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BASICS.

Full Name › İlkay Demir Pronunciation › Eel-keye Dem-èr Nicknames › Kay, give her some! Date of Birth › 12 October 1990 Age › 30 Zodiac › Libra sun, Cancer moon Gender › Cis woman Pronouns › She/Her Romantic Orientation › Biromantic Sexual Orientation › Bisexual Nationality › Turkish Ethnicity › Turk Current Location › London, UK Living Conditions › İlkay currently resides in a flat she shares with Charlie. İlkay considers their home to be cozy and spacious enough to house her belongings. The kitchen sink harbors her coffee mugs and part of the counter is lined with tea tins and jars (that may or may not have saffron in them). Somewhere in the living room she has sneakily stashed most of the X-Men movies inside. She has provided more-than-enough throw blankets that are usually folded onto the arms of the couch. And in her room, things are a bit cluttered. The scuffed shoes she kicks off after work are kept in a sad pile near her door, the doors to her closet are always propped open thanks to her abundant collection of puffer jackets, and the absence of a bookshelf has left most of her books to be piled near an oblong window. It is best to avoid her room at all costs.

“I have plenty of places I want to see, thank you very much,” She says, instantly defensive – however childish it may be, “Just… most of my bucket list travel destinations were backward, not forward.” Sure, the future was exciting, and full of endless possibilities, but for it really to be worth Nehal’s time, she would have much preferred to travel hundreds of years forward, not just a few measly decades. Hell, she’d probably find an older version of herself wandering around here somewhere if she cared to look ( though if her older self had any sense, she’d probably be somewhere tropical by now ). “Androids for sales associates?” She quirks a brow at that, before shaking her head, “That sort of technology is way beyond my scope.”

“I landed in the library.” She says, “It hadn’t really changed much – not very helpful, either. People don’t tend to write history books until something becomes… well, history. They did have some new novels that looked quite interesting, though.” If she was being honest, Nehal quite liked the fact that the British Library hadn’t changed much in the past four decades – it was comforting, really, that a place she loved so much and spent so much time in had stood the test of time ( whether it would continue to, unfortunately, remained to be seen ). 

“I might like to visit the museum.” She says, finally. Was it selfish? To be thrust almost half a Century into the future and try to see what becomes of yourself? In 2020, Nehal has only been working at the British Museum for a few years, chipping away at her PhD under the guidance of some of the greatest minds on the planet. What about in 2060? Is she still there? Or, better yet, has her work been immortalised, her research displayed proudly for tourists and locals to gaze upon? “I work there. In 2020, I mean.” She explains, “Might be nice to see if anything’s changed about it. Don’t think dinosaur skeletons and ancient relics will be doing much changing, though.”

“Stowaway?” She repeats, eyes wide. There had been stowaways? Maybe she should have paid better attention to the briefing. She didn’t understand enough about time travel to really discern how she was in the future right now, let alone how someone unrelated to the project could have ended up here. “Nehal.” She offers in return, “I’m here to document.” She says, holding up her video camera.

ilkay knows she may have came on too strong, the defensive tone they’re faced with is well-earned from where she’s standing. “ you work in a museum? that sounds fun. i’ve always thought curators had the most fascinating job, being in a museum and all. ” in an attempt to save herself from a poor, first impression she is poked by the brutal thought of not having a job to return to -- when they landed back home. master of distractions, ilkay can stagger the sore conclusion with a teasing grin. “ you never know. have you seen that movie . . . night at the museum? maybe instead of them actually coming alive, they have simulations that make it seem like they are? ” that being said, ilkay didn’t doubt the future had it’s own far off island occupied by actual dinosaurs -- she cannot say charlie’s outlandish imagination is of its own kind. “ if time travels possible, in 2020, i guess anything and everything is possible in 2060. ” her nervous laughter is coated with a tiny hiccup.

sweet, sweet jin . . . taking the time to arrange their rooms to resemble some sort of homeliness, some sort of solace for the weary travelers. ilkay’s petulance is overcome, momentarily, by gratitude as she thanks her stars for being fortunate enough to have landed compassionate companions in such troubling times. like most of her friends, she’s been beaten by the day ( had it really just been one? ) and is nearing to a full-limp as she carries her shoes in one hand, to the room that is awaiting her. normally she’d make a fuss about having to sleep in uncomfortable clothes -- anything that weren’t her hello kitty pajamas would not suffice -- but any trivial complaint of hers have been swallowed down. for now. from how she sees it, they’re lucky to have beds, food, and each other. things could be worse, she repeatedly tells herself.  

