Entry tags:
Appointments
Please title the initial comments with the date and the appropriate means of contact.
Please title the initial comments with the date and the appropriate means of contact.
HMD
How's My Driving
Please comment here with questions, comments, and concerns regarding the way I portray Sherlock.
Critique is more than welcome, but it is best if offered with examples of what I'm doing wrong and suggestions on how to improve. I may not always agree and/or take the advice, but it will all be noted.
IP logging off, anon allowed.
Please comment here with questions, comments, and concerns regarding the way I portray Sherlock.
Critique is more than welcome, but it is best if offered with examples of what I'm doing wrong and suggestions on how to improve. I may not always agree and/or take the advice, but it will all be noted.
IP logging off, anon allowed.
Shot 06 - written
[It's not really important.
All in all, tends to be better that folks don't stick around here. At least, that's what he thinks. Still, she was good company. And had good taste in her Indian food.
Besides, seems it's something of a custom here, so.]
I regret to inform you all that it seems Sergeant Donovan has gone.
Col S. Moran
[He's not really bothered. It's not like losing a brother-in-arms at war. People, it seems, come and go from this place often enough. Seemingly with little harm to worry about, unless they were facing it when they left.]
All in all, tends to be better that folks don't stick around here. At least, that's what he thinks. Still, she was good company. And had good taste in her Indian food.
Besides, seems it's something of a custom here, so.]
I regret to inform you all that it seems Sergeant Donovan has gone.
Col S. Moran
[He's not really bothered. It's not like losing a brother-in-arms at war. People, it seems, come and go from this place often enough. Seemingly with little harm to worry about, unless they were facing it when they left.]
Shot 05 - audio
Now, you'll all pardon the intrusion, I hope.
But there's only so long a man can sit 'round and do next to nothin'. Bit of fightin'? Just fine. Not enough to keep an ol' army man busy, though.
So, I'm lookin' for work. Not much by the way of skills, I don' think, but I can try an' learn a bit.
Barrin' that, I wouldn' say no to some company for cards. Whist, poker, bridge. Know some others, too. Make our own little Bagatelle Club right here. Wot y' think about that?
But there's only so long a man can sit 'round and do next to nothin'. Bit of fightin'? Just fine. Not enough to keep an ol' army man busy, though.
So, I'm lookin' for work. Not much by the way of skills, I don' think, but I can try an' learn a bit.
Barrin' that, I wouldn' say no to some company for cards. Whist, poker, bridge. Know some others, too. Make our own little Bagatelle Club right here. Wot y' think about that?
Shot 04 - written / audio
[The neat, precise script reveals little, except, perhaps, that the writer is applying more pressure to his pen than is actually necessary.]
It seems I've got a window that's broken. Damage from the storm.
[Which he has iignored for a few days in the wake of the draft.
He's fought wars enough, but that... was new. To say the least.]
Could someone direct me to some supplies to fix it up? I can do the labour myself, but an extra pair of hands or two wouldn't go amiss.
Col S. Moran
[Now, he switches to speaking into the journal.]
Sharpe. [Friendly enough, though perhaps with some personal strain in it. Man to man, not colonel to sergeant.] Care for some shootin'? Jus' good target practice.
[He needs to shoot something to silence his thoughts. He doesn't have the patience to hunt today, and picking off fellow villagers won't do him any favours.]
It seems I've got a window that's broken. Damage from the storm.
[Which he has iignored for a few days in the wake of the draft.
He's fought wars enough, but that... was new. To say the least.]
Could someone direct me to some supplies to fix it up? I can do the labour myself, but an extra pair of hands or two wouldn't go amiss.
Col S. Moran
[Now, he switches to speaking into the journal.]
Sharpe. [Friendly enough, though perhaps with some personal strain in it. Man to man, not colonel to sergeant.] Care for some shootin'? Jus' good target practice.
[He needs to shoot something to silence his thoughts. He doesn't have the patience to hunt today, and picking off fellow villagers won't do him any favours.]
