Same Old People, Wrong Destination

Today you get a message from the Malnosso. They’ve found a way to send you home. You’ll remember Luceti, but it’s a one way trip. You’ve said your tearful goodbyes and prepared yourself for the inevitable return home. One moment you’re in Luceti, the next you’re not.

But nobody ever said the Malnosso ever got everything right. Sure, you’re not in Luceti anymore. Yes, you’ve lost your wings and barcode. But this isn’t your world. It’s some other world and now that you’re cut off from the Malnosso, you have no hope of ever getting back home. Which means that wherever you’ve ended up, you’ll be spending the rest of your life there.

On the up-side, you’re not the only one stuck here. Someone else from Luceti, also alien to this world, is stuck with you. With the common bond of being strangers to this brave new world, it’s inevitable you’ll stick together. But for how long?

Considerations

1. You can go to any other world you want! It just can’t be one either of your characters are from. You can make up something like a fantasy world, something from a sci fi, or something just like the modern world. Or you can pick a canon neither of your characters belong to.
2. Ideally they should both be from different canons altogether. But this isn’t required!
3. There’s supposed to be no way back. Even genius characters ought to find it impossible. But does that mean all hope has to be lost? For those who have been gone from Luceti a long time, it might be fun if they were given a chance to go back to Luceti and be trapped again.
4. For an optional extra level of complexity, give consideration to your character’s appearance or to their abilities. Will they stand out in this new world? Will they have to hide what they can do? Or will they even be able to use their powers if the source of their powers is gone?

Prompts

1. Day One - You’ve both just arrived on this world and by chance, you run into each other. Two heads are better than one. Now you just have to figure out what to do next.

2. One Week Later - You’ve been in this world a week. Things are starting to sink in. So is the idea of being stuck here. It’s time to start thinking about the long term.

3. One Month Later - Now that you’ve both been here awhile, you’ve learned the ins and outs of your new home. You’re making a living and getting by, but you still think of home.

4. Six Months Later - It may not be home, but you’ve learned to be comfortable. By now, your relationship with your fellow Lucetian has certainly evolved as well.

5. One Year Later - It’s been long enough that you sometimes wonder if you ever did live in a place like Luceti. So what’s life for you like in this whole new world?

6. Other - Don’t be limited by the above. This could be two weeks later or twenty years later! Of course, you can always time skip once you’ve established what you want to do at one time period.

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Ow, her head.

Rogue propped herself up on her shoulders, and realizing how defenseless that left her in a cold dark graveyard, moved to a more defensible crouch. It felt strange and that's when she realized why - no wings. Still breathing. Well, she guessed that much had worked after all.

Except this place was old. Way old. And so, so not like New York.

"Still not in Kansas, huh, Toto?"

A voice. Sharpe spun about, touching his hip to reassure himself that, aye, his sword hung from his hip. But he felt more than a little naked without his rifle. Ah, well. He tried to tell himself it didn't matter. Not that much. Not enough to gt bent out of shape when the world was different and the darkness beyond the hedge held voices. A voice. He felt along his uniform's seams -- at least he still had the jacket -- and was pleased to feel raised lumps under the stitches.

The street was flooded with yellowy, harsh light. It spilled down from poles above but it didn't illuminate far enough to reveal the voice's owner.

Sharpe didn't call out. But his boots did scrape on the eerily flat, hard shoulders on the streetside. He was approaching.

Well, this was fun. She'd apparently wandered into a ghost set. Rogue sincerely hoped this was one of her dreams, she often didn't have wings in them.

Exhaling, she took a deep breath, put one hand on the edge of her glove and stood.

"Hello?" She called out, "I come in peace."

"On these streets?"

The soldier rounded the bushes and peered into the murky, foggy yard. "No one comes in peace on these streets. No one."

But they weren't the same streets, were they?