Brows rise and fall, accompanied by a defeated exhale. “You’re lucky that you’re my sister and I have to be kind to you,” his voice rings in such a way that she would be able to tell he was kidding, that delicate line between a monotone pitch and sarcasm that makes his jokes sound a little too seriously placed. Biting his bottom lip in contemplation, various different insults all anchored towards those colleagues polluting his mind stop him from being anything less than sour for their current situation. “I don’t mean to be rude,” except, he absolutely did and was only trying to paint himself better for ilkay’s sake. Akira reaches for the bottle of tequila, taking another swig before offering it to ilkay, lips pursed to the side insinuating for her to drink up. After all, with being trapped in a practically inescapable world, they might as well drown their sorrows together. 

As a reflex, the muscles in his shoulder stiffen, the weight of her head on his shoulder unfamiliar (and if it had been anyone else’s he’d have been prompt to shrug it off again). But he schools his temptations, relaxing into the sweet gesture and in turn presses a small kiss on the top of her glossy brown hair. Revelling in a moment of familiarity, with the person who was miraculously closer to him than he’d ever let anyone else come. At least, selfishly, she’d be stuck with him, a person that didn’t need any explanation towards his behaviours, only ever occasionally his motives and secrets. “Of course I am, I think it would be worse for all of us if I spoke my mind right now, don’t you?” he laughs, slightly, the ring of amusement causing an inflation in his tone. “What was it dad use to tell us? If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. It’s why i’m practically a mute.” 

“ sure. he also used to say, kindness is the greatest gift you can give to anyone, ” ilkay wags a finger in the air, mimicking their father’s gruff tone, “ but i’m guessing that one was your least favorite? ”. the sight is fresh in her mind, his figure tall and fierce as they marveled at him with wide, naive eyes. at least one of them had resonated with his sayings, trouble comes in twos and ilkay could not image what what would’ve been if she’d taken the blunt route. being reckless and kind had its own consequences. “ i can read you pretty well and from the looks of it, you really want to tell everybody off, hm? ” she laughs and gently pushes the offered bottle away from her, knowing as much as she wanted to she could not. besides, ilkay did not want to find out what would happen if she mixed the remaining alcohol in her system with tequila from the past. “ one of us needs to remain partially sober if we’re going to get out of here, kiki. ” as if she could provide anything to the team. 

⏰  : what does your muse believe should be done with the machine now that time travel is a working reality?

“ i think it’s nice that some people want to open it up for tourism and whatnot, ” ilkay taps a finger against her cheek, more skeptical of the science team than ever, “ but a wise man once said ‘with great power comes great responsibility’. so it’s safe to say that hunk of junk needs to be hidden away for all eternity. ” she doesn’t seem to mind that this could be akira’s most prized contraption. “ there’s no telling what could happen if it falls into the wrong hands. haven’t you seen a sci-fi film before? ”

⚡️ : what is the first thing your character will do when they get back? 

Time Jump 03. The Dinner. Location: The Savoy lobby  Status: Open

Their chattering makes him uncomfortable, repulsed by some of the groups’ feeble attempts in making this situation feel normal or even hopeful. Akira takes a seat away from them, all of them, grabbing a notepad and a pen from behind the reception desk and sitting up by the bar where he takes liberty with an unopened bottle of tequila. Ink scratches aggressively onto paper, sentences quickly filling up blank space accompanied by sums, diagrams, and code. Anything and everything that he could remember about the machine he spilled into the pages. Most importantly, this wasn’t his mistake, nothing he had done would have resulted in the machine malfunctioning in such a huge error that it would not only thrust them into 1981, but a parallel version of their time line where civilisation so happened to no longer exist. He’d done everything by the book, followed the blue prints religiously, meticulously pieced together the puzzle of metal and wires to build the machine. And he seeks for someone to blame, to lash out on for their idiocy, Sunny, Ibrahim, hell even Yas couldn’t escape his blatant disdain of whoever’s clumsy mistake had caused for this. This, he snarled at the thought, having to wave goodbye to his privacy now that he was lodged in the middle of no where with a handful of people that admittedly, he didn’t like very much.   

It’s hard to look at the bright side when you were a natural born pessimist. Approaching footsteps cause for his hand to fly towards the bottle, unscrewing the cap and downing two, three mouthfuls of the harsh and fiery liquid. It warms his throat, sinking into an empty stomach and instantaneously removes the bite from his sour mood. “I’m busy,” Akira stares over to them with dark hues, a warning glare that usually scared others way, but not this time. He takes another swig from the bottle, setting it back on the bar as he turns back to his notes, the sound of scribbling once more filling the void in which normal conversation had most likely belonged. But he can’t bring himself to be more friendly, not right now, mundane conversation didn’t feel right when the world had been turned upside down. “Can’t you go and play with one of the other idiots?” he gestures towards the other side of the room, “there’s no shortage of them.” 

