#time jump 01

More of the group begins to trickle in to the hotel lobby as the hours tick by, thank God. Lamisi had never considered herself to be particularly maternal - kind, maybe, and caring - but mothering? A bit of a stretch, a label she was reluctant to accept given the classic emotional baggage and abandonment insecurities that came from her ‘mommy issues’. And yet, Lamisi was genuinely, sincerely worried about the well-being of everyone she’d transcended decades with. It seemed odd that they’d been sprinkled across modern London like snow when they’d all been in the same three square meters back in the lab. If they managed to get their way back to 2020 (even if it was by the skin of their teeth, considering the more risky among them), she’d made a mental note to stress to Ibra how to ensure they’d remain in a group the next time. Attempt 73 had aged her enough as it was. 

Speaking of, she had to manually tear her gaze from Ibra without realizing she’d been watching him. Her attention shifted to the group member she’d noticed approaching out of the corner of her eye, where Lamisi had parked herself in a chair with her medical bag in her lap. “Hey,” she greeted with a small smile. “Brilliant. Another one of us who hasn’t ended up falling off the side of a building. Everything feel in order? Arms and legs still in the right place?”

As soon as he and Sunny have made their way into the lobby of the hotel, their designated meeting place, there is a tsunami of information to deal with. They made it, yes, and everyone is ecstatic. It's a mix of excitement, and hysteria, and glee -- but then there's also concern, and confusion, and he's told about an accidental guest before he actually sees her. When he twists his head to find her, he realises it's a surprisingly familiar face.

İlkay. They have bumped into each other before at the library a number of times, exchanged sarcastic quips, sometimes shared a smoke outside. There is no plausible reason to why she's here with them -- especially considering she looks miserable --, and Yas feels a sudden dread consume him. He's the man who wrote the code, he's the one who had to take every one in the team into consideration. Is he... the one responsible for this? Had he written her into the code somehow? He can't even imagine how that'd be possible, but either way, some fuck up in his coding might've been what led to her poor self being sucked into this.

So he does the only thing he can think of, and approaches her in hopes to apologise. Not that he knows what he can even apologise for. He just feels terrible, and he's a bit drunk, and he probably owes her at least a friendly greeting. Right? "Hey," he drawls like an idiot, uncertain. "Hi. You're here. Um... Hi, I'm the programmer for the project. Shit, this is... a weird coincidence."

The jump is jarring. The sleek, clean surfaces and sharp edges of the lab -- content of which she quite frankly knows better than her kitchen cabinets, which is to say that she spends more time in the former than eluding towards hoarding utensils -- is replaced in the time it takes to blink with a dark, cavernous room packed with dancing bodies. Sunny stumbles backwards, the action seemingly commonplace given the sudden lingering scent of alcohol. Despite the loud music, she can hear her heartbeat drumming in her ears. It’s deafening. “Fuck,” is the only word that slips through the mesh of her otherwise buzzing mind, confusion bleeding slowly into clairty. She takes a deep breath, tears prickling along her lash line as the overwhelming realisation of their success begins to settle. 

Someone jostles her without apology, their drunken movements haphazard as they pass by with a drink in hand. The bag on her shoulder slips, caught before her instruments hit the hard, no-doubt sticky, club floor -- and in an instant her priorities shift. Dark eyes scan the faces around her, their features obscured intermittently as strobe lighting flashes through the darkness. Sunny’s height betrays her as she attempts to search for familiarity in the crowd, slipping through them like a cat through long grass. The bright lights of the bar lures her in as she hopes it will the others, motionless until a recognisable profile comes into view. “Yasin,” she yells over the music, gripping his shoulder as she pulls him closer to evade the paths of the club-goers. Her delighted grin says a thousand words but there are some worth saying aloud. “We did it, Yas. I don’t know where we are-- or when exactly-- but we did it. The machine works.”

Her brain close to short circuits when she sees them. Or, at the very least, the back of them ( a familiar crop of hair and bright fabric that never fails to look even brighter beside her own dark coloured clothes ). It’s reminiscent of bumping into a friend while abroad, half a world away from the city called home; a welcome haunting. The past four-or-so hours have brought with them an onslaught of emotion, each one increasingly difficult to shrug off despite her penchant for keeping her feelings hidden. Sunny presses a fingertip to the centre of her brow in a failed attempt to massage away a looming headache, gives a down-but-not-out exhale in refusal of defeat, and approaches Nimi. 

