The Games App
May. 10th, 2013 03:30 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
honeyedwordsOUT of CHARACTER
Name: QV
Other characters: Nope none
IN CHARACTER
Name: Sherlock Holmes
Fandom: CBS's Elementary
Canon point/AU: Hunger Games AU
Journal:honeyedwords
PB: Jonny Lee Miller
History:
Unlike most citizens of the districts, Sherlock Holmes was born into a moderately wealthy family. They were not, of course, able to meet Capitol standards of decadence, but they were able to get by reliably on his dad's income as a factory foreman, and young Sherlock never had to put his name in the drawing in exchange for tesserae. This made it especially surprising when his name was called a male tribute of District 3 for the 60th annual Hunger Games.
Sherlock was most certainly not a crowd favorite. He was District 3, for one, and up against strong competitors from the career districts that year. He was fairly fit from a physical standpoint, but nothing impressive, and he'd clearly never had to fight for anything. He was clever, to be sure, but in his appearances before the games he came across as dull, abrasive, disinterested, and generally misanthropic. He wasn't even terribly well-liked in his own district, having no real close friends and being generally mistrusted due to his family's ties to Capitol authority. Even once he was in the arena proper he spent most of his time being overlooked, using his sharp senses to track the other tributes and stay very carefully out of their way. Perhaps the most notable thing about his time in the games was his alliance with another tribute by the name of Irene Adler, though after the two of them refused to play the star crossed lovers the cameras paid them little mind.
Something of import must have happened between the two of them, though, as Irene's death at the hand of another tribute triggered a massive change in Sherlock's behavior. Rather than use them to avoid and evade, he began to use his impressive perception to follow the tribute who took his friend's life, watching from afar as a hawk watches a particularly strong and brutal mouse. He waited for an opportunity to strike, then took it when it came, drawing his quarry into tall marsh grasses and unleashing a horde of tracker jackers on them, ducking into the only pool of water deep enough to fully submerge a person while the other tribute struggled with the angry wasps. They succumbed to their stings, and Sherlock was crowned the victor.
Returning home was something that Sherlock was not expecting. He had honestly planned to go out with his friend's murderer, as one does when using a weapon as unpredictable as wasps, but survival instinct somehow won out and dropped him squarely into the Victor's Village with nothing but a neat little bundle of survivor guilt and much more free time and money than he ever needed. Much like many other victors before him, Sherlock turned to morphling to soothe the pain of having lived through the games.
Presentation:
Sherlock Holmes is an intensely brilliant and perceptive man and, for better or worse, is also entirely aware of this. He’s smug, blunt, cocky, and has a tendency to close himself off to anyone he considers too far his intellectual inferior (though most are, of course, considered his intellectual inferiors to some extent). He doles out criticism to friend and foe alike, whether it was asked of him or not, and with a bluntness to rival that of your average bowling ball. Additionally, he never quite grew out of being the precocious boy who was always right, and as such tends to stubbornly refuse to do anything he doesn’t want to do, consider boredom more dangerous to his health than any disease or injury, and throw tantrums when things don’t go according to his plans.
Despite all of this, though, he is a genuinely caring person with a tendency to feel deeply responsible for the well-being those around him, and on the rare occasions where he does come to like and respect a person as a friend, he makes it abundantly clear. He’s just usually very eccentric in how he chooses to do so, appearing at odd hours with no warning and less explanation. He does enjoy the company of others, stating that it’s easier to think clearly while bouncing ideas off of something animate as opposed to something inanimate. He also says that he likes to think of people as the most fascinating and intricate of all puzzles. This is true of him, but intentionally phrased in such a tactless way to project an air of aloofness so as to keep others distant at least to some extent, so affected was he by the death of his first and closest friend.
Sherlock additionally has an obsessive personality, tending to hyperfocus on fleeting areas of interest to the point of ignoring almost all other input in favor of continuing his intellectual pursuits. “All other input” here including things like hunger, thirst, and sleep deprivation. His morphling use is in part an attempt to calm down his overactive mind, though the problems it causes don’t at all outweigh those that it only sort of solves. He’s well aware of this, but unfortunately he’s also amazing amounts of stubbornly independent, refusing to go to anyone else for help even under the most dire of circumstances (such as severe addiction to opiates for example).
