Act 1 | Scene 5 - Pick Your Poison
The last week had been weird.
Since meeting Illinois, the bar had been strangely active. That wasn’t to say it had never been busy before – in fact, it was picking up the kind of reputation that you wanted. Some classy establishment that you could go to for a calm and pleasant drink, where the music was slow and the service was quick. Except now, you were thinking it was working a little too well.
There seemed to be the same crowd, day in and day out. You liked having regulars, but this was excessive. Unless you were going crazy. Maybe you were simply losing it. The pressure had gotten to you, and you were stuck hallucinating the same people over and over again, saying the same things and ordering the same drinks and arriving and leaving at the same time, and…
And taking a deep breath sounded like a good plan. So, gently, you inhaled, exhaled, and listened to the Vera Lynn record that played from the jukebox.
‘We’ll meet again’.
This job was stressful when everything rested solely on your shoulders, but you didn’t know how much it would help to get more hands on deck. Was it selfish that you wanted to keep the Astral to yourself? It was your prized, well, everything. The thought of someone else being behind the bar left a sour taste in your mouth.
However, the most likely reason as to your bout of delirium was the stress. You just had to remind yourself that everything was completely normal, and there was nothing at all to worry about. That mantra got you through the Friday night, when there should have been an influx of people, but that was fine. Unexpected, but fine. Obviously, it was just an off day. Tomorrow would be busy; you knew that for sure.
So why did the little voice in the back of your mind whisper that it wouldn’t be?
You used shutting up shop as a way to ignore your doubts. You wiped down the tables that no longer had people at them, restocked the straws and the small container of umbrellas, and you managed to clean a good majority of the glasses that were left in the sink – but none of this helped you when you were doing the exact same things that you had been doing for the last week. The same splatters of vodka melding with the varnish, the same amount of missing stock, the same chip in the third highball that you had to throw away. It clattered in the trash can, which you swore you had emptied the night before.
‘Don’t know where’.
You could feel your breath quickening once more.
‘Don’t know when’.
You didn’t know what to do. Ideas were rushing through your mind, too quick to catch, too slow to ignore. What were you supposed to do? Was this really happening? How could it be happening? What were you supposed to do? Nobody told you what to do when everything was repeating, and there wasn’t a guidebook or etiquette or emergency protocol. Vision blurring, you felt like you were going to keel over. Deep breaths. You tried to remind yourself of that mantra again, but it was no use. You were stuck. Panicking. Flailing. Drowning.
And then it all cleared when the door burst open.
Good, that was what you needed. A distraction. Doing your job seemed as good as any.
You snapped to your senses, like a soldier called to attention, from that eye-catching entrance of a new figure. The sight of your face appeared in the counter’s reflection, but it looked no different that it normally did. Although you knew on the inside that you had been on the brink of falling off a cliff, your exterior showed no such worries. Just a normal bartender in a normal bar.
‘But I know we’ll meet again’.
Before you could round the counter, however, a thought occurred to you; it was nearing 2 o’clock, the time you would usually kick everyone out. The sleepers, the drunks, and, once or twice, Wilford. Letting another patron in now would mean half an hour, probably more, before you could get them out again. You wouldn’t be paying anyone an overtime wage, but the weight of your mini freakout wasn’t getting any lighter on your shoulders. If the person had a group with them, you would have been more inclined to let them stay, but it wasn’t as though they were bound to order a lot of drinks, chug them, and then bounce. All of the evidence pointed to kicking them, and the two other people in a corner booth, out. Plain and simple.
But – and you thought this with the kindest sentiment you could muster – they looked an utter wreck, and you didn’t trust yourself not to immediately call them back inside if you did give them the boot.
That left the logical part of your brain glaring daggers into the emotional side as you went to take their order at their booth.
“Good morning, sir.”
‘Some sunny day’.
Although, it seemed your internal battle was unnecessary. He’d buried his head in his arms, leaned against the table and dead to the world around him, and he stayed that way while you spoke. Considering the manner in which he had arrived, specifically shoving your door open so violently that you wondered if there were splinters, the thought that he was genuinely dead did cross your mind.
You decided to shake his shoulder.
“What’s the problem!?”
