17th Case - The Hallucination in the Recovery
[Booth hadn't been sleeping well. It wasn't the act of fighting...or even the nearly dying part. At least, he told himself it wasn't. Neither of those were new issues and he'd learned how to deal with them a lot time ago.
But here he was, staring at the clock from his position on the couch, watching it edge somewhere past 2am and sipping a scotch as he tried to find the urge to sleep.]
[There is a small figure in a romper suit glaring at him malevolently from where he's standing in the doorway to the bedroom.]
Oh, there you are. I should have guessed you'd be out here practically crying like a little girl.
[halfway through a swallow, the voice is enough to get him to choke.]
What the hell?!
[His eyes watering as the alcohol goes down the wrong way, stinging, really doesn't do him any favors, but he can't even find the presence of mind to argue. There was a baby standing in his bedroom door.
A cartoon baby.
A talking, cartoon baby.
....Nope. Not making sense]
Oh yes, that's original.
[Said in the flatest tone of voice possible, baby folding his arms.]
Lets get this over and done with, shall we? What the hell? This isn't real. What was in my drink? Ecetera Ecetera. Are we finished, Boothie?
[he looked down at his drink when it's mentioned, then back at the apparition. He rubs his eyes. And then, because he can't think what else to say, he manages a question] ...What do you want?
Maybe I want feeding.
[He paused, before snapping a hand in the air and grinning.]
Because you're such a woman, get it? You can feed me with your breasts... because I'm a baby. Ohhh yes, burn.
[A pause.]
But no, really, you need to grow some balls. [Should a baby enjoy saying the word "balls" so much? Probably not.] Maybe then you might ask that woman out.
Wha- Bones?! No. No, we talked about this. [or, avoided talking about it really, but it had been understood] We're just partners.
....okay, why am I talking to you about this anyway?
I'm sorry? All I heard was wah-wah I'm too much of a whining bitch to get laid.
[He gestures to where the journal is laying open on the table.]
Perhaps they heard something different? ...I wouldn't count on it, though.
[Booth follows the gaze. Something soft is muttered under his breath. It probably wasn't polite.]
[OOC: Thanks to the stress of having a clocktower collapse on him, Booth is currently experiencing a minor hallucination. Black is Booth, Red is Stewie from Family Guy (thanks to the fabulous Ena) who is...well..not really there. Feel free to ask Booth why he's being a crazy person and talking to himself.]
But here he was, staring at the clock from his position on the couch, watching it edge somewhere past 2am and sipping a scotch as he tried to find the urge to sleep.]
[There is a small figure in a romper suit glaring at him malevolently from where he's standing in the doorway to the bedroom.]
Oh, there you are. I should have guessed you'd be out here practically crying like a little girl.
[halfway through a swallow, the voice is enough to get him to choke.]
What the hell?!
[His eyes watering as the alcohol goes down the wrong way, stinging, really doesn't do him any favors, but he can't even find the presence of mind to argue. There was a baby standing in his bedroom door.
A cartoon baby.
A talking, cartoon baby.
....Nope. Not making sense]
Oh yes, that's original.
[Said in the flatest tone of voice possible, baby folding his arms.]
Lets get this over and done with, shall we? What the hell? This isn't real. What was in my drink? Ecetera Ecetera. Are we finished, Boothie?
[he looked down at his drink when it's mentioned, then back at the apparition. He rubs his eyes. And then, because he can't think what else to say, he manages a question] ...What do you want?
Maybe I want feeding.
[He paused, before snapping a hand in the air and grinning.]
Because you're such a woman, get it? You can feed me with your breasts... because I'm a baby. Ohhh yes, burn.
[A pause.]
But no, really, you need to grow some balls. [Should a baby enjoy saying the word "balls" so much? Probably not.] Maybe then you might ask that woman out.
Wha- Bones?! No. No, we talked about this. [or, avoided talking about it really, but it had been understood] We're just partners.
....okay, why am I talking to you about this anyway?
I'm sorry? All I heard was wah-wah I'm too much of a whining bitch to get laid.
[He gestures to where the journal is laying open on the table.]
Perhaps they heard something different? ...I wouldn't count on it, though.
[Booth follows the gaze. Something soft is muttered under his breath. It probably wasn't polite.]
[OOC: Thanks to the stress of having a clocktower collapse on him, Booth is currently experiencing a minor hallucination. Black is Booth, Red is Stewie from Family Guy (thanks to the fabulous Ena) who is...well..not really there. Feel free to ask Booth why he's being a crazy person and talking to himself.]