
[It's probably a peaceful enough day, as Luceti goes. Maybe people are out looking through the shops. Maybe they're strolling through the plaza. Maybe they're sitting on the edge of the fountain, reading a book or having a snack.
Maybe there's a 6'2", 180 lb man in new feather pants being dropped into the fountain from a height of, oh, about 3.14 feet.
Wait, what?
Van is falling. That doesn't surprise him, it's exactly what he should be doing; except then he blinks, or thinks he does, and instead of purple and glow, there is blue sky. He has the barest of moments to register confusion over this development, and then he hits the water ass first. Shortly followed by the bottom of the fountain which, for the record, is hard. He's not feeling any better about the day he's had so far, either, now that it also includes being doused and viciously spanked by an inanimate object.
He may need a few moments to sort out what just happened to him.
Handily, that's about how long it takes for his regular clothes and journal to follow after, and land in the general vicinity of on his head and also his ruined pride. In case he needed a reminder that his boots are really heavy.]
What? [What else can a man possibly say in a situation like this?]
[Somewhat later, after he has recovered from his terrible butthurt, better remembered where this even is, and maybe picked up a change of clothes that isn't soggy, he will squelch over to his house. Oh, house 47, he barely knew you. He hopes it's still his house, because if it isn't someone's getting a terrible surprise when he barges on in through the front door and leaves puddles all the way to the laundry and shower.]