Not much makes sense for a moment. She's falling, but she's still, but there's light but it's spiraling sound - 

And then she lands with a soft puff of pale blue light on a cobblestone road slowly being reclaimed by plants. It's dark, the buildings around her quiet, the night sky above coruscating through mostly purples and greens with flashes of yellow-white, roiling layers trapping only a few thin stars that blink and look away, thick clouds caught in serrated sheets. There's a few intermittent gentle glows in the distance.

She lies still for a few seconds, eyes screwed shut and braced for pain. When she opens them she stares upward in awe. It's... Beautiful. Wrong. But beautiful. Hallucination, pocket dimension, or something weirder, pick your poison. Nothing else would really do the situation justice than, "Aww shit."

Her vocal cords produce a rather lovely pink glow. No sound escapes.

!

"Something weirder" indeed. It's completely silent and light is noise. What the fuck.

She scrabbles to her feet and tries to scream. Then she peers around at whatever is near, trying to not panic.

That produces a very bright pink light!

Nearby is mostly ruined buildings, that look like old brownstones. Some of the windows are gone. Many of the doors have been broken. The colors are muted, but they were probably once reds and yellows and browns, with shutters in cheery colors and grey roofs. The little patches of yard are overgrown, advancing up walls and across paths. The ones here are three stories for the most part, built into a gentle hill. 

There's a flare of pink light in a window down the block, and little puffs of blue light on a sill that turn out to be from a cat when it releases a curl of orange light. It stops, staring at her, then turns and runs off.

There's things in the undergrowth, too, blue and green for the most part. Some little motes in the grass hum faintly with specks of yellow.

This is all really freaky, but 'sound is color' makes... A certain sort of twisted sense, given how powers work...

It's pretty. But creepy. Silence is eerie. She's in some cape's pocket dimension and any minute now something will crush her, or spear her, or turn her mind to mush.

Aaaah.

...Any gang tags? Recent trash? Cars? Other signs of habitation? She'll poke around one of the buildings carefully, too.

No gang tags, no recent trash, no cars. There's streetcar tracks that go along a cross street at the bottom of the hill if she squints.

The most intact house as a door painted with faded chips of dark blue, which opens into a narrow hallway. To her right is even narrower stairs, which seem intact. To her left is a front room, a living room probably given what furniture remains. She has a clear view into a back room, a rather plain kitchen. There's likely a room between the two, going by the presence of a door off the hallway. The dust on the floor is thick, and glimmers in the soft blue of her footsteps.

It's all abandoned, whatever this place is.

Does the kitchen have any appliances? ...Or food?

The appliances are really outdated. Like, the 1950s had better stuff. There is, however, a pantry, which still has a few intact cans and glass jars.

(The angle from the kitchen reveals steps going down, too, under the hallway stairs.)

Her tinkery skills are confusing, but lean towards the mechanical anyway. She can use a few bits of this stuff. Like the springs in that incredibly ancient toaster. An old vacuum would be a juicy find.

She checks out the whole house carefully, stun gun held at the ready, before letting herself think too much about parts, though.

There's bedrooms upstairs, with metal frame beds and sparse desks containing crinkling remnants of paper. A few books, damaged by time and too yellowed to read more than a few words. Hand mirrors and fancy combs and dried makeup and once modest dresses now eaten by moths. A single bathroom on the second floor. No signs the house is wired for electricity. There's a gun, an old revolver, in the third floor front bedroom, and no ammunition for it.

The basement has mostly broken bits and bobs - it seems to have been used as a generic storage space. Mostly furniture being repaired; there's some old iron nails not attached to anything, and a hammer. There's some more cans and jars of food down here. The basement walks out to a back garden, which has a small brick shed with 'ICE' over the door.

The water in the bathroom doesn't work, but the kitchen has a few drips.

Like something out of the 80s. The 1880s. Geez.

...A gun. Not very heroic. Kind of really scary. But  she might need it. She takes the gun and stares at it for a while, letting her power rise up.

Nothing happens. Well, not quite nothing. She knows quite a bit about machines, after all, great and powerful and minor alike, so her mind's able to analyze the gun quite as easily as she'd read a book.

But it's her. Her own mind. No fugue. No external ideas.

"Aaaaah." Attention-getting pink glow or not, this deserves it. Her power is fucked up now!

Perfect. Perfect.

...Well, it's not pupetting her hands to disassemble the gun into something new, with her only able to latch on to vague ideas and feelings to direct the fugue, so maybe this is actually better?

