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[just_cant_lose]

 
As he suspected he would, Jim caught Sherlock's - heh, Rory's - stupid bloody cold. He went to bed angry, frustrated, and sick to the back teeth of this entire bloody bar.

He wakes up with a Welsh accent, a body that feels weirdly exhausted, and a whooooole lot of surprise at finding himself in a bedroom that is not wallpapered in Laura Ashley, cluttered with years' worth of books and theatre junk. Gethin has never set foot in a room so opulent, and so incomprehensible to him. He spends a good hour looking at the clothes, the books, the...frankly pornographic, yet extremely beautiful...photography on the wall of the library (the centrepiece of which involves his own face, and the blurred figure of a much taller man in the background. He doesn't look at it for long.) Everything is very, very weird.

In short, Gethin Roberts does not have a bloody clue what's going on. But at least there are clothes he recognises - comfortably 80s in style - and if the cold he's got means he can't go searching Jonathan out, at least there appears to be a...bar, downstairs?

What. The Actual. Hell. 


[OOC: getting in under the wire! Open until the end of March. :)]

Comments

[likeroaringlions]

So a little while ago William was talking to someone he thought was Harry Percy, but who turned out to be some Yorkshireman named Ashley something, but who then turned out to be Harry Percy after all.

It was all very confusing, right?

So he's been eyeing everyone he knows, just waiting to see what turns up. Right now he's staring at Jim and trying to guess if it's really him. Not that Jim would be a reliable informant either way.

It's that last thought that prompts him to just approach and ask and probably be lied to: "Alright, Jim?"

[just_cant_lose]

Gethin's head jerks up from where he's been staring across the room at the Window, fighting down a wave of fear that's edging on panic. His hands are shoved into his pockets, shoulders raised defensively, a look of pure incomprehension on his face. But he smiles automatically as he's approached; a smile which fades into gentle confusion at the name.

'Uh-'

No?

'-sorry, think you've got me confused with someone else.'

His voice is soft, undeniably Welsh, and he looks nothing but friendly.

[likeroaringlions]

"Right." William sighs. "If you're really Jim, you're just gonny have a laugh at me later no matter what I say, so sure, let's say you're not. Who are you, then?"

And because he isn't completely without manners, he adds, "I'm William Douglas."

[just_cant_lose]

This is met with more silent incomprehension. Gethin's perfectly capable of being tough and standing up for himself, but he genuinely doesn't know how to respond to someone levelling that at him.

'I'm Gethin Roberts.'

He really is. Which doesn't explain what he's doing here, but one thing at a time.

'Hello, William. Sorry, I don't know your friend.'

[cook_the_rude]

There is a bar downstairs, yes, and people are even having breakfast there.

[just_cant_lose]

People do appear to be eating breakfast! Gethin would also like breakfast, but can see no means of acquiring it. He didn't feel right about helping himself to the food upstairs, and there doesn't seem to be anyone behind the bar.

[cook_the_rude]

"Good morning," one specific gentleman in a plaid suit and paisley tie calls out to him. "Would you like to join me for breakfast, Jim? I can offer coffee, avocado and coriander omelette, and an oddly addicting crunchy muesli with cocoa beans and date syrup -- sounds terribly healthy, but tastes exquisite. Or would you rather have tea and toast? You do look a bit under the weather."

[just_cant_lose]

He sniffs, and eyes the food and the man with a look of vague confusion. There's nothing sharp about his look, nothing overly-knowing, nothing sly.

'Sorry? I'm not...I think you've confused me with someone else.'

[onceaviking]

Much later, a tall, pale, blonde man in jeans and a t-shirt stops close by and looks around for a seat.

Apologetically almost.

[just_cant_lose]

'Sorry, am I in your...sorry.'

By much later, a few things have been explained about the place, and Gethin was heading back to the bar for a pint. But he got sidetracked by the view out of the Window, and almost walked into the man.

[onceaviking]

"No. I was just - sorry."

American accent with a faint softness hinting at Scandinavia.
And super apologetic.

"I was just - ehm."

[just_cant_lose]

'Just - ehm?'

He smiles and shuffles around him, looking up. There's a lot of Eric to look up at.

'Are you new as well?'

[harryhotspur]

[ooc: i was so torn about which version would be funnier, but let's do the regular one...]

