Omega

Who: Ghost, ot anyone who wants to find him
Where: The Library
Why: Ghost has been sucked into Normalville from his home world.
When: June 18th

Ghost remembered the feeling, the everything changing seconds before he became insubstantial, a part of everything, and then the void spitting him back out into... a library of some sort. He felt a peace here, a safe haven that extended out past the library across the town-in-the-valley. Then the big sheltering mountains, and past them .... the desolation of the world.

He shivered, and pulled himself into a tight ball there among the books that he'd displaced in his arrival. "Where am I?" he asked, his voice whisper thin and barely audible at all.

"Is anyone there?" he asked a bit louder. "Steve?"

"Fuck you, Ghost."

Not aloud, but in his head - those were the last words he remembered Steve speaking, before he'd turned back to his beer and the road. They'd had an argument- as much as they ever had arguments, which were all one-sided with Ghost simply nodding or cringing or protesting as the situation required. He felt twisted up in knots thinking those words over and over again. The words had a color - angry red, and a flavor like a bad copper penny in the back of his mouth. He kept tasting the words, and he choked them back along with the tears as he forced himself to focus.

Strange library, strange town... strange Ghost in a world where he didn't belong. He would have to find something, someone, to explain to him what the rules were. Every place had rules, and this one would be no exception. He would need to know what was expected of him - not that he could always deliver, but it made things easier, certainly, when he understood what they expected. What the parameters were.

"Do I belong here?" he whispered softly, wanting to taste words other than 'fuck you'. He had no answer for himself - only the feeling of intense guilt that he'd quite possibly caused Steve's death. Was Ghost dead, himself? That would be an irony, he thought- given his name. That would be some irony. But his hands, while still as pale as ever, felt solid. He clasped them together, dug his nails into his palms just enough to realize that he could still feel the pain. He was real. And alive. And ... somewhere.