[[CW: Mentions of suicidal tendencies]] Arrival When he comes to, his first thought is a numb, almost relieved one: Huh. It finally happened. Off and on bouts of testing your luck at Russian Roulette will do that, after all; enough tries and a long enough winning (losing?) streak and waking up on the other side of it all is bound to be a surprise.
The ferry, and Charon (the name his brain supplies, as if that's correct or helpful to him in the moment), deposits him on a brilliant stretch of sand, where he just...sits.
He's wearing a pair of old, comfortable joggers, a sweatshirt he's had for about ten years now, and his bare toes dig into the warm sand as he looks out over the beach. The back of his mind throws up images of Tom Hanks and his faithful volleyball, and he spends a moment wracking his mind trying to come up with the name of that, too. He barely notices movement from the trees. Instead, his eyes are drawn to the weird little band around his wrist, the colors swirling in it lost on him in their meaning. But it's pretty. He generally doesn't wear pretty things.
Settlement The jungle is weird. He would like to think that he'd be pretty ok as a survivalist, he's seen movies and shows and youtube videos, he's been a cop for more than half of his lifetime by now, but then dinosaurs are thrown into the mix. That's something he knows he's not prepared for. And he's not about to go marching into the trees to confront something small and toothy just for the opportunity to meet something big and toothy. So he tucks himself into the foliage and makes his way around it all, being terribly careful about where he's putting his bare feet in case something bites him or stings him or stabs through the sole.
Finding signs of civilization bring both dread and relief in equal measure. He'd heard the commotion surrounding what sounded like a hunting party going up against a much larger dinosaur (and ain't that a hell of a thought?) and steered far clear of it until he'd come up against a wall that looked so much like those ramshackle construction projects he could recall from numerous pieces of zombie apocalypse media.
The thought is interrupted when he feels the press of a tripwire against his shin, and he simply frowns at it. But he doesn't have time to dwell on it all before he's met by someone that looks...well, not quite the way he expects a "survivor" to look.
But this is the afterlife, right? What's he actually supposed to expect from the end of the road?
Hank Anderson | Detroit: Become Human | OTA
Arrival
When he comes to, his first thought is a numb, almost relieved one: Huh. It finally happened. Off and on bouts of testing your luck at Russian Roulette will do that, after all; enough tries and a long enough winning (losing?) streak and waking up on the other side of it all is bound to be a surprise.
The ferry, and Charon (the name his brain supplies, as if that's correct or helpful to him in the moment), deposits him on a brilliant stretch of sand, where he just...sits.
He's wearing a pair of old, comfortable joggers, a sweatshirt he's had for about ten years now, and his bare toes dig into the warm sand as he looks out over the beach. The back of his mind throws up images of Tom Hanks and his faithful volleyball, and he spends a moment wracking his mind trying to come up with the name of that, too. He barely notices movement from the trees. Instead, his eyes are drawn to the weird little band around his wrist, the colors swirling in it lost on him in their meaning. But it's pretty. He generally doesn't wear pretty things.
Settlement
The jungle is weird. He would like to think that he'd be pretty ok as a survivalist, he's seen movies and shows and youtube videos, he's been a cop for more than half of his lifetime by now, but then dinosaurs are thrown into the mix. That's something he knows he's not prepared for. And he's not about to go marching into the trees to confront something small and toothy just for the opportunity to meet something big and toothy. So he tucks himself into the foliage and makes his way around it all, being terribly careful about where he's putting his bare feet in case something bites him or stings him or stabs through the sole.
Finding signs of civilization bring both dread and relief in equal measure. He'd heard the commotion surrounding what sounded like a hunting party going up against a much larger dinosaur (and ain't that a hell of a thought?) and steered far clear of it until he'd come up against a wall that looked so much like those ramshackle construction projects he could recall from numerous pieces of zombie apocalypse media.
The thought is interrupted when he feels the press of a tripwire against his shin, and he simply frowns at it. But he doesn't have time to dwell on it all before he's met by someone that looks...well, not quite the way he expects a "survivor" to look.
But this is the afterlife, right? What's he actually supposed to expect from the end of the road?