Skip Wiley (Tourist Season, by Carl Hiaasen)

[flameofdecember]

Skip drops into a chair out of nowhere. He glances with some puzzlement at the hole in his jeans, but appears to decide it's not important. Having nothing better to do, he readies himself to answer the questions put to him.

Comments

[every_daae]

Christine curtsied politely. "Bonjour. Christine Daae, at your service, Monsieur. Are you a newspaper reporter by then? You aren't a critic of some sort, I hope?"

Opera singers and music critics had never had a very warm and friendly relationship, and Christine, who had been extremely reserved around anyone (particularly people who asked very personal questions that she didn't want to answer about her father's death) until her triumphant performance as Marguerite in Faust, had been on the receiving end of several lackluster reviews. Of course, she'd also received rave reviews declaring like she sang like an angel, but, if anything, she was more terrified of those.

[flameofdecember]

Pleased to meet you, Miss Daae. Yes, I do work for a newspaper, or, I used to. I left recently, and, well, I'm pretty sure I died shortly afterwords.

I'm not officially a critic - but, since I wrote an editorial column, you could say I was a critic of society as a whole.

[every_daae]

"You... died?" Christine found it hard to think of a proper response to such information. "I... that must have been singularly unpleasant. I, ah.... hope you aren't still dead or otherwise incapacitated?"

Oh dear, what was one to say to something like that? And, "that must have been singularly unpleasant?" What rubbish was that?

[flameofdecember]

*Skip smiles ruefully.* Yes, I'm pretty sure I died. I was dead for maybe a few seconds when I showed up here, though.

It wasn't really all that unpleasant - the entire island I was on blew up. I was incinerated pretty much instantly. It was being shot in the leg beforehand that was the unpleasant part. I hope that eagle got away.

As far as I can tell, I'm alive now, though. My leg's even healed, although my pants apparently haven't. *Skip glances at the hole in his jeans. He notes that Christine is looking distinctly uncomfortable, and feels an uncharacteristically charitable impulse.* Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned that I died. I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable.

[every_daae]

"It... it's just not something one hears about any day," Christine admitted, with a rueful smile, and a faint blush. "I am pleased to hear that your leg is better. Would it be too painful for you to recount why the island exploded, Monsieur?"

[flameofdecember]

Alright...

The island was really a very small one - it was called Osprey Island, although there were no ospreys there. Some people were going to build a condo there - a condominium, which is basically a bunch of very small houses stacked one on top of the other. Unfortunately for them, the soil on the island was too hard to dig through to lay the foundation, so they used explosives to blow up the upper layers of the ground on the island, which destroyed all the life on it - including me, at the time.

[every_daae]

Christine listened, blue eyes wide, and then blinked. "My, that's... quite extraordinary. You must have been very brave to report on that, if that's what you did." She tilted her head to the side to consider. "I think... Gryffindor, perhaps? It's where the brave people go, usually."

[flameofdecember]

Well... I wasn't exactly reporting on it. I was there as a sort of protest to the destruction of the island, and especially the various creatures that called it home.

Brave? Maybe... although from what I've heard of the Houses so far, Slytherin sounds like a better fit for me.

Vote: Slytherin!

[every_daae]

Christine curtsied. "As you wish, Monsieur. I hope you enjoy the rest of your Sorting!"