Cy's not going to help with the whole "I think I'm Dead" thing, since she's currently in monstercat form and carrying a sledgehammer in her mouth like a bone. She makes a few mumbley noises at Mike and then drops the tool next to his head.
Mike hears a voice and uncovers his eyes slowly, just in case someone is still going to kill him. He jumps practically a foot in the air. "Fuck giant cat," he whispers. "Um... hey, kitty. Nice kitty. Nice, uh... sledgehammer. Do you... do you want to play fetch?" He glances around the room and suddenly realizes he has no idea where he is, or what happened to the tailor and the psycho kid. He closes his eyes and moans.
"Worst afterlife ever," he moans to himself. "There go all the theories about heaven and hell, out the goddamn window."
McGill may be a little stupid. He may also be confused as hell. "Excuse me?" he asks, his eyes wide. Because, um... talking cat. Who is not making any sense whatsoever. "Cats... okay. Just Cys. Are you uh... you're Cy, you said that." He swallows, shaking his head. "And... I'm dead? I'm in between? What's interlife?"
Doc walks into the Rift room without expecting to find anyone there. With the construction going on, he just thought he ought to check the place out and see if there's perhaps anything they can do for this room. Maybe clean up or paint over some of the old scorch marks on the walls?
That train of thought gets derailed the moment he sees the newcomer in there, standing there with fists clenched and eyes closed. Doc pauses for a moment, studying him and wondering where the heck the guy came from to warrant that position. "Hello," he says, tilting his head. "Are you okay?"
Mike keeps his eyes closed. "Please tell me you're the police," he says. "And that you've apprehended that psycho who is hopefully no longer pointing a gun at me. Just... this once. Even if you're his crazy henchman. I'd like to have some kind of hope before I die." He's not the most optimistic of guys, but he can't really help that.
Ah. That explains the posture, at least. "I'm not the police, but neither are there any psychos pointing a gun at you," he says in what he hopes is a reassuring tone. "In fact, you're nowhere near where you were before, I'm afraid to say. You -- might want to open your eyes."
Mike's eyes twitch, and then he slowly unclenches his fists and opens his eyes. Well. This is nothing like the warehouse he was just in.
"Oh," he says. He blinks a few times--once, twice. Then he turns to Doc. "Um... as thankful as I am that there are no psychos going to kill me, mind sharing where it is I've been dragged off to?" Because that's the obvious conclusion. He was... dragged away... okay, so there are flaws in his logic, but he'd really like to not think about what he assumes to be gaps in his memory at this point.
Comments 55
"Hi. I'm Cy. I'm nice."
Welcome to Chicago, Mr. McGill.
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"Worst afterlife ever," he moans to himself. "There go all the theories about heaven and hell, out the goddamn window."
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That train of thought gets derailed the moment he sees the newcomer in there, standing there with fists clenched and eyes closed. Doc pauses for a moment, studying him and wondering where the heck the guy came from to warrant that position. "Hello," he says, tilting his head. "Are you okay?"
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"Oh," he says. He blinks a few times--once, twice. Then he turns to Doc. "Um... as thankful as I am that there are no psychos going to kill me, mind sharing where it is I've been dragged off to?" Because that's the obvious conclusion. He was... dragged away... okay, so there are flaws in his logic, but he'd really like to not think about what he assumes to be gaps in his memory at this point.
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