jack skellington - nightmare before christmas - bar

When the door opens next, it does so - letting in a crisp mid-autumn wind. Bits of leaves and dirt accompany a rather thin-looking bone man dressed in a striped suit of sorts, curled up within himself.

He had been falling - practically rolling - through blank, dark, neverending space from one door through the next.

Finally he lands, limbs sprawling across the floor like a spider laid flat. Eyes (or, more accurately, eye sockets) closed, the skeletal man takes a moment to catch his metaphorical breath (no lungs, no breath).



[ooc: testing him out!]