Liam McNally (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
inequal) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
caveofsapphires2012-04-10 08:17 pm
inequal) wrote in caveofsapphires2012-04-10 08:17 pm
People are crazy and times are strange [ open ]
WHO: Liam (Owen) [inequal] and ANYONE.
WHAT: Somebody else got struck by the memory rehab bug, thinks his name is something else. Now Liam's trying to deal with the idea that he might have his head screwed on wrong without being able to tell.
WHERE: All around the Cave, notably: the Bar; the Supply Depot; near the Living Quarters; a secluded corner.
WHEN: April 10th (Tuesday) through April 12th (Thursday).
NOTES: What the hell is consistent narrative name, do not even get me started on trying to figure out which one to use. IT'S JUST "HE" AND "HIM" OKAY.
His Tuesday started out simply enough, some murky memory (or was it a dream?) floating up to remind him of a white room and then... nothing, really. Probably just made it up. No, his day really started with a buzz in his head and a request for his husband to turn off the bloody overhead light, if you please, George.
That was his first sign that something was wrong. It didn't feel wrong, but the sheer comfort with which he identified as Owen Bates (not... Liam McNally or whatever name it was that George—Ken?—said it should be) gave him a shudder if he stopped to think about it for too long. Exactly why he immediately sought out Arthur Stieber at the Supply Depot and was told to swing by later that night after work.
Fine, whatever. He could wait another few hours. So he went with his spouse to the Bar and spent the next few hours ignoring the twitch in his foot and fingers. Scaring off the customers would not do, even if the only exchange he cared about tended to be the conversational sort and nothing to do with money.
He was out like a bolt by closing time and off to retrieve the pack of cigarettes as Arthur had promised. Horrible habit to get back into when he was still not physically addicted, but the psychological effects were already ingrained deeply enough. It wasn't until Wednesday that he had the chance to secret himself into an underdeveloped crevice on the west side of the Cave and finally light up. Hopefully the smoke would dissipate before anyone else caught wind of it, because despite popular belief, he did not try to bury himself in as much trouble as possible at all times.George Ken George would likely be worried and that kept him from lighting a second despite the urge.
The rest of Wednesday proceeded as normal... what accounted for normal in this place, anyway. Some exploration in the day and work in the afternoon, all the way to After Hours. Thursday found him escaping to the crevice once again, lighter and cigarette clutched in hand, then off to the Depot again with George to retrieve more rations.
It was perhaps the least exciting lifestyle he had indulged in for nearly sixty years. Nevertheless, Owen could not stop the dread coiling in his gut that the other shoe was primed just perfectly to drop any day now.
inequal] and ANYONE.WHAT: Somebody else got struck by the memory rehab bug, thinks his name is something else. Now Liam's trying to deal with the idea that he might have his head screwed on wrong without being able to tell.
WHERE: All around the Cave, notably: the Bar; the Supply Depot; near the Living Quarters; a secluded corner.
WHEN: April 10th (Tuesday) through April 12th (Thursday).
NOTES: What the hell is consistent narrative name, do not even get me started on trying to figure out which one to use. IT'S JUST "HE" AND "HIM" OKAY.
His Tuesday started out simply enough, some murky memory (or was it a dream?) floating up to remind him of a white room and then... nothing, really. Probably just made it up. No, his day really started with a buzz in his head and a request for his husband to turn off the bloody overhead light, if you please, George.
That was his first sign that something was wrong. It didn't feel wrong, but the sheer comfort with which he identified as Owen Bates (not... Liam McNally or whatever name it was that George—Ken?—said it should be) gave him a shudder if he stopped to think about it for too long. Exactly why he immediately sought out Arthur Stieber at the Supply Depot and was told to swing by later that night after work.
Fine, whatever. He could wait another few hours. So he went with his spouse to the Bar and spent the next few hours ignoring the twitch in his foot and fingers. Scaring off the customers would not do, even if the only exchange he cared about tended to be the conversational sort and nothing to do with money.
He was out like a bolt by closing time and off to retrieve the pack of cigarettes as Arthur had promised. Horrible habit to get back into when he was still not physically addicted, but the psychological effects were already ingrained deeply enough. It wasn't until Wednesday that he had the chance to secret himself into an underdeveloped crevice on the west side of the Cave and finally light up. Hopefully the smoke would dissipate before anyone else caught wind of it, because despite popular belief, he did not try to bury himself in as much trouble as possible at all times.
The rest of Wednesday proceeded as normal... what accounted for normal in this place, anyway. Some exploration in the day and work in the afternoon, all the way to After Hours. Thursday found him escaping to the crevice once again, lighter and cigarette clutched in hand, then off to the Depot again with George to retrieve more rations.
It was perhaps the least exciting lifestyle he had indulged in for nearly sixty years. Nevertheless, Owen could not stop the dread coiling in his gut that the other shoe was primed just perfectly to drop any day now.
no subject
He'd be on his way, honestly, but he was curious. The text-based network held a list of people (cave names, naturally), but it wasn't going to help if he didn't know names. "You're the bartender, right? What's your name?"
no subject
He took a deep breath, an inverse sigh, and let it out slowly. "That would be me. Owen Bates," he introduced. He steadfastly ignored the twisting in his gut that insisted it to be so natural when his head murmured that something was wrong. It didn't feel wrong.
no subject
Only to pop his head back a few moments later. "Terribly sorry; my manners must have gotten left scrambled when waking up. You can find me under," with a slight wrinkling of his nose, "Stark, Gavin, if ever you need someone on the force who isn't going to be stingy on what you can and can't be putting in your body regardless of what the caretaker may or may not say."
no subject