Amaralyn — Roleplayer Guild

Jørn and Steven

A weird feeling crept over Jørn as he heard the foreigner’s voice echoing over the dunes. They showed similar traits: dark, seemingly uncontrolled hair, an unshaven jaw and chin, a tall built. Looking down he noticed the soft shadow which the man cast over the sand. This could not be a lucid dream anymore, Jørn concluded, those were never this realistic and detailed; the person in front of him had to be there, standing only a few meters away from him.

“Skagen, the most northern tip of Denmark,” Jørn answered almost mechanically as he slowly started to approach. “You’re from… Australia, right?” he stated more than asking it, noting the other man’s accent.

As he drew closer, a warmer draft greeted him together with the scent of food. It took him a moment to adjust his eyes as the sky grew dark and daylight replaced itself by streetlights. He looked around the damp street, remaining surprisingly calm although the scene before his eyes had just changed dramatically in the blink of an eye.

Steven looked around his once again familiar surroundings; he was back in the same rainy Sydney street he’d left a minute ago. The other man was still there, looking remarkably calm for someone who’d just found themselves halfway around the world from where they should be. “Right, and this is Sydney,” he said, indicating the street with a wave of his hand.

Steve had been having the flashes for the past week, ever since the dreams started, but this was something else - much longer and intense. “So, million dollar question; The hell is going on - am I going nuts?”

"Sydney..." Jørn gasped. "I've been wanting to visit that place for a while now. Australia in general, really. I've heard the nature here is breathtaking," he spoke softly, eyes wide open, mesmerized and disbelieving.

He got snapped back to reality – for as far as this was indeed real – by the other man's comment. He snorted slightly, "I asked myself that same question just now. So I suppose that means you're not, and neither am I. Unless we're both going insane, but that seems very unlikely," he said, a small smile curling around his lips. "Or unless I am in fact going crazy, and you and all of this is not real, but..." he raised his eyebrows and stared absentmindedly. "That can't be," he looked up into the male's brown eyes. "You are here right? And I am here. I can feel that I am present, and I could feel the change of atmosphere just now," he rambled while making quick gestures with his hands. "So..." he paused, his face wry with confusion. He shook his head, "Yeah no, I have no idea of what is going on."

Too many questions and thoughts darted around Jørn's head: what was happening and how? Teleportation? Madness? What about the other hallucinations: where they not figments of imagination, but actually real as well then? And why did he have the feeling like he knew this person he had just met, living in city which was pretty much the antipode of where he lived, for much longer than a mere two minutes?

“Well how do I know I’m not the one going insane and you’re the hallucination?” Steve asked rhetorically, though the thought seemed ridiculous to him even as he said it. “No, you’re right. I have no idea what in the hell is going on either." He absently took a bite of his kebab and continued to think.

None of this made any sense. They were apparently on other sides of the world, yet could appear before each other in the blink of an eye and hold a normal conversation. Steve looked up and down the darkened road, but couldn't see anyone, which ruled checking if anyone else could see the other man. Speaking of that... “What's your name by the way?” he asked.

A disquieting thought occurred to him – the other man looked fairly similar to himself, in a rough sort of way; similar hair, height and build, but he had definitely been seeing other faces during the past week, ever since the dreams had started. How many more people were involved in this - or, just how crazy was he going?

“Jørn,” he replied maybe a bit too loudly, the name ringing through the nightly alley, as he jolted up from his mishmash of thinking. Out of habit he reached out a hand for the other to shake. A thought then shook him; this was the oppurtunity to know for sure whether they were indeed in contact. With his expression as placid as ever, he awaited the man’s response.

Steve shifted his kebab to his other hand and reached out to shake the other man’s hand, grasping it firmly. “The name’s Steve,” he said. It certainly was the highlight of an already weird night.

When the two shook hands, the deal was settled; Jørn could feel the warm skin from Steve’s hand, slightly sticky from the snack, touching the palm of his own. He could not help but smirk as a strange sensation went through him; the realization that this was in fact happening although he had no explanation as to how and why. He looked down from their handshake up to Steve who looked like he had become aware of the same.

“Jørn!” a distant voice called him. “The hell are you doing out there?!”

A cold wind pulled him backwards, sucking him back to the bleach shore of Skagen. Bewildered he looked around, but there was no trace left of the Australian man.

“Jørn!” The voice sounded closer now. The mentioned one turned around and saw a colleague of his drawing near: a young woman with ashblonde hair, tied up in a ponytail to prevent the wind from whipping her in the face with it. Jørn didn’t know her too well as she had joined the crew only a few weeks ago; he couldn’t even recall her name. “Did the cold get a grip of you or something?” she questioned, shaking her head at her co-worker who still looked a little dumbfounded.

“I… I was just going for a walk…” the man managed to utter. Glancing around once more, he followed the woman back to the cabin, leaving the spot where just a moment ago he had the inexplicable encounter.

Steve looked around the deserted street once more, wondering what had happened. “Jørn, you there?” he called out, his voice echoing in the night, “What in the...” There was nothing, no sign that he had ever been in Denmark, no sign of the other man except a lingering warmth on his palm. He started towards home at a brisk walk, eager to get back inside. “I need a bloody drink.”
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