First Person: //AUDIO// And here I thought being sentenced to death was the worst thing to ever happen to me. Long ass train rides can really make a guy think, I guess. Turns out I was fuckin' right. This is way better than dyin' for a shit crime.
[Whether that's sarcasm or not, it's your call because he sure as hell isn't calling it for you. But for something that shouldn't sound sarcastic, he's really piling the tone on there.]
Guess not dyin' comes with a price, since I can't remember a damn thing about getting this pocket watch that's not a pocket watch. Can't remember anyone tellin' me about being shipped to some town in buttfuck nowhere, either.
Third Person: Once he'd gotten over the initial confused and 'meh, whatever' phase, Daryan felt like he need a drink. It pleased to him know that there was indeed a bar of some sort in this bizarre ghost town.
There was no drinking or celebrating in a cell room, so it's been a while. Not that he had anything to celebrate while in his cell, though he's pretty sure he felt fear and terror wash over him when the guard had come to unlock the door to take him to the transport vehicle. That merited a drink, right? He found himself recalling the events of the day before arriving here: Did he get a last meal? Was the execution held in a different building? He remembered having all these questions but unable to voice them when they'd taken hold of his arms to lead him outside. The jeers and cries of the other inmates, some he had even helped put behind bars, they couldn't even penetrate the mind-numbing fear. His initial worry about going to prison was facing them, to have to deal with their bullshit and fight his way to the top. It wasn't as bad as this- the trek to one's death without any way to fight your way out of it.
"H-Heh, guess they've finally set the date, huh?" He muttered to the guards on each side of him. They were silent, as they should be.
Daryan hadn't bothered with getting a conversation out of them. He sat in the car, then was... huh. He couldn't really remember much after that. Somehow he had gotten on a train and his cuffs were gone. No guards. No nothing. Though he did remember a vague feeling of a presence that made his hair stand on end. He remembered wondering why that all made sense at the time, but thinking back on it, was really ridiculous.
"Yeah, that drink sounds real fuckin' good right about now." Shaking his head, he took a couple of steps off the platform and towards the city. He wasn't worried about not finding it in time- there was plenty of time, now. Nobody tracking him down, nobody chasing him. Just a guy with a pocket watch. Oh, right, what the hell was he doing with a pocket watch, anyway? Perhaps someone just-
no subject
//AUDIO//
And here I thought being sentenced to death was the worst thing to ever happen to me. Long ass train rides can really make a guy think, I guess. Turns out I was fuckin' right. This is way better than dyin' for a shit crime.
[Whether that's sarcasm or not, it's your call because he sure as hell isn't calling it for you. But for something that shouldn't sound sarcastic, he's really piling the tone on there.]
Guess not dyin' comes with a price, since I can't remember a damn thing about getting this pocket watch that's not a pocket watch. Can't remember anyone tellin' me about being shipped to some town in buttfuck nowhere, either.
Third Person:
Once he'd gotten over the initial confused and 'meh, whatever' phase, Daryan felt like he need a drink. It pleased to him know that there was indeed a bar of some sort in this bizarre ghost town.
There was no drinking or celebrating in a cell room, so it's been a while. Not that he had anything to celebrate while in his cell, though he's pretty sure he felt fear and terror wash over him when the guard had come to unlock the door to take him to the transport vehicle. That merited a drink, right? He found himself recalling the events of the day before arriving here: Did he get a last meal? Was the execution held in a different building? He remembered having all these questions but unable to voice them when they'd taken hold of his arms to lead him outside. The jeers and cries of the other inmates, some he had even helped put behind bars, they couldn't even penetrate the mind-numbing fear. His initial worry about going to prison was facing them, to have to deal with their bullshit and fight his way to the top. It wasn't as bad as this- the trek to one's death without any way to fight your way out of it.
"H-Heh, guess they've finally set the date, huh?" He muttered to the guards on each side of him. They were silent, as they should be.
Daryan hadn't bothered with getting a conversation out of them. He sat in the car, then was... huh. He couldn't really remember much after that. Somehow he had gotten on a train and his cuffs were gone. No guards. No nothing. Though he did remember a vague feeling of a presence that made his hair stand on end. He remembered wondering why that all made sense at the time, but thinking back on it, was really ridiculous.
"Yeah, that drink sounds real fuckin' good right about now." Shaking his head, he took a couple of steps off the platform and towards the city. He wasn't worried about not finding it in time- there was plenty of time, now. Nobody tracking him down, nobody chasing him. Just a guy with a pocket watch. Oh, right, what the hell was he doing with a pocket watch, anyway? Perhaps someone just-
Ugh, nope, drink first. Questions later.