dont_feel_it | (no subject)

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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."

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They're already in, aren't they? Audrey doesn't see the downside of seeing as much and as far as she can.
Not that it doesn't come with a firm belief that whatever she gets shown is only the top, public layer of this place.

That it won't explain what's under it, or any of the people in it. Won't explain the catch to it all, and she definitely believes there is a catch. It's too good to be true: everything you could need or want in one place, a magical place, with time unlimited for it and not price attached? She's been alive and working cases long enough to know what it means when something looks too good to be true.

"We should let Nathan at least try his pancakes before we rush him out the door," Audrey said, smile still there if more firm than curling. "How long has this place been here? And where exactly is here?" Saying the end of time and space was about as much putting a dot on a map as heaven, or here there dragons, or wild blue yonder.

Kate nods. She's got that relaxed, easy manner common to folk from her where and when. She's in no hurry, and it'd be a shame to let their first drink and meal respectively go to waste.

She blows out a slow breath, like a silent whistle.

"S'hard t'say. I surely don't have them answers, beyond what I've already told you. Milliways was here a long time 'fore I ever arrived, an' 'here' is—"

She shrugs, gesturing to the Window again.

"The very edge of the universe. The last spit of land, Lord knows how far from Earth. Ah, beggin' your pardon — folk from all different worlds come here. Wherever you're from, we ain't there no more. I once asked 'bout the doors, a long time ago; 'bout how they stretch to all kinds of different places all over the universe. Best answer anybody could give me was 'wormholes'. I don't know much 'bout that, but y'can travel from place t'place in the blink of an eye jus' by goin' through that door with somebody."

None of it especially whets his appetite. Not that bit about the very edge of the universe, or wormholes, but the pancakes are there, and he's not one to let them go to waste, even if they're from some unseeable source. It couldn't actually be buckwheat, or blueberries, or maple syrup, but he sits down all the same, pours the syrup over the stack, and cuts off a bite as Miss Barlow continues.

And they're good. It's only loyalty to Haven that makes him balk at saying just as good as home, but all he does is chew, swallow, cut a second bite.

Which is about all he's planning on. This isn't the time, and he's yet to decide it's the place to settle down to a short stack of pancakes, no matter how fresh the berries, how pure the syrup.

"Strange," he opines, fork resting in his hand, eyes trained on Parker, before they go tracking around the room, glancing at the window, pausing there for a fraction of a heartbeat, and moving on. "Mind if I ask where you're from, Miss Barlow?"

Kate's right. It doesn't really help. Answers that aren't answers.
That have to be taken on faith. By trust. From people you don't know.
Who appeared out of nowhere, work on and by magic, and have no answers.

That supposedly no one knows the straight, right, true, correct beat on the answer to. With no evidence to back it up but personal statement handed down. She's had worse introductions to places, through the foster system and on the receiving end of a gun, but it's not the best foot forward she's ever seen or had in a place. That much's for sure.

It gives her more questions, not less. Leaving her taking another drink of her martini while watching the other two.

"Texas."

Short, easy to digest statements.

"Earth. Jus' outside of Green Lake."

And then the harder to chew:

"Year's eighteen-eighty-eight for me."

His chewing slows slightly, but all he does is finish his bite. Swallow.

"So when you say people come from all over, you mean different times."

As well as places. Times and places. Times, place. Worlds.

It's flatly noncomittal, as he folds his arms on the bartop to look at her. "Guess they're all available, at the end of the universe."

In a manner of speaking, wouldn't everything have happened by then?

"Time, and worlds." Audrey added, over the rim of her martini glass, pulling it away again.

Times and worlds. Because she's saying there are other worlds. And that she comes from 1888. On Earth. Which supposedly is their Earth? Or a different Earth? Audrey'd really never been one for diving into science fiction. The furthest she got were the vampire books, and that was all the same world, just a step over, and most of them were entertainment more than sense.

But those two facts. They hadn't even been in the same sentences. One had been generally about the place, and the other had been about herself. "Green Lake -- ?" Audrey added, questioning the location, when the name didn't ring a single bell. Making her wonder if it was gone, or on another Earth. Either seemed as applicable, if she was supposed to be taking this seriously, stacking facts.

Kate actually chuckles at Nathan's tone. It's not the worst reaction she's ever seen.

