Who We Are

Clara shielded her eyes with her arm, the light blinding her, almost encompassing her. Then it was gone, as if it had never been. She glanced around her, only to find she was in the middle of nowhere, fenced in by forest, hemming her in. Before her was a river, with some sort of makeshift bridge stretching across it, Flynn on the other side, divided from her.

"It's the River of Time and the Loom of Fate!" he yelled at her, jabbing his finger at Dulaque who was poring over a tapestry on a nearby raised platform made of piled up logs, making Clara do a double-take.

"It's the dimension lag, dear one," Dulaque smiled over his shoulder at her, "slows the senses down." He turned back to the tapestry, pulling out his dagger again, deliberating where to strike.

"Clara, don't let him touch the fabric!" Flynn screamed, rushing forwards, moving as though in slow motion.

"I'm doing this for you, Clara," Dulaque said, raising the dagger, Clara unable to move, feeling as though she'd been turned to stone, "for when everything went wrong - when Camelot fell and I lost everything I ever loved." Without warning, he slashed the tapestry, releasing a wave of golden light that sent shockwaves through the atmosphere, the force knocking Clara and Flynn into the river, driving Dulaque to his knees.

Time seemed to wave and whirl around them, rewriting reality, the world becoming a blank slate. When Clara opened her eyes, it was only to find herself dry and on dry land, the river nowhere to be seen, the memory fading into forever. Head spinning, she stood up, only for someone to collide smack bang into her, knocking her down again. Feeling like she'd been brained by a brick, she staggered to her feet, using an obliging tree as support.

"You oaf!" she snapped at the someone, only to do another double-take at seeing it was Flynn who was lying at her feet. Yet at the same time, it wasn't Flynn, the effect making Clara go cross-eyed slightly. The Flynn who wasn't Flynn groaned, Clara rolling him onto his back, so she could get a better look at him. She stooped down, brow furrowing, not understanding except that Flynn didn't wear spectacles, nor would he be caught dead in that shirt, some boring beige affair teamed with the type of jacket she'd only ever seen geography teachers wear.

"Whoarthyou?" he said blearily, Clara noticing with some shock his extreme side parting, something Flynn had always sneered at in other males not fortunate enough to have his head of thick hair.

"When did you have a receding hairline?" Clara said, bewildered. "And are you wearing jeans?" she asked, appalled.

Before Flynn could answer her, Jacob came stalking out of the trees, brandishing an AK-47. "Hands on your head!" he ordered in some incomprehensible accent, making Clara do yet another double-take.

"Jake!?" she squeaked, taking a step back.

"Hands on your head now!" Jacob bellowed, finger curling round the trigger, forcing Flynn to his feet.

Clara grabbed her head, Flynn doing the same, only facing the other way from her.

"Turn around!" Jacob snapped.

Flynn faced the opposite direction, Clara doing the same.

"Turn around!" Jacob spat in Flynn's face, forcing him in the same direction as Clara. "Now move!" he said, kicking Flynn up the backside, sending him stumbling forwards.

"Hey!" Clara snapped over her shoulder at Jacob. "Keep your feet off my property!"

"Excuse me!?" Flynn gasped, outrageously offended.

"Drop the maiden aunt routine," Clara said, rolling her eyes, "you're not fooling anyone, and that applies to your dodgy accent as well," she flung at Jacob, who just ignored her, kicking Flynn up the backside again.

"What did I say about feet and property!?" Clara repeated, beginning to lose her temper. She didn't know what the hell was happening, but it didn't give Jacob the excuse to indulge in some arse-kicking.

"I'm not with her by the way," Flynn said to Jacob who just ignored him as well, "just so you know."

"What!?" Clara said in disbelief. "I am with you!"

"I don't think so," Flynn said primly, edging away from her.

"We're together," Clara said, panicking now, something about his side parting starting to unsettle her, "like baked beans and toast together!"

"Who are you?" Flynn asked again, looking at her like she was mad.

Don't lose who you are in the blur of the stars
Seeing is deceiving, dreaming is believing...