(no subject)

[dont_feel_it]

There's been a break from the weird stuff.




There often is. Even with the Troubles rising again, sneaking from the shadows and striking where they're least expected, they don't stop normal, every day life and the normal, every day problems that come with it. Bar fights and treed cats, elderly folks forgetting where they'd put the barbecue grill last fall and reporting it as stolen; parking tickets, beach permits. Everything needed to keep Haven running smoothly, cheerfully. Just another friendly little town on the coast of Maine. Stop by. Have some pancakes.

It grates.

He takes to wearing his sleeves rolled down after the third time he caught himself staring at the burn on his arm. Eleanor patched it up, taped on a clean gauze pad, and scolded him for being careless, but the bandage fell off in the shower and though he'd conscientiously replaced it, he's sick of looking at it. Remembering. How it didn't feel. How it did. Pressure in his chest, watching the flame lick at his skin like he'd been watching it on TV.

So he buttons his sleeves at the wrist, and ignores it. It's not like there isn't plenty to keep him busy. Parker still doesn't know the ropes in town, and she's not likely to for a while yet. Haven folk are glad enough to take a tourist's money, but let them stick around and they soon find the layer of steel under the welcoming sand of the town. She's been running into one closed door after another, and getting frustrated, and he wonders if maybe she doesn't toy with that old Herald photo just about as often as he runs his fingers over the shape of the bandage that sits under his shirt sleeve.

Nothing much happened today, though. A few calls, some paperwork, going over the filing system with Parker and finalizing the paperwork necessary even for an on-loan federal agent, and now it's quitting time, meaning he's headed out, walking with long, measured strides that he's got to pace against Parker's shorter ones, reaching to open the door out to the street as he's glancing over towards her.

"Need a lift?"

He wouldn't mind, and the Bronco's right there.

Or, would be, had the stairs and street not vanished, to be replaced by what looks like a bustling bar.

Nathan's eyebrows climb slowly up his forehead, the only outward sign that he's looking at anything out of the ordinary at all, but all he says is: "Maybe not."

Comments

[27yrsandwelldoitallagain]

Quiet days are harder than the truly weird ones, and Haven takes itself out when it comes to 'Weird.'

But the quiet days, the average, ordinary ones gets under her skin, making it itch, shoving her head first toward restless. Until it hardly feels like she can sit still, ends up flicking her pen back and forth, back and forth, between her fingers, having to reread the lines on the papers she's reading five times. Leaves her with time and space to drag out that paper, and look at that woman who might be her mother.

The she won't know until the file request comes in. Which means even more waiting. Means it itches more, that restlessness, whenever she pulls it out. Lashes itself to the day. Ends up bolstering that feeling of a quashed bubble of hope for every call that is just a noise or parking complaint.

At least they do have one thing in common, The Weird Days and The Quiet ones.They all end, and Audrey Parker can clock out. To her empty hotel and dinner from the one good Asian place it took her two weeks, and several not so great orders, to even figure out where was. At least that is as far as she's gotten, with bobbling nod and settle to her shoulders, about to say, Sure, why not.

Before Nathan's hand has the door and that's not Haven. That's a bar. Weird might happen around here a lot, enough people look more awkward or enraged than surprised, but that doesn't stop instinct or training. Her hand going to her gun, even as her eyes shoot back to Nathan, with "What the?"

Because a girl deserves some warning, even if she's an outsider, if these "Troubles" happen to buildings and not just people.

[ikissdhimbck]

They didn't push their way through a batwing door into a smoky Western saloon, but there's still a figure dead ahead who looks like she came straight out of a movie. Hat low over her eyes, tawny duster brushing her calves and slipping aside to show the Colt sixshooter on her hip every time she raises her glass to her lips. She's leaning back against the Bar, one boot propped on the metal kick running the floor. When the door opens, all she has to do is glance up to see the two new patrons.

It doesn't take long to figure out how 'new' they are, judging by the looks on their faces and the one whose hand is reaching for a piece.

Kate straightens, smiles as friendly as could be, and chirps:

"Howdy! Y'might not wanna do that."

[dont_feel_it]

Nathan doesn't go for his gun, though his eyes drop to the six-shooter the woman has at her hip, before they flick to the bar, the patrons engaged in various and sundry leisurely activities. It's enough like the Rust Bucket that he squints, looks instinctively for the game of darts, the quiet foursome playing pool, before half-turning to check over his shoulder.

