InsaneJournal

WHO: Liz Sherman, Willow Rosenberg, and OTA
WHAT: Yet another new arrival.
WHEN: Late morning of Day 3.
WHERE: Renaissance Faire.
RATING: Tentatively PG
STATUS: in progress

The last thing Liz remembered was fire.

This was often the last thing she remembered upon waking up. Every time she loosed her fire enough to light up, to torch the immediate area, she passed out. She always lost consciousness, and always had no recollection of what happened between the fire and when she woke up again.

She hated it.

She hated being a pyrokinetic, having this weird thing inside her, this fire that she apparently couldn't live without, but that she hated so much. It made her irritable and sad, and she knew it was a pain for her friends to be around her sometimes. But they couldn't really understand -- and how could they? Liz was the only pyrokinetic she'd ever met.

The last thing Liz remembered was fire, and the first thing she realized when she woke up was that her head hurt.

Frowning, Liz's eyes fluttered open and then immediately shut again; it was too bright. She was lying on her back in what felt like grass, and the sky was bright. It had been night when she had been on the tail of that wendigo -- how long had she been out?

After taking a moment to steel herself, Liz pushed up onto her hands, keeping her eyes shut as she gingerly reached up to touch the back of her head, where she could feel a knot already beginning to form. Well, that was peachy. At least she hadn't whacked her head on a rock or anything. "That could have gone better," she said archly, smiling a little, and let her hand fall back down to the grass.

She waited a second for a response, and when she didn't get one, she frowned again and opened her eyes, squinting in the brightness. "HB?" she said, looking around, and her mouth nearly fell open when she saw that she was in a completely different place than when she'd blacked out. This was no Canadian woods, this was a field. A field overlooking little striped tents with ribbons and flags and oh God, had she time-travelled? Hellboy had gone through something like this before, but he had touched something to start it, a sort of trigger. The last thing Liz had touched was ... nothing.

"Damn," said Liz, to apparently no one, as the partner she'd had when she had gone unconscious was not here. Wherever that was. Damn.

Hoping to God that this wasn't a hallucination or that she wasn't having the whammy put on her by some malicious spirit, Liz somewhat unsteadily got to her feet and, after dusting herself off, wandered cautiously toward what seemed to be a gathering of people down below. If this really was time travel, and this really was a medieval town, at least she had a sidearm to combat their swords and pikes and stuff. Liz didn't imagine her trousers and flack jacket would go over too well with 12th century peasants.

"Excuse me, I, um ... I guess I'm lost," she said to the first person she saw who looked relatively harmless, smiling tightly.