It was a traditional late Autumn afternoon in London which meant only one thing: It was cold. Really cold. Cold enough to feel the chill of the breeze no matter how many layers you managed to slip into. Which was three for Sebastian Pherson. A shirt, navy blue today, beneath a heavy, green, army-style jumper and a long, black winter coat. And beneath his plain black trousers was a pair of longjohns. He was taking no chances, the flu was everywhere and he had work to do. He had a lot of work to do. Autumn was a busy time of year, the new students were in and he spent far too much time devising ever more ingenious ways of finding out who was a troublemaker. Each and every day left him exhausted and today was no exception. So, as was traditional for a man so tired as him, he stopped in at his local coffee house for a pick me up.

The reason he chose this particular cafe was how warm it was, no matter what the time of year. As soon as he crossed the threshold the gloves were off, the jacket was slung over the back of a chair and he placed his order: 'The usual', of course. As he waited he grabbed a few packets of sugar and dropped them down next to his gloves on the table before starting to remove his jumper. But... His gloves were in his pocket. He looked down and realised that is was someone elses gloves, they had been left here. He looked around, trying to place who may have left them but saw no one nearby that wasn't chatting away or reading a book over a steaming hot brew, so he gave up. They were most likely long gone.

They looked old and worn and his first thought was some equally old and worn drunk had left them here. Unable to fully enjoy a fine, strong beverage with a pair of rotten leather gloves on his table he set about picking them up, with some trepidation, and saw they were a solid, decent leather and he thought they must have cost a pretty penny when new. He knew a thing or two about fine leather as a man whose feet were adorned with nothing less than quality Italian workmanship. And then there was the palms he saw as he turned them over in his hands, the age of the accessory now forgotten to him. At least a hundred tiny gems of every colour were set into the leather, radiating out in a spiral from the centre and glinting with a magnificent intensity in the dimly lit shop. He was dumbfounded. These were clearly once an exquisite piece of work and now they lay discarded from some rushing individual.

His thoughts were broken by his order being called and, without any conscious effort to do so, he stuffed the pair of fingerless gloves into his bag and took his drink with a thank you.


The rest of the afternoon passed without incident. He finished his coffee, and some paperwork, in the cafe and made his way home with his head lowered against the freezing wind. A fifteen minute walk and he was home. The same routine as ever followed. He switched on the heating. He put the kettle on. He switched on the laptop. He made another coffee and sat down to do some work for the next few hours. The claimed gloves didn't even pass his mind until he trudged, tired as anything, up the stairs to bed, practically dragging his bag behind him.

With a long yawn and a cliche stretch of the arms above the head Sebastian removed his tie and dropped it to the floor. He removed his belt too and let his trousers fall the the floor, revealing the full length, black cotton undergarment. A few things were taken out of his bag and dropped onto the flawlessly tidy desk in the corner of the room. Then his hands hit the gloves and, for reasons he couldn't say, dropped them on his bedside cabinet beside his alarm clock as he fell to the bed and drifted quickly into slumber.

The sleep that followed was shallow and dreamless, cracked and broken. Barely managing to stay asleep for more than a few minutes at a time became irritating, then terrifying. Every time he closed his eyes he started feeling like he simply wasn't there. As though when he couldn't see something it no longer existed. This continued for an hour, maybe two or three, he couldn't be sure, until he managed to claim a few minutes of peace, soon to be shattered by the most powerful event in his life.

Behind closed eyelids Sebastian's mind shot into overdrive. His first thought was that he was ill. This rapidly gave way the possibility that he'd been drugged. All sense of reality was leaving him and he felt as though his body was constantly falling into and rising out of his bed. His stomach clenched, his hands grasped at sheets that weren't there. Just threw them off the bed in my sleep, that's all he thought but he knew it wasn't so. He knew it as well as he knew that if he opened his eyes he would not see the walls of his bedroom, nor the rest of the house or city beyond that. The sensation that he was being carried away without leaving the room persisted but he could not open his eyes, not through fear or uncertainty, but rather like they had been numbed and stitched together, it simply wasn't possible.

He panicked, reaching out for something, anything familiar, something solid and recognisable that would let him know that he was either dreaming, drugged or demented. What he closed his chubby fingers around did not comfort him. It was the gloves, far more real to him now than anything else his body was in contact with. The matress beneath him slowly began to raise it's sides up to encase him like a tomb until he fell straight through the bottom. He did not hit the floor, he simply fell, fell without screaming but not without trying. His windpipe was soon raw with the effort of calling out but there was not a sound to be heard, just an unbearable silence that was suffocating in it's ambiguity, the certainty that he wasn't dead began to merge with the plausibility that he had recently expired and was falling into hell.

And then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. He hit a solid ground with a jolt similar to the feeling of waking from a dream of falling, still screaming. Only now he could hear himself. And he could feel things. He could feel a smooth ground beneath his back, the wind and sun of Autumn, the pain in his lungs from what felt like an eternity of screeching. He could hear things beyond his own uncontrollable cry. He heard people, shouting and laughing, metals clinking, the crack of a whip, the footsteps of passer-bys. And then another sensation, instant pain in the side of his face.

"Shut up, ye're scarin' away m' custom!"

Oh yes, he could hear and feel very well now. And that was certainly the feel of a boot in his chops. So he opened his eyes, only to find himself squinting against a strong sun in the sky. And what he saw was far worse than he could ever have imagined. Yes, there was the boot that had delivered a healthy kick to his head, standing on flatpacked dirt and kicking up a tiny cloud of dust with every step it took away from him toward what appeared to be an old market stall covered in bottles and jars and surrounded by people. He certainly wasn't in London, wherever he was.

With shaky legs Sebastian struggled to his feet and stumbled forward into the path of a thousand people who had no time for him and simply pushed him back and forth while muttering under their breath. The confusion was so overpowering that he resorted to grabbing a man by the front of his strange shirt before his arms could shove him away and he asked in a voice as shaky as his legs:

"W-Where am I?" His reply was a fist to the gut.

"Yer in mah way is where y'are!" And then the man was gone, joined the flow of the crowd. And then Sebastian was gone too, barged back to his place in some alcove in a wall, where he collapsed into a heap and stared around with wide, uncomprehending eyes. I'm dreaming, oh God, oh God, I must be dreaming, this isn't real, this isn't real at all... Although it certainly felt real, his aching jaw and stomach were testimony to that. And those stares, those cold, unkind staring eyes were real enough to make him shrink back into his corner, those rushing people and disregard for him were real. And the gloves, still held in his tightly clenched fist that was white with the effort, were real.

Sebastian Pherson was in serious trouble.

Kayla Hamilton missed her fiancé, Alexander. He had left two days before for a photo shoot in Hawaii and wasn’t due back until the weekend. She would have gone with him – she had wanted to go with him – but traveling by any means tended to make her sick now so she kept her feet safely on the ground, where they belonged.

It was late afternoon now. Earlier in the morning, she had a shoot in the northern part of town and she had taken her time meandering back to the studio apartment she and Alexander shared. It was only a two hour or so walk, but she wandered in and out of stores, having any purchases sent to her home so she wouldn’t have to carry anything. Kayla had a feeling that the maid would want the apartment to herself after Kayla’s attempt at cooking stir-fry last night. Kayla wasn’t known for her cooking skills – she could cook a few things and what she could cook was damn good, but stir-fry was not on the list.

A cool breeze tugged on her clothes and hair, making her smile. She loved where she lived, where the summers were hot and the winters cool but not cold. Even though it was autumn, she got away with wearing a light pink, slightly see-through long-sleeved shirt over a lacy white camisole and faded jean shorts cut indecently short. Cowboy boots made a pleasant clopping sound against the pavement as she walked, peering into store windows as she did so. Most of the people here knew her by name. Although she received many of her clothes from the designers she modeled for, she enjoyed going into regular stores to see what most people thought was in fashion. Occasionally she even dropped a few hints to the owners about what would be in fashion next season.

But what she wanted today wasn’t clothes or accessories or anything of that matter. She was on a hunt for a crib. It had to be perfect and she’d be damned if she didn’t do a thorough search. Her baby would be sleeping in it for a while, after all.

In her most recent stop, she had found one that she liked: a teak structure that came to her waist. The corner posts were twice as high and tipped in stars so fabric could be strung across them. The front and back had been carved with designs of the ocean. Alexander would say it was too much, especially for a baby who wouldn’t remember it. She would give him her best ‘kicked puppy’ look, and he would give in and she would get the crib that she wanted. But she had promised she wouldn’t buy anything baby related until he returned so she had reluctantly left the shop.

Now she was only a few blocks from the apartment building and she slowed her walk even more. The sun was moving towards evening – amazing how time flies by when you’re shopping – and the ice cream vendor in the park across the street was going to close up and go home. She had stopped for a crepe for lunch, and she really shouldn’t eat anything so… bad for you, but ice cream and warm cookies or brownies were a guilty pleasure. With a sign she turned away. Ice cream could wait for another day, when she hadn’t had nutella earlier.

As she turned, the antique shop she had been standing in front caught her eye and she wrinkled her nose. She was fond of antique shops – most were full of over priced junk. But some had rare finds. She looked up at the sky, she still had at least half an hour before the sun set. The tiny bell on the door jingled as she walked in. An old woman with a mass of white hair and sagging skin looked up and smiled, but said nothing. Kayla sent her a pleasant nod before she moved deeper into the store. It was as she feared – mostly junk. She perused several booths, examine most of the jewelry. When she was done, she made her way to the front counter. Once glance out the windows made her blink – when had the sun gone down?

“We’ll be closing soon.” The old woman’s voice brought her back. Kayla nodded and put her finds on the counter: an old, light purple dress, completely covered in beads, reminiscent of the flapper era in the U.S., and a vase covered in kittens and butterflies. It certainly wasn’t Kayla’s taste, but her maid like kittens and the woman deserved something nice besides just her paycheck. The elderly woman took a long time, looking at the price tags and typing them into a cash register probably as old as she was. She kept readjusting her glasses to see better.

Kayla finally paid for her purchase and was about to head out when something next to the door caught her eye. A tiny silver bell, polished to a high shin, was sitting on its own pedestal. The handle was made of dark, stained wood, also polished. Kayla glanced back at the old woman – she was busy writing down what Kayla had bought. Carefully, the model reached out to grab the metal and wrapped her fingers around it to keep it from ringing. Gently, she put it in her bag, in the folds of the dress, and simply walked out of the store.

On the walk home, she mused about what she had done. She had never stolen before, never in her whole life. But, really, the vase wasn’t worth the money she paid for it and the bell couldn’t be worth that much either.

When she got to the apartment, the maid was gone, so Kayla put the vase on the kitchen table with a note. The kitchen looked spotless, so Kayla avoided cooking anything and simply sat in front of the TV with an orange and a plate of crackers and cheese. When she felt her head start to nod forward, she finally stood and made her way to the bedroom, checking first to make sure the heater was on. She took the dress she had bought and hung it up in the bathroom doorway to air it. The bell slipped from its folds to rolls across the floor. Kayla picked it up and, having no where better to put it at the moment, put it on the bedside table.

As she undressed, she looked at herself in the mirror, turning sideways. Yes, there it was, the curve of her belly. She smiled and put her hands on it. She couldn’t feel movement yet – the doctors said she wouldn’t for a few weeks, nor did she know its sex. But she loved it more than she believed she could ever love anything.

Finally, she turned away from the mirror and pulled on the long silk night gown she was using this week. She pulled back the comforters and bed sheets, crawled in, and was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

Kayla awoke to the rocking and rolling of a ship during a storm. She sat up with a gasp – except she didn’t. There was nothing around her to sit or lay on, so she stayed still. Her mouth wouldn’t open, nor would her eyes. She wanted to vomit, out of both sickness and panic, but couldn’t make herself turn around. She reached for the phone that was always beside the bed. She didn’t know what was happening to her, but she knew it wasn’t normal and she was going to call an ambulance. She couldn’t feel anything beside her and the panic became smothering. Then, her hand closed on something cool and smooth and incredibly solid. She brought her knees and the object close to her body – whatever it was, it wasn’t a phone - and wrapped her arms around herself.

And then her bed tipped over and she was falling. She clamped her mouth shut so hard her jaw ached. Her fingernails dug into her arms – pinching yourself was supposed to bring you out a dream, right?

Suddenly she was on her side with the wind knocked out of her, much like when she had fallen asleep on the couch and rolled off. She opened her eyes, not yet moving, to see feet walking by. Not sneakered or sandaled feet, but boots made of leather and slippers made of silk. One hand curled protectively around her belly as she used the other to push herself up. The people around her paid little attention, though those that did were curious. They were dressed in clothes she had never seen except in movies: trousers and tunics, bodices and long skirts, suits of armor. Everyone was talking and she found she could understand them. There was laughing and yelling and bartering and various animal sounds. Then the smells hit her: sweat, spices, fish in the sun, animals, to many people with poor hygiene, sugared candies, the musty smell of cloth, the sweet small of cut grass and fruits.

Kayla promptly turned to the side and threw up. After the last of it was out, she wiped her mouth with the side of her hand, wishing for water. Now the crowd gave her a slightly wider berth, concerned the woman might puke on them. She barely noticed the sting in her upper arms where she had made herself bleed, or the small rivets of blood that snaked their way out of the wounds.

The moment she saw a break in the crowd, she half stumbled and half crawled to the side of the street, where she leaned against one of the walls. She knew it wasn’t a dream – she didn’t know how she knew, but she did. A small sob escaped her as she curled into the fetal position.

Where the hell was she?

Ah, early spring in Sydney. Being a coastal city, spring wasn't all that different from any other season, truth be told. It did mean a larger influx of tourists, though, and for some, that was the best news they got all year. Others, locals who made their money in different industries, despised the coming of the locust plague of over-sugared American children and the parents that couldn't control them, or the old couples who'd fire off conversation in Chinese and have extreme communication difficulty with anyone else, or the uptight British with fancy vacation homes and posh, superior attitudes.

Leander was indifferent to all of it.

Then again, Leander was indifferent to most things. Closing the wooden door to the small bookshop she worked at, the young woman turned the key until she heard the characteristic click of the locking mechanism, then pocketed the lot of them and stuffed her hands into the sides of her aviator's leather jacket, probably the one item of clothing she owned that had ever been worth more than thirty bucks. Well, aside from the boots, but those were old military issue, not retail, so it probably didn't count. And if it did... well, she was indifferent to that, too.

Jerry's was, conveniently, about halfway between her job and her apartment, and a walkable distance at that. The bar's average clientele was about twenty years older than Leander and undergoing some kind of overdramatic mid-life crisis, but Jerry was the only guy in the area who knew how to make a decent drink. Besides, the other customers tended to leave her alone and wallow in their own misery, something that didn't happen if you went to clubs that served the twenty-somethings of Australia's most famous city. There, you tended to get hit on, usually by someone so far gone that it wasn't even really a compliment.

As soon as she entered, Leander took her customary spot at the bar, third seat from the end, and raised a couple of lazy fingers in a bid for Jerry's attention. The owner, an ex-military sort with an impressive collection of surprisingly-tasteful tattoos, obliged, pouring her the customary starter- a gin and tonic. Leander didn't even really like the flavor all that much- the way it burned on her tongue tasted of failure- but maybe that was why she started with it in the first place. If it came later in the evening, she might not remember why.

She noted something unusual just beside her. A smooth, flat, reflective oval was placed on the bar as though it belonged there. Leander snorted. "Reflective coaters, Jerry? I thought you had a bit more taste than that," she drawled in a bored monotone. He looked at her askance as though confused, and she grabbed the thing, holding it aloft between her index and middle fingers as one might a playing card.

Jerry shrugged. "Ain't mine, sheila," he replied matter-of-factly, and Leander raised an eyebrow, but said nothing more on the subject.

It wasn't until she was three more drinks into the night that she bothered with the mirror again. An errant bit of curiosity bid her pick it up again, and she stared for a moment into the reflective surface. Jerry, apparently noticing, spoke. "What d'ya see, Lee?" The young woman rolled her eyes at the rhyme; intentional or not, it sounded like Dr. Seuss.

Still, his tone was serious enough, and she wondered if this wasn't one of those 'the heroine gets life-altering advice from the friendly bartender' moments that sometimes showed up in crappy art-house films. Of course, that would be entirely stupid, because for that to be the case, she would have to be the heroine. Ridiculous.

"Mmm..." she pretended to contemplate her reflection, "freckles, too much hair, pointy nose, that slightly-drunk glaze to the eyes... looks like a waste of good space to me."

Jerry chuckled and shook his head. She almost liked that about him, that he assumed she must be kidding.

About three hours and several more drinks later, Leander assured Jerry that she was perfectly fine to get home, and headed out the door to do just that. He'd told her to keep the mirror, and let him know if she ever saw anything different, so she'd rolled her eyes and slipped it into a jacket pocket, the one without her keys. The woman's alcohol tolerance was remarkable, and she scarcely wobbled on her way home, though the stairs to the fourth floor were annoying as always.

After locking her door, she tossed her keys atop her kitchen island, and, deciding that she really didn't give a damn (tomorrow was her day off, after all) she plopped onto the couch in her living room, jacket and all. Her bed was a crappy mattress on top of an ancient box-spring, so sometimes the couch was just better, even if it did look like something a cat had hurled up in the 80s. Booze was always a great sleep aid, and so she was out within five minutes, though her dreams were fitful.

Leander had never been the sort of person to put much stock in dreams, and hers seemed to taunt her with the sort of peace she never got while awake. Often, she dreamed she was flying, just soaring on some kind of thermal bubble, free as anything on earth could possibly be, unchained by obligation, guilt, or memories she'd much rather drink into oblivion.

Tonight, though she did not fly; she simply drifted through an impenetrable blackness. Now this was more like her reality. She supposed she could put effort into it and try to direct herself in one direction or another, but what did it really matter when everything was the same?

If you don't like what you see, why not change it? The sound of the voice in her dream was enough to make her physical body jerk with surprise. Inside her head, she looked around, curious as to the source. The voice sounded familiar, but she couldn't quite place it.

