RP: The Gunslinger Arrives Characters: Jake, Oy Time/Date: Evening, August 18 Location: 3rd floor and downward to the lobby Warnings/Rating: low Summary: Jake arrives in the middle of chaos, hooray Status: Closed
"'ake. 'ake 'ake."
Jake clenched his eyes closed tighter than they already were. His head ached slightly, and he couldn't ... figure out where he was. He opened his eyes very, very slowly and tried to remember ... remember anything. He moved one hand, nimble fingers encountering Oy's fur. "I'm awake," he mumbled to the bumbler, disliking how his voice sounded. Thick and slurred. Like he'd been asleep for a long time.
He felt Oy's cold nose against his palm, then pressing against his throat as the bumbler climbed onto him. "'ake," the creature demanded. "'ost," Oy mumbled as he hid his face against Jake's neck and shoulder.
Jake wanted to protest, to say they weren't lost, but this wasn't where he'd fallen asleep. Wasn't where they'd been headed. He felt something roll sickly in his gut as he wondered ... wondered if they'd saved the writer, like they were supposed to have done. He recalled ... traveling there, and ...
... after that, it was a blur.
He slipped an arm under Oy's rump and sat up slowly. He shifted to set the bumbler on the floor, and he ran his hands slowly over his face. On the nightstand, he saw the note, the device, and the key. He picked up the device curiously, pressing buttons until he found something like a menu. He navigated himself to the network, and glimpsed down it. Nothing he was reading made any sense though, so he slipped it into his pocket to devote his attention to the rest of the room. He saw Roland's right gun, the gun that was now his (though it would forever be Roland's, regardless of whose hand it was in). Investigation of the closet lead to the discovery of his clothing, including some from ... well, home.
None of this made him feel right. He paused, and he listened. The absence of the chimes was promising; it meant he was at least awake and in a real reality. The key reality? That, he didn't know, but now he doubted. So if he died here ... it wouldn't matter. Not like if he died in the writer's reality.
Picking up the gun, he rolled the chamber open to check his status. Fully loaded, as it should be. He didn't see any spare bullets here, nor did he see the sack they'd been carrying them around in. So no luck there. Blue eyes slid to Oy before he shrugged.
The bumbler sighed.
"I know," Jake said as he stepped out slowly into the hallway. He kept his gun in hand, held low to his side. Until he knew where he was, and more about the situation at hand, he wasn't highly inclined to be unarmed. He moved quietly, slowly, but deliberately, heading for the end of the hall. Surely there were stairs, and from the stairs, he could get outside, and see where things stood then.
Oy padded along behind and to the left of Jake, his long neck swinging back and forth a little as he scented the new area. He smelled a lot of fear, and it made his hackles stiffen and rise slightly. His lips curled back before he glanced up to Jake. "'fraid," he mumbled.