[ Well, this is about as cooked as his goose is going to get.
No two ways about it, Eddie is fucked. Spit-roasted, to be metaphorical about it. Stranded and locked in a jail cell like a common criminal, if literality is more your jam. It's not Eddie's. Ever since he woke up naked and half-drowning he's been spiralling further and further away from the literal, and he'd rather not come back any time soon. Call it a defence mechanism, call it refusal to accept the truth, but being dragged out of his own world and into another at the heels of a dying gunslinger is a once-in-a-lifetime sort of thing, or so he'd thought. He really didn't think he'd have to get used to it.
It's not exactly the same, though. First of all, he's clear-headed this time, not bipping and bopping through withdrawal. He's never been so grateful to be sober as a judge, even if there's a funny little voice at the back of his head wondering if he's tripping. Second of all, and most alarmingly, he's alone. No Roland, no Susannah, no Jake, nobody halfway close to familiar. Just a cell stocked with people he doesn't fucking know. ]
a) [ Eddie spends an awful long time sulking in the corner like a kid in a dunce cap at one of those old-timey schools. Maybe he should try to make one out of dirt and dust or something just to complete the look, with this scratchy burlap sack of a tunic and pants that don't sit right on his slim hips. And fucking sandals, as if this is some kind of vacation. He certainly feels like a dunce, but he's not resistant to conversation, not really. If he makes eye contact, he lifts his chin in something of a greeting. ] What're you in for, then? Or do you not know either?
b) [ Roland would have something curt and judgemental to say about the sulking, he knows, and as soon as Eddie has that thought, he whips off one of his pathetic little sandals and propels himself up, stalking over to the bars and thumping furiously at them with the sandal. It's not much of a sound, but it's better than nothing, and Eddie can shout loud enough to really make a scene. ] Hey! Fuckin' hey! You bunch of goddamn scuzzballs, this is inhumane! You ain't even told me my goddamn charges! [ And then, because of course, still thumping on the bars, Eddie starts to really yell. ] Attica! Attica! Attica!
2 — recreation
[ Eddie's a do-er by nature, not content to let things just sit and pass him by, but he's starting to think that a paltry hour of outdoor activity is just doing him more harm than good, making him crave what is being cruelly held from him, doled out in tiny packages.
Still, he'll use the opportunity. Neck craned, eyes narrowed, Eddie scans the yard for any sign of Susannah, who he hopes to God isn't here but wishes fervently that she is, or Jake, for whom Eddie just wants peace and quiet, or Roland, who – well. It'd be a relief to see him.
As he's looking, he folds his arms and tips his head to one side, to talk to whoever's nearby. ] So, you know which prison gang you're gonna join yet? Sharks or Jets?
3 — visits
[ Back in the cell again, Eddie's pacing this time, irritated and wound up by the brief, intangible taste of outdoors now that he's back inside again. He turns a sour face to the bars when he hears feet passing by, expecting to see another fucking guard, but it's not a guard this time, he can see that by the way they're dressed. Moving curiously closer, Eddie wraps a casual hand around a bar and presses his forehead against them, gaze alert. ] If you're down here hoping to see Central Park Zoo, you're in for a whole world of disappointment, my friend.
4 — wildcard
[ hit me up! i'm crowders if you wanna hash something out, otherwise just go crazy. for canon familiar pals, i'm pulling eddie from the start of wizard and glass. ]
eddie dean | the dark tower | sun arcana
[ Well, this is about as cooked as his goose is going to get.
No two ways about it, Eddie is fucked. Spit-roasted, to be metaphorical about it. Stranded and locked in a jail cell like a common criminal, if literality is more your jam. It's not Eddie's. Ever since he woke up naked and half-drowning he's been spiralling further and further away from the literal, and he'd rather not come back any time soon. Call it a defence mechanism, call it refusal to accept the truth, but being dragged out of his own world and into another at the heels of a dying gunslinger is a once-in-a-lifetime sort of thing, or so he'd thought. He really didn't think he'd have to get used to it.
It's not exactly the same, though. First of all, he's clear-headed this time, not bipping and bopping through withdrawal. He's never been so grateful to be sober as a judge, even if there's a funny little voice at the back of his head wondering if he's tripping. Second of all, and most alarmingly, he's alone. No Roland, no Susannah, no Jake, nobody halfway close to familiar. Just a cell stocked with people he doesn't fucking know. ]
a) [ Eddie spends an awful long time sulking in the corner like a kid in a dunce cap at one of those old-timey schools. Maybe he should try to make one out of dirt and dust or something just to complete the look, with this scratchy burlap sack of a tunic and pants that don't sit right on his slim hips. And fucking sandals, as if this is some kind of vacation. He certainly feels like a dunce, but he's not resistant to conversation, not really. If he makes eye contact, he lifts his chin in something of a greeting. ] What're you in for, then? Or do you not know either?
b) [ Roland would have something curt and judgemental to say about the sulking, he knows, and as soon as Eddie has that thought, he whips off one of his pathetic little sandals and propels himself up, stalking over to the bars and thumping furiously at them with the sandal. It's not much of a sound, but it's better than nothing, and Eddie can shout loud enough to really make a scene. ] Hey! Fuckin' hey! You bunch of goddamn scuzzballs, this is inhumane! You ain't even told me my goddamn charges! [ And then, because of course, still thumping on the bars, Eddie starts to really yell. ] Attica! Attica! Attica!
2 — recreation
[ Eddie's a do-er by nature, not content to let things just sit and pass him by, but he's starting to think that a paltry hour of outdoor activity is just doing him more harm than good, making him crave what is being cruelly held from him, doled out in tiny packages.
Still, he'll use the opportunity. Neck craned, eyes narrowed, Eddie scans the yard for any sign of Susannah, who he hopes to God isn't here but wishes fervently that she is, or Jake, for whom Eddie just wants peace and quiet, or Roland, who – well. It'd be a relief to see him.
As he's looking, he folds his arms and tips his head to one side, to talk to whoever's nearby. ] So, you know which prison gang you're gonna join yet? Sharks or Jets?
3 — visits
[ Back in the cell again, Eddie's pacing this time, irritated and wound up by the brief, intangible taste of outdoors now that he's back inside again. He turns a sour face to the bars when he hears feet passing by, expecting to see another fucking guard, but it's not a guard this time, he can see that by the way they're dressed. Moving curiously closer, Eddie wraps a casual hand around a bar and presses his forehead against them, gaze alert. ] If you're down here hoping to see Central Park Zoo, you're in for a whole world of disappointment, my friend.
4 — wildcard
[ hit me up! i'm