A misstep in time and space [Open to All]

[0thingsonmymind]

For a moment no one was there, there was just an empty space on the sidewalk near central park. There was no real reason for it to stand out, unless being empty counted. But it only remained this way for a moment as a young man clad in a tan hoodie and a black mask suddenly appeared to replace the empty space. He had been running, but once he noticed where he was he skidded to a stop. Normally, suddenly ending up in a different place wasn't all that odd, but something felt different about it this time. Maybe it was just that the city was unfamiliar and he hadn't expected to be in a city, or maybe it was something else. He's not sure, he just knows it feels off (many things were off and they were okay, but this was a different off) and he can't quite place why. And he's not happy about it.

He tenses, pressing himself against the nearest wall and peering at the city from behind his mask.
This is not right. This is not the hospital, or the school, or the woods. Or whatever world the Operator came from.
This was just...different. And he did not like it.

He tries to push the panic down, to at least keep it at a manageable level. He could (would) worry later, now he needed to figure a number of things out. His location was the most important; the name didn't matter, he needed to know how close to Rosswood he was. How close to Alex or Tim (hadn't Tim been chasing him? Where was he?). If he wasn't close enough to get back quickly he'd need somewhere to hide, somewhere to figure out his next move (somewhere with internet he could steal). This was different. This was WRONG. But he could deal with it.
Somehow (he had to).

Comments

[lottawork]

His hand still throbs.

It is largely immaterial. He's experienced far worse under far more dire circumstances.

He has been considering a job with one of the less ill-equipped manufacturers of this brane's poor excuse for higher-end technology, if only for the purposes of obtaining sustained access to the tools and components that would expedite the process of repairing Asadi's arm. The remains of the wages allowed to him by ROMAC have been draining at a notably increased rate as of this particular endeavor. He will soon require another means for a steady income and, by extension, employment.

He doubts that will be exceedingly difficult given his qualifications.

Rush hisses, short and annoyed, between his teeth, the weight of his recent technological acquisition threaded over one arm via commercially accessible plastic bag, focus entirely devoted to his purchase and consequently leaving him wholly unprepared for encountering an unknown, unwanted, unprecedented obstruction in his path.

He walks briskly, current trajectory slamming him abruptly into the back of the man in front of him, sending a number of delicate mechanical constituents spilling from their bag and scattering across the ground with a series of high, clear, angry tones.

"Fuck," snaps Rush, directing the obscenity at both the obstacle in question and the product of its ineptitude.

[0thingsonmymind]

He jumps away from the contact, spinning quickly to face whoever just ran into him. Cursing himself as he does so (stupid!); Its not safe out here, can't afford to get distracted. He needed to find somewhere to hide before trying to figure things out, not just stay out in the open and let...well, at least this didn't seem to be someone he knew.

That revelation didn't make him relax much, but it did enough so he could spare a quick glace towards what the man had dropped.

[lottawork]

Said obstacle reacts similarly, flinching sharply away as if the collision is something that merits such a flinching.

"Oh, fucking brilliant," says Rush, his glare hard and edged. "Truly. Scintillating."

He drops to recover the tumbled implements, fingers scrabbling to retrieve metal as it clatters over cement, uninterested in devoting undue attention to the man or woman or person of indeterminate gender, as the hood and dark blur of a mask renders their features wholly unreadable.

[0thingsonmymind]

That IS the point of the mask, after all.

Since the other man seems to be focused on what was dropped, he shifts his own focus to that. He kneels down and picks up a piece of machinery. Not to help the other person, just to see it more closely.

None of it seems very useful to him, though, at least not at first glance.

[lottawork]

He consolidates the disarrayed pieces in a manner that cannot really be called efficient as it implements speed to the exclusion of any discernible form of organization.

With a snarl of wordless indignation, one hand darts forward with the intent to snatch the appropriated item from the interloper's gloved hands. The purpose of said gloves he does not care to fathom, whether the person in question may have some philosophical objection to the practice of exposing one's skin or for any other reason.

Rush narrows his eyes.

"Irreversibly disfigured, are you?" he says in a tone easily interpretable as a sneer.

[0thingsonmymind]

He snaps his attention back to the other man as the object is taken from him. He's not quite sure if he should be angry about that or not. The item didn't seem like something he could use so it was probably fine, but he would have liked to be able to take the time to decide that himself. It seems apparent he won't get that chance with the rest of the objects, however, so he stands up.

To the question, he just shrugs.

[lottawork]

Fucking excellent. Retrieval attempt successful, Rush rises with a fluid press of palms to cement, eyeing the person opposite distrustfully.

"Wonderful," he says in open disgust. "And fucking aphasic on top of it. Is this typical where you come from?"

The implications of his own statement belatedly occur to him.

That would be fair fucking convenient.

"Came through the fucking Rift, did you?" sighs Rush.

[0thingsonmymind]

He's not sure what the word 'aphasic' means, but if it applies to him then it can't be typical. He shakes his head to the first question, then pauses.