The office is still there. Quiet. Unfazed.

His lips thin, but all he says is: "Sure." Easy and peaceable. Tips his head at Parker, in silent communication. They could slam the door at any time, and the cowgirl hasn't pulled her piece yet, so he's not itching to start a shootout. "Wasn't expecting a bar here."

He says it mildly, like someone might say wasn't expecting rain today, or so I see you got a new car. Calm, though he shifts, takes up the space behind Audrey, shoulders straight and eyes level.

[27yrsandwelldoitallagain]

That's it? Seriously. He's kidding, right? Wasn't expecting a bar here? Audrey isn't even sure if the cowgirl costume or Nathan's constant ability to tag in with stoic deferred understatement hits as a greater problem for that passing second. Like a bar appearing out of nowhere isn't anything to really sneeze at.

Even if he does shift behind her, which she sees out of the corner of her eye as much as she feels the change in position. Almost brushed by, except in that way where it never involves accidentally actually running any part of himself into anything. The massive island of Nathan Wournos, hovering, behind her, speaking over her.

"You get in the habit of taking over a police station, you should expect it." Audrey tacted on, as a spiky warning, her hand not moving anywhere away from her gun. The gun doesn't come out, isn't even gripped in a threatening manner entirely, but her hand doesn't move from it. Even if Nathan makes it sound as rudimentary as cat's in a tree. Not expecting a bar on the other side of the door for checking out for the night.

[ikissdhimbck]

Kate holds up her hands in surrender, moseying a few steps closer. There isn't a better way of describing her gait, purposely relaxed so it doesn't look like she's advancing on them, wandering in such a way that she could change course at any minute and have it not be a surprise.

The important thing is that her hands are in the air, and nobody is doing anything threatening.

"I take it you two've never been here before. The bar tends t'scoop up folk without warnin'. First time I came here, I thought I was walkin' into my schoolhouse with a stack of books up t'my chin."

She tries another friendly smile on the woman, who seems to be the bigger wild card of the two.

"Welcome t'Milliways."

[dont_feel_it]

"Parker."

Quiet. Bending slightly to speak closer to her ear, a reminder. "Nobody's going for a gun."

It's a bar. Where a street should be. But it's a bar that looks peaceful enough, and the cowgirl smiling at Parker has her hands well away from the six-shooter at her hip. It's old-fashioned enough he wonders if it might be a costume piece -- but her boots are worn and her duster lived-in, and there's something in the set of her expression, desert-sky eyes, that makes him think it isn't.

"Never heard of it," is to the cowgirl herself, an easy-going, cautiously conversational statement thats the verbal equivalent of her relaxed, threatless mosey. "Guess you could say we're new. Sure."

He's never heard of any Trouble bringing a bar where there's not supposed to be one, but as Troubles go, it's not the most immediately dangerous, though it may well be the strangest.

He hasn't moved to step into the place, either, though.

[27yrsandwelldoitallagain]

Audrey startles. Visibly. Almost stepping away. Only just not taking the step.

Looking at Nathan more than that woman headed toward them for a second. Literally grabbing her gun a little tighter, when she can't even tell what's worse. The sharp, unwelcome irritation of her space invaded or the way her stomach flops over itself, too warm, smashing her heart rate with sharp, starting surprise, when suddenly Nathan is right next to her, leaning down next her head.

He gets a frown. Consternation in heavy eyebrows, and piercingly clear blue eyes. But. Okay. Fine. Maybe her hand is easing on her piece. Maybe she's got it off the metal and somewhere in the air above it. To the side of it. Not sure what to do with it. Shoving that confused feeling, the surprise invasion of her space away, and the correction of her actions, by him away. Annoyed, sparky. "Nobody said there was a bar that took over main street either."

Like everything else nobody ever said. That goes unsaid. But she might as well have just said it, right?
But she looks back at the woman, tempering her tongue, for only a faint narrow of eyes. Fine. She'll give it the benefit.
It's not like any other Trouble, or two, or three has tried to kill her, or them, or someone else related to the situations already.

