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

[herotypical]

...They're not zombie bite marks. I can tell you that much.

[ yep. vampire bite marks. ]

1/2

[fuckthemission]

Well... shit.

We definitely don't have many of those back home. Unless you're a fan of Vlad the Impaler and little scrawny white guys who think they are.

[fuckthemission]

... Uh, does that make you...?

[He motions at nothing in particular.

Y'know. Vampire. Person.]

[herotypical]

[ she's about to say some choice words about mister vlad when... ]

Make me what?

[ yeah. she's not gonna make it easy on you, newbie. ]

[fuckthemission]

Are you... y'know... turned--or--??

[What is common lingo for vampire talk, he's not even sure.]

1/2

[herotypical]

What? No. It's -- they have to suck you, you have to suck them. It's a whole sucking thing.

[ w-wait... ]

[herotypical]

O-of blood.

Duh.

[fuckthemission]

[herotypical]

...The blood's gotta go both ways. And they have to actuall--okay. Easy answer? I'm not a vampire. Fully pulse-possessing.

[fuckthemission]

Right, right. Lots of sucking. Blood.

[/smartass smile

it's the alcohol amusing me, I swear]

I've never heard of vampires working that way, but then, what do I know? The most I read was Dracula in the sixth grade.

[herotypical]

...He's kinda not as impressive in person. Just sayin'.

[fuckthemission]

You're telling me you've met Dracula. Like, the one and only guy. Now you're just messing with me, I just know it.

[Woman, there is only so much I can handle in one day.]

[herotypical]

Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not.

Got a name?

[fuckthemission]

Ah, right. [Are you cool with handshakes, Buffy?] Sergeant Rick Doyle, formerly of Earth.

... One of 'em, anyway.

[herotypical]

[ she is cool with handshakes. hers will be very firm indeed. ]

Army? You mean...sergeant as in army, right? [ a pause. ] Buffy Summers, formerly of Earth. Too. But ultimately titleless.

[fuckthemission]

[Buffy? Interesting name.]

Thaaat's correct, as in army. I was a, uh, sniper. Delta Force. I was actually on-duty before I showed up here. Unsurprisingly.

[herotypical]

Sniper. You mean -- [ she makes a little gun with her fingers. ] Pow?

[fuckthemission]

[Heh. He laughs faintly, taking after the bar's namesake as he takes a drink.]

Never heard my gun make a noise exactly like that, but yeah, something like that. Lots of pows and pews and whatever else there is.

[herotypical]

[ her nose wrinkled. ] Don't like guns. They never help.

1/2

[fuckthemission]

[... sigh. He looks distantly, chin on his knuckles. He's sort of busy thinking about the last 24 hours of home, and what could be happening. Time supposedly pauses, but for the dead? It goes on, he's sure. Nothing to go back to, right?] 80% of the time... Right now where I'm from, Britain probably begs to differ on that one.

[fuckthemission]

[He looks up. Worth a shot, right?]

You've seen a lot of the faces around here, right? Have you been here a while?

[herotypical]

[ she is about to describe how bullets don't stop vamps when... ]

Pretty much. One of the perks of being a veteran. [ oh. she can see where this is going. ]

[fuckthemission]

Alright, alright--you seen or heard from anyone called Scarlet? Major Scarlet Ross. Or--there are these two siblings, their names are Andy and Tammy Harris. [He hardly sounds hopeful about it, but asking never hurts.]

You'd probably remember the Andy kid; he's about 12 or 13--

[motions to his eyes]

--got two-different colored eyes.

[herotypical]

[ her immediate reaction is that of a frown. clearly, she doesn't recognize any of this right off the bat. but she doesn't answer immediately -- she stops and considers and tries very very hard to provide this man with some kind of hope. one way or the other.

but eventually: ] S-sorry.

[fuckthemission]

[He shakes his head.] Nah, it's alright. It was... a long-shot, I guess. But better to make sure, huh?

[Damn. So he's stuck wondering if getting himself killed was in vain or not; the kid and his sister was possibly important. Did they make it outta' there? Scarlet was injured, and they were in a shit car with people on their asses.

He runs a hand through his hair.]

No point worrying over things you can't control back home.