(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]

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.

[ikissdhimbck]

They're an interesting pair, and no mistake. It doesn't escape her notice when the fella fishes out a toothpick and it suddenly disappears, the calm tenor of his voice about as interesting as the clenched fist at his side. She doesn't exactly know what he's doing, but it's not her place to ask anyhow.

So she smiles instead, eyes crinkling, like she's looking up at her very best friend.

"Only one way t'find out. Place an order. Be specific, now — any kind'a pancake, with any kind'a toppin' your heart desires."

She wears that delighted, I've-got-a-secret look like a badge of honor. Like she's showing off, or challenging him to stump this place.

She smiles at Audrey.

"I could go on for hours, but somethin' tells me you folk are used t'askin' questions. What else can I answer for you?"

It's a small offering of solid ground. A bit of control, in a place that's otherwise completely out of their power to influence.

[dont_feel_it]

His eyes move to Parker, and they're crinkled just enough at the edges to suggest that, just maybe, that line was as much for her benefit as it was his. Even he doesn't normally go for pancakes right after work, and they're not his first choice in a bar or restaurant -- whichever or whatever this place actually is -- but in terms of working with the evidence in front of him, it's not a bad place to start.

Mixing a drink is one thing. Food is more complicated.

The way Miss Barlow's looking at him, though, seems like she knows the place has an ace up it's sleeve, and he shrugs under her amused glance, turns his own to the bartop. "Blueberry buckwheat, and maple syrup."

Simple. Nothing fancy. But in Haven, the blueberries are fresh and wild all summer, and the maple syrup is made in town. You can't get pancakes like that just anywhere.

But you can get ones like them, apparently, as a plate appears with his order, steaming gently. The bar even put the syrup in a separate glass dispenser, featuring the slide-top familiar from his childhood, and when he picks it up, it's got the liquid movement of syrup that's been heated to just the right temperature.

Actually, the glass is probably too hot to hold comfortably, and he puts it down before he accidentally burns himself. "Who runs this place?"

And how? Is there a kitchen, are there bartenders, wait staff, janitors? What makes a bar at the end of the universe tick?

[27yrsandwelldoitallagain]

The smallest things really do make him seem pleased. Because happy is the wrong word. Definitely, for Nathan Wournos, who still needs to learn to smile when he's ribbing someone. So that at least certain people can even begin to tell when he's being serious and when he's just being an attempt at a stoic funny boy.

Not that certain people mind the challenge any more than that barely there, wrinkle, that might have been something in his face for a second there, but might not have been, now that it was gone and he was distracted in the appeared plate. Because they did appear. A stack of pancakes and a container of syrup. The kind that makes her think of retro diners.

Huh. Double huh, she supposed, at this point. Especially since Miss Kate had said it made anything not alive or a weapon.

Audrey lifted her drink carefully to her lips, even as her eyes went from Nathan asking more questions toward Kate as he was asking them. They were questions worth knowing. She wanted to know about this security group more, already, too. But she could taste her martini and wait for that next round of answers first.


Or, give a surprised mmm mumbled, with a relaxed press to her shoulders, in delight at how good the martini was.

[ikissdhimbck]

"Folks 'round here call him the Landlord, but nobody's ever seen 'im."

She sobers slightly, giving due regard to the seriousness of the question. The smile's still playing at her lips, particularly as he examines his pancakes and she makes a sound of approval at her drink; Kate wants them to feel at ease, as much as possible.

"Frankly, nobody knows why this place exists, or who decides who comes here an' why. For all intents and purposes, Miss Bar runs the place. Like I said, she takes care'a folk. There are rooms upstairs, an infirmary, stables, grounds; li'l bit of everythin' for anybody. There are bartenders, too — even a magic Bar has t'rest every now an' then. Mike an' Sally are the head tenders, an' they know all there is t'know 'bout this place. Others are part time, or volunteers.

"I help run the stables. There're two other stable managers. Head'a security is Miss Mel, she's got a team of about — gracious. Maybe a dozen? Dr. Tam an' Dr. Ford head up the infirmary, but you're likely t'see Dr. Sandhu more. Let's see ... Nope, I think that about covers it, so far as leaders go. Lots of folk from all different walks help out 'round here, though."

[dont_feel_it]

He's sliding onto a seat and picking up a fork as she answers the question, but what she says makes him forget pancakes, syrup, and fork all at the same time, leaving the tines hanging over the surface of the stack as he looks back at her, a faint frown narrowing a line between his eyebrows.

"Stables?"

In a bar?

The rest is just as strange, and he looks around, wondering whether or not any of the people she just mentioned are currently around. "These people -- the ones who help out. They live here? In the bar?"

[27yrsandwelldoitallagain]

Magic food, in a magic bar, and Nathan's surprised there are horses? Given everything Kate's said, it'd just fall in line that they'd be some kind of magic horses. But it does slams some walls. Like Bars are solitary places. Buildings. Insides with smokey atmosphere's and bar stool, like they're sitting on now, taking up a space like they are some kind of patron.

You don't think of them as having surroundings. Which she's seeing as she gives a look toward the far walls of this place. Windows that show toward an outside, and there's a set of doors over there look like they lead outside. One with weather that doesn't look anything like evening in Haven. Lots of green. What looks familiarly like the glitter of water.

"And how big, exactly, is here?" Audrey asked looking back from the windows and door to Kate.

[ikissdhimbck]

Kate's lips twitch.

Sure, they just saw the universe come to an end outside the Window, but the stables are where they pull up short.

"Some do. Live here, that is. But not all. We all come from someplace, an' come an' go as we might. It jus' helps t'have a place t'hang your hat when time gets all bendy."

Beat.

"I could take you on a tour, if you'd like."

Judging by her grin, she'd be delighted to. It leads straight into her answer to Audrey's question, which, for all intents and purposes, is straight laughter.

"That also gets bendy. It's — big. S'like someone found a chunk of paradise and plopped down some real estate. The universe puts on a show every hour for the patrons who come t'eat, an' for the rest, well, there's a li'l bit of everythin'."

[dont_feel_it]

His eyes move from Parker's skepticism to Miss Barlow's amusement, and he shrugs, subtle. Food and drink in a bar is one thing. You expect it, no matter how strange the bar itself is. But horses? An infirmary?

He doesn't like places that stretch past where they're supposed to end. It's too like Haven, doors opening to rooms that shouldn't be there, twisting halls, the forest full of shadows and deep, unexpected pits. He doesn't like the idea of bendy time much, either. He wonders if someone's responsible. If it's a Trouble, or something like one.

Miss Barlow doesn't seem fazed. She's just about ready to shoo them out that other door already, giving them the easy, assured smile of someone who knows exactly what's coming and isn't worried about it.

He wonders how long in a place like this it takes to get that inured.

He keeps his questions and opinons to himself, though, and instead turns to Parker, eyebrows barely lifting in a silent question that he thinks he knows the answer to, already. She dove headfirst into Haven; she's likely to track this trail wherever it leads, too.

[27yrsandwelldoitallagain]

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.