mr. Cabanela and Mr. Kidd are going to be seeing Ms. Brush soon. That covers the first possibility, as I have reason to believe that Ms. Brush is capable of casting. Should you doubt my judgement, ask Mr. Justice about the subject."

Something appears to pop to mind, as he swiftly shifts up in his chair to an upright sitting position. "Come to think of it... are you aware of anyone from the LAPD or JBI going to visit Trucy prior to our cabal? She remarked on such a thing occurring, and on how it upset... er, 'Daddy no. 2,' I believe it was."

Another shift of her weight, Ema's hand moves to cup her cheek as her chin settles into her palm. Her other hand crosses over her middle, giving her right elbow a place to rest as if it's sitting on a table.

"... no, you're probably right on that one. I don't have the evidence to begin to refute you on it anyway." Though she does make a mental note to follow up with Justice on it, and Ema inwardly bemoans the fact that their centralized note system is essentially just a bunch of email threads and a prayer. Her head raises slightly at his question, and she squints before answering: "I wasn't, though Mr. Edgeworth and Mr. Wright could've just not brought it up."

Sherwood's eyes rest shut for a moment. "...I don't like the potential of a third party in this investigation. I can contact Mr. Rahna about whether it was him; look into LAPD records on your end, if possible." His nose scrunches briefly before he opens his eyes again, his gaze solely resting on Ema.

He pauses, and heaves a sigh, raising his arms from his shoddy armrests to rest them on his desk, folding his hands together. Nothing else to it, I suppose.

"...As for the other possibility, based on information from Ms. River, I believe Hashima Reservoir and Dam warrants investigation, present and past, for any evidence of the arcane."

A nod.

"Sure, I can dig into it. It was probably a routine thing anyway..." Though there's something in her mind that tugs at her, like a snag in her clothing. Ema places it aside for now.

It's replaced by a damp, clinging dread that settles over her shoulders anyway. She rolls them to shake the feeling off. Ema's eyes yet again meet the board, and a map would probably do the man -- and group -- some good. Just another thing of many to put onto her ever growing to-do list...

"... that's a pretty big area to search. Do you know the history behind it?" A pause. "Behind the dam and lake, I mean."

"I don't," he snappily responds, thrusting himself up from his chair and onto his feet, "but I would very much like to. With how much these runes seem to thirst, I've taken a great interest in the history of water."

His joke clashes heavily with his air-cutting tone as he rounds his desk to stand adjacent to Ema, leaning himself against the side of his own desk. "If you've anything to say about it, I'll be the first to listen."

All Holmes have the same weird sense of humor, she swears. Ema's hands fall to her sides, though her thumbs quickly catch in the pockets of her pants as she turns to look back at the board in full.

"Well... from what I remember, it was finished about sixty years ago to help supply Los Angeles with hydropower. Green initiatives, and all that." Ema shrugs with one shoulder, continuing to talk. "It used to be just a river, though the building of the dam created the reservoir we know today."

She raises a finger, punctuating her next point.

"The dam itself is pretty close to Mount Mitama, which is out in the sticks. It's a two hour train ride to get out there, though the reservoir stretches for a good clip."

Sixty years ago... 1960s to 1970s. For Ms. River's attire, while still not entirely sensible, it's still more plausible. Timeframe... I'd have to look into, but that would mean getting clearance from Skye. That leaves...

Sherwood's eyes dilate back into focus, now squarely focused on the back of Ema's head.
...And then to the whiteboard, after realising she isn't looking at him.

"Mount Mitama... ah, that's the lovely spot that hosts Kurain Village, is it not? I hear it's a lovely travel destination in the summer months for hikers." He leans himself further against his own desk, the floorboards beneath quietly creaking under the shift of weight. "...According to Ms. River, it's also a lovely place to have been discovered by Trucy, though an inconvenience to her belongings."

"It's not just Kurain Village out there, there are a couple of smaller communities out there too. Towns and tourist traps, mostly."

At least until they flooded the valley with water. Ema sniffs, shaking her head to clear the thought.

"It'd probably be a good call to see where River actually got pulled up. It could've been one of those smaller rivers or creeks that they found her in. As I said, it's a damned big area to search."

"That area can be honed down," he immediately interjects, pushing himself off of his desk by his hands, allowing himself to land the fronts of his feet with a thump against the floorboards.

"Trucy attests to having found River in a Hashima-fed creek within a distance where Trucy would be walking the Wright family's pets. Either she can be asked her route, or you can assume a bikeshed around their residence. There's even a fair chance Trucy or Ms. River would remember the exact spot, though that thinking may be somewhat wishful." Sherwood pivots on his heels, throwing his arms to his sides in a melodramatic shrug, hand and arm darting into Ema's periphery. "...Though, I doubt either of the two would be particularly happy to hear from us about business so soon after the last encounter."

"Probably not. The Wrights are probably pissed." It's the same assumption Justice made after Trucy left them in the afternoon heat. "We could make a few assumptions like you said and go from there based on location, though it'll be hard to swing the personnel to do a whole investigation down there."