Motivations:
Sherlock wants, at his core, to be a good person. He does not like to see the suffering of those who don’t deserve it, and doesn’t think that those who do not inflict suffering upon others deserve any at all. Needless to say he’s not a big proponent of the games, which he is rather vocal about, not being all that attached to his own life and all. It’s a small wonder that he hasn’t been offed yet, though his near-crippling morphling addiction and general eccentricities make him a less than ideal spokesman for the proper ending of the games.
It’s also important to note that Sherlock doesn’t consider himself a good person in the least. Irene Adler, he’ll tell you if asked, was a good person. Most of the other tributes that went into the arena with him were likely good people. But he is not. He is a murderer and an unrepentant one at that. That aside, much of what he does when he’s not in a depressive or drug induced slump appears to be focused on the idea of redemption and atonement, distributing much of his winnings throughout his District in the form of extra food for the needy.
He cares for bees in his spare time, of which he has more than ample amounts, keeping a few small hives that he acquired after leaving the arena. They had always fascinated him but been off-limits as a commodity that fell outside his district’s industry, and he jumped at the chance to claim beekeeping as his Talent, hoping that it would ground him slightly. It seems to have worked, despite the initial oddness of living in close quarters with the cousins of his famous murder weapon. As it stands, he rarely speaks to anyone who is not his bees, and takes one of his (thankfully self contained) hives wherever he goes.
SAMPLES
Thread:
They’re not even the same species as the wasps I used to kill that boy. They’re not even wasps, I’m not sure where any of you got the impression that I picked them out specifically because of that.
[He doesn’t even look up, fussing over one of his hives and ranting at it instead. His lips are pressed tight together in a petulant frown and he wrinkles his nose, one part in disdain for the topic at hand and two parts in disdain for the smoke he’s currently wafting over his bees to calm them.]
Who thinks to themselves, "Ah yes, I’ll just live with a casual and potentially hazardous reminder of the one time I murdered someone"? Fond memories to be had for all!
[Potentially hazardous to people who don’t know what they’re doing, he’s heavily implied by the fact that he wears no protective gear, instead maintaining his hives in short sleeves and a very shabby black vest. It works well enough, as he’s covered in bees but isn’t being stung, even as he gestures dismissively.]
No, bees are fascinating creatures. Diligent, cooperative, loyal; they hardly throw their children or innocent bystanders from all across time and space into pits until they kill each other at all! I think we could all stand to learn a thing or two from-- No, I will not stop, it’s not as if anyone will listen to the mad ravings of a known morphling addict, I will speak as I please.
[Someone offscreen attempts to interrupt him and he slams his bee smoker onto the nearby table with force enough to make the legs shudder. He’s quick to storm off after them, voice fading as he moves away from the microphone. The transmission ends abruptly.]
Prose:
A young man stands before the Gamemakers. His posture is awkward, upright but with his shoulders curled inwards as opposed to thrown back with confidence, neck craned forward as if trying to look like a heron, arms kept stiffly at his sides. He’s wiry, decently muscular but nothing impressive. There are dark circles under his eyes. He clearly hasn’t been sleeping enough at least since he arrived at the Capitol.
Sherlock knows he’s a less than impressive sight, and this knowledge is only confirmed by the dismissive looks the men and women behind that curtain of invulnerability give him as he walks in. Having arrived at the decision to stay under the radar and make as little a target of himself as possible, he doesn’t mind terribly. It gives him time to size them up, for one, if he can just stare rather than attempt to dance for their amusement. Perhaps they’ll think him an idiot too, if he does nothing but stand and watch silently.
Pitiless vultures, the lot of them. Comes with the profession, really. All of them are soft and untouched by hardship, but their place of residence alone could tell him that and that does not mean they are incapable of devising proper trials for the rats in their maze in the least. Sherlock purses his lips subtly, searching for something of use. Many of them have already turned away, engaging in unrelated conversations with their coworkers or to attend to the food and wine set out for them. They clearly don’t consider him a source of entertainment value, but does that mean they’ll leave him be or set the hounds upon him in the hopes of squeezing something of worth out of him?
He catches the eyes of one of the Gamemakers, at long last, and the two of them maintain an awkward bond of eye contact for a solid moment. What is that expression on her face? Something more than indifference or appraisal. Pity, perhaps? Remorse? Either way, his time is up, and he stalks out of the room wordlessly, glancing over his shoulder one last time at the lone Gamemaker for effect.
What is your character scored:
Sherlock gets a solid six. He’s smart, perceptive, adaptable, physically active and fairly strong. However, he’s also a morphling addict who keeps attempting to quit cold turkey to no avail and who has also spent the past decade wallowing in survivor guilt.
