InsaneJournal

Who: Alistair and Annie
What: Alistair is Lost.
Where: London
When: Saturday evening
Warnings: Who knows?

He's lost.

Awfully, mind-bogglingly, perpexingly lost, and he hates it. The streets are too hard and the things--the swift-moving mechanical things that propel themselves--move much too fast for his liking. He doesn't know how everyone manages to walk all the time with those things just /zooming/ by the way they do. Even from the safety of the sidewalk, he can't help but feel like he's seconds from becoming a dark red splatter on the cement.

Shale's words rise to his thoughts and he shudders.

He turns his gaze skyward; any other time, he might have turned his eyes to the night sky and been able to tell which direction they were walking in. Now, he's lost--the skies patterns are different here, and he doesn't recognize any of it. He's as lost in the streets as he is in the heavens.

Everything is just so unfamiliar.

And he can't stand it.

He frowns down at his unfamiliar feet in unfamiliar shoes that aren't currently decked in the familiar steel plate boots he's grown accustomed to. They're in dark sneakers, covered slightly by dark slacks, in turn covered by a dark, scratchy sweater. He kicks a rock with that shoe, and the pebble bounds forward with a crackle, before drawing to a halt at a familiar set of feet.