For once, he's not in a suit. Not that it makes much difference, since he's dressed more for a round of golf than for an immersive remake of Robinson Crusoe - but a pink Lacoste polo, chinos, and a sweater still knotted around his shoulders is still an improvement. Especially since he feels like he took a dip in the pool, fully clothed.
Blinking groggily against the sunlight, he sits up and glances around him. Not a land development. Not a place he recognizes in the slightest. If there's a wormhole between the Falls of Arcadia and Bali, you'd think they'd play that up in the brochures.
At least he's not alone. Hauling himself up, brushing sand off his damp arms, he starts walking over to the only other person on the beach. "You all right?"
II. XF122S [audio].
Mayday. Mayday. This is Fox Mulder making a distress call from...somewhere tropical. I require immediate assistance. Over.
[ For a distress call, it's delivered in a remarkably even tone. And it's going to repeat until someone answers. ]
III. the blue lagoon.
After the shock wears off and it becomes clear he's not going to be rescued, the premise of being on a deserted island starts to appeal to Mulder's inner ten-year-old. It's straight out of The Swiss Family Robinson or Gilligan's Island, aside from the fact that it turns out it's a hell of a lot harder to build radios out of coconuts than the Professor and Mary Anne made it look.
He takes off the sweater right away - it's too damned hot for WASPiness - and eventually gets out of the polo shirt as well. Time to build a fire, jury-rig a fishing pole, try to catch some crabs to eat, whatever. The current plan is to stick around on the beach, rather than try his luck in the thick jungle that comes up to it.
fox mulder | the x-files
For once, he's not in a suit. Not that it makes much difference, since he's dressed more for a round of golf than for an immersive remake of Robinson Crusoe - but a pink Lacoste polo, chinos, and a sweater still knotted around his shoulders is still an improvement. Especially since he feels like he took a dip in the pool, fully clothed.
Blinking groggily against the sunlight, he sits up and glances around him. Not a land development. Not a place he recognizes in the slightest. If there's a wormhole between the Falls of Arcadia and Bali, you'd think they'd play that up in the brochures.
At least he's not alone. Hauling himself up, brushing sand off his damp arms, he starts walking over to the only other person on the beach. "You all right?"
II. XF122S [audio].
Mayday. Mayday. This is Fox Mulder making a distress call from...somewhere tropical. I require immediate assistance. Over.
[ For a distress call, it's delivered in a remarkably even tone. And it's going to repeat until someone answers. ]
III. the blue lagoon.
After the shock wears off and it becomes clear he's not going to be rescued, the premise of being on a deserted island starts to appeal to Mulder's inner ten-year-old. It's straight out of The Swiss Family Robinson or Gilligan's Island, aside from the fact that it turns out it's a hell of a lot harder to build radios out of coconuts than the Professor and Mary Anne made it look.
He takes off the sweater right away - it's too damned hot for WASPiness - and eventually gets out of the polo shirt as well. Time to build a fire, jury-rig a fishing pole, try to catch some crabs to eat, whatever. The current plan is to stick around on the beach, rather than try his luck in the thick jungle that comes up to it.