( you know that thing about the door bringing through all kinds of chaos, all the bad things the span the lengths of all possible universes, all possible realities?

well.

it's not so much bad as it is a very simple brand of chaos, a boy in expensive shoes with impeccable, unforgettable hair accompanied by a tiny, unnatural insect that buzzes close to his person, flitting back and forth in a physical representation of the scattered mind it happens to be attached to.

the fog isn't off-putting; not on its own, not in the sense that any other naturally-occurring weatherly ( yes, weatherly ) phenomenon should be. it's fog. what is off-putting is the fact that the last thing he remembers is preparing to venture off into the vast unknown that is the general direction of the western seaboard with his two favorite people, and now … not so much.

but there's fog. and he has his phone out, thumbing through various screens in order to get to his gps – or anything that would give him any indication at all of where he is, how he'd gotten there, and – ) Cell service is shit. ( because he's not getting any sort of signal, which figures, because it's just his luck that he gets himself stuck somewhere without the possibility of someone like dick gansey happening by with a working piece of technology to save his ass a second time.

he sighs. makes a face that falls somewhere among the lines of troubled, bored and constipated, and then he hears it.

the siren starts up with a sharp, ear-piercing wail, and henry immediately raises his hands to cover his ears. really – it's not enough that there's some inclement weather happening, but what? are bombs being dropped, too? he ducks his head as though it might help block out some of the sound, which it very much doesn't, and the scenery around him begins to twist and shift and tear itself away, melting into something darker, something much more sinister, and though by now he's seen his fair share of weird shit ( thank you so very much king richard ), it's not like he would think about immediately dismissing the fact that there's a fucking klaxon going off somewhere like the world is ending.

so that manages to make it to one of the top spots on henry cheng's list of weird shit that has happened in the past, oh, three weeks.

he hasn't noticed the things lingering and skulking about in the shadows just yet.

good luck with that, henry. )

a little voice inside, it says you've got to be tough, you've got to take it in stride; wildcard.

( save him from a blighted bear, trip over him in the fog, i am open for anything at all but couldn't find enough inspiration for more than one starter at three in the morning. ayyyyy just come at me. )