01 | Action/Voice | I am trapped in a storybook I just know it.

[fuckthemission]

[Action]

[Doyle doesn't wake up slowly; his eyes are open in an instant, and he's staring at a normal sky edged with canopy. It's a little awkward by the fact that he's on a bench in the middle of town. When he looks around and sees wings, and then sees some of you in medieval armor, clothes from the 1800's, or non-human creatures altogether? He lays there for a long while, not bothering to inspect why he's here. Because obviously, none of it's real.

Nope.

He laughs dryly at the air, shaking his head, because wow. Clearly the fire didn't kill him. He's just lying somewhere trapped in a horrifying fever dream before the gas gets to him.

Nope, nope, nope. Cannot deal with this right now. Too tired to budge, anyway. He takes the discarded magazine on the backrest and drapes it over his face, sighing as he folds his arms over his chest. For being a horrible hallucination, he sure feels half-naked and cold.]

I'm not here. Not here.

[He'll sit up after a while and eventually just... watch everyone. Especially those who don't look like they're from 21st century earth. No offense to you guys, he's just confused and trying to figure out how sane he is. And he'll either be set straight by someone who knows this place or he'll come to by himself, but he finally gets off his ass and goes to the clothing store. They were nice enough to let him wear his dogtags right when he woke up, at least. Hits up the bar, too, because.... because. When he speaks up to the weird ass journal he's got, he's only very slightly tipsy. Which is good, because you'll get less overwhelmed responses.]

[Voice]



So. It's really true, is it? The whole... 'other world' thing? 

[A pause. He sloshes around the beer in his bottle, as his gaze flicks from the bar to the journal.] 

I like it. This whole set-up, it's damn fine with me, good and bad points combined; a lot better than being stuck in my world where your own family and friends could turn around and gnaw your nose off. The longer I'm away from viruses and possible crazy apocalyptic bullshit, the better. 

Just wish there was some way of checking in on the people who're still left behind. [Yep, 'left behind'. That's what it feels like, okay? Even if America was alright last he checked, there was a Code Red. Who knows what European countries were fucked. Hopefully the spread was contained well enough. Hopefully.]

Right. Anyway, I'm Sergeant Doyle; Rick Doyle. [Wait.] I guess the 'sergeant' part doesn't really matter anymore... But hey. Cheers, anyway.

[Now he's just got to settle mentally. He'll work on it. Until then, he's staying at the bar to get his head on straight and read through the journals.]

Comments

[talentsgirl]

[Clothed in jeans, boots, a white tanktop and a light jacket, Molly is now popping her head in the Good Spirits along her continued exploration of this place. She spots Doyle right off, along with all the other patrons, but she's more interested in the place, at least initially, than the people.

She walks up to the bar and hopes to engage the bartender in a discussion of the types of drinks they have here.]

[fuckthemission]

[Doyle is quiet at first, because he's hardly the type to approach when he has studying to do. It's not just because you're cute, he promises. Hmmmhm. What can he infer from her appearance? The way she's studying the bar, she's gotta be new.]

If I were you, I'd avoid the blue stuff. [he casually speaks up, motioning to the bottle] Apparently it feels like someone punching you in the throat. Allegedly.

[talentsgirl]

[...blue stuff. Was that-- it looked suspiciously like--]

Romulan ale?

[This place just gets cooler - and weirder - but cooler and cooler.]

Wow, this is so weird. [She turns a beaming smile on Handsome over there.] Thanks for the tip.

[fuckthemission]

Oh, so you know what it is. [Sorry, man, not a huge Star Trek fan.] Doing a lot better than me, anyway; part of me still feels like this is just some big elaborate thing I made up in my head.

[And then, more jokingly:]

I mean, wings. Magic. I didn't think I was that creative.

[talentsgirl]

[Psh, yeah, magic. Who dreams that stuff up, right?

At least Molly knew she was talking with Code Vanilla over here which meant... things were probably a lot worse for him right now than they were for her. She gentles her smile.]

Well, if it helps, I'm pretty sure I'm not a hallucination and I don't think I made you up. [She holds out her hand to him to shake, still smiling.] I'm Molly.

[fuckthemission]

Oh, good. Because I'm definitely not creative enough to make an entire village, anyway.

[Oh. He returns the hand shake firmly.]

'Sergeant' Rick Doyle, pleasure to make your acquaintance.

[talentsgirl]

[Her eyebrows raise.] Another army man!

[Which... also explained that trace of death clinging to him.] It's a pleasure to meet you Sergeant, or may I call you Rick?

[fuckthemission]

Ha, are we in decent supply? [He nods.] Rick'll do just fine. It's been a while since anyone's used it, but it'll work.

[talentsgirl]

One of the first people I met here was a major. [Pause a beat.] British, from the Napoleonic wars.

[A test, in some ways, this mention of Earth history.]

[fuckthemission]

... Napoleonic. As in, Napoleon; the little short guy from my history classes. [He'll stop being surprised by these things in a week or two, promise.]

[talentsgirl]

As in 'They were just about to invade France' Napoleon, yeah.

[She glances around for a moment before flickering her gaze back to his face, though, notably, perhaps, not his eyes.]

He was in my history books too, if that makes you feel any better.

[As if the tattoos and the dyed hair (/sob, dyed on the tips in a gradient and not the whole head as in the icons, because apparently I misread and now have to fix them all) wasn't enough of a clue.]

[fuckthemission]

[Aahah. He shakes his head, eyebrows raised.]

Maybe we're all crushed into a big book.

[talentsgirl]

Ouch. [She mock-winced.] Sounds worse than the wings.

[fuckthemission]

Ugh, the wings. [He rolls his eyes.] Why wings. I feel like a cherub.

[talentsgirl]

The fat kind, painted on ceilings?

[Because from what she's heard, real cherubs were Serious Business.]

Don't ask me. I'm all for body modifications, but I'd rather choose what's going to happen with mine.

[fuckthemission]

Yep, those ones. [sigh] Either that, or a goddamn parakeet. Is there some kind of cleaning regime for these things?

[talentsgirl]

[Molly made a face.] I don't know. Probably. I don't even want to think about touching them right now, though, I yanked on one when I first got here and it still hurts.

[fuckthemission]

Yeowch. They're supposed to be sensitive for a little while for the newbies, I guess. Y'know, because showing up in a new world-slash-prison isn't jarring enough.

[talentsgirl]

I'd say 'at least it isn't raining,' but... [she trails off and shrugs wryly] ...you just know that's asking for it.

[fuckthemission]

Oh damn, now you've definitely jinxed it. I can hear the sky grumbling already. [He takes a quiet drink, thoughtful.] Don't mind the rain, myself. I came from a place where it loved to rain.

[talentsgirl]

Yeah? Where is that?

[fuckthemission]

Lived in Crescent City, California, before we moved closer to the relatives on my mother's side. Cali's not really a very rainy place, but that city was always soaking wet.

[a small smile]

Made growing up in other places pretty weird, since everything was as dry as an old bone everywhere else.

[talentsgirl]

[Molly nods. Hey, a fellow American is always a plus.]

I've never been to California. I grew up in Chicago.

[fuckthemission]

Aaah, the Windy City. Never been. My only great well of knowledge for the place is from that musical on broadway they had back when I was younger.

[talentsgirl]

[So it seems like approximately the same time and place, but, huh, she wouldn't have taken him for musical theatre.]

I'd tell you it wasn't like that at all, but then you'd have to tell all California wasn't like Hollywood and crush my poor heart.