1-09 Stranger in a Strange Dimension

"Am... Am I dead?" groaned Biin. His eyes were still sealed shut. "I feel dead." He smacked his lips several times. "Uhg. Maybe that was just the copious amounts of alcohol and raucous amounts of swinging tunes".
There was no answer. It was silent. Too silent.
Biin grimaced and strained to open at least one of his eyelids. He failed for a long time. But his ears were working, and he wasn't liking what he wasn't hearing. He wasn't hearing anything. Not the buzz of people working and talking and doing dramatic things. Not the squawk of toucans. Not the pathetic melancholic sighs of the head guard. Nothing.
The bloodshot eye revealed its delicate innards. The bloodshot eye, along with the rest of Biin, immediately regretted it in more ways than one. He let out a groan.
"Author? What are you doing to me now? This makes my head hurt waaaaay more than normal, you know?"
The writer decided to not replay. Instead he saved his writing progress and updated his word count.
Biin groaned. "When I'm rich and famous one day, remind me to fire you, okay?"
The Author shrugged and kept writing.
Biin decided to keep his eyes closed and try something different. He gingerly hoisted himself up on his elbow and swayed a little. "Whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa. Dude. So-o-o-o-o dizzy. What...matter of malady is this? For truly, I am dead, for what heights doth I climb to reach beyond rainbows thusly?"
He swung his legs down and raised his body up. Once he stopped swaying—
"MMmmmmMMmmm... mmm..."
Once he stopped swa—
"Mmmm..."
—swaying. He—
"AAarrrgh! Whaaaaaa-aaaah!!!"
Are you quite through?
"I hate you so."
Ahem. Once he stopped swaying, he finally, carefully, slowly opened his eyes.
"No."
But—
"I said 'no'. I'm on strike now."
Biin?
"'No' means 'no'."
But, Biin. Come on, man. We can't continue on without you.
"I know. All the power is mine. Mine! Whoa..." He swooned again in the not fun way.
Alright. What are your demands?
"Well, for one you can make my head stop spinning."
It will help if you open your eyes.
"Wait. Really?"
Yes. That's what I've been trying to do. I am on your side, you know.
"Doesn't seem like it," Biin grumbled numbly.
I promise. You'll feel better once you do. You just need to adjust.
"Adjust to wha—" He eyes opened and he swooned again. "WHOA! Great globs of Donii's own signature cheesecake batter! What. The. Hell. Is. THIS???"
What?
"This!" Biin gestured all around him. There really wasn't much. It was a plain room. He was sitting with his legs dangling off of the table-like structure he was on. The room was lit, but the lights were low. It was pretty featureless.
What about it?
"It's all..." He kept gesturing around him in spasmodic jerks like a quail had taken up ballet lessons on the deck of the Titanic during hurricane and iceberg season. "...huge! Spacious! Roomy! Um... I can wiggle my toes!!!"
And to demonstrate this, Biin promptly threw off his shoes and waved them in the Author's face. The Author was not pleased with this.
"Ha!" Biin laughed and pointed his fingers into the same face space. "How do you like me now!"
The Author grumbled, saved his progress, and updated his word count once again. His frown could bring down a house.
"So..." He looked around and got very involved in swinging his feet back and forth. "...is this what the Hereafter looks like? I expected more clouds, methinks. And rainbows. I was promised rainbows."
He grinned happily and kept swinging his feet, but didn't get an answer.
Biin gasped. "Or is this a bad place? Like the Void or whatever those Doniists called it?" He kept looking around dopey.
"Yep. Getting bored now." His fingers began to fidget and he played with them. "Any time now. Any time." He spoke as if someone was hiding around one of the corners. He even tried to peer around what he thought was a corner, but was really just a trick of the light.
...
"Do you perchance have a tool I could repair?"
More silence.
"A small one?"
Nothing.
"What, now are you on strike?"
He puffed out his cheeks and looked around a bit. Biin got up and moved around the room. It wasn't terribly big, and it was indeed quite boring.
"Alright! Alright. I'm sorry. Sheesh!" He rolled his eyes. "Writers. Am I right? So sensitive. Moody artsy types."
The Author couldn't give him answers. The Author didn't have them. That was for another character—or perhaps four other characters—to disclose.