captainryan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
captainryan) wrote2007-11-04 05:57 am
captainryan) wrote2007-11-04 05:57 am
Entry tags:
Final Day
He's insubstantial by the time they come to pick him up. He always is and apparently there's no way to stretch out that 3-day limit on being solid. It puts him in a grumpy mood that he can't grab anything unless he concentrates, though there's little to be done for it.
The Ghostbusters are running late, probably some early morning spectre making trouble. Eventually, the white vehicle pulls up the country lane faster than usual, even with Winston at the wheel. Ryan passes through the door on the passenger side before settling on the seat.
"Morning," he says distractedly, already concentrating on staying solid enough to not slip through the leather.
The Ghostbusters are running late, probably some early morning spectre making trouble. Eventually, the white vehicle pulls up the country lane faster than usual, even with Winston at the wheel. Ryan passes through the door on the passenger side before settling on the seat.
"Morning," he says distractedly, already concentrating on staying solid enough to not slip through the leather.
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It's just Ray and Ryan in the car t his time, mostly for safety's sake. After all, someone's got to make sure Egon gets the chickenbane down his throat okay. Not to mention that Ray drives like the less talented of the two Blues Brothers. At least it's mostly a straight run down Broadway.
The observant might note that although they are a full avenue block to the west, the route runs past both the towers of the World Trade Center.
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Besides that, he died before 9/11 and has only heard about it once. Even for something as huge as that, not living through it makes it just a story, and not one that comes to mind as they pass in favour of focusing on roast beef.
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The hearse is really going much too fast for roads this narrow and crowded, but the locals are sort of used to it by now. The blaring siren and the flashing blue lights are a dead giveaway, anyway, and so cars are shuttling madly to the side of the road. Those that aren't, well, Ray manages to navigate around them anyway.
"There we go," he says, pointing with one hand as he pulls around a curve in the road at last. "Battery Park. And on the other side of it, right at the very tip of Manhattan? The ferry terminal, and the door."
The car jolts to a halt and Ray silences the noise and lights. "ready?"
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Home.
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Pause.
"EVERYBODY MOVE."
He's no Andre the Giant, but it has roughly the same effect as it did in The Princess Bride.
"Okay! Come on, Ryan! This way!" And he runs for the door into the ferry terminal, and from the terminal out to-
Well.
That's not the Hudson River on the other side any more.
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But it's forgotten when he sees what's through the Door. There's a rush of scents that he hasn't smelled for months. Home.
But he doesn't head through just yet. "Thank you, Ray. All of you." For taking him in. For putting up with him. For getting him home.
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Ray smiles. "You're welcome," he says. "It was great having you here. I'll tell everybody you said goodbye, okay?"
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He's not really interested in returning to Milliways coated in slime. But then, he's never interested in being coated in slime.
"I'll look for you if you're ever barside," he promises, shaking the man's hand (so very hard to limit it to just that with the moon) and steps through the Door (http://community.livejournal.com/milliways_bar/18327085.html).