three notebooks of doubts in my uneven script;
Who: Felix (lord_wizard) & Reach (bizarremonicker)
What: You find yourself in a mysterious alternate dimension. What do you do? You make a goddamn sundae.
When: Yesterday, before all the turkey madness.
Where: In the kitchen!
Rating: PG...?
So, yeah.
Alternate dimension? A real mouthful. To be honest, Reach hasn't really let any of it sink in. Despite what everyone else has said, he's perfectly happy to push everything to the back of his head and just assume that it's one great, big, psychological pic-nic.
Because there's too much to worry about. Too many variables.
He's preoccupying himself with the kitchen instead. Cooking is recreational. Fun. A good distraction. So here he is, this six-foot, four-inches tall guy opening up cupboards and poking around in the refridgerator. He's wearing a shirt he found in the closet; one sleeve is rolled up to the elbow, like one usually does when cooking things, and the other sleeve stretches down past his fingertips. Whenever he finds something you'd normally put on a sundae--fudge, peanuts, strawberries? Sure--he places it out on the counter with his right hand. His good hand, the one with the rolled-up sleeve.
Manners, and all that.
He realizes he probably should have asked what this "Felix" guy looks like, but hey. He figures he's got all evening.
What: You find yourself in a mysterious alternate dimension. What do you do? You make a goddamn sundae.
When: Yesterday, before all the turkey madness.
Where: In the kitchen!
Rating: PG...?
So, yeah.
Alternate dimension? A real mouthful. To be honest, Reach hasn't really let any of it sink in. Despite what everyone else has said, he's perfectly happy to push everything to the back of his head and just assume that it's one great, big, psychological pic-nic.
Because there's too much to worry about. Too many variables.
He's preoccupying himself with the kitchen instead. Cooking is recreational. Fun. A good distraction. So here he is, this six-foot, four-inches tall guy opening up cupboards and poking around in the refridgerator. He's wearing a shirt he found in the closet; one sleeve is rolled up to the elbow, like one usually does when cooking things, and the other sleeve stretches down past his fingertips. Whenever he finds something you'd normally put on a sundae--fudge, peanuts, strawberries? Sure--he places it out on the counter with his right hand. His good hand, the one with the rolled-up sleeve.
Manners, and all that.
He realizes he probably should have asked what this "Felix" guy looks like, but hey. He figures he's got all evening.