TDM - OCTOBER 2020

[robbies]

TEST DRIVE MEME - OCTOBER 2020

Everyone's entitled to one good scare.
CW: Violence, death, mouth trauma, vomiting, needles, razors

---

“Help me. Please, help me…”

A child’s voice, calling out for aid. There’s no rhyme or reason for when it comes to you. It’s so quiet, a whisper in the deepest, darkest corners of your mind. Were it not for the sharp, stabbing pain it pulls out of you, you could ignore it. You could even pretend it’s just your imagination.

It all happens so quickly and powerfully. Left in the dust, your brain struggles to process it all. Blacking out is the least it can do, but it’s also all it can do, and it does so before you even have a chance to fully register just how young the voice is, and how deeply, heartbreakingly lost it sounds.

When you finally awaken with your bare feet tangled in soft sheets, a layer of fuzzy fleece or slinky silk clinging to your body like another layer of skin, the sunlight pouring in from the window next to your bed momentarily blinding you, and the cries of happy children playing baseball outside of it carrying faintly, it all becomes very clear—

Something is horribly wrong.

---

OCTOBER 1st.

It becomes very clear very quickly that this isn’t a simple kidnapping. If you’re twenty years old or older, the bedroom you wake up in is very clearly a couple’s bedroom — with separate beds like a modest, modern couple of course! A similarly lost and confused stranger is in the other. They are your counterpart, for everything in this room has a matching counterpart — the nightstand and lamp each of you have beside your beds, the framed pictures on the wall, even your pajamas. If you’re under twenty years old, your room is smaller but more personalized, filled with comic books, model kits, stray baseball cards littered around the floor. Dolls, fashion magazines of people dressed from a bygone era, stacks of vinyl records neatly arranged next to a record player. And then there are the pictures. They’re everywhere in the house — in a frame on your nightstand, hung on the walls, stuck in the photo albums and scrapbooks lying on your desk or tucked away in drawers. Here you are on your wedding day, exchanging vows with your partner. Here’s you sitting in a fishing boat with one of the younger members of your house. Here’s a picture of you at ten years old getting ready for the first day of school. All of the photographs are aged, sepia, even yellowed and dusty in frames hung for a long, long time. By the time you make it down to the living room, you’ll notice that the television is on; someone must have forgotten to turn it off before they went to bed. On it, a cartoon pack of cigarettes and accompanying cigarette dancers prance around a black and white pumpkin patch, joined by dancing skeletons, ghosts and witches as a cheerful little earworm blares: ”Thirty days til Halloween, Halloween, Halloween, thirty days til Halloween—“

---

GETTING TO KNOW THE NEIGHBORS.

As you get acclimated, you gradually begin to learn more about this strange new world you’ve found yourself in. You’re in a neighborhood on the east side of a town called Santa Rosita located… somewhere in California (wherever or whatever that might be). The year is 1961. If it wasn’t clear enough, your neighbors are more than willing to humor you if you ask. Even if you accost them with questions and demands. Sure, you and your family are a little kooky, and you have a very overactive imagination, but the key to any good joke is playing along! And how could something like “I’m from the future, from another world” be anything but a joke? A. AUNT MYRNA'S PARTY CHEESE SALAD. Over the course of the week, your neighbors will come by unannounced, each with a new homecooked meal to welcome you to their cozy little side of town. Meatloaf, potato salad, lamb chops. Gelatin molds — lots of gelatin molds. Someone even comes by to drop off a gelatinous yellow lump of pineapple, green peppers, celery and yellow cheese swimming in a soupy mixture of sour and whipped cream. “It’s my aunt Myrna’s recipe!” they gush once they drop the casserole tin into your hands, proceeding to rattle off every ingredient. Well, at least you won’t be starving anytime soon. When you bring it back in to your kitchen - and its cheery wallpaper and its floral patterned Pyrex dishware, you and your new...family(?) all stare at the cheese salad, the gelatin, the curiously frosted meatloaf spread. A smorgasbord courtesy of the insistent generosity! Who will take the first bite?

B. DON'T BE A SQUARE!

You can only avoid the cheer and the neighbors for so long, even as you sit inside enjoying all the amenities of your new home. The television can only turn its volume up to five, after all! One bright and sunny Saturday, the weather crisp and clear, news broadcasts and reruns of The Ed Sullivan Show are drowned out by the music in the neighborhood. Eventually it’s too much to bear — you simply must put on your shoes and go discover the source of that infernal racket.