Shot 03 - written / action
Written:
[The message appears in the middle of the morning, about the time he assumes most will be up getting breakfast or the like. (Sleeping until noon is a concept completely foreign to the solider.)]
I've been in war before. Not in space, but it's still war, and they gave us quite a bit of information. I've been reading all of that and a few other books I borrowed from the library.
Now, what I don't know is how this works around here. We know who in their forces we'll be reporting to. Will they make units out of us? Too many being sent from just here to expect us to be one fighting force, and they mentioned others from other enclosures. So there has to be some division. Will they be taking care of that? Or is scrapping for command status left up to us? [Never a pretty thing. He'd seen it before.]
Col S. Moran
Action:
[A couple hours after his message across the Journals, Colonel Moran is about the town. He might be seen in the village, but he's intent on his destination.
The Battle Dome.
It takes about forty-five minutes for him to figure out how to properly turn on the simulator. (And might have required a quick message to a new acquaintance with video turned on to be walked through it. He didn't really care that he seemed to have bored the man.) He finds the model of the "fighter" the Malnosso agent had talked about yesterday and sets it up. Best learn how to use this thing, if his life and others might depend on it.
He'll take breaks about every hour and a half, but he will be in and out of the simulator for the rest of the day. The first few attempts? End in spectacular crashes and/or assaults from the enemy. But by the fifth try or so? He's got the controls and targeting pretty well handled and knows how to man the guns.]
[The message appears in the middle of the morning, about the time he assumes most will be up getting breakfast or the like. (Sleeping until noon is a concept completely foreign to the solider.)]
I've been in war before. Not in space, but it's still war, and they gave us quite a bit of information. I've been reading all of that and a few other books I borrowed from the library.
Now, what I don't know is how this works around here. We know who in their forces we'll be reporting to. Will they make units out of us? Too many being sent from just here to expect us to be one fighting force, and they mentioned others from other enclosures. So there has to be some division. Will they be taking care of that? Or is scrapping for command status left up to us? [Never a pretty thing. He'd seen it before.]
Col S. Moran
Action:
[A couple hours after his message across the Journals, Colonel Moran is about the town. He might be seen in the village, but he's intent on his destination.
The Battle Dome.
It takes about forty-five minutes for him to figure out how to properly turn on the simulator. (And might have required a quick message to a new acquaintance with video turned on to be walked through it. He didn't really care that he seemed to have bored the man.) He finds the model of the "fighter" the Malnosso agent had talked about yesterday and sets it up. Best learn how to use this thing, if his life and others might depend on it.
He'll take breaks about every hour and a half, but he will be in and out of the simulator for the rest of the day. The first few attempts? End in spectacular crashes and/or assaults from the enemy. But by the fifth try or so? He's got the controls and targeting pretty well handled and knows how to man the guns.]
Shot 02 - written
[In the late morning, Sebastian Moran opens up his Journal. Today, he just writes in it. Easier than switching between writing and talking right now.]
I don't mean to be a bother, but I did have a question for all you fine folks.
See, I've been craving a little taste of home, and today seems as good a day as any. I know what I need, but I admit I don't know quite what your shops around here carry.
I've got a list, though, and I'd be much obliged if anyone could tell me what you know the shops don't carry.
Coriander
Turmeric
Cumin
Fenugreek
Red pepper
Cinnamon (powdered and stick)
Mustard seed
Ginger
Garlic
Black pepper
Peppercorns
Cardamom
Tomatoes
Onion
Rice flour
Olive oil
Chickpeas
Salt
Plain yoghurt
Olive oil
Distilled vinegar
Chile peppers
Mint leaves
Chicken
Basmati rice
Bay leaves
Any help you can provide would be greatly appreciated.
Col. S. Moran
I don't mean to be a bother, but I did have a question for all you fine folks.
See, I've been craving a little taste of home, and today seems as good a day as any. I know what I need, but I admit I don't know quite what your shops around here carry.
I've got a list, though, and I'd be much obliged if anyone could tell me what you know the shops don't carry.
