Starlights
Part One: The Crash
The camera swept smoothly across the backstage area of Shibuya's premier concert venue, following four young women in matching pastel outfits as they walked the audience through their pre-show routine.
Yuki Tanaka—stage name Star Rose, lead vocalist of the Starlights—gestured at something off-screen with the practiced ease of someone who'd done a thousand of these segments. Pink hair, pink costume, the kind of smile that launched merchandise empires.
'And this is where the magic happens,' she said, winking at the lens. 'Well—not that kind of magic. We save that for the stage.'
Mei Chen laughed beside her. Star Sapphire. Blue hair, blue costume, the group's dancer and resident hype woman. Behind them, Hana Ito—Star Emerald, green hair, the group's songwriter and voice of reason—was adjusting Rin Nakamura's bow. Rin was Star Citrine, youngest of the group, yellow and gold and perpetually bouncing with energy.
'Show them the costume room, Yuki,' Mei said. 'The fans love the costume room.'
'The fans love everything,' Yuki said. 'That's why they're the best fans in the—'
The air tore open.
It happened without warning—a vertical rip in reality, bleeding light so bright the camera auto-adjusted and failed. All four idols stumbled backward. The production assistant screamed.
Something large and flailing tumbled through the gap.
A middle-aged man in a stained tank top reading "FLORIDA: WHERE THE WEIRD COMES TO DIE" crashed directly onto Yuki Tanaka with a tremendous thud. A squirrel clung to his shoulder. A creature that looked like someone had glued an owl's head onto a bear cub landed beside them with a confused hoot.
The portal snapped shut with a sound like reality hiccupping.
Silence.
Oranges rolled across the floor. An umbrella had somehow gotten tangled in Mei's hair. Yuki groaned beneath a very confused-looking man who was squinting around like he'd just woken up from the world's strangest nap. A dented saxophone lay beside them, still faintly humming from the impact.
He sat up. Looked at the cameras. Looked at the costumes. Looked at the four girls in matching outfits staring at him with expressions ranging from terror to outrage to—in Rin's case—pure delight.
'Huh,' he said.
The squirrel chittered something that sounded almost like language.
'Yeah, I know,' Merle said. 'Wrong portal again.'
Part Two: Star Sapphire's New Favourite Person
Yuki's ankle was sprained. Not broken—they'd gotten lucky there—but definitely sprained. She sat on a costume trunk with an ice pack and a grimace that said she was already calculating how this would affect choreography.
'I still don't understand,' the production manager was saying, for the fifth time. 'Where did you come from?'
'New York,' Merle said. 'Before that, some kind of desert. Before that, Pensacola. It's been a weird couple weeks.'
'Pensacola is in Florida.'
'Yeah.'
'Florida is in America.'
'Last I checked.'
'You fell through a hole in the air.'
'That part's been happening more lately.' Merle scratched the owlbear cub behind one feathered ear. It hooted contentedly. 'I'm trying to figure out the pattern, but there doesn't seem to be one.'
The production manager looked at Yuki. Yuki looked at Mei. Mei was crouched beside the owlbear, making cooing sounds. Rin had joined her, practically vibrating with excitement. Hana stood apart, arms crossed, watching the stranger with quiet assessment.
'It's adorable,' Mei said. 'What's its name?'
'Doesn't have one yet. Found her a couple dimensions back.' Merle shrugged. 'She followed me through. Keeps happening.'
'Can I pet her?'
'Sure. She likes chin scratches.'
Hana picked up the saxophone, examining it. 'Do you play?'
'Nope.' Merle took it back. 'Just like it. Good weight.'
Mei scratched under the owlbear's beak. The creature made a sound like a purr crossed with a hoot and leaned into her hand.
'I love her,' Mei announced. 'I love her and I want twelve of her.'
'Can she do tricks?' Rin asked, eyes wide. 'Can she fly?'
'Mei. Rin.' Yuki's voice was strained. 'Focus. We have a concert in six hours and I can't walk.'