Why, it’s the block party! Haven’t you seen the invitation — with instructions — sitting in your mailbox, silly? Wear a badge so everyone on the block can know you’re new and welcome you to their extended family!

Well! Each neighbor was supposed to set up a table with snacks and drinks and entertainment on their front lawn. Carter Mayhew, one of your Robbie neighbors, has a whole ring toss obstacle course set up for boys to play with, and his wife is cheerfully and blandly instructing a group of girls on jump rope rhymes. Colorful streamers hang from every lamppost and mailbox, balloons and party favors galore. Like you, there are even a few newcomers to Santa Rosita that are caught just as unaware of this event — though others are being welcomed in by husbands and wives and children, caught in conversations about building decks and the upcoming Halloween festivities.

Before you can decide if returning home or joining the party is your choice, a plate with chips and dips and yes, more gelatin is shoved into your hands and a party hat snapped on to your head.

“The guest of honor has arrived! Come and meet your neighbors, neighbor!”

---

THROUGHOUT OCTOBER.

Life falls into a peaceful haze for the next several days. Dull, unassuming, tranquil. As the month drags on, the spirit of Halloween begins to manifest in Santa Rosita, from the pumpkins people start putting out on their doorsteps to the smiling faces of paper skeletons pressed against their windows. And then, towards the end of the month, something terrible happens. You hear it first through word of mouth, rippling through Santa Rosita like a wave, dark murmurs accompanied by sad sighs and downturned eyes. Soon, you start to read about it. Grim business, they say. A tragedy. How could something like this happen. People stop talking about it by the end of the week. Best just to forget about it. Every day, that cigarette commercial comes on. It’s impossible to escape it. And every day, the number of days in the song changes, counting down. ”Thirteen days till Halloween—” “Eight more days til Halloween—” “Three more days til Halloween, Halloween, Halloween…”

---

HALLOWEEN.

CW: Violence, death, mouth trauma, vomiting, needles, razors

October 31st. It sneaks up on you whether you like it or not. When dawn breaks on Halloween day, things are as serene as they’ve ever been as men do yard work, raking leaves as their wives bake fresh pie and cookies in the house, the spicy scent of cinnamon, apple and pumpkin wafting through the neighborhood on chilly October wind. There’s a smile on every child’s face as they skip off the school bus in the afternoon, running into their houses to get their costumes ready. As it begins to get dark, the residents of Santa Rosita start lighting their jack-o-lanterns. One by one, little balls of light flicker to life on every porch and doorstep, jagged smiles grinning in the dark. For the entire night, nobody blows the candle inside their pumpkins out. It’s a tradition, a very old one, and traditions are just another way of saying rules. And Halloween in Santa Rosita, as it turns out, lives and dies by the rules.

A. ALWAYS CHECK YOUR CANDY.

Halloween isn’t just for the kids, although they certainly make up the bulk of who you’ll see out and about on the streets. Walking through Santa Rosita, your neighbors are as generous with handing out treats as they are with handing out gelatin molds and pot roasts, and they don’t discriminate. Adults are received just as warmly as children; the worst one can expect is a quirked eyebrow if they show up to a house without a costume.

Apples, packs of gum, homemade cookies. Chocolate bars, nickels, popcorn balls. Your neighbors hand out all sorts of treats, most of them homemade. The Robbies are no exception, and it’s their treats that seem a bit more high quality than most, some of the candy they hand out being obviously expensive, brand names. The good stuff. They drop each treat into your bag with those same pleasant, mild expressions and too-tight smiles you’ve grown used to in your short time here.

Eventually, as everyone winds up doing at some point in the night, you decide to start digging into your treat bag to sample some of your well-earned goods — maybe in the comfort of your home, maybe outside on the streets. And that’s when the fun begins.

Maybe you bite into metal, the razor sharp end of a blade embedded into the apple or candy bar you’ve picked out burying itself in your gums, or splitting your tongue. Maybe it’s a needle, impaling itself straight through the roof of your mouth or a cheek. Or maybe it’s nothing that obvious. Maybe the realization that something is wrong comes moments after you’ve devoured that chocolate bar or cookie, the bitter aftertaste of rat poison hitting the back of your throat along with bile and the rest of the contents of your stomach as they rise up and out of your mouth.