Coriander
Turmeric
Cumin
Fenugreek
Red pepper
Cinnamon (powdered and stick)
Mustard seed
Ginger
Garlic
Black pepper
Peppercorns
Cardamom
Tomatoes
Onion
Rice flour
Olive oil
Chickpeas
Salt
Plain yoghurt
Olive oil
Distilled vinegar
Chile peppers
Mint leaves
Chicken
Basmati rice
Bay leaves
Any help you can provide would be greatly appreciated.
Col. S. Moran
Shot 01 - action / audio
[During the first night he was in this place, despite the wet ground, he had walked the perimetre of the village, as far as the houses extended in every direction. His findings agreed with what he'd read: the civilisation here extended for about a square mile.
From the exact centre, there would be about eight-hundred-and-eighty yards in each cardinal direction. There was no building in that spot, of course. He couldn't be that fortunate. Community House Four was the closest place to claim a room, and its height helped make up for its less-than-ideal location. The abdunance of trees was an annoyance, but it wasn't a rainforest. He'd been in worse terrain, certainly.
He didn't have his gun, but he could hope for it. Even without it, a good vantage point could not hurt.
Wings, Journals with writing appearing and voices and images, far from London, the business he left unattended...
He knew what to watch for, at least. The faces, voices, and handwritings would be distinct enough. Until he saw any of those, he would bide his time, wait and watch and learn what he could. That could be all the difference if anything happened.
He stood on the roof of the building, one foot on the ledge so he could lean forward a bit. He smoked his cigarette, content to have found his favourite tobacco. His Journal was open on the ledge, near his foot. The feed was, as best he could figure it out, on. He'd know soon enough whether or not it was working.]
Afternoon.
[It's warm enough, friendly even, spoken with a Cockney accent.]
Queer place, this. Don' know wot to really make of it. Wings'll take some gettin' used to, I bet. Done my readin', though.
[A mixture of cultures, times, and things Moran hadn't even heard of.]
Still settlin' in right, but I figure not much harm in askin' now: Got much 'round here in the way of huntin'?
Don' have a gun yet ['but this is half of the perfect excuse for why I want one'] but still curious, just so I know.
Would be grateful, though, if anyone could point me to where I might find a rifle. Even a pistol, though I'm not as fond of those, I admit. Don' like to be without somethin', old habits and all.
Good place to play cards wouldn' go amiss either.
From the exact centre, there would be about eight-hundred-and-eighty yards in each cardinal direction. There was no building in that spot, of course. He couldn't be that fortunate. Community House Four was the closest place to claim a room, and its height helped make up for its less-than-ideal location. The abdunance of trees was an annoyance, but it wasn't a rainforest. He'd been in worse terrain, certainly.
He didn't have his gun, but he could hope for it. Even without it, a good vantage point could not hurt.
Wings, Journals with writing appearing and voices and images, far from London, the business he left unattended...
He knew what to watch for, at least. The faces, voices, and handwritings would be distinct enough. Until he saw any of those, he would bide his time, wait and watch and learn what he could. That could be all the difference if anything happened.
He stood on the roof of the building, one foot on the ledge so he could lean forward a bit. He smoked his cigarette, content to have found his favourite tobacco. His Journal was open on the ledge, near his foot. The feed was, as best he could figure it out, on. He'd know soon enough whether or not it was working.]
Afternoon.
[It's warm enough, friendly even, spoken with a Cockney accent.]
Queer place, this. Don' know wot to really make of it. Wings'll take some gettin' used to, I bet. Done my readin', though.
[A mixture of cultures, times, and things Moran hadn't even heard of.]
Still settlin' in right, but I figure not much harm in askin' now: Got much 'round here in the way of huntin'?
Don' have a gun yet ['but this is half of the perfect excuse for why I want one'] but still curious, just so I know.
Would be grateful, though, if anyone could point me to where I might find a rifle. Even a pistol, though I'm not as fond of those, I admit. Don' like to be without somethin', old habits and all.
Good place to play cards wouldn' go amiss either.