Anne is reluctant to go outside. Logically, she knows no one would immediately recognize her as the girl with the journal entry, but emotions are not exactly logical, much as she prides herself on rationality. She really misses Shawn, however, and can't remember the last time they hung out.
Besides, she was getting antsy just staying cooped up in her room, with only her thoughts as companion.
And so, she meets Shawn exactly as she promised, hands stuffed into the back pockets of her jeans. She looks a little sheepish and uncertain.
He looks up with a grin when he hears her voice. "Hey!" he says, before bouncing onto his feet. "I have a surprise for you. Close your eyes."
He knows how embarrassing the whole journal thing can be. He gets it. It did the same thing to him. But he knows how to make this at least a little easier, if nothing else, but for a little while.
Okay. She can't help the small smile that tugs at her lips, before she's even seen this alleged surprise. "Really? For me?" she asks, like she almost can't believe it. It's not every day someone gives her something, and she can't say she doesn't like the sound of it.
"This is me, closing my eyes," Anne informs him dutifully. She goes so far as to cover them with both of her hands. She's being good about it! Doesn't even peak through her fingers, though there is all the suspense now.
Shawn reaches into the wiener mobile for the rolled up poster of himself that he had stuck in there earlier, before unrolling it so that the face in the picture is lined up with where his face is. All it really is is a giant, blown up picture of himself, but he made sure that his eyes are his visible, and so long as they aren't his actual eyes, they shouldn't trigger her Calling, right?
Right.
He went through great pains to make sure that he got this right, and he isn't going to screw this up now.
He will stumble directly into a Muggle born witch. A Rift-altered America is not as confounding as it once had been, not after living here for quite a while.
Hermione Granger, having had parents who were dentists, is conscientous about what she eats. Habit, she supposes. She hadn't been facing Flack, or she might have been able to avoid the collision. As it is, she's nearly trips and the ingredients she'd been holding fall to the ground.
"Oh!" she breathes out before steadying herself. She pushes her unruly hair out of her face and bends over to pick up the items.
He pauses at the collision, his hands releasing the cart he was pulling behind him, before crouching down to help her with her things. "Sorry about that," he cringes. "Should watch where I'm going."
The brief sound she made isn't enough to catch her accent, but what he says is definitely enough to catch his.
"It's quite alright. Neither of us was looking at where the other was going, were we?" she asks, giving him a small smile that's meant to be reassuring. Not everyone would stop and apologize. She's had people just walk on be rudely after they've bumped into her.
She does catch a hint of an accent, but she can't quite place it.
He nods and gives her a small smile back, before pushing up to his feet once all her things have been collected. "Yeah, but still doesn't give me an excuse for being a klutz. I used to have better coordination than that."
Used to? No, try never, but never let it be said that Flack isn't a guy who can make fun of himself.
Elena is stepping out of a coffee shop when she sees it. The Rift opening up, the Wanderer falling through, the Rift closing so quickly one almost doesn't see it there. It happened to her over a year ago, and it's not the first time she sees it happen to someone else. It never gets easier, for some reason.
She looks around, as if waiting for others to notice, only mildly surprised when most of them go about their day. Perception filters can be a helpful thing. Those that do know what just happened either pretend not to notice or don't really care.
Elena always cares.
"Hey," she says softly, coffee mug still in hand. "It's okay. I know you must have a lot of questions right now, but it's not a good idea to answer them in the middle of a street."
Sara turns and looks at the girl with wide eyes, unsure as to how she seems to know more about what's going on than she does. Her grip tightens on her bag and her suitcase, and she tries not to look as nervous as she feels. It's hard, but she's trying.
"What just happened to you? Showing up here out of nowhere? It's happened to me, too. Do you need help with that?" she asks, motioning to her things. Elena doubts she'll be taken up on her offer, and she wouldn't blame Sara. She's a stranger, but she does just want to help.
She shakes her head. "No, I'm okay. Just ... tell me what's going on?"
As far as Sara is concerned, this girl is more useful to her while she's talking right now. She'll worry about making friends later -- this is just easier.
As far as Fletcher's concerned, the Rift can shove it. He doesn't like seeing his friends embarrassed, and he really didn't want anyone to know about the leather pants.
But whatever. What's he going to do about it, really?
"Hey, hot dog dude."
Here, Shawn. Have an archangel leaning against your weinermobile.
Confused people on the streets of Chicago aren't exactly an unusual occurrence, and Peter's been here long enough to assume that somebody needs the so you've fallen through a rift into another world speech. It's when he takes a second look and realizes who he's approaching that he starts to look confused himself.
