01 | 🕐 | audio

[mirrortouch]

[ It's not something that really ever becomes routine, it doesn't matter how often he wakes up someplace strange and uncharted. The voice on the line sounds about as scattered as he feels. ]

My name is Will Graham, it's- [ He's pulling back his sleeve to look for a watch that's not there. ] I don't have the time. I don't- I don't have the time.

[ Hang on, don't get too lost. ]

It's not clear to me exactly where I am, but- [ a dry laugh ] you probably already knew that. This isn't even my phone. But you probably knew that too.

[ He's missing details. He's missing plenty. His voice trails off for a short while before he can get his bearings enough to speak again, and even then it's almost unconsciously. ] I don't know. I don't know.

[ It's as if the fact that he has no idea sparks him back into the present. His voice grows more composed, if somewhat cracked. ] So if you're hearing this, if anyone is hearing this - [ is anyone hearing this? ] - any singular indication will be key.

[ Another beat. ]

I feel as though I've strayed a long, long way from home.

[ The air goes dead, and then so does the line. ]

Comments

[private]

[routemistress]

Twenty-first century, aren't you? Aye, I s'pose they are, then. I'm up on deck by the door - I'll wait.

[She angles her comm to show Will where she's standing, and the two patient dogs by her feet.]

CES needs a warden to get in and all, but that's a very small formality unless you're a troublemaker. In practice it's never a problem.

-> spam

[mirrortouch]

[ Twenty-first century, yes. As opposed to? He doesn't ask; in fact, he doesn't respond at all, he just shows up.

For the hell of it, he supposes. There's not much else to expect out of a place like this. He feels exhausted, but he also feels like there is much to learn (and that he probably should be learning) about this place.

His hands are in his pockets when he climbs the last few stairs to the deck. He spots Iris, the dogs, nigh immediately, and speaks as he's crossing towards her: ]

I suppose that makes you the bestowing warden tasked with allowing me inside - [ whatever this thing is. ]

spam

[routemistress]

[As opposed to any other century, obviously. Keep up, Will!

Iris in the flesh is smaller than she looks; five feet high, smallboned. The two Shepherds look like dire wolves next to her, rhinestone-encrusted pink collars and all.

They press close to Will, rumbling softly in greeting, heads pushing at his hands, great tails sweeping low and wide in pleasure.

Iris watches him intently, her smile softer than her brassy exterior indicates; in fact, she finds it hard, in the face of his rawboned lostness, not to sweep him into a hug.]

I'm just the one that 'appens to be wanting to use it right now, love. Which would you rather: a familiar landscape or a strange one?