Rift? Its not an unfamiliar word but he didn't think it applied to anything around here. He looks around--never fully taking his attention off the other man--for a few moments before returning his full attention to Rush and canting his head.

[lottawork]

He is not a fucking linguist and or anthropologist and or insufferable interpersonal genius a la a particular archaeologist to whom he is uninterested in putting a name, and Rush scowls. Non-verbal communication has to be the least efficient, most infuriating, least interesting, most inelegant method of information-exchange possible.

"Spatiotemporal transferal?" he says in a tone that clearly implies the addressee is an idiot. He opens a hand. "One place and then another? Does that sound remotely familiar?"

He is not equipped for this. He is not equipped to manage the acclimatization of people in hoods to their new and unexpected environment, and even less is he intent on becoming some sort of informational custodian.

[0thingsonmymind]

Those first two words are just gibberish to him, so he doesn't bother to respond to them in any way. He nods at the next two questions, though. He's quite familiar with having been one place and suddenly being in another.

[lottawork]

"Right," says Rush, shutting his eyes and applying a sharp point of pressure to the bridge of his nose between pinched thumb and forefinger. "Earth, Milky Way, 2013." Ideally this person will not request any greater calendrical specifics, as he is not wholly certain of the current date, or even the day. It's Tuesday, he hypothesizes vaguely. Possibly it is Tuesday. Possibly earlier.

He has not been sleeping.

"Welcome to fucking Manhattan, in essence," he says with dry distaste. "One-way trip. No means of further D-brane shift, as far as anyone can tell."

It is, as is his general understanding as of Bee's concise introductory speech, something of a rifty-centric obligation to communicate the more obvious points to the latest arrivals regardless of however little he would prefer that course of action, and as there are apparently no other persons of interest present to which he may shift the responsibility, the function falls to him.

Unfortunately.

[0thingsonmymind]

Earth is right. Milky Way....he's not sure, but it doesn't seem wrong, or important enough to care about. But 2013? He's not entirely sure what year it was last, but he's pretty sure it was past 2013.
Manhattan is likewise wrong. He's never been anywhere near New York, why would he need to be here now? Is there a reason for this relocation or is it just one of those things that happens? Even if there was, how did that explain the year? He'd lost time before but he's never gone backwards.

He shakes his head. This guy's got to be lying to him, that was the only option that made sense.

[lottawork]

What little patience Rush still has available to him promptly evaporates.

"Fine," he snaps, the word cold. "Find a newspaper. Confirm it for yourself. And don't try to fucking leave." He stabs a finger sharply skyward, his expression nigh-murderous. "It doesn't let you."

[0thingsonmymind]

He looks up towards the sky, but it provides no answers. (The buildings are really tall, though, maybe this was New York?) Then he looks back to Rush and cants his head.

Hopefully its enough to convey that he needs more information on 'it doesn't let you' without making him actually ask.

[lottawork]

"The Rift," he says with mounting exasperation. This person seems to be obtaining a fucking lot of mileage out of all of three head gestures, and Rush has little time for that sort of ambiguity, purely on principle. "Rend in the quantum foam. Tear in space, time, and spacetime. Transportation off one brane and into the next."

He opens a hand in a jerk of irritated motion. "You're in another universe's Manhattan," he snaps. "Fucking well get used to it."

[0thingsonmymind]

He's getting quite tired of you too, Rush. None of this is helping or even easy to comprehend. So he sighs and just gives in to the urge to ask questions.

"What?"

Well, a small question, at least.

[lottawork]

"Not completely incapable of speech, are you?" he says, fluid and disdainful.

He rakes a hand through his hair with a sharp, short noise of escalating annoyance, as embarking in explanations for spatiotemporal anomalies in layman's terms is not what he would generally consider to be one of his talents.

Rush shuts his eyes.

"The Rift takes you from one universe to another," he says, the words even but no less scornful. "It deposits you here, in Manhattan, and does not allow you to leave. You're a rifty. A cosmic fugitive. Congratulations."

[0thingsonmymind]

He would scowl at you (he does, actually), Rush, but the mask prevents that from being seen.

"Not leave the city or the universe?"

[lottawork]

"Both."

He makes no attempt to mask his displeasure for whatever aspect of the Rift elected to make that particular decision.

Rush adjusts his grip on the bag with its precious contents and shifts his weight. "Are we done," he says testily.

[0thingsonmymind]

He'll have to test that out himself, at least the city part.

He scoffs and waves the other man off. More than done.

[lottawork]

Rush pivots neatly on one heel and departs, cargo in hand and hair falling in his eyes, his steps short and even and methodical.

Pure fucking brilliant.

just gonna hop in here

[johnny_truant]

Coincidence, he's starting to assume, is just one of the rift's many charms. Like he so happened to be out for a walk on this particular street at this particular moment, within earshot of that. In this huge, crowded city. Funny how that happens. Not funny at all.

All he's able to ascertain from the discussion is that Rush is being a fucking prick, again, and the other person is... perhaps nonverbal? He can't see their face from here but they seem - skittish, or something.