'We'll manage,' Hana said quietly. She was still watching Merle. 'We always do. But we should probably figure out what he is first.'
'He's a guy with a squirrel who fell out of a hole,' Mei said, not looking up from the owlbear. 'Weird, but not complicated.'
Hana's expression suggested she disagreed, but she let it drop.
'Right. Right.' Mei didn't stop petting the owlbear. 'We can adjust the choreography. Less footwork, more arm movements. You can sit for the slow songs.'
'I'm not performing sitting down.'
'Then we improvise.' Mei finally looked up, and her eyes landed on Merle. Something sparked behind them—the look of someone having an idea that was either brilliant or catastrophic. 'You said you've been to weird places, right?'
'A few.'
'Fought any monsters?'
'Couple.'
'How do you feel about stage lights?'
Merle considered the question like she'd asked about the weather. 'They're bright.'
'Perfect.' Mei stood up, clapping her hands together. 'Here's what we're going to do—'
'Mei,' Yuki interrupted. 'What are you planning?'
'He fell out of the sky during our documentary shoot. That's going viral regardless of what we do.' Mei's grin was the grin of someone who'd learned to weaponise chaos. 'So we lean into it. Mystery guest. Interdimensional collaborator. The fans will love it.'
'He's not a performer.'
'Neither was Hoozuki until we put him in a unitard and pointed him at the fog machines.' Mei waved a hand. 'It'll be fine. We've got six hours. How hard can it be?'
The production manager made a small, strangled sound.
Little Merle chittered something from his perch on Florida Man's shoulder.
'He says you're optimistic,' Merle translated. 'But in a nice way.'
Part Three: Rehearsal
The rehearsal hall was all mirrors and hardwood, the kind of space where every stumble echoed and every mistake had nowhere to hide.
Yuki sat against the wall with her ankle elevated, coaching the others through modified choreography. Hana moved through her positions with quiet precision. Rin kept sneaking glances at the owlbear in the corner. And Merle stood in the middle of the floor, looking utterly lost.
'Okay,' Mei said, demonstrating a step sequence. 'When the beat drops, you step left, then right, then—'
'I'm not doing that.'
'It's just walking with rhythm.'
'I don't have rhythm.'
Mei paused. Studied him. 'Okay. New plan. When the beat drops, you just... stand there. Look mysterious.'
'I can do that.'
'Can you flex?'
Merle considered this. Then flexed. It was the flex of someone who'd hauled gators and outrun pythons for most of his adult life—unselfconscious and surprisingly impressive.
Mei nodded slowly. 'That works. Do that. The fans will go insane.'
They ran through the sequence three more times. Merle hit his marks—mostly—and managed to look appropriately stoic while Mei danced circles around him. The owlbear sat at the edge of the room, watching with its head cocked like it was taking notes.
Little Merle chittered from atop a speaker.
'What's he saying?' Mei asked.
'Says you move well. Reminds him of a mongoose he knew once.'
'I... thank you?'
The air changed.
Florida Man felt it first—a pressure behind his eyes, a wrongness in the way the light hit the mirrors. He'd learned to recognise that feeling. Holes in the world. Things that didn't belong.
'Get down,' he said.
'What—'
The mirrors shattered.
Something came through—no, somethings. Creatures made of sound and static, humanoid shapes that flickered like broken television signals. They moved wrong, juddering through the air, and when they opened their mouths, a cacophony of distorted noise poured out.
Feedback Phantoms. Not that Merle knew the name. To him, they just looked like angry TV ghosts.
'Mei!' Yuki shouted from the wall, trying to stand on her bad ankle. 'Transform!'
Mei didn't hesitate. She reached for something at her throat—a pendant, crystal blue, catching light that had no business being there—and the air around her bent.
'Star Sapphire—Crystal Cascade!'
