A/N: Hello! I'm back! (Not that any of you will have noticed, but all the same :3) So I know I said I'd update my victorious fic some time in the new year (haha.. I have started to write it, I promise...) but I've been working on this privately for a long time and have content for a lot of chapters, but now I'm reviewing and updating it so I can upload it here for all of you. I hope you like it! Please leave me a review so I can know all my slaving away is appreciated ;-;

Unearthly noises assaulted Morgause's ears. She'd never heard anything like this before, a peculiar array of… no, she didn't have words for it.

Her eyelids fluttered open, and the world seemed to have become grey; her throat felt like there was some sort of snake wrapped around it, much like the heavy brute an old priestess had kept in Morgause's youth (apparently only for the amusement of throwing it at any man that dared enter the old priestesses' sacred sites). The ground was hard, and it was rapidly becoming dark, but there were no gentle notes of the golden sunsets she'd watched with her beloved so many times.

Morgana. That brought the older witch to her senses, and she sat cautiously up. Where was she? Morgause looked slowly around, yet nothing was familiar. And… something felt wrong, this was not Camelot. Or Cenred's castle, or the Isle of the Blessed... where, she realised, Morgana had plunged the dagger into her chest.

Morgause shuddered as her body relived the memory of the ice steel cutting through flesh, the strength slowly leaving her body as she'd felt each heavy heartbeat grow weaker, less frequent, until the blackness took her. Her last memory was of Morgana's tear-stained face, staring down at Morgause, her wide eyes betraying her terror though it was her that wielded the knife.

Morgause gradually got to her feet, wearing the thick, earth-brown cloak, fur-lined boots and faded dark grey breeches and tunic that she'd worn the night she recalled dying; though, mysteriously, there was no tear or dark stain upon the fabric. The ground she stood upon was solid, gritty, and filthy; she had no name for the peculiar terrain.

The odd thing was, she couldn't remember having drunk anything to have dreamed up such an event. Perhaps that little minx had slipped something into her mead… Morgana had been oddly fond of doing that of late, and she had an impeccable talent for brewing such things from a mere handful of herbs. Then again, Morgause would remember any sexual aftermaths. Morgana never quite gave her enough not to remember any of those.

Gritting her teeth, the blonde looked around at her new surroundings. No, this was definitely not any part of the world she'd known; this place smelled a hell of a lot worse: the fetid stench burned her nostrils and made her throat convulse in coughs. The floor was strewn with what Morgause assumed was litter, with confusing runes in bright colours that hurt her eyes on a unnaturally shiny surface, unlike anything she'd seen before; and there were huge grey walls around her, a dead end behind, and dim, yellow light visible in front. She walked towards it, a chill creeping up her spine, nervous for the first time she could recall since she was a child; and it occurred to her that perhaps she hadn't really dreamt her death up, and this was... well, what lay beyond.

Morgause closed her eyes and was abruptly reminded of a conversation she'd had with Morgana one time, not long after the little sorcerer and his wizened old companion had marred her beautiful face.

"Morgause?" Morgana looked up at the blonde, jade eyes heavily-lidded; not far away from sleep, Morgause knew.

"Yes, love?" The older sorceress had a hand tangled in Morgana's jet-black curls, stroking through its sleek softness, close to dozing herself; the roaring fire that Cenred's servants had set had long died down to smouldering embers, their candles almost burned down to their wicks, the lack of light dimming the damask curtains and drapery of the double bed they shared to a rich maroon and providing the room with a soft, comfortable glow. The black-haired witch lay with her head rested in Morgause's lap, curled up together, the two in their own private little world for the moment – no secretive Emrys or Arthur Pendragon to draw them out. Only in moments like this was Morgause truly at peace, the soft breathing of her beloved a sound she could lose herself completely in.

"What happens if we lose?"

Morgause tensed. "We won't."

That didn't satisfy the younger witch. "Perhaps we could. Those... creatures, what they did to your face. They could kill us."

"No. I will die ensuring you live. I would never let them touch you, ever. I will give my life for you, Morgana, if it comes to that." Morgause breathed out slowly then touched her cheek. "You shall be the queen of Camelot and I won't hear another sceptical word about it. If you begin to doubt yourself, what will become of everything we've worked for?"

