[ Wrapped in the darkened fabric of the cloak given to her by the Wakers, she stands on the shore with her toes in the sand — burying and unburying them, feeling the texture of it. It's so strange, this texture. Nina has known this, she thinks. Warm beaches, prickling-pleasant heat, cold drinks, and she bathes beneath the sun's rays. They are not hers, OA reminds herself. Not her memories, not her experiences. And even if she wears them on Nina's skin, the experiences of a life diverged from her own, even if OA commands her body, she will not spare Nina Azarova another thought.

The waves are dark and huge and ferocious. It's a wonder how she got to shore; something must have ensured her arrival. Maybe she willed it. She might not have willed herself here, but she willed herself to the safety of the beach, willed herself into being — to let her (Nina's) body reform itself.

And it's strange, the will, the need to be with Homer is... placated. OA isn't sure whether to be comforted by this knowledge or not, that things will be fine without her in that universe. She doesn't understand how she got here; the ocean brought her here, but there were no movements to send her. Nothing... makes sense.

She'll stand for a long time, just gazing out towards the horizon, watching the swirling tempests rage on before her. Should someone approach to check on her, she'll simply utter: ]

I've really never been to the beach before, the ocean? [ Her voice is hushed, almost in awe. She'd seen the waters in San Francisco, been down in the Marina at Karim's boat. But it only felt... like a backdrop, to her. She'd never took the time to truly... experience it. ] I always thought it would sound so loud, but— she seems so... enraged.

[ It is probably for the best that she is ushered inland soon, however. ]

[ And when she is ushered inland, she's drawn to the sights and smells and sounds of the Boardwalk. The festivities are in full swing, and she wanders with a sense of wonder about her. It's almost overwhelming, although he can't say if it's in a good way or a bad way — her expression shifts often, wide smiles of joy to open surprise as she takes in the booths, watches the others take part in the carnival games.

And then she spies one of the ring toss games, more so one of the prizes on the wall of the booth. It actually startles a laugh out of her: Old Night. She feels oddly compelled to try and win it, but she lacks the co-ordination for such a game as ring toss. Determined not to let the toy go, she'll try and approach someone to win it for her instead. Sometimes in one's life, they're apprehended by a strange blonde woman in a robe to win an octopus in a ring-toss. The universe is strange. ]

Excuse me. [ She tries to be charming, but it's more awkwardly-nervous than anything. She gestures back to the ring toss booth. ] Could you... win something for me—?

I keep hearing the word 'Sleeper' being used to refer to me, or I suppose people like me. And I guess I'm just throwing a line out to see what I might find.

But does Deerington sound familiar to anyone?