The Time Hopper

A Demonic Angel

This was not good. This was very, very not good. Quite possibly the most not good situation I had gotten myself into since... well, since yesterday, when I had accidently convinced an entire medieval town in England that I was a witch. They had tried to burn me at the stake, I had pulled a patented Sadie move and managed to escape, but in doing so had accidently travelled to the mid eighteenth century in England, when the Suffragette movement was in full swing. Given I had been dressed in modern clothes, and hadn't hesitated to cuss a man out when he called me a prostitute, I had landed myself in jail.

Eh, wasn't the first time, and almost definitely wouldn't be the last. I had curled up on the thin, uncomfortable bunk and easily fallen asleep, figuring I may as well catch up on some sleep while I was here. Now, though, I was awake, and I was getting bored. Time for a jail break, me thinks. Outside the bars of the cell, I could see an empty warden's desk, with my satchel sat upon it, and with it, my notebook. Ugh. Luckily I had long since begun to recognise the pattern of guards unwittingly taking away my main means of escape as soon as I was arrested, and I had devised a strategy to counter it. That is, hiding some lock picks in my clothes and teaching myself how to use them in what had been an extreme display of dedication and focus from me.

Welp, gotta make hay while the sun shines. Or, more aptly, got to break out of jail while the guard's away. I knelt on the dirty floor and delved into the folds of my top to retrieve the little leather pouch from a hidden pocket, carefully pulling out the right pick and lever and inserting them into the squeaky lock. I hated picking locks. It wasn't half as easy as it seemed, and it took so long I always got bored half way through and so my mind would start wandering and thinking about other escape plans that would involve more screaming and explosions and excitement-

And now I'm doing it again. With a sigh, I refocused, finally feeling it catch. That was enough to hold my interest until I heard the lock pop open. At the same time, I heard the jail door open and the heavy footsteps of the guard approaching. The familiar exhilarating adrenaline rush coursed through my veins as I yanked open the door and raced for the desk and my things. Could I have waited for him to come and go again? Yes. Should I have done that? Definitely. Did I love the thrill of a chase and the drama too much to be sensible? Absolutely.

I heard him yell as I dived for the brown leather satchel, delving into it and yanking out my notebook. It was full of creamy pages, some of them noted to indicate what times and places were a good or bad place for me, and bound with scuffed blue leather. I didn't have time to peruse and pick out where I wanted to go, and going home seemed too boring, so I flicked it open to a random page and turned to face the guard, my hand on the smooth paper ready. He had been charging towards me, but at the sight of me standing so confidently, holding a book of all things, made him slow to a stop.

"No one will believe you." I told him, in what was, admittedly, a bitch move, and then I travelled. My eyes closed against the screaming winds that enveloped me for a few seconds as I went to wherever it was I was going. The dark, humid, stinking air of the prison was whipped away to be replaced with crisp, fresh air, that smelled like wet grass and mud. I felt clouded sun light on my face and opened my eyes, letting out a little scream as I started to fall. I wasn't far off the ground; four feet, if I had to guess, but it was always a little unnerving to travel into thin air. I fell onto my side with a low yelp, sending my things spilling out of my satchel and into the mud around me.

"Aw, shit." I complained, rolling over and sitting up. My clothes, which had already been a bit tatty cos I hadn't been home in a while, were now caked with mud. I was more worried about my things, though. I had a right mix in my satchel, from my book and a phone I could use in modern times, to keys for boxes through time that held dozens of different types of currency and some papers I had gotten along the way, including a betrothal agreement with some king or the other of France. Don't ask. It had been just after I had discovered alcohol, so I don't know how it happened. I more kept the papers in the hopes I would one day remember. I bet there was a great story in it. I began to crawl around, gathering everything back up and shoving it randomly into the satchel, until I realised that there was a pair of boots that definitely weren't mine. Slowly, frozen in place, I looked up, my eyes trailing up the onlooker's body until I caught his eye and offered him a smile.