Erik hadn't paid much attention to what the dates were since arriving here. It doesn't much matter what they are, because this place isn't home, not really, and what difference does it make what day it is? Until they'd gotten to the days that have always helped him feel connected to his parents and his past, even if certain aspects don't mean much to him anymore. Today he happens to have the day off, so he spends it in the kitchen, following his mother's recipes from memory.

When Raven comes home, she'll find a plate of food in the kitchen with her name on it, containing some braided bread and potato pancakes. Erik's not in the living room, but the light is on his bedroom, and the door's open a crack. It seems as though he's willing to be disturbed, should she be so inclined.

Raven smiled as she glanced around the apartment. It was not very big or very fancy, at least in terms of places that she had resided in the past. And still, it wasn't too terrible. She had a feeling that she could at least try to make it feel a little homey. She wished she had pictures she could put up of Charles. It was like she was starting from scratch all over again.

Not that she had not done that before.

At least here, in this moment, she wasn't alone either. A rather modest two bedroom flat would give them each enough space to live and find solace when they needed it. She'd been able to earn enough money teaching workshops to be able to afford the flat and buy some small things. Furniture, pillows and sheets, just the simple things. Sharing with Erik was mutually beneficial financially.

And maybe, just maybe, she wanted to see if they could reconnect.

With a sigh, she moved over to a window and stared outside. She missed Charles. And Hank. All of the team, honestly. While there were some nice people here, it wasn't the same as being at home. She'd been fairly reclusive since being pulled here. And part of her wished she could just hide until she could go home.

It was the most conflicted she had felt in a long, long time.

WHO: Lorna Dane - open to anyone who may want to talk to her, even if it's not class related
WHAT: New professor doesn't actually want to deal with students holds office hours
WHEN: Tuesday, Oct 2 between 3 and 5 pm
WHERE: Attleton University, Physics Dept

Several weeks into the semester, Lorna grudgingly added office hours to her official schedule. Her three courses - only one undergrad, thanks be - were pleasingly grouped from mid-morning to late afternoon and left her plenty of time to spend in the lab or volunteering at the Research Institute in unearthing the mysteries of this parallel dimension. But her students had been asking for time outside of class and she was running out of excuses.

Choosing office hours was a delicate thing. You wanted to be sure to avoid having to interrupt any real work while still picking a time at which you'd have to spend as little extra time as possible in the office. Avoiding meal times was key, but rushing around campus to classes was also to be minimized.

So it was that from 3 to 5 on alternate Tuesdays and Wednesdays, she committed to being found in her office. To discourage anyone from actually taking her up on it, she kept the lights off in her office, choosing instead to rely on natural light through her window, and, as often as she could get away with it, the hallway lights as well.

On her door, just below the placard with Dr Lorna Dane, Geophysics was a listing of her courses:

Physics 105B: Introductory Electromagnetism, Waves, and Optics
Geophys 310A: Electromagnetism and Optics
Geophys 254: Isotopic Geochemistry

Below that was a sign: No, you can't have an extension.

It wasn't that Lorna didn't want to help her students to succeed. She just wanted them to do it without bothering her.

WHO: Regan Abbott [open]
WHAT: New Girl arrives in town, finds limited help, makes a couple new friends.
WHEN: September 28th, 2018 - Afternoon
WHERE: Genessia City
WARNINGS: talk of monsters, probably swearing, but nothing too terrible.

The first thing Regan did when she woke up and noticed the person talking to her was watch her surroundings very carefully. This person was clearly making noise, and noise wasn't a good thing where she was from. But when no monsters came, nothing tore the woman apart, Regan didn't exactly feel herself filling with any kind of ease at her situation. Her parents weren't here. Her brothers weren't. She'd been kidnapped, alone and without familiar faces.

Taking the money and the smartphone, tucking the stash of broken Cochlears in her pocket, and still moving cautiously, like she was still back home, Regan made her way to Genessia City. Barefoot and cautious, she moved from storefront to storefront, peering inside and watching all of the activity. And there was a lot, it was almost overwhelming. Her first stop was to an art supply store where, with help, she got her hands on a white-board and markers. She had yet to find anyone that used ASL and believe her, she'd been looking. Almost anyone that passed her had 'Can you help me?' signed at them quickly. Finally, with whiteboard in hand, she writes a simple message on it and holds it up, hoping it'll catch someone's eye.

'My name is Regan. I am deaf. Can you help me?' Surely someone had to be able to get her home, right? Or at least somewhere safe.

She pushed her hair out of her face with a frustrated huff, one hand still holding that sign and marker as she watched people come and go, bare feet firmly planted on the ground.

What the hell was going on?

[VIDEO;public]

[When the feed goes live, Neil's face is front and center, but he's not looking at the camera. He's somewhere in Fayren, based on the decor--at the Drunken Monkey, for those familiar with the establishment. It's not terribly noisy at the moment, and from the looks of things Neil has shoved himself into a far corner, back to the wall. He's hunched over the table, hand hovering after turning on his smart phone while he appears to finish writing something down on a piece of paper in front of him.

A few long seconds passes, then he finally sets his pen down and looks up.]

