Omega

Who: Simon and any townsfolk who want to address the current state of things
Where: Town Hall
When: July 12
What: You know, a place where people come together and meet ^_^




Simon sat inside the town hall, and he was early. Extremely early. He liked being early to everything, as it usually meant he was the first one there and didn't miss anything. He had even brought a tape recorder to keep a record of what would be discussed.

Now, of course, he just needed people to arrive.

Who: Ghost ot anyone
Where: the carnival grounds (by the ferris wheel)
When: July 4th
Why: Ghost wants to ride the Ferris wheel


The Carnival at The End of the World sounded like a song title to Ghost, so he began to make up some lyrics to himself as he walked down to the fairgrounds for the fourth of July celebration. He'd been staying at the Bed and Breakfast, and he'd seen the poster advertising the event. It was fitting, really, to celebrate being alive when so many things were less so. Human nature.

"Meet me at the carnival at the end of the world," he sung to himself as he walked. "Where the prizes are few, and the coaster rides rough - and you survive how you can, and hope it's enough..."

It needed work. He hadn't been doing a lot of songwriting lately - something about being sucked through a wormhole of sorts and deposited neatly into an unfamiliar town at the end of the world had sucked out a lot of his creativity. Besides, he usually wrote songs with Steve- and not having Steve was one of the most traumatic things about this whole business with the world ending.

As he approached the carnival grounds, he smiled brightly to see the big ferris wheel. Ghost loved ferris wheels, the feeling of being high above everything and the astounding view that accompanied it. He made his way directly towards it, hoping there was someone manning the rides.

Who: Ghost and Mac
When: shortly after Ghost's arrival
Where: The Normal Bar
Why: Ghost needs to be less sober.

Ghost wandered towards the Normal Bar, in search of solace in the form of White Horse Whiskey. Ever since he'd learned of Dylan Thomas, drinking himself to death at the White Horse tavern on 18 straight shots of whiskey to celebrate each of his 18 poems - Ghost had drunk nothing but. He could only hope that this strange pop-o-matic bubble of a town still contained such delicacies. He pushed open the door, and peered inside.

Mac was fiddling with the jukebox, and managed to figure out how to rig it to play without charging. What was the point? The economy was nonexistent, as far as he could tell. He'd just finished setting the thing to random when the door opened. He turned catching sight of a young man who was peering int he door. "Hey," he said, heading back to stand behind the bar. "How's it going?"

"The world is ending outside the bubble, so ... bad? But here, not-so." Ghost padded the rest of the way into the bar, absorbing the atmosphere of the place as he walked, touching tables and chairs as he passed them. "Do you have white horse whiskey?" he asked, in his whisper-thin voice, tilting his head to the side to contemplate the barkeep.

( Drunk and dreaming... )

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.