Light. Ribbons of blue energy. The kind of transformation sequence that took thirty seconds in an anime and happened in an eyeblink in real life. When it cleared, Mei stood in a different costume entirely—armoured, crystalline, radiating power that made the static creatures recoil.
Magical girl.
Merle looked at this. Looked at the monsters. Looked at the transformed idol with her glowing fists and determined expression.
'Huh,' he said. 'That's new.'
A Phantom lunged at him. He ducked, grabbed a microphone stand, and swung it like a bat. The creature shrieked—static feedback, painful and sharp—and flickered backward.
'Fire usually works,' he muttered to himself, scanning the room. No fire. Lots of electronics. Mirrors. Speakers.
Speakers.
'Hey,' he called to Mei. 'What kills these things?'
'Harmony!' she shouted back, blasting a Phantom with a beam of crystalline energy. 'Their sound is corrupted—pure tones disrupt them!'
'Pure tones.'
Merle thought about this. He thought about his cousin Darryl, who once cleared a bar in Tampa by singing karaoke for forty-five minutes straight. He thought about the emergency broadcast tone during hurricane season.
He grabbed a microphone. Found a speaker. Set the feedback to maximum.
The resulting shriek was the opposite of music—a single, piercing tone that made everyone in the room wince. The Phantoms didn't wince. They screamed. Their forms flickered wildly, destabilising, breaking apart.
'Now!' Merle shouted.
Mei understood. Her hands came together, crystal light building between them.
'Sapphire Harmony!'
The beam hit the destabilised Phantoms dead center. They dissolved—static to silence, chaos to calm. In seconds, the room was empty except for them, the owlbear, and a lot of broken glass.
Hana helped Rin up from where she'd ducked behind a speaker. The younger girl was shaking but unhurt.
Yuki limped toward them, one hand braced against the wall. 'What—how did you—'
'Feedback disrupts signals,' Merle said, setting down the microphone. 'Same principle as scaring manatees out of a boat motor. You just gotta find the right frequency.'
Mei stared at him. Her transformation faded, the crystal armour dissolving back into her normal stage costume. 'How did you know that would work?'
'Didn't. Just figured loud noises mess with most things.' He shrugged. 'Works on pythons. Works on my neighbor's dog. Figured it was worth a shot.'
'You fought shadow monsters with a guess?'
'Educated guess. There's a difference.'
The owlbear hooted and trotted over to nuzzle against Mei's leg. Little Merle scampered down from the speaker to reclaim his perch on Florida Man's shoulder.
'We need to talk,' Yuki said, her voice tight. 'About what just happened. About what you know.'
'Don't know much.' Merle shrugged. 'But I'm guessing those things weren't random.'
'No.' Mei's expression had gone serious. 'They were sent. I've seen that kind of corruption before.' She looked at Yuki. 'Discordia.'
The name landed like a weight.
'She's been quiet for weeks,' Yuki said.
'Maybe she was waiting.' Mei's hands clenched. 'The concert. Maximum audience. Maximum magical energy. If she's going to make a move—'
'Then we need to be ready.' Yuki took a breath. Steadied herself. 'Get the costumes. We're not cancelling. We're performing, and we're going to be ready for whatever she throws at us.'
'All four of us?' Rin asked quietly. She'd stopped bouncing. 'Against her?'
'All four of us,' Hana said. 'That's what we do.'
'And him?' Mei gestured at Merle.
Yuki looked at the man who'd fallen from the sky and fought monsters with a microphone and an understanding of hurricane-broadcast acoustics.
'He's coming too,' she said. 'Apparently.'
Merle nodded. 'Sure. Nothing else going on.'
Part Four: Discordia Rising
The venue was packed.
Ten thousand fans, glowsticks raised, voices rising in a pre-show chant that shook the walls. The Starlights had sold out Shibuya Stadium in twelve minutes. This was supposed to be their triumphant comeback concert—their first show since their rivals at Moonlight Prism had briefly overtaken them in the charts.
Backstage, chaos of a different kind.
