Moving in...
Characters: Bernard, anyone else who wants to join in
When: A little while after the first announcement
Where: The edges of town
Rating: U
Summary: Bernard moodily tries to fit in
So, time was compressing into a single continuity... Well Bernard was having none of it.
But first he needed a drink, badly. It had been more than two hours since his last drink and he as in danger of developing a hangover if he didn't stifle it with more drink. Unfortunately the rapidly shifting scenery had not yet condensed into a nice bar or taverna or off-license. Instead he'd seen wonderful places like medieval armourers, futuristic plasma-field-inversion-devices repair yards. he was reluctant to walk deeper into the safe-zone, a tough little band of survivors would want him to do something, god forbid so instead he traipsed through the unstable wastelands, trying to get used to the ground shifting from cobbles to glass to grass to metal gangway, to mud. Twice he'd nearly materialised inside a dilapidated house. it was clear that the structures could not survive the stresses of the temporal compression. With a sigh he decided to turn back to town.
"You haven't won." he told he worlds in general. "This is just a tactical withdrawal."
he picked up a stone and threw it at a window, the rock became a dead rat half way through it's flight and splattered against the window with a sickening crunch. Bernard wasted no more time going back to the edge of the safe zone.
Safe Zone town was in a bad state of disrepair, a few people moved through the streets but it was mostly deserted, like London at 2am after a pub crawl. except not even London's extravagant architecture had ever produced a castle with spiked walls merged with a spaceport.
After close to an hour of wandering he finally forced his way into a little Edwardian style shop and collapsed onto the sofa inside. The building had a metal wall, presumably merged with something else, but otherwise it was in a good state of repair. it looked like it had used to be a library, a few books were still on shelves, the back room had collapsed but bernard instantly felt at home among the old bookcases. Almost like his own shop, just not as nice. A thorough search revealed no alcohol, just a half-used tin of paint someone had been using to decorate the back room when the compression hit.
He looked at it. He looked at the shop. He smiled. he took the paint and brush outside, came back in to drag out a chair, stood on it and scrawled in big white letters 'BLAcK BoOkS'
Bernard took the chair back inside and admired his new shop...
When: A little while after the first announcement
Where: The edges of town
Rating: U
Summary: Bernard moodily tries to fit in
So, time was compressing into a single continuity... Well Bernard was having none of it.
But first he needed a drink, badly. It had been more than two hours since his last drink and he as in danger of developing a hangover if he didn't stifle it with more drink. Unfortunately the rapidly shifting scenery had not yet condensed into a nice bar or taverna or off-license. Instead he'd seen wonderful places like medieval armourers, futuristic plasma-field-inversion-devices repair yards. he was reluctant to walk deeper into the safe-zone, a tough little band of survivors would want him to do something, god forbid so instead he traipsed through the unstable wastelands, trying to get used to the ground shifting from cobbles to glass to grass to metal gangway, to mud. Twice he'd nearly materialised inside a dilapidated house. it was clear that the structures could not survive the stresses of the temporal compression. With a sigh he decided to turn back to town.
"You haven't won." he told he worlds in general. "This is just a tactical withdrawal."
he picked up a stone and threw it at a window, the rock became a dead rat half way through it's flight and splattered against the window with a sickening crunch. Bernard wasted no more time going back to the edge of the safe zone.
Safe Zone town was in a bad state of disrepair, a few people moved through the streets but it was mostly deserted, like London at 2am after a pub crawl. except not even London's extravagant architecture had ever produced a castle with spiked walls merged with a spaceport.
After close to an hour of wandering he finally forced his way into a little Edwardian style shop and collapsed onto the sofa inside. The building had a metal wall, presumably merged with something else, but otherwise it was in a good state of repair. it looked like it had used to be a library, a few books were still on shelves, the back room had collapsed but bernard instantly felt at home among the old bookcases. Almost like his own shop, just not as nice. A thorough search revealed no alcohol, just a half-used tin of paint someone had been using to decorate the back room when the compression hit.
He looked at it. He looked at the shop. He smiled. he took the paint and brush outside, came back in to drag out a chair, stood on it and scrawled in big white letters 'BLAcK BoOkS'
Bernard took the chair back inside and admired his new shop...