[A dusty, murky looking room, a piano, and Will.

The piano’s being played, if the sound is anything to go by, although it’s quite evidently not being played by Will, as he’s still a few steps away from the piano. Moving forward, he places his device down on the top of the piano.

There’s a flicker of fascination — amusement, genuine — and for a moment, Will looks every bit the teenager he is. His lips quirk upwards, and he seems to have forgotten that his communicator is on, let alone recording. Fingers, slender and scarred, hover inches above the keys, and his expression shifts to something more contemplative, although the entertainment is still there. After a moment, he drops his hand, the sound from the sudden action ringing out and clashing with the melodic tune that had been playing previously. The former stops abruptly, and is followed by the sound of a slamming door.

Will laughs, and his attention returns to his device. Sitting down on the stool in front of the piano, he gaze briefly darts between the keys and the device. Letting out a breath, the smile (smirk) returns, and he lifts his chin.]

Unfortunately, I only know to how play the simplest of tunes. [Pointedly, he starts playing what sounds to be a nursery rhyme. Whether or not he does know how to play anything more, it’s not clear.] Perhaps I should ask our mystery guest for an encore.

[He falls quiet for a moment, studying his now dusty and dirty fingers for a moment before wiping them against his trousers.]

I don’t suppose anyone else has come across strange and unusual buildings and rooms that almost certainly weren’t there before? I’d dread to think that I’m imagining things and that rather than having just delighted you all with a stunning piano solo, I’m walking alone around the city, talking absolute nonsense to thin air.

[Will is in Xanadu, and currently lazing about beneath a tree, an apple in hand — green, for the record, rather than gold. He looks, it has to be said, exceptionally comfortable and contented.

He's also full of complete and utter crap.]

When I awoke this morning, I had the strongest urge to travel to the north, perhaps to the coast, or at least to a cliff. There, I imagined I would face a dragon with a hundred heads, and an array of beautiful, young women, dancing and singing.

Alas, nothing went quite as I expected — although I dare say that viewed from the right angle and considering his temper, the gentleman — in as much as he can be considered as such; I consider the description to be erring on the side of exceptional kindness — I happened upon could very well be viewed as in the same mould. Of course, perhaps if I hadn’t got lost it would have been a different story entirely — he might have still been sleeping. And I’d hardly describe the women, pretty as they were, as nymphs.

But then, as I recall, disappointment did nothing but await him, either. [A beat, and Will eyes the apple in his hand for a moment.] Or a sense of futility, at any rate. Fortunately, I suppose, Athena’s yet to make any claim on the apples, and I can continue feeling both like Hercules and Eurystheus.

—I suppose it’s a curse, and I can’t say I have any intention of complaining. I could have felt a burning desire to clean stables.

(ooc: anyone’s free to assume that Will nicked the apples from them, or come across him in the park or. anything.)

[When the video first clicks on, all that's visible is Will's face and the top of his shoulders. The feed shifts slightly, and from the angle it's being held at, it would be reasonable to assume he's led down, and even more reasonable -- from the slight squint and the admittedly somewhat dirty red bricks visible in one corner of the screen -- to think that he's outside and on a wall. After a moment, he appears satisfied that the device is, in fact, turned on, and places it somewhat clumsily behind his head, slightly further along the wall.]

I assume if this were normal, it would have been mentioned somewhere in between the rampaging wooden animals and the impromptu, temporary marriages ― perhaps just after cats, but before the clones. I shan't complain, though I feel as if I ought to be speaking of― [he pauses for a moment, waving a hand vaguely and briefly adopting something approaching a passable West Country accent] ―thic faraway lands, visited only by a daring, and arguably foolish, few on gurt maggoty ships.

[He sits up suddenly, and turns round to study his device; he looks cheerful, albeit slightly grubby and fairly nonplussed by the situation as a whole, although it soon fades into poorly concealed irritation.]

Perhaps Bristol's only up the road, or Teignmouth to the west and Torquay just below that. I suppose we shan't ever know; in a few hours more, we'll be somewhere and somewhen else entirely, taking part in a wholly ridiculous scavenger hunt. Why would it be as simple as playing along in what amounts to a bastardised children's game?

[There’s a teenager!

He’s wet, in something of a ‘I’m going to ignore how much of a drowned rat I appear’ way. One might assume that he fell into the fountain at some point, but equally, the all-encompassing wetness may have something to do with the fact that he was just in England, aka the land of copious amounts of tea-and-rain. His expression, for the record, reflects his irritation at being displaced without warning, frustration from trying to get whatever this might be to work (he's not entirely convinced it is), and curiosity. You know, at the whole ‘suddenly displaced, this isn’t London’ thing. It’s hard not to wonder about something like that.

When he finally speaks, he sounds Remarkably British, although his accent is rather indistinct for the most part – southern, one might assume, well-brought up, although there’s a slight hint of Welsh. No, he doesn’t do anything untoward with sheep. London doesn't have sheep.]

Normally, one only has to ask for my company to be granted with it. [This? This would be the unmistakable tone of `GRUMPINESS`.] I do try to make myself available for all, but it can’t be helped if someone misses out here and there. Kidnapping tends not to be the answer, though. If I said I was impressed, I’d sadly be lying, but if it makes you feel any better, you can pretend I’m of that opinion regardless. Likewise, I think you’ll find you’ve managed to overshoot ‘mysterious’.

[There’s a pause, and for a moment, there’s a flash of wry amusement in his expression, as if this entire scenario is utterly ridiculous to the point of absurdity.] “I wonder if I've been changed in the night? Was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is 'Who in the world am I?'” I hope you won’t mind if I happen to refuse any bottles labelled ‘drink me’, or any foods labelled ‘eat me’. I’m quite content with who I am and don’t envision any existential crises a la dear Alice.

I won't decline any explanations, though, even if they happen to come from hatters and caterpillars and assorted small mammals with a fondness for tea and an inability to correctly tell the time.

[There’s another pause, and after he glances away from the device and up at the sky, he shoves the device into a pocket – without, for the record, bothering to turn it off, so have fun with the sound of footsteps and the wonderful blackness of pockets until the device times out.]