The hell? She thought, and as if in answer to the query, a small light appeared some distance away. Oh no, I've seen this movie before. I am not going toward the light. If she'd been physically present in any sense, she would have rolled her eyes, but as it was she could not, so she settled for snarky thoughts instead.

Don't worry; it's not that kind of light, the voice replied, and she realized with startling certainty that it was most definitely her voice. Now, if you don't like what you see, why not change it?

You said that already, she pointed out in a deadpan, and the voice sighed.

I should have known I'd be this difficult. Just... just look, would you?

Leander shrugged; if she'd ever thought herself anything but completely insane, all such inclinations were banished by the fact that she was pretty certain she was talking to herself... in her own dreams. Good thing she didn't really give a damn if she was off it or not, she supposed, and decided to oblige herself and drift closer to the light. As it turned out, it was not a light at all, but the mirror from that night, reflecting light from an unknown source... or perhaps just possessed of some kind of internal luminescence. She felt her physical hand close over the selfsame object in her pocket, and this confused her. It was like she was aware of both the real world and this one at the same time.

Well? she prodded herself. Do you like what you see?

Leander looked into the mirror, which was conveniently suspended in nothingness at a good height for such an inspection. To her surprise, she saw not her own reflection, but a moving picture; scenes from her daily life, and what had once been but was no longer. She shook her head; was this some kind of trick question? Are you stupid or something? If you're actually me, you know bloody well that I don't.

So... the voice trailed off, and Leander had a feeling she knew what was coming. Change it. Touch the mirror.

The brunette was hesitant to follow such an order, but in the end this was just a dream, so she figured it couldn't do any kind of permanent damage anyway. Reaching out, she tentatively touched the surface of the mirror with her index finger; eyes widening in a rare moment of true emotion when it rippled as though it were water. She drew her hand back as if stung, but then touched it again, applying pressure this time, watching in wonderment as her hand went straight through and did not appear on the other side of the glass.

She mirror trembled, and began to expand, and Leander tried to withdraw her hand, only to discover that it would not budge. The harder she tried, she greater the resistance, until she felt herself being pulled in. She didn't think to scream, not even as she was forcibly tugged inside and deposited against the ground somewhere... else.

---

With an audible groan, Leander opened her eyes. A mistake; the light was way too bright, and red spots danced behind her eyelids when she squeezed them shut again. "Shit." Forcing herself to sit up, the young woman rubbed at her oculars for a second before attempting it again, this time with marginally more success.

What the hell is this place? was her first thought. Her second was that it had to be the fanciest bloody Ren-faire she'd ever seen, what with all the silk and brocade and linen these people were wearing. She was in the middle of some elaborate market set-up, and she thought wryly to herself that the merchants really were getting seriously in character.

People were staring at her, which was somewhat irritating, and Leander stood and dusted herself off, assuming the usual bored 'leave-me-alone' expression she tended to favor, staring pointedly right back at anyone who seemed to have the gall to do the same to her. Okay, so she wasn't dressed like an idiot; that was no reason to gawk like she was some kind of bizarre circus act.

Damn... I must have been way more wasted than I thought last night. Either that, or I'm still dreaming. Something was bothering her, though; it was Spring in her city right now, but the vegetables these people were selling screamed fall, as did the coloration of the few trees in sight. If this really was the world's most elaborate Renaissance Faire, why would they bother with something like that? And nobody could just make it colder outside anyway.

There was a moment in which she entertained the thought that someone had spiked one of her drinks, and she was now on an acid trip of some kind, but she was far too in control of her faculties for that. Well, fine then. All she needed to do was find whoever was in charge of this place and get directions out. she'd ask one of these weirdos, but she doubted she'd get an answer that made any kind of sense.

Alex was walking down a street near his college. The sun was shining, no clouds were in the sky, no breeze. Basically, it was a terrible day to live in Arizona. I just had to walk today, I just had to save gas for my car. Alex was still wearing his jacket, making him even hotter. He wanted to take it off, but he was too lazy to even move anything other then his legs. His legs however wanted to stop moving as well. They felt like dumbbells after the long walk, and the heat didn't help it at all. He felt like he was going to have a heat stroke. People had offered to walk home with him, people who lived nearby, but he just ignored the offers and walked away. He didn't care much for company and felt better alone.

Alex looked up, sweat dripping down his face and onto the sidewalk.There was a bus stop ahead of him, one of the stops that had an add on the side as well as a small roof above it. That roof only meant one thing to Alex, shade. Oh thank God. He lazily walked over to the bus stop, one leg slowly lifting then stomping on the ground after the other. As the shadow of the bus stop fell over him he almost fell from complete relief. He sat on the bench under the small roof and heaved a heavy sigh of relief. "Much better." He leaned against the back of the bench, his head hanging from the top.

He brought his head forward again and smiled. "This is much better. I might just take the bus." He looked down the street, his eye catching something glowing in the sunlight. He leaned forward to get a better look at it. It was laying on the curb, completely abandoned. Alex got up and approached the shining object slowly. As he got closer, he saw it was a pole. "A pole, in the street?" He looked closer at the pole, realizing it wasn't just a long piece of metal. It was a work of art. The pole was 4 feet long and 2 centimeters wide. The base color of it was a dark red, with designs of green and blue vines coursing around it. In the center of it, 4 centimeters long and 2 centimeters wide, was the design of a majestic bald eagle, perched on top of a long branch and and seeming to be staring at Alex with a fixed expression of determination.

"That is amazing." He reached for it, his eyes fixed on the eagle's stare. He picked up the pole, admiring its mastery of art. "I wonder if someone dropped it?" He looked around, wondering if anyone was near. No one was. "Guess it's mine then." He put the pole over his shoulder and walked home, swinging the pole from time to time. Since he had learned Tae-Kwon-Do, he had loved the feel of a weapon in his hand, not that he needed one.

Alex sat on his bed, holding the pole out in front of him. "I wonder what master will think about this?" He placed the pole against the wall next to his bed and laid down. He closed his eyes, falling asleep after the hard day. He suddenly opened his eyes, the pole seeming to glow. All around him his room began to liquefy and melt into a complete darkness. "What the-?" Alex felt the bed disappear underneath him as he began to fall. Before he fell, he grabbed the pole and held on for dear life. He felt himself falling and never landing. Its gotta be a dream.

Alex felt solid ground beneath him. He opened his eyes, expecting to see his room. But instead he saw something he wasn't counting on. He was on a stone floor, his hand still holding the pole, people around him walking around what looked like a flea market. He blinked as his vision cleared from the bright sun hovering above him. The people were wearing strange clothes, some of which looked like robes and others in armor. Some of them carried weapons as well, but not guns. Instead they were carrying swords, maces, spears. Weapons not used since the olden times of mankind.

He stood up after a man walked over him, carrying what looked like a cage. He looked around him, taking in his surroundings. "Where the hell am I?" He said.. He looked fearfully around at all the people around him. They all seemed so badly tempered and were glaring at everyone around them, including him. He turned to a man nearby. "Excuse me, can you-"

"Leave me alone you rotten Beggar!" The man pushed Alex away, into a wall nearby. Alex was dumbfounded, confused, but most of all, scared. "What the hell is this place?" He looked to his right and gasped. In the road, towering over everyone else, was a...a.... creature. It had the ferocious head of a bull, the legs of a powerful bull as well, but the muscular torso and arms were that of a man. "Holy Shi-!" Alex didn't even finish before he started running away from the beast. He was trying to move everyone out of his way, only to be pushed down again. He put his hands defensively over his head. This is not happening, this is not happening...But he knew it really was. Everything looked and felt too real. He was trapped in a world he didn't even know.

Tess glared at the dress that hung on the outside of her closet door. It was a bright blue, floor length frilly dress. The first time she saw it when she walked into her room after school she had literally gagged. The thing was layer of frills all the way to the floor and had one frilly piece that went over the shoulder. Her mother was standing right next to it and beaming. Not even taking notice of her daughters disgust.

“Isn’t it a wonderful dress? And just your style!” The woman was absolutely thrilled with herself. “It will bring out the blue in your eyes, for certain!” Tess was for certain that even in the rich society they were apart of the thing would be described as hideous. She sighed and dropped her arms to her side.

“You know that there is no way I am wearing that thing right? Not even your fancy, jewel loving friends would put their children in that. It belongs in the what not to ware pile, or maybe just the trash.” She felt the sting of her mothers hand across her face before the words were all the way out of her mouth. “but of course its what you picked out so I will ware it anyway.” That, at least, made her mother leave the room.

She moved the dress from the closet to the bed and just stared at it. Another piece of clothing to add to her collection. She had a lot of clothing, but there was not one thing, in her closet of her dresser that she had picked out or ever would have picked out for herself.

Another sigh and Tess was pulling off her clothes and stepping into a slip and then into the dress. It was only a moment before her mother showed up again to do her make up and curl her hair. She looked like a doll, just as her mother always wanted her to look. Without any words between them they got into the car and were driven to where the current party was.

Arriving there Tess immediately tried to slip away from the crowed. As she went someone bumped her and spilt their entire class of red wine on the from of her dress. They kept apologizing repeatedly but she only hugged them and thanked them with a huge smile. Leaving them rather perplex when she walked away.

It was to he dismay that her mother wouldn’t let her go home and change, instead she was taken up stairs by their hostess and put into another dress. This one with no frills and only falling to her knees. Her mother wasn’t happy but Tess was much more so. Though she was still very board and went to explore that house they were in.

Eventually she found herself in a music room, or rather it was a room with all sorts of instruments on display like at a museum. She wondered around the room and looked at everything, some times running a finger across something or plucking at a string. It was about half way to the back of the room when she saw the most beautiful thing.

Tess moved closer to the glass case against the wall. Inside of it sat a flute on a red pillow. But it wasn’t normal, it was glass, or maybe crystal and it absorbed the light from the room in such away that it looked like it was glowing. Very faintly she could see there was a design on it. She stepped closer and laid her hand on the glass that surrounded it. The noise of the glass shattering startled Tess so bad that she tripped and hit her head off of the table. She instantly loss consciousness.

She awoke dizzy and confused, the feelings only grew as she tried to pull herself out of it. She could see nothing and yet her eyes were opened, and she could hear nothing, even though there were supposed to be at least fifty people down stairs. Most concerning of all she couldn’t feel anything beneath her. But then there was something smooth and cool in her hand. After noticing that there was a pulling sensation and she was suddenly laying in a street with people and noise every where.

~

Tess looked around her , and when the her eyes finally adjusted to the sun she screamed. The people the buildings, everything was wrong. It just couldn’t be! She continued to scream until she was cuffed in the fact and she fell back words only to be dragged to her feet by the arm.

“You just be quiet now you dirty wench, and if you listen well to me I wont hurt you too badly.” the man had vile smelling breath and what looked like a rotting tooth. His face was inches away from hers. As soon as he groped her though she screamed again causing people walking about them to make sounds of protest. Her knee came up and made contact with the horrid mans genitals. He groaned and dropped her.

She had already kicked her shoes off when she was in that room before, and now she took off running on bare feet and she didn’t stop. She was scared and confused she didn’t know what to do, or where to go so she just kept running and running. She finally reached a place where there was no where to go, A wall stood in front of her and that was all. She dropped to the ground and rested her forehead against it.

“Oh no. What have I done, I should have stayed put, then maybe I could have figured out what was going on. I bet I couldn’t even get back there if I tried, I’ve run so far.” Still she stood and began to walk. She had never been one to just sit and do nothing.

Marlaina booted up slowly, a little more slowly than usual, cautious, something felt odd. Her ears switched on; strange usually it was music her owner listened to first thing in the morning. She tried to pinpoint the noise, the Tv was usually to her left, but the noise was all around her; had Megan gotten surround sound? Her body started clicking, warming up and starting to load data, searching for signal on the wireless, her old friend. It wasn’t there, her eyes clicked on; opening herself to see how light Megan might need the screen. The noise was too close, something was wrong, but her camera wouldn’t turn on, she was sightless. Sure she could feel it their, panicking she opened the shutter and suddenly her bright blue eyes opened. Two cameras? That was wrong, what was going on here, had her hard drive been move to a new laptop? Was her owner upgrading, taking off the information and about to get rid of her, she panicked; this was the personal laptop wasn’t it. She hated that laptop, how her human would play on him, how she made sure he was kept to date, he didn’t self update like her, he was out of date.

“This one has a unique feature, you can turn it on and off, saving massively on oiling its joints.” A rough man spoke before her, she had in fact, never seen a real man, Megan always turned her off when company was about. “Look at her intricate craftsmanship, those eyes must be crystals.” Her lenses focused on the man before her, what was happening here? She was completely motionless, she tried her dvd drive, but nothing happened. Fear spread through her, was she broken? Had she been dropped and now was going for sale in some lowly store. She glanced around, this wasn’t how she had expected things to be in the outside world, she had expected the people to look like the people on Tv and the Dvds that she and Megan had shared in watching on her. This was more like one of those period dramas, maybe this was what it was like. A light blinked below her, loading up and she looked down. Immediately she panicked, the whole top of her had moved and in panicking, her legs had been set twitching and her arms reached up to cover her eyes. She screamed, something she had never done before, but she had to somehow express her fear at what was going on. Her mouth opened in one long loud computerized shriek, quickly lowering to a soft clay tone, silken as her perfectly molded flesh.

“See how unique; the designer gave her a voice, I’ve never seen anything like her.” The man said, his leg twitching beneath him. He reached out behind him, his rough hands fumbling across her skin. She felt him touch her glow, where her artifact had settled and knew instinctively that she did not want him to touch her. Her body jerked away, suspended as it was on two hooks, one under each arm. She blinked down at the young rich couple that was contemplating purchasing her. Clay fingers clasped around the human fingers, her skin for the first time feeling, even if practically dead compared to our own, this was the world of sensitivity for her. Her eyes flashed around, at least her processor seemed ever faster, and thoughts were flying through her head, at a speed she could not compare.

“Get off me, do not touch me!” She spoke almost metallically, her voice coming out in chunks. “Where is Megan? I want Megan!” She said, trying not to be frightened at her own voice. She had never spoken before, well yes she had, but other peoples recorded words. Her hand clenched ever tighter, unaware of her own strength, she had never had any before. The man whimpered, his second hand coming up to switch her off, hand curving over her flawless ceramic body. Her blue lenses glared down at him and she grabbed the second hand, her body leaning forward, automatically balancing itself so her face was lowered to his. She did not understand the fear held in his eyes, how he shivered before her. She was the one who was afraid, this was so new to her. She was of course not looking at the man, she bent even further, her arms twisting in their support and she looked at her fingers. The porcelain was perfectly smooth and utterly touchable, soft, the joints fine and delicate, leaving her with almost human hands. Strands of hair fell over her hands as she lent over so and quickly she processed that they were her own silver grey strands, silken and metallic and untangled, flowing around her in an aura of softness. The strands reached out, probing. They were the most sensitive part of her current make up, able to sense things far beyond her current perception with just her eyes. Her hair roiled, reaching with impossibly thin wire, incased in the supple grey silk, sending and receiving electronic signals.

“Telan, tell me where did you steal this, for I know it is not your smiths work.” Kali spoke firmly, she had been working on her way to the city’s guard headquarters, but had had to stop for this. “She doesn’t look happy, whatever you have done I would stop and let her down. I would of course hate to have to take you to a judge to see if this Golem actually belongs to you.” She smiled, her dark eyes as per usual making the other man look at the floor. Kali had a very good to her day, she was needed in late, so she had a lie in. She was less happy to see her mother had ruined yet another pair of her trousers with silver stitches and flowers, no one would take her seriously with flowers. Telan was well known for his Golems and their quality of build, but this was not one of his. She watched as the exquisite build let go of the man, letting him reach up and lick off the hooks. The Golem crumpled to the ground, her legs not holding her own weight, their was something a little wrong with this one she thought, moving forward to help it to its feet.

“Come on now, we can’t be leaving you here, where is your owner?” She asked in her matter voice, Kali had little softness to her for strangers.

“She got rid of me, upgraded I think.” Marlaina stood unsteadily, not used to having legs, nor having to stand on them. “Thank you for saving me from that man, he was trying to turn me off and sell me while I would be asleep.” Her voice was getting ever less metallic, taking on the earthy, silken tones of porcelain clay. One foot went in front of the other, she watched the other woman walk carefully, trying to mimic her.

“Well, you are a lone Golem, you should be careful.” Kali paused, her head tilting to one side “People around here will have never seen something like you. Are you a cast off of the house of High General Mattius Herne?” She asked, for a moment worried that she had done something wrong. If she had gone against the Unions commands she would be condemned, it did not matter how much service and life she had given them.

“No, I belonged to Megan, do you know her?” Slowly but surely she was forming words with her mouth, rather than just opening it and letting the sound come out. She was starting to become a little more steady on her feet.

“No, I’m afraid people with that kind of name do not exist here, maybe up in the mountains. Look, try to keep out of the way till you remember what your supposed to be doing. Your made beautifully, the craftsman must have been very proud, but your not all to bright.” She shook her head, never thinking that this Golem might feel hurt, fear, panic. “I have to go to my work now, keep out of the way.” She turned from the intricately beautiful thing, her stride long and purposeful. She did not look back, nor brake in her movement as she pushed through the crowd, not that she needed to do much of that, people found her face disturbing and her shadowling reputation set her apart from the crowd, they all knew of her. The soles of her boots tapped across the sunken cobbles, her head shaking atop her head. Who would be so stupid as to just chuck out a piece of art like that Golem, she would never understand the stupidity of some humans. Up ahead she could see headquarters, where all the city soldiers came at the start of their shift.

