bakerstreet | the ACCIDENTAL EXTRADIMENSIONAL TOURIST meme

Entry tags:

[meme] characterization

the ACCIDENTAL EXTRADIMENSIONAL TOURIST meme

Have you ever wanted to travel to another planet? Another REALITY? Even if this is something that has never crossed your mind, It's about to happen. For reals. A giant wormhole has opened up beneath you and dropped you elsewhere. You have no choice in what world you're heading to, or even where you'll be landing. Luckily (or unluckily) you'll be dropped near to a resident of the world who will have no choice but to play your tour guide and help you get to know your new home.

How it works

1. Post with your character. In the body include a little bit about where your character is, or what they are currently doing. You can write as little, or as much as you want! Just a simple sentence saying something like [John Doe is sitting in his office at the paper company goofing off and playing call of duty while his boss isn't looking.] is fine, or you could go into more detail and write a paragraph or two describing a key place in your world's canon to really set the scene for incoming tourists. Try not leave your initial comment blank. This meme will probably work best if you set up a scene, no matter how short.

2. Find someone else who's world you are invading and post dropping in on them. Maybe you just opened a door and found yourself there, maybe you fell into a worm hole. Either way you are not where you were a moment ago. optional: The wormhole might have handily provided you with the means to blend in to your new environment. If you find yourself hopping out into a school, you might be wearing an appropriate uniform, if you happen to fall out into a swords and sorcery type world you might find yourself sporting plate armor or wizard robes, and if you find yourself on an alien planet... well you might look just like the aliens who live there.

3. Remember that with this sort of meme it's probably best to tag outside of canonmates. But, either way, have fun and try not to kill the tourists!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

You find yourself in an ancient stone hall full of enormous statues that depict people that seem to be fleeing. It's very cold, and very empty. Luckily you've found yourself in cloak and fur. The only sound here is the howl of the winds outside and the crackle of the magically lit torches.

The ground is mostly covered in dust, though there are disturbances here and there. Some of them lead to a rather prominent carving in the wall. While carved in runes you can somehow read it anyway.

We forsee Midgard's fate - overrun, a second Hel. Neither Odin nor his dead may reach Jotunheim. The ways must be shut. The serpent and the guardian remained. They alone shall keep our hope. When doom befalls the indestructible, only then shall the guardian return.

Until then we await a better world - one without fear, without greed, without war. We wait for deliverance, and justice. We wait for a champion. We will wait for word that gods grow good.

Besides that the halls are covered in carvings. Images and words, events from the past and future. There's one very odd one. An image carved onto a mostly crumbled wall. It looks an awful lot like you.

There's a new noise. A low growl. Three enormous spectral wolves crackling with magical energy have stalked up behind you.

"How did you get here?" a voice asks, a young voice, probably hidden behind one of the many statues. Though the echoing makes it hard to tell precisely where.

As far as Atreus knows, there's only one way into Jotunheim, and he's the only one who knows the Black Rune to get here. And his father by default, obviously.

A green shimmer of light fills the ancient stone hall before a portal opens, the sound of shifting magic filling the hollow halls as a young, ashen-haired woman steps out, and the portal vanishes. Ciri's heeled boots clack sharply against the stone floors and piercing the silence as she moves throughout the hall, pausing before the runes carved into the wall.

It usually takes her time to adjust to a new language — written or spoken — but it seems she has no trouble reading what is before her. She steps closer to the wall, her fingers tracing over images and words until she sees herself. Here she is, fulfilling yet another prophecy.

A second before the growl, Ciri's hand is on the hilt of her blade — though she doesn't draw it — as she spins about, warily eyeing up the spectral wolves, wondering if silver could damage them. The young voice that meets her is startling, but she remains readied to attack if she has to.

"Someone left a door open," she says; though it isn't the complete truth, it also isn't a lie since she entered through a portal. "You sound a bit young to be by yourself, well, other than your ghostly companions."

"I'm old enough!" Atreus snaps back quickly, instantly cursing himself for sounding so impetuous. That's not the kind of impression he wants to make on an intruder in a place that should be completely secure from the rest of the realms.

The wolves don't back down but they don't attack attack either. They watch her closely with their baleful glowing eyes. The boy quietly scuttles closer under the cover of cracked statues and crumbling ruin to try and get a better look. His fingers are tight around his bow. She doesn't seem dangerous... but he's been fooled before, you couldn't be too cautious. Especially in a situation like this.

"There shouldn't be any doors here besides the one I came through," he frowns. he knows she didn't come through his door. He would have known. AT least he thinks he would have, "Are you from Asgard? Did Odin send you?"

The wild thing is, he's getting used to this.

