Are you shitting me.
Like Miles Straume hasn't had enough of mistakenly appearing in a fucked up magical land full of people with powers weirder than his.
One minute he's trying to hail a cab on the busy streets of LA, stepping haphazardly off the sidewalk, and next thing he knows he's here. Wherever the fuck that means. Standing in the middle of a busy street still, sure, so he has to dive back onto the sidewalk, narrowly missing crashing into multiple people as they hurry on by.
So it's not too different from LA yet, then. People are still rude, for one.
But the scenery isn't the same at all. He's obviously not looking up at the same buildings; it seems like he's in the wrong city entirely. Chicago - it looks like fucking Chicago, and how the hell did he manage that. Miles has gone through his fair share of the supernatural of course - he did live for three years in the 70s, side by side with his parents and himself as an infant, hadn't he? He's spent the past twenty years hearing the last thoughts of dead bodies, hasn't he?
But he's never experienced anything unprompted like this. He hasn't asked for this. At least when he'd gone to Shithole Island, it'd been because he was a selfish fuck who was asking for money, and a lot of it. There's no reason for this to be happening.
Well. He'd eventually gotten off the island. So why the fuck can't he find his way out of... here?
Still. Miles shakes his head as he's jostled along the side walk again.
"Are you shitting me," he mutters under his breath.
Yeah, this is going to be fun.
One minute he's trying to hail a cab on the busy streets of LA, stepping haphazardly off the sidewalk, and next thing he knows he's here. Wherever the fuck that means. Standing in the middle of a busy street still, sure, so he has to dive back onto the sidewalk, narrowly missing crashing into multiple people as they hurry on by.
So it's not too different from LA yet, then. People are still rude, for one.
But the scenery isn't the same at all. He's obviously not looking up at the same buildings; it seems like he's in the wrong city entirely. Chicago - it looks like fucking Chicago, and how the hell did he manage that. Miles has gone through his fair share of the supernatural of course - he did live for three years in the 70s, side by side with his parents and himself as an infant, hadn't he? He's spent the past twenty years hearing the last thoughts of dead bodies, hasn't he?
But he's never experienced anything unprompted like this. He hasn't asked for this. At least when he'd gone to Shithole Island, it'd been because he was a selfish fuck who was asking for money, and a lot of it. There's no reason for this to be happening.
Well. He'd eventually gotten off the island. So why the fuck can't he find his way out of... here?
Still. Miles shakes his head as he's jostled along the side walk again.
"Are you shitting me," he mutters under his breath.
Yeah, this is going to be fun.