Morgana mulled that over silently, nuzzling her face against Morgause's fingers. Eventually she spoke again, changing the subject.

"What do you think happens when we die?"

Morgause narrowed her eyes as she thought about it. "Some of the Priestesses believe that, after death, we go to the Summer Lands, where no pain or fear or misery can exist."

"And you?" Morgana pressed impatiently.

Morgause gave a short, cynical laugh. "I'm not sure such a place exists, here or after death. I think, love, that when we die, we go into the blackness and that's it."

And yet here Morgause was. She traced a finger up to her cheek, where her knotted scar had previously pulled the skin in a gross deformity across the right hand side of her face. Now, the skin was smooth, unmarked, perfect.

Perhaps she'd been wrong. Though, she'd imagined the Summer Lands to be much more attractive, warmer, and occupied by the dead. Here no life seemed to have the potential to exist.

The unfamiliar grey ground extended out a little way, then dipped abruptly where a new surface that was slightly darker and sleeker took over, two messy yellow lines at the edge. It was fascinating, overwhelming, and as she bent down to run her fingers over the harsh surface, a huge gleaming beast with two lights of some description came roaring towards her. She whipped around to face it, stretching out her palms, eyes flashing gold as she mentally flung a barrier between them, her lips speaking the words without having to consciously recall them.

The thing screeched to a halt, and the most offensive smell entered Morgause's nostrils, so that she was forced to cough again, shielding her eyes from the lights. And to her amazement, a person stepped from the silver monster.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" A man – an ugly man, Morgause noted, surpassing even the peasants she'd encountered whilst alive in Camelot – dressed in the strangest loose grey clothing with a red tick at the hem of...what she assumed were the current fashion of breeches. He was unshaven and overweight, and he stank worse than the flooring underfoot.

"How dare you," Morgause narrowed her eyes, and tilted her head up, straightening her back. "Address me like that again, if you don't value what obviously miserable life you have."

"And I – blimey..." He trailed off, fully seeing her. She'd never been so obviously eyed before – even Cenred had had the decency to stare at her when she wasn't looking – and as he ran his little piggy eyes over her form hungrily Morgause felt nauseous.

She briefly considered turning him into a toad, though he wouldn't be quite as useful that way.

"Where am I? And what is… that?" She looked at the giant iron beast behind him. It appeared to be made from some sort of metal, and she assumed it must be some form of weapon that was controlled from the inside.

His eyes didn't leave her breasts as he answered. "You're gonna have to pay if you've wrecked my car, you know that?" He paused. "Then again, you could always... make up for it in another way." He ran a disgustingly fat pink tongue over thin lips suggestively.

Enraged by the lack of respect or common decency, Morgause spoke the words to send him flying backwards, the curse hitting him full-force in the chest with slightly more force than she'd intended. He hit the pavement several metres away with a dull thud.

Morgause briefly felt mournful that she didn't have her sword on her. She would have relished in plunging it into that thing that called itself a man.

She then studied the car in front of her, and sighed. She'd just have to leave it here; someone else would find it, surely.

So far, things were not going well.

Glancing around again, a bright pink and blue light further down the street caught her eye, and she strode towards it.

Just as she got close, there was the sound of heels, and a young woman appeared, hastily striding up steps that must belong to a lower floor, shouting.

"Fuck off, you assholes! Go shag someone who's interested!" Morgause then heard her additionally mutter something along the lines of "and straight" to herself.

The woman couldn't have been more than two-and-twenty, with crimson-red hair, and a lot of dark eye makeup on. She was wearing a short ruffled black skirt with boots, displaying the bare skin of her legs, which made Morgause raise her eyebrows; and a corset, Morgause was fascinated to see, by itself. And, not to mention, a considerable amount of cleavage on show, which Morgause didn't mind at all.

The woman stopped dead at the sight of the sorceress staring at her, and the two drunkards following her nearly walked into her had she not swung round and punched one across the face, causing the other to stop and merely guffaw at his friend's fate. She was about to hit him, too, when the guy that had just taken her punch slurred, "not worth it hun", and promptly fell back down the stairs. The unharmed man, making the mistake of glancing behind, quickly followed downwards with another punch from the woman.

Morgause raised her eyebrows. "Impressive."

"What, ten out of ten?" The red-haired woman panted, then turned and cast an interested gaze on Morgause as she scrutinized her one-woman audience.