The gun needs a new this-thing-she-doesn't-know-the-name-of-but-perfectly-understands-how-it-functions, it's too rusted to work. Normally she might be able to go 'well maybe I'll just tear out the entire back end and rebuild it better' but she doesn't immediately know a design that will allow her to latch back the thingy and spring it forward when the trigger is pulled, nor immediately know whether the parts to make one are nearby.

...She could make a percussion cap if she could find the right chemicals. Gunpowder too. It's brass forming for a cartridge that would be tricky. And none of this is leaping to the front of her mind like she'd gotten used to, she's having to reach and stretch - metal forming tools are their own big category...

She puts the gun in her backpack. She lets her face fall into her hands for a minute. She finds a nice, solid-looking pipe from the basement to use as a club maybe, and then tries to deduce with this... Library-style tinker power... If any of the food in the kitchen might still be edible.

The stuff in cans should be checked that it hasn't gone metallic or grown bacteria if it was poorly canned, but might be fine, the stuff in glass jars - depends on the thing. She knows more chemistry than biology or nutrition, though, but she might have some luck identifying problems with the food by smell.

Well, she starts opening cans and jars. An empty one can sit below the slowly dripping tap. Maybe she can tell if the water's safe too, and have a drink if it is.

She takes apart the appliances looking for things like springs, gears, wires, and switches. If there's any bleach or other household chemicals intact in decent containers here that'd be nice too.

She considers just going out and walking, but it was already pretty late and she was sprinting through a junkyard. She picks a bedroom, preferably one with no windows or at least heavy curtains, blocks the door with whatever is available, and tries to sleep.

Probably about half of the jars and a third of the cans have some obvious spoilage. The rest might be safe to eat.

Those are all findable; there's fewer wires than she'll have been used to with modern appliances, though, and the internal layout of most is a bit odd. There's a sewing machine, two typewriters, oil lamps with some oil left over, a wood-burning stove, a very early toaster that relies on simply setting a piece of bread on a rack leaning against a heating element, a medicine cabinet with a few highly suspicious medicines... There isn't any hydrogen peroxide, but there's calcium hypochlorite. 

The basement has a small bedroom with no windows, though the bed is small and uncomfortable, or there's a larger bedroom with a soft bed and intact curtains on the third floor, overlooking the back garden.

Nothing disturbs her in her sleep.

A first floor bedroom would have been nice. Two escape routes in case of trouble. As it is, she'll take the third floor one, going off a gut feeling.

In the 'morning' (or whenever she wakes up) she eats and drinks a bit, refills a jar with water from the dripping tap, picks a direction and starts walking. Looking around her every minute or two, trying to stay alert.

She could poke around all the houses for more parts but this is still probably someone's pocket dimension or something and it's probably better to keep moving.

It's actually bright out, a brilliant circle of light tracing its way across the blue-white-grey sky, though someone seems to have been confused about whether clouds go in front of or behind the sky layer. The sun's about midway up, and there's birds hopping around outside, letting out trills of yellow and purple.

The thing at the base of the hill is definitely streetcar tracks. The cross road is much wider, and there's what might be shop signs near where it curves away to her right. The road she's on keeps going down after it levels out for the cross street, towards another cross street and then a dead end. The houses at the bottom look much worse off, with clear signs of fire damage spread from the missing windows and doors.

She peers into a couple of shops, including back rooms, for potential loot. Picks a streetcar track to follow towards wherever seems the most 'out of here' and does that, walking along the side of the road instead of the middle.

God, it's creepy here. She keeps stumbling, not able to use the sound of her own footsteps to gauge herself. She can't hear herself breathe which keeps her  consciously thinking about breathing a lot. Hopefully she'll be able to get out of here.

She'll see a humanoid figure in one of the back rooms of the shops. Still. Facing away from her. Hard to discern details in the shadows.

Her brain goes straight to zombie flicks. Creepy otherdimension with monsters in it seems more like a real power, too.

Back out. Move on quickly.

It's hard to tell if she's followed, without sound, but while she's backing out the thing doesn't move.

There's the occasional humanoid shadow in a window, utterly still. A few faint glows, but the sound-light is much harder to see in the daytime.

At least there's still no signs of gangs, druggies, or cops. She keeps a steady pace.

Are there any intact streetcars on this long street?

She finds one, the roof partially caved in and the windows broken, but it looks intact.