(Untitled)

[walking_napalm]

In stark contrast to the last several times that she has entered the bar, Liz today is not dressed in tatters, she's not wearing a gun, and she's not staggering. It makes for a nice change, she thinks

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[spcl_agt_cooper]

He'd wanted the chance to just... step away for a moment, and regain some equilibrium. (Not like he's flappable, at least outwardly, but that doesn't mean Cooper always feels that way.)

This is why he has a cup of coffee and a copy of Democracy in America.

Liz gets a glance as he settles in an armchair nearby.

[walking_napalm]

Liz is committed to finding out just how Mrs. Ferrars died, but that doesn't mean she lacks situational awareness. As the man crosses in front of her and takes the armchair, her eyes flick up from the Agatha Christie novel and she watches him pass. It's a quick look, but enough that when he glances at her, she's been caught.

She half smiles at him with one side of her mouth, a touch rueful.

[spcl_agt_cooper]

"Evening," Cooper says, politely.

She looked pretty engrossed; he's not going to be offended if she heads back to her book. Not like he doesn't understand.

[walking_napalm]

Her smile strengthens a little more as she takes in the dark suit, the tie, the shiny shoes. It's a familiar uniform. "Hi." She tucks her finger into her book, to keep the page.

"Let me guess -- FBI? CIA?"

[spcl_agt_cooper]

He blinks.

Then -- and if he weren't a suit, it would be sheepish -- he nods, and says, "The Bureau. Yes. For the next week and two days." And as he'd prefer not to get into it: "Are you with an agency?"

[walking_napalm]

"The Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense." She says it like it's everyday, matter of fact and easy. She closes the paperback around her finger. "We do a lot of work with the FBI." (Technically, they work under the FBI.)

[spcl_agt_cooper]

Cooper raises his eyebrows.

"Not where I'm from." Beat. "Unless -- how public is your agency?"

[walking_napalm]

Wry: "Officially, it doesn't exist.

"Unofficially, the Enquirer and the conspiracy theorists figured it out years ago; the rest of the population just thinks they're nuts."

[spcl_agt_cooper]

"The Bureau I work for isn't particularly equipped to handle investigations of paranormal events. They can often be quite rigid about it, with the exception of my former SAIC." Cooper says this very matter-of-factly. "I... don't know if that means we're from the same place or not."

[walking_napalm]

"We could be," she says lightly. "The BPRD recruits from the FBI more than it works with individual agents directly; the only people who know about us are the top brass and the poor ordinary guys who run into stuff they're not ready for. We handle the weird crap so the FBI doesn't have to."

[spcl_agt_cooper]

The poor ordinary guys who run into stuff they're not ready for.

Cooper's expression betrays nothing.

"Have you ever heard of a town called Twin Peaks? In Eastern Washington, the northern corner. Within spitting distance of the Canadian border."

[walking_napalm]

Liz gives it a long moment's thought, and then, slowly, she shakes her head.

"I don't think so," she says. "Should I know it?"

[spcl_agt_cooper]

"Not necessarily," he says, mild. "It's a site where the FBI has recently investigated a case with... certain paranormal elements."

Sometimes Dale Cooper is a master of understatement.

"In early April, 1989."

[walking_napalm]

"That was a little before my time. I didn't start in the field til the early '90s." She finally folds down her page, closes the Agatha Christie novel, and sets it aside.

"What kind of paranormal elements?"

[spcl_agt_cooper]

His tone doesn't change. "Oh, possession. Apparitions. Portals to other places."

[walking_napalm]

"Sounds like a day at the office," she says, a little wry but not unsympathetic. "I'm guessing that's not exactly normal where you come from."