Out of Place

You don't remember what happened. All you know is that you don't belong here, wherever here is. Strange machines of metal hurtle past you, making you dizzier than you already are. You've only been here for a few moments, but you already want to leave. Looking around, you can spot other people just as confused as you are in various clothing styles foreign to your own. Before you can speak with anyone else, a strange man dressed in all black with a grey umbrella approaches you, a large smile on his face.

"Hello, everyone! Welcome to New York."

Spoiler

Cast List

I’m aiming for six people, but the roleplay will start at four and won’t close until a cast of ten.

1. @/GrandWild: Abel - Volatile
2. @/InuYosha: Aamokan "Amoku" - Volatile
3. @/looseleaf: Adelaide - Volatile
4. @/sakeofvanity05: Aion - Volatile
5. @/WrenZorya: Arabella - Volatile
6. @/TheWordsofWolf: Silvan

Spoiler

Name: Aion Saad

Age: 13 (people from Ancient Egypt were unlikely to live beyond 40)

Gender/Pronouns: He/Him

Race/Species: Half-human, half-celestial entity

Time Period: Ancient Egyptian Era - under King Tutankhamun's reign (around 1324 B.C.E)

>> Additional info <<
Profession: Merchant

Nationality + Ethnicity: Egyptian + Nubian(who are descended from an ancient African civilisation; most Nubians lived along the Nile river).

Relations: Older brother, Moshe, Merchant; Father, Senet, Scribe;
Mother, Sabah, Artist.

Appearance:



~
Short, tousled, light-ash brown hair (w/ a copper tinge) and a sandy, light-almond skin colour. For clothes, he wears a long, shirt-like garment tied at his waist: a white loincloth and sash, along with a small armband, headband and neckpiece which match the jade-green hues of his eyes.

Personality (short description): Independent, Self-motivated, Materialistic, Wry + Snide, Slick, Resourceful.

Powers (if applicable): Celestial, stellar (star-based) magic !!

Weapon of Choice (if applicable): all natural~

Taken aback, Aion's balance falters in one speedy tumble, an unsteady sway sending him— rearward— to the ground.

A look of disconcertion slips aptly over his face before he is able to collect himself from the floor, dust the grime off of his brand new— white, at that— loincloth. His eyes are flurried, as if on a search for something lost; either that, or a doubletake of his surroundings appealed to the little merchant fellow.

Momentarily forgetting the presence of a darkly draped stranger, Aion speaks aloud just well enough for him— and unintentionally, the raven-haired man— to hear, in an impotent attempt at soothing himself. "What sorcery have I awakened to? I've never seen... a temple like this before — if one can even call it that."

His aimless hands pat at the sash around his waist, which he usually used to store papyrus reed, linen, and other material small enough to fit the dip in his garment: but it was empty. "Well now! What's stranger is, my goods have vanished! and so has my cart! — only just stocked, too. What am I to do? Was it not here a moment ago?" He continues studying the area, but to no avail.

"Or…" his thoughts race, "...am I mistaken in saying… this is the heavens people speak of? A fool am I to pay no heed! My door swings at death's early knocking. What an ill-fate for a scribe's well-earning son! I thought to live for longer, with what fortune the gods have blessed me… Now where am I? Without my assets nor my home!" The comfort of his possessions has left him. "Surely the Nile is still around here somewhere… Is there no river in Aaru? Nor the field of reeds I was promised? If this is to be the afterlife, I wish to take no part in it!" he concludes, disgruntled.

"You're not dead, buddy. This is New York, and that is an office building. Quick question for you, what year is it?" Albin wrung his gloved hands, looking around at the others.

He was already making his own assumptions, of course. He's been to every timeline, from the distant past to far in the future. He could make out the distinct styles of Victorian England, Ancient Egypt, and some distant future. Still, he asked because it wouldn't be the first time he mixed up Queen Victoria and King Edward's styles. Always safe to be sure There were faint differences throughout the clothes, the length of the skirt, and the belt style. A whole group of volatiles, it seemed. Especially with those birdwings. Five of them in one place. When was the last time that happened? Probably not since the Great Mix-Up of 1911. His higher-ups were definitely going to want news of this.

