July 20 - tide in the affairs of men
Title: Far From Home (2/?)
Author: Pompey
Universe: BBC, ACD/Gaslight, Dr. Who
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: crossover(s)
Word count: 438
Summary: John considers his options in the year 1894.
Prompt: July 20 - "There is a tide in the affairs of men" - Shakespeare: Julius Caesar
A/N: I hadn’t meant for this to become another ongoing story but you guys asked so you shall receive. Anyway, now I’m kinda interested myself to see what’s going to happen to John (I haven’t plotted anything yet so anything can happen - this might not even have that happy of an ending!)
John turned away from the newspaper stand and walked slowly away. For a while he let his body wander where it would while his mind whirled about in a fog of shock, denial, and fear. Why was it that he kept finding himself bizarre, dangerous situations? What sort of malevolent moon kept pulling at the tides of his life?
John finally stopped along some river he didn’t even recognize - was it the Thames? The Serpentine? Whichever it was, it was just as filthy and stinking as the rest of this London -- and rested his elbows on the low railing. The water was too dark to show him his reflection but the sound of the rushing water was perfect for reflecting mentally. A numb sort of practicality had risen to the surface of John’s consciousness. Time to take stock of his situation and figure out a course of action from there.
He was stuck in 1894 - May 20th, to be exact -- with no known way of getting back to his own time, nobody he could go to for help, anachronistic clothing, no contemporary currency, credit and debit cards that could not be swiped, virtually nothing of value (at least by 1894 standards) to pawn, a set of skills for technology and medicine that wouldn’t exist for decades, and a cell phone that would search uselessly for a signal until its battery died the rest of the way.
Anything here and now that he could use to his advantage? Anything at all?
Well, he could still throw a mean hook if he had to. Anyone who tried to mug him would be in for a bit of a surprise. And even though his Sig was back in the Twenty-first Century, he was reasonable sure he could handle a firearm if he came across one here.
He had a warm jacket and a decent pair of shoes. That was more than a lot of the people around him had. He didn’t need to take any medications back home, so he wasn’t stranded here and now without much-needed meds. That was something.
From his observations of the 1894 public in general, it seemed that being not quite 169 centimeters tall meant he was no longer quite so comparatively short. Still shorter than average but by a much smaller margin. That was nice.
So, to sum up: he could defend himself if he had to; he had clothes; he didn’t have to worry about having a seizure or going into a diabetic coma; he was no longer all that short, comparatively speaking.
Right then. It just might be time to panic.
Author: Pompey
Universe: BBC, ACD/Gaslight, Dr. Who
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: crossover(s)
Word count: 438
Summary: John considers his options in the year 1894.
Prompt: July 20 - "There is a tide in the affairs of men" - Shakespeare: Julius Caesar
A/N: I hadn’t meant for this to become another ongoing story but you guys asked so you shall receive. Anyway, now I’m kinda interested myself to see what’s going to happen to John (I haven’t plotted anything yet so anything can happen - this might not even have that happy of an ending!)
John turned away from the newspaper stand and walked slowly away. For a while he let his body wander where it would while his mind whirled about in a fog of shock, denial, and fear. Why was it that he kept finding himself bizarre, dangerous situations? What sort of malevolent moon kept pulling at the tides of his life?
John finally stopped along some river he didn’t even recognize - was it the Thames? The Serpentine? Whichever it was, it was just as filthy and stinking as the rest of this London -- and rested his elbows on the low railing. The water was too dark to show him his reflection but the sound of the rushing water was perfect for reflecting mentally. A numb sort of practicality had risen to the surface of John’s consciousness. Time to take stock of his situation and figure out a course of action from there.
He was stuck in 1894 - May 20th, to be exact -- with no known way of getting back to his own time, nobody he could go to for help, anachronistic clothing, no contemporary currency, credit and debit cards that could not be swiped, virtually nothing of value (at least by 1894 standards) to pawn, a set of skills for technology and medicine that wouldn’t exist for decades, and a cell phone that would search uselessly for a signal until its battery died the rest of the way.
Anything here and now that he could use to his advantage? Anything at all?
Well, he could still throw a mean hook if he had to. Anyone who tried to mug him would be in for a bit of a surprise. And even though his Sig was back in the Twenty-first Century, he was reasonable sure he could handle a firearm if he came across one here.
He had a warm jacket and a decent pair of shoes. That was more than a lot of the people around him had. He didn’t need to take any medications back home, so he wasn’t stranded here and now without much-needed meds. That was something.
From his observations of the 1894 public in general, it seemed that being not quite 169 centimeters tall meant he was no longer quite so comparatively short. Still shorter than average but by a much smaller margin. That was nice.
So, to sum up: he could defend himself if he had to; he had clothes; he didn’t have to worry about having a seizure or going into a diabetic coma; he was no longer all that short, comparatively speaking.
Right then. It just might be time to panic.