Sergeant Rick Doyle || 28 Weeks Later (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fuckthemission) wrote2012-03-14 05:06 pm
fuckthemission) wrote2012-03-14 05:06 pm
Entry tags:
01 | Action/Voice | I am trapped in a storybook I just know it.
[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.]
[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.]
action
This is a situation, Souji cannot resist. He sneaks up and hunkers down a foot or so from Doyle, staring up at him while he sits with the book on his face. He won't say anything. He'll just be a little creeper and sit here until Doyle notices.]
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[Clears his throat, and slides the magazine back into place, getting cozy.]
Can't be real.
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Habit has her lift her glass of bourbon and lean over just enough to clink it against his beer before taking a sip.]
Welcome to purgatory, Sergent Doyle.
[Action] 1/2
Happy to be here.
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[GIVE ME A DING-DING-DING, TELL ME I AM RIGHT.]
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no subject
She walks up to the bar and hopes to engage the bartender in a discussion of the types of drinks they have here.]
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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.
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[voice]
Don't worry too much about time back home. Speaking from experience, it doesn't really change until you get there. At least not from your perspective.
Hopefully the Shifts won't be too familiar then. In a "Crazy apocalyptic" way.
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[He purses his lips, thinking on that.]
What're the shifts like, from what you've experienced?
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What can I get you? [ the blonde is brusque but not in an unfriendly way. she leans forward from her side of the counter with an easy familiarity. she's sorta learned how to pick out new feathers when they show up. ]
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[Spoken in way that suggests he knows it's so very fruitless, of course. Going from weekly expeditions to McDonald's as a young idiot, to having it only off-duty, to not having it anymore. Such a bummer. I'VE BEEN WEENED OFF PARTS OF MY CHILDHOOD, BARTENDER.]
... But a Scotch on the rocks works, too.
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Cheers~. [Should he lower his journal, he will be greeted with the sight of a redhead with half-lidded, white eyes and the fixed stare of a predator; a smile curls the corners of his lips.
Despite the icon, he actually happens to be wearing a laced cloth shirt. Can't cover himself up too much now, however.]
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you look like a creeper
DOYLES NEVER BACK DOWN!!]
Uh, thanks. Are you a... 'local'? Or I guess it's more correct to say you've been stuck here a little longer than others.
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New arrival? You've got that 'fresh into the world' vibe about you. And I've never seen you here before.
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1.) Turns and looks at you.]
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Yep, I'm losing it.
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[voice]
[voice]
On the bright side, you're one of the few people who've mentioned how goddamn weird this all is; maybe I'm just too new to get the memo.
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[Action]
She gives quick glance to his dog tags to spot his rank.]
You don't hurt in limbs you don't have, Sergeant.
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[He looks at her and blinks, before looking back up blearily at the sky. Lookin' pretty comf here, thanks.]
You'd be surprised.
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