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

[Action]

[fuckthemission]

... Right. Make the most of it. [He barely tips his bottle in return, but he does nonetheless. He's tired and is practically drowning in information and personal thoughts.] I'll do my best. Wouldn't want to disappoint the other club members.

[Action]

[fleurdesel]

The penalty for disappointing members is paying for the next round. Here? It is not so bad a penalty.

[Action]

[fuckthemission]

It's one I can definitely accept.

[Action]

[fleurdesel]

Good. Because we? We tend to drink a little more than the average Lucetian.

[Action]

[fuckthemission]

Ohooo. Excuse me, ma'am. Are you implying that I drink a lot? [He points at her in mock indignation, taking a drink of his scotch.] Because that is a ridiculous notion.

[Read: Let's drink the entire bar gone during our stay in Luceti.

Or something to that effect. You down?]

[Action]

[fleurdesel]

You are part of the club. It is a requirement, and if you do not? It is a rite of passage. [She smirks and finishes her drink, tapping the bar for another. Oh yes. She was down.] And initiation? Starts now.

[Action]

[fuckthemission]

Well damn, that's a smidge intimidating. You're not going to pilfer through my pockets for goods after I'm down and out, are you? Because I got nothin'. [... He is fine with liver-punching alcohol into his system..]

[Action]

[fleurdesel]

No one here has anything of worth, Rick. Only our skills, our health, and our liquor.

[That does, however, remind her of something.] I've neglected to introduce myself, and for that I apologize.

[She offers her hand.] Dr. Adele LeBlanc.

[Action]

[fuckthemission]

Doctor. It's a pleasure. [He offers a healthy handshake, smiling.] If liquor is one of my three things, I'd better hone it even better than usual, then.

[Action]

[fleurdesel]

As I am drinking, I am off duty. Adele will suffice. [Doyle's hand is shaken in turn her grip strong for someone with such small hands.] It is plentiful, and it is free; which is a boon because here we are in dire need of it more often than not.

[Action]

[fuckthemission]

Adele then. We'll drink just enough so the good doctor doesn't have to work on a shitty hangover tomorrow.

[Action]

[fleurdesel]

It takes a great deal to see me hungover, Doyle. [Is that a challenge? Why yes. yes it is.]

[Action]

[fuckthemission]

[he laughs]

I'm sure this isn't the first time I've been challenged by a doctor at a bar. [If he could remember those bar visits. :|]

[Action]

[fleurdesel]

No, but it may be the first time you are beaten by one.

[Action]

[fuckthemission]

Ouch. If you're trying to throw me off my game, you're mistaken—I'm unshakable. [and he throws back a drink IN DEFIANCE. SO THERE.]

[Action]

[fleurdesel]

No man is unshakeable. [She smirks and pours herself a shot, trowing it back without batting an eye. It is ON SIR!]

[Action]

[fuckthemission]

[IT IS ON LIKE DONKEY KONG.]

You've got spunk. I like that. You probably would have gotten along pretty damn well in a military setting, y'know.

[Action]

[fleurdesel]

I suppose a French Crime family can be a little like the military at times. [Another glass, another shot, and sir, the gloves are off!] You are full of spunk as well.

[Innocent innuendo? Double entendre? Mistranslation misunderstanding? THE WORLD WILL NEVER KNOW!]

[Action]

[fuckthemission]

[Well, hurrumph! I don't wear gloves off-duty, so there!

He takes a drink, but chokes on it when she replies. One forehead-to-table later and he's back up in the race.]

French Crime family, huh? They didn't put horse heads in people's beds, did they? Because I think that's the Italian mob's shtick.

[Action]

[fleurdesel]

[Gloves are for the weak willed and the sober. She snorts and pours them both a glass, laughing; something low and husky at his sputtering.]

It was less of the protection racket and more civilized. Information, things people needed to know about certain people, places, etc. So no horse heads.

[Action]

[fuckthemission]

[oh thank you, don't mind if i do.

and keywords.]

That's a relief; didn't know if you would have inherited the leaving-a-horse-head-in-someone's-bed thing. Last thing I want after waking up in a weird place is staring eye-to-eye with a pony.

[Action]

[fleurdesel]

Should that happen to you here Rick, it is not at all my fault. Have you not seen the little Technicolor ponies romping about the village just yet?

[Action]

[fuckthemission]

...

Pardon?

[Action]

[fleurdesel]

[She pours them both another set of shots and slams hers back.]

Rainbow. Colored. Ponies. They live here.

[Action]

[fuckthemission]

... Doc, you're not already drunk, are you?

[Speaking such nonsense!!]