Additional information:
Past victor: Sherlock’s arena was a rather unpleasant wetland ringed by equally unpleasant woods. Cold, dark, and perpetually damp, survival was mostly a question of staying warm and dry. Many tributes succumbed to illness contracted from the poor conditions, poisonous mushrooms, or venomous spiders early on, which lead the game makers to drive those remaining into the central marsh. The slick mud and poor visibility caused by the tall grasses made for less than ideal but highly entertaining battlegrounds, and many fights lasted for hours, with tributes wounding one another and playing elaborate games of cat and mouse, camouflaging themselves with grass and mud and ambushing each other as they passed. Sherlock was able to stay high and dry for the most part, hidden away in the trees at the marsh’s edge, where he was able to watch his fellow tributes’ movements as well of those as the local wildlife. The resident tracker jackers’ attraction to a particular fruit, for example, was one observation that served him very well in the game’s latest stages.
Sherlock has not been on the best of terms with the Capitol since his victory. He was never going to be much of a star, between his status as a rather unpopular underdog, his unseemly morphling addiction, and his vocal distaste for all things Capitol. Decadence disgusts him, violence disgusts him, all things generally considered good and fun by most citizens of the Capitol disgust him. He’s hard to take seriously in his supposedly drug-fueled anti-games rants, though, and a significant enough number of viewers consider his misanthropy to be charming that the powers that be feel some level of obligation to keep him alive.
Past victor AU: Sherlock is the son of a factory foreman in District 3. He never got along well with other children, what with his awkwardness, snippy know-it-all attitude, and status as monied elite. He has little in the way of friends, and those few acquaintances he had he drove away after his victory. He is not on speaking terms with any of his family and prefers not to even speak about them to others if he can avoid it. Generally he doesn’t seem to like home very much, but he doesn’t seem to like anywhere, and feels much more of a sense of obligation to District 3 than anywhere else.
Hunger Games AU: He’s a vocal opponent of the games and too clever for his own good, it’s honestly surprising that they haven’t found some excuse to throw him back into the arena himself. A doppelganger from another universe would be easier to justify, though, and he’s already proved himself intelligent and crafty. Maybe a different Sherlock would do something actually interesting if stuck into the games again.
Name: QV
Other characters: Nope none
IN CHARACTER
Name: Sherlock Holmes
Fandom: CBS's Elementary
Canon point/AU: Hunger Games AU
Journal:
honeyedwordsPB: Jonny Lee Miller
History:
Unlike most citizens of the districts, Sherlock Holmes was born into a moderately wealthy family. They were not, of course, able to meet Capitol standards of decadence, but they were able to get by reliably on his dad's income as a factory foreman, and young Sherlock never had to put his name in the drawing in exchange for tesserae. This made it especially surprising when his name was called a male tribute of District 3 for the 60th annual Hunger Games.
Sherlock was most certainly not a crowd favorite. He was District 3, for one, and up against strong competitors from the career districts that year. He was fairly fit from a physical standpoint, but nothing impressive, and he'd clearly never had to fight for anything. He was clever, to be sure, but in his appearances before the games he came across as dull, abrasive, disinterested, and generally misanthropic. He wasn't even terribly well-liked in his own district, having no real close friends and being generally mistrusted due to his family's ties to Capitol authority. Even once he was in the arena proper he spent most of his time being overlooked, using his sharp senses to track the other tributes and stay very carefully out of their way. Perhaps the most notable thing about his time in the games was his alliance with another tribute by the name of Irene Adler, though after the two of them refused to play the star crossed lovers the cameras paid them little mind.
Something of import must have happened between the two of them, though, as Irene's death at the hand of another tribute triggered a massive change in Sherlock's behavior. Rather than use them to avoid and evade, he began to use his impressive perception to follow the tribute who took his friend's life, watching from afar as a hawk watches a particularly strong and brutal mouse. He waited for an opportunity to strike, then took it when it came, drawing his quarry into tall marsh grasses and unleashing a horde of tracker jackers on them, ducking into the only pool of water deep enough to fully submerge a person while the other tribute struggled with the angry wasps. They succumbed to their stings, and Sherlock was crowned the victor.
Returning home was something that Sherlock was not expecting. He had honestly planned to go out with his friend's murderer, as one does when using a weapon as unpredictable as wasps, but survival instinct somehow won out and dropped him squarely into the Victor's Village with nothing but a neat little bundle of survivor guilt and much more free time and money than he ever needed. Much like many other victors before him, Sherlock turned to morphling to soothe the pain of having lived through the games.