Even though they have. But. Fine. Fine. No really. It's fine. She'll just let a breath out while Nathan goes on with unflappable, ubiquitous small town short, easy answers. Settle for crossing her arms loosely, because it'll at least get her hand from her gun, where it would really like to be resting still, but at least looking around more. At the woman. At all the other people. The very innocuous... bar look of it all. "So, this place does this a lot?"

[ikissdhimbck]

Kate offers Nathan a winning smile. He seems like a smart kind of fella already. She switches back to Audrey with a friendly nod, sticking her thumbs under her belt once the other woman moves away from her gun. Slow and nonthreatening, like everything else.

"That's 'cuz not everybody knows 'bout this place," she says in answer to the woman's first remark. "If y'come from a world with magic or space travel, this is gonna sit a lot easier. If y'don't, well — I won't be hurt none if y'think I'm shy of a full deck of cards. Y'see, Milliways shows up whenever it wants, an' picks up whomever it wants. Y'don't need t'fret none; it's perfectly safe, as safe as any other bar. This one jus' happens t'be at the end of the universe."

With a cautious flick of her head, she indicates the Window over her shoulder.

[dont_feel_it]

"Apparently there's a bar that takes over Main Street."

Since she seems to need to hear it said.

It's a bar he still hasn't stepped all the way into, despite his easy-going exterior. His boot is keeping the door open, toe nudged up against wood, and his thumbs are in his pockets.

Whatever he might tell Parker, his own right hand is angled just slightly back towards his own sidearm. No sense in starting anything, but none in taking no precautions, either.

To the small blonde woman: "We don't." Short, to the point. The Troubles are the Troubles. They're not magic. They're bad luck, and maybe something else Nathan's never wanted to consider too closely. Even if they were magic, this seems to be of a different kind.

His eyes shift from her to the window, and his lips thin. The spot he's taking up behind Parker suddenly seems to expand, as he shifts slightly to her side, not actively getting between her and the window, but maybe edging towards that general direction.

But that's still not the most immediate concern. "What happens when I close the door?"

[27yrsandwelldoitallagain]

Audrey's not sure she agrees with Nathan's denial at all. About Haven, Maine and 'The Troubles' not being magic. The word sounds hokey, but it's definitely something else. Something not in the same zipcode as normal. It's still something else at least. Something not normal. Something Audrey hasn't any clue how to quantify yet.

Like this place. That woman. The window Audrey is stuck for a second looking at, wondering why anyone would put it up for display. She's somewhere toward the flippant thought there are better tv shows and movies to show to distract people for bar walls, when suddenly Nathan is edging between the door and her to that side.

Making her shift, really without thinking, to give him room, a step more to her other side, rather than forward or back. Eyes staying on the woman in the duster and boots, saying nothing, because the answer to Nathan's question is worth more than distracting from it.

[ikissdhimbck]

There's a barely-there nod, as though the two just passed some kind of test.

"Well, most of the time, the door closes."

A little cheek, a little humor, because her next words ...

"Y'spend however long y'want in here, an' when you open it back up again you leave right where y'were when you came in. Same place, same time. Like y'never even left. The door goes away sometimes, an' y'jus' hafta wait it out until it comes back. But, usually, if that's gonna be the case y'wouldn't be standin' there right now. Nobody knows what the Landlord's plan is, but — Milliways is a haven, more often than not."

[dont_feel_it]

He's listening, eyes tracking across the room in front of him, until the last comment, when they snap to the cowgirl's face, narrowing slightly.

His right hand lifts, rubs at a spot on his forearm. He knows the bandage is there, a thick patch against his skin. Knows the burn is still fresh enough to hurt. His eyes move from the woman in front of them to Parker, and there's something cautious in the way he withholds any expression.

"Tuwiuwok," he says, low, more for her ears than those of the newcomer. "Sounds familiar."

[27yrsandwelldoitallagain]

Audrey really can't not notice Nathan doing that. It's still a little impossible to reconcile Nathan, angrily burning his skin and shoving her and needing to be tazered because he was trying to kill Duke instead of just implying he'd like that to happen, with the quiet, stoic, tall as a mountain, Nathan Wournos, at his desk earlier, at her side now.

But that doesn't make it any less having happened either. Like she said. Haven, Maine and The Troubles: anything but normal.

Apparently all in line with the odd and baffling things the -- cowgirl? bandit? -- is saying about Milliways and time in it.