Hey--sorry 'bout that, didn't wanna lose a thought. Just kinda curious about something--stuff...my brain's just workin' overtime, so call it a poll. In the worlds you all come from, what's the general consensus on revenge? Culturally, spiritually, philosophically...is it a good or a bad thing? And if it's anything you'd actively do, what's your favorite way? I mean...

[He trails off, huffing in a moment of mild frustration as he starts to talk with his hands.]

Like me. I come from two worlds--one, revenge isn't something that's encouraged. If you do it, though, there's an expression--'revenge is a dish best served cold.' The other, the whole things a little gray. Avenging your honor, or that of family, friends, lovers--it's done, even if it's not totally okay, but for personal slights or harm? Spirituality preaches that forgiveness is wisdom...and culturally, you're seen as a stronger person for finding justice if the law brings you none. There's an old saying there, too--'wield the sword of vengeance not with the hand, but with the heart.' Don't go after someone just 'cause you feel you have to, in other words. Do it because you absolutely believe you have to.

So...what's your take? Or your world's take, I mean. Gimme your thoughts.

[VIDEO;private to Regina Mills]

Hey, how do you spell your mother's name? With a 'C' or a 'K?'

[He's asking for a friend. Honest.]

[ The feed starts up at a somewhat unflattering angle of Cassidy's long face. The lighting isn't great, but there's enough to see his features. He looks tired, confused, and maybe a little frustrated. The setting for most people will easily be recognized as The Bay. ]

Right, so. Not sure who's gonna be seein' this, but, if this phone is what this little booklet says it is, then someone out there's got to hear me, right? Glory of technology and communication and all that

So now that we've gotten that out of the way, I've got some things to say. Whatever sick game's bein' played here? Not havin' it. It's bloody mental, is what it is. Bloody liftin' people off the street, they are, shovin' em in bloody space capsules and shite, givin' em a chance t'make a life? Don't buy it for a second. And whatever government agencies're listenin', cos you're always bloody listenin'... I'm sorry I exposed your foreskin-lotion cartel, all right? So.. now that we've got that out of the way, you'll let me go back, then? Got important things I need t'take care of..

[ His face falls a little. ]

Someone's hurt and I need t'help her. Or... if anyone's listenin' who gives a shite, maybe if you've got a heavy blanket or an umbrella or somethin'..I've got a terrible sun allergy and I can't go out durin' the day, now. Or... just a time when the sun goes down.

[Natasha's face pops onto the screen, looking slightly frustrated, but then again when doesn't she? She is at a coffee shop, looking at a newspaper. She is tapping her pen lightly on the paper, considering. She looks up and drops the pen]

Hello.

I'm Natasha and I'm newish, I guess. I have a very specific skill set.

[Kind of glossing over things, but is anyone going to call her on it]

I'm not sure a former assassin turned hero would be of use here. I have other skills, but I am big on intel, so I'm asking... what kind of jobs are out there and what were you all looking for?

[Voice.]
[Steve Rogers is a man who would like to think he’s gotten better at learning how to use technology. It’s been a few years since he has been out of the ice. When needed, he can fly the quinjet. He’d even been able to work a phone and a computer. He still wonders how Howard Stark felt about the modern world as it changed around him. He, at least, wasn’t thrown into it like Steve was. He’d helped to make it. So, the pamphlets were a little unnecessary as he toyed with the small device in his hands. His only real hesitation is to reach out to someone he doesn’t know.

He has no clue who he knows here and who he doesn’t. Being kidnapped and brought into a strange new world was also, sadly, something he was quite used to. His shoulders slump a little and a small sigh can be heard as he stares into the screen. He’s seen better days. Sporting a scraggy beard and some dark circles under his eyes, Steve forces an awkward smile.]

Hello. I’m Steve. I am new here, so it seems. I just spoke to the woman in white. And I went where I was supposed to go to get answers. Didn’t…” [He frowned.] Didn’t really get the answers I was looking for, but it’s a good start. I… I’ve been told what comes next. [And yet, there’s a sadness in his eyes. He doesn’t want to be here. He needs to get back home to Sam, Nat and the others. So many were depending on it. On him.]

So… Hi?

[action.]

[Being new in town, Steve really isn’t sure where to go. So, he opts to just wander aimlessly. As long he careful and did not interact with anyone specifically, he should be fine. Right? He needed information and walking around just seemed like the best course of action for him. After all, not many would speak to him because he was new. Or, perhaps he was imagining it.

Either way, Steve is walking down the street. Your street? He wants to try to meet some people and try to find a way home. He understands finding a job and trying to settle in. Still, it has to be off putting for others here. Doesn’t it? One hand reached up, running though his hair as he glances around. At least, eve n in this place, people watching and letting them move around him was slightly fascinating.

He doesn’t know where he is. While Steve had the power to knock people off their feet, he didn’t use his gifted powers for anything bad. He wondered, sadly, if he was stuck here forever. Bucky, he thought to himself…. Would he ever see his oldest, dearest friend again either?]

[Hello, Genessia. Are you ready for this?

The video turns on to reveal a bearded man in a white t-shirt under red-and-black plaid, and with signs of anger and pain apparent around the eyes. It's the anger that adds an edge to his already-crisp tone. He has major problems with being kidnapped, for one thing.]

I'll get right to the important part. How close is anyone to finding a way home?

[He's not one to mince words, especially when he's got things to do that are more important than sitting around here waiting for who-knows-what to happen.]