Gionove was, simply put, a theater junkie. His latest venture journeyed into the world of steam punkery, complete with gold-adorned everything. The theater was usually generous enough to provide their moderately sized casts with costumes, although the actors were always persuaded to construct their own, if they had the means to.
“Dear… Lord!”
The actor in question was discovering how potentially hazardous his own creation was while pedaling at 15 miles an hour on busy downtown streets. The backpack he fashioned to be some sort of energy source for his elaborate gizmos was huge and hulking and with the slightest turn threatened to throw him off the bike. Alas, as he hopped onto a sidewalk and slipped off the bike, it was of his own accord to make sure it was locked tight for the afternoon.
Eager to show off his handmade wares, Gionove rushed around the corner and ran smack into half of the cast. The immediate thought that came to mind was not an apology, but rather on how fantastic their costumes were. As soon as his jaw slipped open in awe and wonder, he found himself at the end of four weapons raised in one simultaneous motion.
“Very nice,” he murmured, the actor’s eye flashing to the glittering gold of the sword that was held closest to his neck. It took a minute longer for Gionove’s eye to follow the arm of its holder, where he found a man decked in military ware and whose face he did not recognize.
Taking a half step back, Gionove realized he did not recognize any of these people. Not the girl in the red peering at him curiously, not the short-fuse of a military man, nor the man in the suit holding a gun to his chest, not even the final woman whose dress he admired most, holding what appeared to be a small cannon at his face.
“Surely I’m not being…mugged,” Gionove choked out after a minute of staring silently. “This stuff isn’t worth anything, I made it myself…I’ve got very little in my wallet…” He started to reach for it, and the man in the suit fired just shy of his wrist when he made a move for his pocket.
Gionove loved theater, the limelight and the act, but as his face twisted into a pained grimace, he began to realize he had no idea how to act in the real world. Frozen into place, he looked between the four again.
The military man lowered his blade in the slightest. The others followed suit. Who was obviously the leader stepped a few paces closer, threw a narrow glare at the man wielding a smoking gun, and then cleared his throat. “Gionove, we are not from this time. However, we would greatly appreciate it if you were to join us in our return home.”
Gionove uttered a laugh simply out of reaction. In reality, the adrenaline pouring into his blood was screaming for him to run the other way. His muscles began to ache when panic suddenly flashed to life in his eyes. Not only were these people muggers, they were positively insane. He began to wonder why no one had stopped to help him, when he then realized the passers-by might think it just an act. They were only standing feet away from the theater entrance after all.
Then there was a bang and a flash and a whole hell of a lot of smoke, and Gionove’s senses were lost behind a veil of blackness. The woman closest to him knelt to catch his unconscious figure before he completely crumpled. She barked a cry of, “What? Did you want to tell him he’s the leader of the free world as we know it and he’s got no choice?” and tossed her used weapon aside.
The men exchanged skeptical glances while the woman behind them shrugged. In a high voice she concluded, “At least we found him alive. Now getting him home and explaining ourselves to the officials…that’s going to be a whole ‘nother thing.”
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