It doesn't mean though that she isn't possessed of a rather strong wave of protectiveness when he's doing that. Rubbing at his arm, and commenting quieter to her. When she knows he can't feel it. Might not even be able to tell he's doing it. When she still doesn't know if it's a tic or a choice. Where that delineates, and whether it even matters when she just wants to reach out her hand and lay it over his. Let him know, even without a word, it wasn't his fault. Like she has any right to.

Audrey can take the next one, though, and step toward her. At least eliminate one more thing. "You got a name?"
It would be nice to stop referring to her by her clothes, and costume. It's not a trust, but it's a step at least.

[ikissdhimbck]

One step's as good as any in Milliways. One step can be as dangerous or as life-affirming as twenty.

She grins, sticks out her hand, and introduces herself.

"Surely do. Miss Kate Barlow, pleased t'make your acquaintance."

(if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to.)

"I know it's an awful lot to take in, but if you're lookin' for answers I can give 'em to you. An' the Bar's got a policy — your first drink's free. It helps ease the blow a li'l."

[dont_feel_it]

She might be right about the door. About time. About the way people come and go, here. It certainly seems to be a bar full either of dedicated costume artists or people from the range of places he assumes would be viable options, given Miss Barlow's comment about it being the end of the universe, and the one about the appearing and disappearing door that snatches people up unawares.

He's not a skeptic. Anything's possible. The bandage he knows is on his arm but can't feel is proof of that.

Which doesn't make him any more inclined to actually step inside the place and let the door swing shut behind him. As little as he'd want to trap himself, he won't risk doing it to Audrey until he's a little more clear on what this place is and how it works the way it does.

Neither line of thought keeps a faint quirk that's more a shadow at the corner of his mouth appearing. It's not a smile, but's kind of a kissing cousin to one. "Nathan Wuornos," he says, in reply. He's still got the badge on his hip, and his issued sidearm, but if he's going to be having a drink, he's not here within official capacity, so the detective gets dropped.

For now.

That shadow gets a little stronger, before it smoothes away again into his usual unreadable blankness. "Can see how that might help."

Even assuming there's an explanation, he bets it's easier to digest with alcohol.

[27yrsandwelldoitallagain]

The 'miss' gets a litte tilt from her head, but she still takes the outstretched hand and shakes it. Direct and strong, but there's something softer about her expression. Maybe it'd be best to call 'the benefit of the doubt,' too. Since they're still standing on some sense of gratitudes and explanations. "Audrey Parker."

"Your bartender know how to make a good martini?" It comes out with a touch deprecatingly, hopeful humor at Miss Kate.

It softens her up almost friendly like, already. Like the crack in the door might already means it's getting pushed open.

Right before she's shooting a glance back and up to Nathan, almost like a check-in. Because if she's going in, following where this hands leads, over the river and through the woods of everything crazy she just said, they are, right? Partners and all, at least for the time being? Having someone at her back, instead of doing this thing alone. It's still new, it's still almost like a game in certain seconds. But honestly there are some bits of it she could get used to.

[ikissdhimbck]

She nods to each in kind, politely repeating their given names.

Kate's eyes are sharp. There isn't much she misses, but she doesn't have call to mention every last thing when the folk before her now are soaking in something new and strange, and probably expending themselves enough in doing so.

"The Miss can make anythin' your heart desires. I haven't had a bad drink yet, or meal for that matter."

[dont_feel_it]

He holds, waiting until Audrey shoots that glance back up at him, and gives her an infinitesimal nod after a second where a look passes between them.

Alright. At least, if they get stuck, they get stuck together, and they've managed to get out of a couple finicky situations more or less in one piece so far.

If she's in, he's in. There's no way he's letting her go in there by herself, anyway, so the point's moot.

He moves, half-turning to watch the door close behind him, waiting until it's all the way shut, clicked and solid, then leans forward, turns the handle, and pushes it back open again.



There's the office. The hall. The scuffed floor and dark paneled walls.

"Good enough for me," he says, to Parker, and turns to Miss Barlow, waiting for her next move.

At least the bar's easy enough to spot from here.

[27yrsandwelldoitallagain]

She watches the nod, but waits for his momentary focus on the door. One part of her attention on him and the door, the other carefully never letting Kate out of her sight, in case. And, then, Nathan looked back at her, even and as open as Nathan got, saying he was there. They were there. Which turns like a domino chain, from Nathan to Audrey, to Audrey to Kate.