“ kiki. don’t be like that. i only have time for one idiot right now and that’s you, ” ilkay chimes from the seat she takes next to her brother, a murmuring headache having drawn her away from the scrape of silverware and the loads of conversations -- small talk, mostly -- that she’d unexpectedly been greeted with. she could not imagine any better solution than to drink one’s problems away, but ilkay had learned her lesson quickly and efficiently: no one drinks while they’re time traveling tourists ( she had to strain herself from throwing up on a pricy pair of shoes ). “ and you shouldn’t talk that way about your colleagues. you did replace my exuberance with their idiocy, ” -- sounds like a you problem, she doesn’t say, only because she knows how it gets on his nerves. 

WHO: Nehal & Open WHERE: Outside the Savoy Hotel WHEN: 2060 / First time jump, hour 04:00

If Nehal was being completely honest, she was still in shock that the time travel experiment had worked. Though she always held out a little hope that it would work, that she would have the opportunity to travel through time, to live out what she’d been promised – as the weeks had passed and the trials kept failing… the time travel experiment had become more of a fun hobby than anything she actually hoped to gain something from. 

Turns out, time travel somewhat plays havoc on the body – who would have thought, right? It had taken a solid hour for Nehal to recover enough from the process to actually stand on her feet for more than a few seconds without feeling the urge to collapse to her feet. Next, she’d needed to figure out when exactly she was – 2060, apparently. If she’d had her way, it probably wouldn’t have been Nehal’s first choice of destination ( after all, where was the fun of travelling to a time she’d likely live to see all on her own ), but she wasn’t going to complain. If time travel had worked once, there was no reason it couldn’t work twice, ten, or even a hundred times. Her mind was already buzzing with the possibilities – a mental list of the years she wanted to visit arranging itself in her mind as she made her way back to the hotel.

Anyone paying attention to Nehal during the debriefing would have seen her fidgeting restlessly, her leg bouncing up and down as she itched to get out and explore her new terrain ( just because 2060 wasn’t her first choice didn’t mean she wouldn’t make the most of it ). Her video camera’s memory was empty, ready to be filled with whatever she saw in the big, wide world – she’d need it for future ( get it? ) reference. If this wasn’t the perfect material for a book, she didn’t know what was. 

Nehal had practically shot out of her seat as soon as the debriefing was over, making her way back out through the lobby and stopping on the street, taking a moment to just observe her surroundings before deciding where she should go first. Was it selfish to try and look herself up? Did she even want the answers to those questions? Probably not. She figured her safest bet was to try and find a museum or some kind of cultural centre – try and figure out what had happened in the past forty years. She’s not quite sure how long she’s been standing on the street contemplating ( hopefully not more than a few minutes – time was of the essence, after all ), when someone else from her party emerges from the lobby. 

“Where’re you headed?” She asks, tilting her head to the side, “You’d think after all this time I’d be better prepared on what to do when we actually ended up in the future, huh? I can’t figure out where I want to start.”

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“ Oh, me ? I’m just here for some fresh air, again. ” Her finger swipes at the bridge of her nose, thinking something in the hotel or 2060′s air has begun to irritate her. That, or perhaps the future’s batch of alcoholic beverages are spiked with a little more oomph for the mind and body. She’d been able to swipe herself a bottle of water from the foyer, had snuck it into the sleeves of her billowy blouse before tiptoeing out of the structure’s grasp, to clear her head. Additionally, it felt as if the walls of The Savoy were beginning to inch forward, threatening to crush her at will. “ Definitely. No offense, but if I had six months—or however long—to pick somewhere to be in the future, I would have my eyes set on a precise location. ” İlkay approaches the girl as if she’s walking on eggshells, awkwardly limping with her newly-bandaged ankle. “ My unwarranted jump had me in a boutique, believe it or not. They had androids for sale associates, odd. ” The signs of vexation and doubt wash over her flushed face, asking herself the million dollar question once again —— had it been real ? If she wasn’t clothed in the pieces she had stolen from the store, she’d figure it was apart of her prolonged dream sequence.   

“ If I were given the choice, I’d want to gracefully land in a bookstore. Maybe a library, even ? I’d like to see if books are made use of in the future. ” The need for the paper-bound treasures was being challenged in their own time and with everything taking its own digital-form, she wouldn’t put it past people to give in to the temptation and finally alter the prized objects for good. It’d seal 2060 into the nightmare she took it for, that’s for sure. “ And you ? You haven’t given the journey much thought ? ” She doesn’t doubt there’s some truth in it. The project had taken its sweet time coming together, she didn’t need someone to confirm that, and with a team as interesting and demanding as them, a device as complex as one that could bend time, İlkay did not doubt their work left no room for fantasy, but for skepticism. In that light, the woman supposes, she can empathize with them. “ I’m sure there’s a place or two you would like to see, perhaps an arena or an orpheum ? ” İlkay scans the girl’s face for some spark of delight or excitement at her suggestion, but finds herself lighted with a disheveled sense of praise—she’s still a bit woozy and her drinking had not helped—seeing the team’s work had attracted such young gazes to their project.  