"Another question, does anyone here have magical powers or unexplainable abilities? Your pockets should all be empty, so there shouldn't be any potions. However, if there is, please keep them pocketed."

This would be a long week and the most exciting one Albin has had for a while now.

Spoiler

Name: Adelaide Richmond
Age: 16 (born 1892, so two-ish years older than Abel)
Gender/Pronouns: she/her
Race/Species: human
Time Period: 1908
Appearance (picture or short description):

Face Claim: Evelyn Nesbit

Personality (short description): Adelaide's a kind girl who doesn't really talk/speak up unless she really needs to. She does seem secretive (and there are some secrets that she harbours), but, overall, most people seem to trust her. She is pretty smart, but only got up to ~9th Grade, so she isn't very well educated.
Powers (if applicable): Okay, I just watched Matilda with my sisters, so we're doing that. Adelaide can carry some objects with her mind (up to ~25lbs) over quite a distance. It does exhaust her, though, if she does it constantly, so she uses it rarely and keeps it as one of her well-hidden secrets.
Weapon of Choice (if applicable): Adelaide is fairly well-trained with shot-guns and the like, seeing as her dad hunted for their family's dinners himself. She's also OK with a knife, but she'd rather have a gun.

Adelaide didn't even bother pushing herself off the ground. Part of it was that she was too stunned but, as her dad had taught her, it was best to stay still if you felt unsure of where everything is. Then you could survey the area and collect yourself.

"Hello, everyone! Welcome to New York."

Someone was speaking. Adelaide bent her head up to look around her. A man dressed in dark clothing (it looked like a suit, but Adelaide wasn't sure) and a grey umbrella. Others were around them: a young boy who looked Egyptian that was wearing nothing but some cloth, another man in another suit-looking outfit, a Korean man, and a lady with.. wings?!

"You're not dead, buddy. This is New York, and that is an office building. Quick question for you, what year is it?" Albin wrung his gloved hands, looking around at the others.

The man in the dark clothes spoke again as Adelaide slowly stood up. The towering buildings (she assumed they were buildings) and the tiny seat rooms with wheels (were they horseless carriages? she couldn't be sure) only confused Adelaide even more.

"Another question, does anyone here have magical powers or unexplainable abilities? Your pockets should all be empty, so there shouldn't be any potions. However, if there is, please keep them pocketed."

Adelaide responded to the man, who turned around when she started, "Uhm, hello! My name's Adelaide Richmond.. I do not know if you already knew that, but I do have some small abilities or, powers, if you would like to call them that. But, most importantly, I would like to know why we're here."

Spoiler

Name: Arabella Mitchel
Age: 17, born 1824
Gender: Female
Species: Avifauna (something I created, but basically a bird-person)
Time Period: 1841
Appearance: Long curly black hair, purple-black eyes, crow wings, is always wearing black.
Personality: Imagine the most dramatic, over-the-top person you have ever met. Then multiply that by 1000 and make that person a widow from the victorian era. You got it! If Arabella isn't fanning herself and scolding her over-zealous friend for stealing a duck, she's draped across the furniture, talking in a dramatic voice about death and the absence of light. She's extremely smart, she's a doctor, she's just a little... insane.
Powers: No powers exactly, just her bird capabilities and her medical expertise.
Weapon of Choice: Gun definitely. But a revolver or a pistol, something she can hide in her purse.

Arabella stood and scraped her fan across her skirts, trying to dislodge the dirt.
"Oh! Oh! The horror! I've been kidnapped! You! How dare you put your hands on a lady!"
She reached for her gun, which was no longer in her pocket. "You have stolen my weapon as well?! All of you!" she pointed at the motley bunch. "There will be hell to pay! As soon as I find my gun. Excuse me, ma'am," her tone changed as she turned to Adelaide, "Have you seen my gun?"
She re-tied her hair and attempted to look more put together than what was possible after hurtling through space and time.

"Calm down, miss. No one's been kidnapped. Just let me explained."

Albin exhaled.

"As to why you're here. Why are any of us here, really?"

Of course, they had to go for the tough questions first.

"Well, I would like to start by saying that I didn't bring you here. I'm merely here to help. My name is Albin Addington, and I work for the Time Rearrangement and Replacement Agency."

