no subject

[malachai]

Nick's mind was all about the evening he had planned. Just two quick stops - one to the Compound, the next to the Hub - and then off to the hut Melanie shared with her sister. Melanie was a practical girl, not really into a lot of the romantic trappings some were, but he was willing to bet that she wouldn't mind a picnic dinner on the beach at sunset. And if she did, he thought with a smirk, she wouldn't be shy about telling him so. Might earn him an eyeroll, or maybe a scoff. Twisted as he was, he almost hoped she put up a fight about it. He'd watched the sunset from the beach more than a few times since coming here and it never failed to impress him. It'd just add to the fun to watch her grudgingly admit that the picnic had been a good idea.

Then, if they happened to take full advantage of a dark, deserted beach? He certainly wasn't going to say no.

Still laughing to himself, Nick pulled open the doors leading into the Compound and stepped through.

He stopped stock still when the door closed behind him. This wasn't the Compound. This was different.

Different wasn't all that new to him. The island had a nasty habit of shaking its residents up by radically altering their environment. Victorian London, New York City, rampaging sea creatures that didn't exist in nature. All of that was par for the course; the dues paid for being granted a blank slate. Something, maybe the shiver of fear up his spine, told him this wasn't the island craziness fucking with his head again.

He took a deep breath in, exhaled it slowly. "I don't think I'm in Kansas anymore," he muttered to himself.

Alone in the corridor, he hadn't expected an answer. He got one anyway. "Not even close, Nicky. Welcome back."

With a supreme effort, Nick forced the unwanted voice back and looked around wildly trying to figure out just what the merry fuck was going on. When the answer didn't flash in neon on the wall he tried asking out loud.

"What the merry fuck is going on here?"

the broken window and the pretty blue sky

[hearnospeakno]

This is a medical emergency. I need alcohol. I will pay you back.

This is what you may find held up to you on Nick Andros' palm, if you seem like the kind of person who might buy a guy a beer on credit. If you're not, or he just hasn't gotten around to you yet, Nick is the skinny guy hassling people in the Smoking Room.

It's been one of those days.

Nick doesn't like this. He's paid his own way for years, and he's been buying his own drinks since he was first able to bluff his way into a bar. But he's not going to steal, and he hasn't carried cash since--he doesn't even remember when he stopped thinking about having money in his pocket. It's been a while.

If this is whatever comes next, Nick has some pointed questions to ask whoever runs the place about why he gets a room free, but not a drink. (Nick's experience with hotels doesn't extend to the kind with minibars, so he didn't think about going up there first. He's honestly not thinking much.)

He's not begging. He's done that before, and it left a sharp, slippery taste in his mouth like sweaty pennies. Whatever is going on, wherever this is, Nick is asking for a loan, not a handout. It might be a stupid thing to be hanging onto, but under the circumstances--

Under the circumstances, Nick just wants a break. Five minutes to sit, drink a beer, and try to reconcile this bustling, beautiful place with what came before.

(He indulges in enough bitterness to think that isn't very fucking likely, but hey. He can dream.)