Mashup #15

Two Orsons, Two Portals, and a Psychic

Everyone just wants to go home.

Orson was watching a Blue Jay’s game on TV when a trans-dimensional portal suddenly opened in his ceiling. The edges shimmered briefly before the whole thing turned a deep magenta and a man fell through into the living room. The portal belched out an expensive-looking briefcase before it sealed itself like a zipper and disappeared.

The man groaned and sat up, rubbing a lump blooming on his head. “Marinda, my dear, could you pour me a Scotch? I’ve had the most awful day at work.”

Orson just gaped at the man who had appeared uninvited in his house. The silence went on long enough that the man on the floor looked around and spotted Orson.

He jumped a little. “You’re not my wife!” The man squinted. “You’re not my son either!”

Orson said nothing. He was speechless. He was staring at an exact replica of himself. The other man was identical in every way except for the clothes he was wearing. Blue Jays-watching Orson had on gray sweatpants and newly-arrived Orson was wearing an immaculate Italian suit.

Sweatpants Orson finally managed to get some words out: “Who — who are you….? And why do you look like me?”

Italian suit Orson blinked at him. “Is that a joke? I’m Orson, of course. I’m clearly you from a different Universe. The portal that was supposed to take me home after work, made a mistake and sent me here instead!”

Sweatpants Orson took a moment to absorb this information. Italian suit Orson seemed peeved, as if this was a minor inconvenience rather than an event that had completely altered his understanding of Life and the Universe.

Sweatpants Orson rallied himself. He knew an opportunity for adventure when he saw one. “Okay then!” He said, trying to sound like he had a handle on things. This was his Universe, after all. “How do we get you home to your wife and son?”

Italian suit Orson sighed. Of course, he had ended up in a Universe that was not as advanced as his own. “It should be simple enough” he said, “we just need a Spellcaster who can open another trans-dimensional portal and send me back home. Who’s the closest?”

Well, this was really a predicament, thought Sweatpants Orson. He reluctantly told Italian suit Orson that he didn’t know anyone capable of opening up a trans-dimensional portal and that, that wasn’t really a thing in this Universe.

“What do you mean ‘it’s not a thing!?’” Italian suit Orson was beginning to look worried. “Well, can we find a sorcerer then? A mage? A witch? A wizard? A magician? Anyone with magical capabilities?!?”

“Actually… magicians in this Universe, erm, they’re not magical, they mostly do sleight of hand and make balloon animals at kids’ birthday parties…”

“They… What?!”

“Yes,” confirmed Sweatpants Orson. “One came for my niece’s 6th birthday last year. He wasn’t half bad. He let the kids pet the rabbits after the show.”

Italian suit Orson just stared. What a strange, strange world he had landed in.

Sweatpants Orson, afraid he was missing his chance to be the hero of this adventure, suddenly had an idea: “I know! My sister knows a psychic! She visits her for readings at least once a month. Swears she’s the real deal. Maybe she’d be able to open a portal for you!”

30 minutes later, Orson and Orson stopped the car in front of a dry cleaner’s. After some confused wandering, they realized the psychic’s studio was up a staircase at the back of the building. They waded past a sea of other people’s shirts, and pants, and suits, then pushed through a jangly beaded curtain.

“Hello, fellow Earth travelers,” said an ethereal voice, “you’ve come to the right place to discover what the Divine Mysteries of the Universe have in store for you. Welcome to — OMG! TWINSIES!!!”

The voice broke character as the woman came into view of Orson and Orson and she clapped her hands together in delight. “I LOVE reading for TWINSIES!!”

The two Orsons took in the psychic’s child-like excitement, her fishnet stockings and her gaudy knee-length dress which appeared to be made from hundreds of sewn-together, non-matching socks. The ensemble was completed by oversized glasses with no glass in the frames. This did not look promising.

“Err, no…” Sweatpants Orson decided to attempt an explanation, “we’re not twins. He’s from a parallel Universe. We need you to open up a trans-dimensional portal so he can go home to his family.”

The psychic stepped closer to Italian suit Orson. She slid her glasses down her nose and peered at him over the empty frames. Then she came in close enough that she could sniff his neck and laid an elegant thumb against each one of his temples.

“Great Goddesses above” she whispered reverently, “You are a very long way from home, traveler.”

Italian suit Orson looked relieved by this pronouncement, if slightly uncomfortable to have such a strange woman so close to his jugular. “So, does that mean you can help?”

“Oh yes,” said the psychic. “But what you need is real Magic and one must be comfortable to call upon real Magic. Just let me get out of this ridiculous outfit.”

A moment later she was back in the room, dressed in a sparkling floor-length dress. The colours swirled and shifted as she moved. She carried a mug of steaming, aromatic tea with her. “This tea is a powerful universal teacher that will allow me to open a portal” she said, then turned towards Italian suit Orson. “I now need an item that anchors you to home, so we make sure the portal takes you to the right place.”

Italian suit Orson thought for a minute. “My briefcase anchors me to work, but I don’t really want to end up at the office,…how about my wedding band?”

“Perfect,” said the psychic. She walked around the room lighting candles as she finished the tea.

Sweatpants Orson was shocked to realize that she carried neither a lighter nor matches and yet the candle wicks obediently burst into flame as she glided past them. Real Magic! He thought excitedly.

When the psychic finished her tea, she took the wedding ring from Italian suit Orson. She sank into a poofy chair as her eyes glazed over and she began quietly muttering an otherworldly incantation.

Finally, she raised a finger and traced a circle in the air. A portal appeared, the edges gently shimmering just like the one that had appeared in Sweatpants Orson’s living room.

Italian suit Orson turned to Sweatpants Orson. “Well,” he said, “I guess this is it! Thank you for your help and um — I — um — I hope you have a nice life?”

“In this Universe, we hug!” said Sweatpants Orson, feeling surprisingly emotional considering he had only known this other-Universe version of himself for one day.

The two embraced awkwardly and then Italian suit Orson stepped through the portal and was gone.

Sweatpants Orson, now once again the only one in his Universe, returned home marveling about how little he knew. He wondered if maybe his sister was on to something with her frequent visits to the psychic. Perhaps it wasn’t a money-grab at all.

This story is a response to Jonathon Sawyer’s Monday Mashup 15. I’ve scored 13 points (yay me!).