winepopsicle (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} winepopsicle) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} wariscoming,@ 2012-03-08 21:59:00 |
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| Current mood: |  groggy |
Bernard arrives in Laurence
Who: Bernard Black
What: Arrival
Where: Downtown.
When: Dawn, on Thursday
Status: May contain halitosis
Rating: Open, in progress, come have fun!
Bernard Black stumbled out the door of his shop and into the street. Which looked wrong. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what was wrong, but the world just looked more wrong than the contents of the sleeping bag in his bathtub. Staggering past Fran’s 7-11, he began to wake up as the cold pierced his old black suit and coat, which was wide open owing to the lack of buttons. As the sun began to rise over the streets, he realised that east London wasn’t usually this new. And the streets weren’t usually this wide, or the buildings this ugly. Where the hell was he this time? And where was Manny?
He spotted a couple walking arm-in-arm towards him, each holding a steaming cup of coffee in their free hand. Aha! They’d know! Ahahahaha!!! He lurched over to the couple and grabbed the man’s shoulder, looming over his coffee cup. His dry mouth worked for a few seconds before he managed to connect mouth movement to speech, and barked out
“You! Where’s Manny?! Never mind, you’re Manny! Get me a sandwich! And you! (turning to the woman) Fran! Where’s the wine! And my cigarettes! And your shop?”
The man stammered his apologies, trying not to gag on hangover-and-cigarette breath that could strip paint, and Bernard reeled back in horror.
“Oh GOD! AMERICANS! Argh!”
Pushing off from the man’s shoulder, he staggered away, pulling a pair of very large,battered sunglasses out of his suit jacket and smearing them onto his face. Oblivious to the man’s protestations about spilled coffee, he followed the movement up by scraping his hands through his scraggly brown hair and flailing as he lost his balance and stumbled over his trouser leg. Pirouetting like an elastic-stringed marionette, he caught himself and stopped, staring blankly at an American flag in a window. What? Bernard wanted a cup of tea, a bottle of wine, and a cigarette. And he wanted them yesterday, with a pickle on top.