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4. I've managed to find a comfy bed with a kindly family or group. (Rented room, free)
4. Someone took pity on me and helped me blend in more. (Free; easy to pass)
3. Some under-the-table work. (Middleish income)
Rattle – roar, the heavy feeling of swampy air and the smell it carries pressing against his face, and indeed any other bare skin. As he begins to focus he realizes that there is a train, the flickering passage of it speeding into the station punctuated by the screech of brakes, the cars reducing from passing in a blink to clearly definable, and then stationary enough for people do migrate towards the doors in a herd. The moment they hiss open his moments of trying to rationalize where he was in that moment are lost.
The crowd is like a single mindless entity with one goal and little concern for those who might have been trying to find a familiar face.
“No! - Excuse me! - I just…” he tries to protest and see some way out of the claustrophobic crush, wrapping his arms around himself as though he could protect the few things he carries.
The press spits him after a few anxiety-inducing moments, into sunlight, startling enough after the electric lights and tiled walls to make him stumble and blink for a moment, though at least part of that was the crowd.
There was one sign he’d seen at least that had added to his confusion. – It’s large and black against the primarily white subway tiles; the lettering almost golden in color, beautifully framed in deep blue smaller tiles.
Christopher Street – Sheridan Square. Neither name was immediately familiar as part of Ashdown, but a moment later he knew why he had heard of them.
New York?
He’d thought that the veil and everything tied to it would be anchored in Ashdown itself, it seemed he’d been wrong. Looking around again in hopes of seeing someone, anyone whom had been in the room with Sunday, all he saw though was that there was a strange quality to the world.
Architecture seemed askew, just kind of wrong as though it had come from some set for a Tim Burton Movie. Clothing was strange, even as far back as he can remember he doesn’t remember seeing anything like it except perhaps movies. But even then the cuts seem strange, the patterns too.
To get away from the greater numbers of people for a moment he ducked into a bodega, but it’s strange in there too. Fruitopia he’s heard of… Jolt though?? He gum at the counter he could purchase for a quarter.
He gravitates towards the cat, no shock there perhaps; its matched eyes making it striking and beautiful. He offers it his hand to sniff at his fingers for approval in case it will let him pet it and uses the chance to glance at the paper.
November 1st, … 1989.
He must have looked profoundly lost, and more than that strange with his clothing, though he was grateful that he hadn’t wound up in an Era where the colorful dyes in his hair might raise questions and alarm.
He needed somewhere to stay, there was no clue how long this would last, and he needed to blend in better… after that, he needed to find something to make some money. Places to stay wouldn’t be free right?
He looked for bookstores, where else would he look for work? It was a used bookshop he found, selected because it advertised ‘room for rent’, and he hoped they might be hiring too. What better than a staff who had no excuse for being late?
The older gentleman behind the counter, who had enough ear hair that he reminded Zac of ‘Mad Max’ from Princess bride, only less balding fluff and more… ‘Could you hear better if you trimmed that’. He made a silent blessing to Alg whom he honestly considered a master of that ‘Go away’ expression that was being used at this time, and asked after both the room and a Job.
He must have made some kind of good impression because he was sent to find several books as a test, to his delight, while he was feeling startlingly more ‘visible’ than he had for some time – he still seemed to be able to find books quickly. He returned in what must have been surprisingly short time and offered his best ‘customer service’ smile.
The man’s wife, an older woman wearing an extremely loud floral print that seemed to pervade even the years he was more familiar with appeared from behind a curtain and glanced Zac over as well. The two exchanged looks and then just stared at him for long enough that he started to worry about a silent alarm and that he might have looked like he wanted to rob them somehow.
After a moment though the man made a grumble and told him he was hired, telling him hours and what he’d be expected to do, most of it was familiar though the register was older than even Algernon’s.
The wife was the one who grabbed his arm and took him up the stairs in the back to show him the room he’d be renting. Small but more than enough he hoped. She did give him a strange face at his clothing again though, and after he tried to stammer out an explanation on why he didn’t have a bag, or anything else she decided he was a run away, but that surely he had good reason. She decided that explained his odd clothing as well, though he thought that might be more the human need to explain strange situations.
It turned out that they had children though, and she handed him some of her Son’s clothing to wear. Their son though had been taller so it made the fit a little humorous. The cuffs heavily rolled and the shirt sleeves as well. But it was still better than standing out as much as he had. He rolled up his ‘current’ clothes and tucked them into his shoulder bag, the only thing he had – which provided him Band-Aids, an emergency blanket, energy bars, and a cell phone that wouldn’t connect to anything. Oh yes, and one portable umbrella, though he wasn’t sure they could get to ‘Other Ashdown’ from here.
He’d been especially lucky, he knew that, he hoped where ever, and
whenever the others were that they were as fortunate.
And … he missed Mogget.
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