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

[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.

[herotypical]

...Nothing wrong with having a bit of hope, Rick. Sergeant. Should I call you Sergeant?

[fuckthemission]

[He smiles, suddenly feeling a tired weight.]

Most call me Doyle; I guess it's just stuck, over the years.

But whatever sounds nice to say, I'm good with.

[herotypical]

Doyle, then. I'm copacetic with that.

[fuckthemission]

As long as 'Buffy' works for you. Summers just isn't as fun to say, no offense.

[herotypical]

...Don't worry. I'm a lot happier with just Buffy.

[fuckthemission]

Great. [But more importantly, his interest in one topic is thriving.] So... Buffy. What's all this business with vampires in your world, then?

Since I'm guessing you have a first-hand idea of 'em.

[herotypical]

There are vampires. I slay them. That's kinda both the be all and the end all. [ normally? it's a secret. not here, though. ]

[fuckthemission]

... Is that an occupation? Like a... 'getting tax returns' occupation?

[herotypical]

More of a...calling. Without the paycheque.

[fuckthemission]

... You don't get a paycheck for hunting vampires?

Maybe you should make some polite demands when you go back home.

[herotypical]

W-well...there's no one to make demands from. Anymore. [ her organization -- now without the watchers -- has enough funds to keep the girls housed and fed and in weaponry. that was comfortable enough. ]

It's a long story.

[fuckthemission]

So it sounds. The government have any idea about these mythical creatures being not-so-mythical?

[herotypical]

Some branches do; others don't. Typical government.

[fuckthemission]

Sounds about right. And these particular branches--what do they do regarding these supernatural things?

[herotypical]

Catch them. Run tests on them. Which seems all the more wrong than just...y'know. Slaying them.

[fuckthemission]

And that also sounds about right. That's just the default thing governments seem to go to, isn't it? Just seems like it causes more problems than fixes 'em. If there's one thing I've learned, it's be careful what you're concocting in your cozy supposedly 'safe' labs.

[herotypical]

Mmhm. Half the time? They can't even begin to understand the fire they're playing with.

[fuckthemission]

Just to figure out the, uh, 'lore' in your world, do you mean... metaphorical fire, or hellfire?

[Because by all accounts he's aware that in most lore, Vampires are eternally damned.]

[herotypical]

...The metaphorical did have a nasty habit of becoming the dangerously literal, back home.

[fuckthemission]

... Yikes.

Sounds like you've had a, uh... fun job. The boys back home would have loved to have you in their squad, I'm betting.

[herotypical]

...Alas, the eternal disadvantage of being a Slayer. The boys only want you for your killer kung-fu kicks and never for your kicking outfits.

[ a sly almost-smirk. ]

[fuckthemission]

Whaaat? No way, the kung-fu should only be extra credit. You're attractive and smart--[He raises his eyebrows at her, drink in hand mid-sip.]--and you have kicking outfits. You should practically have the guys begging you for dates.

[Is the life of a Slayer so cruel to you, Buffmeister?]