Harry clomps downstairs, feeling marginally better-- the fever abated enough that he's still definitely himself, just-- a sniffly, wheezy version of himself. Which has him in a splendid mood, as one may imagine. Seeing Jim, he cuts a pointedly wide berth-- which of course, can only take him as far away as the bar is long-- and once he gets there, and notes that Jim isn't looking much better than himself, he cannot resist: "What! Thou art not too clever to catch a cold?"

[just_cant_lose]

'Uh-'

Okay, that's...something. Gethin wipes his nose on a handkerchief, and stuffs it back in his pocket.

'Sorry, what?'

[harryhotspur]

Harry does not seem deterred by this reaction. "Why, thou! Who vaunteth his great wit up and down-- is it not too common, to be seen so? Hast thou not some trick, to rid thee of such an ordinary malady?"

[just_cant_lose]

Gethin blinks. And then again. And then again.

'Have we met?'

He sounds confused, but not cowed. He's a nice guy, but he's not a pushover.

[have_no_mercy]

"You're looking unusually lost."

Tess observes from a nearby chair.

[just_cant_lose]

'Happens more often than you might think.'

It's automatically self-deprecating, as he dabs his nose with a handkerchief and shoves it back in his pocket. He says it without really thinking about it too, and has to circle back 'round.

''Unusually'? Compared to what?'

[have_no_mercy]

"Knowing exactly where you are."

This isn't hard, Jim.

[mightbeagoodone]

Despite his insistence, Rory has been wandering around the grounds, though he's been more occupied with skipping stones on the lake than seeking anyone out.

When he re-enters the bar, he pauses at the sight of the man who said his name was Jim. Since he's the only person Rory knows here, it would be rude not to say hello, wouldn't it? No matter how strangely Jim behaved...

So he approaches, cautiously. "Jim, I wanted to apologize for my behavior the other day. I'm sorry I was rude. It was uncalled-for."

[just_cant_lose]

Gethin has had a day full of people calling him Jim, and someone claiming he's their husband. If one more person calls him...well no, he doesn't know, but he's a bit rattled by the whole thing, to be honest.

'I'm not him. I'm not him.'

There's a snap of annoyance in his tone, but he sucks it back in straight away and smiles tiredly in the direction of...

'You?'

Wait, what the fuck?

[mightbeagoodone]

...ooookay.

"Rory? Rory Slippery? We met the other night -- or I met a bloke who looks like you and said his name was Jim and we were boyfriend and boyfriend, which is fine, except I'd never met him before and I've never had a boyfriend."

[i_am_your_host]

Emcee has managed to avoid the virus thus far by keeping mostly to himself upstairs, but magical viruses do have a way of getting around. So it's with some slight sniffles that he comes downstairs to fetch a thermos of tea to bring back to his room.

He's wearing his usual plain white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, black trousers, suspenders. A touch of kohl rims his eyes, accentuating the curl of his lashes. He would feel entirely naked without it.

Then he sees Jim. He stops short for a moment, because their paths must cross if Emcee is going to go back upstairs. And now he realizes that he's stared too long, panic and hesitation on his face as he clutches the thermos in both hands.

Right. He ducks his head and tries to hurry past Jim.

[just_cant_lose]

That..is not an expression Gethin is used to seeing levelled at him. He blinks, and opens his mouth to say something reassuring - though what do you say to someone looking at you like that? - so nothing comes out, and he just dithers instead.

And the man (who looks very familiar) moves, and Gethin shifts to accommodate him.

'Sorry, am I in your way?'

His accent is soft, and Welsh, and holds nothing Emcee will have heard from Jim before.

[i_am_your_host]

The moment Jim speaks, Emcee stops short again, as he tries to discern if he's mocking him, goading him into a reaction. Though the accent is different (he's heard different accents from Jim before) and there seems to be no malice in his tone (Jim is a good actor), Emcee still regards him with wide-eyed suspicion.

"Not at all," he says, his voice clipped, on edge.

And then he realizes that this could be just one of those fabled doppelgangers that he's heard come through the door sometimes. (The strange flu that switches one's personality hasn't registered with him.)

"Not at all," he then repeats, a bit softer and more apologetic, though his body language indicates that he still might bolt. "Do forgive me. You look like someone I--" (have been avoiding) "--know."