He stumbles between worlds like a drunk on a Friday, a little sloppy with it. He drags one hand between the stardust space of Limbo and doesn't bother to look at the metaphoric walls he bumps into.

There's a split of a second when he's two places at once, a veritable Cheshire cat in a dark coat, and then he lands gracelessly in a dingy alleyway. The angry void of the Fade closes behind him, and it's over. He's stuck. It's a good thing that's what he wants to be.

There's the ping of a new quest alert and he groans loudly. He'd been hoping that a new world meant new rules, and that he might finally be rid of the annoying things. He swats it out of the air and watches it settle into his "journal". In the gloom of what appears to be dusk, the floating letters and symbols stand out brightly. His health he notices took a beating somewhere between nowhere and wherever he is now.

He shuffles a little closer to the street connected to the alleyway and peers at the abandoned storefronts. It looks foreign, too straight and clear cut, walls an off white plaster that looks too evenly mixed for what he is used to. There's advertisements plastered along the windows in garish colours, and the sign itself is lit as if with some sort of veilfire. "Maddie's Boutique" blazes across the top of the building.

The road itself is smooth and black, with weird painted lines chipped in places. Tall lamps bracket the street, leaving very little to shadow.

He casts a quick eye over the wares in the store's window, stops at a strangely carved mannequin with rather outlandish fashion draped over it, and then ruefully peers down at his own leather and dragon bone armour.

Not very subtle, if the store is any indication of the current fashion trends. He eyes the bright and thin fabric in the store one more time before starting a quick examination of the surrounding buildings. There's what appears to be an eating establishment of some kind, with the face of a woman as its crest, a store proclaiming to hold "everything under a dollar" whatever that means, and a few more clothing stores.

No blacksmiths.

He sighs a little to himself, takes a self deprecating glance at his missing arm, and crosses the street. Up close the bright fabric is highlighted by small floating letters proclaiming it to be "50's style dress. Plus 5 stealth, plus 10 charm."

His eyebrows flick up a little, and then he quickly reaches out and taps the glowing mark of his journal. Sure enough, there's an updated page with stats, stealth and charm included. The new stats seem to be equal across the board, three's for every one of them, but there's the blinking notification that he has twelve points to spend. He looks at the list of odd characteristics before closing the journal and looking back towards the dress.

Well, might as well get something good out of his skinny frame. He does some quick mental math before taking a deep breath. Fade stepping in a place without the Fade is tricky, not only because technically magic shouldn't work separated from it, but it requires only some mental prodding to phase through the glass panes and on the other side of the store.

He casts a curious eye on the interior, but doesn't waste any time outside of what is lost struggling with the mannequin and its burden. The garment seems to be clasped by a strange mechanism of metal teeth closed in the back, but it's intuitive to pull the hanging tab down, freeing the locking teeth. He plays with pulling it up and down a few times before sanity reinsert itself.

A quick switch in his inventory and he's wearing the flimsy fabric. Combined with his dusty boots and dark under leather tights, it's actually rather comfortable. The cut is probably made for someone with more of a chest then he has, but the way the sleeves pull at his shoulders make it a negligible fact.

He twirls in front of the polished mirror next to the door and nods. Perfect.

Before he Fade steps back into the street, he leaves a few gold coins on the wooden counter and hopes gold is actually worth something in this reality.

Back in the street the night air is a lot colder without his armour as a buffer and he rubs at the exposed stump of his arm as he thinks about his next move. He should find some shelter first, which will be difficult in a city so far removed from what he is used to. Still, certain skills are transferable wherever he lands himself, and it only takes a quick glace at his map to find what he's looking for.

A few streets away there's a large swath of green land, what appears to be a park for the more well to do residents. The trees are sparse, but they are there, which is all he needs really.

The walk takes a few minutes, and he doesn't come across anyone else in that time. He knows there are people, sees it in the restless shadows on doorsteps and the closed curtains of the few houses that pepper the stores and restaurants. He's not sure if the lack of traffic is normal for this time of the night, or if there's a reason behind it, but it's convenient for him.

He arrives at the park and scales the fence rather quickly, only slightly slower with the one arm then when he had both of them. It took him some time to adjust, but he has the advantage of a body used to change.

He lands with a thump, ignores the notification of -1 damage, and strides towards the middle of the park. There's stone paths' winding around, with shrubs and stone benches bracketing them every once and a while. There's a small pond with large birds floating languidly in its depths.

When he get's to where he figures the centre is, based more on instinct then his map, he scales the tallest tree he finds and settles himself on one of the upper branches. The weather is colder then he is used to without a tent, having not slept rough like this in anything but the temperate forests of his youth, but bracketed by the thick leaves its not too bad.

It's certainly enough for a night, before he finds more permanent lodgings. He's not quite sure how he is going to figure that one out, but he's not too worried. He never is.

He reaches into his inventory and takes out an oiled coat and a Nug fur bundle. The fur goes under his head and the coat goes over his chilled body, and it only takes a few slow blinks before he succumbs to sleep.

"Who uses magic to steal from a second rate thrift shop?" Fury asks, rubbing his remaining eye. There's tension in his shoulder that comes from micromanaging the type of idiots who bring petty thievery to his desk.

"Sir!" One of the agents says, before slipping a tablet set to a surveillance video loop across the table. The image is grainy and indistinct, but it clearly picks up a man in renfair armour appearing in an alley and then phasing through a rundown storefront to steal a lime green dress. Fury sighs.

"One of Thors?" He asks tiredly. He already knows the answer before the agent starts shaking their head.

"The analysis doesn't think the armour matches those showcased by Asgardians. Nor is his build similar to those that we've seen. The magic could be of the same type as Loki's, but there's no way to tell with such subpar video." They say. Fury stares at the blank expression of the agent until nervousness creeps into their posture.

"Well? What are you doing here then? Get some agents on the ground and figure out what's going on." He says finally, making the agent jump.

"Sir!" They salute, quickly exiting the room with the sort of gait that tries to showcase how much they very much aren't running.

Fury snorts. He glances at the still playing video before shoving the tablet under another pile of paperwork and mentally washing his hands of it. That's what delegation is for after all, and a small time sorcerer is the last thing on his mind when he's got clean up to do from an alien invasion. He's got bigger fish to fry.