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
I think I'll just go clothes hunting, anyway. I don't have anything I wear that I'm particularly attached to, besides my uniform. And it's not really the kind of comfort-wear for daily life.
[He slips off the haori, offering it in a fist once he's inside.]
Thanks for that.
action
So long as the clothes don't seem to be arrange into an outfit, most of the things in there can be taken without worry.
[Although, before he goes.]
Do you believe you're here now, though?
action [1/2]
... I don't know.
action
We'll see, won't we? Hallucinations can't last forever.
[He hopes.]
action
Do you like tea? Or that black bitter drink?
action
Not that he has the energy to care much. He closes his eyes.]
Coffee.
I could use a few cups.
action
He smiles.]
Coffee. Alright. While you are looking, I will find some for you. Be back soon~
[He turns and skips off. Yes. Skips. Well, sort of. It looks like he's skipping and he practically is.]
action [1/2]
action
Well, that was fast.
action
action
Maybe he's just too shocked to have an outright response. He's sort of numb to the whole thing. Or maybe his military training has really worked for him and he can't even bring himself to let that shock and disappointment bleed through.
Who knows?]
action
Well trained, American military, a sergeant - ranked - he's holding together well, but Souji is also a military man and he's been here long enough to see all sorts of reactions to the transition to Luceti. This is the sort of neutrality that means the man is thinking about not thinking, about being conscious without existing in the space around him. It's a vacant sort of stare that people have after battles sometimes, looking at carnage wrought as if the bloodied hands didn't belong to them. Detachment being a better protection than denial.
Souji waits a few moments, giving Doyle the space he likely needs, waiting until he thinks the smell of the coffee might have wafted over to him. Then he smiles again - bright like he has not a care in the world like always - lets the door close with a definite click as it always does, and begins his walk over.]
I hope this is good. I'm afraid we didn't have this back in my country.
action
Thanks.
Didn't have coffee? Makes sense, since you're from the past.
Japanese people will be scrambling to work with their usual cup of coffee, just give it a few decades.
action
[He stops in front of Doyle, recognizing that smile, as he hands him the coffee cup.]
You look a bit pale. Are you alright?
action
Been better and worse. Right now, I just want to sleep until I fuse with my bed.
Just... one of those days.
[Underneath the dry humor, though, is of course a whirlwind of thoughts, so many that he's practically reeling. Maybe it's just him coming off whatever drugs they gave him to keep him knocked out, but he just wants to fall over and let he and the ground become thoroughly acquainted.
But at least he's not weak enough to actually follow through with it.]
action
action
action
[Since Doyle will have his coffee in hand, Souji looks to the folded clothes and goes to pick them up.]
A bit of rest will do you good.
action
...
Wow yeah he thinks he needs some sleep.]
I would like that a hell of a lot, please. Wouldn't mind pointing the way for me?
action
I work there, so it's easier to just take you. I need something in the tea shop upstairs anyway.
action
action
You have your black drink. When you're finished with it, I'll give them back. It's never bad to take a bit of help when needed, right?
action
[Said black drink is already half-gone. He's been really needing this, man.]
I take it that means you've been here a while, right? If you're helping out the new people; must be pretty used to it...
action
[It's said with such finality.]
Friends of mine started this Center to help people settle into Luceti, but they left a long time ago.
[Sasarai, Martel... Many others as well. He pauses as he draws up to the building in question, looking at it. For a brief moment, he seems sad as he stares, but then the moment is over and he looks back at Doyle, smiling.]
You're very lucky to be in town. Some people get left in the forests or mountains.
action
action
action
action
action
action
action
action
action
action
action
action
action
action