This is not the first time he's found himself in another time and place all of a sudden, not even the first time this month, frankly, and the shock that should be there isn't. Zak's face remains as unreadable as ever as he makes his way around the statues and forward, though where he's going, he doesn't know. What experience has taught him is that it's never a good idea to sit still when transported somewhere. The thick fur of his grandfather's old coat is enough to ward off the chill, though how it ended up on him, he doesn't remember.

He takes in the writing by the mural for a long, thoughtful moment. There are dots here to put together, if only he can manage it, and after a moment, he says, as if reciting from a long-memorized and half-forgotten text, "Far away and up high, people lay in wait in a world of winter, seeking deliverance..."

Zakariya had assumed, from the books his grandfather had left him, that the reference was purely past tense by this point, reference to some long dead civilization whose wait hadn't yielded any salvation. He hadn't considered that Baphomet might've been referring to people in another world.

The voice startles him enough for him to look around, but he doesn't go for his pocket knife or tense up as if ready to defend himself. At this point, it takes more than a voice to shake him up.

"I went through a door in my grandfather's house." Not a lie. The intended location had been different and his clothes very assuredly hadn't been like this before, but he'd been fully intending to step back and sideways over to the world of Binah. "I didn't know it would lead here. It never has before."

This guy... he doesn't exactly seem like a spy from Asgard. He doesn't have that sort of warrior like air about him. He also doesn't look undead! Another excellent point in his favor. Still not enough to make him drop everything, dispel his spirit wolves, and trust him... but it's good information to tuck away.

"Why does your grandfather have a door to Jotunheim?" he asks incredulously, frowning to himself. He picks a careful path through the chamber, trying to be mindful to keep out of sight, "How does he have one? There should be only way in and you definitely didn't come in my way."

Were there other hidden doors to this place? That doesn't sit well with him.

"The door doesn't usually lead here. Usually, it leads to Binah, the land of Arthurian lore and spirits. I was headed there when I stumbled upon... Jotunheim," he says, slowly, with the air of someone pronouncing an unfamiliar word who's not entirely sure he's saying it right. The name rings some bell, from back in his anthropology class, maybe, but it's been too long and it was too unimportant to the class for him to recall it now.

Zakariya doesn't look as concerned as he probably should about the fact his grandfather has a door to Jotunheim. He's not unconcerned, he's just gotten used to it at this point. Baphomet is in the basement, lost gospels are in the study, and there was already a door that lead to Binah. This isn't wildly out of the blue to him in the way it would've been to someone else. That doesn't mean he's particularly happy about it; he sighs, massaging his temples for a moment.

"If I could find an exit, I'd go back, but I'm not sure where it is. I'm as confused as you are. So," he straightens his shoulders, trying to face this head on, "what do we do now?"

You're in a city, probably. It's called Spikemuth if the signs are anything to go by.
There are certainly buildings, but the streets and alleys are dark and dirty, lit dimly with neon lights. The sky isn't visible either, the whole city seems to have a roof. Though from the sound of the wind howling outside and hail pounding against the metal surface it might be a good thing the town seems to be in a box.

You may or may not be aware of a mysterious creature following you in a way that may or may not be stealthy. It doesn't seem dangerous at least. More curious then anything.

All roads in Spikemuth eventually lead to the gym in the middle of the city. An arena on cracked pavement with a stage and high concentration of neon lights. The entire thing is surrounded with chain link fencing and Piers chaining the gate shut with a good sized padlock.

"Sorry mate. All wrapped up for the day. If you want to challenge you'll have to come back tomorrow," He gives the lock a good tug and satisfied he nods and turns around and finally takes a look at the stranger. Something about them felt a little... off, "I'm guessin' you're not a gym challenger, are ya?"

The Swede looked rather lost since he took a wrong turning somewhere. This didn't look like New York at all. Had he gone down the wrong alley and ended up in the punk district? It certainly looked that way considering the deco and some of the interesting locals who had stared at Hunter walking along dressed in his glam gear. Leopard print leggings, shirt and high heeled boots.

"A challenge? I think I am lost, blomma. I took a wrong turning back at the alley."

At least he thought he took a wrong turning since he had no idea where he was now. Goodness, he should have stuck to the map but he lost it. Did Gilly, his boyfriend have it? He was back with the other members of his band wasn't he? Why was he so confused? He hadn't even drank much this morning nor had he taken any coke.

"Where is this?"

You're in a house. Or at least, you think it's a house - it's a huge, circular room you've found yourself in, with black and white checker tiles on the floor and dark redwood walls. There's an elevator in the corner, locked by a mechanism with a pyramid shaped hole. The main staircase leads up to a second and third floor, but the lights up there are off, and a strange smell lingers, of dust and disuse. Many of the books on the shelves up against the walls have clearly not been touched in years. The air is unseasonably cold and from somewhere else in the house, the smells of oud and patchouli waft in. One of the lights up above flickers before it goes out. The domed ceiling has skylight panels built into it, but it's night now, and the falling snow blocks out any light that might've come through there.