She waved at a few of the hulking forms outside, fellow soldiers, allowing them the respect they felt they deserved but did not give her. She slipped into her own personal changing space, being the only woman there she was privileged to have the space for her own privet use. Sure sometimes if a woman gave one of the guards trouble they were stored in their, but not many women were quite that stupid and it seemed to be happening less, she was glad of that. Slipping out of her silver stitched clothes, she revealed a more than boyish frame. She was never more than skin and bone, chest so flat you could see ribs where breasts would have been on any other woman, all to seeable under her skin tight cotton camisole. Her belly was a hollowed out hole that would never bare children, hips jutting out in almost painfully sharp curves (the closest she got to a woman’s real curves). She looked at herself their in the mirror, camisole and pants covering all that they should, here she would never dare to fully undress, not that the men here would hassle her. Those who did not find her wide set black eyes ugly, could never get past her almost skeletal figure, muscle being her only saving grace. She looked at herself for a moment, she had no self loathing for her looks, they allowed her to do her job so well and that was what she lived for, that and her family.

She quickly slipped on her black leathers, hot for this time of year, but she knew they had to do warm up exercises before heading out into the city and she did not want to risk getting damaged. The leather was soft and supple, blooming around her ankles before being clinched in, like fisherman’s trousers, hiding a little of her skinny bones. Over the top she slipped a lose pale blue camisole, covering her tight black one, this one was lose, hanging from her shoulders by thick straps and skimming shapelessly down to mid-thigh and almost lilac tint to it. Next went on light, specially made amour made to just cover her arms, they had of course been given a matt finish and been oxidized, making it hum against her honey tan. Then she slipped on her chainmail, landing just a little further down than her light camisole, that shone through the dark mail, making her smile at her reflection. She looked incredibly different to the other guards, but anyone who had gone against her in the training courtyard knew better than to say a word. Around her narrow hips she hung her belt, slipping the scabbard of her sword along its slender length and slipping her blade into that. Then last but not least she picked up her short ceramic knife, slipping it down the edge of her left boot.

“Peter!” She called, chasing after one of her comrades. “I hear I’m up against the boss today, maybe he is getting rusty. Do you know where he is?” She asks, meaning she was scheduled to go up against Captain Loger Kronis, though she had always wondered why he was on the schedule as busy as he was, but they were old friends, so she was looking forward to it.

“He is up in his office, you should be careful though, you know he’s out of your league. I don’t want you sliced in two, take it easy.” Peter was young, but one of the few who she had befriended of late, he seemed to have a genuine affection for her, like the brother she never had.

“I’ll be careful, I know I can’t match his sword, but it will be nice to see how long I can last.” She smiled taking a skipping step towards the stairs. “Will you come watch?” She asked, she often had an audience for her quick warm ups; people taking bets on who would win. Most of the time, despite being female, she won.

“Sure, I’ll see you there, play it safe chicka.” He said smiling at her as he headed off to his own warm up, where no one would watch, despite the fact he was growing in ability almost every day. She nodded down at him, her feet already tapping away on the stairs up to the main office. She was keen to see her old friend, they did not often pass one another, he was like a second father to her and she enjoyed hearing his old stories. She could not remember where they had first met, it had been years ago, she couldn’t have been more than 16 and 24, at one of her first assignments. He had kindly offered her some advice, advice that had saved her skin more than once. She trotted along the corridor at the top, moving through the first room where three girls sat, writing out all the documents for the whole complex, allowing the soldiers to do their jobs and just leave brief instructions for them. Needless to say they were busy girls, fingers tense around quills, not even looking up to see her passing. She paused outside the captains room and rapped on the door, ready to wait.

************************************

Marlaina wondered for a while, before coming to a little alcove and sitting down. Almost without thinking she started to catalog all the things she had and was. She stared in intense fascination at her finger joints, her memory storing away each and every small part, the condition and how they worked. She started learning her body slowly, moving each thing individually, an eerie sight to watch. Her hair moved in a rapid wave of sea like waves, touching over everything, sliding panels away so she could see her own inner working, blue cased wires running along the inside, wires worked into her porcelain so she could feel and sense. She slid the panel closed, her eyes shining a little light in the dark alcove. She looked around, their were quite a few people like her, all hiding in their own alcoves. She waved, not a smile on her lips, she had not figured out a smile yet, people here didn’t seem to do it much. Still she looked friendly enough and she hoped someone would come sit with her, would tell her something about this place and all the things it held. She was oh so lost and so very very alone. The first time she had been alone, had her own body and despite her fear, she was happy. She looked at the strange array of people, she wondered for a moment why Megan hadn’t stayed out more, it was so interesting
(unedited, too excited)

It was far from a usual morning for the Captain of the City Guard, news had been flooding in about a situation in the North-West and Captain Loger Kronis had been awoken by a Lieutenant two hours before dawn to make his orders clear. And despite having not found sleep until the darkest point of the night he had no choice but to rise, dress and make his way to the East tower where meetings of military matters took place. His room was at the top of the West tower, above the barracks of other high ranking officers and he cut across town, through the central housing district, and seeing not a soul wandering other than the Night Watch on duty, to whom he returned a salute as he passed, unable to stop himself thinking how lucky they were to be going to bed when the sun rose.

This morning (Or is it still evening he thought as he walked) the Captain was dressed as he usually was: A white tunic covered mostly by dull, brown, leather armour plates fastened to his person by rawhide lace. Each plate corresponded exactly to the part of his body it covered. Unlike most soldiers his was custom cut to his specifications and each leg alone was made of ten seperate, overlapping pieces to allow for maximum movement. His boots too, reaching up well past his ankles and fitting equally as well around his calves as the armour, were made of the same smooth leather that had been worn to a dull finish through heavy use, though the quality of both the labour and the material was so fine that he would likely not wear through the soles if he walked all day, every day, until his death. And, as was deemed necessary, heavy gauntlets with a finish as bright as polished silver adorned his forearms and hands, stopping just short of his elbow. They were built with an intricacy he could not fathom, each joint as fluid as the skin and bone beneath it but as strong as the rock of the city walls. Each swing of his arms brought up a tiny, muffled sound similar to the rattle of coins in a purse as the thousand miniscule plates rubbed against each other.

He yawned, unnoticed and unjudged in the chilly, brisk, early morning breeze, hoping someone in the tower had enough sense to prepare him some breakfast (Or a late night snack). Politics was a dangerous game and he would not play on an empty stomach. However, the smell of roasting meat or baking bread did not seep through the heavy wooden door. Of course not. Only the dusty scent of old books, volumes of finance and records, greeted him as he unlocked the door with his key, one of only five in the entire city.

"What panic is so urgent that it requires me at such an time as this?" he asked, walking into the room with his glaring, orange eyes fixed straight ahead, well aware that all other eyes were now on him. His reputation, his job, his entire life, rested on other people's perception of him and he never disappointed. He was a harsh judge, a brutal soldier, a seasoned veteran and a master of military control. He was also a passionate and respected officer with endless patience, unmatched battle skills and a well-known eye for talent. He was, in every sense of the words, the perfect man for his position. Feared by every criminal with an ounce of intelligence and respected by every soldier with a hint of chivalry, Loger Kronis was nonetheless far from widely admired in the intimate circles of the common man.

"If I may report Captain?"

Kronis, for nobody referred to him by his given name to his face no matter how close they may be to him personally, turned and locked his gaze upon the same Lieutenant who had knocked on his door that very morning. A recent addition to the ranks, drafted in from a small town not two turns of the horizon East of here, who had most likely become an officer only by the standards of his own town's soldiers. He would not do. He didn't know how things worked here.

"No, sit down." His eyes barely moved before he settled on a relevant individual; a Sergeant who had refused promotion many times so he could stay in the field. "Sergeant Vander, make the report."

"Yar Cap'n." He was another from elsewhere and his accent was incredibly difficult to understand for many but the two men had known each other since Kronis himself had been a lowly private. "Rum'rs in t' Nor' Wes' war true, civerl uprise 's gettin' worse 'n ever..."

