(I've got this old application, figure it's legit, on the main page, so... Edit: No, it's not, here's a link)
Morwen arrived in the courtyard just after dusk without much fanfare. A driftdisk flickered into existence behind her, a lazy afterthought, and she fell backward into the concave luminescent surface. Her heart still raced from the encounter, or imagined encounter, and drugs. She was more than a little flushed.
"So this is it," she concluded, glancing around. An abundance of obsidian. She dangled her legs off the end of the driftdisk, and it tilted downward. She rested her feet on the ground, clad in brown rubber slippers. Morwen was sure they'd confound the locals, but they were excellent if not fire resistant. Once you got the blisters anyway.
She exhaled, and took a fresh lung of the new world. There was a moment of concern for her driver - handsome, capable man - but he knew what to do if Morwen went 'walking. She wanted to tell him about the smells. When it rains, you don't smell rain. The rain suppresses most of the things that keep you from smelling a plane, a place. Like stepping off of those... diabolical yet efficient, those airplanes... in another city, and getting a breath of their pollutants, free monomers, food and waste, the packed press of humanity.
Yes, totally foreign to these people, was her second conclusion. The plane bit took a second to catch up, where she relished it. Her thoughts raced, but toward no particular end. She felt buzzed, lit, and alive. The shock of fleeing from her Facade was muffled by whatever swam through her bloodstream. And the refreshment of a new plane. This place didn't have engines for chrissakes!
"...aaand this works now!" was her best thought of the 'evening'. Time could be tricky from plane to plane, but she seemed to have gotten it right... Restored Ethereal connections, magic operational, she reached into the sleeve of her slick and glittering evening gown to produce her smoking pipe. She lit it with a cantrip between her fingertips.