"Sara?" He'll have more to say than that in a second, once he's sure he's not mistaken, but at the moment he's focused on making sure this isn't a case of mistaken identity. Sorry, Sara.
She turns at the familiar voice and the sound of her own name, and that only proves to paint more confusion on her face. She had just seen Peter. In New York, in the real world, and now they were both suddenly in Chicago and he is looking surprised to see her.
That is never a good sign.
There's too much swimming in her head, with Neal's treasure and everything that has just happened five minutes earlier, that she doesn't know where to start. All she could do is just gape at him and ask the obvious question.
"That's... a long story," Peter starts with a sigh, leaning against the building next to her. "It's.... They call it a rift. It's not just a new city. You're in another world."
He's really not good at this part, hence being blunter than is probably good. But he's hoping hearing it from someone she knows is at least better than getting it from a stranger.
"A rift," she says, just staring at him, unsure of what is going on. "I'm in another ... "
She slumps a little more against the wall, taking a breath as she tries to clear her head. "Great. And I thought my day couldn't get any worse." There's another pause, and she runs a hand over her face, trying to subtlety brush the tears away. "Are you sure about this?"
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Besides, she was getting antsy just staying cooped up in her room, with only her thoughts as companion.
And so, she meets Shawn exactly as she promised, hands stuffed into the back pockets of her jeans. She looks a little sheepish and uncertain.
"Hey."
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He knows how embarrassing the whole journal thing can be. He gets it. It did the same thing to him. But he knows how to make this at least a little easier, if nothing else, but for a little while.
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"This is me, closing my eyes," Anne informs him dutifully. She goes so far as to cover them with both of her hands. She's being good about it! Doesn't even peak through her fingers, though there is all the suspense now.
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Right.
He went through great pains to make sure that he got this right, and he isn't going to screw this up now.
He takes a breath, and nods.
"Okay. Look me in the eye."
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Hermione Granger, having had parents who were dentists, is conscientous about what she eats. Habit, she supposes. She hadn't been facing Flack, or she might have been able to avoid the collision. As it is, she's nearly trips and the ingredients she'd been holding fall to the ground.
"Oh!" she breathes out before steadying herself. She pushes her unruly hair out of her face and bends over to pick up the items.
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The brief sound she made isn't enough to catch her accent, but what he says is definitely enough to catch his.
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She does catch a hint of an accent, but she can't quite place it.
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Used to? No, try never, but never let it be said that Flack isn't a guy who can make fun of himself.
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She looks around, as if waiting for others to notice, only mildly surprised when most of them go about their day. Perception filters can be a helpful thing. Those that do know what just happened either pretend not to notice or don't really care.
Elena always cares.
"Hey," she says softly, coffee mug still in hand. "It's okay. I know you must have a lot of questions right now, but it's not a good idea to answer them in the middle of a street."
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"Then ... where should we go?"
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"What just happened to you? Showing up here out of nowhere? It's happened to me, too. Do you need help with that?" she asks, motioning to her things. Elena doubts she'll be taken up on her offer, and she wouldn't blame Sara. She's a stranger, but she does just want to help.
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As far as Sara is concerned, this girl is more useful to her while she's talking right now. She'll worry about making friends later -- this is just easier.
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But whatever. What's he going to do about it, really?
"Hey, hot dog dude."
Here, Shawn. Have an archangel leaning against your weinermobile.
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People have the right to their secrets.
"Hey ... awesome sword guy."
He's just playing along. He knows his name is Fletch. Shawn is a guy that doesn't forget, especially when he's paying attention.
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Likewise, he knows Shawn is Shawn. Or thinks so, anyway. But 'hot dog dude' just has such a nice ring to it, don't you think?
"What's new?"
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"Sara?" He'll have more to say than that in a second, once he's sure he's not mistaken, but at the moment he's focused on making sure this isn't a case of mistaken identity. Sorry, Sara.
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That is never a good sign.
There's too much swimming in her head, with Neal's treasure and everything that has just happened five minutes earlier, that she doesn't know where to start. All she could do is just gape at him and ask the obvious question.
"Peter?" she gasps. "How did we get to Chicago?"
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He's really not good at this part, hence being blunter than is probably good. But he's hoping hearing it from someone she knows is at least better than getting it from a stranger.
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She slumps a little more against the wall, taking a breath as she tries to clear her head. "Great. And I thought my day couldn't get any worse." There's another pause, and she runs a hand over her face, trying to subtlety brush the tears away. "Are you sure about this?"
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