Think before you blink and you might just make it

Yeah, well, that was another swimmin' edition of 'Too Close to the Bone'. I hope you got your psychiatric meat out of that cause otherwise it woulda been traumatisin' fer no good reason. And we all gotta scrabble fer that, else, we're never gonna get out of 'ere.

Charmin'.

[Spam for the Pub.]

[So he'd graduated. He'd walked into his bathroom and found a bath. He'd stared at it and sighed. Bloody thing was dirty.

It was a couple of hours of not deciding where to go (even though the answer was creeping at the back of his mind, he knew where) before he got himself up and headed up to the pub.

All by myself, he childishly mimicked in his head.

He was going to get plastered and go.]

[Public, last thing after the pub]

Right, I'm off.

[Slater is in no condition to go to work or do anything much at all. Returning to himself, he was left with a vague feeling of Del Boy's feelings and as odd as that would be in of itself, what Del had been feeling made him feel even worse.

It was only when he realised that his bottle had been empty that he pulled himself together enough to reach for his communicator.]

[Private to Hannibal]

That was your sister, right? Didn't make it, did she.

[Private to George]

Seeing as you're up. Get me a bottle of Paddy's whiskey. Actually, you know? Make it two.

No questions.

[A tubby, smiling (if a little nervously) man with a big coat appears on screen. It's askew, because Del Boy and technology are not a good mix. It's frankly a wonder it's not smoking or something. He shrugs his coat into proper position.] All right? [His voice is too loud for it, and he shifts.

Then a smirk.] Here, anybody know 'Roy Slater'? Grumpy old sod... [He spots a picture off to the side.] Looks like this?

[Sigh] Go on then.

[Slater looks like he's tired.] My door won't open. It's locked, I've tried everything. [He puts the communicator down nearby, cutting off the top of his head, and makes a few more attempts to open it. He ends up sliding back down the floor, facing the camera.] Could use a hand. Or food.

[Muttered out of shot.] A pirate. Bleedin' hell, Admiral, trading was bad enough. Bloody Dell Boy haunting me and I'm the one who's supposed to be dead!

[Brilliant, bloody brilliant! Slater had kept a low profile, he's good at that even at this age. Except right now his low profile doesn't allow for food, so eventually he hazards a head outside his door and makes his way out. His elder self had the foresight (or paranoia) to leave something of a map which not only included rooms of people he should avoid and the best way to get to important areas. Including the kitchen. So at least when he emerged, he'd a good bead on where he was heading.] [OOC: Feel free to intercept him between levels five and one or in the dining area, I would have posted yesterday, only John Sullivan passed (he was sixty four).]

I'm Roy Slater, Randal Graves inmate. [The flood effects wears off and he has the classic 'oh, shit!' face. Then a glare.] Bloody Admiral and 'is bloody floods.