Or maybe you’ll bite into plain, sweet chocolate or fresh fruit. That’s also part of the surprise. You really don’t know what you’ll get until you start eating.

B. ALWAYS RESPECT THE DEAD.

At ten o’clock, all the television sets in the neighborhood turn on, blaring to life right in the middle of that omnipresent cigarette commercial. The volume begins to rise of its own accord as your television starts to pick up interference, bursts of static squealing amidst the rising, screaming chorus of ”HAPPY HAPPY HALLOWEEN, HALLOWEEN, HALLOWEEN!”

Breaking through the static, garbled and tinny, a child’s voice cries out.

“Can’t— I can’t hold them— back— Pumpkin— don’t blow the— out—”

And just as quickly as it cut in, the voice cuts back out. Commercial jingle notwithstanding, you’re alone once more. But not for long.

The doorbell rings. You can see them outside from your window: costumed children. Their masks and clothes are grimy and ragged from the muddy, slimy water they’ve been decomposing in for over a week. When they come to your door, squelching wetly as they shamble up the porch steps, they ring the bell or knock, as all polite children do. If you don’t let them in, they’ll find their own way, always by force. And once they find you, all they can gurgle in their reedy, waterlogged voices is, ”Trick or treat.”

From there, they attack.

With superhuman strength and speed, they tear and rip at anything they can get their hands on — clothing, skin, muscle, face, eyes. Being short and small, despite their strength, they're at a distinct disadvantage. They can even be thrown off, with some effort. But they don’t stay down for long, and attempting to hurt or mortally wound them only stalls them for a few moments, if that. How can you kill something that’s already dead?

Some in the neighborhood are willing to try and find out.

The only houses they seem to ignore completely are the ones with lit jack-o-lanterns still outside. They’ll loiter outside these houses, staring straight ahead at your door or window like they can see exactly where you are. But sooner or later, they’ll pass by and move onto the next house.

As long as the candles in carved pumpkins stay lit.

---

OOC INFO

Hello, and welcome to We're Still Here's first TDM! Here's a few things we'd like you to keep in mind:

The TDM is canon. You can treat this as the game's first real event and pick and choose what threads you would like your character to remember when they enter the game. For characters who app into the game, the events of the TDM will be treated like a dream. Upon awakening from it, characters will find that time has jumped ahead to December 1st. You may also feel free to use similar reality and/or time distortions to explain why the family members your characters have in the TDM aren't the same as the ones they may be assigned to in the game proper.

If you would like to have Halloween content in your relaxed housing prompts, please feel free! You are not beholden to follow our prompts exactly so long as the spirit is maintained.

There is no Network prompt listed, but feel free to wildcard one for your characters anyway.

Although the TDM is canon in the sense that characters are free to remember its events when they app into the game, it does not count as an official plot heavy event, meaning that characters will not receive regains from participating in it.

With regards to the dead trick-or-treaters: you may NPC them however you'd like, but keep the details we've listed in their prompt in mind. They are supernaturally fast and strong, will ignore houses as long as they have a lit pumpkin on the porch outside, and will try to enter each house the moment the candle in the pumpkin goes out. Additionally, they can't be killed, but they can be momentarily stalled by injuring them. By November 1st, 6AM, they will disappear the moment the sun comes out.

---

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Comments

Hellboy | Dark Horse comics

[redrighthanded]

I. ARRIVAL - OCTOBER 1ST

[ Wherever this is, it's clear Hellboy has left the cold streets of Pandemonium far behind. Or maybe someone's decided to mess with him. He's pretty sure it's the latter, especially once he lifts his right hand up from the bed and -- wait.

Okay, that's.. that's pretty weird. Even for a guy whose day job involves dealing with the weirdest of the weird, it's kind of out there. If he hadn't spent the last however-the-fuck-long wandering through the dead houses of the depths of Hell, he might be more violently surprised. As it is, he spends a decent amount of time staring at his hands, then wandering up out of bed to find the nearest mirror and standing in front of it for a while, touching his face and chest. His balance feels strange -- no tail. The carpet under his bare feet is too soft without hooves to cushion him. The photos around him don't earn a glance; he's not used to seeing this guy looking out at him yet.

Eventually he wanders downstairs, through the house and straight out onto the porch, where he stands in just his boxer shorts, a big, tired, grey-haired obviously and undeniably human dude, and looks out at the neighbourhood. ]

What the hell..?