— 11 : my character’s reaction to receiving a hug from yours

Knowing that their hours have lengthened since the machine’s success İlkay does her best to be a helpful friend, provide some aid and consolation in her own way. Coffee, sweets, freshly-bakes pastries, just to name a few. She’s sure Quincy doesn’t mind that she occasionally borrows her role, figures it might be nice for someone to go out on coffee-runs for her and not the other way around. It takes İlkay a while, a visit or two at a Krispy Kreme’s to make up for someone’s accidentally too-bitter beverage, but she memorizes their orders and finds herself buying them something after her shift is over. Perhaps, in some ways, she is the April O’Neil to their Ninja Turtles. 

Oh, terrible. Yas can only imagine time traveling in the middle of a job interview, as if that wasn’t stressful enough on its own. It occurs to him then that he has no idea what İlkay does for a living, he never thought to ask; to be fair, there are a number of topics they never talked about, they didn’t even know each other’s names. Probably knowing each other’s usual brand of cigarettes is as far as their “friendship” goes. “Well, I’m sorry about that,” he offers, genuine.

She asks if he likes the outfit, and he ends up simply leaning away and squinting for a moment. Such insinuating comments might make him sputter awkwardly on another day, but alcohol is still present in his bloodstream for now, so he entertains the question seriously. Fashion in 2060 is… absolutely horrid, in his opinion. He supposes this is how old people feel when they complain about kids and their ripped jeans and tight outfits these days. “I mean, I can’t imagine how bad your outfit before had to be, for you to change it to this,” he jokes. 

When she teases him about going back naked, he has the decency to roll his eyes and look a bit embarrassed. “Shut up, I’m trying to be nice here.” His hoodie is already unzipped as is, and he has no trouble shrugging it off and offering it to her. “Take it, or ask for Charlie’s jacket, or something, just in case. It won’t be good for any of us if a sudden naked woman shows up somewhere. I don’t know anything for sure yet,” because who knows if she’ll even return to the lab or to the interview, and if these clothes will be carried over or not. “And for your information, it was one shot of something that tasted like poison, we landed in a club. I’m not drunk, I am pleasantly buzzed, and I can already feel a headache coming.”

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İlkay brushes his critique of her outfit aside, knowing that she was doing 2060 a favor by sponsoring the atrocious at no cost. It’s not like she hasn’t seen him in anything other than a dark-colored hoodie; she wasn’t sure if it was a single, staple piece or if he had ten of them crammed into a grimly-accessorized closet. “ I didn’t know you were so chivalrous, computer-man. Thank you, ” İlkay graciously accepts the jacket, slipping it over her shoulders and ignores the lint sprinkled across the sleeves. The monotonous hoodies she’d frown at before—because let’s be honest, a billowy top would look wondrous on the man—have ironically become her saving grace. “ Wouldn’t you say an uninvited woman catching a ride on your time machine, dressed or not, is bad as is? But now that I do think about it, a little show-of-skin would make things far more interesting. ”  She’s amused by her own suggestion, never knowing modesty to be her strong-suit.  

Unbelievably, the strange behavior of the woman surprises Scout enough to momentarily drag them out of their hurricane of panic. The tears that have started falling at some point or other halt on their cheeks as they take in the stranger, a beautiful woman maybe a decade older than Scout. Her behavior is very obviously influenced by alcohol (maybe even something stronger), but Scout has interacted with a lot of drunk people and this is not exactly standard behavior.

It unsettles them a little, how this woman is touching Laika like they’re good friends. Normally, Scout has no issue with people showering attention onto her, but they are in a situation that is beyond strange, and they really don’t want anyone to hurt their baby. Nevertheless, they can’t bring themselves to say something; it seems unnecessarily cruel to treat this woman like an enemy, when all she has done is be a little strange.

Laika looks back and forth between the two of them, tail wagging tentatively against the floor. Her eyes ask, Do we like her, mom? I think I like her. Do you like her?

Be nice, Scout tells themselves. Clearly, she’s been through what you’ve been through. Couldn’t you use a drink right now? Exactly. So, be nice. She’s trying to help.

“I, yeah, I’m from 2020. You traveled, too? Are you one of the scientists?” It doesn’t seem like she would be; she looks more like an accidental stowaway, like Scout.

“ No, no, no, no, no, ” İlkay holds her hands up as if she’s been accused of something, shaking her head vigorously, “ I’m too pretty to be a scientist. ” Her admission is meant to be humorous, but she finds herself wincing at just how narcissistic she sounds. It’s as if the last four hours hadn’t been filled with her own form of mourning and whining; thinking she was the only stowaway had allowed her to rain down whatever baggage she had onto the team. She’d talked and talked, complained, threw a fit with Akira, and it hadn’t been enough ? “ I was brought here too, against my will, frankly. ” Her shoulders droop at this, and she tilts her head, ushering forward the flash of colors she’d been met with when the jump had happened. İlkay looks at her counterpart, the young face and in her drunkenness, is struck by a hard wave of compassion and empathy. It was impossible to comprehend what’s happened, why them, when you’ve seen a lot of shit in your lifetime. She could not imagine how someone younger than her would react to being in the comfort of their own world and then, snatched away from it in a blurry instant. 

