[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

Comments

[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."

[nevercorrected]

"Well, I'm always glad to save the day," Neal said with another brilliant smile, sliding onto the chair and telling the guy behind the bar to bring him that gin martini. "You don't look much like a damsel in distress, though," he added, studying her face.

[always_a_cover]

"What," she cocked her head up toward him, blonde hair falling to one side. Her look was one of interest, her fingers tracing the circles of condensation on the bar, seemingly idly, "exactly does a damsel in distress look like?"

[nevercorrected]

"A little more doe-eyed, a little less I'm-smarter-than-I-look," Neal pronounced after a moment of further study. She was good at being difficult to read, but he thought there was a good chance that was a trait she'd worked hard at. But he was off the clock as far as he was concerned, and he wasn't interested in analyzing everyone-- or anyone-- he met here. "A damsel wouldn't be drinking a vodka tonic, anyway," he added lightly, one corner of his mouth curling up, "melting ice or not."

[always_a_cover]

"So I'm smarter than I look, am I?" Sarah wasn't ever off the clock, even here. It was a part of her life, always being aware of who she said she was in order to not slip up on things. "I'll take that as a compliment, but only if you tell me what it is i should be drinking."

[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

[nevercorrected]

Hearing Peter's voice so close behind him was hardly a surprise; he'd pretty much stopped expecting to go anywhere without Peter finding out about it. He gave a silent sigh and turned with a look of protest already spreading across his face

[caughtathief]

"Neal, you expect me to believe that? You really just expect me to believe that you tripped over a secret room under a phone booth?" Peter asked and then thought about that for a moment. "Deny it all you want, but it seems a little like your style, Neal," he concluded.

Again, he looked around a little. Peter didn't like it. You saw a lot of weird things in New York, especially working cases like Neal's, but he didn't really care for the look of Neal's friends, or whatever they were.

He grabbed Neal's elbow, preventing him from picking up the drink just set down in front of him. "We're leaving," he said, predictably and started back the way he came before he paused again, turning back to Neal. "Just how do we do that?"

[nevercorrected]

Neal's eyebrows went up and he lifted his chin, looking unimpressed. "I didn't trip, Peter, I just came in and here it was. And yeah, I expect you to believe it-- can you really see me not taking credit for something this cool?" Out-of-the-ordinary may have been his style, but modesty sure wasn't.

As Peter grabbed his elbow he reached automatically for his drink with the other hand, careful not to spill it as he was hauled towards the door. When they stopped, he took a sip, displaying an innocent grin when Peter looked back at him. "Look, I told you I had nothing to do with this. You didn't want to believe me, that's fine, but I'm just being honest." Neal shrugged, keeping his amusement from showing on his face. Mostly, anyway.

[caughtathief]

Peter looked and Neal and then shook his head. "No, you're right. I can't see it." Looking away, he let go of Neal, brushed his jacket aside, and put a hand on his hip. He turned his head looking around, looking for the way they'd come in, whatever door they'd used to get there. He even went so far as to peer at the ceiling. He was fighting against a conclusion that didn't sit well with him.

"Talk to me, Neal," Peter said abruptly, looking straight at him.

[nevercorrected]

"Um," said Neal helpfully. He still had to combat the urge to freeze like a rabbit when Peter stared at him like that; it was really unnerving, not to mention annoying. But what was more annoying was that Peter seemed to have a point, in that things around here were decidedly weird.

The door Neal had come through seemed to have been replaced by a section of wall and a large plastic palm tree-- either that or his drink was a lot stronger than he'd thought, and he'd lost his sense of direction. But he didn't feel even a little buzzed (he'd had two sips, how could he?) so how to explain this? "I can't impress upon you enough how honest I'm being when I say I have no idea what's going on right now."

[caughtathief]

"Never mind about that, Neal. I mean tell me what you can see. What do you remember? Cause I got to tell you, I'm drawing a blank," Peter admitted. It was a big concession for Peter, but right then he wasn't so concerned about where he got all the facts about the place so much as he wanted to have them. He wasn't missing something, he was missing everything. Part of his brain told him that there must have been a trapdoor or something like it in the phone booth, but the thing was, the big thing was that he didn't remember it. From point A to point B he couldn't put the story together, but maybe Neal could.