[ He wakes to the cloying smell of metal and oil, of grime and pollution, to stifling air accompanied by an even thicker silence. He is seated, back against the chair and head tilted down in rest. He's comfortable, somehow, content to stay in place, mind peacefully blank for once—but an annoying buzz filters through his ears, ringing until he can no longer bear to ignore its source.

Eyes open to harsh fluorescent lights, and with a jolt, the Wanderer stands, realizing that he's in an unfamiliar environment. A closed room, seats lining its sides, several doors on each side, and windows to an unfamiliar outside—but what really gets him is the design of the room. In his long years, there's hardly a place in Teyvat that he has not set foot upon. And though he cares little for the architecture of each region, it would be difficult not to see patterns, after centuries of travel.

This room? Not even the Abyss comes close to resembling anything within.

Perhaps what most sets him on edge is the tickling feeling that he ought to be here—like he belonged, somehow, to this room of weird shapes, odd designs, deafening silence that is wholly not Teyvat. Not his world (and that he feels it should be his, still, despite everything is a thought he shoves back into the deep recesses of his mind, never to be touched upon again). He doesn't like this—not one bit.

The buzzing finally draws his attention to a rectangular device laying on the seat next to the one he'd occupied previously. The device shines, and he reads the words upon its surface as he leans over it. He scoffs, and proceeds to ignore the device as he takes time to examine the rest of the room, before he eventually meanders back to the device and attempts to answer to the negative.

But nothing happens, of course, and he's left with the unfortunate reality that he must play to the whims of whoever sent him here if he wants to proceed anywhere. So he completes the orientation, albeit with a few attempts to give nonsensical answers, and the doors open, letting him out to the platform.

Here, he finds the place just as alien and unfamiliar, and he thoroughly investigates the area, trying to understand exactly where it is he finds himself today. Unfortunately, the results aren't illuminating, and with an annoyed sigh, he begins the trek up the stairs into the station proper. There are people here, in the station, but it doesn't take a genius to observe that a majority of them seem to be confused about their sudden arrival to this place, the "City" as the device had called it, and the Wanderer opts not to initiate conversation.

So, to any other newcomers, or to non-newcomers visiting the station, a man with a wide brimmed hat may be found examining the station in its entirety, keeping to himself instead of asking people questions. ]

[ He should have noticed much earlier that his Vision had gone inert. The unsettling, alien city, the unfamiliar sights and smells, everything—it should not have distracted him so much that he did not realize this immediately. But it hadn't been until he attempted to command the power of Anemo to fly that he realized he could no longer feel the swirling energy around him, comforting like a soft, airy blanket that he could push and pull at whim.

It's the Gnosis all over again—the panic, the desperation, the impending loss that he must suffer (again and again, why must he suffer loss)—and before he knows it, his feet have taken him out of the station and into the sprawling city of tall, imposing blocks and windows. It's nothing like Sumeru—nothing like anywhere in Teyvat—but the thought doesn't register as he keeps moving, walk changing into run, until he finds himself surrounded by greenery.

Here, in the calming space, his pace slows to a stop. Familiar it was not (because none of this looked like Sumeru's flora, but it was still flora and that had to count for something, right?), but the emotions swirling in his heart lessen slightly, releasing his chest from its iron grip, and he takes a gulp of air like a drowning man. He stands still, hand placed upon the dull, colorless Vision laid atop his breast, as he continues to will himself back to calmness.

Anyone who wanders into the park will find him in this exact position, eyes closed, completely unmoving. ]

[ It's not until a few days after his arrival that the Wanderer approaches the bizarre art installation with curiosity. So far, the city had turned out to be relatively harmless, as there were no monsters, Abyss creatures or anything, really, that threatened its inhabitants. It was just somewhat unsettling, and he was not going to give the bastard that threw him in here the satisfaction of seeing him cowed and afraid.

In the dreary sea of grey and grey and grey, the neon signage had stood out, like a siren beckoning him to enter, and who was he to deny the call? So enter he did, much to his regret, as he loses the entrance and exit both, and now he's stuck wandering this strange building filled with— with— it's not art (and it's not like he ever subscribed to the Akademiya's view on art but this? This is definitely not art. It's an assault to his eyes is what it is.)

You might find him at the ball pit, glaring sullenly at said balls, like his eyes might set them on fire. Or you can find him in the red room, where it seems as if lines have been drawn upon his skin, particularly around his knees and elbows, outlining the joints of a doll. Here, his eyes are closed and brows wrinkled, the discordant noise almost too unpleasant to bear.

Alternatively you're free to encounter him in any other room in the exhibit and set up a different scenario! ]