"Well, that doesn't exactly make me feel very secure about meetin' you," she said. And Rogue decided, very sensibly, to step away from the light and further into the shadows so as to see what manner of man was coming towards her.

"Fair 'nuff. You probably shouldn't."

Sharpe cocked his head. He listened. The accent. It was terribly familiar. But it didn't drag him specifically back to Luceti; rather, he remembered Leroy. Poor, Loyalist Leroy.

"Feel secure, I mean. Done bloody been raised in these gutters, miss. By all rights, I should be no better than the rest of'em. Only..."

His tone betrayed his uncertainty. And perhaps, to some extent, his fear.

Wait...

Rogue stepped into the light. "I know you."

His green eyes widened. Because -- "And I bloody well know you, lass."

But he couldn't remember her name. Something strange; something sinister. Something half-way familiar but, he hoped, beyond ironic. Sharpe lifted his palm from his sword's hilt.

If she was here, then was he even home? No. The yellow light on her pale face already proved to him that this wasn't the Rookery of his youth.

"...Them bastards have us caught up in another of their Shifts, don't they? Tell a man they'll send him home and -- look, nothing but metal and 'lectricity."

"...and, no offense, but you bein' here shoots down my dream theory. Damn it."

Rogue glanced around again. "You said you knew these streets?"

A dozen jesting comments about whether he'd care to be in her dreams or not dropped away with the introduction of larger concepts. The introduction of survival.

He hadn't the heart to lie to her, knowing now that he knew her -- however peripherally. "Once. I knew'em, once. But they're different, now. I can already see that."

Still, he could be a little helpful: "We're in London."

"And me without my best raincoat," Rogue said.

She glanced around, not liking the look of this place at all. It was giving her a serious case of the creeps.

"All right - until we figure out what's goin' on, I vote we stick together. It's Sharpe, right?"

"Aye," he answered with a sudden warmth. It felt good to be remembered, even as he knew he couldn't quite remember her. How unfair of him. How unfriendly.

"I'm afraid I don't know your name, miss..."

Casual talk? Yes. But his hand was once again on his sword's handle. And he was turning away from her -- trusting her implicitly -- as he took stock of the bone yard.

"Rogue," she said. Some people just don't ask the Item Shop Girl's name. She wasn't offended. It wasn't as if she offered it. "Let's talk while we walk. Graveyards at night? Not traditionally the best places in... anywhere."

"Says the miss who's clearly never gone grave-robbing," he said with such a deadpan face. But Sharpe accepted her request and made a stiff gesture towards the far end of the yard. He'd come through the prickly bushes, but he felt the lass ought to use the proper gate.

"...huh," Rogue said. "Somethin' I could actually use in 'Never Have I Ever.'"

All the same, she followed along, casting a wary eye at the shadows. Rogue really didn't like this place.

"Never have you ever what?"

He didn't understand. He hated that he didn't understand. He hated it so much that he didn't pick up on the rustle and shuffle of dirt from the far left.

"It's a stupid drinkin' game," the apology was in her tone, not her words. "You say somethin' you've never done, and people who've done it hafta take a drink."

Rogue turned her head towards the noise, but all seemed quiet.

"...What's the point? To drink more or less than everyone else, for it seems a game tipped in the favour of colourful lives."

"I'm pretty sure the point's to get drunk an' learn embarrassing things about everyone," Rogue said, hearing more noises, now from the right. Seriously, this place was creep-tastic.

It was enough to bring his hand back to his hilt. Slowly -- silently -- he eased the first few inches of the blade free. Look nonchalant, he thought. It was probably just a vagrant or an early hours thief eager to try his luck on a bloody officer and his lady-escort, who'd wandered too far into the Rookery for their own good.

It didn't occur to him that the world might be a safer place, now. It equally didn't occur to him that it might be the wrong world entirely.

"I wasn't aware you needed a game to do any of those things," he answered -- the barest tension mounting in his voice.

Stuck In The Wrong Place

Same Old People, Wrong Destination

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