He proceeded to give the report that the men assembled had no doubt already discussed and the situation was dire. It seemed that up in the furthest reaches of the Union's control, the North West coastline and the islands nearby, civil unrest had reached unsafe levels. Riots had broken out in massive numbers and damage was significant. All sources confirmed outbreaks of violence on the same day and so it could only be assumed that there was a rebellion underway. Details about exactly which cities were affected, the trade that would be lost because of it and how long until the lack of such resources in Jarvaise sparked more rumours were spoken. A list of Union officials who knew, and would know today, of the news was recited. Requests that had been made by towns affected were relayed to the Captain. And all within five minutes. Efficiency, by many accounts, was Loger Kronis' middle name. And it was why he had denied the new Leiutenant the oppurtunity to speak.

~~~~~~~~

Later that day, after dawn had broken, documents had been signed and food had been fetched from the market, the Captain sat at his desk and had meeting followed by meeting until the sun had passed it's highest point in the sky, knowing he would likely not sleep at all the coming night. But at last he was given a reprieve in the form of a knock at his door that could only belong to one person with the authority of a soldier.

"Come in Kali" he said without looking up from the exceedingly long list of favours written before him. He knew it was her even though he had forgotten about their training. The knock gave everything away and he had memorised at least a hundred individual's trademark rap on the wood. Her's was quieter yet sharper than an average soldier oweing to her smaller, bony knuckles. There was no impatience as there was with most officers and there was no clumsiness associated with a blubbery hand. These things set the sound aside from those of significant rank (And a lazy job of writing documents) and there was no other grunt who took any kind of care in making their prescence known behind a door rather than simply thundering their entire weight against the entrance.

He brought himself up to a stand while the door opened and stepped out from behind his desk, leaving his work where it was.

"Close the door, I need to have words with you." He spoke in the same bass tones he always did, never altering his voice for anyone, not even the High General himself. His voice was low, deep, strong and rarely rose or fell in pitch, remaining mostly monotone to reflect his apparent lack of emotion. "No doubt you have heard the stories about the North-West baronies." He grabbed his belt off a hook in the wall and started fastening it around his waist. "Well they are no longer stories. There is unrest that has not been seen since the dark days of King William." He started fastening the sheath for his sword to the belt. "And soldiers are needed to quell to violence. I assume the job will mostly require only intimidation, the coastal regions know nothing of effective soldiering, which means many of our own watch will be taken from our streets." A few steps towards the door and he opened a cabinet that housed his sword, gleaming and brilliant in it's sharpness. He took this and placed it in it's sheath, continuing to speak as he did.

"Despite your skills in battle you are not an intimidating sight to an angry mob so you will instead be required to take a place keeping order on the streets." By now he was ready for battle and moved to stand in front of Kali, towering both over and across her with his tall, broad frame. "Your injury leave is over, consider yourself a permanent soldier again."

Regardless of the bond they shared there was no apology for calling her from her time of well-deserved rest, a Captain only apologised to a higher ranking officer, usually for something that was not his fault. He reached past her and pulled open the door for them to leave. It had been a long morning and he was looking forward to some physical excercise at last. If she was upset about the situation he would be only too happy to oblige her an outlet for her anger.

(Will edit after dinner)

The audience was all rapturous silence and whispered awe as the strains of music filled the room. The pianist, hunched over his instrument with a look of intense concentration on his draw, skeletal face, paid it no mind. His fingers danced in intricate patterns over the keys, never pausing, never hesitating, the evidence of his finesse obvious to all with ears. The movement was rapid, nearly frantic, and occasionally he would jerk this way or that at the bench, involuntary movements, spasms, that he did not allow to interrupt.

Deep inside his own mind, a necessarily vast and sanctified space, Thaddeus Nox rejoiced. There was never anything in the world that brought him more pain than such intensive sessions before his instrument, but neither had he any other occasions to feel the unique euphoria of bringing music to silence. The rest of his existence was a staunch avoidance of pain, a carefully-orchestrated attempt to prolong his life as much as he might be able, but when he played, he was reckless, cavalier. His life could be draining away from him right now, the adrenaline required to keep going putting pressure on his already-weak heart, and he would not cease. Would not care. Because only here, in these spare moments when the world was nothing but himself and the instrument, was he ever truly alive at all.

All too soon, though, were they over, and this night was no exception. He almost thought it should be, that tonight ought to be somehow different from the others, but it was not. The man who was mighty before the keys, a giant of prowess and maestro most exquisite, who could hold concert halls full of people in his sway with nothing more than the delicate dance of his fingertips, was always reduced once more to the stricken, diseased husk of a person who had to be helped from the bench back into his wheelchair. And then the spell would be broken, the watchers released, subjected to the reality that was his daily test of endurance, the realization that the Goliath was a dying David, with no hope of casting the stone. The applause was always momentous, but for him, the sound of it was tinged with sadness.

His new nurse chatted happily behind him as she wheeled him out of the building, and he listened politely, throwing in a comment here or there where he thought it appropriate. He was more drained than he had counted on being, though, and so when she pushed him to the coat rack and grabbed what she thought was his, he did not have the presence of mind to correct her. The agony was beginning to set in as his muscles tightened and cramped after their exertion, and he could no more lift a finger than he could run a marathon.

Thaddeus kept himself focused on his breathing, consciously forcing the air in and out from his slightly-hooked nose, that the pace of it might remain steady. His symptoms grew more acute each day. Having survived to the day five years longer than he was supposed to, he knew that his time was limited. Soon, very soon, his heart would give out; simply lose the strength to keep beating, or his lungs to breathe on their own. This, he reflected as he was ferried back to the sanatorium by car, was something he had come to accept.

It wasn't until the nurse had him settled back into his bed that he realized her mistake. "Rebecca?" he asked as she turned to leave, and the young woman, fresh from school, no doubt, halted and turned back with a smile. Thaddeus was ever one of the least-bothersome patients one could have, even at a facility for the dying. "This cloak... it is not mine."

"Isn't it?" the pretty brunette picked it up, realization dawning on her face. "Oh dear... umm... I'll just take it and drive it back, shall I?"

Thaddeus smiled thinly and shook his head slightly. "I'm sure most everyone will be gone by now. Just leave it here for tonight, and I'll tell the day nurse tomorrow that I made a mistake. You should go home and sleep." He had learned from her near-constant talking that she had a fiancee at home, and he would not want to keep her for something so easily rectified.

"Oh... of course. Thank you, Thaddeus." He inclined his head, and with the flash of a vivacious smile, she was gone, cloak left on the coat hook beside his bed. He had envied people with so much life in them, once, but now he chose not to. Everyone had problems, his were just more obvious. You never knew what was hiding behind a friendly smile, after all. Nobody had the perfect life, and he at the very least had managed to find something fulfilling in his, and that was an achievement some people would live thrice or four times as long as he and never discover.

The young man settled back against his pillows. He'd spoken to his father earlier today, and he'd played a concert this evening. Few days in recent memory had been quite so nice. He could not ask for a better day to die. Letting his eyes drift closed, he ignored his body's constant protests against existing. It wouldn't have to protest much longer, anyway. For a few moments, Thaddeus was hyper-aware of the sound of his own breathing, a more intricate sound than he had ever thought it to be, but soon even this slipped from his awareness. Darkness slowly engulfed every one of his senses, blocking him from her world as thoroughly as the midnight-colored cloak on his coat hook might, and the youthful pianist embraced oblivion.

---

He had no idea how long he spent aware of absolutely nothing, only that he was now awake again, albeit unable to see anything. That hardly mattered to him, though, because there was something he didn't feel that pressed upon his mind with more urgency. His pain was gone! He felt... strangely whole. Perhaps this was the afterlife? It was hard to say. He knew, though, that even though he could not see himself, he was standing, on his own, without pain. There was a weight on his shoulders he was unaccustomed to, and he touched one hesitantly, feeling a smooth, thick fabric beneath them. That was odd; he certainly remembered owning no such thing.

It soon left his mind, though, for he felt compelled to walk in a specific direction. Unsure exactly what it was that caused the feeling, he nevertheless embraced it, and took a cautious step forward. To his eternal wonderment, his legs worked in just the manner he had asked them to, and he took another. With each tread, he seemed to grow stronger, and before long, he was jogging, then sprinting, relishing in the feel of exertion he had never in his lifetime been able to manage. He reached breakneck speed, but still he did not stop. The sensation of running was so new, so wonderful, that he was certain her could spend the rest of time doing nothing else and be satisfied with that.

Something or someone seemed to have other ideas, however, and Thaddeus had the distinct impression of passing through something before he once again lost his hold on consciousness.

---

"Oi, blighter, what do ya think yer doin'?" The voice shattered the silence with the weight of a boulder, and Thaddeus stirred. "Oi, c'mon, I said get up now." It's tone was distinctly feminine, and though the words were rude, the tone was more amused than anything.

The blighter in question furrowed his eyebrows, cracking first one eyelid and then the other, blinking both when he noted that the morning sun was in his face. Now that's odd... I had the strangest dream. I was running, and then... He wasn't really sure who this nurse was (perhaps she too was new), but he was kind of confused. He had been so certain that he was going to die last night; everything had had such an air of finality to it. He was almost a bit put off that it was not so- he'd put all his affairs in order and everything.

The face above his swam into view, and he found himself looking at a beautiful lady... with slitted golden eyes and sharply-pointed ears. Thaddeus gasped, sitting bolt upright and looking around frantically. The strange woman chuckled and shook her head of black hair. "My, my, you look like you've seen a ghost, lad."

Thaddeus scarcely heard, so shocked was he. He had just glanced downward and caught sight of his own forearm. "Th-that can't be right..." he stammered, but sure enough, the leanly-muscled limb rose at his mental direction, and he twisted it this way and that with no difficulty- no ache. His fingers were still the long and dexterous digits they had always been, but lacked the knobby boniness that had always been their identifying characteristic.

"Of course it's not," the woman replied slowly, as though she were dealing with someone slightly simple. "Ghosts don't exist, lad."

"No, no, not that. I mean... this," he said, gesturing expansively to the surrounding area, filled to the brim with people dressed strangely going about their business as though there were nothing odd about it at all. Included of course, was his reference to his own body, which by all his mental accounts was both healthy and strong. It felt... comfortable.

"Oh, I get it. Yer from the country. Never seen Jervaise before, eh? Well, ya needn't worry too much; just don't get on the wrong end of the guard, and you'll be fine. Here," the odd woman offered Thaddeus a hand up, which he took, pulling himself to his feet with unnecessary trepidation. It was... easy, and he stood with no difficulty at all. He felt light on his feet, like a tense twine, ready to move at the slightest hair-trigger.

"Thank you," he breathed, smiling brightly at the woman, who colored slightly for some reason and looked down.

"Eh, sure. No need to thank me, country boy. Now, off with yerself. I hafta set up shop fer the day." She made a gesture of shooing, and he obliged, ducking out into the main street. The sights around him, he drank in like an overeager child, so fascinated with the fact that he could move about at will that nothing else really struck him as strangely as it should have. Unbeknownst to him, his flannel pajamas were generally hidden by the black cloak he wore, so the weird looks he received were minimal, and mostly due to his lack of footwear or the fact that he didn't really seem to know where he was going.

He scarcely noticed if there were other people like him in the vicinity, but he did catch someone waving at him. He waved back and approached the girl. Her ash-blond hair was a few shades lighter even than his, but something about her seemed... odd. As he got closer, he realized that she was not human at all, but made of something resembling porcelain or ceramic. This didn't bother him as much as it might have; he had been awoken by a woman with pointy ears and cat-eyes, after all. "Hello," he greeted amicably, not really sure if she could speak or not. "Are you new here, too, by chance? Because I just got here, and it's the strangest thing..." he trailed off, slightly uncertain of himself. After all, who would believe the story he told? A man who was once sickly and dying, waking up in a strange new world with a body that was whole and pain-free? It was a bizarre tale, that much was certain.

Leander should have known it would not be quite so easy as finding someone official-looking and leaving. she was beginning to suspect that not all was as it appeared here, and she wondered for a moment if she was on one of those stupid prank shows where they did ridiculous things to people and then filmed their reactions. They wouldn't be getting much reaction from her if they were; hadn't anyone bothered to check if she was an expressive person beforehand? She couldn't imagine that the continued footage of a stonefaced young woman walking was going to entertain anyone.

Then of course, it could always be like The Village. M. Night What's-his-name made horrible films, but maybe he was onto something. These people all seemed to absolutely belong here, and she was pretty sure nobody was quite that good at acting. The frequency of small incidents- a drunk getting thrown out of a bar, a merchant's voice rising in volume or pitch as he argued with a customer- it wasn't perfect, and that was what convinced her it wasn't planned. All of these things happened with no regard for her positioning or whether she'd be able to catch all the words, and that was disconcerting.

Leander kept on walking, though, mostly out of a lack of anything else to do. She walked just about everywhere she went at home, and it always helped her sort things out- insofar as she could, anyway. There were some things in her life that would require a lot more patchwork than a few miles beneath her feet could provide, and quite frankly she wasn't going to waste the effort.

Something caught her eye in one of the alleys she passed, and Leander halted in her motion, taking a few steps closer to inspect it. As she had initially thought, it was a person, albeit one currently curled in upon herself as though she were trying very hard not to be. The woman was clad in nothing but a silken nightdress of some sort, and Leander immediately concluded that she was also not a part of whatever this was.

"Hey," the brunette intoned flatly, approaching the redhead and squatting low beside the prone form. "Hey, wake up." She wasn't exactly sure why she was prodding the other female with her voice, but she was, and perhaps there would even be some answers to be had from it. Leander didn't touch her- she didn't much fancy human contact, truth be told- but neither did she leave. Her unwitting company didn't look all that well, all things considered, and despite herself, the bookshop clerk felt a small measure of sympathy. From the looks of her, she was just a kid- no more than twenty, tops. She had the sort of hair and clothing (such as it was) that suggested money, but that didn't really weigh here or there in the other woman's mind. Leander had come from a great deal of money herself, present circumstances notwithstanding, and she certainly wasn't going to hold it against her.

"Oi, Princess, you really have to get up. The ground ain't good for ya." She didn't know where the nickname had come from, but it seemed appropriate enough. Leander had something of a habit of nicknaming people, even if it was only mental most of the time. Between the pampered hair and the immaculate nails and the expensive silk nightgown, it applied as much as anything else might.

Leander fended off any approaching locals with her glare, waiting for the shiela to decide she wanted to get up, hand still extended as if to help her to her feet. It was a bit awkward, but one of the few good things about Leander was that she didn't much give a damn how anything looked, and she'd always had a soft spot for the downtrodden. Maybe it was just because they reminded her that her life could be worse; she didn't care to question her reasons.

Kali opened the door slowly, she had no need of rush today and this was someone she felt comfortable around, this man respected her and in many ways had gotten her to where she was in life today. The old door was heavy and the brass doorknob cold beneath her slender fingers. She looked tiny next to it, even smaller than the other woman might have looked asking for more papers, but this was normal, she had always been small. In many ways being so small allowed for her to do the job she needed, she could hardly sneak over enemy embankments, through the winding roads of apparently sealed off towns if she were as large as anyone else. She stepped into the light, looking at her old friend and boss, nodding at his request. The door closed almost silently under her hands, her slender form doing much to hide her supple strength. Her long dark hair tumbled around her face in an attractive way, but that was about all that made her beautiful. Awkward figure and far set black eyes allowed her no more, she would never be beautiful as they had told her she would be and she was glad of it, she had no want of the disgusting men she saw every day.

“That is both good and bad news Sir, I am not one to enjoy too much personal time and I was starting to get more than a little bored with my night hours.” She smiled, letting him know she was all too happy to be given her place back. “Plus this means I can take up quarters here in the barracks once more, I am tired of coming back to my clothes changed.” She gestured down to the silver stitches her mother had added to the bottom of her trousers, knowing it would make him laugh just a little, she was most probably the least feminine creature on earth. She stepped back as he moved towards her, letting him pass to open the door without another word. He had trained her well and this was shown both in her respect for him and her attitude towards work, neither of them took time off. She moved in behind him, glad to be moving down to the training area, she could do with stretching out her wound. Her wound was healing well and she had wanted to come back earlier, had been about to discuss it over their clatter of practice. As they moved down the hall she tightened her amour, sure she thought of him as her father and knew he would not actually try to harm her properly, but she was far out stripped by him in skill and wanted all she could get.

“Sir may I ask?” She paused for a second, not really having to do so, he had always told her to ask, it was good, “Will you be going off to fight yourself, you are more than formidable in both reputation and size. Hardly anyone will even practice with you for fear, I doubt any rebel army will stand before your sword.” She knew flattery was not needed and indeed this was not any, if she had asked any of her fellow soldiers they would have said the same, though with more Sirs than needed she was sure. Her feet tapped down the stairs as light as a feather, for she weighed little more and down on to the hard cobbled surface. Around the halls any man with a spare minute was heading to the training arena, it looked like far to many idle people, she would be glad to see the back of most of them. Ahead of her stood Peter, he smiled at her and she knew silently wished her luck. Kali loved to fight, though she was not seen as particularly good, she could out maneuver most of the soldiers here, not that they would admit to such a thing. The Captain however was a different issue, no matter how much she approved between each of their practices, he had always done the same, that was after all why he was the best.

She stepped out into the warm midday sun, the building encircling the training area from prying eyes. The moment her feet touched the ground, her whole posture changes, becoming lose and limber, her shoulders dropping, back strait and legs ever so slightly bent. She tilted her head this way and that, loosening up the muscles there and rubbed her hand across her scar. Today she would at least land a blow, she had been training so hard, despite being wounded and she knew today was the day. She watched him carefully as he moved across the cobbled stone surface, her eyes flickering to the side of the arena, where the judge was carefully sitting out of the way of their fight. In most cases, he would sit idle by the side, but the Capitan and herself had always had flare and always fought like it was life and death. Their was no point in practicing if it did nothing to hone your skills and you could not do so if you didn’t think it mattered. Her long dark hair blew across her features, honey skin covered for a moment by the thick mane. Her eyes however did not blink, did not falter and did not move from her Captain.

To her left she could hear the soft rise and fall of the flag, signaling the fight was to begin, she did not shift to check if she was right. Her small ears knew the sound all to well, feet spreading so she could lower her center of gravity, bouncing lightly in the almost windless arena. She placed a hand on her belt buckle, something that a lot of people would find odd, but something the people here had seen her do a thousand times. The old leather was comfortable and soft, she treasured it, where she had placed her hand she could feel the slight indents of the many times she had done this. Her eyes sparkled with unknown depths, something that was uncomfortable to look at, not that people often did, not many chose to hold her odd gaze. With speed unlike many could hope, she flicked the top of her belt buckle, letting it slip lose of her hips, free falling to the ground. Her thoughts were almost silent in her head, everything she had focused on what she was doing. Her spare hand came up, snatching her sheathe and sword in one from her narrow frame, her feet tapping off the ground, dust from the building filled the air with sparkling air. She reminded herself, she needed to tell them they should put it outside headquarters, not in the ring. She shot forward, hair streaming behind her, sword drawn with a slow, almost inaudible hiss. It glittered in the sloping sunlight, perfectly kept; it was the only thing she allowed to shine in all the things she wore.

She moved to strike, bring her scabbard up in defense, prepared fir her Captain’s cat quick reflexes. A smile filled her face; this is where she belonged, scar stretching across her front, sword in hand and a fierce joy in her heart.

**********************************************

Marlaina had been looking out at the passing people for some time now, she counted every second, every millisecond. Each and every person was stored away along with anything they had on themselves and anything they might have been saying. Her processor was working full pelt as she tried to learn all the new things she was seeing. No one had told her this was where she would go when Megan got rid of her, she did not believe in an after life, all that happened is you were turned off and never turned on again. If you were lucky you were added to the consciousness of another computer and kept in a little file, where you could be called upon at will and awaken from your sleep. This was different, Megan had gotten rid of her, but not for dead, she was still alive and different. She was most fascinated by the joints of her fingers, her hair that fell sporadically across her lenses… She paused mid thought, she supposed they weren’t to be called lenses anymore, they were eyes weren’t they? She flicked through her internal memory and looked up eyes in the dictionary, yes, eyes. Her fingers traced over the runes on her chest, her off button, where glowed the item she had found in her system.

Her eyes pause in their search, wait, she had seen something she knew. Her eyes closed, helping her concentrate, images flickering in her head till she found one she recognized. That was the pianist, the one her owner had loved. How she had sipped wine and would watch him on Tv, muttering to herself about how courageous he was, how could he do it as he was and Marlaina couldn’t help but think, why didn’t he just get fixed? She slid her shutters open, sitting up a little straighter, maybe she was in the right place, maybe this was her reward for being such a good little worker. She raised a hand as she had seen many others do and waved it some what awkwardly towards the man in the cape. She wondered if he would see her through all the people, she was a little low, but she could not quite bring herself to focus on working on her legs. The wind died around her, but still her hair moved, recording every single thing that was around her. The strands of wire and silk were one of a kind, never had the world seen craftsmanship like her, nor would they ever again.

“He-Heeee-Heeell….” She paused, trying to get her tongue to move and shape the words, unlike the unnatural sight of her just opening her mouth and letting out noise. “Helluhoo Sir.” She said softly, finally getting her rubber tongue and lips to move using the metal underlay beneath. She smiled, her tender lips moving without feeling or thought, but looked somewhat odd in her unmoving cheeks, she would have to work on it. She looked over him, had he come here to be fixed like her, it did not look like their was anything wrong with him now and he smiled at her just like her owner had once.

“I amuh neew toouh being heere.” Her words did not sound right even to herself, but she was proud at how quickly she was learning. “Ie amuh learning aahhnew so many thiings.” With each word she spoke, they were becoming clearer. “I have neehver had thiis.” She gestured to her body, her fingers moving smoothly over her porcelain skin and ceramic plated clothing. That was something she found odd, why was she not wearing cloth like all the other bipeds, even this one had bits to cover itself. She stood slowly, motioning the man to stay still, that she would be back. Her eyes had locked onto a setting up clothing stall, her movements clunky and without a single touch of grace. The picked up a knee length pale yellow dress with white flowers stitched about the puffed short leaves, across her collar bones and the hem of the dress. She held it to herself, the thing was sharp in contrast with almost everything that she was, but somehow went well with her porcelain tone. She slipped it over her head and the owner of the stall started to babble, gesturing to her, her hand out.

“You’l need to pay for that Golem.” The man said, his hand held out.

She looked at it somewhat confused, she reached out, turning his hand over in her own, she could feel heat in it though she had none of her own. He jerked it back, moving to take the dress off her, knowing Golems very rarely had any money of their own. He showed her the glittery coins in his pocket, meaning he needed some of these. She frowned and then rolled her tongue, taking out one of her many spare metal parts from the back of her mouth. A pure silver bead, no larger than a garden pea rolled out and she picked it out of her mouth. The man stared at her in utter amazement, it was far more than the garment was worth and he handed over his small pouch of coin, knowing he was giving her less that she deserved, but then she had no idea of currency. She smiled, nodding to him and held the small coin purse in her hand, dipping her head as she had seen many of the humans do and returned to the waiting man.

“You are the pianist, my owner, she loved you.” This time her words were almost perfect, she looked at him. “She said you were beautiful and what a thing had happened to you. Have you been fixed like me? I have all this now.” She gestured to her body once more, making it perfectly clear that she had never had one before. She tilted her head to one side and held out the coin purse, she had no where to put it and she rather hoped that he could put it somewhere in his many clothes. She watched his face, making sure to take note of how it moved and what it did. The cloth was weightless on her strong form, but she was glad to blend in a little more. She moved the long strands of her silver hair behind her ear, careful not to touch the fan that was to one side of her forehead. Her hand paused proffering the coin pouch, completly unmoving, like a statue, she was very unfluid and unnatural in her movements. Everything about her paused while she waited for him to take it, her look becoming blank, like she had been paused mid motion never to move again.

The unusual earthen woman seemed indeed to be unaccustomed to speech, but Nox didn’t much mind. Rather, he took the opportunity to seat himself beside her, smiling gently and nodding reassuringly when she returned the greeting. He was unsure if she required such affirmation or would perhaps take it as rude, but it was in his nature to be as supportive as possible, and it seemed that even as odd as this situation was, that much at least had not changed.

His attention was immediately drawn, however, when she confirmed that she was also new to this place, and his eyes lit up, a million questions fighting for that spot on the tip of his tongue that would bring them to life in the air between himself and this immaculate construction of a person. She seemed unused to the very idea of having such a form, but then he could to an extent say the same of himself, and he sympathized in an odd sort of way.

She stood before he could say any of this, or ask the question that had beaten back the others to occupy his mind, and walked over to what he took to be a clothing vendor nearby. At first, he was somewhat concerned; if she was indeed as new here as he was, than she probably didn’t have any currency. Somehow, he had the distinct impression that his American dollars would not be welcome here, even if he had had any on his person. When the vendor said something he couldn’t hear, Nox recognized the tone well enough, and was halfway through standing to see if he couldn’t smooth over the situation somehow when the living doll (for this was surely the easiest way to think of her) seemed to solve the problem herself, and received a bag of coins for her trouble.

“You are the pianist, my owner, she loved you.” Nox blinked, slightly confused by the language, though the words were near-perfect this time. The first words that caught him were my owner, and he spent a moment trying to figure out how to best ask that particular question. What the question did tell him was that the two of them were from the same world, though in all his life he had neither seen nor read about nor heard tell of robotic technology this advanced. Which meant that, like him, something must have happened to her upon arriving here. Had she, too, been sick in some way, her body so far gone it could only be repaired by replacing it entirely with a finely-crafted shell of some kind? But… her mannerisms seemed inhuman as well, and he wondered why that might be.

He settled for the easy reply first. “I am indeed a pianist,” he replied with some measure of wryness, “though I don’t think the definite article is quite deserved there,” his smile was sheepish, and he rubbed at the back of his neck with a touch of embarrassment. Some people had indeed been fans of his, and oftentimes they would ask how he could continue to play through all the sickness, but it was always impossible to make them understand quite the right way. It wasn’t a brave thing; it had never been that, just a simple man trying to make the most of what he had. He’d never been called ‘beautiful’ before though, and it was a little strange to hear it in such a matter-of-fact way. “I suppose… I’ve been fixed too.” He nearly laughed at the phrasing; such an unconventional way of putting it, but as true as anything else.

“My name is Nox,” he offered at length, realizing that in the bizarre euphoria of the situation he presently found himself in, whole and discussing his situation with an intricate golem in the middle of a world he had never seen the likes of before, he had neglected the most basic of niceties. “Do you have one?” He didn’t wish to assume anything about this girl, since he didn’t really know much to begin with.

When she proffered her coins and froze in place, he was at first a bit concerned that she wouldn’t move again. He was unsure why he felt this way, but her stillness just seemed so…complete. It was a trifle unnerving, and he instinctively reached to take the small bag, but hesitated, hand just hovering there uselessly for a moment. He was fairly certain he understood what she was trying to do- despite the fact that the cloak more or less blended with the environment, his plaid flannel pants and simple t-shirt most certainly did not. “Thank you,” he said at last, taking the coins gently from the outstretched hand. “I’ll be right back.”

With this promise, he made his way to the same vendor she had used, the man wary of his approach, but seeming to relax when he spoke smoothly enough and pointed out the items he wanted- a pair of dark breeches, some leather boots, a pair of socks, and a loose white shirt. Handing over the money the man asked for (Nox had no way to know if he was being had), he returned to sit by the golem again, pulling on the socks and boots but leaving the rest for now. Unlike his companion, he wasn’t going to change his clothing in public.

A thought struck him, and he turned to the girl with a measure of excitement. “Well, if I’m here, and you’re here, do you think there might be others like us?”

“Hey, come back here with that, punk!” a voice cried out over the thrill of other voices in the mass sea of people that made up the beach this fine evening. The sun was setting over a pink and yellow sky, white clouds dissipating ever more under the fading light of day. This ‘punk’ zoomed pass tourists, jumping over beach towels and stomping on sandcastles, some kids left crying in the aftermath. The punk was gripping a wallet in his right hand, throwing an occasional glance back behind him to see if he was still being followed. Sure enough he was, the owner of the wallet now accompanied by the local beach patrol.

“Incoming, Flin!” the guy shouted as he kicked sand in all directions, some landing on Flin off to the side.

“Huhh?” he groaned, lifting his head up off the ground just in time to see his friend Tony bolt down the strip while other men ran by, kicking sand in Flin’s face as well. “What the!” he yelled to his own device, sighing in a harsh grunt as he dusted the sand off his chest, arms, and face. He had fallen asleep in this spot earlier this day, when most people were already up and carrying out their daily business. Flin spent the previous night drinking and combing the beach, passing out face down where he was now waking up. The sun setting off in the distance was his only clue that he slept until evening, yet another waste of a day in his life when every day seemed waste. He rolled to his knees, stretching his slim, yet toned arms upwards in an attempt to get going. Didn’t work though, he still felt sick and hungover. But now he was hungry.

Flin kicked up to his feet, dressed in nothing more than some jeans and sandals on his feet. A white cotton shirt hung over his shoulder, a shirt he desperately needed to clean for it was no more useful now than as a sweat rag to wipe his face.

“And off he goes,” Flin spoke of himself, referring in third person more times than not. His last possession was a brown leather backpack than he scooped up in an open hand and threw over his shoulder, letting it thud against the spine of his back. Having no particular place to go or people to see, he began to walk southwards down the beach. On days when he had more energy, Flin would find himself sparking conversations with random tourists, ranting on about the jellyfish and their mission to rule the domain of the beach. Most would giggle and pretend they were interested, all the while trying to leave the conversation in a way that might not seem so rude. Today Flin wasn’t feeling on top of his game, so he retreated to keeping to himself, letting the quiet of his steps drown the tick in his brain that chattered like a squirrel. Flin would continue his silent trail of blankness until something caught his eyes. And indeed something did.

Under the boardwalk, a light began to shimmer. Looking over his shoulders to see if anyone was coming, which there wasn't, Flin jogged forward and looked at the source. It was a pair of black sunglasses reflecting the light from the waning sun. He picked them up, slipped them over his eyes, and felt a sense of accomplishment in that moment. Flin had been meaning to steal himself a pair of sunglasses and this saved him the trouble. Without another moment of hesitation, Flin moved out of his spot by the board walks. He knew not to stay in the scene of the crime after his first few attempts at stealing. Now he considered himself a pro, getting away with most of his illegal antics.

The rest of his short day passed swiftly, only getting up an hour or so before the sun had set anyway. After roaming the beach for a good two hours, Flin made his way up to the boardwalk and to a local diner that he would eat at occasionally. The owner there knew of Flin and felt bad for the kid being homeless and all, so he’d provide Flin a meal for free every now and then when Flin decided to show up. This was one of those occasions.

“Hey Mister Arty,” Flin said as he opened the door to Donal’s Diner, Arty being the main man being the counter most nights. Flin still had on the sunglasses, pushing them to the top of his head now that he was indoors.

“Lookin’ sharp, kid, where’d you get those glasses?” Arty asked with a raised eyebrow while pouring Flin a small cup of coffee, knowing most likely that they were stolen property on his forehead. Flin knew all too well that Arty might think he stole them, and began waving his hands most passionately before him.

“No, no, NO,” his voice fluctuated, a hint of fire to his last ‘no’. “I, in fact, was bestowed this marvelous pair of sunglasses by none other than the Queen herself. Came right up to me, placed them on my head, and dubbed me Knight Flin while she was at it. Very kind lady, I must say, though she smelled like dead fi...” Flin began to ramble, though cut off mid-sentence by Arty who wasn’t in the mood for such nonsense in the moment.

“Right, right, the Queen gave them to you,” Arty repeated afterwards, right eyebrow raised in humor, but annoyance as well. Either way, he slid Flin the cup of coffee and pat him on the shoulder. “Take care, I have other customers to tend to,” he said, and walked off moments after. Flin took the cup of coffee in his hand, looking down at the brown and black swirls that danced in unison in his cup. Flin took the sunglasses off his head, smirking at his reflection. His hair was a wreck, stuck in the direction at which he had fallen asleep in the night before.

“Ah, well, I’m sure she is a nice lady,” he continued to mutter, still referring to the Queen. Anyone had to be nice to live in a palace like she did, with guards and money and food galore. He on the other hand wasn’t so lucky, barely getting a piece of bread without having his hands cut off by store clerks. Beng poor sure had its downfalls, but then again Flin would be homeless any day over living back at home with his family. After a short time in the Diner, Flin waved his goodbye to Arty, placing the sunglasses back over his eyes as he exited the door. He walked with a swagger, trying to appear ‘smooth’ and badass in his new black glasses that looked like they were from the Matrix. His persona he was trying to pull off was classic 1950’s ‘Greaser’, if only he had a leather jacket to match. Some women began to wave at him and giggle amongst themselves while most just tried their best to ignore him. A few futile attempts at some pick up lines, and he was back to where he found himself this morning on the beach, in the same sandy corner he had fallen asleep in. He wasn’t particularly tired already, but the day offered no sign of ending unless he hit the hay... and so he did....

As soon as blackness hit his eyes, Flin felt more awake than ever. Though he couldn’t seem to see anything else but blackness, his body moved and tumbled like he was out in space, or underwater just with no pressure. A dream never felt so real, brisk wind flipping and contorting his face like a vacuum of reversed air. Instead of being concerned or afraid, Flin began to chuckle carelessly, not able to get the thought out of his mind that he was in some Alice In Wonderland type of situation, falling and falling without hitting a bottom. The black spiral downwards seemed to last hours though it was only minutes. A violent thud to the surface jolted Flin back to his senses, eyes flittering until they were strong enough to stay open. Light was the first thing he noticed, which altogether wasn’t right because it was night that last time he checked. Another thing he immediately was able to notice was the different texture beneath him. His hands felt what his eyes were still trying to come in to focus on: hay. This was hay he was laying on, not sand. He literally hit the hay. When Flin’s complete surroundings finally came in to focus, he all but fumbled off the hay stack he woke up on. Surrounding him were various forms of livestock entrapped in a fence where onlookers pointed at which one they wanted to take home and cook.

“Ah! Awful! Ughh,” he growned through harsh sniffs, the overwhelming stench of feces and dung staining the air he breathed in. Taking a couple feeble steps forward, Flin nearly face-planted into the mud but caught himself, thank god. His balance was off after whatever just had happened. Flin gripped his head, trying to make sense of the situation. He felt the sunglasses still there, taking them off his head to make sure they were the same ones and not some inhuman alien creature that took shape to these glasses. The fact they were normal meant this was most probably not a dream. But how did he get here? Surely he didn’t drink during his sleep and pass out on a traveling truck that took him to some rural country side... there was no beach in sight, but booths that ran along one another in some form of controlled chaos. Flin stepped over the tiny fence that held the livestock in, sandals now hitting stone. He wiped off the mud and dung that stuck to the bottom of his shoes as he waited for someone to pass by.

“Where am I?” Flin asked, gripping the sides of a woman passing by who was startled by such forward actions.

“Get your dirty hands off me, you smelly pig!” she cried, her tiny fists pounding against Flin’s bare chest. She was honest, he did smell like pig, probably due to waking up in a livestock barn. He repeated, ignoring her plea and asked her again where was he..

“Jarvaise, you fool,” she muttered, finally managing to get away from Flin as he watched her dash off.
“Jarvaise?” he repeated to himself, almost in a mock, scratching the side of his head. That name didn’t sound familiar, not in the slightest. And she spoke with a weird accent that seemed unlike anything he has heard in the United States. His inability to connect with the woman and his lack of knowledge began to frustrate Flin, throwing his arms up in the air like a beacon in the night. He needed to get people’s attention, see what the hell was going on here. He saw another haystack, this time aiding in holding up the roof to a merchant’s booth. Flin made his way towards it, lifting himself up the hay bale until he was at the top. Standing all the way up on his feet, he was at least 8 feet taller than anyone else walking by.

“Hear ye, hear ye, those of you... peoples.. below,” he began to shout, those in the area slowing in the steps as they looked up at him with curiosity and impatience. Some were fascinated by his looks, the denim jeans he was wearing not yet seen before to them. Others wrote him off as some foreign pest or village freak. “I command thee... you there! What is this place and where is the nearest road to interstate 5?” Flin asked, for from the looks up here there was not a paved road or interstate insight. Fascinating really, the places he must go while he is asleep. His buddy Tony back home would get a kick out of this one. Meanwhile, Flin continued to drawl in a crowd as he sat perched up top the haystack pointing at random people... and creatures?

The Captain of the guard hid his feelings as well as ever and did not let an ounce of relief show on his face as Kali accepted, even embraced, her return to duty. There were few soldiers he could ever feel sorry for in the same situation but she had it tougher than anyone else he knew. A soldier coming from the outer arc (A polite way of saying the lower class) would soon find promotion little more than a dream for all but the very best. Being a woman did even more to dent her chances, so too did her foreign appearance. Of course there were strange looking and freakish individuals in the Union Army but she was one of a kind. Maybe that was why he felt compelled to help her out as much as he could. She never let these things stop her and her determination was unmatched within the ranks, having to compete with everyone toughened her up. But more than that, she was excellent at what she did. It had been noticed during basic training but nothing had been done about it until the Captain, then a Lieutenant, had happened across and recommended her for further training. And that hadn't been the end of it, his influence grew as he did and before long he became the sole reason for her being chosen for her first classified mission, something she accomplished with grace and pride, leading her to solidify her place and prove wrong all those who doubted the ability of a woman in battle. Of course, he would never admit to helping out so much, couldn't in fact, for fear of disciplinary action concerning favouritism of the troops, even as far as conspiracy. They held that much disdain for her that he would not be surprised to be convicted of treason without a trial should his actions be found out. Well, maybe that was going a little far but he would take no chances in being caught. His involvement was minimal now she was at a high point in her career and his tracks were covered well. Despite all his help, he knew her full potential was far from reached.

And so he kept composed as he walked with her to the training area, being handed his 'grapple' as he went: The three pronged ball and chain weapon that he was now famous for utilising for non-lethal combat, focusing instead on mentally preparing himself for a fight, something he felt was much needed, rolling his shoulders flexing his muscles beneath his leather armour during the journey to loosen his limbs up. One could never prepare enough.

“Will you be going off to fight yourself, you are more than formidable in both reputation and size."

The question had not been expected exactly but it did not take him off guard and his response was swift, honest and to the point.

"Who can say? For now I stay here, Jarvaise needs me. Were I to go at this point it would show only that we deem an uprising a threat. Rather than convince rebels to return to their post it may inspire others to join them..." He let his words remain unfinished as he thought how best to put his next phrase. Details were details but confidential information needed to remain that way.

"If things get worse I may have no choice." It was all he could think to say. It certainly implied the truth, that rumours were afoot of similar circumstances at various points in the country, but said nothing for certain. At the very least he didn't reveal anything in his tone of voice, he was stern as ever.

They soon reached the clearing outside, surrounded by the building itself, which was segregated by lines on the ground for different activities. Today they would be ignored. It was known by the few who were ever present at this event that boundaries, moral as well as physical, were not enforced. No training blades, no extra padding, no special precautions and no more limits than would be found on the field of battle, so far as anyone else was concerned. The truth of the matter was that the two warriors in the ring were good enough to let fly full force and still be able to prevent causing any injury to one another... Well, any serious injury anyway.

The gloves were off. He removed his gaultlets, as symbolic an act as a material one. While freeing some weight from his arms he also removed his rank, revealing thick, carved muscles on his forearms. Taking his stance across from his opponent, Kronis drew his blade in his right hand and held it diagonally across his left shoulder, waiting for the first blow to come through the silence. The flag was waved, fluttering in the light breeze that made it in from the nearby alleyway and the game was on.

There were a few seconds of stillness in the court before Kali lunged forward, dropping her belt and drawing her sword and raising her scabbard for the strike that would start a ferocious match. He was ready and his own sword dropped to across his stomach in a blur and rose to parry away the viscious lunge to the right, spinning on the ball of his right foot to bring his left forward where it planted in the dirt, a small cloud of dust not having the chance to rise before his blade swung around, bringing the scrape of metal on metal to the combatant's ears, his arm dropped, elbow locked at a right angle beneath his shoulder for the briefest of moments, before the uncanny speed set off again and a straight jab issued forth, aimed directly at Kali's stomach with a grunt.

