Finding her way in this new world, where she no longer had the government support that she had gained, and later lost with the Fixers going rogue, was difficult, especially since things just seemed so different. The world was relatively the same as the one she had originated from, just lacking the time travel technology and being behind in time. It was hard to wrap her head around the idea that this was 2018, not 2025, and that she was technically twenty-five if she was going by her actual birth year of 1993. Maybe it was for the better that this world was more mundane than the one she had originated from, even if it wasn’t much different. Though others coming from what Haven Hill had dubbed the “Animated World” were sometimes from places more magical and mystical than her, Sinclair felt that her own place that she had come from was still lovely through and through, as it had been the world in which she was raised. Sometimes, just sometimes, she was curious as to how her life would have turned out if the Darkness did not exist, even though she would most likely be dead in Nazi Germany due to lacking the papers that would have kept her safe.
These were musings that she felt herself considering as she took a break from the chaos of being a tenured university professor in the midst of grading finals and calculating grades. Of course this break was one that focused on the vice that she had managed to pick back up once she had arrived in San Francisco, spurred on from being separated from the rest of the group. An already half-gone cigarette between her pointer and middle fingers, the nicotine was calming herself as she reminisced on her life that had once been full of adventure and excitement. Certainly teaching was where she had started out, but it was her job as a Fixer that she had truly loved and realized where she had belonged, as cliché as that sounded. Instructing students on the proper way to write Cyrillic or describing the niceties of Spain Spanish versus Mexican Spanish could be dreary at time as she spent all of her time in a classroom, at home, outside to smoke, or commuting. Very occasionally did she find herself doing anything especially exciting that brought back the rush that time-traveling had. Looking up from her cigarette at the woman who had interrupted her thoughts and realizing that she had started walking in the direction of the ashtray out of habit, Sinclair immediately squinted. She looked awfully familiar to the linguistics professor, but she just couldn’t place where she had seen her before. “No, it’s alright. I was the same. Many apologies.” Stubbing out the mostly finished cigarette and throwing it away in the designated receptacle, she looked back up at the woman. “Do I know you?” She asked, not sure as to where she had seen this face before. It wasn’t often that she forgot people that she knew, so it must have been a long time ago that they had last seen each other.