"...Huh?"
Luke let out a confused moan as his eyes adjusted to the harsh white lighting of the main Wilko store, much sharper than the dim, calm ambience of the staff bathrooms. His head was still spinning but his headache had subsided- not completely, mind you, but enough to make a noticeable difference in his awareness of his surroundings. He blinked out the momentary drowsiness from his eyes and rubbed his eyelids, resulting in him yelping as he nicked his eyelid against one of his sharp nails.
F*ck, I swear I clipped them a couple days back, he thought to himself as he looked around. What the...?
Luke was, to say the least, baffled as he spun around and observed the environment around him. This...wasn't the staff bathrooms. From what he could tell he was on the kitchen aisle, judging by the assortment of stoves, toasters and the other usual appliances one would and could find in the usual English kitchen setup. A few bits and bobs were strewn around, as was usual after a normal day of eager customers with little care about replacing things they'd picked up, but a few things had been stacked up onto the floor, ready and waiting to be put back into their appropriate positions.
Does everything seem...taller? he mused to himself out of curiosity as he looked up at the seemingly higher shelves. No, Luke, don't be an idiot. Of course not.
He had to focus. How had he teleported all the way back into the store? His eyes trailed back to the little pile of appliances, still on the ground in what he thought was in a precarious spot.
"Whoever was cleaning up this sh*t is gonna get a mouthful from Donna," Luke snickered to himself as he crouched down to try and aid whoever'd been assigned to sort this crap out. As he reached out to pick up a stray rolling pin from there, he let out a squeak as his arm came into full view.
I say 'his' arm loosely, considering that it was really and truly not Luke's own.
This arm was smooth and shaven, with pale skin and little gumdrop freckles dotted around. This led to a hand, smoother than Luke's hands had ever been, and manicured so finely that Luke could practically see the glow radiating off the dainty digits. Talking about fingers, each of them led to a finely polished nail, each lacquered with a faint peach varnish and each sharpened into an almost triangular talon, only an inch or so, but still nonetheless not his at all. On the third finger, though, were two rings; one a simple golden band with tiny text etched into the side, and the other a silver ring, complete with a small but impressive diamond lodged into its centre.
He brought both hands up to his face in horror. The other was the same, albeit with a few more rings that seemed to be of less significant value than the first. "Sh*t, sh*t," Luke muttered to himself as he began to feel a few more things that felt out of place, namely a marked difference in his centre of balance concerning his chest.
With trepidation, he looked down. The blood drained from his face.
Around the store, a bloodcurdling scream echoed throughout the halls.
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