A SANDING OVATION [There's the loud crack of a gunshot, and then nothing at all. Emptiness and blankness and nothingness are as impossible to truly describe as they are to truly experience. After all, if you were conscious to experience anything at all, then by definition you can't be experiencing nothingness, can you?
Nacho's experience of nothingness comes as abrupt and sudden an end as it began with. The first thing he experiences isn't light or sound but the gritty texture and bland, dry taste of sand filling up the inside of his mouth. If someone had told him this was one of the nine circles of Hell, he would have believed them. Then the rest of it comes only milliseconds later: the rustling sound of being buried up to at least his ears and eyes in constantly shifting little sand pebbles, the blurry gray emptiness of having your vision clouded that is nothing whatsoever like real emptiness...
Nacho doesn't remember if he's eventually pulled out or if he's able to free himself from his sand prison, but he does remember he's coughing when he finally feels the warm, dry air of the desert against his skin. At least it's not more sand. Fuck.
He takes the pendant without comment and he listens to the explanation he's given without really processing it. He's usually pretty on the ball with that stuff, but thinking you're supposed to be dead has a way of fucking with your head and making everything around you sound like background noise. It's not until he's left alone with another newcomer, someone who seems just a tiny bit more keyed in to what's happening than he does, that he seems to shake himself out of his confused stupor. He turns to them. He sounds like somebody who has just woken up from a long nap.]
You get that?
ONE SAND WASHES THE OTHER [When they meet up with the rest of the otherworlders there's food and water and cooling suits. But when Nacho is offered something, he hesitates, then doesn't take it. At least not yet. Is it out of some misplaced suspiciousness? Maybe surprisingly, probably not, if the way he looks around at the more vulnerable members of the party, the ones who ride in the snail-chariots, is anything to go by.]
Have they all got—?
[He cuts himself off on purpose, letting his faint but clearly concerned expression speak for him. He doesn't want to take anything for himself yet until he knows the people least able to provide for themselves have been taken care of first.]
COULD DIE LAUGHING [Nacho is running from something. He doesn't know what. He doesn't want to know what. It begs for help and calls out for "Ignacio" in a raspy, inhuman voice that jars him from how strange and wrong it sounds.
It's lucky for Nacho that he's a fast runner! It's unlucky for him that you're in the way. He does manage not to crash directly into you, just barely. If you're eating, he'll try to grab for it and flinging it all out behind him.]
WILDCARD [Don't like any of these options? Feel free to pick something else!]
(ooc; I am sorry! I'm very, very late. But hopefully not too late? Also, I don't mind switching to prose for people who prefer it.)
Nacho Varga | Better Call Saul | Tourist | BCS spoilers
[There's the loud crack of a gunshot, and then nothing at all. Emptiness and blankness and nothingness are as impossible to truly describe as they are to truly experience. After all, if you were conscious to experience anything at all, then by definition you can't be experiencing nothingness, can you?
Nacho's experience of nothingness comes as abrupt and sudden an end as it began with. The first thing he experiences isn't light or sound but the gritty texture and bland, dry taste of sand filling up the inside of his mouth. If someone had told him this was one of the nine circles of Hell, he would have believed them. Then the rest of it comes only milliseconds later: the rustling sound of being buried up to at least his ears and eyes in constantly shifting little sand pebbles, the blurry gray emptiness of having your vision clouded that is nothing whatsoever like real emptiness...
Nacho doesn't remember if he's eventually pulled out or if he's able to free himself from his sand prison, but he does remember he's coughing when he finally feels the warm, dry air of the desert against his skin. At least it's not more sand. Fuck.
He takes the pendant without comment and he listens to the explanation he's given without really processing it. He's usually pretty on the ball with that stuff, but thinking you're supposed to be dead has a way of fucking with your head and making everything around you sound like background noise. It's not until he's left alone with another newcomer, someone who seems just a tiny bit more keyed in to what's happening than he does, that he seems to shake himself out of his confused stupor. He turns to them. He sounds like somebody who has just woken up from a long nap.]
You get that?
ONE SAND WASHES THE OTHER
[When they meet up with the rest of the otherworlders there's food and water and cooling suits. But when Nacho is offered something, he hesitates, then doesn't take it. At least not yet. Is it out of some misplaced suspiciousness? Maybe surprisingly, probably not, if the way he looks around at the more vulnerable members of the party, the ones who ride in the snail-chariots, is anything to go by.]
Have they all got—?
[He cuts himself off on purpose, letting his faint but clearly concerned expression speak for him. He doesn't want to take anything for himself yet until he knows the people least able to provide for themselves have been taken care of first.]
COULD DIE LAUGHING
[Nacho is running from something. He doesn't know what. He doesn't want to know what. It begs for help and calls out for "Ignacio" in a raspy, inhuman voice that jars him from how strange and wrong it sounds.
It's lucky for Nacho that he's a fast runner! It's unlucky for him that you're in the way. He does manage not to crash directly into you, just barely. If you're eating, he'll try to grab for it and flinging it all out behind him.]
WILDCARD
[Don't like any of these options? Feel free to pick something else!]
(ooc; I am sorry! I'm very, very late. But hopefully not too late? Also, I don't mind switching to prose for people who prefer it.)