II. MEET THE NEIGHBOURS - BLOCK PARTY

[ The thing is, Hellboy's done this before. The whole 60's thing. He was basically a kid at the time, sure, but that doesn't mean the whole vibe isn't giving him a hit of nostalgia underneath all the confusion and suspicion. It doesn't really help, but it makes some of it less strange. Though, on the other hand, it also makes him miss his dad. But he'll take what he can get at this point.

Not really one for parties at the best of times, he's happy to hang out on the edge of the celebration with a paper plate of his second helping of Jello dessert and cake piled on it and a cigar stuck between his lips as he watches the kids racing around. He couldn't look more out of place if he tried but hey, he's used to that. ]

III. HALLOWEEN - RESPECT THE DEAD

[ By the time Halloween rolls around, Hellboy has gotten slightly more into the swing of things. He's still not used to navigating the world from a foot and a half lower down, but if he could get used to being stuck at the bottom of the ocean and on a ghost ship with a bunch of freeloading skeletons, he can get used to this. Maybe.

At least tonight things seem more his speed. The moment he sees those ghoulish kids rush one of his neighbours, he springs -- well, not quite springs, not with his bad back and knees -- but definitely hauls himself into action, cuffing one of the kids by the back of the neck and swinging his right hand into the side of their head.

Unfortunately, it's the wrong moment to have forgotten that that particular appendage isn't made out of stone any more. Sure, he's a strong guy and he still packs a punch, sending the kid-zombie sprawling to the sidewalk, but it doesn't do more than that. And it hurts.

The kid scrambles up, howling through an ironically devilish mask, and Hellboy looks down at his hand like it's betrayed him. ]

Ah, crap.

[ Yeah, he might need some help. ]

IIII. WILDCARD

[ OOC: Happy to be wildcarded for any of the prompts! Or hit me up at laetificat to plot something! ]

arrival

[dramaquinn]

[ Right, so, since this is clearly a thing that's happening for real right now, Alice decides that the best thing to do is throw on a nice, cozy bathrobe and go for a walk. Away from her supposedly very real family. A husband. Two kids. What the fuck.

Some of the overly cheerful neighbors greet her with a smile, remarking lightly on her strange habits and asking if bathrobe-clad walks are a new thing she's trying out. Alice just agrees and gives a tight laugh and keeps going. She doesn't have enough information to really interact with them yet.

And then there's this guy who steps out onto his porch and asks no one at all what the hell, and Alice couldn't agree more. The fact that he isn't giving her a too jolly laugh over her current state of dress means that whatever spell or trick this is, he's been yanked into it too. Which also means that, maybe, they can help each other out. ]

Um— coffee. Can I— Can you spare a cup of coffee?

[ Because she probably shouldn't jusr walk inside a stranger man's house. It's very clear the era this is supposed to be, and Alice is a young married woman here. Best not rock the boat yet. ]

I might be able to answer your question, but um— some coffee would be nice.

[redrighthanded]

[ It takes Hellboy a beat or two to realise that someone's talking to him. He drags his gaze away from the other houses and looks down at the young blond woman standing on the lawn. At first he just stands there in silence, feeling the breeze against his bare skin, and stares at her. She looks just as lost as he is. ]

I, uh -- [ He turns and looks back at the house. ] I guess I can. Sure. Come on.

[ He heads inside without waiting for her, assuming she'll follow into a space which likely looks the exact same as the home she's just come from. ]

[dramaquinn]

Thank you.

[ Arms tucked around herself, Alice walks onto the porch, but doesn't follow him inside. She isn't versed in How Things Are in the... what, 50s? 60s? But she figures staying completely visible to the creepy, too happy eyes of the neighbors, is probably a safe bet. ]

I'll wait out here. You have very nice— [ a brief pause as she looks around, desperate for any plausible excuse that an eavesdropper will take as innocuous ] —porch furniture. Did your wife sew these cushions?

[ Look. Listen. This is weird, and they clearly agree on that. ]

I should ask her to teach me.

[ U g h. 60s domesticity. Give her world-shattering and world-building magic or give her death, frankly. ]

[redrighthanded]

[ Her voice carries through the quiet house as Hellboy wanders into the kitchen, looking for a coffee maker. Thankfully, there's one waiting for him on the counter, looking like it's been pulled right out of a catalogue. He catches sight of drawings and report cards pinned to the fridge as he passes by and spends a moment looking at them, wondering what sort of nutty place he's ended up in, before digging around for coffee makings.

