— time jump 01: hour 04. the streets of london. @ibrxeulim
Lamisi wonders if she’s the only one sensing the uncomfortable, awkward energy lingering between herself in Ibrahim as he directs the others in the group to investigate the city. By then, they’ve all (miraculously) made it to the Savoy as instructed - she greets Quincy with a wave, accepts the cup of water with a smile, then watches off to the side as many of them pair off. It seems somewhat strategic: Sunny’s most likely to keep Charlie in line, Akira and Yas can handle themselves, Hyuk and Jin naturally want to stick together. Lamisi is expecting to be with Ilkay when she realizes quickly that the woman’s already slipped out of the lobby, and suddenly, it’s just Ibrahim left looking at her. Guess it’s just us left, huh? he says. They agree to leave and see if anyone will speak to them, tell them about the world they’ve been thrust into.
The purpose of their excursion quickly falls to the wayside. She’s not exactly sure why she’s the one paired up with Ibra, who has a clear endless fascination for how 2060 has evolved - someone like Yas or Akira or even Quincy had more of a genuine interest than she. Still Lamisi humors him, and as they slip out onto the sidewalk (or whatever futuristic version of a sidewalk this is), she debates asking him what it was exactly the conversation with Sunny in the lobby had turned into. It isn’t uncommon for the pair to bicker; most of them in the lab can tune it out by now. Lamisi occasionally hears Sunny grumble about it over a pint. Nothing terribly out of the ordinary. But there’d been a certain energy that made it feel different - maybe the way Sunny had pulled him closer by the shirt, the crackling anger nearly tangible from across the room.
“Are you and Sunny alright?” Lamisi poses the question diplomatically, breaking the companionable silence that’s settled between them. “She seemed pretty pissed about whatever you guys were talking about in the lobby. Hard not to notice.” The sound of a bell tinkling catches her attention, a swinging door just ahead with Interval Café printed in shining letters. It seems odd to see something so foreign and familiar all at once; even the scent of espresso wafting down the walkway makes her nostalgic for 2020. Dramatic, she reminds herself. They’ve barely been in the future for a few hours. “Do you think anyone in there might want to talk?” she suggests, bumping her shoulder lightly against his arm.