Okay, then. They're in. Audrey's smile brightens a widely noticeable degree.

Bring it on, Kate. Wow her with your bar's dirty martini skills.

Because she hasn't found a great one in Haven yet.


"Alright, you're on. Lead the way."

[ikissdhimbck]

She patiently waits out the whole process, lips half-cocked in curiosity. She's watching the way they move around each other, look at each other, silently commune; she's watching how they react to each new thing individually and as a pair.

Huh. Interesting.

She grins at Audrey and nods, starting the way back to the Bar.

"There's three important things y'gotta know 'bout this place. Call 'em rules, if y'like. One, no violence inside; so you'll wanna keep them guns in their holsters, lawmen or not. Milliways has her own security team. Two, no indecency; keep your clothes on an' your minds chaste. If y'start a hullabaloo, Bar's got her own cell where she won't feel sorry none 'bout lockin' you up until y'learn how t'be nice. Three, no outside business; even if your worst enemy walks through that door, you're expected t'be civil. No fightin', no bounty huntin', no takin' advantage of folk while you're here."

She turns once they reach the Bar, still smiling pleasantly. She's led them to a corner where they have some semblance of privacy (not having to worry about what's at their back, out in their blind spots), but with a good vantage point on the whole room. She pays attention to things like that.

"Y'seem like civil folk. So long as we all get along, everythin's bright an' shiny. Miss Bar? Could we get a dirty martini for Miss Parker, please?"

Without the slightest bit of fanfare, the requested drink appears on a burgundy cocktail napkin, chilled to perfection with just the right amount of olives.

[dont_feel_it]

He listens to the litany of rules, keeping pace with the two women by keeping his long strides slow. He can only measure them so much, and it's never enough to match Parker's shorter steps. Miss Kate Barlow, for all her swirling duster and impressive moxie, is built even smaller than Parker by a couple of inches.

It leads to his steps, long and ground-covering, gaining an extra little hitch, makes him look like he's wandering aimlessly instead of walking with purpose.

Which is fine. Parker always looks like she's moving with enough purpose for someone twice her size, so it evens out, and he doesn't mind giving a laid-back impression, meandering well below the danger signals of 'threat.'

"I'm sure we can keep any hullabaloo to a minimum," is all he says, dry, as they near the bar itself, but the rules are noted and filed away. Common sense. Don't start anything. Behave yourself.

He's unlikely to break any of those rules at any bar at home, but every law exists for a reason. Someone, at some point or another, must have flouted one or all of them.

The consideration of which slips cleanly out of his head when the cowgirl speaks, not to a bartender, but to the bar itself, and, worse, gets a reply in the shape of a filled martini, foggy with a chill on the glass, set on a quietly classy cocktail napkin.

It's a worse shock than opening the door was, and his fingers twitch at his hip before he digs his thumb firmly into his pocket, eyebrows pushing up and then furrowing down, hard.



There's suspicion and steel lurking behind the easiness of his reply. "Handy."

[27yrsandwelldoitallagain]

Rules are the same pretty much everywhere. Audrey barely raises an eyebrow at those. She's pretty sure all of those rules are somewhere in the Haven charter. Written in different bigger words in her own rule books, with addendums, directions to which laws, at which state and federal levels, and what repercussions exactly correspond where.

If anything, going with the weird -- and she's somehow really good at going with the weird, oddly enough, lately -- it's kind of comforting to think there's some kind of police force in this place. Some kind of lock-up for an ill sort. She's not saying she's on its side, without having gotten a look at it, but it's comforting to know there are familiar systems in place.

The drink though. That's. Unexpected. At least as much as anything can be when a whole bar can appear.

"Huh." Audrey's tone is nothing like Nathan's. Nor is the way she looks at the glass. There's some surprised, but hers isn't shock. Nothing about it startles her. If anything there's something like an even keel, down to earth, wary kind of curiosity if anything else. "What's the trick?"

A woman made the weather change in seconds. A little boy effected the world with his dreams and nightmares. Music healed the unhealable in the human mind. And a bar, full of people and grandiose claims, just appeared. From nowhere. Out of nowhere. Which makes a drink seem...small. Localized. Honestly, that a level of weird she finds entirely...handable.

