[ It's been a few days now, and it's become increasingly clear to Erik that everything happening here is very much real, and very much outside his expertise or scope of knowledge. To say that it leaves him concerned is putting it mildly; he's bordering on paranoia at this point, constantly looking over his shoulder, expecting something to finally happen that will explain all this insanity and make sense of it all.
But it doesn't. He's in some strange world, not even a place on Earth from the looks of it, and he lacks anything that could possibly help him get by.
Except his powers. He still has those, at least. It serves him well enough, giving him a slight advantage, as does the fact that he's had to survive worse than this. The lack of funds is practically a non-issue, since he knows how to scrape by and has no qualms about the occasional helping himself of items he needs (it's called theft), because as much as he wants to figure out what's happening here, he does need sustenance at the very least.
A few days in, and he's gotten the lay of the land to some degree, hopped between a few abandoned buildings, gotten a job at a warehouse of one of the supermarkets just to get by— enough money to buy him a night or two at one of the cheapest motels he can find. He'll go from there, but for now, it's enough to survive.
It's early hours of the morning when he gets off shift and finally gets to the room, the lack of electricity not something that truly bothers him. A bed and running water are an improvement at this point, even if it means having a cold shower, though he is tired enough that he might just pass out the second he steps through the door.
But instead, as he turns the corner of the hallway, he comes into the path of someone he knows. And at this point, he was not expecting a familiar face. He was definitely not expecting that familiar face to be the man now before him, sitting on a wheelchair that's clearly no remake of his old one, and Erik looks absolutely stupefied and at a complete loss for words. ]
panorama
But it doesn't. He's in some strange world, not even a place on Earth from the looks of it, and he lacks anything that could possibly help him get by.
Except his powers. He still has those, at least. It serves him well enough, giving him a slight advantage, as does the fact that he's had to survive worse than this. The lack of funds is practically a non-issue, since he knows how to scrape by and has no qualms about the occasional helping himself of items he needs (it's called theft), because as much as he wants to figure out what's happening here, he does need sustenance at the very least.
A few days in, and he's gotten the lay of the land to some degree, hopped between a few abandoned buildings, gotten a job at a warehouse of one of the supermarkets just to get by— enough money to buy him a night or two at one of the cheapest motels he can find. He'll go from there, but for now, it's enough to survive.
It's early hours of the morning when he gets off shift and finally gets to the room, the lack of electricity not something that truly bothers him. A bed and running water are an improvement at this point, even if it means having a cold shower, though he is tired enough that he might just pass out the second he steps through the door.
But instead, as he turns the corner of the hallway, he comes into the path of someone he knows. And at this point, he was not expecting a familiar face. He was definitely not expecting that familiar face to be the man now before him, sitting on a wheelchair that's clearly no remake of his old one, and Erik looks absolutely stupefied and at a complete loss for words. ]
Charles.