#1 [[Accidental voice]]
Um... okay? This is new. Someone slip me something?
[He blinks and raps lightly on a tree trunk]
It feels real. Not that that proves anything, but y'know... It's a start.
So, what do we know, Pat? We know this isn't the Bogside, for a start, unless I've done a Rip Van Winkle or something. Isn't Derry at all, by the looks of it. [He frowns] 'S more like Kerry, but not. Looks like the sort of place that went extinct centuries ago - proper old forest... woah. Freaky.
Know what else is freaky? I don't remember getting dressed, or picking up my bag, or...
[The crow flutters behind him, and he jumps about a foot in the air]
Mary, mother of God! You scared the bejeezus out of me!
And you look right weird, too... cyclops-bird-thingie. What, did I sleep through the nuclear holocaust or something? You're the sort of thing John bloody Wyndham wrote about. You're not telepathic, are you? I'll have to start calling you Chrysalid.
Chrysalid, stay!
...Or, you know, don't. If you're really set on following me, fine. We'll go and find out where we are.
[He wanders on for a moment, hands in his jacket pockets, then suddenly grins]
You know what it's been reminding me of? [He clears his throat, then sits down on a tree root nearby]
And now for something completely different.
It's...
[He blinks and raps lightly on a tree trunk]
It feels real. Not that that proves anything, but y'know... It's a start.
So, what do we know, Pat? We know this isn't the Bogside, for a start, unless I've done a Rip Van Winkle or something. Isn't Derry at all, by the looks of it. [He frowns] 'S more like Kerry, but not. Looks like the sort of place that went extinct centuries ago - proper old forest... woah. Freaky.
Know what else is freaky? I don't remember getting dressed, or picking up my bag, or...
[The crow flutters behind him, and he jumps about a foot in the air]
Mary, mother of God! You scared the bejeezus out of me!
And you look right weird, too... cyclops-bird-thingie. What, did I sleep through the nuclear holocaust or something? You're the sort of thing John bloody Wyndham wrote about. You're not telepathic, are you? I'll have to start calling you Chrysalid.
Chrysalid, stay!
...Or, you know, don't. If you're really set on following me, fine. We'll go and find out where we are.
[He wanders on for a moment, hands in his jacket pockets, then suddenly grins]
You know what it's been reminding me of? [He clears his throat, then sits down on a tree root nearby]
And now for something completely different.
It's...