Norman was frustrated.

“Look, just because I lost a bet-” He started arguing. But his friend, Mike, wasn't hearing any of it.

“You promised you owed me one,” Mike rebutted. “And this is a huge one.” Mike was a taller man with a bit of a receding hairline, his face a bit pockmarked. “I'm going to need help with this, do you know how many people I'm trying to organize?”

Norman sighed. Mike was well known for having infrequent social gatherings – most of the time they were board game nights, or social deduction games like Werewolf. The biggest one that their social circles looked forward to, however, were Mike's murder mystery nights. Held annually, they were a big event – full costumes, a potluck dinner, rooms of Mike's house redecorated to fit the setting. One year they even held the mystery night out on a beach at the lake about an hour out of town. There was a potluck and everyone came with characters. Even if the murder mystery was built out of a kit that Mike would buy at the store, it was a big deal – every year almost thirty people participated, which meant that these were scheduled weeks, if not months, in advance. This year's murder mystery night was no exception.

“I know, I know,” Norman said. “But I was looking forward to playing.”

“And you will, but,” Mike said, emphasizing “but”, “I have a character you'll be playing. Because you lost the bet, that means you have to help me with the bar.”

“I can pitch money in for drinks, if that's what you need” Norman insisted.

“No, I have all the alcohol I'll need. And all the ingredients for non-alcoholic mocktails, too, if people want them. It's not an issue of making things, I'm already playing the role of bartender. I need a server.”

“A waitress, you mean,” Norman crossed his arms.

“Yeah. That's the only role in the kit there is – men were bartenders back then, women were waitresses. Well. It's not so much-”

“I know, Mike, god damn it.” The reason why Norman was fighting so hard on this one was because the setting of the night was that of an early 1920's speakeasy. A classic Chicago gang crime mystery. “They were callgirls back then, Mike, and in case you didn't notice...” He motioned to his shorter, stockier frame. “I don't have the right shape.”

“Oh, relax.” Mike said “Everyone's going to show up in costume, in character. No one's going to blink twice at you if you're dressed up all pretty. You won't be the only one crossdressing either. Come on, Norm. You owe me, remember?”Mike stared at him, expectantly. Norman sighed, sitting down. There wasn't a lot that Norman could do – he was a loyal friend after all, and Mike had a very good point that everyone there wouldn't judge him for it.

A few weeks later, the night in question occurred. People entered the house in awe as Mike had spared no expense or energy to recreate the feeling of a 1920's speakeasy. Swing music played from hidden speakers, Mike was dressed up in a suit jacket and white shirt behind the “bar” - the kitchen counter – and fell into the role of bartender very quickly. And being there to help prep meant that standing next to him was Norman, already in costume. While Mike's clothes wouldn't look out of place in any semi-professional environment, they had gone all out on Norman. Mike had reached out to a few friends who knew drag queens and performers in the city, and a few supplies were donated for the occasion. Norman, who had never worn a corset before, was struggling to breathe a little in the corset that squeezed his waist, and could feel how tight it was around the breast forms that gave the illusion of deep cleavage. The tight cocktail dress he wore didn't help matters at all, but all of this worked together to give him a unmistakably feminine figure. Not only that but the two inch heels he wore on his stocking-clad feet were making the arches of his feet ache a little. The long red wig that he had been given to wear itched his scalp a little, and as more and more people came in and complimented the “broad at the bar”, the more the ambient temperature of the house went up. It wouldn't take long for Norman to feel like he was in an oven.

But at the same time, the night was... strangely fun. His role was a simple one – he wasn't participating in the murder mystery itself, he was just the new waitress, the klutzy call girl, Dot. “She” was not a suspect in the game at all. All Norman had to do was take the drinks that Mike made, put them on the tray, and bring them to the guests in the house. And all the other participants thanked him, in character. And as the first half hour went by, the awkwardness Norman was feeling was starting to alleviate.

“This isn't so bad,” Norman whispered to Mike, out of character.

“I told you you'd be fine, and besides, you look great,” Mike whispered back. “How are people enjoying the game?”

“So far so good, there's a few people who are just here for the vibes it seems,” Norman whispered. “But I've had lots of people ask me if there are extra clues.”

“You didn't tell them anything?”

“Of course not. I don't even know where you hid them. I couldn't tell anyone anything even if I wanted to.”

Mike smiled. The spirit of the game was still intact, it seemed.

And as the night went on and Norman adopted the role of Dot, it felt a little strange. Norman felt like he was walking in the heels a bit better, and the pressure on his waist and hips from the corset wasn't too bad. The itchiness at his scalp faded, and even the falsetto he had adopted was coming more natural to him. Norman had to notice that a lot of people were starting to get more into character too – there were less slip ups and fewer references to the modern day. Norman wondered if Mike was turning the lights down as part of the atmosphere, but the lights were starting to get dimmer. It took a couple of hours for Norman to notice, but once he saw it, he couldn't ignore it. He tried to get the attention of Mike, but couldn't seem to get Mike to look over.

