( Jack Townsend walks through a hotel room doorway in Albuquerque, New Mexico and walks out of a portal in Thorne, Abraxas. That is rather an oversimplification of what it actually looks like — it involves a lot more spluttering, a lot more water, and absolutely fucking biffing it when his prosthetic leg does not make the trip with him. Jack's first act being back in Abraxas is nearly breaking his nose on the stone floor. Blood gushes down his front and the mage performing the ritual stutters at this uncommon act of such utter gracelessness, his rhythm is momentarily thrown off. His second act in Abraxas is to yell out an alarmed: )

Oh, fuck!

( Eventually, the chaos is rectified. He emerges from the summoning chamber with a crutch shoved under one of his arms, missing one leg, and two tufts of cotton shoved up either nostril as his nose slowly bleeds into them, tinging them red. He's dazed — both from the hit of his head on the floor, and from the missing year of memories from this place reinserting themselves inside his memory-fractured mind. This is, perhaps, why he body-checks the person standing in the hall just outside the chamber, nearly sending both them and himself toppling to the ground again. Sorry about that, friend.

He can later be found slowly hobbling with his crutch down the North Wing, and tentatively knocking on the door that used to be his room. )

( It's easier to get to the Horizon this time than it had been the first go-around. Not that it was particularly difficult then either, but he'd been hesitant, afraid of the memory loss, and entirely too experienced with meditating his way into weird dimensions. Now, it takes him all of five minutes, and there he is, standing before the gas station that never actually left Abraxas with Sabine to keep it tethered.

It's... strange. He stands by the pumps, staring at the front door, a conflicting feeling unfurling in his chest. Where he's from, when he's from, this whole place is a crater. A smoking hole in the ground that doesn't exist anymore, and he'd left. These last few months he's spent on the road in Jerry's converted bus, seeing the world the way he never got to do before. The way he'd planned to do with Sabine, in his early twenties. He'd moved on. He'd left.

He never thought he'd see it again. It's uncanny.

Should anyone happen upon him, he'll startle visibly, and immediately declare: )

I'm not crying, you're crying!

( Before he even sees who it actually is. )

( So, he means to paint the seascape, he really does. He's sitting there, concentrating with all his might, really letting that paintbrush guide him. He's never been a particularly talented artist, but he likes to doodle now and then. Since his semi-permanent roadtrip, he's learned to appreciate experiences like this even if he's not good at them. Getting a little tipsy on cider and channeling his inner artist is fun, and he's trying.

Except, trying with Jack usually results in zoning out. By the time he comes to and actually looks at the piece he's been working on, it looks les like a seascape and more like... well... an astronaut raccoon. )

...how did that happen?

( You know what? It's actually pretty good. He's happy with it, even if the painting instructor looks incredibly puzzled. )

( Hit me with anything anywhere in Thorne, the Horizon, or Nocwich! You can also reach me at paingravy for questions. )