Nodding:

"Most folk tend t'come from around the twenty-first century. Y'can imagine it was a big shock for me, first time here. But, well, the proof is in the puddin', sir. Take a look around the room. These ain't elaborate costumes, or crazy makeup."

To be certain, there are humans aplenty, but there are also robots, and furry bipeds, elves and dwarves, creatures of all different colors, wearing all different styles of dress. And, naturally, there are the waitrats.

"A lotta folk seem t'think they're dreamin' or hallucinatin' when they first come in. Helps ease the blow, I reckon. Shame you two came in together, it kinda puts an end t'that."

Then, turning to Audrey:

"Ah, it's a small place. It's grown into a respectable town in my day, lots'a money, but it's been sufferin' drought the last few years. Couple folks I've met from further in the future say it ain't very big, if it's the same place at all. Port Lavaca an' Corpus Christi have grown bigger, no surprise."

Taking her cue to look around the room again, Nathan has to agree; assuming this was a hallucination or a dream probably would ease the shock of it all, or, at the very least, provide a reasonable explanation for the bar's bizarre patronage.

He'd hate to see this place throw a costume party.

Green Lake doesn't ring a bell for him, either, even after Miss Barlow elaborates, but Corpus Christi is familiar enough to elicit a nod. Texas, late eighteen hundreds. Vince and Dave would think they'd died and gone to Heaven. He spares a moment's gratitude that they aren't here to smother Kate Barlow with questions.

It neatly kills what little appetite he has, though, so he puts the fork down after another bite and pushes his plate away, while turning a leery eye on a knee-high rodent scurrying past, bearing a tray with a few delicate mixed drinks and one individual pot of tea.

Maybe it would be easier, but he much prefers having come in with Parker, all the same. "How about that look outside?"

Audrey doesn't actually like the implication. But then Audrey doesn't like less than the truth.

Especially when she's a got it lot lately. In Haven. Blatantly. Like it's all fine, if they're obvious but silent.

She'd really rather not want to think this whole place and it's 'weird-ness' is some kind of funky food reaction or crazy dream she's going to wake up from at any moment. Not if it isn't. Fake guardrails really aren't her thing. But she's following the mentions of Texas. Making a note of it all. She looked up things on far less concerte facts. Kate Barlow. Green Lake Texas. 1888.

But it's Nathan's question, that makes Audrey look down. As much as its actually down, Nathan isn't that much shorter than her sitting all that height of his on a stool. Dry sort of teasing tugging just enough at one curve of her mouth trying to come back to it. "You sure you're done already? What'd you get? One, two bite--"

She's glancing between him and the plate though, when her expression falters with some surprise. Because it's already gone: the plate. Replaced with a white take-out box that looks the same the universe over. Even when there's a small, bright pink, azalea resting on top of the container.

"Huh." Again. But with a faintly crazy tug to her smile. The oddly cheerful ruefulness erring on teasing that comes with the crazy they seems to hit daily in stride. "It looks like someone here likes you." Audrey's gaze finding their guide again. "I guess that puts us back in your capable hands, Miss Barlow."

She grins.

"There's not many folk the Miss don't like. Still, I like t'think she's got good taste."

Makes it easier, being in a room with countless weapons, not sweating bullets every time. Waiting for that one fatal card game, or that one ill-advised insult, to end her time here.

She knocks back the rest of her drink and straightens.

"Pleasure. I promise not t'wear you out. Outside first, I reckon, but feel free t'stop me if somethin' particular snags your attention."

She tips her hat, and leads the way to the back door. They'll pass the kitchens, staff hallway, infirmary, and restrooms on their way out.

He's giving Parker a look that should point out without requiring words that they've wandered into a multi-dimensional bar that should have been Main Street, and that pancakes can wait until after initial reconnoitering, but her words trail off midway through her own sentence, and he follows her glance to see the neat little take-out box sitting where his plate had previously been.

He considers it for a second. Reaches out, picks up the azalea, and brings it to his nose, then carefully places it back on the box as Miss Barlow turns to go.

He can come back for it. For now, he unfolds from the stool, hands sliding into his pockets, follows Kate and Parker with that same ground-covering, slowed down stride, and if he doesn't give much away on his face, it doesn't mean he isn't paying attention as they pass a number of doors and a further selection of the odd patronage making themselves comfortable here.

