Who Are You? (The ?Displaced? Story)

I looked around the room for a moment still confused as to how I had been pulled through a solid concrete wall. Had there been a door that was just very well hidden. A quick look around revealed no doors into the room from the direction I had entered.

“You’ll find no doorway. At least not one you can go through by yourself.” The mare stared into my eyes. “Know I believe you had some questions for me? Something about who we are and what we do?”

I nodded still looking around the room. After a few seconds I realized my rudeness and bowed my head in apology. “Sorry about that. Just getting used to this…” I paused looking for something not offensive to say. “New scenery I suppose. Where are we by the way. It’s always good to know the place a new culture calls home.” I reached for my notepad, but to no avail.

The mare whistled at me. ‘Amazing. You wouldn’t think that she’d be able to whistle.’ “Looking for this?” She held up my notepad for a second before tossing it my way.

I reached out to grab the object with my hands… ‘I suppose Hooves since I was a horse at the time.’ But failed to grab the object as it fell.

The mare laughed at me for a few seconds. “You could pick it up with your mouth…” She paused as if studying my response just as much as I was studying hers. Sigh, “Or you could reach out with the magic you’ve acquired.”

I looked at the mirror she held in front of me. I had a small horn protruding from the top of my skull. “I’m a Unicorn? Am I on some sort of hallucinogen right now? Cause none of this should be possible.”

She sighed, “Just think about reaching out for the pad like you would with hands. It might take a minute or two to get used to but you should have good control. And no we don’t drug people when we drag them in here. That’s a side effect that we haven’t decided to stop. Too many creatures freak out and do crazy things when dragged in here. The effect should wear off in a minute and you’ll be able to see clearly.

I did as instructed reaching out for my pad and pen. Surprisingly the horn lit up and brought the objects closer to me. I scooped them up and sat back down, flipping through my notepad until I got to a clean page. “Excuse me for my rudeness, but what should I call you? You never properly introduced yourself when we last met.”

She nodded. “Didn’t have a bunch of time to sit and talk that day. But you can call me Lyra, Lyra Heartstrings. And I know that sounds weird but it’s the name I prefer to go by.”

I wrote the name, date and ‘time I suppose since there was no clock’ down before stopping. “Ok. So I’d like to start off with just a few questions about your culture. Like what roles do you all play in society. More specifically you for the time being.”

Lyra nodded and looked around thoughtfully. “Well we do a lot of things. In terms like your thinking everybody can play any role in our society. Gender does not determine our authority over matters that we can control. In fact two of the more well known and more respected Displaced are actually female. But we also have males who do just as much of the heavy lifting to keep us going.” She paused. “But in terms of jobs we play all sorts of roles. Diplomats, Presidents, Generals. Any job you can think of at least one of of does currently and probably all of us have dabbled in the past.”

I scribbled furiously to try and get this all down. “Diplomats you say? I would have guessed some of you, but all of you?”

“Every single one of us has played the role of diplomat. We often still do.” Lyra paused before giving me a devilish grin. “We must when there are so many worlds in so many universes to make peace with.”

I stopped writing and read over what she had just said about ten times before looking up at her aghast. “What?”

“Oh right. The multiverse theory doesn’t really live in your universe does it?” She sighed. “My apologies I forgot not all of your species know that much about us or haven’t delved deep enough into the sciences to develop that theory.”

I was about to speak but Lyra cut me off.

“Basically the theory states there are an infinite number of timelines existing all at once. Each choice that is made spawns a new universe. The theory has some good points to it but doesn’t quite represent the actual state of things, for if that were true there would be millions of me’s walking around. And while that sounds like a fun time, that would me I’d no longer be a displaced, know would it?”

Scribbles looked at Lyra slightly confused. “What do you mean, not a displaced?”

She stared at him for a few seconds evaluating. “We are unique. Only one or two versions of a displaced exist at one given time. That is if they are true displaced.” Lyra paused for a moment. “Everybody is a displaced in some form of the word. If a version of you dies in one world, the remaining living versions are all displaced to that world. They no longer belong and thusly can travel independently to that world unless another of themselves has already gone to that world. This can lead to many disappearances and miraculous recovery from death.”

He nodded. “So that might explain why a few men went missing the other day. That’s quite intriguing.” The page filled with words and was flipped as new words were scribbled down. “Have you seen those people? I know a few families who would like to see their family members again.”

Lyra shook her head. “I’m not in charge of stuff like that. Other displaced might have found them and be getting ready to send them home after wiping their memories. We can’t have them knowing about other worlds. Too many times wars have started that people have waged through the pocket worlds.”

“Pocket worlds? Is that like the place we are right now? Are there more of them?” He stopped scribbling for a second. “And how many wars have been waged through them?”

Lyra sighed. “Too many wars have been fought through our worlds. Thousands on thousands of people slaughtered for no reason other than the greed of those who learned our secrets.” Her tone shifted as she began to smile. “But there are millions of pocket worlds that have not been touched by people like them. But the pocket worlds are near infinite as are the worlds we protect.”

“Protect? I thought you simply acted as diplomats between worlds, not as protectors. So like soldiers with guns and grenades and the like?” Scribbles flipped to another clean page.

Lyra nodded then shook her head. “The worlds I watch over, Yes. Other Displaced often times use the weapons of the time period in the world which they are protecting. Others simply enjoy bladed or blunt weapons that they will carry with them from world to world.”

Scribbles waited considering his words carefully. “When do you choose to protect these worlds? Is it just when you feel like it or is it like a full time job?”

Lyra smiled politely, taking this stallion’s ignorance in tow. “It’s more like a full time job. But instead of like 40 hour weeks we work more like a couple hundred hour weeks. Since time bends to our will in the pocket worlds we can choose to and often do slow time to mere nanoseconds pass outside as hours if not days pass in here. This can mean we get weeks off without trouble ever arising. But once something does happen we alpha strike it as hard as absolutely possible. Nothing escapes the wrath of a displaced and that is why you don’t get on the bad side of any one displaced.”

Scribbles face turned dark. Realizing what had just been said. “So are there Displaced more hostile and,” Gulp, “Willing to kill those who cross them?”

“Well most of us have been trained not to be so volatile towards those that cross us, but we do get our revenge on those who wrong us.” She paused. “Although we are slow to anger but very quick to act once you piss us off.”

“Is there a hierarchy to the displaced? Like a ranking system to determine who is the most respected and most important?” The notebook was nearing its final page that could be used for notes.

Noise alerted both present to the presence of another displaced. “General? That you?”

A flash of grey brown circled by at lightning speed leaving behind only a piece of paper. Lyra picked it up. “The General sends her regards.” The note was discarded along with any hope of Scribbles obtaining any information. “That was one of the most highly respected Displaced. The General as she is called to those who don’t know her is one of the most badass motherfuckers you will ever meet. Her revenge is swift and deadly. Pray to whatever god you believe in that you never cross her path if she’s pissed off. As for hierarchy, we do have one. Some of us judge it differently. Some races judge you by home much you can drink before passing out, others by the quality of warrior you are.”

Scribbles interrupted. “But what about the absolute leaders of the Displaced? Other Displaced judge you differently but what about those who are the beginning of the Displaced? Your leaders?”

Lyra grabbed the notebook in her magic. “You don’t have enough room left for this next conversation. I’d suggest bringing a couple of clean notebooks before you return.”

Scribbles grabbed his notebook and stood up. “How long has it been outside in my world?”

Lyra pushed him towards a door. “A minute or so has passed. I’ll meet you at the same spot tomorrow. Don’t be late, I hate people who are intentionally late.”