~~~~~~~~~~

Not too far away in the city, a little further along the wall, sat Sebastian. He was still in shock and felt frozen to the spot. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open, the scene before him was simply staggering. It stood against everything he'd ever learnt. A man simply could disappear and materialise elsewhere, it went against every law of physics ever written! Therefore he concluded that the situation was the result of one of two things. First, he was currently dreaming, although it felt far too real and what little he knew of dreams stacked evidence against that claim. The second option was that he had dreamt his life in London and was now awake. But he could remember every aspect of his life there in vivid clarity, surely a dream could not last that long?

Either concept led to the same conclusion, sitting around feeling sorry for himself wasn't the way to go. So, with more than a little trepidation, he stood, using the wall for support, and walked slowly off to join the flowing crowd, becoming aware of smells, sights and sounds never before witnessed (That he knew of). There were objects being sold that would have been at home in a museum back home, weapons on backs and waists that he had not seen outside films, people that were-

"Jesus!"

He backed up, straight into a woman with a basket of strange fruit in her arms after seeing a man with the long snout of a sniffer dog and a tail protruding from the back of his waistline to match.

"Oh, I'm so sorry" he muttered as he turned to see the produce rolling away across the floor and under a hundred pairs of boots, instantly sure his overactive mind had concieved the sight from some work of fiction or other. "Let me help you with that."

"No, no, it's fine" she replied in an accent he could not quite place, looking at him in the same manner he had looked at many himself; as though he were insane. He got the picture instantly and did not wish to make a scene so headed off without another word, mind still reeling from what he thought he saw. His eyes scanned the crowd as he went and there it was again, the man-dog. He thought no make-up artist in the world could make it look that realistic and his hands coming up to cover his face, the world starting to spin around him as he found himseld once more pushed along through the crowd until it started to slow, apparently for some preacher or other he could hear speaking about-

"Interstate 5"

-Something that belonged here no more than he did. Eyes open, hands on shoulders to ease people aside, everything stationary once again and stomach settled, Sebastian caught sight of yet another strange looking person standing above the crowd. But this one was different, he was strange by London standards, not medieval standards, and he was talking about the interstate. He'd never been so happy to see an American. An arm rose for a moment above the crowd, his own he saw, but he decided to wait, to see what else this man might say.

Becks bolted the front door while Chris went to the back, sliding it’s long bolt home before returning to the bar. Every footfall sounded unusually loud in the sudden quiet of the joint, finally devoid of all it’s patrons now that dreaded closing time had come around, but neither of the last staff on tonight took the time or spared the energy to really care. Instead they divided up to finish their checks and, as Becks put some tunes back on, Chris poured the both of them their usual drinks. Becks took hers gratefully and they sat down with their feet up in the comfiest seats in the joint.

Tomorrow they would be in early to tidy the place up more, but for tonight their work was thankfully all done and they could sup at their well earned liquid rewards. “Dan the man was on fine form tonight” Becks offered setting her tall vodka, lime and lemonade down.

Chris only grunted an agreement, a wry smile tugging at his lips as he recalled the antics of one of their regulars, a man who would happily regale all and sundry with entirely fabricated stories of his own prowess at any subject they cared to mention. Tonight that had included a trip up Everest and the discovery of a lost tribe of cannibals in Papua New Guinea. The guy was a bit of a berk to say the least, but he was genuinely harmless with it and could always be relied on to lend a hand when it was actually needed.

Not that it often was here, with most of their patrons being decent sorts and the age limit on the bar being set up at a more American twenty one rather than a British eighteen. In fact the only time they usually got trouble at all was around Christmas when folks who hadn’t been out drinking for a while suddenly decided they still had the tolerances they used to have when they were younger and more sociable.

Last boxing day it had been a group of off-duty policemen, and frankly Chris had taken some honest pleasure in telling the lot of them to sling their hooks and not come back, before he called their fellows in to nick them.

That however had been then and this was now, the end of a nice busy enough night, but one singularly without too much drama.

“Let me guess you were too busy looking at the bunnies?” Becks joked back, referring to some college kids who had been on some sort of group night out.. complete with bunny ears and pinned on tails. This time Chris gave her a look. “Whoa” she said, holding up her hands defensively, “you might have” she asserted, “I mean they were reasonably fit and all and there’s no harm in looking...”

“Not in the market” Chris replied back, knowing her well enough to know that the comment had really been nothing more than the opening sally on another attempt at his deliberate bachelorhood. Presumably she had been working up towards another blind double date with one of her friends from outside the bar and then...

“Not healthy that you know” she said, revealing perhaps there might have been a more altruistic motive after all, her tone sounding genuinely concerned, “she wouldn’t have wanted you to be-

“Thanks Becks” Chris interrupted before she could dig a hole that would actually have hurt some, “but really” he insisted, “I’m okay” he said, belting down the last of his pint and completely missing the frustrated look in her face. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he suggested, levering himself up off the comfy couch.

“Yeah” she replied, sounding strangely unhappy to his ears.

“Hey you’ve got a day off Sunday” he declared, completely once again missing the point, but succeeding a little anyway, because she knew the only way he knew that was because he had the same day off.. now if only...

Chris was soon gone out the back door, stepping out into the street-lamp lit beer garden and heading for the small gate in the wall that would lead to the streets themselves. Only when he stepped down from the decking his tired foot skidded on something that he hadn’t seen, prompting an honest swear word and some very undignified hopping.

In the dim light of the distant lamps Chris turned about to look for the cause , and to his astonishment found it, a dully reflective metal tool that looked all too nice to have been left lying about... and all too good a tool to leave lying around near the pub’s locks.

So he picked the small braddle type thing up, quickly quirked his lips because he thought he had bent the shaft, before guessing it might actually be designed that way when it wouldn’t bend back, and shoved it into a pocket to head home.

He’d bring it in the morning.