Meaning they'll probably have to trek up and down the search area themselves with their tiny little team. In the already suffocating heat. Great.

In comparison to Sherwood's bombastic motions, Ema holds her movements close. A tilt of the head here, a shrug of the shoulder there. Ema has her space and is determined to keep it, a familiar distancing that he's probably seen in his assistant and most law enforcement both.

Ema raises a hand to push her bangs back, cheeks puffing out as she sighs. "I guess I can start picking out points of interest once I get back."

"That would be ideal," Sherwood nods. From what he understood, it was a lot of ground, so only having a few places to sweat puddles in the end is something he'll happily take when put on offer.

His arms fall slack to his sides, hands burrowing into his pockets. Planting an extra step forward, he aligns his shoulders with that of Ema, his eyes swimming through the notes on the whiteboard.

Possibilities. Too many of them for his liking, with more seemingly being added each time he rolls out for an investigation. Every theory feels like it teeters on the cusp of the truth, of something, but nothing has been able to fill that gap in the puzzle so far.

High tones make their presence known in Sherwood's ears. He grinds one heel against the floorboards as he continues staring at the whiteboard. "...I will admit, that's about the sum of my immediate actionable judgements. Beyond what we've discussed, most of what we learned from the Wrights was on the subject of runes."

"Hey, it's better than what we had before." Ema replies, her shoulders rising and falling in an easy shrug that would remind him of the laissez-faire attitude of his assistant. She tilts her head side to side before lowering her glasses onto her nose, tapping the side of them as she activates the record feature.

She doesn't record for long, but it's enough to get the general gist of his thought process for her own notes. Pulling her glasses off her nose, she places them back atop her head.

"... and the brass only really wants the civic center mess wrapped up. I don't think they care about what we find in the weeds."

Ah yes, marvellous Los Angeles, where you go to trial in three days or your money back... The breakneck pace of the law in the city tends to throw him for a loop; something he wished Jerry would've at least mentioned. Usually, this wouldn't present much of an issue, but this...

Sherwood huffs, his heel's momentum screeching to a halt back along his shoulder-line. "...Well, I suppose it's our job to get the tacks to brass, as it were."

His voice withdraws from the entire room to the space around them: "...what happens once all of this is wrapped up, if I may ask?"

The state of law across the United States. It is what it is.

"... don't know. Probably just get back to our usual lives-- without the magic." Ema offers another shrug. She'd be fine with that, all of it returning to the mundane. All of it just keeps giving her headache after headache. "Unless you lot find something that prolongs the investigation. But.." Ema waves a hand. "That's your call, not mine."

She's fine with leaving it as it is.

He's not. He still has questions to answer.

"...Right. That makes sense."

...Is it pathetic? The consultancy would get him out and about more, at least, but he can't deny his draw to the cabal. The first whiplash was one thing, but going in the other direction would be... awful, most likely. No matter.

Sherwood sharpy inhales, his shoulders rising and his voice swelling back up to take up the space in Ema's ears it once had before. "That's all my thoughts on the matter, then." He slides back on his heels, shuffling enough to lean himself back against his desk, hands being removed from his pockets to support him.

"What of yourself, then? Anything playing at your mind? I'm versed in both conversation and being a proverbial rubber duck, you know."

Anything playing on your mind?

People rarely ask her what she thinks. It takes Ema off guard for a moment, as her eyebrow knit together and she tracks him from the board to where he makes himself comfortable on his desk.

It takes her a moment to realize that he's serious. It takes her an even longer moment to come up with an answer. As Ema lifts her hand up to pinch at her nose with forefinger and thumb, she says--

"... sort of. But it's going to sound really stupid if I say it out loud."

... Snrk.

Sherwood's snort slips into a hearty chuckle, leaning his weight further against his desk and making the floor beneath it squeak. "Well, the truth is often outlandish and stupid. Had we discounted all of our stupid ideas, odds are Trucy would be in a markedly worse situation than she is."

"Besides," he motions one arm from his head to his toe, "'stupid' theories seem to be my reputation nowadays. Let's hear it." In spite of the self-disparagement, his smile is warm, and his gaze aimed at Ema lays expectant.

While his eyes lay into her, hers escape back to the board. It's a buried deep response from when humans weren't on the top of the foodchain, the age old belief that 'if I can't see you, you can't see me.'

"She probably would've been fine. Trucy's clever." And Mr. Wright knows how to dance his way through court. They're lucky that his heart is made of gold, or they'd have a nightmare of a man on their hands.

Ema is quiet for another few beats before she hooks her thumbs into her pockets.

"I... don't remember there being a dam there." She says it slowly, uncertainly, half-expecting him to revoke his offer. ".. it's always been a river." She puffs out her cheeks. Her hand moves to pinch at her nose again. "I remember going swimming there. School trips. It's never been..."

And yet.. it is.

Another pause.

"... it sounds really stupid now that I'm saying it out loud."

... ... ...

Hm. His hand rests back down against his desk to resume supporting his weight.