“Thanks? I just, uh, it’s my look.” Nimi runs a nervous hand through their hair, feeling like almost like an teenager again, scrambling to figure out their identity. But it’s almost impossible for that anxiousness to linger when she shoots a smile their way. Nimi has to hide a laugh at how she completely softens when they compliment her strange outfit, the accusatory finger falling away and leaving Nimi wondering what she was actually going to say… and thankful they don’t have to find out. (It’s enough of a smile to wish they actually meant it, rather than the polite, cautionary words meant to ease any possible tension in the air). It’s strange seeing her wipe at the stain with the blanket –a belated realization that this blanket that might be one of their only ties to the future they’re meant to have. But the moment’s gone before they can think of hurriedly snatching it back. Nimi only half registers the woman’s comment and has to mentally backspace to figure out if she loves this shirt or hates it.  "Well maybe if you’re lucky, you can still return it?“ they suggest with a small, uneven smile that probably isn’t as reassuring as they’ve meant it to be. Quick, what’s the future supposed to be like, how do clothes work here… "You have the uh, digital… receipt, right? They’ll just… scan it?” Much like the blanket, these words are out before they have a chance to really consider how dumb they sound.

“Sorry, what?” They’re almost thankful that she’s moved on, but the searching gaze fixed on them leaves the hairs standing on the back of their neck.Deflection is key here, keep their head down, get the attention off, send her away, stay cautious. “…Yeah? I imagine a lot of people from London aren’t from around here.” There’s a finality to their tone, to cut this all off and get back on track, which should mean as little conversation as possible, but they can’t quite turn away with their interest piqued from this whispered secret that sounds like everything but one. The searching glance her shoulder just reveals an empty street, aside from the strangely rounded cars that zip by.  “So wait, though, where are you from, then? And why are you talking like that? Is something happening?" 

“ It’s 2060, there are no receipts. They’re practically a nuisance to the environment, obviously. ” That’s a lie, she wouldn’t know what’s come to replace receipts. They could be right, there could be digital receipts or transactions, but İlkay had stolen these clothes. Their stuttering, their lack of understanding for this modern world proves that she’d been right to think they weren’t from here. From this time. They do not give her the answer she expects to hear, while it could be an attempt to avert her attention, İlkay is not discouraged easily. Safe to say, her patience has been worn-down over the course of the day. “ That’s not what I meant, I think you know that.” The blanket wrinkles in her grip and with that, all she drops all secrecy in her voice. She takes a step closer to the stranger, peering up at them with a mist of scrutiny in her eyes. There’s no point dancing around the issue, “ You’re not from 2060. ”  

Lamisi chuckles at the vaguely-horrified look in Ilkay’s eyes. “Well, yeah - I’d guess running through the streets was probably not the best thing for your ankle,” she agrees with a warm grin. “But it’ll survive. Swelling always makes it look worse than it really is. Probably will hurt a bit until you can lay down and rest and ice it properly - I’m sure you’ll have to walk on it for a bit until we get back home.” In reality, she’s thankful this is the worst injury she’s seen since this whole thing started - she can’t stop being grateful for the relative lack of damage considering she hadn’t been emotionally prepared to get to the future in the first place. “I’d say full recovery time would be about 2 or 3 weeks. Might need to zip around on your moped a bit more than usual to get around.” 

She could very well guess what, exactly, Ibrahim had been thinking when pulling Ilkay aside. Ibrahim was concerned - worried there were others, worried she’d head back to 2020 and leak news of time travel to the press, worried she’d gossip about it to her friends and accidentally get committed for hallucinations. But he’d probably tried his best not to show it. It seems it’d worked considering Ilkay had gotten a good impression. “He probably wants to make sure you’re alright. I mean, I’ll be honest - I’m surprised with how well you’re handling all of this. It’s impressive.” The bandage by then is wound expertly around Iklay’s swollen ankle; she secures it gently, checks it’s tight enough, then straightens. The girl is incredibly talkative. It’s not hard to see why Ibrahim would have had questions - plural - to entertain. “Yes, we did.” Lamisi fails to mention the weird, complex-but-not-complex emotional baggage lingering between herfself and Ibrahim, settling with, “He reached out to me to recruit, wanting a doctor on the team for liability reasons. I promise you, though, it’s not nearly as glamorous and exciting as it sounds. You’ve been lucky enough to be dropped in at the most excitement this project’s seen in years. Normally, it’s just a bunch of boys seeing who can drink their soda the fastest in a basement and the scientists muttering to themselves in a corner.” She pulls out a gel ice pack, gives it a shake, and offers it to Ilkay. “No candy, but next best thing. This should get cold in a minute. It’ll help if it’s hurting you.”

