A grumpy Castor is not a pleasant one...[open]
Who: Castor and whoever
What: intro post
Where: Sacrosanct entry point?
When: now
Warnings: lots of bitching. that should be it
Castor had no recollection of powering down, but he knew he must have done so at some point. He regained his senses bit by bit, slowly coming to realize that he was face down on a cold hard surface. He didn't bother moving just yet. After all, this wasn't the first time he'd woken like this. It wasn't uncommon for the flamboyant barkeep to drink until he shorted out, though only on nights when he shut down the club early for a little 'me time', better known as stress drinking.
What was unusual was the voice that awoke him. He was used to Gem's hand on his back and her lips at his ear, her reassuring voice coaxing him back steadily into consciousness. But the cool, female voice that echoed around him was definitely not Gem's.
“Welcome to Sacrosanct. Please watch your step.”
Castor's pale eyes blinked open in confusion and he staggered to his feet. He took in his unfamiliar surroundings quickly, working hard to quash the sudden stirrings of panic in his belly.
No, no, no. This wasn't happening. Castor made the rules, he decided what happened in his life. And never, ever, would he decide to shut down in a pile of junk.
There had to be some logical explanation. He had to have gotten here somehow. He searched through his memory files quickly, trying to determine just how this had happened.
Flynn's disc! He remembered now. He'd just retrieved it from the last of the Black Guards that had so rudely driven off his customers. But that had been it, his key to obtaining Tron City from Clu. Everything was going perfectly. Then that horrible sensation had come over him. Castor shuddered in recollection. It had been like very molecule in his body was ripping apart, splitting him into a million tiny pieces. It hadn't lasted long, he recalled, only a moment, and then he was falling. He must have blacked out after that.
He needed to find that disc! Castor dug frantically through the piles of rubbish. An undignified cry escaped him as a heap of rocks tumbled down from above, pinning him down by the sleeve. Pain shot through his arm and a grimace twisted his chalky lips. Clearly this was just not his 'cycle. He tried to tug his arm free, pushing against the rock with his free hand and all of his mediocre strength. It budged just barely, but enough for Castor to yank his arm free. The horrible sound of tearing fabric made him wince sharply.
His sleeve had torn off from the elbow, exposing a skinny white arm that was rapidly purpling from what was soon to be a wicked bruise.
“Glitch!” Castor cursed in frustration.
He cast about angrily for something to blame his misfortune on and instead spotted something white and translucent amidst the garbage.
Well, at least he had his cane.
What: intro post
Where: Sacrosanct entry point?
When: now
Warnings: lots of bitching. that should be it
Castor had no recollection of powering down, but he knew he must have done so at some point. He regained his senses bit by bit, slowly coming to realize that he was face down on a cold hard surface. He didn't bother moving just yet. After all, this wasn't the first time he'd woken like this. It wasn't uncommon for the flamboyant barkeep to drink until he shorted out, though only on nights when he shut down the club early for a little 'me time', better known as stress drinking.
What was unusual was the voice that awoke him. He was used to Gem's hand on his back and her lips at his ear, her reassuring voice coaxing him back steadily into consciousness. But the cool, female voice that echoed around him was definitely not Gem's.
“Welcome to Sacrosanct. Please watch your step.”
Castor's pale eyes blinked open in confusion and he staggered to his feet. He took in his unfamiliar surroundings quickly, working hard to quash the sudden stirrings of panic in his belly.
No, no, no. This wasn't happening. Castor made the rules, he decided what happened in his life. And never, ever, would he decide to shut down in a pile of junk.
There had to be some logical explanation. He had to have gotten here somehow. He searched through his memory files quickly, trying to determine just how this had happened.
Flynn's disc! He remembered now. He'd just retrieved it from the last of the Black Guards that had so rudely driven off his customers. But that had been it, his key to obtaining Tron City from Clu. Everything was going perfectly. Then that horrible sensation had come over him. Castor shuddered in recollection. It had been like very molecule in his body was ripping apart, splitting him into a million tiny pieces. It hadn't lasted long, he recalled, only a moment, and then he was falling. He must have blacked out after that.
He needed to find that disc! Castor dug frantically through the piles of rubbish. An undignified cry escaped him as a heap of rocks tumbled down from above, pinning him down by the sleeve. Pain shot through his arm and a grimace twisted his chalky lips. Clearly this was just not his 'cycle. He tried to tug his arm free, pushing against the rock with his free hand and all of his mediocre strength. It budged just barely, but enough for Castor to yank his arm free. The horrible sound of tearing fabric made him wince sharply.
His sleeve had torn off from the elbow, exposing a skinny white arm that was rapidly purpling from what was soon to be a wicked bruise.
“Glitch!” Castor cursed in frustration.
He cast about angrily for something to blame his misfortune on and instead spotted something white and translucent amidst the garbage.
Well, at least he had his cane.