He listens to Alice's dissembling as he works, dumping coffee grounds from a can in the fridge into the filter and filling it up with water before turning it on. That done, he wanders back out into the hall to the doorway, and wonders whether he should worry about the fact that he's in his underwear.

Eyes narrowed, he looks at the woman on the porch (his porch?). ]

I don't have a wife. You might be mistaking me for someone else.

[dramaquinn]

[ It's such a shock to hear that that she doesn't hide her surprise immediately. ]

Oh. [ Lucky him. ] My mistake. It's hard to imagine any adult here being unmarried.

[ And it was so eerie to see herself in a wedding dress, beside a man in a suit; and with him and their little kids on the beach; and... ugh, it makes her stomach turn. If this is a nightmare, she wants out already. ]

I, um... I'm very new here. The joke is that I keep saying I feel like I only just woke up here.

[ Ha ha ha isn't she just! So charming and quirky! God, she hates this. ]

But that's so silly, isn't it.

[redrighthanded]

[ Hellboy hitches a shoulder up against the door and watches Alice with narrowed eyes as she explains. ]

What do you -- oh. [ Okay, maybe he's a little slow on this particular uptake. But he gets there eventually, realising why she's acting so weird. ]

I, uh. I just woke up here too. Lemme get that coffee.

[ He's gone for a minute fetching it, not sure if she takes cream and sugar so he bargains and puts in a little of both, pouring a generous amount in his own. He's always had a bit of a sweet tooth. When he comes back out onto the porch he's got one of the framed photos from the hall under one arm. Handing her the coffee, he holds up the photo. It's a wedding portrait of him and a woman he doesn't know. He's not sure who -- the bed beside his was empty when he woke up. ]

Guess I was wrong about that. [ He tosses the photo dismissively onto the couch on the porch. ] So what should I call you?

II - hi diddly ho, neighbourino

[onthe_threshold]

[There is something off about certain people; although everyone looks the part, there's an ineffable quality that marks some of the folks at this gathering as 'other.'

And then there's the huge guy with the cigar. That's an easy one.

So Matthew walks over. He is of course dressed in the fashion of the time, but he's still a viking of a man, towering over most people, and he walks with military posture.]

Why the fuck is everything jello here?

[redrighthanded]

[ After a couple of weeks, it's relatively easy to pick out the oddballs from the people who are, Hellboy assumes, what this place considers to be normal. The guy heading over to him is definitely one of the former. The way he walks reminds Hellboy a little of Ben Daimio, so his question is met with an incremental upwards movement of Hellboy's eyebrows and a slow roll of his cigar from one side of his mouth the other.

He glances back out at the party. ]

Made out of hooves.

[onthe_threshold]

No shit.

[In spite of the cursing, his tone is mild. Matthew looks over at the guy, head cocking slightly to the right as he does.]

That's still not an explanation.

I can't figure out if this is a simulation, or if I'm in a coma with reruns of Mayberry R.F.D. playing in my fucking hospital room causing shit like this.

[redrighthanded]

[ Hellboy looks at him right back, pleased that his initial assessment was correct. He takes a draw on his cigar and collects it back out of his mouth, exhaling smoke carefully out of the way of his plate. ]

Hey, or you might be dead. This could all be some kinda curse-slash-displacement deal. Plucked the souls of all of these people like fruit.

[onthe_threshold]

Ah, shit. I hadn't thought of that. [Of course he'd be in hell. That's not even really up for debate.]

You a magic guy or something? [Because that's a normal question to ask your neighbour.]

[redrighthanded]

[ Hellboy's eyebrows tick upwards again. ]

Magic guy? [ He doesn't do air quotes, but his tone suggests that if he were the type to do air quotes, you'd better believe they would have been there. ]

[onthe_threshold]

Yeah. Like a wizard or some shit. [Matthew snaps his fingers at one of the passing female Robbies.] Hey, you wanna get me a drink, babe? Thanks.

[As she hustles off to do just that, Matthew shakes his head.] Don't trust that shit, either. Probably robots. Anyway, you talk about hell like it's a real place. So, I figure you're a religious nut, or some kinda 'oooh I control forces from the beyond' guy.

iii

[collapsar]

[ there still isn't quite much of an explanation for the intent of the children, but at the very least clara's figured out how to hold them off. clutching the lit pumpkin close to her chest, the fire of the candle burning bright from within, she wanders down the sidewalk, eyes peering out for anyone in distress.

the man she sees is much larger than her, towering over her own very petite size, but as she sees him knock one of the kids backwards, she rushes up to stand between him and the crowd of children, back to him as she holds her jack-o-lantern high, her voice to the children soft and calming. ]

Now, now, just slowly back away. No need for violence.

