Log:These Boots Were Made for Breakfast

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These Boots Were Made for Breakfast
Characters  •   The Optimist  •  The Martyr  •
Location  •  A Breakfast Table
Date  •  2019-02-21
Summary  •  The Martyr and the Optimist try to figure out reality over breakfast.

The Martyr is eating. He has, in fact, a large collection of serving dishes in the middle of the table with a ridiculous amount of breakfast foods on it that don't actually contain pork. He is right now piling pancakes and waffles onto his plate while contemplating too many syrup flavors. He is wearing a black Shriekback Evolutions shirt and blue plaid flannel pajamas with pink fuzzy bunny slippers.

The Optimist is no longer in his pajamas - now he wears casual slacks, a butter yellow shirt, and a bright blue vest. Neat shoes, too. Everything is just faintly preppy-nerd, with the glasses on his nose. He has an entirely different book under his arm (This one says: A Folder Made Of Staples), and he peers around, then says "Hmm. I am _still_ here. You are still here. So I guess even if this is a hallucination, it's definitely not one that's going to go away with sleep."

The Martyr blinks at him several times in a way that suggests he's still in the process of waking up, but he musters a friendly smile, "Hungry? Grab a plate and help yourself." He sighs, "Oh yes, we are still here. Have you met any of the other's yet? Is your book good?"

The Optimist peers "Pancakes - oh, stewed peaches." He picks up a bowl, and moves for the fruit first, as well as collecting himself a glass of orange juice "Do people get really fat here? Because _look_ at this spread." And then he fiddles around until he has a napkin "No, I haven't met anyone else. I had to sit and...think. You know, it's challenging and...well. I don't want to upset people." He frowns, before he says "It's a little weird. My room is almost entirely full of things that are 'a little weird'. Lots of strange books. Little curios."

The Martyr settles on strawberries and whipped cream for the waffles and pecan syrup for the pancakes. "I have no idea. I do know I was so busy when I was alive I barely had time to eat and I was always hungry. I figure I deserve a few good meals." His expression is kind, "You are doing very well. Really. I sort of lost it my first evening and I likely still need time to think.... Really? That's fascinating. Whoever designed mine is a little odd. The only one I've seen besides mine was... very odd. Comfortable, mind you, but it's basically a bunker full of scavenged luxury furniture."

"I really need some better furniture, my bed is...a sort of. Weird long couch thing covered in pillows. Like a day bed?" asks the man cautiously "The linen is very oddly coloured. But I like my suits. They are all well fitted." And he sips his orange juice, and then he starts trying the fruit, before he reaches out to get a plate of scrambled eggs with feta and parsley "Where's the bacon and sausages?" he wonders, and the man pauses "...I like to look on the bright side," he suddenly says "I mean, I think I am probably in a coma and imagining everything as I die? But what if I'm actually _not_ and it's all all right?"

The Martyr blushes slightly, "You can go and get some from the dispenser if you like." He runs a hand through the top of his hair, "Danny's Jewish, you see, and I told him he was worth giving up pork for. I don't know if he'll still be Jewish after he dies, but I don't want him to wake up from being suddenly murdered and me having bacon breath just in case." He considers the whole coma thing as he eats his pancakes. "If you are in a coma and dreaming then you might as well enjoy the food and the fancy bath oils. If it's real and you behave as if it weren't, that could have negative consequences, so best to behave if aas if it's real whether it's a dream or not, right?"

"Dies," says the man, cautiously, but he nods, and then gets up "I see. Well, I really like bacon - and spec. Spec is amazing. And also awful. It's ama...ful. So if we're actually dead, then I can probably eat it without having a heart attack." He heads towards the dispenser and he calls back "I...wait. Bath oils? Where are the baths? I haven't had a shower yet. And I suppose that is one of the problems with reality. I suppose I should also pick a name. But it feels. Wrong. I mean, I seem to have a personality, but no name to match. I can't really grasp those things being disconnected from one another."

The Martyr looks at him with those terribly earnest dark eyes, "Mahoney almost got him and Derek last night, but they saved each other and Scott sort of saved Sonya, but... They're going to try the final plan to save the world very soon, so likely... a lot of people will die. I miss them terribly, but at the same time I wish they could all survive and go live real lives instead of ending up trapped.... I'm so proud of them though, my young beautiful brave friends." He cocks his head, "What's spec? I don't think they have that in Oregon and Washington. Oooo! I wonder if this means I can find out if poutine is as good as they say. Maybe for lunch...." He eyes the New Guy, "Did you check all the doors in your room? Cheer says we all have private baths." He has a few delighted bites of waffle. "You definitely have a personality.... Picking a name is hard. Or at least it was for me. I still don't know if I'll keep Dare. you could maybe try some names out and see if they fit?"

"You know I have no idea who any of those people are, there's no context," says the man, and he tastes the bacon, then puts it on toast to make a bacon sandwich. He raises his eyebrows "So this is like being stuck in the real world watching other people play a game? You hope they do all right, but if not, well, they just end up back here?" And then he says "...Oregon? Washington? What are those places? Oh, I mean 'Shinkenspec'. It's a german treat - smoked butt of pork in juniper berries and bay leaves. Basically just good tasting fat. Worse for you even than bacon." And he shakes his head "No. I'm nervous of the doors, a bit. What if I go through one and can't get back? I thought there'd be a bathroom elsewhere...I did find a place with wild deer though. That was weird." And he frowns "...you know. What if I just call myself something I like. Like. 'Boots'. I like Boots. And I like Yellow."

