↷ time jump 01. | @nimi-khan
time : hour 04.
location: the streets of london
—— But I’d wager this is the most interesting thing that has ever happened to you. The events of the last three hours or so are fresh on her mind. Cycling endlessly, like she’s glued to a sardonic merry-go-round. She leaves to collect some fresh air, thinking her chest might burst if she lingers around the crew for much longer. In some ways, she was relieved to know. She hasn’t been able to talk this much to her friends, to Akira, in the last six months. It’s good, her wounds are beginning to heal, but seeing them continue to march on so nonchalantly and converse about their creation makes her suffocate. Tether along her conversation with Sunny and … she doesn’t want to think about it. She thinks she’s selfish for wanting to get away from them ( after wishing to be near them for so long ), for wanting them to chase after her for once. —— Maybe you’ll be somebody now rather than a nobody. Fuck. İlkay wasn’t one to back down from a fight so easily, didn’t wear her heart on her sleeve like she used to because of moments like this. She hadn’t changed at all, was still that stupid, naive girl she’d feared she had become. The good thing, though, is you can’t let anyone down when they don’t expect much from you.
So, her breath of fresh air becomes a walk and soon enough, she’s strayed far away from the hotel until she can barely see the lofty structure. That horrible grip that’d climbed into her chest, taken her heart into its fist was staggering behind. The missed interview shuffles forward instead, the regret worse than before. She’ll find some place else, she’ll figure it out. Like she always does. Later, of course. If the machine whirr them back into their own time. Akira’s scorn is loud and ready to spite her imagination—five minutes, I’m not kidding, do not get distracted—but then again, they weren’t betting on her presence so would her absence irk them too? If the time machine hadn’t intended on sending her to the future, did it intend on sending her back to their present? İlkay shudders, thinking she had darted out of the hotel to escape reality for a blissful moment, to gape at the cityscape and resonate with its development, but here she is again, ridded with the hefty possibilities and her bitter conclusions. She feels herself beginning to drift, how the tide inches away from shore, and finds herself eyeing the hologram floating above a cafe. It displays a mug, outlined in garnet, rotating on its own above the establishment’s door. She has no money, but she does have her new clothes. Perhaps she can gain some pity by changing a few details of her story, replacing her deed of shoplifting to her being mugged. It’s a stupid plan, loosely pieced together, but she needs a distraction.
Her luck—it was debatable if she had any to begin with, especially after today’s events—has been hung out to dry. İlkay is nearing the cafe when she spots a droid gliding through the air, a white and royal blue emblem imprinted on a burnished side. Shit, shit, shit, she steers the other way and marches onto a subsidiary street, looking over her shoulder to make sure that bastard hadn’t seen her. With her bold steps and shaky inclination, she crashes head-on with something. Someone, maybe? The impact makes her stumble, but she catches herself before making friends with a murky puddle. “ Hey ! ” — Watch where you’re going, she doesn’t say. She’s stunned when she regards the individual standing before her, more astounded by their appearance than anything. That shirt … is that from H&M? They juxtapose most 2060 civilians with not just their attire, but with the swivel of disarray and horror in their eyes. “ Oh … ” İlkay, having regained her balance, bashfully pushes a lock of hair behind her ear. She repels at the sight of the stranger’s ensemble again, doesn’t think to empathize with them or approach them more sympathetically than with a, “ Oh, what are you wearing? ”
'Your whole life's going to change any day now, kiddo.' Their father's words ring true (of course they are, he's somehow always right), and the phrase bounces around in their head until it's all just a nonsensical backbeat to their thoughts. It's grounding in its own way -- lets Nimi dig their feet into the sand and bury under it while the waves come of panicked sets of 'where am I' and 'what's going on'. Their life is going to change, but it's not meant to be in this way, as a lone person standing in the middle of a London that's just two steps to the right of the one they know. The answers don't come on their own, though it took Nimi far longer to move than they care to admit. They twist and ring a pale yellow baby blanket in their hands, until the little dinosaurs on it have lost their shapes, as they begin to wade through this strange sea of unfamiliar buildings, avoiding the gazes of the figures who looked to them so curiously. They need to push their life out of whatever this is and get back on shore, which means… home. Except going home only brings more questions when the door opens to a stranger (and the inside of a home that's different than the warm comfort they've built with Ayesha)-- though they do manage to pry some answers out of the amused looking man.
Five Minutes. They panic for five minutes, curling up on a curbside with their head in their hands, but it must bleed into more because the old woman who checks in on them tells them it's been twenty. Time seems to be passing in a strange haze, ironic considering the date that was given to them. "2060, can you believe that?" they repeat under their breath as they turn down the street towards the hospital. There must be logs there of some kind -- employee records, baby registry from Ayesha, maybe even another version of Nimi (aged and withered), something to tell them where to go next. It's hard to focus on the street names while advert after advert flys across from one building to another, until Nimi's eyes barely know where to look anymore. They squint under the glare and put up a hand to shield their eyes when someone runs right into them. "Oh shity, sorry!" overlaps with the woman's 'hey' and they move quickly to offer her a hand to get up, only to pause as they recognize the look of surprise in her eyes. They pull the hand back as quickly as they offered it, awkward and not quite sure how to interact. It's not the only futuristic human they've run into (though maybe one of the few that doesn't have those white headpieces affixed to them), but this one looks at them in a way that makes their skin crawl. Does she know they don't belong? Is she the type to help or turn them in to whatever authorities might exist in this strange new world?
The lie is automatic self preservation, but it's awkward and unpracticed on their lips as they stumble over it. "What? Er, uh, it's vintage?" They look down at their shirt, holding the rim of it out to look down at it (anything but look into her eyes). They should shrug off this strange encounter and leave this dark alley -- all the movies they've watched have shown them just what happens in situations like these. But they find themselves hesitating. "You, um, your shirt looks good, though, too. Nice style. Sorry it's ruined…" They shift the blanket in their hands, tightly packed into a ball after their anxious shifting of it, but they pause, looking her over and hesitating before they offer it up. It'll do her more good than them here anyway. "Here, you can use this," they say with a tight smile, extending the hand once again, blanket in it. "Hope you're okay?"