Mei was reviewing the modified choreography with the backup dancers. Yuki was doing vocal warm-ups, testing her range, pretending her ankle wasn't throbbing. Hana sat in a corner, eyes closed, centering herself the way she always did before a show. Rin was pacing—too much energy, nowhere to put it. The owlbear had been tucked into a dressing room with a handler and what Merle had described as "enough snacks to keep her happy."
Merle stood near the stage entrance, watching the crowd through a gap in the curtain.
'That's a lot of people,' he said.
Little Merle chittered agreement.
'You'll be fine,' Mei said, appearing beside him. She'd transformed again—Star Sapphire in full regalia, glowing faintly with barely contained energy. 'Just hit your marks and look stoic. We'll handle the rest.'
'I'm not worried about the performance.'
'Then what?'
Merle nodded toward the crowd. 'Energy feels weird. Too much of something. Like the air before a hurricane.'
Mei went still. She'd felt it too—had been trying to convince herself it was just pre-show nerves. But if the stranger from another dimension could sense it...
'She's coming,' Mei said quietly. 'Isn't she?'
'Something is.'
The lights dimmed. The crowd roared. Music swelled from speakers the size of cars.
Time to perform.
The first three songs went flawlessly.
Yuki moved through the choreography like her ankle wasn't screaming, years of training overriding pain with precision. Mei hit every mark, every note, every pose. Hana's voice wove through the harmonies, steady and grounding. Rin sparkled at the edges, catching light and attention. The backup dancers flowed around them in waves of coordinated colour.
And Merle—Merle stood at the edge of the stage during the instrumental breaks, arms crossed, looking exactly as mysterious as Mei had hoped. The fans loved it. Social media was already exploding with theories about who he was, where he'd come from, whether this was an elaborate marketing stunt or something stranger.
The fourth song began. A ballad. Slower, more emotional. Yuki sat on a crystal throne that had risen from the stage—the modified choreography for her injury—while Mei moved through solo choreography around her.
The darkness at the back of the venue stirred.
Merle saw it first. A figure emerging from the shadows between speakers, moving against the flow of stage lights. Black costume. Dark hair. Eyes that reflected nothing.
Discordia.
She walked onto the stage like she belonged there. Like she'd always belonged there. The audience thought it was part of the show—cheered even, assuming this was a dramatic twist, a special guest, something exciting and new.
The music stopped.
Yuki's voice died in her throat. Mei froze mid-step. Hana moved instinctively to shield Rin, who had gone pale.
'Hello, girls,' Discordia said. Her voice carried without a microphone—dark magic weaving through the air, making the speakers hum with corrupted harmony. 'Miss me?'
'Akari,' Yuki whispered.
The name hit like a physical blow. The crowd murmured—Akari? Who's Akari? Wait, isn't that—
Discordia smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. 'Still using that name? I thought I left it behind with everything else you threw away.'
'We didn't throw you away.' Mei's hands were trembling, but her voice was steady. 'You left. You chose—'
'I chose nothing.' The smile vanished. 'You chose for me. The five of us were supposed to be the Starlights together. Then the label said four was better than five. Simpler. More marketable.' Her voice cracked, just slightly. 'And you agreed.'
Silence. Ten thousand people, utterly silent, watching a drama they didn't fully understand.
'We didn't know,' Yuki said. 'They told us you wanted to go solo. That you'd asked to leave—'
'They lied.' Discordia's hands clenched. Dark energy crackled around her fingers. 'And you believed them. Because it was easier. Because you didn't have to feel guilty if I chose to leave.'
'Akari—'
'Don't call me that!'
The scream rippled through the venue, and the energy around her exploded outward. Shadows surged from the stage, climbing the walls, consuming the lights. The audience screamed—real fear now, not excitement. The backup dancers fled.
The Starlights transformed—all four of them, crystals flaring in pink, blue, green, and gold. Mei stepped between Discordia and Yuki. Hana flanked her. Rin hung back, trembling but transformed.