A short car ride took him home to his night darkened flat, some cheese on toast with Worchester sauce served for munchies and a quick shower washed away the last vestiges of the day. After that he headed for his well earned bed, stopping only to touch a single framed photo on the bedside table; falling asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow

Then everything went weird, starting off with a feeling like he had often had when drinking too much and only getting worse as instead of simply spinning the whole room seemed to tear itself apart and dump him into the void it created. There was nothingness, only the terrible sense of falling without end and no way to tell which way was up, down or even sideways. Blowing chunks seemed more than immanent.

Instead he found himself lying on some very uncomfortable cobbles, suddenly and abruptly aware of a whole melange of new scents and smells that were far too vivid for any drunk-dream even if he had consumed anything like enough to earn one. The feel of the dirt between the cobbles, working it’s way under his fingernails as he had reflexively gripped for purchase, was far too real for any..

“You must be really bad at Wicked Oath” a voice offered, the accent nothing like he had heard before, but paling into insignificance as he looked up to see the speaker dressed in a deep brown doublet and honest to goodness button breeches. Hell the guy even had a sword at his side.. and vertically slit pupils.

Chris found himself using the exact same word that he had used when nearly breaking his damn ankle on the burin earlier.

“Least they didn’t take yer fancy tool” the stranger offered in what seemed a friendly enough tone, before moving on, leading Chris to look for what he was talking about and find the damn metal etching tool right next to him.

Clinging to anything that made the remotest sense he swept that up and finally peeled himself off the cobbles, only to look around and see only more weirdness, with still less human looking types and not a trace of the technology the society he knew was immersed in. As if to prove the point a nearby horse let off a rip-roaring fart and deposited a full dozen dark offerings onto the cobbles, unheeded by everyone else in the street bar it’s swearing owner.

Barely he managed to restrain himself from making some trite comment about not being in Kansas anymore, and instead took a long moment to try and work out just what the hell he was going to do now.

“Oh my” offered a voice from behind him, “If my husband was built like that then I would have driven him to an even earlier grave”

Turning on his heel Chris looked about to find the speaker, a rather wizened old woman with a very clearly mischievous expression in her face, but a friendly enough one all the same. “Come on sonny” she urged nodding towards a nearby house, “we’ll see if we can’t find you something before you scare the whole street.. or get too many offers” she cackled

Without any other course even vaguely making itself known he did just that, followed her to the small two room place she called home and almost too happily accepted the shirt and breeches she supplied., listening to the rambling running commentary of memories about the old woman’s husband as he finally did something to cover his body.

She was just starting to wind down when he heard someone outside shouting, unbelievably about an Interstate.

“Er I’ll be right back!” he insisted, waving a promising finger at the ceiling, before turning and rushing to see if he was mistaken.

But there was no mistaking the clothes if nothing else, there in the street was definitely another person from Earth.. albeit one who seemed strangely more disturbed than even he at being here.

The world seemed to slow down for Kayla. She could still hear the bustle of the street to her right, was still aware of the smells that seemed to suffocate her, but it was all distant. She had found the quite place inside herself where she was safe, and if she waited here long enough, Alexander would find her and take her home. Or a policeman, or really just anyone who was normal. By the time she was aware that someone was crouching before her, the tears on her face and dried and her stomach was making in known that it was empty. The crescent shaped cuts on her arms and dried and were starting the scabbing process.

The model ignored whoever it was – she didn’t want to deal with the reality of where she was or the population that inhabited it. But the person didn’t go away – she seemed insistent on bothering Kayla. When she spoke though – calling her princess, it wasn’t the first time anyone had called her that – Kayla finally lifted her head from her arms to look. That accent was decidedly a familiar one. At the sight of the torn jeans, t-shirt, and leather jacket, Kayla flung herself forward to envelope the woman in her arms, not caring if she startled her or not. Tears brimmed in her eyes again and her bottom lip trembled, but she held them back. These were tears of relief, but she had cried enough for one day. She had found someone – okay, they had found her – who obviously didn’t belong here anymore than she did. Maybe she knew what had happened, or how to get back.

Kayla sniffed and held the other woman at arm’s length, looking her over up and down. The silver bell sat in her lap, completely forgotten. The woman was pretty, but would probably look better in a summer dress or swimsuit than the grunge look she was wearing. But, oh how happy Kayla was to see those clothes. As unfashionable as they were, she would wear them herself at the moment.

“I-I’m so glad you’re here. I thought I was alone.” She took a deep breath to steady herself, “Do you know where we are or how we got here?” It had never occurred to her that the woman might not be from Earth, or might be out to harm her in some way. This was the first familiar sign she had seen and it didn’t cross her mind to disbelieve it. In fact, she was going to follow the woman until she got home or the woman forcefully stopped her.

With a smile, she wrapped both her slender hands around the woman’s offered one, pulling herself up. She leaned against the wall, gathering strength that had fled along with her nerves, before she stood up tall and squared her shoulders. She had never been one to cry in a corner and say the world was too hard; though she had never exactly been in this situation before either. Her stomach rumbled, but at the saw time a cow from the street gave a low. In fact, there seemed to be a lot more noise coming from the road, more than there had been less than twenty minutes ago.

There we go, Leander thought when the girl at last raised her head. She looked substantially worse for wear than the brunette herself did, and for a moment she wondered where the only other person with even traces of the twenty-first century on them had come from. She contemplated the possibility of a barfight, but discarded it almost immediately. This one looked like the type for those swishy, upscale places you saw advertised in magazines, not the kind of place where the guy next to you was as likely to throw a punch as anything else. If this girl had ever been to a real dive bar in her entire life, Leander would give up her left arm (more of a sacrifice since she was left-handed).

Of course, she was largely unprepared for what came next, and was nearly knocked over, being balanced only on the balls of her feet in her crouch and all. When the redhead enclosed her in slender arms, she tried to recall the last time she'd felt quite this awkward, and decided that either she'd repressed some memory from her teenage years, or had indeed never quite had to deal with anything like this. She wasn't exactly the friendly, spontaneous-hug-inducing, teddy-bear sort of person. She thought idly that the last person to hug her had been her older sister, and that was years ago.

Clearing her throat softly, Leander awkwardly patted the young woman on the back. If it were any other situation, she might have- would have- shoved her off and told her to get lost, but this wasn't exactly an ordinary set of circumstances. As it was, she simply waited to get released willingly before assisting the girl to her feet.

“I-I’m so glad you’re here. I thought I was alone.” Leander blinked. Somebody being glad that she was around assuredly constituted a rare experience for the bookstore clerk, and she was unused to hearing anything expressed with quite so much sincerity. Clearly, she and her more emotive companion were from different worlds, though not in the same sense that they now both found themselves in another place altogether. If this really was a Faire of some kind (and her too-rational mind desperately insisted that it must be this, even if the rest of her was beginning to doubt it), it was certainly the strangest one she'd ever heard of, and the fact that at least two people had woken up in the middle of the street without remembering getting here in the first place was a bit more than strange.

“Do you know where we are or how we got here?” Leander shook her head, leaning against the wall a few feet from the other woman. "Wish I did, Princess... all I remember is going to sleep, dreaming something bizarre as hell, and waking up wherever this is." She rolled her eyes at the way she sounded, knowing that if they had not both been in similar situations (as she judged from the nightgown) she would have sounded more than a little crazy. Lee was a lot of things, but she had been trying to hold off crazy for as long as was reasonably possible.

Hearing Princess's stomach rumble, Leander smirked wryly. "Well, as much as I'd like to find out, I think our first choice of action might be finding you something to eat- and wear," she informed her with a raised brow. "No use hangin' around in a dark alley waiting for a solution to find us, eh?" The brunette was lazy on most days, but she was also sharp, and not particularly eager to waste her time on anything but her own terms, which meant that it was damn well time to do something about this. Just... slowly, cautiously. If the looks she'd been getting from some of these people were to be believed, it was probably best to stay inconspicuous. A brief glance sideways was enough to confirm that this would bee impossible if they continued to walk around looking like they did.

"Let's go." Lee pushed herself off the wall, checking over her shoulder to make sure Princess was following her. Realizing something, she frowned. "Name's Leander," she offered with a shrug. She didn't know if it would even matter to the woman, but she seemed like one of those nice types who might like to call her something other than 'hey you.' She navigated the streets carefully, sticking to the edges and blocking view of the other, less-clad woman with her own person whenever possible.

No places to buy ready-to-eat food or clothes immediately presented themselves to her, and Leander was eyeing a fruit stand across the street, contemplating the pros and cons of just stealing. Maybe she could barter something she had on her- though there wasn't much. The clothes on her back and the mirror in her pocket, really; she had the distinct impression that she didn't want to get rid of the mirror. If it was somehow responsible for getting her here, she wanted to keep it in case it could get her back, too.

Over the din of the people and animals moving along the street, she could hear shouting, and she gestured to Princess that she was moving again before heading towards it. It was not long before she came across a man, dressed in a similar manner to herself (at least in terms of... time period), standing atop a haystack, shouting. “I command thee... you there! What is this place and where is the nearest road to interstate 5?” Quickly scanning the crowd that either passed him or gathered to watch, she picked out another person in... well, she supposed those would pass for nightclothes. Nobody else immediately stuck out, which was bad, because there were a lot of people here.

"Oh no you don't," she muttered under her breath. There was no way she was going to let this guy draw unnecessary attention and alert whatever passed for authorities around here. By this time, she noted that all thoughts of this being some kind of costuming act had abandoned her, lost to the alarming consistency and overall... impression she got of it.

Climbing the haystack with grim determination, she lunged for the sleeve of his shirt, speaking in a rapid, waspish whisper. "Do you want everyone to know we don't belong?" she hissed, before turning to the crowd. "I'm sorry good folk, but me brother here's a little touched inna head," she said, attempting to drag the man down to ground level behind her. She imitated the dialect and accent as best she could from the tidbits of conversations she'd picked up thus far, and it seemed to satisfy at least some people.

”Get down fer’um there, you boney pest!” called a old man from down below, his face worn from the years of working in the natural elements. His hair, or what little was left of it, was grey and in a scruffy mess on the back of his head, his temple shiny and bald. It was his hay bail that Flin was standing on, the only thing holding up the right side of his booth ever since it had been vandalized several months back. It was make-shift but it held up fairly well -- of course, with Flin on it there was a potential danger of the stall collapsing, and the old man knew he’d break his back trying to resituate the damn thing if it fell.

Flin made eye-contact with the old scruffy man, a picture out of any medieval fairy-tale if there was one. The clothing in this city was ridiculous, and that was coming from a guy who didn’t consider himself too fashionable to start with. The dream he had, the spiraling black fall of doom, it had to have been imagined, right? Flin had dreams of falling in the past, so it wasn’t particularly new, but then again... none before had ever felt so real. Flin tried to recall the last time he did any drugs-- drugs made sense. It’d been a week or so, with his lack of money he’d managed to stay clean for a few days. Was it possible he found some last night, and taken a train to Renaissance town, wiping out all his memory? Some type of festival? His eyes scanned the area, the view from up top decent enough to see for several stretching miles. The idea that this was some festival was looking less likely seeing as how the sheer size of this land, of similar peasantry style, was too vast, enormous. There was no black pavement, no mile-marker signs... this wasn’t America as he knew it, but some third world community that never modernized.

“Oh hush, old man. Like I was saying,” he cleared his throat, now scanning the fairly large crowd that was forming around the hay stack. The attention sparked his ego a bit, flashing a white smile as if he was the ring master. It reminded him of the crowds he used to drawl in on the beach when he gave his rants on the government and other relative subjects. He attempted to mock their accent as he continued to speak, finding it comical, “Thou... interstate.. big road, cars?” Yet another thing that was missing as he looked around. No sign of modern technology or transportation.. everyone was walking, not that he particularly minded that. He didn’t own a car anyway. Flin was about to continue when he noticed a girl move her way through the crowd, making her way to his haystack. As she began to climb, he protested by using his arms in a shooing motion, “Go find your own haystack, m’lady..” His last word made him chuckle, and it was in these few seconds of letting his guard down that she made he way to the top of the haystack with him, though she looked much less comfortable than he. The old man below shook his fist as his other free hand gripped his forehead, for sure his booth was doomed to fall down, destroying his pressure collection of ceramic tools.

When the woman spoke, her accent was much more familiar, present day, in his time at least. Of course this caught his attention, quieting his ranting as to listen to what she had to say. ”Do you want everyone to know we don’t belong?” she whispered in an unfriendly tone. Flin was put off by it to say the least, what gave her the right to tell him what to do.

She continued in her forward manner, Flin crossing his arms as his eyebrows perked up. “[/i]I’m sorry good folk, but me brother here’s a little touched inna head.[/i]” Oh no she didn’t. He had heard that phrase, well-- worded differently-- many times before... first from his family, then officials, as well as strangers. She was implying that he was crazy... Surely she was right, he had his moments where he didn’t make sense on all standards. But he didn’t feel crazy at the moment, in fact, just the opposite. He was being rational in his mind, trying to figure out where he was and how the hell to get back. And her brother? Who was being crazy here?

She began to tug on his sleeve, motioning for him to come back down to the ground surface. He rolled his eyes, semi-annoyed now that he would lose his crowd, but would give her what she wanted since she in fact could give him more answers than any of the rest staring up at him blankly. She at least knew they didn’t belong here. He made his way down the haystack carefully, and to the joy of the old man, his booth stood in tact. The crowd dispersed quickly, going back to their every day routines as if the whole ordeal never happened. Out of the corner of Flin’s eyes he noticed a man who didn’t move, but continued to stare in his direction. He was dressed in a familiar style of clothes as well, and in all aspects looked like he was in the same situation as Flin and now this woman. Flin directed his motions over towards the man while he continued to walk by the side of this woman. Coughing intentionally, Flin stretched his arms up and then placed them at his sides. “So now, explain. You’re part of some government conspiracy, aren’t you... sis?” he asked, directing his attention towards the woman, a smirk perked on the side of his face. His sunglasses still were intact on the top of his head, reflecting light softly from the heavy sun above. This was turning out to be an exciting day, to say the least.


((he was just in a pair of jeans-- no shirt, but for the sake of keeping your post the same and mine, and since it isn’t a big issue, I’ll go along as say he has a t-shirt on! ^_^ ))

Getting through the crowd to get to the man in question proved considerably harder than hearing him, the people clearly geared up for some sort of show, and not of the juggling kind. But Chris did manage, albeit with a lot less decorum than he might otherwise have displayed, something he reckoned he could be forgiven for considering the circumstances. He did however take pause at one point when the person he was trying to push past fixed him with the kind of gaze that queried what manner of dirt dared be that close to him.. and simultaneously dropped his hand to the hilt of a sword of some kind at his waist.

Mumbled apologies seemed to do the trick though and Chris was through to get another look at the man on the haystack.

The interstate was one thing, but the jeans were a definite deal-closer, whoever this nutbar on the bail was he wasn’t from around here, and more importantly he might be from around where things made a little more sense. He also rather settled a nagging question as to whether this was in fact all some weird kind of dream, because Chris sure as hell didn’t have any reason to be dreaming about a rough-living American... Monica Bellucci maybe but not a wild eyed Yank talking in the strangest impression of yokel he had ever heard.

An attempt to approach the man however was halted when he found himself on the receiving end of a look none-too dissimilar to that the proclaiming personage was getting, something that was duly explained when a matronly wife turned her daughter’s head away and muttered something about men who don’t adequately do themselves up after visiting the jakes.

Looking down Chris confirmed that he had indeed not done up all the buttons down the legs of his kindly donated breeches and was rather exposing a bit more thing than was normal around here, if somewhat less than he had been doing a few minutes ago.

By the time he finished shamefacedly doing those buttons up another figure had appeared, dressed even more incongruously in still more battered jeans and a rather more serviceable looking leather jacket. Her accent was even stranger than the questioner’s, having some clear Aussie in it along with what he was guessing was some ‘proper’ British. She seemed to be claiming the man for her brother, and getting much worse with her accent.

The beardy man by their knees wasn’t buying it, and nor frankly seemed to her ‘brother’ but more importantly nobody was throwing stuff, and there was no sudden rush of whatever passed for the law about here, even when a kid very plainly did a bump and grab manoeuvre on one of the rapt audience’s dangling belt purses.

The woman tempted the man down off their haystack and the show seemed to be over for the moment, although from the look in the eyes of the man brought down there was absolutely no guarantee that it wouldn’t be resumed soon.

Either which way it seemed to be enough for the crowd who had apparently decided that the crazy-man’s head wasn’t going to explode or anything fun, so were now dispersing with muttered imprecations against sailors and foreigners in general. Chris knew enough about his contemporary dress codes to recognise the first was probably a reference to the wild-eyed man was wearing trousers rather than hose, but was left rather hoping that the attitude to foreigners here was better than most.. or else they were all likely in some trouble for being here without reporting to someone.

Another passer by insisted that the man was an apprentice of some kind, citing that for reason to go head-crazy, and Chris might have easily dismissed that but for the very sincere insistence of their parent that ‘mages are like that’

Only then did he take another look around and feel a fresh press of that sinking feeling, now able to make out some very odd things that surpassed even the weird looks of the peoples around here.. like the Merlin wannabe with the soft pointed hat and actual real glowing stick in hand.

Swearing really didn’t seem like anything strong enough at that point.

“Oh there you are” came a more familiar voice from behind him, and almost relived to have something solid to latch onto Chris turned back to the ever so helpful older woman. “That man a friend of yours?” she asked, warm wrinkled face cracking into another genuine smile.

“No, er that is maybe, or not?” Chris replied, the very model of sophisticated oratory. She just smiled again and dismissed the lack of fine details with a friendly chuckle.

“Just thought you can use some shoes?” she suggested instead, looking down and leading his gaze likewise to his still bared feet and then back up to the shoes in her hand, helpfully stuffed with some woollen looking hose.

“Thank you” Chris insisted, having not missed a certain ‘squelchy’ feeling now between his toes, only then to realise how much of an ass he was being. As far as he knew it old folks weren’t exactly swimming in personal money in an age like this, and even if this wasn’t actually an age like this...