Lanky, tall Nathan Wournos, holding a small pink flower, between his fingers, against his face. For the smallest pause, right after giving her that expectation, patient look, like she should know better, that somethings were more important. Which is why he's stopping to smell a flower. It's such an odd combination, and Audrey shakes her head, maybe even only to herself, looking to Kate and the bar with a pressed smile.

She tilted her cup and took a big gulp of martini, even though it didn't finish it. Then, placed it on the bar to leave it, too.

"I'm good with outside." Audrey put her hands in the pocket of her well-fit jacket, falling in line next to Nathan.

The back door swings open to a friendly outdoor porch, a few chairs scattered about where folk can sit and enjoy the evening. The glistering lake is immediately noticeable, and beyond that ...

Mountains, fields, forests, pathways forking this way and that. Down a ways past the lake, the stables and the forge. The firing range, the baseball diamond. Gardens, and a greenhouse. It's a whole world out here, some things stretching too far for the eye to see from their current vantage point. It takes exploring. A walkabout.

"This is outside. Protected from whatever's goin' on outside the Window on the other side'a the bar."

It looks a little bit like Scotland, and the day star hanging in the sky looks a lot like the sun. It's comfortable, easy; breathable. At night the constellations are different, and the climate can change in a lick depending on where you're standing, but for all intents and purposes it feels a lot like Earth.

It looks like a park. The kind of park put together by someone who'd been living inside, maybe among too many buildings, for too long. There's a huge, sweeping expanse of open space, a beach, a forest creeping up the slopes of hazy blue mountains. A greenhouse. A baseball field.

He wonders if there are Little League teams here, or how many people inside even know how to play the game.

"This is a different planet?"

He can smell the sweetness of growing grass, the faint salt twist to the air that's like and unlike home. There's no briny low-tide smell, and this place lacks the cool mist that always seems to hang in the air along the tidal flats of Haven, but it's close.

Which is strange, because that looks like a lake, not an ocean.

It's a little bit of everything.

Undeniably beautiful, but something about it itches at the edges.

It's like a child's drawing. Everything seamless put together, but things you wouldn't think could be outside a drawing. Everything rolling into and out of each other piece. Rolling fields, sweeping mountains, a flush forest, buildings and paths, built fields and docks, the largest lake and dots of boats. The smell of grass and flowers, of air that smells salty with just faint wet of ozone, like the edges after a storm off the bay.

Beautiful, and just a little surreal, and just enough that it feels, not wrong, but still foreign.

Which makes her glance at Nathan's words careful. As much as it looks like home to him, something about it doesn't to her, too.

It's always curious bringing new folk out here. Kate's grown so used to Milliways that it's a second home to her now. Being here with people who've never seen it before reminds her of how surreal it really is.

"I s'pose so. Planet, moon, 'space rock' — I don't really know. I jus' know it ain't Earth. No one's ever wandered past the bar's property; far as I know, y'can't. In here's the only place we're protected from what's out there."

He's looking across the way towards a stretch of what has to be lake but smells like salt water, making a thoughtful hn noise at Kate's explanation.

The whole thing is piecemeal. Like someone decided to build a county-sized piece of land a la carte, stapling together parts of the British Isles and New England and something that looks maybe like the Gulf of Mexico, down where the tang of salt is thickening the air.

"This was all just...here?"

A stable, a bar? A lake, with a floating dock? And with so many universes and times to choose from, what are the odds it would all be immediately recognizable to a native of twenty-first century Maine?

At least she can rely on Nathan to not glom on to it incredibly fast. To feel around the edges, studying everything in front of them, while Audrey is looking around and back. At the one singular large establishment here. None of the other places beginning to compare to the one behind them, that supposedly brought them through time and space.

Time and space that looks a whole lot like mis-matched, pushed together, Earth. Enough to be familiar, enough to be off-putting because it's not right. But, also. For as much as this is 'the end of time and space,' she's pretty sure she expected a lot more than something she could see basically out her hotel window in Haven.

There's oddness, but there's nothing distinctly alien about it all. Or the people. Even the language. It's all, like Nathan was hedging toward, and Audrey didn't mind just shoving right out the barn doors. "There's nothing a little too convenient about that to you?"

Kate deliberates on the path that forks just ahead of them, one lane winding toward the forge, and the other toward the lake. Might as well take them on the scenic route.

She glances at Audrey, flicking a quick look to Nathan before returning with a smile.

