[Everything stopped as suddenly as it began, mercifully with less fanfare. Dying, Westley can't say he recommends it.]
[Cracking an eye, his gaze flitters about and finds nothing like a dungeon torture chamber. In point of fact, that's the only thing he can conclude about his surroundings, everything too odd to put in any sort of mental order. It would seem he's no longer anywhere familiar at all. Marooned, as it were.]
[In the middle of determining how relieved to be about the less-than-anticipated damage to his person when he spots another, or so he hopes, the form far enough off to be a blur.]
[Right, then. Ahoy, avast, and all those pirate sorts of things. Westley fiddles with his torn black shirt -- he might indeed be dead, but he needn't look it -- before making for the dim figure that he dearly hopes is a helpful sort. With little to offer but questions, he's off.]
Westley | The Princess Bride | canon point: mostly dead
[Cracking an eye, his gaze flitters about and finds nothing like a dungeon torture chamber. In point of fact, that's the only thing he can conclude about his surroundings, everything too odd to put in any sort of mental order. It would seem he's no longer anywhere familiar at all. Marooned, as it were.]
[In the middle of determining how relieved to be about the less-than-anticipated damage to his person when he spots another, or so he hopes, the form far enough off to be a blur.]
[Right, then. Ahoy, avast, and all those pirate sorts of things. Westley fiddles with his torn black shirt -- he might indeed be dead, but he needn't look it -- before making for the dim figure that he dearly hopes is a helpful sort. With little to offer but questions, he's off.]
Beg pardon?