You immediately retracted your hand and stepped back, breath catching in your throat. You weren’t expecting such a volatile reaction. His eyes were just as wide as yours, but you were stuck staring at him while his pupils shot across the whites like they were being chased by the red edges. He looked worse up close. Before, you had thought he was just some poor night shift worker who had been running off fumes for the last day. Now that you were eye to eye, though? You didn’t think he even had fumes, just a few weak puffs of smoke out of a dying furnace.
You put on a brave face to say, “You need to order something, or you’ll have to leave. We stop serving in ten minutes.”
It was then that he realized himself. There was a sudden sense of self sparking where there had been a manic derangement. He looked to the left, then to the right, and then settled back in his chair.
‘Keep smiling through’.
“I’m so- I’m sorry, I’ve been… ugh, it’s been a hard day.” Had you not been wary of getting your hand snapped off, you would have patted him on the back; the calm he developed was quickly exchanged for a disconcerting laugh. “Can you call it a day if it feels like it’s been a week? If- if it doesn’t just feel like it, it actually has been?”
This was a mistake. In your own insanity, you had accidentally welcomed another insane person into your bar. You should have just taken the easy out and went to sleep, but the one time you tried to be generous, it backfired on you.
He was still talking, but it had progressed into mutterings that were directed at no one in particular. “You know, it’s hard to keep track of stuff like that,” he addressed the varnish of the table, “because the clocks go back, too, so has it been a day, or has it been less or- or more?”
You were about to step away when his gaze shot back to yours, but that wasn’t the worst part – it was the grin stretched from ear to ear. It wavered as he spoke, a string pulled tight enough for the smallest strands to start separating, threatening to snap, pulling and pulling. “When do you think it’ll reset, huh?”
‘Just like you always do’.
“I’m not sure I follow,” you responded. The shake was out of your voice but the wariness was not.
“No, no, you wouldn’t.” He waved a hand through the air, mimicking a casual chat about the weather. “But if you had to guess.”
Okay, now was the time to think. This man, who seemed to be on the brink of madness or had already fallen off, was asking you when time would reset. That was easy to accept because he was sitting in front of you, his words fresh in your mind. The harder part came with accepting that you knew what to answer with. All the repeating patrons, drinks, that damn Vera Lynn music playing in the background. You could have told him that you didn’t know what he was talking about, but you would have been lying. At this point, was there a reason to not give him the truth?
“Well, sir,” you started after clearing your throat, “it’s been fairly the same in recent days. I’d only be aware of it if it happened after twelve hours or so.”
He didn’t react how you imagined he would. He didn’t startle or flourish or show a hint of interest. Instead, he chuckled. A scoff, as if he were entertaining a child’s imagination.
“Oh, yeah, what’s the same then?”
“The orders, the arguments—” You waved a hand in the air, “—this song has been playing non-stop today.”
‘’Til the blue skies drive the dark clouds’.
The collective voice of the soldiers cut through like an axe striking a board. It similarly cut through his expression of manic nonchalance and gave way to a very specific expression. Hesitance, amusement, hope. He wanted to believe you, but something was holding him back.
“You noticed that?” he asked, his tone of voice soft and his eyes holding a sense of the present that he lacked before.
“Should I not have?”
“No, no, I just—” He cut himself off with a crash as he slammed his fist into the table, “—wait, no! No, you shouldn’t have. Why do you remember?” That fist started to clench. “Who are you?” And he lost the awareness again. “Do you remember anything more dangerous, in the realm of life-threatening?”
This was getting ridiculous. You felt the hairs raise on your skin and a chill drip down your spin, but you tried your hardest to ignore them. You pushed the dread to the side in favor of saving face.
“Not particularly, no,” you answered. It didn’t seem to help him, though; he was glaring around the bar, as if he were looking for some kind of spy, but your assurance that there was none was sure to do him no good. A simpler offer, then.
“Do you want a glass of water?”
“No, I need to figure this out.”
You were unceremoniously yanked into the seat next to them, and your heartrate immediately sped up to unsafe levels. Your clothes under his hands scrunched together so much that the rest was completely flat up to where he had his grip fixed into a deadbolt. He seemed to pay no mind to the position he had put you in, but the other couple still in the corner of the bar spared you a curious look before returning to their conversation. Helpful.
“When you say that the orders and arguments have been the same, what exactly do you mean?”
‘Far away’.
