milliways_bar | (no subject)

"Ok... well, what's his main problem? Something in his past, perhaps?" She prompts gently.

"There's not a couch in the lost and found, is there," he asks, miserably.

"No, but there's one in my tent." She smiles. "Or there's always the booth option. You wouldn't believe how much therapy happens in Milliways booths."

He raises an eyebrow.

"You have a tent?"

"Uhm, yeah. It's out back. I've been living in it for the past week or so. It's actually a wizard tent, cause it looks like a norma tent on the outside, but you go in and it's an apartment. There's a bathroom and kitchen and everything." Her eyes sparkle. "No, I'm seriously not making this up."

The eyebrow remains raised.

"There's an 'out back'?"

Val blinks at him. "You've never been to the lake?"

He shakes his head.

"No. Not big on...nature. Plus I don't want to try to leave and...accidentally end up in Hell, or something."

"Come on." Val reaches over and takes his arm. "Everyone needs some sunshine. I'll show you my tent and the lake."

"Um...I guess," says Warren, who's complexion appears to have seen sunshine once every seven years. So three times then.

She leads him to the door, putting her hand on the knob. "It's so nice out there." Her eyes twinkle. "Perhaps I'll even get you a bit of a tan."

Warren, dressed in his customary three to four layers of shirt (despite living in California) gives her A Look.

And moves to walk through the door.

He doesn't make it.

He doubles over in pain.

"Ow, my nose!"

Marsha, Marsha, Marsha...

"Warren!" Val kneels down beside him. "What the frell happened? Are you alright?" She pulls a napkin out of her apron, handing it ot him.
"Here. Is your nose bleeding?"

Of course it is.

"What...it...what?" He stutters.

Val sighs, ever the practical one. "You have a nosebleed, Warren. This is a napkin. Use it." She holds it over his nose, pulling his hands away.

"What'd I...hit?" He asks, confused.

"No flipping clue." She stares at the door in a bit of consternation. "You were a good foot and a half from the door." She blinks. "That makes no sense. Why can't you go out to the lake?"

He reaches a hand out toward the door and rests it against...nothing.

"Because. I did things. I guess this is what I get."

He presses another hand against the nothing.

"Great. Great! I'm a freaking mime."

Val remains on the floor, hands in her lap, and just blinking at Warren. Her voice is soft, "What is it that you think you did?"

"I don't think I did anything. I did horrible things. Even if I didn't mean to."

"Well, what sort of horrible things did you do?" She pulls her knees up to her chest and leans againt the wall.

"Murderer," he says simply. And there's more, but that's enough.

There's a surprising compassion in Val's eyes, one that twinkles, even through the hint of surprise. "Murder isn't the end of the world, Warren. No, I'm not condoning it, I'm not saying it was right, but I am saying that things move on. I don't see you doing it again. You're sorry, and that's what's important. You can't change the past."

"People keep saying that."

How can everyone be so sure he won't do...something like that again if he's not?

"Well, as someone told me once, if five separate people tell you something, it has to be at least somewhat true." She smiles, but it's a serious smile. "Warren, people change in this bar. There's a lot of people here who want to help you, and we're going to be here to make certain that you don't do things that you would rather not."