"Sure it does. It feels all kinds of convenient, like somebody here planned it this way. An' maybe somebody did. I've been comin' here five years this July, an' apart from seein' the baseball diamond go up, it was all here when I arrived. I guess this part of the bar, the outdoors, was made by somebody with magic. Modeled off his own home. That's what I was told once, anyhow. I've never met anybody claimin' t'have done it, so I can only imagine their door is long gone. Or maybe this is all the Landlord's doin', an' that story's a myth."

She pockets her hands in her duster, looking out over the water as she moseys along. It's become its own place, but occasionally it still reminds her of Green Lake.

"I think most folk who come here are comfortable, an' that's the point of it. Why go someplace that doesn't have what you're lookin' for? So y'end up with a li'l of everythin'."

There's just the slightest hitch at one corner of Nathan's mouth, in response to that smile -- there, and gone again, like the breeze that kicks up and ruffles his hair, tugs at Parker's and at the hem of Miss Kate Barlow's duster.

Barlow. It's a familiar enough name. There have been Barlows in Haven, and up and down the New England coast for years. He doubts she's any relation, but the name alone would be enough for Dave, or Vince. Not to trust her, but maybe to listen to her.

"I thought we didn't have a choice of where to go."

Maybe that door would have kept opening onto the bar. Maybe they had to go through it. He didn't choose a multi-versal tourist attraction as a destination when he offered to give Parker a ride. It seems flashy.

In comparison.

Audrey's pretty certain of that, too. Since Kate hadn't been mentioning there were options.

She's listening to the two talk, well enough, but she's watching the lake rise on their position as the path heads for it, in a gentle curve that looks more like it'll end up running an edge rather than hitting it flat on. Listening, but looking at it all. It makes her think oddly enough both of, and nothing at all of, the cliffs in Haven that seem to edge everything away from the sleepy little town were nothing was simple.

Made by magic, but might just be a myth, too, huh? It's about as easy to consider real as staring at it will somehow prove it. Like having a guide who actually doesn't seem to know any more of the actual answers to the pertinent questions after being there years actually helps the bottom line either.

"Depends on who y'are."

She pauses, wondering if she should bring up how the dead can come here as an alternative to an afterlife; how sometimes the Bar shows up right when you're most desperate for it; how sometimes it doesn't.

"Some folk always come here the same way. They got a fixed door, so t'say. Other folk, like me, have doors pop up all over the place at random. Some folk come here, an' they don't ever leave. S'different for everybody, but it ain't a prison. However things come about for you, y'always have some choice in the matter. Y'don't wanna walk in, then don't."

She turns, walking a few paces backwards so she can look at Nathan and Audrey face-to-face.

"Chances are, you're gonna want to. She grows on you."

He nods, narrowing his eyes against the weak sunshine. "Don't suppose there's any particular pattern."

Who gets continual doors. Who has them appear out of the blue, like the one at the station. He glances at Parker, wondering about the possibility of walking a suspect into the station, only to wind up here, instead.

And if his Trouble still works here, so would theirs. He's willing to bet even a place this bizarre doesn't want to deal with someone who can control the weather based on her mood, or who's dreams become reality. "What are the chances someone from here could follow one of us back without us knowing it?"

Spillover in either direction is a no-go. He won't let anything else into Haven, no matter how friendly the first person they met here was. One person isn't a whole...whatever this is. Planet. Undefined mass of space.

She said sometimes the door closed, and wouldn't open again. He wonders how that works with it not being a prison.

Audrey isn't sure if she wants to stick around and check it out, or go test that whole, it goes away and comes back. Sometimes in the same place, and sometimes in other places. Hands in the pocket of her jacket as she catching Nathan's eyes, because he moved to look at her, which most of the time gets her attention. Even when she's still paying attention. Still working out that whole thing.

Because it would be pretty inconvenient for it to stay permanently attached to the doors of the station. Her hotel might not be much of a home, but it's hers, it has her stuff, it's got a good enough shower and she doesn't want to be stuck with only this place and the station. She's already stuck in Haven for better or worse, especially now that she might have found her mother.

Nathan's actually not too far off one her own growing questions, which she might as well toss out. A press out of her shoulders, and tuck of her head, even as she looks around them at the idyllic, but still foreign, landscape and that building behind them, "What all do you have to watch out for here?"