Gently, you pulled his wrists back into his own lap. You were going to have no one grabbing you without asking – even if they were obviously going through the wringer – and that gently was the most leeway you were willing to give him.
He stayed completely silent as you removed his hands, but his eyebrows furrowed and a noise of confusion came from deep in his throat. He must not have noticed.
“They’re not perfectly the same,” you admitted, “but each of the patrons have been appearing here at the same time for the last three days. They get the same base drink with a small change. Lemon or lime, with or without ice, dirty or neat, whatever it is, it’s only slightly different. Then they drink, have the same topic of conversation and then leave at the same time.”
“While Vera Lynn plays in the background?”
“That’s only started this morning, except it’s one of the only jazz records I own.”
So far, you had seen a range of expressions from this stranger. In the last ten minutes, he had sported fatigue, amusement, desperation, and a constant wash of mild insanity. The only thing that had gotten you truly worried for your safety was being pulled close to him. Now? You were paralyzed by an emotion that glinted in his eyes.
Absolute enthusiasm.
‘So will you, please, say hello’.
His growing smile gave it away further, if his words didn’t. “And you remember all of this?”
“Would I be telling you if I didn’t?”
“This is great!” He punched into the air comically. “Well, not great for you, the whole looping thing, it could end horribly. But it’s great that you remember.”
While you were happy for his little revelation, you remembered something else. You still had those other two people to take care of, and it seemed from their glances towards the bar that they were getting ready to pay and leave.
“Well, I’m glad you’ve realized what’s going on, but I need to—”
“Wait, wait, I’m sorry, I just need you for a little longer.” To his credit, he kept his hands right where they were, despite him leaning forward like he was going to grab you again. As a thanks, you nodded for him to continue, though you kept one eye on the other patrons.
His smile lessened in extremity, but it was still genuine. “I mean, I don’t understand,” he continued, “why here, why you? It is looping so you’re not unaffected, but you remember.”
You yourself were stuck on that, too. You weren’t anything special, no matter how many people had tried to butter you up by saying that you were. Maybe it was just luck? A right-place, right-time deal, wherein you had nothing to do with the chance that you remembered. It was very much in the cards that it was a fluke.
But then you thought about the last few weeks as a whole. That was all random, just the same as this thing was. Meeting Illinois, Yancy, Dark, and… well, you supposed that, really, Wilford was the only one to actually be random. His choosing of your bar was a stroke of luck that led to the others finding you. And, to put it simply, Wilford was weird. Not shy, awkward kid in the back of the class weird – genuine weird. He talked about the laws of space and time like they were nothing but suggestions, he acted like he was straight out of the 1980s, and, half the time, he was sitting at the bar before you had heard the door open.
‘To the folks that I know?’.
You took in a deep breath and then tentatively asked, “This doesn’t have anything to do with Wilford, does it?”
Your suspicions were confirmed when he responded with a, “Wilford?” that showed both confusion and familiarity.
You held back a groan as he twisted his head like an owl to look around the bar. This time, he wasn’t trying to sparce the face of a secret detective from the wallpaper, he was actually looking.
“The Astral?” he asked when he turned back to you.
‘Tell them I won’t be long’.
At this point, you had half a mind to put out a neon sign in the middle of the room, add some arrows pointing at it and a little trail of petals so that people would actually realize where they were – and what did that say of their survival instincts? Apparently, it was a trait of those who all looked like the same guy to not know where they’re walking. You were certain that some of them had died since you had last seen them. Most likely Illinois.
Instead of indulging in that depressing thought, you sighed, “Do none of you read signs before you walk through a door?”
“In my defense, I was really out of it – but that does explain it.”
“How so?”
He pursed his lips and started tapping at the table. “Wilford’s always been—” He made an odd hand gesture, “—…odd. He isn’t affected by the loops. Dark isn’t either, you’ve met him, right?”
“Yancy and Illinois, too.”
‘They’re much better.” Nodding to himself, he sat back into the leather of the booth. Now that he had apparently solved the dilemma he was going through, he was much more relaxed. Not more energized – of course not, he looked like he’d been dragged through hell backwards – but he wasn’t on the edge of plummeting into complete madness, and you took that as a win.
After looking him over, you replied, “You’re not so bad yourself, even if you’re a bit stressed.”
‘They’ll be happy to know’.