"I think I could match you, though," Morgause teased, hoping to win a little favour.

It worked, and the redhead broke into a smile. "Why are you dressed like that? You look like someone from a period drama."

"I… what?"

The other woman rolled her eyes. "Or a reinactment program. I'm Eve... And you've set my gaydar off," she admitted thoughtfully, studying Morgause, then stuck her tongue out playfully.

"…Gaydar?"

Eve squinted. "You're gay, aren't you?"

Morgause felt uncomfortably confused. Eve added helpfully, "Fuck girls?"

"Oh. Yes."

Eve's smile was triumphant. "I'm never wrong."

"I was hoping you could help me, in fact, since the last man that I encountered was… unhelpful." Morgause sighed.

Eve laughed, and appeared to relax a little. "I see. What can I do for you?"

"Well..." Morgause was reluctant to indulge her situation to a stranger, though she'd just watched Eve beat two men, and that made Morgause favour her. "I don't remember anything about how I found myself here, only my name. Though I know I need to find another woman. She's very attractive, with black hair and pale skin; she's a bit... unstable, has tendencies to maim people she doesn't like. Oh, and she's a bit spoiled."

"She sounds lovely. I'd love to find someone like that, too." Eve winked. "How much have you had to drink?"

"I know when I've had too much," Morgause snapped defensively.

Eve shrugged. "Fine, shan't help you."

Morgause glared, appearing to chew the words before saying them. "I'd appreciate it."

Eve motioned for the blonde to follow her. "You've obviously hit your head, or something. Come on, I'll take you with me, you can stay until you remember where you are."

Eve's flat was spacious, though nothing like Morgause had encountered before in the decor department. The floor was wooden, a whitish birch colour, with doors with large panes of glass leading out to a balcony at the opposite end of the room. At one side of the room there was a light grey sheet on the floor, blotched with vibrantly-coloured stains, and several easels stood next to a table crammed atop with pots of coloured liquid and tubes of what Eve told her was paint.

"I'm an artist." Eve spread her arms wide in an impressive gesture, grinning. "Sort of. It's just a hobby." She showed Morgause her latest piece: the canvas was deep blue, spotted with turquoise and green, little white forms standing out against the background. Eve informed her it was meant to be deep below the sea, the white forms the little creatures that lived there.

"It looks quite dreamy, doesn't it?" Eve sighed happily, then peered closely at it. "It's not done yet, though."

"You have a very eloquent hand. I could not produce such a thing," Morgause commented, which satisfied her, and they continued with the tour.

On the other side of the room the flooring graduated into black tiles, similar to a polished stone, Morgause thought. There was a similar type of stone to create a form of bar with pale green stools and cupboards further along to match the green wallpaper of that area, plus various metal appliances Morgause was unfamiliar with.

Eve's ebony leather sofa was huge, taking up most of the initial room to the side of the easels, placed in the centre, with a miniature white table in front: plenty of room for Morgause to sleep on, though Eve had offered to share her bed with the older woman with a wiggle of her eyebrows. She'd been smacked as politely as Morgause dared for that comment, but smacked all the same.

Morgause was fascinated by the huge black 'box' in front of the sofa, in-between the white panes of glass, and sat squinting at it suspiciously whilst she waited for her hostess to bring her some undergarments to wear to bed, or "pyjamas" as she'd described them to Morgause.

"You like it? Fifty four inches of high definition. Best couple of hundred I ever spent." Eve set herself down next to Morgause, sitting cross-legged in a loose shirt with straps that hung rather low, and a pair of checked loose bottoms.

Morgause scowled, her knowledge reduced to that of a child about the world she'd abruptly woken in. "Yes, it's lovely," she lied.

This amused Eve. "People don't usually go with the adjective 'lovely'."

Morgause quickly decided to go with the truth. "I don't recall encountering one before."

Eve eyed Morgause curiously. "It's a TV. You watch people act on it, in different programmes," she explained. "Though for some, the acting is shit." Morgause raised her eyebrows as Eve brought the box to life with a small rectangular object in her hand, then offered it to her guest.

"Want to try?"

Not wanting to appear as uncertain as she felt, Morgause accepted, and pressed the first button she saw. It brought up a guide, in the strange runes she couldn't read, and the blonde momentarily froze. She wasn't about to admit that she couldn't read them, so instead feigned a yawn and shook her head. "Perhaps tomorrow."

