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[workbackwards]

[There's nothing interesting going on here in this rather plain bedroom. Not too many posters, but there are labels on everything that describe actions like turn off the light, make the bed, turn off alarm. In addition to those labels, there's a young man whose alarm clock is blaring at the top of its mechanical lungs until he rolls over and slaps it into silence. He slowly drags himself out of bed, shirtless with a long scar running down from the nape of his neck across his shoulder and down his arm, and shuffles to the closest window, pushing the curtain aside to place his hand against the glass. He stands there for a moment as a confused frown forms on his face, only to shove the drapes back and come face to face with... space. The final frontier.

It's not what Chris Pratt expected. It's supposed to be Kansas City out there.

He hurries back to bed, knocking off knickknacks off his nighttable until he comes across a small notebook with a red cover. Chris flips through it once, twice, three, and then a fourth time, looking for something that isn't there. And in a fit of something that's a mixture of panic, fear, and frustration, he throws the notepad across the room and begins stomping towards the door.]

Where the fuck am I? Lewis? Lewis!

Comments

[workbackwards]

...I don't know. Gary just said he looks like Larry Flint. Have you seen him?

[notafuckingnut]

Who, Gary?

[workbackwards]

No, Lewis.

[Chris really doesn't want to see Gary right now.]

[notafuckingnut]

I asked you who Lewis was. I wouldn't fucking ask you if I already knew who he was.

He's probably not here anyway.

[workbackwards]

[Y so meen, Gecko? :( You're confusing him.]

That's all you had to say.

[Dick.]

[notafuckingnut]

[Because he's a jerk? Sorry. :/ ]

Yeah, well. I would've gotten there sooner if you were more clear about shit.

[workbackwards]

I can't help it.

[notafuckingnut]

Just add a name. It's not hard.

[workbackwards]

I told you his name was Lewis.

[notafuckingnut]

No, I mean before. I know his name's Lewis.

[Richie. Just stop. Stop while you haven't fallen too far behind yet.]

[workbackwards]

Before what?

[Chris has fallen, rolled, and bumped his head long behind this conversation.]

[notafuckingnut]

When you said he looked like Larry Flint?

[TRY TO KEEP UP.]

[workbackwards]

That's what Gary said.

[Circles. They are very nice, don't you think?]

[notafuckingnut]

No, I KNOW. I was there. I fucking heard you, okay?

[workbackwards]

What's your problem?

[notafuckingnut]

What's your problem?

[...because this always helps.]

[workbackwards]

[Chris is quiet for a moment, wondering if he should be a smartass or tell the truth. Actually, the truth might just work to his advantage here. See, Gary. He's learning.]

Car accident.

[notafuckingnut]

[Yeah, that pretty much derails things. There's a moment where Richie looks like he still wants to punch him or stab him or SOMETHING, but then he deflates. Good going, Chris.]

That why you're here?

[workbackwards]

[A winner/loser is Chris.]

I don't know. Nobody's told me anything.

[notafuckingnut]

Is that what happened before you got here?

[workbackwards]

No, it happened a while ago.

[But what happened right before he got here? Hmm...]

[notafuckingnut]

So how'd you die then?

[Richie. Your interest is not at all comforting.]

[workbackwards]

[Richie is clearly the most sensitive guy on the Barge.]

I... don't know. I don't feel dead.

[It's all fuzzy to him. He needs time to think about it.]

[notafuckingnut]

[SO SENSITIVE. Just watch him poke at your Issues with care, Chris.]

Of course you don't. You're living dead here.

[workbackwards]

That doesn't make sense. What are you supposed to be dead from then?