[ikissdhimbck]

Kate would never say so out loud, but there's actually two reasons why she so often gives the welcome speech. Sure, she don't like to see people confused or upset; Milliways can be a big shock, and a friendly face can make all the difference. But she also likes seeing what folk are made of. You could call it messing with people, but that ain't entirely fair. She likes seeing how they tick, the way they react.

"Told you it'd be easier t'take if there's magic in your world."

She smiles around her whiskey. The liquor here is good, safe, and entirely real.

"I'll be honest with you. Way things here work even I don't understand, but y'stop worryin' on it after a while. This here's Miss Bar. She can get you anythin' y'need short of a weapon or a livin' thing. Food, drink, clothes, supplies — anythin'. She takes care'a folk here, an' as hard as it is t'wrap your head around at first, she's got a real wicked sense of humor. Ain't that right, ma'am?"

She angles that last question to the Bar herself, who replies on a clean napkin with a surprisingly detailed drawing of a cherub. Innocent as the driven snow.

"Whatever y'need, y'ask her directly. Mr. Wuornos? Care for somethin' t'drink?"

[dont_feel_it]

Mr. Wuornos, she calls him, and it's another nail in the coffin of not-quite-right.

Nobody calls him that. He's been Nathan to everyone in town since he was a boy; he'll be Nathan til the day he dies. Haven doesn't put a lot of heft in titles, witnesses and suspects are just as likely as Mrs. Miller down the street to call him by his given name instead of Detective.

But nobody ever calls him mister.

He doesn't correct her, though. His eyes are caught on something other than the two drinks sitting on the polished bartop: a little square-cut glass of toothpicks, one of several he can see space more or less evenly down the bar. For when patrons get their end-of-the-universe popcorn stuck in their teeth, he guesses, but he reaches out to tug one loose, even as he shakes his head slightly at her question. "Not much of a drinker."

Definitely not right this second, surrounded by the odd and the impossible, with Parker's materialized dirty martini staring him in the face. Not until he knows.




There's magic here. Maybe. Of some kind that might be different from whatever's in Haven, and, anyway, if Miss Kate Barlow is right, they aren't really in Haven anymore. Maybe aren't even in their own world, anymore, and before anything else happens, he's got something to try. Closes his fingers in a fist around the toothpick, leaves one end just slightly sticking out.

And then he presses the pad of his thumb down into it, as hard as he can, while looking back up at the two women. "Beer's fine."

It looks just like he's making a fist. Squeezing a hand at his side. Nothing to concern themselves with, unless something happens, but --

Nothing does. He presses harder. Nothing.

There's no disappointment that shows, no flicker of anything. He just pushes the toothpick into his jeans pocket like that was his plan all along, and shrugs, mouth twisting into a wry expression that's not quite a smile. "How's your Bar with pancakes?"

Beer's okay. Pancakes are better.

[27yrsandwelldoitallagain]

Audrey's busy eying her drink, and listening to Kate. Observing without too much focus, or hiding of the watching, that Kate just drinks her drink down. Without pause or delay, no any suspicion. Audrey's attention is definitely elsewhere, especially when she's leaning over to see the tiny angel drawing. Her brow puckering even as a smile is tugging at the middle of her lips.

It's crazy. But it kind of seems like a harmless crazy. Under the right circumstances and care.
The way she's beginning to look at things back home. Marion Caldwell, Bobby Driscoll, Ray McBreen. Even--

It's a little hilarious before she can think his name he's asking that question. Those words that seem to shoot out of his mouth more often than anything that isn't rueful, stoicness about how she'll figure it all out. Whether it's The Troubles. Haven. Or her past. Nathan's go to food. Nathan whom she is settling with a wrinkled nose, and crinkled edges to her blue eyes, with an unruly look of affectionate disbelief and exasperation toward Nathan.

Because. Pancakes, really? In a bar? Audrey couldn't help herself, "Nathan here'll be your best friend if you say yes."

But you know, it's about as far off the mark as her own words, too. Nathan Wournos had a whole lot of citizens, denizens, people who'd known him all his life and who even doted on him affectionately even through his his self-imposed distance. But Audrey would be hard pressed to point a single person who looked like Nathan's friend. Or a friend of Nathan.