Presentation:
Sherlock Holmes is an intensely brilliant and perceptive man and, for better or worse, is also entirely aware of this. He’s smug, blunt, cocky, and has a tendency to close himself off to anyone he considers too far his intellectual inferior (though most are, of course, considered his intellectual inferiors to some extent). He doles out criticism to friend and foe alike, whether it was asked of him or not, and with a bluntness to rival that of your average bowling ball. Additionally, he never quite grew out of being the precocious boy who was always right, and as such tends to stubbornly refuse to do anything he doesn’t want to do, consider boredom more dangerous to his health than any disease or injury, and throw tantrums when things don’t go according to his plans.
Despite all of this, though, he is a genuinely caring person with a tendency to feel deeply responsible for the well-being those around him, and on the rare occasions where he does come to like and respect a person as a friend, he makes it abundantly clear. He’s just usually very eccentric in how he chooses to do so, appearing at odd hours with no warning and less explanation. He does enjoy the company of others, stating that it’s easier to think clearly while bouncing ideas off of something animate as opposed to something inanimate. He also says that he likes to think of people as the most fascinating and intricate of all puzzles. This is true of him, but intentionally phrased in such a tactless way to project an air of aloofness so as to keep others distant at least to some extent, so affected was he by the death of his first and closest friend.
Sherlock additionally has an obsessive personality, tending to hyperfocus on fleeting areas of interest to the point of ignoring almost all other input in favor of continuing his intellectual pursuits. “All other input” here including things like hunger, thirst, and sleep deprivation. His morphling use is in part an attempt to calm down his overactive mind, though the problems it causes don’t at all outweigh those that it only sort of solves. He’s well aware of this, but unfortunately he’s also amazing amounts of stubbornly independent, refusing to go to anyone else for help even under the most dire of circumstances (such as severe addiction to opiates for example).
Motivations:
Sherlock wants, at his core, to be a good person. He does not like to see the suffering of those who don’t deserve it, and doesn’t think that those who do not inflict suffering upon others deserve any at all. Needless to say he’s not a big proponent of the games, which he is rather vocal about, not being all that attached to his own life and all. It’s a small wonder that he hasn’t been offed yet, though his near-crippling morphling addiction and general eccentricities make him a less than ideal spokesman for the proper ending of the games.
It’s also important to note that Sherlock doesn’t consider himself a good person in the least. Irene Adler, he’ll tell you if asked, was a good person. Most of the other tributes that went into the arena with him were likely good people. But he is not. He is a murderer and an unrepentant one at that. That aside, much of what he does when he’s not in a depressive or drug induced slump appears to be focused on the idea of redemption and atonement, distributing much of his winnings throughout his District in the form of extra food for the needy.
He cares for bees in his spare time, of which he has more than ample amounts, keeping a few small hives that he acquired after leaving the arena. They had always fascinated him but been off-limits as a commodity that fell outside his district’s industry, and he jumped at the chance to claim beekeeping as his Talent, hoping that it would ground him slightly. It seems to have worked, despite the initial oddness of living in close quarters with the cousins of his famous murder weapon. As it stands, he rarely speaks to anyone who is not his bees, and takes one of his (thankfully self contained) hives wherever he goes.
SAMPLES
Thread:
They’re not even the same species as the wasps I used to kill that boy. They’re not even wasps, I’m not sure where any of you got the impression that I picked them out specifically because of that.
[He doesn’t even look up, fussing over one of his hives and ranting at it instead. His lips are pressed tight together in a petulant frown and he wrinkles his nose, one part in disdain for the topic at hand and two parts in disdain for the smoke he’s currently wafting over his bees to calm them.]
Who thinks to themselves, "Ah yes, I’ll just live with a casual and potentially hazardous reminder of the one time I murdered someone"? Fond memories to be had for all!
[Potentially hazardous to people who don’t know what they’re doing, he’s heavily implied by the fact that he wears no protective gear, instead maintaining his hives in short sleeves and a very shabby black vest. It works well enough, as he’s covered in bees but isn’t being stung, even as he gestures dismissively.]
No, bees are fascinating creatures. Diligent, cooperative, loyal; they hardly throw their children or innocent bystanders from all across time and space into pits until they kill each other at all! I think we could all stand to learn a thing or two from-- No, I will not stop, it’s not as if anyone will listen to the mad ravings of a known morphling addict, I will speak as I please.