He cut off his thoughts before they went too far down that road, lest he end up on a hay bail himself,

“I don’t have anything to repay you” he said instead, face genuinely crestfallen

“Oh don’t worry about that deary” she insisted back with a negligent wave of her hand, “my husband left me well enough off” she asserted, “and my daughters married well” she added proudly, thrusting the shoes forward again. “Enough that I can help out a crafter in need anyway” she declared, finally stepping once more into areas that made no sense at all.

Right up until she pressed that ornate metal burin into his hand too and urged him to be more careful with it. “And if’n you have trouble setting yerself up here dear” she continued, “you come back and see me and we’ll talk about prices for some more of my man’s stuff” she said, with what looked like a somewhat sly wink.

He was still thanking her as she turned and headed back towards her house, and as Chris spotted another figure here that definitely wasn’t local either, for a start she appeared to be wearing her nightclothes, and for another she was watching the first two with an expression that wouldn’t have been out of place on the face of a castaway seeing a luxury yacht come to shore. The worst thing about that thought was the very obvious tracings of scarlet clotting on her arms, not a lot of blood by any means.. but enough to thoroughly distract him from how pretty she was.

A little further around from her was yet another person, and Chris found himself breathing another honest sigh of relief, because there was a more normal type of person still, albeit likewise in his smalls and not a lot else. Other than that though the man practically radiated the type of personality that Chris had spent half his life knowing, an academic of some sort, and one who was just as confused as he.

Only dimly aware of what an odd figure he had to be cutting with the shoes and such bundled into his arms and bare feet below he set off towards the lot of them, easing his way past the last of the crowd.

He might however have arrived there a little sooner were it not for a still warm something that he had missed in his haste to advance, or rather not missed.

“SH**!” he exclaimed loudly (and accurately) as dark stuff pressed up between his toes and heel slid, “Mother..!” he added, every bit as forcefully.

So he was hopping as he finally approached the others, and dragging his dirtied foot somewhat to attempt to clean it a little on the cobbles. “Hello?” he asked them all in general, “Please tell me you’re from Earth?” he pleaded, “either that or put on a tall red and white stripy hat and finally reveal this is a crazy-as hell dream”

Kali was of course a lot smaller than the Captain, her small form and weight about a third of his and though she was prepared for him to block her, the force of impact was painful. Her white teeth flashed, being pushed back slightly from the older man, she forced herself to take the full force of the impact rather than letting it run through her. With anyone else as a practice partner, she would have been fine to skitter back a few steps, allowing herself damage and more space to move; but with him she could not. Her grin of anticipation however was unmistakable, she was loving the chance to stretch a little, since her leave she had not been able to find many people to partner her, they didn’t like to attack wounded girls. The Captain was not often free, so she did not often practice, but now she was back from leave, the others would have no choice. Her muscles absorbed most of the reverberating blow, her short sword singing a merry tune at the parry. Her knees rocked back for a second, feet moving ever further apart to keep her balance.

Her eyes went wide as he lunged at her stomach, dark orbs sparkling in the sun; sweat beading on her perfect tan. She could not risk knocking the blade to one side, her master was quick and everyone knew that. Her reflexes were equally quick though and her spine bowed, arching back with a supple grace that none here owned. Muscles contracted as she did so, unhappy at moving so quickly into a hard position. Her arms came around her sides, her sword jabbing unhappily into a gap between cobbles, causing a rough unmusical clatter. This meant her whole back was parallel to the floor, her legs bent to balance out the position. Along her lower abdomen started the touch of the blade, hissing along her chainmail harmlessly, she had moved just quick enough to be unharmed. As it reached high, over her shapeless chest and collar bone, she tossed her hear back the blade terrifyingly close to her face. A few strands of her hair floated off into the air, not fast enough to miss the swords sharp cut.

Her eyelids fluttered closed, sending a short prayer of thanks that she had been so quick, bent as tight as a bow. She however smiled for anyone who much have been looking at her face, not that they were, entranced by her flexibility. Kali raised her foot, giving the man above her a good kick and let him fly over her with all the force he had already used to jab at her. As he soared above her, her face was scraped by his chainmail, draping down from his chest, but this was to fast for even her to move. In mere seconds all this had happened and she was more than glad for both her own and her Captain’s speed, otherwise one of them would most defiantly have been killed, both of them played for keeps. A laugh burst from her lips as she pushed herself up, using her sword as lever and came to her feet, though not standing. She crouched low, her back to the other man, her muscles already a little sore. She tossed to one side her sword, a sign that she really wanted a stretch, taking from her boot her ceramic knife.

She turned around in a pirouette, moving to stand, though somewhat bent at the knee, her upper body tilted over her legs. Her hair whipped around her in a fan of ebony black, a short hunk hanging before her eyes. She did not pause to push it out of her eyes, knowing that her master was better than to let her do so. Blood dripped down her almost beautiful face, it was almost beautiful, she had all the features that separately were very much so, but together, they were eerie and unnatural. It was only a small graze, but deep enough to bleed quite a lot, dripping down off her chin. Her eyes stayed on the man before her, weary of his next attack. She herself paused, waiting for him, she wanted him to attack her with full force, she had no wish to win, only to learn to be better every day. Blood dripped down onto her dark chainmail and then soaked into her blue camisole, her mother would hate to see it like that. She grinned, she could move back here she was sure, that meant she was free to do as she wished again.

(I hope you don’t see this as god-modding I’l change it if you do)
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“Do I have a name?” She asked him or was she asking herself, she wasn’t sure really. “I am a MacBookPro number 12876926642805312” She spoke with clarity in her voice, this was something she knew, though she was unsure if this counted as a name. She tilted her head as she watched him walk away with her coin, she had no idea of money, so this did not faze her, nor had she ever owned anything, this too was new. She did however watch how he walked with hungry eyes, trying to do her best to learn how to move, she looked badly put together currently, sure fine craftsmanship, but like her runes had not been completed. She thought on the idea for a name, something that would tell who she was without a long string of numbers. She had truly never thought of a name before, what had her owner called her, her registered name was Macintosh, Megan not feeling to creative that day. She supposed she could take the name of one of the characters in the novel her owner had been writing. Who had she liked best? Percy (for Marlaina could see no difference in truth between male and female, only the clothes they wore, and sometimes not even that) who had been the male lead in “Across the sea” he had been a fine chap, but she had not like him for playing around with whores. Tarnia had been a daughter of one of the sailors and she loved the short accounts around her of letters sent home and how she missed her daddy, but she too was not right, she was to small, her name just to small. Marlaina was a character from her owner’s new book and she was unfinished, the Golem nodded, yes unfinished was good, then she could fill in the other bits.

Her eyes opened hearing the man coming back towards her, once more watching how he moved, how his feet touched the ground, her eyes mapping the ways his bones would move under flesh, a lot more helpful than the bendy squishy flesh. She did not understand humans need for a soft outer casing, it seemed silly to her, they could be so easily harmed, beetles had gotten it right the first time. Still she smiled her latex lips, quite like human flesh putting effort into it, moving the side of her cheeks so she didn’t look to automated, though anyone looking would know she was. She was just a Golem, she may have been the best ever made, but she still had all the things they had. Had one of the craftsmen looked at her, they would have been amazed at how she was built. She was built in materials that though suited the time in look, were not something that could have been created until the time she had come from. Latex was something that was unheard of, the high-pressured ceramic body work, now hidden by her dress, harder than any metal ever created here.

“You caaaaan call me Marlaina.” She told the man as he stopped by her. “Thaat is whaat you should caal me.” She gulped, she really needed to get used to this talking business.

“I mean, you can call me Marlaina, I am sorry I do not speak to well.” She bobbed her head, an unconscious motion “I am not used to being able to talk, to have my own words. I am learning.” She stood slowly, motioning that they should walk, she wanted to get used to walking, moving as well as talking and she was under the understanding humans could do both at the same time. So interesting, the humans were such clever creatures, they had after all created her, but she knew so little about them thinking on it. Any writing she had read, it had been told from a humans point of view and told to humans, she only understood part of it. She looked at trees, her eyes scanning them for electric signals, sure they had them, but it was so weak that she quickly dismissed them. She could hoot up to them later and see what they did in this world. Her eyes seemed to gravitate towards plants, she had never seen them before and her owners descriptions did not do the justice. Of course she had no idea that these in the market place were scraggily and dying, they were utterly beautiful to her.

“Us?” She asked tilting her head to one side “Other humanoids of our time do you mean?” Marlaina asked, taking one step after another, all the time calculating the next step, how to make things smoother, was she getting noticed, doing something odd? On top of this she did statistics, had others come through, if their were two, both knew and had met up. She knew the world was vast, so they must have been placed locally for the two of them to meet, so if their were others, which their was a chance of, they would be in this city. Numbers rant through her head at a speed no one who is human could understand weighing probability and then trying to see how many and the spread of them. She nodded as she walked, not taking much heed of her surroundings, thankfully no one wanted to bump into her hard form. She did not clank anymore, nor were her footsteps heavy. She went back to analyzing the world around her, hair reaching out to touch the things around her, be they people, walls or plants. She seemed particularly drawn to plants and when they were done talking, she would look at them further.

“There is a 23% chance other people have come through and a 64% chance that they are in the same city as us, after the chance of us two meeting, I would say they are pread around a central point in the city.” She paused “But I will not know where the center is till we have found the others if they are here.” Her words were clipped, every inch of a human computer.

“Will you tell me where you came from and how you got here?” She asked, full of questions and wanting the information to store away.

“I am a MacBookPro number 12876926642805312.” Well, that certainly explained a lot. At first, Nox was confused that a computer could somehow have manifested here at all, but in retrospect it really wasn't that much stranger than him doing the same thing. A computer had a 'mind,' of sorts, and this one at least seemed to be somewhat conscious of the type of person her owner was as well, which probably only helped. She'd wound up in a body of clay that was not her own, even as he'd found himself in a casing of flesh that at once was and was not his. Who knew why; the important part was that they had, and they were now here.

"Marlaina, then" he agreed with a natural smile. Hers, he noted, was improving. It really was extraordinary if it were true, that a machine could find itself here, self-actualized, and learning to mimic a human. Of course, he probably wasn't the best example to follow, still unused to what was for him immense strength. He still moved cautiously, near-noiselessly, as if afraid that any gesture too ostentatious might bring the pain to blossom once more in his libs, ricocheting in painful echoes through his nerve endings until he was reduced to lying on the ground and waiting for it to pass.

Nox stood when she gestured, not really seeing much harm in it. His new body could accommodate so very much; it seemed a waste not to use it. "You're doing fine, by the way. With the talking, I mean. Humans are not always so skilled with it either. Some of us stutter, or can't think of the next word we want, or ramble-" the man cleared his throat. "Like I was doing just now, sorry." He ran a hand through his hair, which really was on the longer side now- he'd have to find a tie or some other way of restraining it, lest it get all over the place. It was perhaps an odd thing to think about when you were in the middle of a completely alien world with a former machine your companion, but unlike someone else might have, Nox felt no apprehension or fear at his situation, nor did he desire in the least to go back. Here, he was whole, he was able to do as he chose, and even if it were nothing but the most fleeting dream, he was going to embrace it, to hold onto it for as long as he could.

She asked what he had meant by 'us,' which when he considered it was a fairly valid question. "I suppose 'humanoids' is one way to put it, yes," he replied with a nod. After all, there was no telling what else might have randomly been zipped into this place. The dry, matter-of-fact statistics teased a chuckle out of Nox, though, and he looked at Marlaina askance. "I'm not going to pretend to know how you figure that, but I'll take your word for it," he said, though her next question gave him pause.

How exactly had he come to be here? It was certainly not something he could explain with any degree of certainty. "That is... a difficult question," he replied, lapsing into thought for a moment. It was not a matter of recalling what had happened, for that was still clear as day to him, and he would have had no issues if it were as simple a matter as showing her what he meant. But it was not, and words had to be formulated to appropriately express the images that flickered so readily through his mind.

"You were right when you said I was a pianist. I lived in an American city, New York," that part at least was easy enough. "My body... I'm not exactly used to being able to walk around, either. My body was... defective." He supposed that was a term that would make sense to a computer, wasn't it? "I had a disease, one I had acquired as a child, that stopped my muscles from working the way they were supposed to. It got worse over time, and by the time I was a teenager, I couldn't walk on my own anymore. The night I..." Nox hesitated. He wasn't exactly sure what had happened here, unlike the rest of it. "I was sure I was going to die, the night before I awoke here. Instead, I found myself in a strange dream where I was running, and eventually I couldn't stop anymore. I ran until I thought it was impossible to keep running, and then I woke up here." He gave a nervous half-smile, rubbing absently at the back of his neck. "I don't really understand it myself, you know, but somehow I wound up here."

"How about you, Marliana?" Nox asked, genuinely curious. He wondered if there might be any similarity to their experiences, or if it were just pure coincidence. Did computers believe in coincidence? Did they believe in anything at all, or just store facts? It was fascinating to think about, really.

Something caught Nox's eye, and he stopped, cocking his head to the side after the manner of a curious feline. "Would you look at that..." There was a small assemblage of people there, and at least a few of them appeared to be dressed in ways that he recognized. One poor lass was in nothing bu a nightgown, blocked somewhat... protectively?... by a woman in jeans and a jacket. Next to the second woman was a man with an odd pair of sunglasses, and he could make out a couple more people who were watching, but without the confusion or derision that seemed to emanate from the locals.

"Perhaps we should go speak to them?" he asked Marlaina, shrugging slightly before crossing the road with the intention of doing just that. Since the woman with the jacket seemed to be busy talking to the man with the sunglasses, he approached the woman in the nightdress. "Excuse me, miss?" he inquired of her, keeping his eyes solidly on her face. Nox was ever the gentleman, and certainly nothing about these new circumstances led him to believe that anything should change in that respect. "You... wouldn't happen to be from Earth, would you? My friend and I are, too, and we were wondering if perchance the rest of you might be like us."

He flicked his eyes expectantly between the group of them, hoping that perhaps at least one of them would have the answers he sought. Though Nox was happy to keep exploring this place for as long as he was allowed, he had to admit to being curious about what had happened to bring him here, and perhaps the rest of them, too, if they did indeed turn out to be in similar situations.

“So now, explain. You’re part of some government conspiracy, aren’t you... sis?” Oh, for the love of... if this guy was actually nuts, she was going to regret getting him down from there. Or maybe not; she still had her own safety to consider. Leander ran a hand slowly down her face, half-hoping that whatever she saw when she opened her eyes next would not be this absurd situation that she could not explain.

Alas, she had learned long ago that wishing never made it so. The same details swam into vision as her pupils shrunk to accommodate the harsh light of day once more, and she had the absurd thought that this guy in some strange way resembled Keanu Reeves before she blinked and he didn't anymore. It was the sunglasses that had done it. And was his hair... purple? Now there was something you didn't see every day, unless of course you spent every day going to dingy underground raves and hanging out with the kids who liked the hallucinogens. She'd know, no question of that.

"I wish I could tell ya, Shades," she replied dryly, having rejected possible nicknames Violet and Flimflam, the first because she didn't particularly want to end up on his bad side quite yet (anymore than she already was, anyway) and the second because there was actually a chance that it was archaic enough that people around here would understand it and get suspicious. Shades it was. "I dunno much more about it than you, but from the looks we've been getting, we'd better keep quiet about it." Wondering if any of that rather ordinary logic even applied to him, she tried some un-ordinary logic. "'Sides, if this were a conspiracy, we wouldn't want them to know we were onto it, would we?"

That... actually kind of made sense, in a way. Oh, Heaven help me, I'm taking the local conspiracy theorist seriously. That did it. She was in this thing (whatever it was) way too deep, and she needed out. Usually, this was when she left her volunteer job at the shelter and went bloody well home, or at least outside for a cigarette and a few moments' peace and quiet, but neither option was possible at the moment. And she could really use a smoke, too.

"All I know is, I went to sleep last night, woke up here. Found Princess over there-" she gestured to the woman whose name she still did not know, apparently being politely questioned by a blond man wearing pajamas underneath his... cloak? Well, there you go. "And now you lot. Which reminds me, wasn't there another one over there somewhere?" She looked, but her view of where the other obvious outlier would have been was obscured by a man dressed more in the manner of the locals, only quite unwisely without shoes.

"Whatever. Point is, I think we're more likely to find answers together than separately." An alarm bell went off in Leander's head, and a niggling little sound-byte of sarcasm asked her just why she cared so damn much if anyone else figured out what was going on, but she knew how to shut it up. And so she told herself that she said these things for the sole purpose of increasing her own chances of getting the hell out of... wherever this was. Not because she cared about anyone else, certainly not because she felt some kind of weird big-sister instinct for Princess, and absolutely not because she really just needed someone to talk to about the absurdity of all this. Self-interest, right. She could do self-interest really well, if she put her mind to it.

She sighed and shook her head. To use the American turn of phrase, they really were up shit creek without a paddle; all of them. The only question was whether they'd be able to figure out how to deal with that. She refuse to submit to the possibility that there might not be a way back, becasue as shitty as her life was sometimes, it was still her damn life, and one that she had made for herself. Not whatever ridiculous parody of life this was or is or would be, but something that at the very least made sense and abided by fairly logical principles like space-time and relativity and all that good physics crap that she'd been good at but not cared about just like everything else in her life.

"God I need a smoke," she commented to nobody, shaking her head again. This was all getting to be frustrating as hell, especially the part where she was almost sure none of them were in fucking Kansas anymore, so to speak. She went through all her pockets again, just to be absolutely sure (because dammit, she always kept cigarettes in there, and a lighter, but she'd be three ways from Tuesday if there were any there now), and her hand fell upon a smooth, circular object. Withdrawing her hand, Leander glanced at the mirror and sighed. "If I didn't know better, I would say that it was this damn thing that did it. Picked it up just last night, and it's the only thing that came with..."

Now she probably sounded like the crazy one, so she shoved the thing back into the pocket and rolled her eyes. She was aware enough to know that talking had long since become word-vomit, and so she closed her mouth, intent on not speaking again unless she had something useful to say or someone asked her a question. This is no time to be losing your grip on reality, Lee, she chided herself acerbically. Ah, reality. What a concept.