[ when she turns her head slightly, enough to peer back at the man behind her, there's more bite in her voice. ]

Stay behind me. I could knock you out for beating on children like that.

[redrighthanded]

[ Whatever the kid is -- Hellboy's personal bet is definitely on zombie, but the undead he usually encounters tend to be a little more chilled out than these things -- it's not happy to be pushed around. He's got his eye on it as he shakes out his hand and is about to start forward again when a strident young woman holding a pumpkin steps in for a dance.

Hellboy slowly lowers his clenched hand, eyebrows going up in counterpoint as he eyes this clearly mistaken stranger. ]

Hey, take a look at what you're defending, lady. Those aren't kids. They're.. I dunno, but they smell like they've been dead for a while.

[collapsar]

[ at the very least, the lit pumpkin does its purpose in keeping the children from instantly retaliating, though considering the circumstances and the man's violent actions, she can't say for certain just how long things will actually stay that way.

for the moment she keeps one arm clutched around the pumpkin as she holds the other out horizontally to the side, using it to urge the man to continue stepping backwards with her, eyes on the kids to watch for any sudden change of movement on their end. ]

Well, dead isn't always exactly dead. [ dead can be tricky. after all, she'd know a little bit about that. ] Ghosts and corpses, they aren't always ... evil. You don't even know if they're acting this way by choice. Something could be using their bodies and, if I may say so, beating them to a pulp is hardly the first conclusion to jump to.

[redrighthanded]

Look lady, I know plenty of ghosts and corpses who don't go around attacking innocent people. [ Okay, some of them are cheats at cards and some owe him money, but that's besides the point. He shrugs. ]

If something's using their bodies, it's got pretty crappy taste. [ He scratches his chin through his beard, eyeing the situation. ] How'd you know to use the pumpkin?

II

[undiagnosed]

[everything about this man screams leave me alone. absolutely everything, from the cigar to the surly expression.

the surly expression that's plastered across the facial structure of ron perlman.

archer is drunk, as usual. very, very drunk. he staggers over to poor hellboy and waves over the top and obnoxiously, just about keeping his balance.]

Oh, my god! Ron Perlman?! I loved you in Miami Vice!

[redrighthanded]

[ This isn't Hellboy's first obnoxious fan rodeo. He's had a few of them since he appeared on the cover of Time back in the 60's; he can't exactly blend in with the crowd. Or at least he never used to be able to. As little as he wants to engage with the everything going on around him, he still reaches out to steady the other guy as he careens towards him. ]

Hey buddy, be careful. [ He catches Archer around the arm to help hold him up. ] Think you got the wrong guy.

[undiagnosed]

I do not-- need to be more careful. I need more bourbon.

[he rights himself with the practice of an experienced drunk and takes a few steps back from hellboy's grasp. more alcohol is clearly the last thing he needs, but archer's leaning hard into that "if i'm not coherently aware of the trouble i'm in then i don't have to deal with it" life.]

No, I don't! You don't have to be humble, Mr Perlman. [he grins like he's sharing a secret between the two of them.] I saw that show like... literally a thousand times.

[redrighthanded]

[ Hellboy's going to remain pretty sceptical about this guy's ability to judge anything right now and keeps one hand raised a little to catch him if he decides to fall down. ]

Seriously, you've got the wrong idea here, man. I haven't been on any shows. At least not since the 70's.

[undiagnosed]

[probably for the best; people should be skeptical about archer's ability to judge anything even when he's not off his face on some unholy concoction of alcohol he found in the street.]

Did you just... do so much cocaine you forgot?

[redrighthanded]

[ That's not the kind of question Hellboy gets asked all that often. He blinks at the other man and winds in his hand, starting to regret even getting involved. ]

Listen. I'm not this Ron guy. [ He puts his cigar back in his mouth and starts looking around for somewhere to get a drink. ] Maybe you should move on, buddy.

[undiagnosed]

[archer takes a long swig of his own drink, then helpfully points to the table he raided. for... all the one single bottle that's left.

Whatever you say, man. Hey, did you know Ted Danson is here too? Are you filming together?