He didn't used to be so helpful. Such a bleeding fucking heart. Cross it, hope to die.

He sighs and walks up to the hooded figure. "Yeah, so, he's kind of an asshole," he says in a light tone. "If you need help, I can-"

He trails off. That's. A mask. Okay then.

:3

[0thingsonmymind]

Yep, totally a mask. A mask that doesn't look happy (which at the moment matches its wearer's expression).

Since Rush has gotten out of his hair left he turns his attention to the new speaker and cants his head.

[johnny_truant]

We-ell. Johnny stares at him for a moment, not really sure what to do with this. The mask is entirely creepy, as is the silence. It might make sense to just back right off. Nevermind sorry I thought you were somebody else. Bye kid good luck out there.

He remembers his first day, first night. He wasn't wearing a goddamn frowny-face mask but he was scrawny and pale and probably closer to death than he wanted to admit. He was unfriendly, untrusting. He slept on park benches for a few nights, before he met Jodie and Aiden. If he hadn't met them, well. He's not sure what would have happened.

Probably would never have met Gabe.

He sighs again, visibly hating himself for his desire to be a goddamn do-gooder. "Do you talk?" he asks bluntly.

[0thingsonmymind]

He may be creepy, but at least he isn't doing anything other than standing there and watching Johnny. That's got to be good for something.

Despite having spoken to Rush moments before he shakes his head to the question.

[johnny_truant]

"Okay." Johnny pinches the bridge of his nose. "Look. He didn't exactly explain it well from what I could overhear, but he's right. This has happened to a lot of people now, we get dragged in from wherever we were and deposited here and there is just... no way out." He looks at the guy, or at the mask. "We can help each other, though. There's a system."

He wants to ask if he'll take off the mask but it's probably not a good question. Who knows why he wears it. There's gotta be some in-universe reason.

"I'm Johnny," he says. "I've been here for five months."

[0thingsonmymind]

A system? He's not quite sure he wants help, or to help other people, but it would probably be a good idea to get more information. This guy seems a lot more helpful than the last one, at least for now.

He cants his head.

[johnny_truant]

Johnny hesitates, just staring at him for a moment. That is. Not a response he can work with.

"Um." He shifts his weight. Nothing to do but keep barreling on, he supposes. "There's... a couple places you could live. Apartment buildings. On this side of the park and the other side, uh, several blocks up. Expenses are covered, since, you know, most of us.... don't have anything." He chews his lip. "Uh. Here." He digs out his wallet. He has a decent amount of money on him. Probably enough. He pulls out all the cash he has - it's not like Gabe can't just make him more - and offers it. "You should get a phone. There's a network you can get hooked up to. It's how we communicate. Rifties."

Is this guy even going to get service if he walks into a friggin store. "I mean I could get you one. It's not a problem."

[0thingsonmymind]

Sure it is, its a request for more information. And it clearly worked.

He peers at the money for a few moments before taking it. No one's ever really just handed him money before for no reason. Just another odd thing to the list of how this place is, he supposes, before taking it and pocketing it.

He nods. Its kind of a thanks for the money and kind of an acknowledgement at the information. After a moment's pause he shrugs at the last part. He's gotten burner phones before, he doubts it'll be a problem for him but he's not sure any of his expectations should remain in this place.

[johnny_truant]

"...Okay." Johnny falters for a few moments, still not sure what to do, how to engage. Is any of this getting through? He took the money, but is he going to use it for the phone, or... He supposes it doesn't matter. He should walk away, right? Normal people would walk away from such a one-sided non-conversation.

Too bad he's such a fucking sucker for hard-luck cases.

"Here." He digs a little notepad out of his pocket, mostly crammed with shitty tattoo designs, and tears off a fresh page. "This is my number. And this is the number to dial in that'll hook you up to the network." He hands it over. "Maybe you can write if you can't talk, yeah?"

Hopefully. He can't imagine this will get him very far otherwise.

He stands there, not quite willing to leave, holding out hope that he'll get a response that isn't a shrug or a head-tilt. Something to indicate this kid isn't just going to die if Johnny leaves him.

[0thingsonmymind]

He's a bit perplexed as to why Johnny keeps trying to help and doesn't just leave, but at the moment he'll take it. Just don't follow him.

He takes the note and pockets it as well with a nod. The network should be useful, he'll need to look at that once he gets a chance.
He nods again to the question. Writing is much less of an issue than talking.

[johnny_truant]

Okay. Nods. Nods are good.

"Okay," he says again. "All right. Well."

Nothing more to do.

Just leave him by the side of the road.

Not your job.

Trying to ignore the self-hating twist in his gut, he says, "I guess gimme a buzz if you need anything." With this as an implicit farewell, he starts edging away.

[0thingsonmymind]

He highly doubts that he'll do anything of the sort but nods anyway. And as Johnny finally starts leaving he starts heading the opposite direction. At least he has a starting place now, that was something.