The Universe's Mixer

Wash was accustomed to having vivid dreams, but they were usually weird, wild and wacky adventures that sometimes involved goslings or dinosaurs. Vivid nightmares, too, though he didn’t like to dwell on those - nightmares too close to life, nightmares of very real potential dangers and deaths. This, though... this was different.

He had been dozing off behind the wheel. Not while piloting, of course - just waiting. It happened, sometimes; he’d slip into dreamland and be jolted awake by Mal’s or Zoe’s voice over the comm system. And now he was dreaming. He had to be dreaming. There was no way this city around him, these unknown streets, were real. Unless he’d been kidnapped by some random group of miscreants, dragged off of Serenity, and dropped off here. Stranger things could happen.

It was clearly a city. That much he could be sure of. It was dusk in some nameless city, and Wash stood somewhere on a sidewalk in the middle of it, gazing at the things around him with a puzzled expression and slightly narrowed eyebrows. It was old here. Weirdly old. There were actual cars driving by on the street - not land-speeders, but cars, mythical things of legend that he’d only ever heard of or seen in pictures. Everything around him was in English; not a bit of Chinese in sight. Everything was antiquated, ridiculously so; it didn’t make any sense.

He tried the pinching thing. Pinch your arm, wake yourself up. Classic and simple. But not working. Head quirked to one side, he touched the side of the nearest building. It felt real. It felt like it was really there. After a moment’s hesitation and fully aware that, if the whole kidnapping thing had actually happened, he was being incredibly stupid, Wash clenched his hand into a fist and slammed it against the wall.

“Liou coe shway duh biao-tze huh hoe-tze duh ur-tze!*” he swore loudly, causing a few heads to turn in his direction. He was a bit too busy being confused, disoriented, and, after punching a wall, in a decent amount of pain. This was real. This was very painful and very real. Wash flexed his fingers experimentally, hoping to God he hadn’t broken anything. Wherever he was, however he’d gotten here, the last thing he needed was a trip to the local hospital. All he could hope was that the rest of the crew was around here... somewhere... somehow.

*Stupid son of a drooling whore and a monkey.

It felt odd to say that he had his job back when Errol felt as if he'd never left. The layout of the store had changed enough so that it didn't feel as seamless as returning to his apartment, but books were books and it was easy enough to turn on the coffee pot, make sure that the sign in the door said "Open," and he began to browse himself for a book to settle behind the counter with.

Or he would have, if curiosity hadn't gotten the better of him and he picked up one of the City newspapers left out near the coffeepot instead. Since arriving in the City Errol did his best to avoid the news. After Libria, he preferred to live in an insulated bubble. But a long absence meant that the City had possibly changed around him. That bubble could have changed without him knowing. It was safer for him to know than to exist in happy ignorance right now.

He sat back behind the counter, a paper unfolded in front of him, and soon began making notes of back issues to find in the library. Apparently things had been very interesting since he had been here last.

The crone had found the conference very interesting, but that reporter had asked questions later in her paper she didn't care for. The fact that the City was now...normal hadn't been missed either. How could she not know that her spell had been broken by someone with a good deal of power? She didn't have to think long or hard on who that someone was either. The god was a being she'd have to handle; she'd noticed the woman with him, but for the moment, she'd decided to take up a bit of distraction.

Baba Yaga'd sent a woman dressed in the crone's clothes to the Tower, given the woman instructions, and set her loose. The woman would definitely smell like the crone as she stood waiting for the beast to come out and play. She was built much like the crone, or Red, was, and she held a small basket with pieces of tasty meat inside. On the basket was a small envelope, inside, a note:

You may enjoy this one, or you may come play in the park. Bring the food. We could have so much fun, my darling.

It was unsigned, but the scent alone should be enough to tell the blue furred genius who sent him his little present.

The crone sat on a park bench and watched the world move around her. She had picked a spot that seemed more wooded than normal. Quite possibly her cabin was close by. Perhaps Eric would feel the strong hint of mischief, anticipation, and lust from the small woman. She was certainly in the mood for a distraction with so much possibility.