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İlkay frowns at the image of having a giant, swollen ankle for two or three weeks. Aside from the pain ( she can get by with the occasional pang that rides up her leg ), the sight of it is disturbing. She can’t exactly land a new job hobbling around on a sprained ankle, what kind of employer would hire a klutz with an injured foot? They’d be begging for disaster. “ Well, I don’t know how much longer I can zip around on my moped before I lose my mind, ” she sadly laughs at this revelation, of still being the delivery girl but there wasn’t much she could do about it. She registers how pathetic, how concerning her lighthearted comment sounds, shrugs it off and tries to dim her deprecation by expressing her gratitude. Lamisi is ahead of her though, and in all honesty, İlkay’s been a bit slow to everything today. It’s been an awfully long day, with many twists and turns and just as many surprises, coincidences. The kind of thing you watch on television, the kind of drama and elaborate schemes you’d make fun of a soap opera for writing. Didn’t expect the challenge of a lifetime to be thrown at her. She was good at pretending, though. Had learned to shoulder her indignation, questionably skilled when it came to clumping her rage with the rest of her displeasure and waving it off until it’d warped into something paralyzing and inescapable. Lamisi commenting on her composure is a compliment. İlkay is such an act. An impressive act.

“ I can’t hold much of a grudge, it isn’t productive. Also, bad for my skin, ” she wraps a strand of hair around her finger, viewing her bandaged ankle with some appreciation. It’s harder to notice the swelling and suddenly, she’s overwhelmed with thanks for the woman’s presence. İlkay can be convincing, but after some time the pain begins to slip through and with her sore ankle she wasn’t sure how much longer she’d last. “ Thank you, really. Not just for my ankle, but for listening. I know I can be quite talkative, ” she accepts the ice pack with a generous smile. “ I think setting your mind to something and dedicating yourself to see it through to the end is the hardest part of doing anything. I bet you considered dropping out of the project when Charlie made his first flat Earth joke ? You get used to his shenanigans, I’m sure you know by now. He’s kind of like . . . the human version of a golden retriever. ” İlkay refrains from immersing herself into the image of puppy-dog eyes ( the one thing Charlie can maybe outdo her in ) and shifts her leg up to her chest, nesting the ice pack on her knee as she waits for it to get cold. “ So, when you first got your part in all of this, did you find it hard to believe? Building a time machine . . . it’s the sort of fantasy a child indulges in. ” Lamisi told her she’d been lucky to drop-in at their moment of success, but İlkay did not feel lucky. Not in the slightest. After picking at Ibrahim’s brain and trying to get a drunk Yas to tell her as much as possible, she still felt disconnected from what was happening around her. There were moments where she wanted to drop to the floor and start laughing because it was too-appalling. Where’s the hidden camera? she wants to ask. I have to get back home, take me back, she wants to cry, but being intensely-emotional after everything wouldn’t make her any more of a welcomed guest. She figures answers, for now, are the closest she can get to some form of emotional comfort. 

“Sorry, I didn’t realise I was speaking to my mother,” Charlie’s brow raised challengingly, the corner of his lip curled into a smirk. It’s not out of the ordinary, Charlie would make fun of his and İlkay’s four year age gap at any given opportunity. He points out grey hairs to her that weren’t there to start with and calls her ‘grandma’ whenever she needed his assistance with the computer or a misplaced phone which was hidden in plain sight. “Yeah, that’s the one,” he confirmed with a nod, a deep inhale preparing himself to launch into another fanboy speech of his declaration of his love for an inanimate object, “Kay it’s 6ft, it’s taller than you. We could use it as a coat stand. It also includes an authentic re-scaled replica blaster, a little like Han Solo’s so you get a lot for you money.” The cheerfulness on his face dwindled the moment she’d announced he was close, but not correct, scarcely caring about her top five anymore from the distraction served by the close victory. Charlie sprawled over his chair to lean his head mopey against her shoulder, a sweeping and disappointed sigh exhaled from the pit of his lungs in accepted defeat. “Oh well, it’s probably for the best,” it wasn’t as if he would have ever let İlkay spend over two grand on him in the first place. 

