Summary: Look I don't go hanging around people's basements for fun, but unfortunately, I don't really have a say in this. Just show me the nearest payphone and- wait- where am I?

This fanfiction follows the end of book five and onward (after Rand takes Caemlyn, basically.)

Disclaimer: I own my OC and the alternativeness of this plotline. Everything else belongs to Robert Jordan. No wooden crates were harmed in the making of this fic.

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CHAPTER ONE- Have Gravity, Will Fall

(OC first person POV)

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Around the time I regain consciousness, I thought that I was tied up in some backroom of a bar that my friends had probably dumped me in as a prank. The only things in my line of sight are a grey stone ceiling and an edge of the wooden crate I currently occupy. But thankfully, I soon find that I am not tied up, but stuck. And sort of paralyzed. I feel really sore, and it's probably a good thing that I don't remember what had happened at my friend's house-warming party last night.

But honestly, I don't even remember drinking anything, speaking of which…there had better be water around here somewhere…

Soon I start to hear voices. I can't distinguish any familiar ones, so that doesn't help me as to deducing my whereabouts. At first, the voices occur every ten minutes or so, sounding from across the room along with the scrape of something being picked up, and then silence. Gradually, the voices come closer and more frequently. My mouth feels like it's gagged with cotton, so it will be impossible to get anyone's attention by yelling- or even move, though I was happy to discover that I am not actually paralyzed. However, my joints still feel unreasonably stiff and I just might suffocate on the dust made airborne by the movers. I can merely sit-er- lay-er- be stuck here until someone comes to my rescue, if I don't drown in dirt particles first.

Like hell if I'd let that happen.

Two leg cramps and much squirming later, I find that I can get the box-thing I'm stuck in to totter. So I begin to shift despite my aches and not-too-accurate orientation to the ground. I repeat my actions until the momentum overcomes my prison's center of gravity; this happened about the same time I remembered a fundamental rule of everyday physics:

Don't upset the center of gravity, idiot.

I come crashing to the floor. I would have cursed, but my speech was still impeded to the point where all that came out was an estranged, "Dam-OW-oooaaaaahhh." With energy I didn't know I had, I stumble upright. Something slips down the side of my head; it might be blood from the fall, but right now, I can't tell. It then dons on me that though I know I should be feeling pain, I don't actually feel anything. Which is unnerving, like one of those dreams where you can breathe underwater, only not…after this I am never trusting my friends with my wellbeing ever again. My muscles are still numb and I almost collapse a few times, but I manage to make my way toward the door. The items lining the walls and filling wooden crates briefly make me think of an Office Depot for the Middle Ages, and remind me of a historical museum I visited in the eighth grade. This confuses me as I'm not sure any historical museums exist near where I live…just how drunk did I get last night? Oh well. When someone comes back, I'll ask where I am- no big deal. Three painstaking minutes later, I arrive at the door, lean against it gratefully, and wait for someone to return. Finally someone passes directly in front of me and stops.

And gasps.

And runs down the hall screaming bloody murder.

The hell lady, I didn't think I was that bad looking. I try to walk after her, but some stairs I didn't see before catch my sluggish feet and I hit the floor once again. I groan and lay there. Foot falls echo in my ears and I turn my head to see two people following behind the hysterical woman. One of the figures is suddenly right beside me with a weapon- I can't see what- angled against my neck.

"Do beggars normally sleep in wetlander basements?" The question doesn't seem to be directed at me, but I think it would only be polite to explain myself. I sit up and glare at the three people. One of them looks and acts like a maid…hmmm….obviously of no importance- she can't even look at me straight anyway and is obviously the one who ran out of the room screaming. The second woman- the one with what I can now see is a dagger- is tall with blondish-red hair and is dressed in a poofy white blouse and a brown skirt. She readjusts her stance so the dagger is still level with my face- it had made a tiny slice along my collarbone while I was getting up. The third person, a man, is also tall- I mean basketball player tall- and has rusty colored hair and is dressed in a silk dress jacket. He looks like a pansy, an opinion I have to struggle to keep to myself. I commence rising onto my weakened legs.

"Look, I don't know who you guys are, but I think I got reeeeally drunk last night and I think my friends are playing a big joke on me, so if you could just point me to the nearest payphone- I'll be leaving," My voice seems odd to me, but I am too busy concentrating on leaving to care. I get two steps before several things happen at once. First, I realize that my surroundings are a bit…off from urban Dallas. Second, more than one of us notice the breeze I am feeling wasn't due to poor structural integrity and I think the maid fainted- I don't know- I am too busy dying of embarrassment myself. Third, I feel a strange sensation like two channels of electricity shooting through my body as the man grabs my arm, shouting at me to stop. Finally, everything blurs and I yelp in pain as those two bolts of lightning clash in my chest and give me a minor heart attack.

At that moment, I know the floor and I are going to become the best of friends. Again.

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Well….that wasn't exactly the best piece of literature I've ever written, but it was supposed to be from my OC's point of view and..rereads prologue dang my OC is special. From now on, most of my chapters will be third person. ahem Because I also tend to write first person view in present and third person view in past tense…I hope that doesn't throw anybody off, it just makes more sense to do it that way.

Sorry that there's not a lot of awesome Randlandness going on, but it will get better soon. I hope. I'm actually having to reread book five and six to get stuff down right and…I don't know if it will get into book seven but seeing as I've only read halfway through book seven I'm not sure…

I hope to get more up soon, and I do have the next couple of chapters written or at least planned out, but I would like to hear what people think before I charge ahead. :D

Read and Review! Constructive criticism and ideas welcomed!