#sarcasticallycondescending

Sherlock looked down at his aged hands, trying to remember his remedy when Euglassia Watsonia left its venom within him. Saltwater. Sherlock picked up his cane, and made his way back through the rustic greenery of Sussex. As he reached the back door, he noted the chipping paint falling from the motion and continued onward. Having hung his cane on the sink, Sherlock reached for the closest glass and heard a floorboard behind him creak. 

Text: Teacher said they were picked up already by the time I got here

sleep sentence starters 💤

sarcasticallycondescending

empressisms

Mud-coated feet stumbled over the edge of a carpet, leaving black tracks where they tread. From a distance one could have thought he was wearing ankle-high boots with how thickly the mire clung to his pale skin. But in reality, Amduscias was not wearing much of anything at all. That was, safe for something that might have been a chiton at one point and was now almost artfully torn to shreds and hanging formlessly off his body.

He looked like the desecrated marble statue of some forgotten raving god. His white figure stood in biting contrast to the dirt on his body and the red splatters that covered the rest of him. Some of them were definitely wine stains. Some of them were definitely not.

Blood had clotted in the ends of the mess of silver hair and dried on his chin and mouth. His tattered clothes and torso had a similar song to sing. He looked positively wild, like a savage straight out of the woods. Which was exactly what he was, presently.