Who: Charles and OPEN!
What: Charles' introduction. :)
When: Early evening.
Where: The streets between the bar and the hotel.
Why: 'cause, um... yay, it's Charles?
Rating: PG13 to be safe for possible language.
Status: Incomplete; open.
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Clap hands, here comes Charlie! )
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Things were looking up, she figured. So almost tripping over someone was certainly not on the agenda for today.
"Hey! Why don't you watch where you're going!" she snapped, grabbing their shirt in an attempt to steady herself.
Before stopping. She'd know that voice from anywhere.
"Charles?!"
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"Uhn..." His brow furrowed, "must you scream like---Margaret?" He blinked once, trying to take a moment. His 'in-hell' theory still stood. He knew that Pierce was one to delve into debauchery, and... well, Charles was hardly one to want to pry into Margaret's personal life.
"How can... I know I... are we...?" He paused a moment, then, blues lowered between them to her hands on his shirt, the one side now untucked. They shot back up to her quickly. "Unhand me so we can figure this out."
Silly Charles, don't you know you're the one in the dark?
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"Fhew, what did you do? Break into a distillery?" Hawk waved his hand in front of his face.
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"Mm, yes, something like that..." Charles felt his face growing hot, his features becoming livid. He was beginning to feel panic, but he could easily play it off as frustration.
"I always regarded myself as influential, but to have the devil himself greet me at his doorstep..." A sloppy, half smirk played on his features, "I am almost honored, Pierce."
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"What the hell are you doing here, and you do know where here is right?"
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Charles took a moment, brows furrowing as he tried to piece it all together. "My house was not there, Pierce. My family -- I wasn't able to find them anywhere. And, on a whim, I booked a flight to Canada, became intoxicated on two-dollar sour beers, and stumbled across the two of you across the street." His little rant seemed to keep going. "And not to mention that it is, oh, about fifty years in the future."
He took a deep breath, canting his head slightly to the left, "I would say that being in hell would be more logical."
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Hawk leaned back against the wall, hands in his pockets as he stared of into space.. "I don't know how or why were here, but it can't be coincidence. I was the first, Margaret showed up a week or so ago, and now you're here."
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He had to lean back to the wall again, himself, looking between the two of them. "How do you mean, 'odd'? This -- I can't believe anything would be more odd than the past two days." Oh, Winchester, the things you could never learn in Harvard.
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"There's a girl from the future here, as well as a girl who is naturally purple. We've got a psychic, probably a few aliens, maybe a vampire if the..." he trailed off, Charles wouldn't know what a message board was yet, he 'translated' for his 1950's sensibility, "if the rumor mill is to be believed. Not to mention three former army medical corps members stuck 50 ears in the future."
Hawkeye snorted, "I'm telling you, city of the odd."
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It was all too much to digest at once, and though it could be blamed on his intoxication, Charles shook his head slowly, laughing lightly. One hand patted Hawkeye on the shoulder twice before falling. "I understand that you have had your difficulties before, but you are not dragging me into your delusion." He straightened, nodding a bit, respectfully. "Gentleman, Margaret."
And with that, he turned to push off from his lean and stumbled a bit forward. He had to take a few quick steps to catch himself. If he thought he was going anywhere, Charles was sorely mistaken.
But was he walking away because he didn't believe it, or didn't want to believe it?
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She'd only been there for a few days, after all, and Pierce seemed to be doing much better with the explanations than she could ever hope to. Though she had to raise an eyebrow when he started talking about psychics, aliens, vampires, and girls who were purple.
God, she really was living in a science fiction novel.
Margaret grabbed him by the arm as he stumbled, in an attempt to steady him. "C'mon, Charles," she said. "If you think you're going anywhere like that, you gotta be joking." She shook her head. "Where are you staying?"
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He turned to look over his shoulder, turning back towards the two of them just enough so that he could meet her eye-to-eye. "Margaret," he sighed a bit, "please don't tell me that you have bought into all this as well?"
What Charles wanted more than anything was for Hawkeye to say that this was all an elaborate practical joke. It was much more far fetched than actually believing the truth, but at least it was more comfortable. It was familiar, tangible.
But Margaret was right. Hell or no hell, joke or no joke, he still wasn't going to find his room in his condition, at least not by himself. After a long moment, his blues lowered, breaking the eye contact.
"...I've rented a suite at a hotel. It should be nearby, but it seems as if I have... misplaced it."
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Well, he'd already used the clinic as a drunk tank once, he might as well do it again. He looked over at Margret, "We could take him to the clinic, let him sober up there."
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"And to answer your question, Charles," she continued, "I haven't, not exactly. But we're here now, so we'd best start getting used to it." She nudged him. "Think of it as extended R&R - except further away in time and space than Tokyo."
Did she just refer to 'time and space'?
...madness must be catching.
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Hawk firmly took a hold of his elbow and started to drag him off in the direction of the clinic. His groceries in the other.
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