There are a few display stands, each home to an object. One has a golden rod with Egyptian hieroglyphs on it, another has an elaborate bone mask that looks alarmingly human, one has a golden grail filled with swirling liquid smoke. Several stands are empty, but the imprints in the dust indicate something used to be there not long ago. One object too big to sit on a stand is a strange machine, all copper with a keyboard and a strange viewscreen that only displays black, brown and grey text. Transportation complete, it says, before shifting back to a lockscreen. It's a computer, clearly, but incredibly old, taking up a good twelve feet of floor space and apparently steam-powered. A box of tools off to the side indicate that this, at least, is still being maintained.

Soft footsteps click on the tile, and a low, flat voice with a Northeastern accent asks, not sounding as shocked as he maybe should, "Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

It had been a hard seventeen-day run west out of the Aerie, deep into uncharted seas, when the world shifted.
She'd been chasing a djinn that only showed itself to her. Her crew thought her well and truly mad but that didn't matter. They'd follow her anywhere.

The chase lead them off the edge of the map, all for what? A living, intelligent lick of blue flame dancing on the Veil with terrible purpose, goading her curiosity to the breaking point?

She doesn't remember if she caught it or it caught her. For a moment, it doesn't matter. She heard her mother's voice telling her in a quiet, brusque voice, 'Eyes forward, child; pay attention.'

Ari stripped her goggles up to her hairline and jerked her scarf down all in one practiced gesture, her senses landing on each detail with a razor's edge.

"Captain Wednesday. I followed the djinn. And you are?"

Her hands don't move to the guns on her hips, but that option is not off the table.

He's unarmed. Not that that would stop someone from trying to kill him, and in his own home, too, but he hopes it'll be enough to give her pause so they can talk about it like adults. At 5"10, he doesn't cut much of an intimidating figure, particularly not when one takes in the cup of coffee in his hand and the bags under his eyes.

"Zakariya Hadra. I didn't see any djinn. Just you, in my house, at four thirty in the morning." There's a note of resignation there. Weirdness never finds him well-rested and in the afternoon. It always has to be the dead of night and when he's running on fumes, for some reason. He glances down as his cat pads out of the kitchen and towards Ari. The cat usually avoids the worst of people he encounters. It's not a conventional way to judge someone's character, but it's all he's got, and after a moment, he shrugs and gestures towards the kitchen.

"Come on. You look like you could use some breakfast and Allah knows I do. We'll talk about this when we're both closer to fine."

Unspoken but obvious is the implication he doesn't want her in this part of the house. Given what's in it, that's likely not surprising. Even an untrained eye can tell this is not a place most get to see.

Oddly enough, it's the cat now winding around her ankles that changes the tension in the room. Not many animals from the home system made it as far out into the galaxy as Icarus, but the Imperials do love their felines. They became a symbol of wealth and decadence, the kind of gift you'd give a king.

Ari's gaze fell upon him, with his cup of coffee and a holy name on his lips. If he hasn't seen the djinn, perhaps he is the djinn. Best to proceed with all due caution.

But first, one must pay obeisance to the one who is welcoming her. She lowers herself to sit on her heels, offering a hand to the cat.

"I am sorry, for disturbing your sleep, Sidi. It was not my intention." The cat chin rubs at her fingertips and steps beneath her palm, letting her stroke down its back. It then walks away, back towards its master, silently reiterating the invitation to eat.

She stands, exhales, nods, then follows behind him. "Can you tell me where I am?"

"It's alright," he clarifies with a small shrug, "I was awake already. Coco's food bowl was empty and she decided to wake me up to remedy that world-ending calamity."

Coco, for her part, seems to be alright with the newcomer to the house. That's a good sign. He can trust his cat's judgment most of the time; like many Muslim men, he believes cats can sense evil. Ari doesn't look hostile. Petting Coco and speaking calmly raises her a notch above the usual intruder he gets these days. Zak has given up on asking for situations in his life to make sense, but he does still hold out some hope for situations to remain at least semi-peaceful.

"You're in Vermont - not far from Lake Champlain, if that helps you picture it on a map. You can see down part of the mountains from the kitchen, or, well," he amended, "you will once the sun fully rises, anyway."

The kitchen is blessedly normal by comparison to the room she'd just been in. Birch wood walls, dark soapstone countertops, worn redwood flooring - it looks expensive, certainly, but normal, used, lived in, in ways the other room isn't. There's a pot of coffee on, and he gestures towards the cabinet he keeps the mugs in with a mutter of "help yourself" as he resumes tending to what he had been cooking. It's nothing fancy, just a large veggie omelette and cinnamon toast, but he splits the omelette in half and puts it on a plate for her along with a piece of toast, holding the plate out to her and gesturing with his head towards the table.