'We don't have to do this,' Mei said. 'Whatever happened—whatever they told you—we can figure it out.'
'It's too late for that.' Discordia raised her hands. The shadows coalesced into something solid—creatures of pure corruption, crawling across the stage. 'I'm going to take everything from you. Your voices. Your fans. Your precious harmony.' Her eyes locked on Yuki. 'Starting with your star.'
She lunged.
Mei intercepted her, crystals clashing against shadows. The impact sent shockwaves across the stage. Discordia was stronger than she should have been—fed by months of resentment, of dark pacts, of power that came from destruction rather than creation.
Yuki tried to stand. Her ankle buckled. She went down hard.
'Yuki!' Mei shouted, distracted for just a moment—
Discordia hit her with a blast of pure darkness. Mei crashed into the lighting rig, sparks showering everywhere. Hana caught a glancing blow trying to cover her. Rin screamed. None of them got up.
'Now,' Discordia said, turning toward Yuki. 'Where were we?'
An umbrella bounced off her head.
She turned. Merle stood at the edge of the stage, Little Merle on his shoulder, dented saxophone in hand. The squirrel chittered something that sounded suspiciously like an insult.
'Hey,' Florida Man said. 'You're mad at the weather, not the hurricane.'
Discordia stared at him. 'Who in the hell are you?'
'Nobody. Just fell through a hole.' He stepped forward, casual as someone walking into a Waffle House at 3 AM. 'You're the one who got kicked out of the band, right? The girl they keep talking about?'
'I'm Discordia. I'm the—'
'Yeah, no, I got the villain speech. Very good. Here's the thing.' He kept walking toward her, saxophone dangling from one hand. 'I met a sea witch last week. Before that, a cannibal cult. Both of them had the same look you've got right now. All that power, all that anger, and none of it making you feel any better.'
'You don't know anything about me.'
'I know you're up here fighting instead of playing.' He shrugged. 'My cousin Darryl did the same thing when his band broke up. Spent six months being mad at everyone. Then he started a solo project and it was terrible, but at least he was making music again.'
'This isn't about music—'
'Sure it is.' Merle stopped a few feet from her. The shadows swirled around him, but he didn't flinch. 'You're wearing the costume. You've got the powers. You showed up at a concert.' He tilted his head. 'What'd you really want out of tonight?'
Discordia's face contorted. 'I wanted to destroy them—'
'No you didn't.'
The words hung in the air.
'You wanted them to see you,' Merle said quietly. 'Wanted them to know what they threw away. That's not destruction. That's just being real lonely.'
Something in Discordia's expression cracked. Just for a moment. Just enough.
'You don't—' Her voice wavered. 'You don't understand—'
'Probably not.' Merle glanced back at where Mei was stirring, at where Hana was helping Rin sit up, at where Yuki was watching with wide eyes. 'But I know what it looks like when someone's too angry to ask for what they actually need.'
The shadows around Discordia flickered. Destabilised.
'They left me,' she whispered. 'They left me and they didn't even fight for me—'
'Then fight now.' Merle jerked his head toward the audience—ten thousand people, cowering but still watching. 'You've got all these folks here. A stage. Powers that apparently work on sound.' He raised an eyebrow. 'Seems like a waste to just blow everything up.'
Discordia stared at him.
Mei had gotten to her feet, clutching the lighting rig for support. Her transformation had faded. Just a girl in a torn costume, watching her former friend with something that might have been hope.
'Akari,' she said softly. 'He's right. We didn't know. We didn't know what they did to you.'
'I don't—' Discordia's voice broke. 'I can't just—'
'Yeah, you can.' Mei took a limping step toward her. Then another. 'Remember our first song? The one we wrote together, before any of this? Before the labels and the marketing and the—' She gestured at everything. 'All the bullshit?'
'Crystal Darkness,' Discordia whispered. 'We were going to call the group that. Before they said it was too edgy.'
