[Active, Open]
Characters: Quatre Winner, Open
Setting: The Rose Hallway
Time: Day 13
Summary: Quatre arrives and thinks he's hallucinating.
Warnings: He looks a little stoned?
Quatre pushed himself to his knees in the pink hallway, confused and concerned in equal parts. Something was very wrong, and not just that he had been unconscious in the desert for an unknown amount of time. There was no desert, at least not to his senses. He must have hit his head harder than he thought when his jet was shot down, he decided. A hallucination like this could be a result of something as serious as brain damage, and for a person alone in the desert that would almost certainly be fatal.
He stood up, using the long staff beside him to make it easier, and raised his hood. His only hope for survival meant continuing in the direction he had come from until he reached home, slim though his chances may be. He couldn't die like this. Unfortunately, judging by the direction he had been facing when he awoke, that meant walking straight through a solid marble wall. One that did not exist, of course, but his staff bounced off of it just the same. He tested it again, reaching out a hand and pushing against the hallucination.
He was a captive of his own delusions. At least it was a pleasant one. He wasn't surprised that his mind had constructed such a place. If it weren't for the fine sand that had found its way through his cloak and into his hair and clothing, this place would have been like a heaven designed specifically for him. He tapped the wall sharply with his knuckles in the vain hope that it would become suddenly immaterial. No luck.
...What now?
Setting: The Rose Hallway
Time: Day 13
Summary: Quatre arrives and thinks he's hallucinating.
Warnings: He looks a little stoned?
Quatre pushed himself to his knees in the pink hallway, confused and concerned in equal parts. Something was very wrong, and not just that he had been unconscious in the desert for an unknown amount of time. There was no desert, at least not to his senses. He must have hit his head harder than he thought when his jet was shot down, he decided. A hallucination like this could be a result of something as serious as brain damage, and for a person alone in the desert that would almost certainly be fatal.
He stood up, using the long staff beside him to make it easier, and raised his hood. His only hope for survival meant continuing in the direction he had come from until he reached home, slim though his chances may be. He couldn't die like this. Unfortunately, judging by the direction he had been facing when he awoke, that meant walking straight through a solid marble wall. One that did not exist, of course, but his staff bounced off of it just the same. He tested it again, reaching out a hand and pushing against the hallucination.
He was a captive of his own delusions. At least it was a pleasant one. He wasn't surprised that his mind had constructed such a place. If it weren't for the fine sand that had found its way through his cloak and into his hair and clothing, this place would have been like a heaven designed specifically for him. He tapped the wall sharply with his knuckles in the vain hope that it would become suddenly immaterial. No luck.
...What now?