(Untitled)

[di_or_dci]

[Just pre-Milliways: It's the freakiest show.]

Sam Tyler had been hoping that somewhere between leaving his flat and getting to what he still thinks of as his office, something would have happened. Something like waking up, getting home, realizing it had all been some strange fever dream, finding out that he was still a DCI after all

Comments

[olyabird]

"Sit down," Olga growls, pushing a bar stool out with one foot.

When did she get to be on welcoming committee? Was there a memo that she missed somewhere?

He's English, she knows that much. The style of clothes puts him somewhere in the '70's. She slits her eyes at him and nods sharply at the stool again.

"You are not where you expected to be, that much is obvious. Which means you need debriefing. Debrief is easier with a drink in the hand."

Her accent is thick, Russian, and her words are clipped, not rude, simply efficient.

[di_or_dci]

Okay, so the Russian is a surprise, even moreso than the pub. But at least this first part he's got an answer for.

"Not at 7 bloody AM it's not."

He's not that far gone yet, is he? Fugue states should be much more --

"Unless -- is it 7 AM?"

[olyabird]

She looks at him as if he's a bit daft, and then glances behind him. He still seems to have a door. At least he has that going for him.

"On your side of the door, yes. Here? Mid-afternoon. Are you going to sit or are you going to stand in the floor gibbering like a child with a broken toy?"

[di_or_dci]

"Right."

Out of the middle of the floor he can do, though he's going to take a second to gather himself against the back of a chair before moving too much further.

"Is this going to happen every day, do you know? Black out one place, show up in another, no actual context clues to link the two? Because I've got to tell you, I think I'm looking to opt out."

[themanclion]

Gene? Has been Bound for three days now. And is really not doing well with it at all. There's nothing to do. Except...well, this is a pub. So there's a lot of drinks. And he likes drinking, which is why he's not at all far off half-cut right now.

He automatically looks up when the door opens, hoping that his own has reappeared. His face, when registering the new arrival, settles into something that's mid-way between shock and horror but also somehow manages to careen through amused, happy and furious before getting there.

'Tyler!'

Of all the gin joints...

'Bloody 'ell, is nowhere sacred?!'

[di_or_dci]

"You."

It figures. It bloody well figures.

"Don't tell me this is your kingdom, too?"

Hallucinations layered on top of hallucinations? Did he skip onto a different kind of madness while he wasn't looking?

Is DCI Hunt his own personal demon?

(Maybe he will go for that drink now.)

[themanclion]

He smirks in that way he has, like he thinks it's funny but is perfectly aware that no one else does.

'Not yet, Sammy-Boy, but give it time.'

He may be serious about this.

'You look like shit.'

[di_or_dci]

Sam pinches the bridge of his nose, then gives it up and goes hog-wild, resting his face in one hand.

"I cannot believe this."

At least that part is muttered. Then he lifts his face back out of his hand, holding back a scowl by sheer force of will.

(He doesn't know yet that Sammy-boy is better than Gladys. Give him time.)

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Guv."

It's a terrible save, but if this side of the door is just like that side of the door --

Playing along might be better than nothing?

[scots_wolf]

People, and not!people, and very strange people.

The tall man in the dark cloak leaning in a dark corner might belong in the last category.

He doesn't look like 1973. He looks more like 1173. Or 1273. Or thereabouts.

[di_or_dci]

Dark cloak plus dark corner means it's going to take Sam a tick to notice him.

Mostly because he's got to get his own head in order first.

This may take some time.

[scots_wolf]

The man takes off his hood, and comes closer, willing to be noticed.

"You're new," he says, "and you're having trouble believing your own eyes."

[di_or_dci]

"New to insanity? Manchester? Delusions?"

Sam's disbelief is not just limited to his own eyes.

There is, after all, only so much a man can be expected to take.

"Option D, which I haven't the foggiest what it would be right now?"

Wait a second --

"Is there a pantomime and no one told me?"

[isaysimplewords]

Cal is just settling himself at a table near the door, complete with a fresh cup of raktajino, when he glances up and sees the new arrival.

It can't be

[di_or_dci]

Sam turns, smile settling a little uneasily into place.

"You're not about to tell me we're long-lost cousins or somewhat, are you?"

Because really, it's been a hell of a day.

[isaysimplewords]

Cal blinks. Of any number of responses he might have anticipated, that . . . was not one of them.

"I seriously doubt it," he says.

[di_or_dci]

"Well thank bloody hell for that."

It's not like a lot of tension goes out of Sam, but -- something sure does.

"That would've taken the oddity factor way too high for me."

Unlike, you know. 1973.

Or a pub in place of his front door.

Or.

[oneman_onevote]

[OOC: :D!!!!! Lynne! Sam! *Hearts*]

[di_or_dci]

[ooc: Bwee? *g* Hi Amy!!!! <3]