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I thought that being here would be a respite from what I had endured at home.

I was wrong. All of the time alone meant that I had too much time to be in my head. To be in Garret Jacob Hobbs' head. To be in Hannibal Lecter's head.

I lost myself once; I wasn't about to do it again.

So I learned quickly that I needed something to do, something that didn't involve answering endless questions and ceaselessly contemplating not only my existence but the very meaning of it, and/or whether or not this is all one extended fever dream.

There aren't many jobs here that I'm suited for. I don't need a psych eval to tell me that I would make an atrocious waiter or front desk attendant. And it was too much to hope that this place be by the sea, or even a large lake, where there would be motors to fix and society to ignore.

There are stables, though, and while I'm not an expert in horses, they're far more easier for me to deal with than people. I know how to deal with skittish, scared animals: some would say that I am one.

It gives a sense of purpose to my day, at least, no matter how steep the learning curve for me. I can't just hide away in my room, no matter how much I would prefer that. It wouldn't get me any closer to the truth -- about the Nexus, about why I'm here, about what happened to me at home.

So, for now, horses it is.

[ feel free to find will coming/going to the stables, or at the stables themselves, which are on the east end of the nexus grounds. ]

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At first, it had seemed like the very worst thing to have happened to her. Belle had spent days trying to coax her way back to the island to find her way to Jacob, but no door ever lead her there. Plenty doors led her home, plenty of the doors gave her potential escape, but never to Jacob. In lieu of having that life back, she took to the stables to try and stem her grief.

Today, it seemed, she was not alone. "Hello," she greeted -- not timid, but somewhat reserved. She still felt raw, at times, and didn't know how to get herself away from it.

One of the better aspects of this job, such as it is, remains that no one really seems to be here to ride horses, so I get to spend the better part of my time engaging in mundane tasks. Shoveling hay, brushing the horses, just being out in nature, or as much of it as we have in this place. I'm alone, yes, but not in the destructive way of it, where my mind wanders to the dark places.

This is different, more peaceful. Like I'm out in the fields with my dogs, enjoying the chill of the late fall air and my little house, in the distance, like a boat rolling with the waves.

So it was a surprise to hear a voice call out in greeting. I look up, leaning on my rake, and see a woman standing there. Her sadness radiates off of her in a way that I feel like I could almost reach out and touch, and it's all I can do to not attempt it, to not wave my hand in the air between us, to try to touch the snaky tendrils of grief that curl around her.

"Hello," I say instead, offering a small wave, then dropping my hand back down to my side.

I've never been good at small talk, so I just stand, and wait.

She managed a pleasant smile. Politeness was due in any situation and she shuddered to think what she would feel like if someone was crude to her, no matter the circumstances. "I'm sorry if I interrupted you," she speaks, when seemingly prompted. "I'm new here, but I signed up to be a stable hand and one of the people at the desk said your name as someone to speak with about what I could do to help. Were they right?"

"Oh, you're not interrupting, I was just..." I shake the rake's handle a bit, then let out a quiet laugh. "I'm not really sure what I was doing, really."

Looking busy. Trying hard to think about not thinking about anything.

"But, uh, yes, I guess I'm the person to talk to." Strange, how I never seemed to run into anyone else here. The hotel staff, whoever they were, seemed content enough to let me be. "I haven't been here very long, so I'm still trying to figure out what all needs done. I guess any help would be... helpful." I wipe my hand on my pants quickly, then extend my hand to the woman. "I'm Will, which... I guess you already knew. You are...?"

"Belle," she introduced herself, not sure that she should use her married name, given the grief she felt when she thought about it. Rather than dwell on that, she forced herself to think on the task at hand and the good she could do. "My name is Belle, I've been here for a week or so and I thought I should do something rather than simply lie around, given that I can't...well, I can't find a door back to where I want to be."

She gave him a sheepish smile. "Sorry, that's a lot about me at once. What do you normally do during a shift?"

I try not to put together her backstory, to figure out what makes her the way she is. Maybe she just misses home, misses wherever she came from before here. Maybe she's left someone important behind. A lover, or a child, maybe. She's young and sad and scared, and she's dealing with it by finding something to keep her occupied. Typical. Not surprising, but still admirable.

"You're stuck here, too, then?" I say first. "I -- not that I particularly want to leave here right now -- but I can't seem to get out of here, either." Part of me wants to start to investigate, canvas the residents here to see who can leave and who can't, and what threads tie them together. I push that urge away, though -- there will be time for that later.

"What do I usually do, well -- clean up after the horses, feed them, keep the stables neat, grooming... " I shrug. "Usual horse things, I guess. I take them out for some exercise, but I'm, ah, not a very gifted rider, so it's mostly just walking around with them and hoping they're not too stubborn."

"I don't want to go home yet," Belle admitted, because she could. She opened doors and there it would be, but she was scared to go back because it would feel like she was abandoning the years that had passed. She didn't want to give up the progress she had experienced. "It's not so bad, though," she mused, half-distracted as she wandered towards one of the brushes to pick it up.

"I ride," she offered. "If you ever tire of taking them on walks, I'd be happy to make them gallop, once in a while."