Ghost (lost_ghost) wrote in omega_rpg, @ 2008-06-23 01:00:00 |
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Current mood: | contemplative |
Entry tags: | ghost, mac |
White Horse Whiskey
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.
"I found a bottle or two when I reorganized the place, yeah," Mac replied, placing a glass on the bar and pulling the bottle off the shelf. "On the rocks or straight up?"
"Straight, please," Ghost said. He slid onto a stool, and considered making the offer of payment, versus how futile a gesture it was. "Thank you," he offered instead.
Mac poured him his drink and slid it across the bar. "Are you from Normalville?" he asked. He wasn't familiar with the residents like Simon was, so when people came in he didn't know if they were townies or people who got lucky and found their way there.
Ghost shook his head, then downed the whiskey faster than someone his size and frailty had a right to. "No. I fell into the library, from a t-bird."
Mac's eyebrow rose, both at the speed with which the kid took the whiskey, and at his words. He raised the bottle, in a silent offering for another. "You... fell into the library?"
Ghost slid the glass back over for a refill. "Yes. Through some sort of dimensional vortex, I would imagine. One minute there was a t-bird, and Steve, and the Ventura highway... then there was no t-bird, no Steve, no Ventura highway - no sky, no substance, no universe. Then there were books, and shelves, and a slight sensation of falling and... Ghost, in a pop-o-matic bubble with the end of the world outside."
"O...kay," Mac said, wondering if the kid had come in from out of town and had some of his brain melted along the way. But he wasn't puking or
anything, and considering Mac was still a bit nauseous from his foray into the radiation, he doubted that was the case. "So where are you from?"
"Missing Mile, North Carolina," Ghost said. "Though I was on a road trip- we were playing shows..." He frowned , his brow furrowing as he thought of how optimistic they'd been when they started out, and the bad place they'd ended up instead. He pushed those thoughts back, and offered his hand across the bar. "I'm Ghost..."
"Ghost?" Mac repeated as he shook his hand. He wondered if it was a nickname. "I'm Mac. Welcome to the end of the world."
"Is it ending in here, too?" Ghost asked, tilting his head again in that curious manner that seemed to indicate he was thinking. "It feels like it isn't, in this town. It's like the pop-o-matic bubble with the world ending all out there. At least, that's how it feels to me." He downed another shot, pushed the glass over again.