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It was dark again when Scotty woke up, half-twisted in sheets and still a little groggy. It actually took him a few moments of laying there in that darkness to get his bearings, and remember where he was, and remember when he was.
Right. New Jersey, North America. October of 2009. The year made no sense to Scotty at all; it didn't even remotely seem real. More like some very distant past where nothing particularly noteworthy happened, except that mankind had stagnated worryingly in the space race. Decades to go before World War III broke out. He would maybe be alive for that. Maybe.
He laid there for long moments, shaking off the last of the NyQuil sleep. His dreams had been troubled and surreal, and it appeared that when he was actually awake and not in shock, reality felt that way too. It was both immediately recognizable, and yet wholly different, all at once.
Harold was still asleep; Scotty got up quietly so as not to wake him up. He had to go make coffee, and he had to make sure blondie was still alive. The apartment smelled better, now, than it had when he'd crashed. And he found the light switch, pausing to eye it -- plain old electricity. A simple switch. Those still existed in his century, actually, at least in the universe he had come from. So, he turned the lights on and went to figure out the coffee machine.
Another fairly simple thing; it took him about ten minutes, and that was mostly because he had to figure out the coffee to water ratio.
After that, he went back and checked on Neil. Who was actually worryingly still. But he was breathing steadily and had a steady pulse, albeit not terribly strong, so apparently he wasn't dying. At least, Scotty dearly and sincerely hoped not: He might not have liked being kidnapped, called a pixie or having to deal with the madness, but he sure didn't want the nutjob dead.
There wasn't much to do after that. So, feeling like the Yankee in King Arthur's Court, or at least a vampire given that he was waking up at night, he sat down at the kitchen table to watch the coffee brew.
Right. New Jersey, North America. October of 2009. The year made no sense to Scotty at all; it didn't even remotely seem real. More like some very distant past where nothing particularly noteworthy happened, except that mankind had stagnated worryingly in the space race. Decades to go before World War III broke out. He would maybe be alive for that. Maybe.
He laid there for long moments, shaking off the last of the NyQuil sleep. His dreams had been troubled and surreal, and it appeared that when he was actually awake and not in shock, reality felt that way too. It was both immediately recognizable, and yet wholly different, all at once.
Harold was still asleep; Scotty got up quietly so as not to wake him up. He had to go make coffee, and he had to make sure blondie was still alive. The apartment smelled better, now, than it had when he'd crashed. And he found the light switch, pausing to eye it -- plain old electricity. A simple switch. Those still existed in his century, actually, at least in the universe he had come from. So, he turned the lights on and went to figure out the coffee machine.
Another fairly simple thing; it took him about ten minutes, and that was mostly because he had to figure out the coffee to water ratio.
After that, he went back and checked on Neil. Who was actually worryingly still. But he was breathing steadily and had a steady pulse, albeit not terribly strong, so apparently he wasn't dying. At least, Scotty dearly and sincerely hoped not: He might not have liked being kidnapped, called a pixie or having to deal with the madness, but he sure didn't want the nutjob dead.
There wasn't much to do after that. So, feeling like the Yankee in King Arthur's Court, or at least a vampire given that he was waking up at night, he sat down at the kitchen table to watch the coffee brew.
