milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

Cole Sear, a normally spritely lad of about seventeen, steps from his bedroom door, out into the hallway.

Or what should be the hallway.

He does a double-take.

He turns back to the door and opens it -- nearly -- but just as he reaches for the knob, it vanishes below his hand.

A familiar chill sweeps over him, a wavy sensation he hasn't felt in days - weeks - months - nearly a whole year, for this one.

"Whose memory is this?" he whispers, looking down. "It's yours, it's fine, it doesn't need to be fixed, to be known, I don't want it..."

Glancing about, there is simple panic in the boy's eyes.

Nothing is letting him free.

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"It's nobody's memory," Gorlim says, leaning against the bar as he watches the child through curious blue eyes. "It's the end of the world."

Cole blinks.

"Say what?"

And looks over Gorlim once, twice -- no, entirely unfamilliar, but indeed rather odd.

"It's the end of the world," he repeats. "I'm afraid I can't be much more specific than that. The place has good food, though."

"Fantastic. Wonderful. Are you serious?"

Cole has a permanent smirk, perhaps, but even the smirk has managed to look panicked.

"Who are you?"

"Gorlim, son of Angrim." He nods in greeting. "And you... you look like someone's misplaced squire." He smiles disarmingly, trying to calm the boy.

"Yes, I suppose I am -- must be -- lost -- what."

Cole furrows his brow a bit.

"I'm not dead. I know that much. Is everyone else?"

"I don't know, actually. I know some are dead, but I'm fairly certain just as many are alive. It doesn't really matter as much here one way or the other."

"It doesn't matter."

This is the most bewildering thing he's ever heard.

"... how does it not matter?"

"It's the end of the world." He grins. "That's how.

"Are you hungry, boy? Thirsty? You look like you could use a cup of tea at least."

"... I like tea," he manages after a good long-seeming minute.

Stunned.

This--. This wasn't supposed to happen.

Not to *him*.

Cole was supposed to stay back on Earth. Help the spirits. Help them make their way to peace.

Malcolm can't help himself. He whirls away from the bar and runs over to Cole, calling his name.

Well, that plan went a bit awry.

The boy whirls around, snapping, "What? Damnit, whose fault is--"

And then pales a little.

Blinks.

Pales a lot more.

"Shit."

Malcolm comes up and *touches* Cole on the shoulder.

"Cole! Are you all right? Were you hurt when you came here? Before you came here?"

And, of course, being in the damn bar means Cole could be perfectly solid and *still* dead. No one knows that better than Malcolm.

"C'mon, Cole, talk to me."

"I'm fine. Regardless. Perfectly fine. Everything's just, y'know, utterly peachy considering the circumstances!"

Someone teach him the word 'calm,' please?

"My hallway is now a restaurant full of ghosts. I've been through plenty but I think this is just a little bit much!"

Cole is much taller than Malcolm remembers. Time has passed ... years.

"Cole, listen to me. You know I'm dead. And other people here are too. But NOT EVERYONE. If you weren't hurt coming here, there's a good chance you're all right.

And *no* violence can happen here. You're *safe*, ok?"

Malcolm watches Cole very carefully. His clinical mind racing, looking for every sign he can read from the young man's behavior.

"... but where's my house. Where is my damned door."

It's all he can do to stay together, calm, not breaking into weak tears, seem simply there, together, everything you always (weren't before) were able to be, Cole --

"But I'm fine. I'm still fine. Finer, really, than when I was - what, eleven?"

There are things he's forgotten.

"I know you are, Cole. You're a strong, guy, very strong."

"This place, where we are now, it's--. It's not like anything we've known before. It's a miracle, Cole, a wonderful thing, and, trust me, a day is going to come very soon when you're going to be glad you arrived here."

How the *hell* is he supposed to get through the next part? Both feet.

"This place--. This place is far away from our home. When you came through that door--and I think you'll be able to go back through it, so don't worry--you jumped through time and through space. This bar--it's like another dimension. *That's* why it seems like it appeared from nowhere. The door to this place does exactly that. It appears from nowhere and brings you here."

"You're in Milliways, Cole. And it's going to be all right."

"You feeling okay?"

Cole blinks. Quite a few times.

"So my hallway's still there. But -- but I'm not, and -- I've got no reason not to trust -- you'd be the last person to crack on me -- I'm not even drinking age!"

Bewilderment.

"... My mother, and Tommy and Anna and Joe and all of the people at the cemetary -- they won't know where I am, will they."

It's stated instead of asked. Out of fear.

Malcolm smiles. "Hallway's still there. You just took an unplanned trip."

"I'm not completely sure about this, Cole, but my understanding is, while you're here, time won't pass in your world. If I'm right about that, they won't have *time* to miss you."

"Anyway, don't worry about your age. This place is more like an inn--a hotel--than a bar in a lot of ways. You aren't the only kid here."

Nor the only species, but he'll find that out soon enough.

Cole grins. It's a moment of selflessness -- nobody seems to really be nervous otherwise, and this is weird enough, but with Malcolm here, it's sort of expected to be weird.

A little bit of him goes back into Peacemaker Mode.

"But how're you, then? You haven't changed. At all. That'd make everyone at home happy, too, to hear. What've you been doing?"

"Helping when I can. The people hear need medical help in all kinds of ways, so I try to make myself available."

"And, no, I haven't really changed. To me it's still 1999. You look older now, but it feels like it's only been maybe three months since you last saw me. Just something else about this place."

"... try like five years. Love from back home."

He's stuck on a slight bit of snark, just because, well, what else is he supposed to do?

[OOC: I'm sorry, but I must squee like a great squeeing thing. Eeeeee! Yay, Cole!!]

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