001. [holo] stranded in this spooky town
Burning is, by most accounts, one of the most intense pains a person can suffer through, and it's a terrible way to die. These are facts Ben knew before today, things anyone would know, and he's flirted with sunshine enough to think he knew that burns snarl even deeper in vampiric flesh. He'd never had reason to think about what burning to death (the second time, the last time) would feel like.
He lands in the entrance room screaming, and the sound of his own voice after his throat had closed in smoke and heat shocks him back into silence as he rapidly assesses that, somehow, he's not burning anymore, he's not even burned, past tense--this only lasts as long as it takes for the sparks clinging to his jacket to reignite, and he scrambles to his feet and tears it off too late to prevent them from leaping back onto his t-shirt.
"Fuck--" Ben snarls, among a few other colorful expletives, as he beats the flames out with his hands and then stops moving, assessing his position because there is nothing else sane he could do, with his current recurring disbelief that he's even conscious. (He's shaking, although he doesn't know it.) He's smeared with ash from head to toe, his clothes aren't in great shape with the faint charring, but they're less burned than they have any right to be, just like him, and he's in a small metal room. If it smells like anything, his own burning flesh caught in his nose keeps him from noticing, and he's struck by the incredibly disturbing thought that most of this ash is the remnants of his own charred flesh. He absently makes a note to shower soon.
If he were someone else, he might give up, curl into a small ball, and accept this as some postmodern vision of hell; Ben never really wondered what the afterlife would hold for someone like him, since he never really believed in it, but it's the first explanation that makes sense. He's going to wait on accepting it, though, since a secret government agency kidnapping him sounds about equally likely and slightly more appealing.
"Okay, Ben, just--don't lose it, right now, if you lose it you are screwed," he says, softly, knitting his fingers behind his head and through his hair, eyes half-closing; he doesn't make a habit of talking to himself out loud, but the sound of his own voice is all the comfort he can get. "Deal with this."
"Hello?" He raises his voice and his head, letting his arms fall to his sides, and glances around the room able to pick out new details with less nascent panic and shock rolling through his mind like low thunder. "Hey, is anyone out there? Because I could use a quick refresher on whatever's going on. Or maybe more than a quick one. And if I can't have that, can I have a shower and my phone call?"