Without confirming or denying the financial benefits, Charlie shoots her with a knowing stare, the sort that should tell her what he was about to say before a syllable had barely left his mouth, “It’s never been about the money for me, not with these things. Honestly it would just be nice, for once, to have substantial proof that something extraordinary isn’t just some fictional concept. I think it could help open people’s minds to possibilities, that’s all I care about.” He’s not entirely certain how he’d go about it anyway, what he could say and what he was allowed to document. He’d have to discuss this with Ibrahim later down the line, ask for permission before rattling off about it online. “I’m not sure,” he admits, sitting back up straight as his neck began to ache with a burning pain from the awkward angle it had been held in. With a hand smoothing over the agonised muscle, he shrugs, “the only thing I’ve over heard was the possibility that it could make a great advancement in travel, like holidays but instead of popping down to Greece you go to 1920 instead.” He shuddered at the thought, in someways he thinks it’d be better off destroyed than given access to the public. He was grateful, at least, that it would never be a choice or discussion that rested on his shoulders. It was to be a discourse he’d have no opinion in and that lack of responsibility was strangely reassuring. “I have been thinking if it would be worth me asking Ibra if he’d be willing to send me to the 70s and leave me there, though. I could replace George Lucas and right all the wrongs in the latest movies. I’d get all the Star Wars props that I could ever want. I mean you’d be out of a flat mate, but since I’d be really rich I would just buy you a house in central London and you wouldn’t have to put up with me screaming at video games at 2am anymore. Everyone’s a winner.” 

ੈ✩‧₊˚

She stares down at the the tuffs of hair lying against her shoulder, frowns like a contemplative parent. “ We already have a coat stand, we don’t need another one. Stormtrooper or not. ” İlkay thinks the sight would be quite comical, though. They have a load of mugs with Star Wars references printed on them, little figurines stashed on the credenza. A few weeks ago he’‘d suggested they paint their ceiling, from a starch-white to an indigo galaxy. While the idea had grown on her, she figured the process would escalate into a complete mess, pure chaos as they figured out how they would paint and not ruin the floorboards. It makes her wonder how they will return to their lives, if they could return to what they consider to be normal. She’s a convincing act, has learned from the very best how to desensitize herself to something she doesn’t want to deal with at the moment. She isn’t that naive, though. She knows when they get back home—maybe not when but if—she’ll have no choice but to confront her reality. What her friends had been hiding, what her own sister had been hiding, she now knew. Additionally, there was her inner turmoil that’d been left untouched and she doesn’t know if she’s allowed to heal after this. She’ll just have to get used to it . . . ? 

“ I know it’s not about the money for you, I know you Charlie, ” and if she had asked why he had become apart of this, it would’ve been out of politeness. He’s dedicated his short life to making the unfathomable seem fathomable, to decipher ‘ hidden truths ’, and aged secrets that seem unworthy of one’s time. She can practically envision the delight that would’ve sprung onto his face when he’d heard of the project. İlkay pats his head, can imagine how marvelous it was to witness their machine’s success first-hand. Those months of lying and sneaking around, scrounging up excuses, must have been worth it. Definitely worth it. And her sister would have a new title to add to her name, would be graced with another award or two for her accomplishment, her endeavors. Akira and her dreams. If their parents were still around, İlkay could envision the kind of dinner party they would host and the long phone calls they would have with their extended family. Thankfully, her imagination dwindles to something more lively, a vacation to the 1920s. She’s sure that would have its prospects, she personally wouldn’t mind a lively night alongside Zelda Sayre. “ You only want the props? You wouldn’t go back to, I don’t know, smite George Lucas or something ? ” İlkay snorts, not finding it hard to see Charlie hugging Chewbacca’s head to his chest or swiping a lightsaber and tinkering with it to make it more realistic, bring his dreams to life. “ You’d buy me a house? ” She looks up at him, shifts in her seat and rolls her eyes, “ Charlie, if I wanted to get away from you so badly I’d move in with Akira. Your regular routine of screaming at the devil’s hour has, in a way, become music to my ears. You’re like an alarm, but only coming in handy if I need to witness three knocks at my door or something. ” Was that harsh? In all seriousness, was it possible that after all this, her friends would leave her? 

Where: The Savoy, year 2060. When: Time Jump 01, Hour 04. Who: Open.

Dressed in running gear (consisting of blue leggings, a gray UCL hoodie, and black trainers) and with a dirty-pawed German shepherd by their side, Scout feels completely misplaced in the upscale hotel. The walk here has stressed out Laika, who keeps pulling at the leash in all sorts of directions, completely at a loss for where to go. To be fair, so is Scout.

They decide to sit down on a nearby bench, where they can dedicate their attention entirely to Laika. Quincy told them that their time in 2060 would run out soon, so Scout is tentatively hopeful. However, it’s not like time travel has ever been done before. What if they don’t go back? What if they go too far back? What if they land a few months off? Even just a few days would irreversibly fuck up Scout’s pre-semester planning. Weeks might cost them their entire degree.

Although their intention was to calm Laika, Scout is now the one who needs calming. As much as they have attempted to keep things together for Laika’s (and their dignity’s) sake, they can’t do it anymore. There are too many unknowns. Scout doesn’t function when there are unknowns. Unknowns ruin plans, they ruin lives, they’ll ruin their life, their life is ruined.