He handed the woman a laminated business card with a small logo in the corner, his name, and a phone number. Below that, it said "New York District" in a smaller font than the rest.

"You lovely people are all here because you just encountered what we like to call a Time Displacement Ring or TDRs for simplicity. This means you have time travelled and potentially ended up in a different universe. Don't worry, though; it's my job to get you all back to where you belong. This is a temporary situation. So, if you could follow me back to my manor so I can debrief you and catch you up to speed."

He smiled, gesturing for the group to follow them.

"Introductions and questions can happen on the way. Oh! And stay off of that road. Those are no carriages, and getting hit by one isn't recommended. Keep your heads down, and don't speak to anyone else."

Puzzled, Aion regarded the oddly dressed man who had addressed him earlier— with hesitance—, hurrying to fall in step with him.

"Is it not the 14th century? — our time under King Tutankhamen's reign?" he pauses. "I'm not quite sure what parts of the Nile Delta we are currently within... Enlighten me, brother. Is it the Upper or Lower lands?"

And then he remembers his most recent train of thoughts concerning death. Distressed once more, he turned to the curious-looking bloke again, uncertain if he could take him for his word.

"Are you sure I'm not dead?" he swallows, before quelling the idea and moving past it. "I shall be eased in knowing harm's absence, as you have said, and will thus entertain your response in that my life has yet to be lost."

Nodding decisively, Aion answers Albin's earlier question. "You mentioned powers, was it? Now that you speak of such... I can recall inhaling... stardust— if you can believe it— from a trail left behind by a piece of sky."

The memories flood back to him. "Yes, I was... fighting with air for a time. It was hard to breathe. My body lost its colour, as if a ghost had just past through me! — and in its place, was a lustre unlike any other I'd ever seen!"

He revelled at the scene playing in his head. "The gods lifted me upwards, the wind as my blanket!"

Suddenly, Aion's self-awareness ceased him from talking any further, as he grew conscious of the group of strange travellers listening in.

He continued walking on in silence, following the brisk pace of their walk.

“I have a question. What am I supposed to do with this tiny scrap of paper? And why is this one droning on about King Tut and fighting the wind?” Arabella gestured to Aion. “In my unbiased and completely sound medical opinion, he is either on something or he needs to be. I suppose that was two questions.”

Spoiler

Name: Abel Richmond
Age: 32
Gender/Pronouns: Male, he/him
Race/Species: Caucasian human
Time Period: 1926
Appearance (picture or short description): Blue eyes, brown hair. About 6' tall with a very charismatic smile. Face claim is the spectacular Peter Cushing!
Personality (short description): Energetic, he loves to talk and seems outwardly like a very friendly person. However, there's a conniving nature about him that serves him well in his occupation as a bootlegger.
Powers (if applicable): Perhaps there is something of the fae in his vulpine grin, or maybe people feel more inclined to do as he says when he uses a certain tone of voice, but that's all hearsay. It must be, mustn't it?
Weapon of Choice (if applicable)One might argue Abel's silver tongue serves as a weapon, but if it comes down to it he's fairly adept with a revolver or a tommy gun.

Abel had many, many questions.

To ask those questions seemed impossible for the moment; the fellow who called himself Albin seemed to be in quite a hurry and was already ushering the odd group of people along. The group which Abel was not a part of.

Clearing his throat, Abel donned his fedora and hurried after them. "Excuse me!" He waved. "Pardon, I think you forgot me. Abel Richmond, at your service--I'm sorry, sir, did you say this was New York? That can't possibly be; I was just there before I ended up here--er, how did I end up here?"
Had the man mentioned magical powers, as well? What fairy-tale world had Abel landed in?

Albin laughed.

"So many questions. Wow. Sorry, everyone, I'm not used to this big of a group. Let's slow down. I'll take it one by one."

He stopped, turning to face the group once more.

"To answer our friend from Egypt, you are far from King Tut's reign. He died over three thousand years ago. It's 2019 C.E now. Quite the travel to make on your part, I must say. We’ve long left the time of monarchs. Sure, there are still kings and queens it they have no power anymore. And we’re nowhere near the Nile. We’re in New York, which is...”

