[ Sometime during the month of Cloudreach- everything in Sherlock's work area, every tool, every beaker, every bit of furniture- is moved exactly two inches to the left. ]
[For all his observational powers, there are times and places where Sherlock runs on automatic, filtering out anything he's already decided is irrelevant. His workstation is one of those places — which is why he doesn't notice the change until he's already at the desk and is reaching for a piece of equipment, only to have his fingers grope at empty air. That leads him to pause, blinking down at his hand like he's got a mind to scold it.
Then, just to make sure, he gets down off his chair and checks the placement of the desk legs on the stone.
...oh. Well.
A few days after, Zev will discover a little paper swan balanced on a windowsill in the corridor near his bedroom. There's nothing remarkable about this swan: no traps rigged up to it, nothing hidden behind or underneath it. No more than folded paper.
But then there's more of them, pretty much everywhere he goes as a matter of habit. Tucked behind his weapons in the training yard, or balanced on the seat of the privy he most often uses. The next time he goes to sit under his favorite tree, the first hard wind brings a dozen of the things tumbling down from the branches. Swans. Swans everywhere.]
[ The response is swift, immediate, and as obvious as Sherlock's was subtle.
how he got a swan cuffed to the leg of his work table and settled in such a way as to disturb nothing on it he will never tell. But at his next approach? The bird will hiss, under the impression its nest is under attack. ]
[Well, that's... following the letter of their agreement enough that Sherlock can't complain about it, but now it's up to him to remove the swan without causing any collateral damage.
Fortunately, swans are as susceptible to knockout gas as anything else that breathes.
Sherlock's rebuttal will be a twist on the classic "bucket of water over the door" trick — except that Zev will find himself showered with swan feathers, and just a bit of offal. Hope you hadn't taken a bath yet today.]
[It's a bit of time before Sherlock's next answer comes, largely thanks to that damnable sickness, partly because he has something new to deal with in the form of Sera. But when he's still brushing bits of glitter off his bedroll...
Zevran's gone reclusive again. This time, in the moments when he actually makes an appearance around Skyhold, Sherlock watches him more carefully. Hard to say precisely what the distraction is without getting close, but there's been no update to the rules of engagement.
Something simple, this time. A wedge placed under the outside of Zev's door in the middle of the night. He's got a window he can escape through for his next trip to the kitchen, hasn't he?
When Zevran gets around to removing the wedge, he'll find a little smiley face on the bottom — drawn with adhesive and glitter.]
[ It takes weeks before he's able to respond at all- juggling a dog and a child and obligations to train take up more of this time- exhausted slumber the rest. but when he is rested, when he is able? Zevran finds every left boot and with time and patience adheres enough leather to leave the stride slightly uneven. Peeling off these patches will show a carved frowny face-
[Sherlock had all but assumed that Zevran was giving up the game. And that was strange. What could he be so preoccupied with, if he'd previously been able to find time for pranks among all the other chaos?
But they'll soon be interrupted again - that is, unless they're headed to the same place. Sherlock could ask over the sending stones, but that seems a touch too... intimate. Or not intimate enough. Take your pick.
One day, very early in the morning, a long series of yapping barks will start echoing through Skyhold quite suddenly. Following the barks to their source will lead Zevran to the foyer of the great hall, only to see a little cage hanging by a chain from the ceiling.
Bringing the cage down will reveal that there's a liner of parchment on the bottom, and written upon that:]
[ It takes less time for him to respond after this, in fact it's almost immediate- if only for how thoroughly vexed he was to rescue a distraught doghren from the ceiling of the great hall and have to explain later that no his dog absolutely did not sprinkle piddle on the visiting nobility (even if it was hilarious) due to stress there must be a leak in the rafters you should check that, really.
Less than a day, only about five hours after he fetches down his dog, his trap is set.
It's a bit simple, all told, but an answer needed a swift response and if Sherlock can't see the bag of fine sand waiting overhead when he trips the wire on the way to his desk (but far enough away to avoid contaminating anything, he's not a monster) it is no fault of his. When the wire tugs and the blade hidden by the bag tears it open, fine, white sand drops from a height to coat Sherlock, accompanied by a fluttering note. ]
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seesobserves) wrote2015-10-15 01:10 pm
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no subject
Then, just to make sure, he gets down off his chair and checks the placement of the desk legs on the stone.
...oh. Well.
A few days after, Zev will discover a little paper swan balanced on a windowsill in the corridor near his bedroom. There's nothing remarkable about this swan: no traps rigged up to it, nothing hidden behind or underneath it. No more than folded paper.
But then there's more of them, pretty much everywhere he goes as a matter of habit. Tucked behind his weapons in the training yard, or balanced on the seat of the privy he most often uses. The next time he goes to sit under his favorite tree, the first hard wind brings a dozen of the things tumbling down from the branches. Swans. Swans everywhere.]
no subject
how he got a swan cuffed to the leg of his work table and settled in such a way as to disturb nothing on it he will never tell. But at his next approach? The bird will hiss, under the impression its nest is under attack. ]
no subject
Fortunately, swans are as susceptible to knockout gas as anything else that breathes.
Sherlock's rebuttal will be a twist on the classic "bucket of water over the door" trick — except that Zev will find himself showered with swan feathers, and just a bit of offal. Hope you hadn't taken a bath yet today.]
no subject
Much as before, the prank is elaborated upon and reversed for Sherlock- but taking a page out of Dorian's book?
Glitter.
Glitter everywhere. ]
no subject
Zevran's gone reclusive again. This time, in the moments when he actually makes an appearance around Skyhold, Sherlock watches him more carefully. Hard to say precisely what the distraction is without getting close, but there's been no update to the rules of engagement.
Something simple, this time. A wedge placed under the outside of Zev's door in the middle of the night. He's got a window he can escape through for his next trip to the kitchen, hasn't he?
When Zevran gets around to removing the wedge, he'll find a little smiley face on the bottom — drawn with adhesive and glitter.]
no subject
lined in glitter. ]
no subject
But they'll soon be interrupted again - that is, unless they're headed to the same place. Sherlock could ask over the sending stones, but that seems a touch too... intimate. Or not intimate enough. Take your pick.
One day, very early in the morning, a long series of yapping barks will start echoing through Skyhold quite suddenly. Following the barks to their source will lead Zevran to the foyer of the great hall, only to see a little cage hanging by a chain from the ceiling.
Bringing the cage down will reveal that there's a liner of parchment on the bottom, and written upon that:]
Western Approach? -SH
no subject
Less than a day, only about five hours after he fetches down his dog, his trap is set.
It's a bit simple, all told, but an answer needed a swift response and if Sherlock can't see the bag of fine sand waiting overhead when he trips the wire on the way to his desk (but far enough away to avoid contaminating anything, he's not a monster) it is no fault of his. When the wire tugs and the blade hidden by the bag tears it open, fine, white sand drops from a height to coat Sherlock, accompanied by a fluttering note. ]
Alas, no. Bring me back something shiny. - ZA