[Someone offscreen attempts to interrupt him and he slams his bee smoker onto the nearby table with force enough to make the legs shudder. He’s quick to storm off after them, voice fading as he moves away from the microphone. The transmission ends abruptly.]
Prose:
A young man stands before the Gamemakers. His posture is awkward, upright but with his shoulders curled inwards as opposed to thrown back with confidence, neck craned forward as if trying to look like a heron, arms kept stiffly at his sides. He’s wiry, decently muscular but nothing impressive. There are dark circles under his eyes. He clearly hasn’t been sleeping enough at least since he arrived at the Capitol.
Sherlock knows he’s a less than impressive sight, and this knowledge is only confirmed by the dismissive looks the men and women behind that curtain of invulnerability give him as he walks in. Having arrived at the decision to stay under the radar and make as little a target of himself as possible, he doesn’t mind terribly. It gives him time to size them up, for one, if he can just stare rather than attempt to dance for their amusement. Perhaps they’ll think him an idiot too, if he does nothing but stand and watch silently.
Pitiless vultures, the lot of them. Comes with the profession, really. All of them are soft and untouched by hardship, but their place of residence alone could tell him that and that does not mean they are incapable of devising proper trials for the rats in their maze in the least. Sherlock purses his lips subtly, searching for something of use. Many of them have already turned away, engaging in unrelated conversations with their coworkers or to attend to the food and wine set out for them. They clearly don’t consider him a source of entertainment value, but does that mean they’ll leave him be or set the hounds upon him in the hopes of squeezing something of worth out of him?
He catches the eyes of one of the Gamemakers, at long last, and the two of them maintain an awkward bond of eye contact for a solid moment. What is that expression on her face? Something more than indifference or appraisal. Pity, perhaps? Remorse? Either way, his time is up, and he stalks out of the room wordlessly, glancing over his shoulder one last time at the lone Gamemaker for effect.
What is your character scored:
Sherlock gets a solid six. He’s smart, perceptive, adaptable, physically active and fairly strong. However, he’s also a morphling addict who keeps attempting to quit cold turkey to no avail and who has also spent the past decade wallowing in survivor guilt.
Additional information:
Past victor: Sherlock’s arena was a rather unpleasant wetland ringed by equally unpleasant woods. Cold, dark, and perpetually damp, survival was mostly a question of staying warm and dry. Many tributes succumbed to illness contracted from the poor conditions, poisonous mushrooms, or venomous spiders early on, which lead the game makers to drive those remaining into the central marsh. The slick mud and poor visibility caused by the tall grasses made for less than ideal but highly entertaining battlegrounds, and many fights lasted for hours, with tributes wounding one another and playing elaborate games of cat and mouse, camouflaging themselves with grass and mud and ambushing each other as they passed. Sherlock was able to stay high and dry for the most part, hidden away in the trees at the marsh’s edge, where he was able to watch his fellow tributes’ movements as well of those as the local wildlife. The resident tracker jackers’ attraction to a particular fruit, for example, was one observation that served him very well in the game’s latest stages.
Sherlock has not been on the best of terms with the Capitol since his victory. He was never going to be much of a star, between his status as a rather unpopular underdog, his unseemly morphling addiction, and his vocal distaste for all things Capitol. Decadence disgusts him, violence disgusts him, all things generally considered good and fun by most citizens of the Capitol disgust him. He’s hard to take seriously in his supposedly drug-fueled anti-games rants, though, and a significant enough number of viewers consider his misanthropy to be charming that the powers that be feel some level of obligation to keep him alive.
Past victor AU: Sherlock is the son of a factory foreman in District 3. He never got along well with other children, what with his awkwardness, snippy know-it-all attitude, and status as monied elite. He has little in the way of friends, and those few acquaintances he had he drove away after his victory. He is not on speaking terms with any of his family and prefers not to even speak about them to others if he can avoid it. Generally he doesn’t seem to like home very much, but he doesn’t seem to like anywhere, and feels much more of a sense of obligation to District 3 than anywhere else.
Hunger Games AU: He’s a vocal opponent of the games and too clever for his own good, it’s honestly surprising that they haven’t found some excuse to throw him back into the arena himself. A doppelganger from another universe would be easier to justify, though, and he’s already proved himself intelligent and crafty. Maybe a different Sherlock would do something actually interesting if stuck into the games again.