'They said a lot of things.' Mei reached her. Extended a hand. 'Doesn't mean they were right.'
Silence.
Discordia looked at the hand. At the audience. At the stranger from another dimension who'd talked her down with a dented saxophone and a comparison to his cousin Darryl.
She took Mei's hand.
Part Five: Crystal Darkness
The transformation happened slowly.
Discordia's costume rippled, dark edges bleeding into something more vibrant. Not the pure shadow of a villain—not the pastel brightness of the Starlights—but something in between. Purple and silver. Midnight and moonlight.
Star Eclipse.
Yuki had been helped to her feet by a stage manager who'd crept back when the fighting stopped. She looked at Akari—really looked at her—for the first time in years.
'The five of us,' she said. 'That was always the plan.'
'The plan changed.' Akari's voice was hoarse. Tired. 'Everything changed.'
'So we change it back.' Hana had limped over, one arm around Rin. 'We should have fought for you. We didn't. But we can fight with you now.'
Merle had wandered to the side of the stage, where his owlbear had somehow escaped her dressing room and was hooting at the chaos with apparent approval. Little Merle sat on his shoulder, grooming himself with the air of a squirrel who'd seen everything and found it adequately interesting.
The crowd was still there. Confused, scared, but not running. Ten thousand people waiting to see what happened next.
'We can't just—' Akari started.
'Crystal Darkness,' Mei interrupted. 'We still know the arrangement. You wrote the guitar part. Remember?'
'That was years ago.'
'So let's see if we still got it.'
She nodded at the sound technician, who was hiding behind his console and looked entirely too frightened to argue. Music started—hesitant at first, then building. A melody that walked the line between light and shadow.
Yuki took her position. Center stage, despite the ankle, despite everything. Mei flanked her on the right. Hana on the left.
Akari hesitated. Then took her old place—front left, where she'd always been, before.
Rin filled in the formation without being told. The youngest. The one who'd joined after Akari left. The one who'd never known what the group was supposed to be.
The song began.
It wasn't perfect. Akari's voice was rougher than it used to be—edges sharpened by years of anger. The choreography was improvised, five people trying to remember patterns that had been meant for four.
But there was something there. Something that made the audience stop cowering and start watching. Made them sway, then cheer, then raise their glowsticks in colours that hadn't existed a minute ago.
Merle watched from the wings. The owlbear hooted along with the beat.
'Huh,' he said.
Little Merle chittered.
'Yeah. Music's weird like that.'
The song built toward its climax. Five voices in harmony—light and dark and everything in between. Energy crackled across the stage, but not destructive this time. Creative. The kind of power that came from making something instead of breaking it.
The song peaked. Crashed. Resolved into perfect silence.
Ten thousand people erupted.
Epilogue
Backstage, the chaos had shifted from panicked to celebratory.
Mei was hugging Akari like she'd never let go. Rin had joined the pile, crying openly. Hana stood beside them, one hand on Akari's shoulder—quiet, steady, present. Yuki was finally sitting down, letting the medics look at her ankle, smiling through tears. The production manager was having what appeared to be a stress-induced religious experience.
Merle stood off to the side, the owlbear pressed against his leg. Little Merle chittered from his shoulder.
'So,' Mei said, finally extracting herself from the group hug. 'How do we get you home?'
'Usually just wait for the next hole.' Merle shrugged. 'They show up eventually.'
'That could take forever.' Mei looked at the others. 'We've got all this residual energy from the show. From—' She gestured at the five of them. 'From being back together. We could try to open something.'
'Can you do that?' Yuki asked.
'I have no idea.' Mei grinned. 'But we just reunited our long-lost fifth member through the power of rock-and-pop fusion. Seems like a good night for trying things.'
The five Starlights gathered in a loose circle, still in their transformed states. Akari hesitated.
'I don't know if my power still works the same way,' she said. 'It's been... different. Darker.'
'That's fine,' Hana said quietly. 'We need all of it. Light and dark.'
