milliways_bar | Enter a politician

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Enter a politician

Peter wasn't the only Petrelli to be a bit distracted. Nathan left his brother with their mom while he started making phone calls on his way back to his campaign office. He was still talking on his cellphone as he walked through the door.

"Look, get me Tom on the phone, will ya? ...Hello? Hello?" He stared at his cellphone. Damn, he shouldn't have lost the signal. He then glanced up, only instead of the familiar hustle and bustle of a frantic campaign office going into the last stretch....It was a bar? What the hell?

Nathan took a few steps further in, not realizing the door closing smoothly behind him. Must have gotten turned around or something.

(ooc: ~~much love folks, but gotta say slowtime for work and class. Will be back to tag slowtimes after 4:30pEST. Never mind on the work! Yay! Here till 3pmEST.~~ BACK! Feel free to send more pups to meet my newest one.)

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Nathan's head whipped back sharply, and he looked like he wanted to bark something. No, not going to tell him yet. He didn't need to know about that. Not about Dad. He did pinch the bridge of his nose though, his signal for saying really annoyed and fed up.

"I thought you said you wanted me to help us get out of here? And you're sitting there making jokes?" Same old Peter, still being childish.

Nathan doesn't need to bark. The look alone is sobering enough.
Peter's been here a day already, he'd been trying to make the best of it until they figured things out.

"Fine," he says, standing. "As soon you believe me and are done doing all the things I've already tried, I'll tell you what I know so far."

Nathan sighed loudly again, and slammed his hand against the wall in annoyance.

"Dammit, Peter! What the hell is going on here then? Huh? You gonna start going on about your dreams again? Or how you seem to have sucked me into one of your delusions?"

"No, I'm not, alright? Just listen to me for a moment," Peter demands. Though after a day here, he's hoping Nathan'll give his dreams a little more credit.

"I've been here since yesterday, right after we spoke with Mom. I don't know where you've been the last twenty-four hours, but I've got a room here and everything.

Apparently we are what they call bound. Unable to leave until this place wills it. The bar's sentient, and-," he glances at the observation window but hesitates. No, Nathan's really not going to like this... "We're not even in New York anymore."

Might as well start small.

Nathan sighed again, but then he did listen.

"I'm telling you, it's still today. I was just trying to talk to someone to bury Mom's record. And of course we're in New York. You don't just walk into a building, and end up some place else." At the moment, he's ignoring the whole sentient bar deal, or how a place can will somebody to be trapped here.

"Just forget her for a second, Nathan. No, this isn't a dream. Neither is that." That, in this case, being the observation window, which he will direct Nathan's attention to this time.

Sighing Peter brushes the hair out of his eyes and watches, warily, his brother's reaction.

And like in the other threads, he did turn toward the window. Definite staring for a moment.

...

He finally looked back at his brother, "So, they got some fancy special effects display. Some avant-garde theme, just like any number of places around the city." He turned back toward the wall. Maybe still hoping the door will reappear or something. Yes, he's being difficult, and not wanting to admit the truth. Since it seems crazy, and it's something he has no way to control.

Peter rubs his forehead and returns to his seat. There's no use standing around if Nathan's going to be his usual impossible self.

"It's not a display, Nathan" he repeats, shortly, as he waves down a waitrat to order a cup of coffee.

"So why don't you try that door there," he suggests, pointing toward the one which leads outside. "Because you've never seen anything like that in the city."

Nathan gave his brother the eye as he watched him sit back down. ...And why is he waving over a rat? A large rat too, with an apron on? The kind you usually saw dead in a gutter around the city, or running rampant in the sewers.

He stared at that a bit longer, and then went toward the back door. He opened it, half hoping that maybe this one would lead to his office.

It didn't, but... ok, what kind of bar has this out back? Big wide sky too. And something about it all almost made him want to take a better look.

...A look from up high, that is.

Well, considering he hasn't flown since the accident, and doesn't again until panic kicks in, he's going to have to climb a tree if he wants that angle.

Peter, meanwhile, watches from where he sits, smiling faintly.

Blanked most of it out, except for one or two weird things when he's had nightmares from the accident. But he just thought he was dreaming at the time.

Nathan took a few steps outside. The display could be ignored away. It was harder to ignore all of this. Cold air blowing against his face, and the ground, stiff with early frost underfoot.

"...Where the hell are we?"

Peter doesn't hear the question, as Nathan ponders aloud. He's just stood up to follow his brother outside.

When he catches up, however, "This isn't Central Park, Nathan," is the first thing he points out.

"Yeah... I noticed." Central Park was never so clean. And huge.

His brother's a bit rattled at the moment.

Yes, Peter'd noticed. And understandably.

After a few moments, he nudges Nathan with his elbow, gently, saying, "It's a little cold out here, and my coat's upstairs, why don't we head back inside?"

Then, with his usual lopsided grin, "First drink's free, after all."

Nathan slowly nodded, and turned around, "I could go for that about now." He finally had no choice, but to accept their situation.

He sighed, and put his arm around his brother, "Free huh?"

"Yeah, free," Peter repeats as they head back inside.

"Not like the big-shot politician can't afford to buy his own drinks," he remarks, with a fond grin. "In fact, I think I'll put my coffee on your tab."

Nathan lightly kidded him, "Pays better than a hospice nurse at least." He wasn't going to mind that much anyway. He knew he could afford it.

"Yeah, at least I actually care about the people I'm claiming to help," Peter kids back. "Besides, I don't care about the money."

"Hey, I care. Who's been looking out for you since we were kids, huh?"

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