Very plain, and insincere. A man of high fashion stumbles upon the cobble stone walkway only to be caught by a foreign hand. His eyes take in the odd fabric of his pants, and the vibrant design of his blouse. The foreigner releases him, and bows slightly, continuing on his way, leaving behind yet another confused memory.

The man fixes his top hat, before deciding that his prior meeting has lost its importance. He follows this foreigner. This man far out of place, who has capture his interest with his odd choice of clothing. Where are his boots? Isn’t he cold without his coat? Has his misplaced his tie? What happened to his hair to become in such condition? He must not pay attention to the fashion of the day, because he is cleanly shaved.

He quickened his steps as the man did. Man? Now that he thinks of it, the man seems too young to be, well, a man. He seems more like a boy taking his first steps into adulthood. His confusion grows as the stranger pulls something oddly light coloured out of his pocket, its face illuminated. He curses in a tongue he has never heard in all his years of travel, and turns quickly down what he knows to be a dead end alley.

He slides to a stop, roughly, on the cobble stones. His eyes find no stranger. No trace of the stranger. The high wall that no man could physically cross is unwavering, unanswering. The only thing left in the desolate alley is a small puff of quickly fading smoke. Where has the stranger gone? Will he return?

Miles, miles, miles away, the stranger falls head first into a pile of hay. A flurry of curses leave his lips as he sits properly, picking the hay from his hair. All the air in his lungs leave as footsteps make sound outside the barn's doors.

It's night time. Who's awake at this time? The door opens softly, quietly, but not timidly. Clothes are thrown hastily to him.

"It shouldn't be my job to make sure you're safe. You were almost caught. Watch yourself." The tall man turns uncharacteristically sloppy in his farm boots. His words leave lasting impression on the stranger, as he pulls on his new overalls.

Farm life is a rough life.

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Eight months ago, I typed this forward up. I went back looking for inspiration for another Exo fiction, and there it was. Without a pairing, or a name for any character. I typed this after a dream, and watching the movie Jumper. The title's from the film, the inspiration is from my dream. There's probably grammatical errors, and I apologize.