[DRINKING SOLVES EVERYTHING ... HAY THAT SOUNDS LIKE A TAG OR SOMETHING XD] (original) (raw)

WHO: Tycho Celchu, [OPEN]
WHERE: the baaaaaaaaar
WHAT: holy shit, I died. D:

When Tycho had accepted Sam's offer to show him his body, he was sure it was going to be some kind of hoax. What he was not expecting was to see himself stretched out cold and dead there on the slab at the morgue. Yes, there were the injuries he had sustained in the explosion, but Tycho knew his own body like he .... well, knew his own body, and this corpse inarguably belong to him.

Tycho sank into a chair in shock as he tried to understand the ramifications of this. He had been here before. He had been here long enough to get a nasty looking wound on his stomach, and for it to heal over into the shiny pink look of a relatively new scar. A month then at least, possibly more. And he had absolutely no recolection of it. If Vader had been here during that time as well, then that meant he had not killed Vader, and Vader had not killed him. What that meant was something Tycho refused to think about right now.

When he'd expressed the need for a stiff drink, Sam had directed him to the nearest bar with a sympathetic look on her face, and a promise that if he needed anything else, she would do what she could to help. Now here Tycho was, sitting at the bar, staring into a glass of whiskey, and trying very hard not to think. Anyone want to distract him/ traumatize him further?