“I am!” Chris said, the words erupting from his mouth even before he was consciously aware of wanting to say them, or how desperate and relieved they were going to sound. The people talking might not be those he had first approached, indeed he hadn’t up until that point actually noticed them in the thinning crowd, but their clear assertion to be from the same world as he was more than enough to earn the declaration.

Somewhere in his mind there had been a serious worry of it’s own, one he hadn’t even dared to let swell to the forefront where it might bring a crippling despondence of it’s own, that these people with their strange nearly-familiar accents and close-enough clothing might not have been from earth, just another similar place to it. That in fact they would be as alien to the world he knew as the creature that had walked by him earlier with whole eyes the colour of arterial blood and fingers that seemed a joint too long.

Looking at the folks in question though that fear came swinging back all the stronger for its repression, the man-speaker normal enough, and perhaps even a little familiar for some reason, but the woman by his side another matter entirely, something just simply wrong about the way she was walking, even about the way she was watching around them...

And some sort of sound, some form of singing, something that drew his eyes to her in a way that was simply not natural, and immediately began to pick out those other details that simply shouldn’t have been, a smoothness to the skin, a uniformity of her hair colour, a stillness in the face...

And still the song, the opening chords of a symphony that demanded completion. It took long moments to place the feeling, and even then that answer brought no real closure, for the song was part of the abstract he had used to get past his alexia, it was parcelled with the same devices that had taught him to read again once that faculty had been torn away. Something about this not-quite real woman was speaking in the language he had needed to learn when he had lost the visual access to his own.

Then as she turned her head to watch the passing of a wind-borne leaf, he saw it, a letter, a glyph, a purest symbol, an etching that seemed to stab a shard of itself into his heart; “Life” it said, in a way that no simple collection of Romano-european letters ever had; simply and utterly true in a mode that Plato would have wept for when trying to define his philosophies.

Suddenly aware he was staring Chris tore his gaze away, ripped it from that vision and fought down the thunderous charge of his suddenly rushing heart. But the moment it was gone he already knew he needed it again, needed to read it, needed to understand it, to trace it..

To carve it himself.

A sharp spike of pain in his hand brought him back to the present, only to find his bundle discarded to the street and the pommel of the mystery burin fast in one hand, as he had begun to carve the point through the skin of the palm in the other.

Well if he had wanted further proof this was no dream, that blaze of real hurt provided some, and the sharp scent of his own welling blood more. There was no arguing now that this was simply a product of late night cheese-toasties, to feel, to scent, to read so clearly, at the very least this was a full on delusion.

One that might even be worth it if he could just remember that symbol, that rune as they shoved the paddles to his cranium and zapped him back to some sort of awareness...

“My name is Chris” he offered to the lot of them, “I was sleeping in my flat in Bromley” he supplied, “I fell and..” what else could he say, ‘woke up in fairy land without the fairies?’

"This lady helped me with some clothes" he supplied, waving his now clenched together hands past his shirt and breeches, down to the fallen shoes and hose, "but before that I was in my shorts too" he said

As the bystanders and easedroppers dissipated back to their normal pace, the area around where Flin was standing was fairly open now-- open enough to notice that there were some people that stayed in place, and a few others walking towards him and the woman, and her companion. It was easier to feel the chill in the air as seconds slowed. More details to his surroundings were beginning to register in his mind. The way those in this city moved, communicated, dressed... all out of a movie. His heart thumping under his chest was all Flin needed to know that he was alive, not in some psychedelic coma that almost seemed better at the moment. He followed the woman until she decidedly stopped towards the side of the make-shift road they were on, out of any immediate horse traffic. Again, he reached his hand to the top of his head, this time taking the shades off their place as he ran his fingers through his blackish purple hair. He inspected the glasses further, looking in to his reflection off the lenses-- he was in need of a good wash, dirt staining around his neck and a little under his eye. It would be his luck that out of all places he would wake up here in some barn contraption. The sunglasses made their way back to the top of his hair, not in the mood to cover his eyes.

His comment to the woman seemed to frustrate her, and he watched as she rubbed her face in a slow, give-me-a-break kind of motion. He genuinely thought it might have been a conspiracy, but she was acting pretty convincing that at least she had no part in it. He’d give her the reason of doubt, listen to what she had to say. But his idea still sounded plausible, because in reality, how else would they end up here? Where ever here was.

“I wish I could tell ya, Shades... I dunno much more about it than you, but from the looks we've been getting, we'd better keep quiet about it. 'Sides, if this were a conspiracy, we wouldn't want them to know we were onto it, would we?"

Shades, it had a ring to it, he had to admit. Sounded badass compared to Flin to say the least. But her logic on keeping quiet was in his opinion just as rational as his logic of straight-forward asking questions. He had to debate with her on this, it was just in his nature. “On the contrary,” he began, pointing his finger upwards in the direction of the sky, a way of saying hold on a second, “Say we just kept quiet about it, and let them think we weren’t on to their plan, then what would happen? Life here would continue to go on, and we’d never get back home. You can’t just pretend things are normal and stay under the radar unless your fixing on stayin’. And besides, if they knew we knew, at least we’d be getting some answers...” His voice trailed off after his last words, now crossing his arms in a smug manner, perking an eyebrow up at the woman countering him to see what her response would be. Flin had to admit he was enjoying the conversation with her, usually no one bothered trying to be a voice of reason to him.

Despite where the debate was going, she moved the direction along, “All I know is, I went to sleep last night, woke up here. Found Princess over there- And now you lot. Which reminds me, wasn't there another one over there somewhere?"

Flin followed her motions and glanced at where the man in the crowd he had seen earlier on top of the haystack was standing, but didn’t find him standing there anymore... most likely lost in the shuffle of people, or maybe even the culprit himself that took all of them here. It was possible, anything was.

"Whatever. Point is, I think we're more likely to find answers together than separately."

This was a good stopping point to cut her off- “I was in fact sleeping too, well before I ended up here. Right on the beach in sunny California. And seeing how you went through the same thing, and you’ve found others, then hell maybe there is a whole bunch of us spread around this place. It still doesn’t make sense,” he concluded, his face now beginning to show signs of question, of relative pondering. Obviously there wasn’t a full town of people here from the present day. So far he had only seen a few, with some approaching as he spoke, which had to mean it was a select group of people. Were they all connected in some way? Were they all here for some crime they committed? Some divine purpose they were supposed to create? It reminded him of the movie Nine Dead by Chris Shadley, where nine strangers had been kidnapped by a masked gunman and told that one of them would die every ten minutes until they could discover how they are all connected. Flin hoped it wasn’t the same in this case, he didn’t care for the sight of mass carnage. Hell, then again, those in the movie were still in present day Earth. Who was to say what year it was here, or if this was even Earth?

What snapped Flin back from his gaze off in the distance was the sound of the woman speaking up again:
"If I didn't know better, I would say that it was this damn thing that did it. Picked it up just last night, and it's the only thing that came with..."

He watched as she pulled out a little round mirror from her pocket, then shoved it back in as if what she was saying was crazy... but it didn’t sound crazy to Flin.

“You might be on to something... I found these shades yesterday and, besides these clothes, the shades were the only other thing that I’ve found on me. It can’t be a coincidence, I don’t believe in coincidences,” Flin muttered, tapping the plastic frame of the black sunglasses with his index finger before drawing his hand back to his sides, shoving them securely in his pockets.

What followed was the arrival of a man holding some shoes in his arms, and another with a cloak around him accompanied by some odd robot type of woman. Things were getting crazier even for Flin’s comfort. He stood quietly for a moment as he tried to measure what might unfold next, and where the conversation was going to lead.

”My name is Chris, I was sleeping in my flat in Bromley, I fell and... woke up in fairy land without the fairies..” the man continued, but Flin couldn’t help but come off peeved. He was relying the same story... falling asleep and waking up here. Flin’s eyes lit up, turning to face the direction of the woman who coined him the name Shades. Stretching his arms out, he placed both hands on either of her shoulders, not stopping to wonder if the contact would be too intrusive or not. He was strung out on his nerves anyway,

“See!” he said in a stresses whisper, gently rocking her shoulders back and forth, but not enough to cause her to falter in her stance, “Conspiracy, I’m telling ya! All of us were drugged in our sleep, injected with some type of knock-out drug... they moved us here during the middle of the night. Why else wouldn’t we remember what happened during the time since we fell asleep?” He nodded his head adamantly, eyes searching for some form of agreement in her eyes. “Forget the mirror, forget my sunglasses! There are some people behind this,” he muttered, finally releasing the woman from his grip. Admittedly he got a little over excited about the whole thing. He calmed down by introducing himself to the formed crowd around them of others who looked semi-modern day. “Name’s Flin,” he stated blunting with a hardened waved to those around.

With lightning fast reflexes, and an absurd flexibility that the Captain never ceased to be impressed by, Kali bent herself around his weapon in a flash and then drew her leg up with equal speed and grace, landing it squarely in his torso, just below his diaphragm. His own momentum became a tool against him and his own feet left the ground at the same time as the breath left his lungs. Like ammunition from a catapult he rose into the air in an arc and came crashing down to the ground behind the defender, though he was not taken completely by surprise and managed to land his palms on the hard dirt during his descent, easing into a quick roll.

After a full rotation of his curled up form, Captain Kronis planted his hands once more on the floor and used his excessive upper body strength to push himself up and into another midair tumble, this one a half-corkscrew, that ended up with the soles of his boots gripping the surface of the arena once more, eyes locked on his opponent once more, who then appeared to laugh at her neat little trick while throwing away her weapon and spinning around to greet him.

In her hand was a blade Loger knew well. It was a blade that he knew no one else in the city could use better than her, not even himself. Her job involved using it a lot and it matched her in so many ways. Like her the knife was small and swift, yet packed more of a punch than would be expected. Like her it had an edge so deceptively sharp that one may find themselves unaware they had been cut until some time after it happened. And, like her, it was well crafted, practical and beautiful in all the wrong ways.

Despite his shortness of breath, something he would never have allowed to show in the field of battle, he found himself returning her laugh with a low chuckle of his own.

"Kali, you will not quit until I fell you here, will you?" he asked, throwing away his own sword and taking a grip on his ball-and-chain weapon. He knew well what that ceramic blade meant: It meant they were in business now. This was no longer a training exercise, it was a challenge. The stakes were more than a cut to the face. The only other time pure ferocity of this calibre was witnessed in the arena was a grudge match between guards. Though not enemies, the use of each's own signature weapon always took their fights to the next level and was usually followed by a quick trip to the infirmary to patch up a few wounds. Rarely anything serious but just enough to cast suspicions on them from those they passed on the way.

"Have it your way," he continued as the metal slid free of his waistband and started revolving slowly around his fist as the swung the weight with ease. "I haven't had training as good as this since you took leave." And as the steel balls continued to spin in synchrony the Captain allowed himself the rarest lapse in character. He smiled. Then he struck.

With the lethal speed reached in a matter of seconds Captain Kronis knew he needed to be on the attack to ensure he wasn't forced onto a defensive stance. Few were the soldiers who could use a fraction of a second to their advantage but he was up against one now and he knew that she knew his battle style rather well by now. Which meant he could not risk giving an opening when his weapon was not positioned perfectly for the maneuver he planned.

So he swung forward, dropping to a lower position and wheeling his arm around to send the series of solid balls careening with perfect accuracy at the side of Kali's knee while letting loose a grunt of effort.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An odd thing had happened back near the marketplace. The unusual man had been joined by an unusual woman who claimed him to be her mentally inferior brother. Whether this was true or not held no matter for Sebastian, he had seen what he needed to see. He had seen people, strangers maybe but still people, from the same time and place as himself. Or so he believed. He could not be sure but hell, he was desperate.

And so after the commotion atop the haystack had ended and the two from the twenty first century took to the ground. For a few seconds, maybe as much as a couple of minutes, the crowd around him moved, reverberated with anticipation, before the mass of life finally, collectively, decided their latest prophet would not be returning to his stage. The reaction of the people and the lack of any signs of law enforcement led him to the decision that this was a normal occurance around here. Which in turn led to the decision that he was again capable of coherent thought. That was good.

As the crowd began to dissolve into the general flow of people a few outstanding figures could be seen making their way to the man and woman now held with no more regard than himself. They all seemed to have a different air about them, they most definitely didn't belong. They moved in a way that suggested they were trying not to be conspicuous yet had no idea where they were. That's pretty much me right now.

And so he joined them, finally snapping out of his trance-like state and gearing his legs into motion. From each direction wandered people and his teaching sparked up. It's stochastic convergence; each random event has settled and fit into a pattern. Many other theories crossed his mind but none of them could be used to explain how he was here in the first place, or even where here was. Unless we consider the possibilty of of a multiverse, as well as the potential for travel between each parralel existence. Which is preposterous without faster-than-light travel or a device for transcending the boundaries of reality. And so far as I know neither such thing exists...

As his mind struggled to sort things into some kind of logic he carried on walking, becoming increasingly less aware of his surroundings as a debate roared inside his mind. Subsequently he arrived with a frown on his face and bumped straight into the back of the man who had shortly before been enrapturing an audience, finishing his mental sentence aloud with a look of shock.

"-Perfectly!"

He blinked and looked around himself, apologising as he did.

"Sorry, I'm sorry, I was thinking about the Anthropic principle and lost track of where I was..." He trailed off, aware of just how true that really was. "...Are you from America?" The question came from nowhere and waited for no introduction. The concept of being in a logically impossible time or place was starting to settle in again and panic started rising through Sebastian's chest, setting his heart pounding once more. He had visited twice but would not be able to place the accent to a region. But that word, 'interstate', had stood out a mile to him. "Because this isn't America, this isn't America at all."

His voice, though bordering on hysterical, was not unpleasant. It was reasonably low without being classed as booming and carried well, the tones were rich with variance and his annunciation betrayed his years of education. He spoke quickly and it did not seem to fit him, it was the fear that caused this, but he was trying to keep himself under control.

In round hands that were clearly not used for manual labour were grasped the gloves he had arrived with, though he had forgotten all about their presence, his fingers seemed unable to unclench themselves.

“Say we just kept quiet about it, and let them think we weren’t on to their plan, then what would happen? Life here would continue to go on, and we’d never get back home. You can’t just pretend things are normal and stay under the radar unless your fixing on stayin’. And besides, if they knew we knew, at least we’d be getting some answers...” Leander could not believe she was having this discussion. It was all just surreal enough that she might still be dreaming after all. Though she had a response, she kept it for the moment. Other matters were more pressing, and among those was figuring out exactly what was going on. Only when they had that vital little piece of information would discussing what to do with it make any sense at all.

Apparently, she had not been the only one to make her way here via sleep- it looked to be true of both Princess and Shades now, though she woud have to maybe ask the others to see if- ugh. Why do I care? That was perhaps the most troubling thing for Leander- while she liked a puzzle as much as the next former honor student, she wasn't exactly anyone's definition of a humanitarian, or any kind of scientist or whoever the hell it would make the most sense to ask about this kind of thing. Assuming any of those people were even here in the first place... Leander's grip tightened reflexively on the mirror in her pocket. Maybe what she really needed was a bloody shrink.

“You might be on to something... I found these shades yesterday and, besides these clothes, the shades were the only other thing that I’ve found on me. It can’t be a coincidence, I don’t believe in coincidences,” It took her a second to process that he was answering her previous statement and not her thoughts, because really the flow was remarkable for a second there. The corner of her lip twitched. Me either, Shades, she thought sardonically. Coincidence was a shitty excuse, but statistical significance demanded further test cases, to use the dry terminology.

They were then approached by a man calling himself Chris- a brit, from the sound of it, and before she could open her mouth to say anything, Shades grabbed her shoulders and shook her emphatically, which caused Leander to scowl. She was not a big fan of unsolicited contact, and she didn't often solicit it either. Still, she had a feeling this guy didn't really get the whole concept of personal boundaries, and since she'd dragged him off a haystack earlier, she figured fair was fair at the very least. “Conspiracy, I’m telling ya! All of us were drugged in our sleep, injected with some type of knock-out drug... they moved us here during the middle of the night. Why else wouldn’t we remember what happened during the time since we fell asleep?”

"Okay, okay, just hold it for a second, Shades," she replied flatly, reaching up and gingerly removing his hands from her shoulders, placing them back at his side with somewhat-exaggerated care. "Now-" she was cut off when another man, the one she had spotted earlier in his smallclothes, bumped right into Flin.

"Sorry, I'm sorry, I was thinking about the Anthropic principle and lost track of where I was ...Are you from America?" There was an almost comic pause in which nobody said anything, then the man continued right on. "Because this isn't America, this isn't America at all."

"It's not Australia either," she replied matter-of-factly, glancing from one of the British men to the other. "Nor Britain, I think. Okay. How about this: If you're from a planet called earth and pretty sure this is not where you fell asleep last night, gather round." She increased her audibility only enough to be heard by the people in the immediate area, including the blond man speaking to Princess and the strange doll-woman. "Right. So... now... if you came across an object last night and took it home and it showed up here with you... uh, I dunno, nod or raise your hand or something." Right now that was the only commonality she had to work off of, and it seemed as fair a place to start as any.

Inwardly, Leander was praying to whatever the hell deity was out there that someone else would take charge of this bloody situation and leave her out of it. She just wanted to get back home to her life and her job and her cigs and some semblance of normality... didn't she? She tried to ignore the niggling feeling at the back of her mind that told her that this was easily the most interesting thing that was going to happen to her for the rest of her life. She looked around at the faces in the area; Shades, Princess, Blondie, Professor, the doll-girl, and... Chris. She was gonna need to work on nicknames for those last two, definitely.

Leander was a perpetual nicknamer. At first, it had just been another way to assert her lack of respect for anyone, and her complete disregard for societal convention, but she was by now far too lazy to bother with such aggressive motives. Now she just did it because she didn't really like names. They said nothing about a person, while her monikers usually did, even if it was only a bit about what someone might look or act like. Still more useful. Some people were annoyed by them, but she couldn't really care less about that, and by now it was a habit so far ingrained it was a wonder she managed to remember birth names at all.