Chapter Text
Gabe was confused.
Alright, more than anything, she was groggy, but she was about to be very confused. It's not every day you wake up in a bed that isn't yours. Even if, for all intents and purposes, it certainly looks like it is.
It starts simple. Wake up, get up, go brush your teeth. It's only as she's halfway through the motions that she realizes I don't own an en-suite.
Toothbrush still hanging from her mouth, the ravenette hung from the door frame, wild eyes sweeping the room she had woken up in. Anime merch, check. Manga merch, check. Gamer merch, check. Computer, check. She could recognize her stuff, alright.
Just not the layout.
Not even the furniture.
The room was too big.
Where the hell was she?
With soundless footsteps the short-haired woman made her way out of the bathroom and through a door that led to a hallway. It took her a little while to find her way to the stairs and down them, not making a sound. No squeaky stairs, that was a new one, she was pretty sure these were wood. So far, her surroundings had looked pretty bare, not counting the room containing her stuff. The hallways she now found herself in led straight to what looked like the front door, with a door to the right and two doors to the left. The closest door showed another bathroom, while the second led her to a surprisingly open kitchen filled with unpacked boxes. The door on the right led to what would probably be a living room, while a doorway led to the presumed dining room, all filled with boxes.
Stepping out into the hallway once again, the 24-year-old spotted another door at the other end of the hallway, past the stairs, opposite to the front door. Opening it led her to a study... with a ludicrous amount of books, the shelves tall enough to reach the ceiling. The ceiling that was two stories. She could also see a bunch of filing cabinets. Letting her curiosity get the best of her, she opened the closest one and started looking through the files within.
They were case files. All of them. Of cases she had supposedly solved. Running her hands through her hair, she slumped into the way too comfortable office chair, her eyes landing on an open case file on the desk as she spun. Looking closer, she could tell it was an old one, what with it reading ”2014”. Some sort of Court case in Yokohama. Apparently she'd proven some rich dude innocent and the man had tried to pay her in a house. Her personal notes on the matter read ”like I'd let someone buy me a house.” right below that, there was a new note ”Famous last words.” and an address. It looked familiar. Where was Beika stree-
Eyes widening, Gabe dashed upstairs to get her phone, immediately googling something, dread pooling in her stomach.
She knew where she was.
But she had no idea how it was possible.
At first, she'd googled ”Detective Conan”. Then ”Magic Kaito”. Both yielded results that did not match previous attempts at googling said phrases.
She then googled ”Kaito KID”, ”Kudo Shinichi” and ”Mouri Kogoro”. She got news articles. Wikipedia pages. But no fandom Wikias.
She was in an anime.
And she had no idea how the fuck that was possible.
After calming down marginally and putting some actual clothes on instead of the t-shirt she had slept in, Gabrielle Ojanen, 24-years old, stepped into the outside world to gather her thoughts. She let her feet guide her as she got lost in her own head, thoughts whirring around and around at an alarming pace for anyone that wasn't her or her sister.
She knew for a fact she wasn't the only person living in the house, the kitchen had the obvious marks of being her sister's territory, she herself could barely use a waffle iron safely and she had seen a crapton of stuff she was positive belonged to her sister in that room. The question was, was her sister aware of the fact they were dimensionally displaced, or was she calibrated, to put it crudely, to belong in this world?
The next question was where the hell all of the stuff had come from, how they had ended up here, and how well she herself would be able to function as a detective. Her mind was certainly wonky enough to manage fictional murders and such and she was an avid fan of many detective series, but she didn't actually have the experience her fake background indicated she had. She'd tried studying seafaring, for crying out loud, not police-work or private investigator shit.
Just as she regained some equilibrium, the currently black-haired young woman looked up and came to a slow stop, looking around with pursed lips.
”Oh my god, I'm lost already.”