[ open ] You're really doing rather well...

[radiopalkiller]

Who: Philip & YOU
Where: The bar
When: (backdated to) November 14th
Rating: PG/PG-13
Summary: It's not like Philip isn't at the bar nearly every day. It's just that today he's got a marginally more compelling reason than on most days.
The Story:

[ He hasn't properly seen anything from his world for a long time. Correction: He hasn't seen his world for a long time. For a horrifying second he thought he was back. That the clock was ticking again, but-- The odd landscape of his supposed mind came before. And maybe if he'd learned his lesson... he'd still be just as dead, who is he kidding? He shakes his head--

--and remembers that he's back at the bar. Long in Wonderland. That, all things considered, he really is doing rather well, for someone with only ninety minutes left to live. The pre-determined universe can stuff it, that's the bottom line here. He knocks back his whiskey, and fills the glass again. Locks eyes with someone else nearby, and decides that he isn't feeling entirely antisocial today. He raises his glass at them. ]

Can I pretend to buy you a drink?

[[ OOC: Philip is mute. Sometimes he writes/types to get his message across, but usually he talks to people telepathically. His info and opt-out post is here. Short version: Getting people to hear his voice is all he can do. Characters may not know/believe this, but he is incapable of any form of mind reading/mind manipulation. ]]

Comments

[postictal]

[Tim's just been passing through, really. He's not a big drinker, though it's certainly not by choice. Mostly he just doesn't want to dwell on any bit of what just happened, particularly the tape that he's still got stowed in his pocket. He should burn it, probably. Only that would bring him into alignment with someone he doesn't want to think about. Someone who was apparently here, who knew people here, who was here at the same time as Tim, and is now - gone.

Good fucking riddance, he'd say, only he's not that callous.

As far as burning tapes goes, he's settled for a bottle of whiskey as opposed to lighter fluid since that's likely to be less suspicious. A guy hauling a jug of lighter fluid to the gardens is a probable arsonist; a guy hauling a bottle of whiskey to the gardens is just a sad man who makes despicable life choices.

Either way, the first thing that comes out of his mouth when a voice in his head asks if he'd like to have a drink is, stupidly enough:]

I don't - I don't drink.

[Just ignore the fact that he's got an entire bottle of a very alcoholic beverage in his hand. Also: what the fuck.]

[lightgunhustler]

Well, I'm on duty, but...

[Jo sends a wry smile in Philip's direction as she crosses over from where she'd been toweling mugs dry at the other end of the bar, setting her towel aside as she folds her arms and leans against the counter opposite him. She's had a long time to get used to the way Philip communicates-- doesn't bat an eye at it anymore, and seeing him in the bar? Well, he's as much of a mainstay there as she is.

There's nothing out of the ordinary about his being there, but the recent event had been a difficult one, like so many others. Maybe he needed a drink with a little extra kick to it today.]

You're chatty today.

[She's pretty sure reaching out at all counts as 'talkative' for Philip these days.]

[wickedwest]

Never turned down that offer before, not going to start now.

[The telepathy doesn't really bother her. Not in the slightest.]

I'll have whatever you're having. Haven't tried that brand yet.

[The list of what she hasn't tried is continuously shrinking though.]

Might I ask what the occasion is though?

[She's curious. She hasn't turned down the offer very often because usually people don't offer. So this is a nice change, actually.]

[mettatonvevo]

[Human alcohol doesn't work on Mettaton. That's a fact. And yet he can still taste how it burns and smarts when it goes down his mechanical throat. So here he sits, feeling like it's appropriate to end up here when you head is all jumbled up over friends, former friends, and his pseudo-deaths in the last event.

And his head is apparently so jumbled up that now he's hearing voices in his head that aren't his own.]

Sure thing, darling. We've both got nothing better to do.

[Despite this voice in his head being a slightly uncomfortable subject, he rolls with it. After all, magic is weird, and so is Wonderland. And he's pretty sure the source of it is the cute man raising a glass to him a few seats away.]

[theothermrgray]

[Now that the cat thing has finally worn off, Dorian has decided to stop by the bar for a glass of wine. Or six.]

[Really, anything that can get his mind of sort of having his secret exposed to a madman he barely knows will do, but Dorian has delicate tastes. The smell of wine was intoxicating, but it wasn't quite strong enough to knock him out. Just perfect.]

[All at once, he thinks he hears a voice call to him.]

Oh? I wouldn't mind at all...

[He looks around, but he doesn't see anyone's lips moving.]

[He does see a man looking at him. Maybe he spoke and Dorian wasn't paying attention?]

... Sir.

yoooo

[mandrakes]

[It's the fact that someone meets his eyes at all that's surprising, initially. Though people don't avoid Regis deliberately, he is rather unremarkable as far as people go and doesn't often get offered drinks out of the blue.

Especially not by--

A telepath?

Interesting. Regis isn't here for drinks, exactly - he doesn't need to drink - but he enjoys people-watching and observing the comings and goings of the mansion population. With the initial surprise passed by with as much notice as anyone might give a street seller, the man decides on nodding and moves to take a closer seat.]

There can't be any harm in it. Something warm, if you please.

[All pretend, but he can play along.]