“Hey,” she drawls in monotone with all the lack of surprise of someone who had planned to meet them here, as though perfectly unaffected, moving to stand beside them. Her shoulder brushes theirs as she crosses her arms over her chest, surveying the lobby ahead. Before they can say anything, she offers up what could only loosely be described as an explanation. “At this point, I figure someone I know might as well crawl out of the woodwork. Should have sold tickets for this trip, the number of tag-alongs we’ve picked up.” Sunny tilts her head just enough to regard Nimi out the corner of her eye. “2060 is fucking weird, huh?”

Adrenaline is what grabs Lamisi by the shoulders and shakes her violently awake in the library, propelling herself and Nehal through the streets of London to the Savoy. It’s about half an hour walk, Lamisi guesses, on a normal day; her thoughts overshoot the one and a half mile distance, enough to lap them thrice over by the time they finally cross the threshold of the Savoy. Where a bellhop used to stand, the doors swing open automatically. The light fixtures have all been replaced with LED (or something different; she can’t be certain). People dressed in - something - mill about, the only benefit being that it’s easy to spot the rest of their group in the lobby. The odd looks were about two dozen slots down her priority list; still, she was aware they all stood out like sore thumbs. 

It’s relief that washes over her first at the sight of Ibrahim’s dark curls off to the side of the lobby. The fact that they’d managed to do it was far too large of a feat to grasp at the moment, and instead Lamisi had settled on the details - where had everyone gone? The library had been a relatively harmless drop-off, but had everyone else been so lucky? Was Jin being mugged, Hyuk stealing a drone, Charlie at the bottom of the Thames? Daring to think about what sort of fate Ibrahim met was almost too jarring to think about. 

As they cross the slick checkered tile Ibrahim seems to register that they’re there. Lamisi isn’t sure who’s thrown their arms around the other first, but suddenly finds herself swept up in an embrace. The gesture nearly sucks the breath straight out of her longs - when was the last time they’d hugged like this? - and she can tell exactly what sort of headspace he’s in when they break apart. His dark eyes are gleaming, a grin so wide it looks like it hurts. Lamisi recognizes the expression well. “Holy shit, Barhum. Are you alright?” she asks first, actually a bit breathless. Arguably, the most important question. “You got dropped off okay?” 

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. 

It’s no surprise to anyone that Lamisi and Ibra are the most reliable pair, the most likely to find themselves back in the lobby of the Savoy as instructed before they are pulled back into 2020. And ironically enough, time travel is now the very last thing on Lamisi’s mind. A collected exterior does little to represent the chaos that is her internal monologue, a jumble of old feelings and the sensation of Ibrahim’s lips (no matter how briefly) touching hers and sweaty palms she wishes she could wipe against her shirt without it being glaringly obvious. And she knows - she knows - how comical it is, to be so concerned about making her ex-partner uncomfortable by crossing a platonic boundary he’d drawn on the sand years ago that she forgets they’ve magically materialized forty years into the future. Not to mention they’ve arrived at the final countdown, the minute hand on the glowing clock in the Savoy lobby chipping away at every second left until they (ideally) return to 2020. 

Lamisi notices Yas first. Ibra separates from her as they near their earlier meeting spot, something she tries her best not to over-analyze - is he upset with her? Embarrassed, maybe? Annoyed at how the cafe fiasco had transpired? - and her gaze manages to settle on an unfamiliar face. Someone she doesn’t recognize. Someone distinctly dressed in clothing similar to theirs, hovering in a way that makes it clear they’ve arrived with Yas. And the appearance of a new straggler manages to be the perfect distraction for Lamisi to grab onto, able to briefly dismiss tumultuous thoughts of Ibrahim. “Oh, no,” she sympathizes with a kind smile. “You haven’t been dragged here along with us too, have you?” The brief, sideways glance to Ibrahim is entirely subconscious and ultimately unwanted, as is the pervasive thought that he ought to know another innocent civilian has been flagged by the ever-mysterious code. She shakes it off, turns her attention back to the stranger. “I’m Lamisi. I’m the doctor that’s meant to ensure everyone’s - relatively - alright. And the man I came in with, that’s Dr. Ibrahim Ayadi. You’ll have to chat with him, and he can answer your questions. How are you feeling? Seems everyone’s complained a bit about motion sickness, but otherwise?”