Rappel du premier message :

CONTRAT DE NOT'RP !

- Statut du RP : privé i guess ? :d
- Tour de jeu : //
- Délai maximum d'attente de réponse : hmm, deux semaines ?
- Autre : yes.

Don't you hate it when you wake up and end up not knowing where you are ?
I don’t. It’s one of my favorite pure bliss moment, actually ; you basically forget about everything that's a big deal. Like the fact that you are in a zombie apocalypse. Shit I remember that. Great, now it’s ruined.

… I still have no clue about this place though. No clue at all.

Although it does look like a living room, and an old-fashioned one that is ; chimney made of visible bricks, velvet curtains (there's a dusty beam of light passing throught, so I assume It’s morning – at least I know when I am) ; and a gloomy decoration (weird-ass looking portraits and two skulls in the shelves) ; did I mention the number of books in here ? No I didn’t because it would take a while to count them.

I left the bearskin carpet (where I was sitting) to get close to the shelves, I reached for one random book aaand… it was gibberish. I tried my luck with two more but they were also written in a foreign language. When I went to take a look out the window, the sight was poor as fuck. Only grass, that’s it. I couldn’t open the window, and I’m not dumb enough to break it, the smash could wake up the deads.

It was clearly a home, or maybe a mansion ; he’d have to explore it to know for sure.

I'm usually slow at waking up but, I’m little too conscious at this point to not remember anything related to this location and…an–

And he sneezed really loud. It was really dusty in here.

Alienated people, he must have meant. " Yeh... I see. Not the safest city. " But at least, the livings are the only ones you have to run away from. I can see myself surviving there; should I consider leaving the camp? I need more information on Mano-something. No, more importantly, I need to know where the hell we are first. I speed up a little to the edge of the hill. It overlooks a small town, and it isn't deserted since I see cars passing by the road.

HRP:

'S not a city. I wanted to say it out loud but swallowed my thoughts. Serah had already moved on to another subject. Sure enough. Manooine isn't all that interesting as a subject. Serah seemed to be a "now" person. Living in the present, not in the past (and only slightly in the future). He ran off like he saw an oasis, but it's just a town. Woah. Never saw that many cars in sight without a single ship. They'd have trouble driving on the sandy ground of my home planet.

HRP:

"What ? What ? You know this place ?!" I turned to him, expecting a good answer, or at least another answer than "No", "Uh", or "Dunno" - this covers pretty well his vocabulary, doesn't it ?

No. (You're absolutely right, Serah.) Never saw so many cars. These things were ancient. Yet my curiosity wasn't enough to act rashly. I gave Serah a glance, trying to analyze what he wanted to do. Do we go down?

A bar. It's only one word. Well, technically two. An article and a noun. Two words. So: it's only two words, but it carries a whole lot of meaning. If you need information, you go to a bar. A pub. A dive. A cantina. Whatever they like to call it. The place the worst of the worst meet to drink. Can ask there. I gesture towards what looks like a proper shifty pub on the corner of a street. My kind of place.

Saw stranger things than people with rabbit heads. That tends to happen when space travel is a regular thing for you. Serah seemed somewhat creeped out, but I already knew he was a grounder — not used to flying and discovering other planets. That much was clear. No water for me. I leaned against the counter. Get me something stronger.

What.

I’d like to see how he’ll manage to get away from this if he doesn’t have any cash. Although, the barman doesn’t say a thing, he just points out to a plate next to him "Do not talk". Well, I can’t get more surprised than I already am, so…"’the hell are we supposed to communicate, then?!" He just ignores me. It’s exactly like talking to one of my ex’s, minus the headaches.

Oh. Do not talk. I saw Serah look at it, so why does he still talk? Rebel without a cause? I point at it again, to (re)explain why the bartender's ignoring him. Maybe this is one of those alien races that doesn't use speech to communicate. Not very cultural person, myself, though. Can't speak through body language or whatever other means are available. Too bad. Was thirsty. No alcohol then.

Maybe we could write.

Water. I shudder. The last time I drank water must've been 12 years ago. That shit is not edible. Drinkable. They say alcohol causes liver problems, but water seems to cause trouble for mine. Maybe my insides are so broken that the alcohol actually patches it up. Still. Throat parched. Can't whine. The bartender puts down two cups of water. The glasses look like they haven't been used in years, but at least the water is clear.

I kinda want to take the board out of Serah's hands and ask all the right questions instead of all the wrong ones. Where we are is not really important, in my humble opinion. A way out is. Ask about ships. I tell him. What ship doesn't have GPS on board, after all ?

I point to the "no talking" sign as a response (just a little personal revenge). Besides, what the hell does he mean by that ? That's the face I'm making right now. Anyway, I pass him the board.

Ah, the power tools of communication. A board and... what's that white thing. Chalk? "BAI CHIPS???" How do you write buy again. And how do you spell ships? Spelling was never my strong suit. Who needs that with voice commands anymore? I'm pretty sure I spelled it wrong. The bartender just raises an eyebrow at me.

I burst out with laughters. Sorry, not sorry, I'm an asshole, but his spelling is hilarious. I take the board away from his hands "You can't even buy a glass of alcohol yet you want to buy a car??"

I shrug. We can get the money somehow. I mean, how hard is it to find carrots? These things have a way of working themselves out. It's true I'm piss poor, but most of my possessions come from gambling anyway. Got a good deal of experience in that at least. "NO CAR." I write down after having stolen back the board. Car is with a C. Not a K, apparently. "SPACE CHIP."

Spaceships don't exist? That's a ridiculous notion. Even the most forlorn planet on this side of the galaxy is aware of the existence of spaceships. And how else did they get here? I feel confused. Deeply confused. Or maybe Serah is the one who's confused. Yeah. Must be it. Didn't seem altogether fine "up there" when we were in the house. He must still be err... malfunctioning.

Wait, where are we going now? We leaving? Here I go again, following him like a faithful puppy.

HRP:

I follow his gaze. It's true. He does sort of look like him. He's a bit far right now, but the general silhouette is very alike him. Doesn't ooze off the same vibe though. And since the real Serah's right here next to me, obviously that's just a creepy lookalike. Uhuu. I acknowledge his statement.

Run? Wait, run? I stand there, flabbergasted as I see the officers heading my way. Serah already left. When he says run, he means it, clearly. I'm a bit slower on the taking. Need time to process what's happening. Like 1) why do I need to run - haven't done anything wrong. (Well, today at least.) 2) Why do they seem on high alert when they see me - I don't know these people. (Well, I don't think I do at least.) 3) Where exactly are we supposed to run to - I lost Serah. (Well, I suppose I did at least.) Um...