He quietly did the math in his head.

“Five thousand, nine hundred, sixty-two miles away. There's no Nile here, but I might be able to show you the Hudson. Then, who was next?"

He looked over at the group.

"Ah, yes! You are, ma'am. Just hold on to that paper if you get lost or someone separates you from the group. 2019 New York is quite overwhelming to be when you don't know your way around. In fact, if everyone could keep this on you."

He passed out business cards to everyone.

"If you happen to get arrested, don't tell them anything about yourself and ask for your phone call. Call that list of numbers right there. I'll show you how to work a phone once we arrive at our destination. And don't worry about our friend here. He's perfectly healthy and perfectly sane, to my knowledge. Just a little shaken up. As I'm sure, all of you are. And you, sir-"

He shook Abel's hand.

"Mr Richmond charmed to meet you. You are in New York, but it isn't quite your New York. You've time-travelled. As I said before, you encounter a TDR. TDRs are little holes in the universe some people fall through. The one you ran into brought you here. I'll provide more information about those once we reach the manor. I got water, food, anything you might need there."

He took one more look around.

"Alright. Any more questions before we continue?"

Aion pulled a look, subsequently attempting to conceal the sense of bafflement that shone on his face. It seemed the leader of the pact was speaking a string of jargon, the language barrier only setting more unease onto him. ' Arrested? Phone? Time-travelled? What meanings were being offered behind such messages? ' he thought.

The merchant felt... foreign and out of place in this realm of unfamiliarity. Even though he had met a great many variation of people — all from different backgrounds, cultures and lands — in an open-ended network of trading, this experience felt like a terrible leap from diversity. He almost preferred to deal with the cold refusals of some high-and-mighty people in his days to engage in business with him, thinking that at least he'd know what to expect from prior experience. His pride had taken an awful hit during then.

' This was truly not a place of paradise, nor a different part of his land, nor a dream, even if I wish it so! ' he thought, the fallacy of his assumptions only deepening his bitterness on the whole situation. He had no choice but to accept the reality of it all as it was, unconsciously glancing up to the ashy, smoke-swept skies with a questioning gaze — that would have been enough to have him exiled, knowing full well how much his people condemned doubt against their deities, which only washed great shame over him, the flush of damnation colouring his face — as if addressing the gods with accusation.

Seth, the Egyptian God of Chaos, who threatened the harmony of their nations and posed as a demon, foe to the Sun God, Ra, was the being he internally blamed for this misfortune, plainly disregarding — out of spite — the explanation of the most well-informed man he had encountered thus far. Despite his feigned ignorance, he understood the direness of their affairs. He intended to put up a fight against the force of evil embodiments — knowing all to well about the ancient scriptures and unearthly events of occurrence — swearing to himself that he will catch whatever the universe throws at him.

With his sights set on returning home, he stared on ahead of him in determination, blindly following the guide to a destination that he hoped would bring him back to safety. He knew his stubborn will would get in the way of progressing at a pace that pleased him, with little to nothing sufficing the worries of his own negative thoughts.

And thus, continuing forward, he found the inner workings of his mind surprising even himself — with a newly-developed mentality that felt very out-of-character for a man like him. He had begun to actually acknowledge the gaps in his knowledge — though without really verbally addressing it; after all, he didn't have the ego to allow it... at least, as of now.

Aion then tucked away the card he had been handed, like a special souvenir to remind him of the travel, or better yet, a piece of the world he found himself in, carried around in the small sash of his waistcloth.

He'd known he'd appear a fool to them all already, and so decided upon keeping up the charade of his 'established profile' amongst the odd cast of people. He would play his part as a simple-minded, unknowing boy — to have the seed of deceit planted into their heads early-on... so that his weak and unsuspecting figure will have them let down their guards and think nothing of him, staying off their radar of concern — until his true nature of capability unleashes. He didn't know why he was like this: always finding a way to turn anything into a game, with cards to sneak up his invisible sleeves and moves to play from a deck of trickery. Perhaps the bargaining element of his trade business was to blame.

"Such a disclosure of content unloaded upon is far too great a matter to digest!" Aion declared. "Whatever are we to do?" He paused, adding an inquiry he meant this time: "And how much farther to our destination?"