Taking the bait, Eve pushed the pyjamas towards Morgause. "Put these on, I'll leave you to go to bed. If you need the toilet, it's right next to my room, though mistake the two and I won't be responsible for anything that gets flashed." She smirked and left the blonde alone to change.

The pyjamas were slightly spacey, as the redhead seemed to have an affinity for pyjamas a size too big, which was odd, and feeling rather foolish in them Morgause wrapped herself in the assortment of blankets Eve had piled on the arm of the sofa earlier for her to use.

Sleep didn't come easy; the blonde could hear the metal beasts roaring in the road below all night, a mix of music with a heavy beat that carried from several spots down the street, and shouts from more drunkards. Occasionally she heard something smash. The scent of the room was unfamiliar, too, and it made her uncomfortable, on-edge.

Eventually exhaustion won out though, and Morgause dreamt of Morgana: the young sorceress was running, calling out Morgause's name, but Morgause couldn't shout loud enough, or run fast enough to catch her; the more she exerted herself, the slower she moved, until eventually the grey ground opened up and swallowed her.

She woke, still gripped with fear from the dream, to the sound of horns in the streets below, before realising those were the unearthly noises she'd opened her eyes to the previous night. Unsure what to do, she just lay for a while, trying to convince herself that what she saw was merely a dream and not a vision.

Soon she heard scuffling and a squeak, which alarmed her until she realised it was merely Eve in her room doing goddess knew what. Eventually, when there was a loud crash, Morgause called out "Eve?"

"It's alright! I just, I dropped my marbles! I think they went under my wardrobe." There was another crash.

Morgause stared disbelievingly at the closed door. Then, quietly, she slipped out of bed, and put a borrowed robe on, but paused at Eve's door, uncertain as to whether to intrude to help. And eventually, Eve appeared once more, crimson hair stuck up in crazy directions and clutching a bag of what was questionably her marbles. "They're pretty, see? Someone very precious gave them to me." She held them up for her guest to observe, then sighed. "I can't help but like pretty things... no wonder I'm a lesbian."

"Everyone likes pretty things." Morgause assured her. "Like my Morgana..." Eve raised an eyebrow.

"So, this is a real person. Ooh, someone's going to be in trouble, staying at an unknown lesbian's flat, vulnerable to her wily charms and treacherous ways." Morgause eyed the woman before her, and Eve held up her hands. "Or tell me I'm wrong and it's you that does the spanking?"

Morgause laughed, and acquiesced. "To be honest, it can be either."

"Ah. Hmm." Eve sidled up to Morgause and stared her dead in the eyes. "Tell me the gossip, sister."

Morgause swatted at her. "You have such a peculiar way of speaking."

"I think you'll find that it's you that does, sweetie." Eve retorted. "You sound like my grandma."

Morgause's aim was impeccable.

"Ow," Eve grumbled, rubbing her head and pouting. "What do you train with, lead weights?"

Morgause snorted. "Men. Occasionally Morgana if she's in a bad enough mood," she joked.

"Beat their asses I bet," Eve offered. "Well, I – oh shit!" Her eyes widened. "I'm late!" With that, she leaped up and shot back into her room, returning in seconds fully dressed in a plain white blouse and black trousers. "I have to go to work, feel free to make yourself breakfast or whatever, and if you suddenly remember anything you're, uh, free to go. Or whatever. If not just… stay here, okay? I'll be back in several hours."

As she left, Morgause noted that one bright florescent pink sock and a bright green sock were just visible at her ankles, and decided that Eve was, though rather amiable, slightly odd.

Two hours passed. Morgause, reluctant to be conquered by the world she'd found herself thrown into, discovered how to work the peculiar TV device and found that she rather liked particular… what were they called?... programmes. She found they provided a lot of information about the world she found herself in – so much so that by four pm, she couldn't sit still any longer.

She'd awoken in England, in the twenty-first century, and in the future. That was hard to get her head around. And that must mean that, like her, Morgana was out there somewhere. She would either be terrified, or have blown something – or someone – up by now. Likely the latter.

Morgause had to go find her.

A/N: Yes... I see you, about to sneak away... press the review button... do iiiiiit...