They joined hands. Energy began to build—pink and blue and green and gold, threaded through with purple and silver. The air hummed.
Merle watched. The owlbear hooted nervously.
'Think of Florida,' Mei said, eyes closed. 'Swamp. Heat. Sunshine. Weird stuff.'
'Gators,' Rin added helpfully.
'Hurricanes,' said Hana.
'That one guy who fought a bear with his bare hands,' Akari offered.
'That was actually me,' Merle said. 'Different bear, though.'
The energy peaked. The air tore—gently this time, like a curtain parting. A doorway shimmered into existence, edges rippling with all five colours.
Merle sniffed. Swamp. Salt. Humidity.
'That's Florida,' he said. 'Or close enough.'
'We can't be sure where exactly,' Yuki warned. 'It's... Florida-adjacent. Floridaish. The energy's pointing in the right direction, but—'
'Good enough.' Merle adjusted his hat—he'd taken it off a cultist in the Barrens, right after dropping the guy in a mine tunnel. Fit pretty well. The umbrella was from 1930s Manhattan. So was the saxophone. He'd been collecting things. 'I'll figure it out from there.'
Akari approached, still shaky, but steadier than she'd been. Her costume had settled into something that matched the Starlights without losing its edge. A compromise. A new beginning.
'Thank you,' she said. 'For—for talking instead of fighting. I don't know if I would have listened to anyone else.'
'You would've figured it out.' Merle shrugged. 'Eventually. The angry part never lasts forever. The lonely part does, unless you let someone help with it.'
She nodded slowly. 'Your cousin Darryl. He ever get his band back together?'
'Nah. Started a surf shop instead. Says he's happier now.' He glanced at the portal, then back at her. 'Music's good. But it's not the only thing.'
The owlbear was looking between Merle and Mei, hooting softly.
'She wants to stay,' Merle said. 'If you'll have her.'
Mei's face lit up. 'Really? You'd—yes. Yes, absolutely.' She crouched down to scratch under the owlbear's beak. 'I've got room. I've got so much room.'
The owlbear hooted once at Merle—farewell, or thanks, or something in between—then trotted over to press against Mei's side.
Little Merle chittered something smug.
'Yeah, yeah,' Florida Man said. 'We're going.'
He stepped through the portal.
The light swallowed him. For a moment, his silhouette hung in the doorway—saxophone in hand, umbrella under his arm, squirrel on shoulder, the outline of a man who'd fallen through the weird and never stopped moving.
Then he was gone.
The portal shimmered once and faded.
Mei stood in the silence, one hand on her new owlbear, the other still raised in a wave that had no one to catch it.
'Huh,' she said.
The owlbear hooted agreement.
The other side was Florida.
Sort of.
Florida Man stumbled through and caught himself on a table—plastic tablecloth, silk flowers in a vase, a basket of breadsticks. Around him: dim lighting, velvet curtains that had seen better decades, and the smell of reheated lasagna mixing with something older. Mothballs, maybe. Or formaldehyde.
A stage at the far end of the room. A performer in a sequined gown, mid-number, something old Hollywood and slightly too electric. A small band behind her—piano, upright bass, a drummer who might have been asleep. The crowd was a mix of blue-haired retirees, young couples on ironic dates, and a few figures in the corners who didn't quite look right when you caught them in your peripheral vision.
A cabaret. In Florida. The kind of place that was half dinner theater and half assisted living activity room, with a clientele that seemed to span about six different decades simultaneously. The bartender polished a glass with too many fingers. Nobody seemed to notice. Or maybe they just didn't mind.
Little Merle chittered nervously from his shoulder. The squirrel's fur was standing on end.
'Huh,' Florida Man said.
There was a drink in front of him. He didn't remember ordering it. He didn't remember sitting down. The ice wasn't melting.
On stage, the number ended. The performer's shadow settled into place a half-second after she stopped moving. Her eyes found his across the room.
She smiled.