Night 49: home world - Canadian Rockies
[from here]
At first it was hard to figure out what had happened. Vertigo, a sense of displacement - Logan steadied himself with a step forward. It was still dark, but something had changed.
That had been the sound of a boot heel on wooden boards. It smelled like pine trees and dust, and his flashlight drifted over familiar walls half a second after he put it all together: Canada. Crickets in the grass, bike parked outside, beer in the fridge, Canada.
There would be a battery-powered camping lantern on the left, on top of a bookcase he'd cut himself. He brushed the dust off it and flipped it on - still worked. The cabin, with all its faded books and taxidermy and cobwebbed corners, looked just like he'd left it, and compared to where he'd been, it looked better than ever. Maybe better than anything.
"I'll be damned," he said, looking down at his boots to make sure they were really there. He'd left Pete and Kurt in the nightmare psych ward, but it was hard to worry about that right this second. He'd somehow won the right place at the right time award, and he was going to use that chair he'd fallen asleep in for firewood (no sense taking chances, and he was in the mood to burn something). He had had to talk to Cyke, and then Hank - but first things first.
"Where you from?" He glanced back at Tifa as he moved toward the table in the center of the room; his communicator was there (cell phone, too; shouldn't need it, but there it was). Wait - he paused suddenly and turned back, frowning at her clothes. Why the hell was he the only one dressed normally?
At first it was hard to figure out what had happened. Vertigo, a sense of displacement - Logan steadied himself with a step forward. It was still dark, but something had changed.
That had been the sound of a boot heel on wooden boards. It smelled like pine trees and dust, and his flashlight drifted over familiar walls half a second after he put it all together: Canada. Crickets in the grass, bike parked outside, beer in the fridge, Canada.
There would be a battery-powered camping lantern on the left, on top of a bookcase he'd cut himself. He brushed the dust off it and flipped it on - still worked. The cabin, with all its faded books and taxidermy and cobwebbed corners, looked just like he'd left it, and compared to where he'd been, it looked better than ever. Maybe better than anything.
"I'll be damned," he said, looking down at his boots to make sure they were really there. He'd left Pete and Kurt in the nightmare psych ward, but it was hard to worry about that right this second. He'd somehow won the right place at the right time award, and he was going to use that chair he'd fallen asleep in for firewood (no sense taking chances, and he was in the mood to burn something). He had had to talk to Cyke, and then Hank - but first things first.
"Where you from?" He glanced back at Tifa as he moved toward the table in the center of the room; his communicator was there (cell phone, too; shouldn't need it, but there it was). Wait - he paused suddenly and turned back, frowning at her clothes. Why the hell was he the only one dressed normally?