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

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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.]

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[3.) Slowly turns back to his drink while he laughs under his breath.]

Yep, I'm losing it.

[WOW RUDE. But on second thought...does this guy actually recognize the great Tony Stark when he sees him? This might be worth looking into.]

Let me guess. I'm your favorite superhero, aren't I? Not that I'm surprised. I still sign autographs, if you like.

No, no. [... On the off chance you're real. Glance.] An autograph would be wonderful, Mr. Downey. Don't remember you being a hero, though.

[Excuse me while I down this entire scotch. The hell is going on anymore, he's not even sure.]

[...Who the hell is this Mr. Downey? Don't tell him there's someone else out there running around with his face. He's getting mighty sick of that.[

I'd say 'you've got me confused with somebody else', but I won't. Seriously? 'Iron Man' ring any bells for you?

The comic book hero?

[... Tsk.]

I was more of a Captain America fan, sorry Rob.

[Oh my god is he kidding.][And apparently Tony's friend in some strange universe. WHATEVER. Still a tool.]

Maybe this is one of those experiments on people and you think you're a hero. Ooor--maybe you hit your head doing stunt work back on Earth and you think you're Iron Man back there, too.

[TROLL TROLL TROLL TROLL.]

Unless you're from a time period past 2003. Then maybe you play him in a film or something, and if that's the case, then hallelujah, praise god, Hollywood's still standing.

[Oh my god he is so going to ragequit this conversation. He's used to not being recognized. But he doesn't especially like being recognized as someone he isn't, either.]

Yeah, no. I'm actually him. Iron Man, I mean, not Rob-whoever. [GOD HE HATES THAT GUY WHOEVER HE IS.] Trust me, being a superhero? Not half as hard to believe as some of the things you're going to run into here. So might as well get used to it.

[What, whaaaat, don't be a poor sport.]

I'll believe it when you do loops in the air. But until then, you just have this... 'Robert' look about you. If you want me to believe you you'll have to give me a pretty convincing tale.

[He motions casually to the bar and the drinks, chin on his knuckles. What say you, Rob?]

More drinks? They're all on me. [He nods toward the rest of the bar.] And there's are, too, I guess.

[He'll be a poor sport if he wants to be a poor sport. DEAL WITH IT.]

So, let me get this straight. I have a tell-all about my rise to superhero-dom and then you'll believe I am who I say I am?

[Lineface.]

Oh, and for the record--the drinks are free. So. You're not exactly doing anyone a favor by picking up the tab.

Why do you think I said the drinks're all on me?

[And he takes a drink himself, grinning.]

You're here and free, aren't you? You tell me your story, I'll tell you mine.

You got the weird--circle thing?

[He makes a circle around his own chest as a reference, because obviously 'circle thing' wasn't enough. TAKE OF THA COOOOAT.]

[CIRCLE THING, he says. Clearly Doyle was not a devoted fan. Tony rolls his eyes and unzips his jacket, tapping pointedly on the arc reactor glowing underneath his shirt.]

You mean this, um--'circle thing'? [CAN YOU HEAR HOW ENTHUSED HE IS RIGHT NOW BY THE TONE OF HIS VOICE.]

Hey, yeah. That thing. [He will ignore the urge to tap it with his nail. You're welcome.] Little cousin dressed up as Iron Man for halloween, while back; they actually got a little light to work on the chest piece.

[He takes a drink, grinning, looking more than amused at the recollection. His eyebrows raise.]

I had to pick him up for my aunt because he got into a fight with a mummy.

[Wise choice. That is a strict no-touchy zone.]

Guess I'll add that to my list of weaknesses: women, a good drink, and mummies. Good thing Luceti doesn't have those. I'd be S.O.L.

Well, see, now you've gone and ruined everything. You're going to either wake up with a mummy guy in your bed, or you'll get kidnapped and turned into one. That's just how piss poor luck works.

Guess it's a good thing I don't have piss-poor luck, then, isn't it?

[Sipping his drink. He's not died a handful of times when he should have--seems pretty lucky to him.]

Rob? You're trapped in a prison where they can do anything they want to you at any time. I don't think your luck is as nice as you think it is.

[You lost him at 'Rob', man.]

Tony. Say it with me--Tony. Come on, now. It's not that hard to remember. I believe in you.

Aw, what, what. Consider it a endearing nickname. I could think of worse.

[This face.]

--Yeah, no, endearing nicknames is kind of my thing. Speaking of which, I need to come up with one for you. Usually helps if I know your name first, though.

[Yes, tell him.]

The name's Rick. It's a pleasure to meet ya', Robby.

[♪ you see me mockin', you hatin'. ♪]

[HE'S SUPPOSED TO BE THE ONE TROLLING THE NEWBIE. Oh my god what happened.]

...Bet you're wondering about those wings, huh.

[He's going to take a shot in the dark on this one.]

The malnosso enjoys splicing people with pigeons?

Cute, but no. Guess someone told you about their whole insta-death property, huh?

[Because damn, he would have liked to have that one.]

Not exactly. I've been having a holiday trying to read through this journal. [He holds it up, looking less than enthused.] It's taking some time.

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