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

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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Now, there's the spirit. :|]

Trust me, you won't have anything to worry about. If nothing else--I'm a man of my word.

...But I'm really a lot of other things, do. Don't be fooled by that turn of phrase.

[Ha. He takes a drink of his scotch.]

Y'know, you're not so bad, Iron Rob... even if you should probably be banned from alcohol. You're alright.

Banned from alcohol? What a terrible idea. I wouldn't be any fun, then.

[And the world with a boring Tony is a sad world indeed.]

[a laugh; tony, even he knows iron man has a track record with booze]

Not enough snark when you're sober? Or is it just what you need to start up some interesting round table stories?

A party is hardly a party until I'm well-lubricated. Though a fair warning on that point--the parties? Not the most glamorous of gatherings. But hey. People try.

[They get gold stars for trying.]

Are you telling me a place where people are experimented on and kept from their homes is a party buzzkill? That's one hell of a plot twist you're throwing me.

Maybe you should try to spice them up with a little Stark party glamour.

Nah, no thanks. I'm less of a party-thrower and more of a party-attender. Besides, I don't have my PA here. Wouldn't even know where to begin to get something like that organized.

Hohoho. Well, alright, if you're going to give up that easy.

I see how superheroes work.

Edited 2012-03-21 10:26 (UTC)

[Wow, thanks, Santa.]

I'm not a hero of parties, cupcake.

[Nah, Santa's way cooler than me. And you.]

Aaand you get demoted from Iron Rob to Robert Downey. If you can't even plan a party, I can't see you being a business-man-slash-playboy-slash-hero. Can you at least drink someone under the table?

Too bad you can't see it, because all those things? Very much true. [He won't let it get to him, though. Not exactly like he holds a high opinion of you, Doyle.]

But if it's a drinking competition you want? It's on.

As long as you're alright with a fucked-up hangover in the morn, you're on, Robby.

Bring it on. What are we drinking?

You pick. I'm just awful at choosing, we'd be here all night.

[Tony has already drunk all the scotch in Luceti. That's not a challenge. However...]

Tequila it is. [He'll call for a bottle and some shot glasses from the bartender.]

[He whistles at that. Rob, you have such a way with drinking. ~~nevermind that that bartender is prooobably Buffy in hindsight~~]

Bringing out the big guns. I can appreciate that.

[We will have a hell of a time walking to our respective homes tonight. Just so you know. Hopefully Doyle won't wake up with his face smashed in your couch or floor, but he's had his past offenses.]

Edited 2012-03-22 07:06 (UTC)

[Or with a piano in a tree. Who knows what will happen? It is a mystery.]

Just want to give you a nice, proper Luceti welcome--and I can't think of a better way. [He fills both shot glasses skillfully.]

[Dude, where would we even find a piano, let alone magically crash it into a tree? That's just ridiculous.]

--then by getting me stone-ass drunk and gracing me with an awful hangover the next morning?

[So he says, despite downing the shot glass. Whelp.]

[In Cloud Nine. And dude, he's Iron Man. He can do whatever he wants!]

Precisely. [He throws back his as well--gnarly stuff. He remembers why he doesn't drink it too often. Good thing he's confident he can win this challenge.]

[Why ruin a perfectly good piano, though. And don't say 'because I'm Iron Man'.

Also, you'll regret this when we're both unable to walk in a straight line.]

You're the worst welcoming party ever.

[...But that's a totally legitimate reason. :|

Nonsense! That's when things really get fun.]

I don't know, you could do worse. Could have gotten brought in by a ninja turtle or a talking pony.

[He refills their glasses.]

[He laughs.]

Ninja Turtles? You sure you're not taking a trip back to the 80's? What were you then, 43? 44? [YES I JUST CALLED YOU OLD, IT WAS A BURN.]

Are you kidding? The turtles are classic. Doesn't make it any less trippy, though.

[And he throws back the shot.]

I refuse to believe that walking talking amphibians are plausible, sorry.

[Two can play at that game. From tipsy to 'five shots and feeling slowly feeling unsure about my future morning'.]

Suit yourself. Just as long as I can say "I told you so" when you finally run into them.

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;