by Prometheus
The cool Caribbean breeze whipped at the edge of the gray robes, passing as it did so carelessly along his smooth, bald features. The tips of his toes gripped the edges of the paper-thin palm leaf, his full weight balancing in a crouch as if a cloud, or mirage. The slender foliage, high atop one of the many palms lining the perimeter of the dormant giant behind him, swayed to and fro against the oceanic burst as the man crouched atop it, swaying in unison, as if part of the plant himself.
Concentrated eyes, pinpricks of neo-purple biting at the harsh glow of the sun, surveyed the landscape carefully. Lush green fields, small villages of old architecture dotting his immediate surroundings, and a booming city far off in the hazy distance. Bold waves crashed along beaches as far as his eyes could see.
And with his eyes, that was more than a stone's throw.
"Daylight..." he muttered to himself, as if trying to make sure he knew the proper definition. "Water... sand... the ocean!"
He suddenly sprang up into a full stance, the tree never noticing. His expression softened a bit as a calm began washing over him.
"The ocean. Waves. No horizon," he mumbled to himself. "...An... island?"
Upon this personal revelation, he casually kicked a small coconut nestled under his current perch. The coconut launched into the air from impact, but, suprisingly enough, stopped only a few inches from the tree, hovering with a spin.
Like casually stepping onto an escalator, he balanced the tips of one foot and stepped off onto the still-spinning orb, his hands tucked tightly behind his back the entire time. The other leg tucked under him, he continued to survey his surroundings, even as he walked the coconut -- his toes crawling over the rotating surface -- slowly to the ground.
This was, to him, as irrelevant as a sneeze. As if he had simply walked down a flight of stairs, he stood on the hot rocks at the base of the volcano, staring off into the ocean. Never looking down, he merely stretched forth a single hand, the coconut leaping up into his grasp.
"Thanks... go home..." he breathed, still searching the land around him. At his words, the coconut flew straight back up into its original spot on the palm tree, impossibly reattaching itself, or, more to the point, the tree itself seemed to grab hold of the coconut, pulling it back into its warm embrace.
"An island..." he said again. His mind was a jumble. He knew who he was. He knew what he was. And, soon enough, he was beginning to understand where he was. The only real question was...
"Why?" he said aloud. The word almost roared from his lips. Not loudly, but with a force that seemed to be understood.
And the sandy beach began to pulse and move. Like an invisible hand scrawling over the dust, symbols and shapes began to form.
The MBL Consulting building, twenty-five miles away:
Naecken stood calmly staring out a large bay window, the bright day illuminating his expressionless features. He had been like this for ten minutes now, watching, listening, as if something had distracted his attention.
...why...
His head jerked into a cocked position, as the word rolled by eleven of his senses. A single eyebrow arched.
"Interesting..." he breathed.
The man studied the beach before him, reading nature's reply. Symbols older than the calendar sat etched with glaring precision. Numbers and letters, joining in impossible ways.
Turkish Stringfellow asked a question. Nature replied.
But it wasn't the answer he wanted. The beach merely told him of the wormhole that had appeared, how he had lay comatose for nearly ten minutes, how the ocean had attempted to wake him, how the breeze had cooled him, how the sun had warmed him. Nature did not know why he was there. It merely recognized him when he arrived.
"I see," he spoke. "Thank you."
And at his words, the breeze immediately cleared the beach back into its chaotic form.
Sighing very deeply, Turkish stood for a moment. "Okay, Turkish, old boy," he said quietly to himself, "let's see what the neighbors are like, then..."
And with that, hands tucked tightly beneath the folds of his robe, he began walking up the beach toward civilization.
Strangely enough, he left no footprints.