"...Yet there is. My efforts looking into the dam itself have been somewhat limited by time, but from what I understand, there's been one somewhere along the river for at least ten years, which in turn fashioned a reservoir."

Well, this got complicated fast. A torrent of questions and possibilities breach Sherwood's thought processes. It's moments like these where he's somewhat glad he always looks a little out of it, one way or the other.

His jaw rocks back and forth. "And yet... you have no recollection of such a thing being built." He seemingly inhales to continue, stops himself, sits in silence for a moment, then tries continuing again: "When was the last time you visited, if you can recall?"

"It's been longer than that. The dam was built in the eighties." She sounds frustrated, and that's when Ema begins to pace. Her eyebrows are furrowed together, her lips pressed thin as she begins to try to walk out whatever is weighing down on her shoulders.  ".. but I remember going there when I was ten. Fifteen, for a class trip."

She jerks a hand out, motioning at the air. "I know I did." Did she? The dread gnaws at her stomach. Her lungs feel tight. Ema takes a breath before lifting a hand yet again to rub at her face. "... but there's no way that's right. It can't be. The facts say otherwise."

As Ema turns heel away from the whiteboard, Sherwood follows, pushing himself off of the side of his desk and meandering to the centre of the room-

Fifteen.

His foot catches on the corner of the couch, and the man gracelessly stumbles before he can catch his footing. One hand rises to his collar to straighten a coat that isn't there before falling back down to his side, his mindless smile wiped clean from his face.

As he straightens himself up, his face flushes a little, and he clears his throat. "Your insistence on the way you saw it clearly indicates some modicum of truth to me; there must be a discrepancy somewhere, no matter how insignificant it may end up being." His left hand rises to veil his mouth. "If we can identify the point of divergence... it may be possible to work it out."

"... you good, bub?"

Ema blinks at him a few times, his stumble having pulled her from her own spiraling thoughts. It's easier anyway, to focus on anything else than whatever is going on in her head. Which is why she makes a slight face when he dives right back into it, causing her eyes to pull away as she wrinkles her nose.

"... maybe." There's hesitancy there. She'd say it's the trait of any good scientist. Most would call it fear of the unknown. "Thanks, for not.. y'know." Calling her insane.

His hand dives right back down into his pocket as he sheepishly chuckles. "Yes, I'm quite alright. My habit of skimming around corners has earned me more stubbed toes than I care to count." His other hand whips up and snaps. "The dress shoes help rather well with it."

Sherwood nods, his expression going down pensive and coming back up with a practised warm smile. "Of course, Miss Skye." His hand drifts down, openly motioning to the couch beside him. "I'd love to hear you out, if you have the time."

She's suddenly reminded of how much of a fuss Justice can make about taking care of his own dress shoes. Ema pushes the thought of how much polishing and touch ups Sherwood has to do to the back of her mind.

"... I should head back to the office. That's pretty much it anyway." Ema's hand settles on her bag, running her thumb along the back of the strap as her fingers curl around it. "Just memories that don't line up. Yay."

...Well, I suppose I wouldn't be so lucky.

"Of course," he pivots, pulling his arm in from gesturing outward to do something between a curtsy and a bow. "I won't keep you. Should you wish to come back to it later on, my couch remains open to you."

Sherwood slowly waltzes his way to approach the front door before jamming one leg behind him, using the momentum to pivot on his other heel and face back inward into the room with a cheeky smile. "Granted, you may come to my office and use my couch for a myriad of reasons; this is simply another for the list."

I feel like I should be offering my couch to you, Holmes. Is the thought that crosses Ema's mind as she leaves her pacing behind and makes her way towards the door. At his bright nature, she can't help but exhale through her nose, offering a smile of her own.

The sun shines. The rain pours, and Holmes is always the brightest person in the room.

"I have a perfectly nice bed at home, but thanks." A pause. ".. I'll think about it."

His smile only widens at the sight of her own. It's familiar; comforting. A smile he's seen countless times before. "Of course. Keeping it in mind is all I ask." Once again, he raises his hand and snaps. "Should you want things fair, I'll also never object to paying a visit to the precinct."

Sherwood loops around to the side of the door with the knob, giving it a hasty twist before swinging it inward to allow Ema passage, stepping out of the crossroads between herself, the coat rack, and her exit. He says nothing further, merely smiling onward and rocking one of his feet from side to side by the arch.

She huffs, shrugging her shoulders as she pulls her lab coat over them. It's a staple of her now, and it's hard to imagine her or her echo without it.

"It's not like you don't know where my office is." She says, raising a hand as she steps out of the office and into the hallway. The air there is slightly stuffy, warm even though the heat from the day is starting to wane.

Ugh.

"Later, Holmes."

Her heels click against the floor as she pulls her phone out of her pocket, not looking back as she strides off towards the stairs.

Sherwood trails her departure to the door, leaning out of the doorframe.

"Thank you for listening, Miss Skye!"

A loud creak echoes from behind Ema as the door to the S.L. Holmes Sleuthing Agency closes in her wake.

... ... ... A few seconds pass, and the man draws a deep breath.

Back to work.