The Martyr is happily shoveling food in, skinny as he is. "Danny's my boyfriend. I mentioned it last time. Derek is Danny's dead ex-girlfriend's new boyfriend. It's sweet them working together. She's here, the dead ex-girlfriend. She died several hours before I did. She was Misty, but she's got a different name now, only I forgot it because I was really drunk when we met again here." He drinks some of his orange juice, "When your There it feels incredibly real. It still does remembering it now, the worry and pain and fear and love and delight. Sometimes people die and they don't come back and people here morn them. They tell me sometimes people who survive come back anyway, but I'm new. you need... pretty much anyone else here but me to get a better idea of that part. I'm the only new returner so far, and you're the only stranger I've seen here." He opens his eyes wde, "Oh! I'm from the United States. If you were looking at a map of it, the bit I am from is in the upper left corner under Canada. Washington is the one with the sticky out bit and Oregon is the bit just to the south of it." His eyes go a little wide, "I don't think I've had prk butt at all." He looks confused, "You food wild deer? Where? Could you show me later?" He grins, "Boots is better than Yellow, but I could picture the boots I am calling you are a cheerful sort of yellow." He holds out his hand, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Boots!"

"Thanks! I kind of like Mr. Boots, actually, or even just Boots. Maybe Mr. Yellow, and Boots as my first name?" says Boots, cautiously, and he leans out to shake. He is...uncommonly strong, actually. Very nerdy clothing. And a six pack beneath. He says "Oh, America! I'm sorry, I wonder why I don't know much about the places in America..." Now his voice turns uncertain "We are speaking Creole, right?" He has sort of glazed over the relationships, clearly having no real connection to any of them. His lips quirk a little "But the good thing is that people come back, you should definitely focus on that, right?" A nod to the wild deer comment, and then Boots says "How do you know you're from the United States?"

The Martyr's eyebrows go up at the strength of the grip. His own hands are rather soft, though the grip is firm. "Or Mr. Yellow Boots?" He studies him, "Which creole? I don't know if what I remember from before I stepped out of my car at Beaver Lake, but Beaver Lake is in Oregon, and I thought I was born in Spokane Washington and lived in Oregon when I was there, except now everything before the Island is flat and unreal compared to what happened after."

"No, I like just being called Boots. That will do," says the man, and he hesitates "I don't know which creole. I think I know African countries better than American states. But I also know a lot about France. And some parts of Spain." He shakes his head, and then he says "Right. I don't really have any memories. Maybe that means I'm special?" He seems to constantly try to find the bright side, possibly annoyingly so "Okay, so. You say we get sent out of here? So I'll be sent out with you on an...adventure?"

The Martyr has a strong optimistic streak himself, though not nearly as large as the Optimist's and counter weighted with things like pragmatism, so he doesn't seem to mind the cheerfulness. "It means you first appeared here. One day one of the women woke up in her room here, so here is what she remembered first, before Beaver Lake. I've no idea what is and isn't unusual. I'm sorry." He nods, "My understanding is, everyone will get sent all at once and maybe some extra people show up there and when people start dying there some of them come back here.

"Why would people start dying?" asks the Optimist as he pushes aside his plate and then selects a fresh one to find the pancakes. He stacks up a few, then pours syrup on top, and he says "I see, so there was someone else like me. That's good. I'd love to meet them - and others. I bet there's some sort of solution we can work on if we all work together."

The Martyr says, “Well, At Beaver Lake there were murder ghosts trying to raise a great evil under the water named Dagon and there were fish people. I've no idea what was killing them last time or the time before. My understanding is they send us in and we try to save the world, but I'm putting that together from references people made to things that happened before." He's helping himself to a Spanish omelet now. "I think that's what's Caleb's working on. If we can figure out what's going on, maybe we can fix it. I hate that I can' take notes. We'll I can take them, but they reset when we sleep like everything else."”

New Activity ---------

"Please tell me that's not a Spanish omelette with no chorizo," says Boots, in amusement, and then he says "Wait, we can't take notes, because they reset? What happens if you...cut your hair?" He gestures at his "I mean, not mine. Mine's very short and curly, I suppose. If someone cuts their hair, does _that_ stay? What about a tattoo? If we put tattoos on ourselves, would we be able to do the recordings?" He frowns "So...do we save the world successfully? Or is it failure, and it resets? I know that's a lot of questions. It's just that there's a lot to...erm. Learn."

The Martyr looks sheepish, "I'm sorry, Boots. I bet you can get one in the kitchen if you like. I think they extra peppers and seasonings instead from the taste of it. Do you know how to do a tattoo? If so we could find out. Hair is likely easier though. Or shaving. We could try saving something.... I wish I knew on the world thing."

"Shaving sounds easy. Or just cutting some hair," says Boots, who then shakes his head "I'm completely full. I haven't really needed to eat a lot - it's not like I'm getting a lot of exercise." He then rises, after pushing in his chair "No, I have no idea how to do a tattoo. So I'm going to go and experiment. I am sorry to keep leaving you like this, but there's a lot of work for us to do, don't you think?"

The Martyr gives him a friendly wave. "It's fine. I should... check to see if they are all okay back there. I don't want to... nt be here if somebody dies."

"That's very nice of you!" says Boots "I'm sure it will _all_ be fine!" And he really is. Out he slides, to go and research tattoos.