Albin took the time to count his group. Six people, all various ages, races, and periods. The air hummed with static electricity, which was expected around just one Misplaced let alone six Volatiles. Two of them hadn’t spoken yet, which didn't surprise him. They had just been torn, rather forcefully from his experience, from their reality and surrounded by pure unknown. It’s not hard to pity them. That’s for sure. He shook his head to himself. No, pity was never the correct response. Pity tended to frustrate, to put a vast distance between himself and the Misplaced following him dutifully. He needed to be patient, which he was good at now after years of dealing with scared, defensive sceptics from years past and future. This time would be no different, he was sure.

“Whatever are we to do? And how long to our destination?”

Albin chuckled to himself. So the ancient Egyptian was probably a child. That didn’t necessarily mean he was weak, however. No, he once dealt with an infant from the middle ages that set itself on fire instead of crying. The scorch marks were still under the dining room table. You have to stay on your toes when it comes to volatiles, no matter how docile or young. You never know when an unknown power is going to pop up and complicate things.

“Don’t worry. I’m trained to deal with this. You can rest assured that you’re my...”

He paused. How many Misplaced had he Replaced? He only dealt with New York, but it wasn’t uncommon to get a hundred Misplaced a year since New York was quite urban. TDRs like being around as many people as possible. Then there are the sudden spikes. The October Blitz, 1911... the official number was on his TRRA Laptop, but he had no way of knowing precisely on his feet.

“Regardless, I have experience. I’ll tell you once you arrive precisely how much, but don’t make me do that math right now. As to how long it is to arrive, we should be here.”

The building itself didn't look too special, just like the other office buildings around it. Well, it looked too much like the other buildings. It had no signs, distinguishing features, almost as if it was designed to blend in and be forgotten. The address by the front door sparkled in the sun, small and hard to read from a distance. Albin opened the front door and gestured everyone inside.

“Right this way, everyone. This is where you’ll be staying for the time being.”

The door opened to your standard waiting room, once again bland and almost frustratingly similar. The reception desk housed a small older woman typing away on a computer. Two short-backed chairs rested against the wall. The only remarkable thing was the heavy door in the corner that looked so out of place in the otherwise minimal room.

“Everyone, this is my secretary Janice.”

Janice didn’t look up or greet any of the Misplaced.

“How many, Mr Addington?

“Six. All volatiles.”

She finally looked up regarding each of the Misplaced.

“What year are you all from and do you happen to have your universe PIN?”

Amoku thought that being silent would be enough to make this terrible dream end. He was feasting on some delicious processed ham when suddenly, he was transported to this weird place with really short buildings. It looked like an outskirts town.

The weird black-clothed man said that the shabby town was supposed to be New York? Strange. Amoku knew what New York was like. New York had the tallest buildings in the world, stretching far past Earth's atmosphere

However, when the man said "Earth 2019", Amoku realized that this was going to be a less fun experience than he thought it would be.

After the weird rambling Egyptian and some other random talking, Amoku thought his mind was going to implode.

When the man asked whether everyone had powers or not, Amoku didn't say anything. His power didn't count as a power. It was a curse.

"What year are you all from and do you happen to have your universe PIN?" asked a strange lady.

"I have no idea what nonsense you all are talking about, but please tell me I'm going to be the first one to go back," Amoku growls.

Albin shook his head.

"Yeah, can't do that. Past Misplaced go home first, simply because they're the most likely to become deeply traumatized and end up locked away in some rotting, ancient asylum. Those from the future don't walk away with information that could potentially be hazardous, so they tend to be lower on the return list. But, I do apologize for the inconvenience. Rest assured, we will send everyone home in a timely matter. All I ask is that everyone remains patient."

He took out a strange device from behind Janice's desk.

"This is a retina scanner. Those in my field of work use this to create a digitalized list of all misplaced that pass through our districts. It works by scanning your eye and itemizing its composition. There are slight variations between each alternate universe, which is how your information is saved. It also tells us what year you're from. However, if the year I say is wrong, please don't hesitate to correct me."

He approached Aion first, doing everything in his power to look as non-threatening as possible.

"This should only take a second. Please don't panic."

Albin began scanning his right eye.