That’s the line of reasoning that leaves Scout in the beginning stages of a panic attack. Their breath comes in fast and leaves just as quick. The right side of their body begins to tingle, oh God, they can’t feel their arm, this is it, this is a heart attack, they’re going to die, and no one will know because they’ll die in the future, and Laika won’t know what happened, and their parents won’t know what happened, and they never got to fall in love again or grow old with someone, they never got to help enough people or leave a piece of themselves behind for others to remember them by, all they’ve left is a shitty flat and a messy calendar.

——What a day. Thank god for alcohol. She hadn’t wasted a single second when they’d returned to The Savoy, her and Tasneem. It was hard enough having to manage her own burdens and endless sense of doubt, her mind completely boggled, but add on Tasneem’s bewilderment and she thought her head might explode. After four strenuous hours of going back and forth with her interpretations, İlkay knew it was time to make her way to the hotel bar. There was no one to keep her from indulging in some drinking, taking shots of the future’s new-and-improved tequila. Except, it wasn’t tequila. It sloshed a pink hue—she couldn’t resist after she’d set her eyes on its bubblegum appearance—and it was awfully-bitter in the first second, made her scrunch her face like she’d taken a bite out of a lemon, and then it soothed into something sweeter, something sugary. A bit like caramel, but not really. When she reminisced over the flavor, she realized she couldn’t describe its taste in words but in feelings instead. So, İlkay feels as if she’s walking through a carnival bursting with warm, vibrant colors and is picking at a clump of cotton candy. When she licks her lips she can almost taste the sucrose.

She drifts from the hotel bar, to the dining room ( spending a handful of minutes staring up at a chandelier that eventually, blurs into the sun ), and finally, the lobby. With hooded eyes, İlkay surveys the perimeter, trying to find Charlie or Jin cooped up in some foyer seat, but fails to spot them. Instead, she finds a young incomer curled up, wallowing in complete misery and—DOG. She crumbles at the furry creatures appearance and İlkay cups her own face in a blend of glee and disbelief. The dog’s owner doesn’t appear to be a 2060 civilian. It could be their clothes that gives it away, or more likely, the familiar look of being mystified by the mind-blowing concept of a time machine and the more-unbelievable idea of time traveling. Their sweater . . . she tilts her head to the side . . . U? C? L. UCL. 

‘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?” 

“ Hm, interesting choice. ” She looks them up and down again, as if it weren’t incredibly evident their clothes were not from the future. Could it be . . . ? If she could unintentionally have lept through time, then, it was entirely possible for there to be other hitchhikers. That doesn’t mean she should let her guard down—no matter the twinge of guilt she intends to feel—this pedestrian could be a 2060 civilian who really did have questionable taste in vintage pieces. It was more plausible than presuming they had been thrown forty years into the future. İlkay points her finger into the air, shaping her own form of interrogation until the individual compliments her ensemble. It’s true, flattery will get you everywhere—everywhere with her, at least. Her repulse softens into a sheer smile, the defensiveness in her stance going lax. “ Thank you ! It’s new. I just bought it, ” she bluntly lies, wouldn’t have run into the person if she weren’t trying to avoid suspicion. Her gaze lowers to the hem of her shirt, spotted with dirt. She must’ve planted her foot straight-into the murky puddle she’d tried to avoid. It deflates her pride, only a little, and on the verge of telling the man it’s no biggie, they’re offering her a . . . swaddle blanket? 

İlkay peers at the tiny dinosaur print, the pastel colors, the sewn-in details and knows she should be more lenient. However, there’s no baby in sight and she doesn’t want to know what a grown-ass adult would be doing with a baby blanket. They don’t appear to be in need of it and she might be doing society a favor by snatching it from them. “ I’m fine, trust me. It’s just a little stain. I actually hated this shirt, now that I think about it. Not my style, ” the blanket rubs away some of the mucky shade and the spots are less apparent, but İlkay can’t say she’d grown attached to her futuristic look. She wouldn’t mind a reason to change her clothes again, an excuse to devise another scheme only this time, it would involve sneaking back into the boutique and collecting her old clothes. 

— 10 : my character’s reaction to finding yours asleep on their couch (charlie)

Oh no . . . again? 

Charlie has the occasional habit of falling asleep while watching reruns of Star Wars: The Clone Wars, regardless of how much he insists he doesn’t appreciate it. That, or he watched too many scary movies back-to-back and feels safer falling asleep on the comfort of their sofa than having to navigate back to his room in the dark. He’ll shunt four or five pillows underneath him—You gotta have the perfect view, he tells her—and hides under just as many blankets. If she weren’t used to the sight of the giant hunch he normally makes under all his Fleece Heaven, she’d be concerned. It’s hard to pity him with the stacked lump, the mess she’ll leave him to clean up tomorrow morning after lightening his duty with a cup of coffee ( not redbull ). İlkay supposes it could be worse, she could’ve blindly allowed him to try dumping mentos into his mountain dew. Now that would have been quite the mess.