“Dot, get me another whisky on the rocks,” One of the party goers – one of Mike's mutual friends, someone Norman had only met maybe twice – said to him, and then gave him a hard smack on his ass. That made him gasp – a strangely high pitched one – and he gave a look back. The expression he wore was one of satisfaction and a bit of... contempt? Like, what was Norman going to do about it? It made him walk away towards the bar, a little troubled.

“Hey, Mike, I'm going to go to the back, I need some air,” He said to Mike.

“Sure, sure. Just get out on the floor fast. This is a busy night and the fuzz could raid this place any night.” Mike said, almost... bitterly? It was confusing, to say the least. Norman walked away, pushing through the crowd of people in the house, finding the door and stepping outside-

And suddenly things were different.

He didn't step out onto a paved driveway in a suburban neighborhood. He stepped onto a cobbled alleyway into a rainy night. There was the strange smell, too... livestock? Horses? Where was he? Where did he go? He looked behind him and opened the door and saw something that made his stomach drop. Inside wasn't Mike's house.

It was a speakeasy.

Lanterns lit the interior, it was dark, there was a layer of cigar smoke over the top of the room. The crowd was rowdy, loud, and drunk. It was as if Norman had stepped out of a party recreation and into the real thing.

The real thing...

Panic gripped Norman's mind, and he reached up to take off the red wig he was wearing. But it wouldn't come off, of course. It got tugged and hurt his scalp, but he couldn't find the part where the cap rested on his head. His hands reached down and tried to pull at the breast forms, but couldn't find the edge there, either. They were like... real?

She stood there, stupefied. Somehow, someway, Norman was Dot, a 1920s call girl in an illegal speakeasy. She shivered in place, the chill of the rain in the air and the fear that she was feeling grew within her. What was she supposed to do? Now it made sense why Mike wasn't giving her the time of day, it wasn't Mike anymore. Had this happened to everyone? Was she exempt, for some reason? Her mind raced as she tried to figure out what she could do.

 “Dot! Come back inside, damn it!” The bartender (Mike?) yelled through the door.

 And without knowing what to do, what else she could do, Dot obeyed.

 ONE WEEK LATER

 Dot leaned against the bar, groaning a little as she stretched her ankles. It was annoying, having to serve these... “patrons”. They tipped well, sure. And living in 1921 had some perks to it – the cost of living was relatively cheaper, so when she spent three dollars on whisky, it suddenly didn't feel like she was breaking the bank. However, she didn't follow sports or history that closely when she was in the present, so she couldn't bet on any sporting events and she didn't know who was going to win the next election. It was a little frustrating. She wished she had done some research before Mike's party.

 “Hard night?” Asked a woman who leaned against the bar.

 “Yeah, just a little,” Dot said as she looked up and then did a double take.

 The woman was... not human. She wore a cocktail dress fitting for the scene and the time, that was for sure, she blended in with a wardrobe, but her body... it was covered in fur. She had a feline face, and tail sticking out of the back of her dress. She looked over at Dot and snapped her fingers.

 “My eyes are up here,” She said. “You've never seen a Tabaxi before?”

 “A wh-what?” Dot asked, taking a step back. The woman sighed.

 “You wouldn't know the name. That's what I am. No one else here is freaking out about it because I'm undercover.” She sipped her drink. “I'm here to rescue you.”

 “What do you mean?” Dot asked. Did she dare hope...?

 “You don't belong here. You know that, right?” She asked.

 “Y-yeah... how did you...”

 The Tabaxi reached into her purse and pulled out a small token. It looked like a badge of some sort, with an insignia she didn't recognize.

 “My name is Deidra,” The cat-woman said. “I work for an organization that notices when people like you fall out of time.”

 “Time?” Dot was just surprised. Stricken with shock. She thought for sure she'd never end up going home, and now? “How did you find me? How did this even happen to me?” Deidra turned around and leaned against the bar, and motioned to the bartender. Another drink was served, and she offered it to Dot. Dot eagerly took it.

 “Imagine time is like a river, okay?” Deidra said. “The river flows in one direction, usually. And on the riverbed is a bunch of pebbles. Those are people. Following along?” Dot nodded. “Sometimes, a pebble will end up in a different part of the river. Upstream, downstream, doesn't matter, it happens. To the casual observer, nothing will change. The river still flows. But, if you've got sensitive enough equipment, and you're looking very carefully, you'll see how the river changes in those minute ways. My job specifically is to then figure out how and why a certain rock ended up in the wrong place. Or in this case, time. Tell me everything that happened before you got here.

 Dot explained everything as best as she could. It almost felt like a dream, the process of transitioning from the present to the past, but it was still fresh enough in her mind. Deidra nodded.

 “It makes sense.” Deidra said.

 “Does it? I've been trying to understand all week,” Dot argued.