And there came a more normal smile. More appealing, you thought, than the ones from before. Less unnerving, too. This suited your first assumption, the one of him being an overtired night-shift worker.
With a huff, he wiped his eyes and then extended one of his hands towards you. The minimal gap between you made it difficult, but leaning back let you shake it.
“I’m the Engineer,” he introduced himself, with a sense of formality you would have never expected, “people have been calling me Engie – you’re free to, as well, if you want.”
Weird name, but at this point, was it anything out of the ordinary?
‘That as you saw me go’.
You shook his hand once, twice, and then let go. It was practiced to the point of a formula, but you had no problem following the pattern. You’d done it so many times before, regardless of who initiated it. This was the first time it was done sitting down in a bar that you owned, though, so you gave it a little more weight.
When Engie let go, he chuckled quietly. “I might take you up on that water.”
You nodded in return and were finally able to slide out from the booth. You spent such little time sitting down normally that your legs felt stiff when you stood up. Stretching would have been unprofessional, especially as the other couple’s faces lit up at the sight of you. You answered their wave with another nod and quickly went to fetch their bill first.
A couple minutes passed, during which they paid, left a tip, and left.
And then there were two.
Technically, you should have closed half an hour ago, but a water still cost money and you didn’t particularly want to force Engie out on the street. You still believed him – well, two-thirds of you did. The other part thought he was insane, and you were insane and this whole situation was insane, but you returned to your patron with the glass of water.
‘I was singing this song’.
“Thank you,” he said, handing you a dollar note. You didn’t remember if he stepped on the plank, but you weren’t going to risk asking if he did. “I appreciate it.”
“It’s my job.”
You were about to twist on your heel and get back behind the bar to finish clearing up, but you were stopped by his voice, tone growing embarrassed. He looked just as red as he sounded.
“I wasn’t talking about the drink, I mean… most people would have kicked me out already. I- just, thank you.”
The flustered smile was charming, you’d give him that, but a thought occurred to you before you could comment on it.
“Do you want to do me a favor? Just so we’re even.”
His eyes widened but he jumped on the opportunity all the same. “Of course, what do you need?”
Out of your dress shirt’s pocket, you retrieved a smoothened five-dollar bill and placed it on the table. Engie was understandably confused, so you explained, “Wilford keeps walking out before I can give it to him. If he’s not going to step on the plank, he’s not going to pay extra.”
With the hesitance of a man who did not know what the plank was, he took it and replied, “I’ll pass it along to him.”
“Thank you.” But now that the deal was done, you had something else to address. “Are you feeling better?”
He laughed to himself again and the blush didn’t recede. If anything, it got stronger the more he thought about his arrival. “Yeah, I guess I made a fool of myself there, huh?”
Both of you knew you were lying as you said, “Not at all.” Still, you added on, “You’re better than a lot of people I’ve had in here.” That part wasn’t as untrue as the former, if only because the faint outline of that bruise on your jaw still greeted you every morning in the mirror. Whatever ‘looping’ situation this had been hadn’t done it any good.
That reminded you of the time. Hopefully you would actually wake up the next day after the night you’d had.
“But it is getting late,” you prompted. Telling someone to bluntly get out wasn’t good for business, and Engie was nice.
Luckily, he got the hint. “Oh- oh, yeah, I get it. I’ll just…” He pushed away from the leather and stumbled out of the booth. “Thanks for the water, and I’ll see you later?”
It was awkward watching him try to recover from his fumbling, so you filled the silence with, “Don’t get hit by a car on your way out, or anything else in the realm of life-threatening.”
You were treated to a final, louder laugh as he walked towards the front door. You followed to lock the door when he was out, but he turned around to call, “See ya!” before he let it fall shut behind him.
‘We’ll meet again’.
You were left alone in the Astral, at 3:17 in the morning, having met another of that strange group who all had different aesthetics but looked completely the same.
‘Don’t know where, don’t know when’.
It was annoying not knowing what was going on.
‘But I know we’ll meet again’.
It wasn’t scary, wasn’t concerning, you were just plain aggravated because you were getting closer and closer to this, regardless of whether you wanted to. However, you knew one thing for certain; if you were going to get wrapped up in all of this, then you were going to get some answers.
‘Some sunny day’.
And you knew just where to get them from.
AO3 Link - List
