[gathering post]

[notamod_box]

The strangest thing for many about the phonebox was the number of rooms, myriad in their uses and types, seemingly in unending supply. There were people here too, sometimes no more than voices around a corner or down the hall. Sometimes sitting in the chair near the fire that likely hadn't been there earlier. There was even talk of an entire

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[agent_dinozzo]

For Tony this wasn't so much a prison as a vacation, albeit an atypical one. He did tend to prefer his holiday destinations with beaches, girls in very small bikinis and drinks with umbrellas delivered by those same women.

At least this place had the drinks.

He'd found himself a tuxedo, and was making his second martini of the evening when he heard someone behind him. Tony turned, his smile suave and practiced, hoping this time it was someone who'd enjoy his charm.

[andsistersteel]

Unfortunately it wasn't his lucky day. Val had been waiting for the guy to stop posing like James Bond for almost two minutes, which in New York time meant she was done waiting.

"If I could just get by you," she said, exhaustion adding a bit of bite to her tone. She'd been up for fifteen hours already and she was definitely not in the mood to deal with older guys who dressed like it was prom night in the middle of the day.

[agent_dinozzo]

Alright, so maybe not this time. Still, for all that she was a bit on the extreme side, she wasn't bad, he thought. "All you ever had to do was ask," he said charmingly, barely moving.

[andsistersteel]

"Well then," she said, her gaze shifting briefly over his shoulder to the blessedly people-free zone near the fireplace, "I'm asking." She glanced back at him, for a moment seeing herself as he must see her, and gave a slight smile. "If I don't park myself in one of those armchairs stat, it's not going to be pretty."

[nevercorrected]

Whatever Neal had been expecting when he ducked into the British-looking phone booth, it hadn't been this. He'd actually wanted to call someone-- Mozzie, of course, who insisted that Neal stop calling him from a number the Feds could tap anytime they felt like it-- but instead of the payphone he'd seen through the window, he found himself suddenly in a small room.

It looked to be a foyer of some kind; there were hooks where hats and coats were hung, and a mirror above an ornate mahogany table with a vase full of flowers. Neal could hear music through the door in front of him, so he went through, not terribly surprised to find himself in a pub full of people. New York, man, he thought with a grin as he approached the bar.

[always_a_cover]

"Vodka martini," Sarah had a drink in front of her - untouched - looking at the new arrival in interest. "Unless you're a gin man?"

The first two days had been spent trying to get out of this place. The one time the door had opened for her she'd found herself in what had either been Elizabethan England or a very good costume party. None of it made sense, but little about this place seemed to. Rooms that reasrranged themselves, her phone not working, the people fropm all sorts of times and places?

Sarah hated being trapped, and more than that she hated being apart from Chuck. For the moment it was precisely the situation she found herself in. Information gathering was now her priority and this guy seemed as good a start as any.

[nevercorrected]

"Gin," Neal agreed, turning to face the woman-- the beautiful woman, he corrected himself-- with a smile. "Usually, anyway, but I never say no to a good martini either way." It was only four o'clock by his watch, but he definitely never said no to a drink when it was being offered by a beautiful woman.

He could see she'd barely touched her own, and nodded toward it. "Vodka tonic," he guessed. "What's wrong with it, too much ice?"

[always_a_cover]

"Never drink alone," her smile was sweet, showing nothing of her frustration at being stuck here and for all purposes indicating that she was charmed by his response. "It's a good thing you came by, or I'd have to watch the ice melt into nothing."

[time_vigilante]

"C'mon...." Ace mutters to herself as she digs through a cabinet. Digs, that is, while she's standing on tip-toe on the counter, still getting into things above her head. "You've got to still be in there! It's not like anybody else'd-" She tugs out the packets of crisps, her face lighting up into a smile. "I knew it! You love me, you really love me." She pats the wall with a hand, her toes curling (in striped socks almost covering her knees, to go with the black skirt and wildly patterned shirt) to keep her grip.

"Now," she says, mostly head-first into the cupboard, still trying to keep her balance, "I know that there's got to be some of that chocolate left in here, too. Hex and I got a whole sodding bushel..."

She doesn't slip until somebody walks into the storeroom - she pulls her head out of the cupboard, her voice rising. "Don't let the door-!"

Bang.

".... Swing closed. Brilliant. I suppose you and I are now best of friends, or at least will be for the next few hours til the magnetic lock lets go."

[was_fantastic]

"Ohhh, come now," the Doctor drawled, leaning back against the closed door. He folded his arms and crossed his legs, the perfect picture of nonchalance.

"I'm good with locks," he reminded her, though he made no move to actually get the sonic screwdriver out and open the door. "And it's not important now. We've got food. And water. And there's nothing else interesting going on so we might as well have a nice meal. I see you found my store of crisps. Good crisps, those. They outlawed the dye, but it's really not toxic. Just countered the Prozac in the water system and they couldn't have that. And what are you looking for? The bushel of chocolate is down the corridor."

[time_vigilante]

"You're good with locks when you want to be good with locks. And this is my store of crisps. I think. Unless you suddenly like the jalepeno ones." She steps sideways, and of course she bloody well slips - on the sink, of course, but she's about to fall about six feet and of course it's that way, with him in here and they're locked in and isn't that just great.

"Oh, shite."

[caughtathief]

Peter would have liked to have said that Neal had stopped surprising him, but the truth of it, the thing that really got to Peter after all of this time was exactly this; he knew Neal better than anyone and yet most of the time he didn't know a damn thing. Like today.

He'd seen Neal walk into the phone booth. He'd also seen Neal not come out again. But that wasn't the surprising thing. The surprising thing was what happened when he followed him.

Peter looked around, frowning. It did look like the kind of place Neal might go, but Peter was having a hell of a time grasping the connection, which was to say, exactly how he'd come to be there.

"Dammit, Neal," Peter swore, and carried on through, taking stock of his surroundings as he went.

[madeofblood]

Jessica's not sure how she got here or how to get out, but after the initial confusion, she's not sure if she minds either. The door she came through wouldn't open again, so she started walking, looking around. It seems like this place, whatever it is, goes on forever, but she doesn't have to worry about wandering into the sunlight just now either.

Making her way down a hall, she turns the corner into a room, twisting her hands together. Settling down at a seat at the bar, she turns to look to her side. "Mind tellin' me where we are?"

[its_a_gerund]

"American," he turned to the redhead with a smile, tilting his glass of beer in an almost toast that didn't quite make up for the wry twist of his lips. Amercian girls - for all Dakin had met few in his life - tended to be two things. Easy and unintelligent. The latter interested him not at all but the former could be interesting, at least for a short while. "You're not in Kansas anymore, for one."

[madeofblood]

"I never was in Kansas," Jessica points out, though the reference isn't lost on her. There's something about the way he pegs her as American right off the bat, like it means something, that makes her uncertain, makes her want to bare her fangs, but she doesn't. He might just be trying to be nice and this place is still awful public anyway. "So that's not much of an answer."

[its_a_gerund]

"I never thought Kansas sounded a very nice place," he admitted as he leaned toward the girl. "Tornadoes, all of that."

Were he honest, he'd admit he knew little about America outside of what he'd learned at school. The occasional belligerent drunk or tourist family tracing British roots was about all of it outside of the media. "I can't tell you what I don't know, can I?"