 “The river metaphor falls apart at a certain point,” Deidra admitted. “The river of time is... a lot more malleable than we'd like to hope. Reality is perception, perception is reality, after all – you have a few psychologists and philosophers in your time that figured it out. Basically-” Deidra got back on track “-if you get enough people in one room together and get them to believe in something really hard long enough, reality... shifts. Just enough to bring two bends of the river closer together than they should. In this case, 2014 and 1921. This happens a lot, actually, but on the rare occasion, someone can... slip. Right through the cracks. And when the two bends straighten out again, someone finds themselves in the wrong timeline. We call it Time Displacement Syndrome.” Deidra motioned to Dot.

 “This happens often?” Dot asked.

 “More than we'd like,” Deidra said. “Most of the time it's an accident, like your case. Sometimes it's a deliberate attempt to bend reality. I'm very glad that's not the case here.”

 “Why?” Dot asked.

 “Because that makes it insanely simple to fix. I just bring you back with me to your present day.”

 “That's it?” Dot asked.

 “That's it,” Deidra said. “You aren't supposed to be here. Reality has carved out a space for you here and left a vacuum in the present. Keeping you here is like forcing a jigsaw piece into a place it doesn't belong. Putting you back in the present is just as easy as putting the correct piece in place.” Deidra offered her arm. “Have you noticed that just by talking to me, no one's asked you for any drink orders?”

 “Well...” Now that she mentioned it, no one was asking her to do anything or calling her names anymore. Like... she was a customer.

 “Exactly. Already things are getting back on track.”

 “Won't my friends notice me missing for a week?”

 “Honey, please. My organization is better than that. We'll put you back in about half an hour after you left, when the party has all wrapped up. That way there's no risk of you getting pulled back through the cracks again, the anomaly will have fixed itself. All you'll have to do is make an excuse for why you were missing  for less than an hour. Can you do that?”

 Dot thought about that. Mike would be upset at her for bailing, for sure, but... that was better than the alternative.

 “I can do that.”

 “Good. Let's get you home.”

 CODA

 Deidra finished typing up her report. Being a field agent was fun, it was interesting, and it led her to some creative solutions, but she hated filling in the reports at the end of each case. Her tail twitched in annoyance as she proofread her statement. Norman had been reinserted in 2014 with no real problems at all. The anomaly that had resulted in the brief body and gender change had also reversed, though she couldn't help but wonder if the experience would have a lasting effect on his psyche. She made a note to check in on him in another few months to make sure he had fully resettled into the present day.

 She got up and put the paperwork into the envelope, then walked to the pneumatic tube that led up through the building to where it would be filed properly. As she did, her ears perked up as she heard someone approach. There was a knock at her office door.

 “Yeah?” Deidra asked.

 “Hey, do you have a second? A new case just came in, and they want you to take the lead on it.” It was Nimph, her avian partner. She had green feathers and talon like hands, and in a heartbeat could be used to defend herself in a second. Her beak was sharp, too, just like her mind. Deidra couldn't ask for a better partner.

 “I literally just finished a case, can't I take a break?” Deidra asked. One look from Nimph told her no, she couldn't. She sighed and followed her bird lady friend down the halls.

 “We had something land in our laps. Intercepted, actually,” Nimph explained. “Someone got lost out in the In Between imbued with a dangerous amount of energy. She was grabbed and brought here to be checked over before we sent her back to her homeworld, but then something got caught on the scanners.”

 “Lost in the In Between?” Deidra asked, surprised. The “In Between” was the space between space – the world in between each parallel universe. It was dangerous if you didn't know what you were doing and if you didn't have a safe way to travel.

 “In her statement she claims there was an accident in her lab,” Nimph said. “She was working on a machine of some kind and there was a power surge. Resulted in an explosion. She got sucked into the portal it created. She's lucky we caught her, she could've been in there for ages. It seems like we got her right away. Once we scanned her, it was really clear why.”

 They reached the holding cells, and one of the guards handed Deidra a folder full of papers. Deidra frowned and opened it. On the first page was the information of the subject in question – human, came from an Earthworld. Female, 23. Red hair, feline characteristics. She glanced up through the window at the woman sitting in the cell. The human was pacing up and down the limited space there.

 “She doesn't look that important,” Deidra frowned.

 “Look at the next page.” Nimph said. Deidra did, and blinked. Then she looked at the next page, then the next. She started flipping through the pages quickly, and looked up at the cell in shock.

 “Are we sure?” She whispered to Nimph.

 “Oh, we're sure.” Nimph nodded. Deidra walked down the hall and opened the door to the cell block, and strolled down the hall to the cell the human stood in.

 “Hello there, Allison.” Deidra said. “My organization has been keeping a very close eye on you.”

 “You have to let me out.” Allison said. “There's been an accident, my sister-”

 “We know all about that,” Deidra said cooly. “We have your files.”

 “I need to make sure she's okay.”

 “We'll make sure of that,” Deidra said with a smile. “But you're not going anywhere.”

 “Why not?” Allison asked, gripping the bars of the cell. Deidra grinned, and couldn't help but let out a small purr.

 “Oh, you dear human, you've been a very, very bad girl.”