"Come on, let's sit down. You can tell me what happened in more detail and I can get enough coffee in me to wake up and form coherent thoughts." He takes a moment to tend to Coco, filling her food bowl up with a fish-based food mix that has her purring into her food bowl happily, then sits down at the table, yawning tiredly.

Out the window, the sky is pre-dawn blue, and in the limited light the outlines of the mountains can be seen. Lake Champlain can be glimpsed in the distance, the roads toward the town winding through the greenery of the forest like dark ribbons. It's clear that this place is off the beaten path, but not wholly isolated or deliberately unreachable, and Zak is, despite being its' sole inhabitant, equally accessible as a person, if given a chance. He's at least less hostile to the idea of an intruder in his house than most, and he's a good host, if nothing else.

Much like his own culture, the unspoken laws of hospitality and being a guest in someone's home are treated as a matter of life and death in Ari's world. So when the Might-Be-An-Ancient-All-Powerful-Spirit tells you to help yourself to the coffee, you do it without question, lest you offend your host. The host who might have enough power to reach across the galaxy and transport you into their home. Such Spirits are afforded every possible deference, even if they brought you here only to alleviate their boredom.

There's still deep red dust drifting down from the creases of her boots and gloves, hanging in the humid air around her shins. Her eyes follow the cat and then his hands in the making of the dish. "Thank you, you are too kind." The words are stiff and formal in her mouth.

She moves to sit and her gaze falls on the view. That much water kissed by the sun's first light looks like a pale golden blade drawn across the horizon. The sight takes her breath away, and she only just manages to set her plate down. It lands a little harder than she intends.

She's only seen water like this once, on the Imperial home world, and only a glimpse of it before the prison transport windows darkened upon approach.

"Am I dreaming, Sidi?" Her voice sounds almost childlike, and she's too dumbstruck to care.

The hilarious thing is, he's not only not powerful, the idea of him being seen as powerful by her never crosses his mind at all. He doesn't view himself through that sort of lens. After inheriting his grandfather's house and realizing just how small and powerless most people are, himself included, he barely views himself as a priority at all. What he does view himself as, in spite of all the world-changing events in his life over the past month, is Muslim. And a good Muslim man doesn't turn a weary traveler away, even under these incredibly weird circumstances.

He wonders about where she's from. The nearest red-clay roads are the next state over, across the lake and over the mountains, but she doesn't have an upper northerner accent and no one around here gives the lake a second glance. His bet is that this is one of those cases where the Bequest Globe decided to haul someone in from another world entirely. Not Binah - the lakes there make Lake Champlain look like a pond - and definitely not Chesed, not in those clothes and not with dust on her.

Zak watches her, and follows her gaze out the window. The tiny flurry of mountainside snowfall has ceased and will be melted by the time the sun fully rises, as is the way of the mountains in Vermont, and leaves everything from the ground to the trees glittering in the first rays of morning light. The glow of the lake makes the rest look like it's taking its' light from the lake rather than the sun. It's this kind of beauty that drew his grandfather to Vermont in the first place, led to him settling here half a world away from his native Laayoune on a continent that was never particularly welcoming to outsiders.

"No, you're not, and you don't have to call me Sidi. Zak is fine." He wonders what she'd think of the pond out back, the winding path that leads to the river a scant half a mile away. "That's the lake. It's magical, figuratively and, people say, literally. Ghosts and figures in the mist and good luck charms that actually work... and the device that presumably brought you here, although how and why it did that, I don't know. I inherited the thing without anything in the way of instructions."

He'd been under the impression that it wouldn't fire off without someone around, but apparently that was incorrect. And now here Ari is, far from home and staring at a lake he's come to view as a fixed point in his daily life like it's a miracle.

Putting him here for multiverse/dimensional crossing. Castmate preferred, location and circumstances are negotiable.

Edited 2021-06-15 13:44 (UTC)

Tourist. He still has his powers but is he dressed as spider or just some kid that looks kinda scrawny turning up where maybe he shouldn’t be. Have at.

Link noticed a guy roughly his age looking...a little out of place. Hyrule Castle Town was a bustling place, with the collection of Hylians, Gorons, Zora, and the odd little terrier or two yipping around at people's feet.

"Hi! First time in Castle Town? Kinda overwhelming, isn't it?" Link smiled as he hopped off a milk crate he'd been perched on. "Need any help getting around?"

Link had his sword and shield on his back, and even by Hyrule's standards he was dressed oddly, in a green tunic that didn't quite fit the local fashion. It was what he was most comfortable in, though.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

the ACCIDENTAL EXTRADIMENSIONAL TOURIST meme

Atreus | God of War

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Piers | Pokemon SWSH

no subject

Zakariya Hadra | Drowned God | OTA

Ariadne "Barking Mad" Wednesday, OC, Sea of Dust

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Mycroft Holmes | Moriarty The Patriot

Peter Parker |MCU | OTA

Welcome to Hyrule