05-18-2015, 10:58 PM
At the sound of his real name, Mickey sprung back to life. What? he panicked, How do you know my name? The mouse had entered under an alias—he’d even seen it flashed up on all the screens—so how did this guy have any idea what he was actually called? Whatever, he would just play dumb. That would work, right?
“Um,” Mickey hiccupped, still a little drunk though sobered up a bit after his slight panic attack, “That’s not my name. I don’t know who Mickey is, but my name’s Ears.”
The doctor blinked a couple of times, and Mickey eyed him carefully, hoping he would believe him. Trying to play it off as casually as possible, the mouse stuck a gloved hand into the air between him, and put on a smile. The man looked at it carefully.
After a second more of contemplation, he reached out and shook it.
“And yeah, yeah, I’m…” he paused for a minute, trying to think of the right word to answer the original question the man had posed. Was he okay? Not really, obviously, but did he really want to get into it right now? And with a guy who he had never met?
He decided, in the end, to lie.
“I’m fine,” he nodded, using the stair-rail to pull himself up. “Thanks for asking, though, pal,” the mouse smiled, reaching up and patting the doc on the arm.
And with that, the Doctor hurried off to do something else, and Mickey leaned against the wall, trying his best to pull himself together. He straightened his clothes out and wiped the tears away from his eyes. Truly, he let himself get too worked up about these things; although, admittedly, that had probably mostly been the alcohol talking. He would never drink again, mark his words. He hated crying more than anything, and three glasses of wine had put him on the floor in a puddle of his own tears. He could not think of anything more pathetic.
Ugh, he sighed—he’d become certain this gosh-awful competition would ruin him. It lured him in with a great meal at Olive Garden and then quickly trounced upon that by waving Minnie in front of his face for a good half-hour. But he resolved not to let it get the better of him. Somehow, someway—
BOOM!
The mouse’s head turned quickly toward the disturbance. The big noise had come from the lobby, and Mickey decided that he needed to go check it out; even if he was too late to do anything about it, he certainly needed to know what had gone on. Besides, between crying his eyes out, almost having his identity discovered, and his ears being assaulted by that loud noise, he had pretty much sobered up, so what else did he have to do but investigate?
He hurried down the stairs, heading past an abnormally popular pool table and the Olive Garden that he had eaten that first (very good) meal at, and back to the entrance, making his way into the lobby to see what exactly all the fuss was about.
“Um,” Mickey hiccupped, still a little drunk though sobered up a bit after his slight panic attack, “That’s not my name. I don’t know who Mickey is, but my name’s Ears.”
The doctor blinked a couple of times, and Mickey eyed him carefully, hoping he would believe him. Trying to play it off as casually as possible, the mouse stuck a gloved hand into the air between him, and put on a smile. The man looked at it carefully.
After a second more of contemplation, he reached out and shook it.
“And yeah, yeah, I’m…” he paused for a minute, trying to think of the right word to answer the original question the man had posed. Was he okay? Not really, obviously, but did he really want to get into it right now? And with a guy who he had never met?
He decided, in the end, to lie.
“I’m fine,” he nodded, using the stair-rail to pull himself up. “Thanks for asking, though, pal,” the mouse smiled, reaching up and patting the doc on the arm.
And with that, the Doctor hurried off to do something else, and Mickey leaned against the wall, trying his best to pull himself together. He straightened his clothes out and wiped the tears away from his eyes. Truly, he let himself get too worked up about these things; although, admittedly, that had probably mostly been the alcohol talking. He would never drink again, mark his words. He hated crying more than anything, and three glasses of wine had put him on the floor in a puddle of his own tears. He could not think of anything more pathetic.
Ugh, he sighed—he’d become certain this gosh-awful competition would ruin him. It lured him in with a great meal at Olive Garden and then quickly trounced upon that by waving Minnie in front of his face for a good half-hour. But he resolved not to let it get the better of him. Somehow, someway—
BOOM!
The mouse’s head turned quickly toward the disturbance. The big noise had come from the lobby, and Mickey decided that he needed to go check it out; even if he was too late to do anything about it, he certainly needed to know what had gone on. Besides, between crying his eyes out, almost having his identity discovered, and his ears being assaulted by that loud noise, he had pretty much sobered up, so what else did he have to do but investigate?
He hurried down the stairs, heading past an abnormally popular pool table and the Olive Garden that he had eaten that first (very good) meal at, and back to the entrance, making his way into the lobby to see what exactly all the fuss was about.
![[Image: 2agonyw.png]](http://i68.tinypic.com/2agonyw.png)