(Past) Past Tense [Open]

[julianbashir]

At first the only sensations Julian can connect with his own body is extreme vertigo and nausea, side-effects Bashir isn't used to experiencing with the transporter beam since he was a first year student. Still, he has the distinct feeling that he is about to puke up everything he's eaten in the last 24 hours, which isn't much thanks to the fact that his Dominion captors weren't all that concerned about giving full meals to prisoners that were just going to die anyway. He squeezes his eyes shut tight, willing himself with all his power not to vomit, and slowly realizes he is on his hands and knees gripping the sidewalk with his fingers like the whole world might slip out from under him at any moment, shaky but clearly alive, his atoms not lost forever in the vastness of space. That is certainly something to be happy about, at least. He doesn't feel like he has any parts missing, either.

Wait, the sidewalk? The surface beneath him is definitely not metallic. Julian forces his eyes open. This is not the Dominian internment camp, and he is really, really glad about that. But it isn't a rescue ship either. Julian is not prone to cursing, but as he looks around the only thing that comes out of his mouth is, "Fuck." Because this is Earth, or a planet that looks very suspiciously like Earth. Which doesn't make any sense at all. This isn't even the Earth he calls his home, but clearly an Earth from... the past? He was always a terrible history student. You'd think his last accidental trip to the past would have made him study it, but he'd thought one accidental time-travel trip was probably all he would have to suffer. Wrong, apparently.

His hand goes to where his comm badge should be before he remembers that the Dominion took that from him too. He is utterly alone, cut off from rescue. Had Garak been lost too, or had he made it out? He hopes Garak is safe, somewhere. No matter how out of time Julian's clothes might be, he is still human, or at least mostly human. Would Garak, the crew look for him, or would they assume Julian was dead? He couldn't be stuck here forever... who knew what future he would change, screw up, just by existing here? From imprisonment to freedom, but not the kind he was hoping for. There would be no rest, no return to his quarters and friends, not yet.
Too many questions, and not the right time. He stands up, gives himself a mental medical check and finds nothing pressing, and takes in a deep breath. Julian presses any remaining panic down and steels himself. "You're an officer, Jules. Act like one. What do you do next?" Survival and not messing up any timelines should be his first directive. He is trained for this, he should know what to do and has been through this before in a way, though never on his own. He needs to get out of sight, first of all. His uniform will need to be abandoned somewhere, and clothes of the time found instead. He hates to steal, but his priorities are to blend in, stay out of trouble, find out where and when he is, and if possible why. It seems to be somewhere between the 20th-22nd century, though Julian has always been a terrible history student. Why, why hadn't he cared more about history? He'd been swept into the past, into mirror universes where the future was different... by now one would think he'd learn from his mistakes.

But... research! Julian loves research. He's good at it too. It is immensely calming to think of this as nothing more than his next research project. Gathering data of his surroundings, to support or go against his formed hypothesis of when and where and why... Yes, that Julian can do. He feels slightly better already. At least so far no-one has spared him a second glance. Wherever/whenever he is, people don't seem to be thrown by strangely dressed men standing in the middle of...wherever he is. Julian needs food, water, and a good long sleep, then he can figure out how to get home without majorly messing up either history or himself.

Comments

[boneshaker]

Those are a lot of questions, and he raises his eyebrows, a bit alarmed and intimidated. "N-no, it's all right," he murmurs. He's not sure what to make of the comment that he seems 'held together' - he feels quite the opposite, in fact. It was only the day before that he actually went out and made contact at all. Really he is disgracefully underqualified for this task.

"I, erm," he rubs nervously at the back of his neck, "it's 2013 where I'm from, too, but I think I'm sort of... lucky, in that regard. In a lot of ways it seems similar but then a lot of ways it isn't - but also I really wouldn't know. I sort of... kept to myself, where I'm from." He doesn't exactly what to go into that. He thinks the fact that he spent nearly his whole adult life in a lighthouse might be off-putting. "But these people, yeah, they'll help. There's two organizations, I don't know much about the other one, but they both just want to help us, you know, get on our feet again. Give us a place to live an' all. I can, um... that is, if you don't mind walking a bit." He turns halfway, angling to head down the sidewalk, anticipating that Julian will follow.

[julianbashir]

"Well, I imagine the scale of 'lucky' in this situation is a fairly small one," Julian says with something that looks between an attempted smile and a grimace. "Same time period or otherwise." Two organizations, both trying to help people like him get settled. It sounds awfully permanent to him, but he tries not to think about it.

And why two organizations? Are there THAT many people being pulled through the... what was it, a rift, that they found they needed to expand their efforts? And yet, the logistics of it all are somewhat comforting. He hadn't imagined in those first few moments of realizing what had happened that there would be anyone he could even talk to safely. And yet here they are, very different people brought together through a similar trauma creating a community to survive, as people bonded through circumstance often will.

"No, I don't mind walking," Julian says. The walk might do him good. His mind can't process everything, and his body is still fighting back. A bit of exercise certainly wouldn't hurt him right now. Julian follows Castor, looking upwards more often than at the ground, his endless nervous pratter and questions finally silenced by his surroundings as he takes it all in. The smells, the people, the streets... this is the Earth of 350 years ago. The thought makes him dizzy, and his heart squeezes inside his chest. This is no hologram history lesson from school or a game, but very real. He wonders if it will ever really feel it.

[boneshaker]

Castor walks in silence for a bit, though he keeps stealing glances back at his charge, wondering how he's faring. He doesn't look particularly well.

"It's gonna be okay," he says awkwardly. "I mean - I'm still not really used to it, but... at least we're not alone, yeah?"

He's not sure what else to say. How to offer comfort. He has even greater appreciation now for how hard this must have been for Daniel, and what a good job he'd done regardless. All things considered.

[julianbashir]

Julian refocuses on his more immediate surroundings when Castor's voice breaks through his thoughts. "Thank you, Castor," he says with a half-smile, encouraging his long legs to go a bit faster and to bring his eyes back down to his immediate surroundings in an effort to catch up so he can walk next to his guide as opposed to following behind him like a bewildered child.

"Not alone." He repeats this quietly as if taking Castor's words and storing them away for further reminders. "Disconcerting as this all seems, it certainly is a relief to have someone to help when in the first few moments of arriving here I had very much expected to figure it out all out on my own. Though I'd rather not admit it, I'm not sure I would have been at all successful." He shakes his head. "I imagine it must be hard to play tour guide when you've only just arrived in this strange situation yourself. You had someone to do this for you, as well, a guide of sorts?" He peers at a building as they pass by. "I'm fairly sure this is my first time in New York City. A few centuries off and possibly trapped here forever, but I suppose I finally managed a visit." It is a wry, perhaps failing attempt at humor, but he smiles faintly despite himself.

[boneshaker]

"Yeah," says Castor, faintly baffled by all this introspection. "I, uh, yeah, I had someone." He shrugs and digs his hands into his pockets, not sure what else to say. "You'll get sorted soon enough," he says awkwardly.

He wishes he could be better at this, but - at least Julian is grateful. Maybe he'll do better next time. And maybe this can be a new friend.