[Sleep is still very rare these days and Rodney isn't exactly good company. But then again, when is he ever? He's been fixing the generator in the clinic at the Dogtown entrance and rewards himself with a coffee when he spots the strange figure in the distance. There's a sputter and he coughs, coffee going all over his shirt - great, that's just, that's fantastic - and he wipes at his burned mouth, staring out into the darkness.]
Do you see that?
[He points to the emaciated figure in the distance, squeezing his eyes shut, looking again.]
Because I see that. And I really hope you don't see that because then it's probably just some sleep-deprived hallucination which we can safely ignore along with the looming sense of dread...
ii. outfoxed (cw: potential for injuries)
[If you're unlucky enough to track the ghostly threat with Rodney, here's a fun fact about him. He's out of breath very quickly but somehow, miraculously, it doesn't stop the endless litanies. In fact, the more hateful physical exertion, the worse it seems to get. And then there's the whole thing of being absolutely terrified of Dogtown.
Which means that he just. Doesn't. Stop. Talking.]
-- saying that whoever named this place Fox Hill clearly doesn't know anything about either foxes or hills. Seriously, this is more like Mount Mountaingoat! Was this even here before? We have been going steeply upwards for the better part of the day [It's been 22 minutes.] and if we find a Buried shrine at the top, I swear I will--
[Whatever he will remains a mystery because the rest of of the sentence turns into a loud, pitchy yell when the ground suddenly gives way under him and he disappears in a pit trap. There's the sound of snapping branches, of dirt and smaller stones raining down, the characteristic thud of a body hitting the ground somewhere below followed by a low, wailful groan.]
iii. and you must ask yourself (cw: memory loss, disorientation, foot injuries)
[It's Dogtown. Again.
And he's really upset about it. Again.
Worse, he's alone this time and unarmed and... well. Wearing pretty ugly boxer shorts and an old crumpled t-shirt he's been sleeping in.
Except as time goes on, the agitation falls off him. Unfortunately, so do the memories. Why did he come here? Where is here exactly? He stumbles around, disoriented, lost, not sure where to go, not sure what's going on.
He stumbles on, wincing when his bare feet dig into a sharp stone or branch.
When he comes across another person he stops and stares at them in confusion. His voice has lost the abrasive edge, sounding a lot smaller, a lot quieter.]
Hi. I, uh. I think I got a little lost. Do you... know where we are?
Rodney McKay | Stargate: Atlantis | ota
[Sleep is still very rare these days and Rodney isn't exactly good company. But then again, when is he ever? He's been fixing the generator in the clinic at the Dogtown entrance and rewards himself with a coffee when he spots the strange figure in the distance. There's a sputter and he coughs, coffee going all over his shirt - great, that's just, that's fantastic - and he wipes at his burned mouth, staring out into the darkness.]
Do you see that?
[He points to the emaciated figure in the distance, squeezing his eyes shut, looking again.]
Because I see that. And I really hope you don't see that because then it's probably just some sleep-deprived hallucination which we can safely ignore along with the looming sense of dread...
ii. outfoxed (cw: potential for injuries)
[If you're unlucky enough to track the ghostly threat with Rodney, here's a fun fact about him. He's out of breath very quickly but somehow, miraculously, it doesn't stop the endless litanies. In fact, the more hateful physical exertion, the worse it seems to get. And then there's the whole thing of being absolutely terrified of Dogtown.
Which means that he just. Doesn't. Stop. Talking.]
-- saying that whoever named this place Fox Hill clearly doesn't know anything about either foxes or hills. Seriously, this is more like Mount Mountaingoat! Was this even here before? We have been going steeply upwards for the better part of the day [It's been 22 minutes.] and if we find a Buried shrine at the top, I swear I will--
[Whatever he will remains a mystery because the rest of of the sentence turns into a loud, pitchy yell when the ground suddenly gives way under him and he disappears in a pit trap. There's the sound of snapping branches, of dirt and smaller stones raining down, the characteristic thud of a body hitting the ground somewhere below followed by a low, wailful groan.]
iii. and you must ask yourself (cw: memory loss, disorientation, foot injuries)
[It's Dogtown. Again.
And he's really upset about it. Again.
Worse, he's alone this time and unarmed and... well. Wearing pretty ugly boxer shorts and an old crumpled t-shirt he's been sleeping in.
Except as time goes on, the agitation falls off him. Unfortunately, so do the memories. Why did he come here? Where is here exactly? He stumbles around, disoriented, lost, not sure where to go, not sure what's going on.
He stumbles on, wincing when his bare feet dig into a sharp stone or branch.
When he comes across another person he stops and stares at them in confusion. His voice has lost the abrasive edge, sounding a lot smaller, a lot quieter.]
Hi. I, uh. I think I got a little lost. Do you... know where we are?