[voice] dated to late wednesday "evening" - eridan's guide to finding dead bodies

[uncodlyawwesome]

[this is surprise.]
Oh.

[this is distress.]
I - I... uh - fuck -

[this is panic.]
I need - fuckin' son of a bitch I need, um, someone here, right noww, the pool - [there's a little gasping breath, followed by a more sincere attempt at deep breathing. eridan doesn't even try to sound Okay at all.] Someone's in...

[and finally, the verbal shoulder-slump of defeat.]
Someone's drowwned in the pool.

[this is not what he wants to be doing right now at all, in the slightest, he was just supposed to look around real fast, just a quick look before he kept wandering, there wasn't supposed to be anything wrong.] I need John Wwatson. 001, uh, just the 001. An', uh. Shit. [there's the sound of frustrated typing for a minute, then,] 002-215. That one. I need both'a you to... Talk to me.

Someone else come help me. He's definitely...

[there's a long pause here, almost a minute, and then:] He's been here for a wwhile. There's nothin' else to do.


[002-215, Neal Caffrey and 001-197, John Watson are getting a notification every minute for this post until they respond.]

((OOC: way to brutalize the /small tag, whoops. anyway all responses voice, it is completely likely that anyone who knew Sherlock will get a pretty clear idea of who Eridan's referring to with such a dramatic call-out to Neal and Watson. uuuhh other than that yep that's it Sherlock's dead guys.))

Comments

[look he's going as fast as he can you try wading in water in a jumpsuit sticking to your gills]

[uncodlyawwesome]

[Dead bodies don't feel the same as the other dead things you find in the water.

Eridan knows that fact very well, having dealt with dead lusii and sometimes dead trolls, drowned for one reason or another or culled and tossed into the waves and set adrift. The sharks and fish that strangle on garbage from the land or get old or get killed by things worse than them, they all feel like they're meant to be there. Even if they're dead, their bodies are meant to be wet and a little slimy and cold.

He mostly only touches soggy clothing when he handles Sherlock's body, because part of him figures if he touches anything else, he'll disturb some kind of evidence or something. But when he gets close enough to the edge of the pool to put down his communicator, half-carrying, half-dragging Sherlock (the body) through the water, he has to grab hold of his arm, shoulder neck - pushing and rolling him out of the pool, not dragging him up. He touches bloating skin and it gives him the grossest sensation.

People who drown really piss him off, because they leave nasty touch sensations that he can't just wash off.]

There you go.

[For better or for worse, Eridan is distinctly trying not to focus on John's pacing, so he doesn't see the way his shoulders hunch or how he goes stiff. He hears the quick breathing, but he's not about to talk to him about it. His moirail's dead. The dumb fucker drowned. (Accidentally? Hell no, he thinks, but he doesn't say.)]

You should wwait for some help, probably. [He pulls at his jumpsuit where it sticks to his sides, then grabs his communicator and immediately backs towards the opposite corner of the pool.] If you think you need it, or anythin'.