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]

[He leans back after his drink, scoffing.]

No Yoda?

[I WILL NEVER BELIEVE YOU BECAUSE THAT'S CRAZY.]

[Action]

[fleurdesel]

[Adele pulls her journal from her bag and sets it between them on the table, flipping until she finds the most recent of Obi-Wan's entries. She flicks it on, letting Doyle listen to him.] They are here. Yoda? Is not.

[Action]

[fuckthemission]

[Ha... hahaha... ha... He rolls his palms in his eyes, shaking his head.]

Christ alive, this place.

[Action]

[fleurdesel]

[She flips the book closed and slides it back into her bag.] We also have...Buffy the Vampire slayer, she is actually a bartender here, Tony Stark, Gambit, Ariel from the little mermaid, Rapunzel, and Beast from the disney movie.

[Action]

[fuckthemission]

Buffy? You mean... the bartender's from something, too? [He's never seen the show, man. Hard to say if his confusion is from never seeing it, or just not having it in his universe altogether. He just shakes his head, drinking away.] Tell it to me straight, Doc. Did I get myself trapped in a storybook when I wasn't looking?

[Action]

[fleurdesel]

What sort of fairy tale would I be, then? [She snorts and finishes another shot.] No, Rick. I am afraid this is all too real.

[Action]

[fuckthemission]

You're obviously the pretty doctor from one of those Danielle Steele romance novels. [He's grinning from ear to ear at the thought; too good of spirits to bite back a joke, Adele.] If I see a Fabio walking around here, I'm callin' it.

[Action]

[fleurdesel]

...I have half a mind to hurt you for suggesting that. [The other half? Has her pouring two more shots and laughing.] How is it you know that I am not, in fact, the pretty, independent woman from high society that must be taught to love by the rough American solider?

[Action]

[fuckthemission]

You'd be surprised out well-mannered those rough soldiers can be. Some of 'em are even mooshy love-struck romantics.

[Action]

[fleurdesel]

Really now?

[Action]

[fuckthemission]

Fuck yeah, really. You've got a lot of married average Joes around, the kind who talk about their wife and kids. And then—well, then you've got a group who write letters like clockwork to a 'ladyfriend' who's waiting for 'em miles and miles away.

[He recalls Flynn, talking so often about his wife and kid.]

None of that stops once they strap on the boots. It's just another thing they hang on to when it gets tough.

[He smiles, quirking a brow.]

Like I said. Romantics at heart.

[Action]

[fleurdesel]

When one spends the majority of their time in the bowels of a metaphorical and occasional literal hell, it makes sense they would hold onto anything to remind them of what it is they fight to protect.

[Action]

[fuckthemission]

Damn straight. Everyone's gotta' have something or someone to hold onto, right?

[Action]

[fleurdesel]

And what was it that you held onto Rick?

[Action]

[fuckthemission]

[He blinks, leaning back. He's got family and friends, but for some reason, nothing immediately jumps out at him. Nothing that felt like a perfect answer. He itches his hairline and breathes out.]

... Who knows. A big crock-pot of things, I guess.

[Action]

[fleurdesel]

So long as it helped you through whatever you endured, it was worth something.

[Action]

[fuckthemission]

[Heh, 'endured'. She makes it sound so scary. Then again, there were a lot of times he'd probably agree with. He takes a drink, adjusting himself at his chair.] Worth enough, I guess. What about you? Surely a doctor's got to have something that gets them through their jobs.

[Action]

[fleurdesel]

The knowledge that should I fail? Someone dies. It is motivation enough to continue no matter the situation.

[Action]

[fuckthemission]

.... Yeah....

[He stares distantly, away from her, trapped in his own world for a moment. But he catches himself in the act and clears his throat.]

I can understand that one. Didn't have much room for failure myself.

It's a good motivator.

[Action]

[fleurdesel]

Better to focus on the lives of others so we do not spend so much time worrying about our own. [A half chuckle and she clinks her glass against his, sipping down a shot.]

[Action]

[fuckthemission]

[He nods.] Something like that. Can't say I had as much to worry about as some people, though, missions and fighting aside. I've seen some pretty fucked up things, but all n' all, it wasn't so bad.

My life, I mean.

[He blows out between his lips, a motorboat noise of disapproval.]

Terminal bachelor, though. What a tragedy.

[Action]

[fleurdesel]

More than I should, but not as much as I might have. [She takes a moment to massage her face with a hand before blinking over at him with a quirked brow.]

Married for eleven years, divorced for six. You did not miss much on the marriage front; but I will express my surprise at your remaining single. It's something of a shame, the women of your world missed out.

...And now we've reached the maudlin segment of our intoxication. For this, there is but one cure. [She pours another set of shots.]

[Action]

[fuckthemission]

[... whimper.

He's ready for alcohol poisoning, yes.]

You're too kind. I have a feeling this won't be curing much, doctor.

[Action]

[fleurdesel]

[Come Doyle, drink like a soldier, drink like a man.]

That depends entirely on what it is you wish to cure. I, for one, wish to sleep without dreaming. This will help. [She taps her shotglass against his and downs hers, smirking. Now she was feeling a little fuzzy.]

[Action]

[fuckthemission]

[My job is being a soldier, not drinking! Sure I do it a lot, but come on. He smiles a little at the notion, something perhaps a little darker flashing in his eyes. He'd slept for a while in the Welcome Center.]

No dreams, huh? I think I can work with that.