thoughtformed | [Accidental Audio][Forward-dated to the 29th/post-event]

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[Accidental Audio][Forward-dated to the 29th/post-event]

[[ooc: Because things are fucked up enough for him without his little bro being a sword]]

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[He's not running, but his footsteps are quick, breathing heavy and not panicked, not panicked, because Bro Strider doesn't panic, not even when he wakes up in a hospital bed with the last memories he has still fresh in his mind being told by someone who sounds too calm that he's fictional. Or was.

Under his breath, he's talking to himself.]

Okay, okay, just. Calm down. Take it easy, Bro. This ain't the most fucked up thing you ever got yourself into, just.. Okay. Priorities. One. Find out where the fuck I am and what the hell is really goin' on here 'cause I ain't down with all this 'you ain't real' bullshit.

Two. Two.. find a fuckin' bar.

[His footsteps pause, then resume. The audio cuts off.]

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Sounds like it.

[Not that he's really.. taken it in yet. He's still dealing with not being dead.]

I'm gonna be needin' something with a kick to it.

Then go for the whiskey.

Was my first choice, too.

You're a man after my own heart.

I needed the hard stuff after getting here. A lot.

Yeah? I ain't gonna go into asking why that might be but if you're feelin' like knockin' a few back I won't say no to the company.

[And he kind of needs the company. He might drink himself into a coma otherwise.]

Sounds like a plan.

You there yet? I can be there in a minute.

[Or less. Apparating is pretty useful.]

Yeah, I'm-

[There's a pause here as he sees the name of the place. Really?]

Yeah. I'm there.

[In that case, he's walking in through the door seconds later, looking around for someone who seems new.]

I think drinks are on the house the first night of arriving. At least the first one.

Better make it a good one, then.

[He draws the connection between the person he'd been speaking to and the guy who approached him easily enough.]

What's the strongest thing they got.

I went with whiskey and stuck to it. Worked just fine for me.

[He sits down next to him and waits to make his own order.]

The place's a bit much, hm?

Whiskey it is.

[Soon as he's got the ordering out of the way, he sinks down in his seat and turns his attention over to Sirius. Ah, he's being that transparent? This place must really be throwing him off.]

You can say that again. Not every day you find yourself comin' back from the dead.

Excellent choice.

[What? Wait. What?!]

People can come back from the dead here?!

[Guess whose best friend is dead.]

Edited (Idiocy.) 2012-12-16 20:53 (UTC)

[Shrug.]

I ain't got the deets for you, but I know for damn sure that the last thing I did before I got here was shuffle off this mortal coil.

Right.

Look, mate, I've talked to ghosts before so I know many of them consider it rude, but I have to ask...

How did you die?

First off, we're gettin' one thing clear. I ain't a ghost.

[He drums his fingers against the bar. The actual answer to the question is a long time coming, and he has to knock back a shot of whiskey before he replies. It's better to keep it simple.]

Impaled with my own sword. Straight through into the ground.

[One fingertip taps against the centre of his chest.]

Nothin' to do but lie there and bleed out.

I know you're not. Much too solid.

[Which doesn't really make this make any more sense, but nothing here did make sense, anyway.]

Ow. Sorry, mate. Drink's on me.

Heh, thanks.

[More quiet fingertapping, then he pushes a thumb and forefinger up along the bridge of his nose. There's a faint mark there, as if from a pair of glasses.]

I guess I ain't feelin' so cut up about it now.

Was that a joke? Because if it was, it was horrible.

I approve.

[His expression twists into something of a bitter smirk.]

You tell me. I ain't sure if I'm actually findin' it funny or if I'm just wanting to spare myself the alternative.

I try not to think too much about stuff here.

Nothing we can change about it, anyway. Whether it's fictional or not.

Normally, I'd say you're wrong, but I just ain't got that fight in me right now.

[He rubs his temple lightly.]

Guess I should be grateful. Ain't often you get a second chance at livin'.

With people knowing more about my life than anyone but me ought to, it really doesn't bear thinking about too much.

And, yeah. This place does offer chances I'd not have otherwise, too.

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