[Quick Info: Shelley is a hard on his luck private investigator who recently found himself as suspect in a case that hits too close to home. He recently had an NDE that now allows him to see ghosts, on top of acquiring a general vision problem, a chronic illness, and a weird girl who may or may not actually be his niece.
Info on Journal. Folks who met Lola on prior TDMs, this is her Uncle.]
Arrival.
['Dead again?'
That was Shelley's first thought when he woke up in the pristine room that sounded like the boundary between life and death and had the bitter, acrid, medicinal scent of hospitals in the air. The glasses he reached for did little to actually help his vision at this point, but it was good enough for Shelley to squint blearily at the kindly woman who greeted him. His thoughts strayed to Lola, with her peppy smile and cloud of cropped hair, who had greeted him last time he awoke in a hospital with a tangle of tubes and wires hooked to him.
It was just part of dealing with being betrayed by his own body, he supposed.]
Thanks for the info, but I've gotta get back.
[He said hurriedly after the woman told him the situation at hand. A contest to save his own universe sounded too grandiose-- he cared about matters on a smaller scale. Like Lola and the Twins trapped in a blizzard with him and a violent narcissist with poor impulse control.]
The girls need me,
[He added, gathering himself and making for the door.]
I don't accept the challenge-- I need to get back.
[And he left the room-- only to be greeted at the lobby by the inviting scent of coffee and baked goods.
His vision danced in the bright lights, and he planted a hand on the wall to help properly ground him in reality. He stared at the scene before him, brows furrowed, as he took a moment to make sense of what he was seeing.]
... What in the continental breakfast is this?
Potluck
Food? No, don't talk to me about food~~
[Shelley whined at the bots ushering him toward the stoves and pantries that were set up along the street. His stomach, forever upset since his last stint in the hospital, was already churning at the scents of all sorts of food cooking in the air.
He had no idea if he was hungry or wanted to be sick.]
Wait, you want me to cook?
[He balked-- and then, already so tired of this, shrugged.]
Fine. It'll be your regret.
Where's the bread at? It's gotta be...
[In the pantry. He opened it up-- and only saw kittens on every shelf. Shelley, shooketh, took off his glasses and wiped them off in a reflective gesture, then stared at the pantry in disbelief]
What???
Wildcard!
[make up your own prompt! Hmu at woodrift for questions. ]
Shelley Lang | OC
Info on Journal. Folks who met Lola on prior TDMs, this is her Uncle.]
Arrival.
['Dead again?'
That was Shelley's first thought when he woke up in the pristine room that sounded like the boundary between life and death and had the bitter, acrid, medicinal scent of hospitals in the air. The glasses he reached for did little to actually help his vision at this point, but it was good enough for Shelley to squint blearily at the kindly woman who greeted him. His thoughts strayed to Lola, with her peppy smile and cloud of cropped hair, who had greeted him last time he awoke in a hospital with a tangle of tubes and wires hooked to him.
It was just part of dealing with being betrayed by his own body, he supposed.]
Thanks for the info, but I've gotta get back.
[He said hurriedly after the woman told him the situation at hand. A contest to save his own universe sounded too grandiose-- he cared about matters on a smaller scale. Like Lola and the Twins trapped in a blizzard with him and a violent narcissist with poor impulse control.]
The girls need me,
[He added, gathering himself and making for the door.]
I don't accept the challenge-- I need to get back.
[And he left the room-- only to be greeted at the lobby by the inviting scent of coffee and baked goods.
His vision danced in the bright lights, and he planted a hand on the wall to help properly ground him in reality. He stared at the scene before him, brows furrowed, as he took a moment to make sense of what he was seeing.]
... What in the continental breakfast is this?
Potluck
Food? No, don't talk to me about food~~
[Shelley whined at the bots ushering him toward the stoves and pantries that were set up along the street. His stomach, forever upset since his last stint in the hospital, was already churning at the scents of all sorts of food cooking in the air.
He had no idea if he was hungry or wanted to be sick.]
Wait, you want me to cook?
[He balked-- and then, already so tired of this, shrugged.]
Fine. It'll be your regret.
Where's the bread at? It's gotta be...
[In the pantry. He opened it up-- and only saw kittens on every shelf. Shelley, shooketh, took off his glasses and wiped them off in a reflective gesture, then stared at the pantry in disbelief]
What???
Wildcard!
[make up your own prompt! Hmu at