The Bar at the End of the Universe

It was getting to the point Greg wasn't even sure he was going to make it out of the house anymore, let alone back to the Bar. If it hadn't been for the bizarre B-movie his life had become, he would have written the entire thing off as some sort of hallucination, brought on by sobering up. But the six-year-olds, and the lack of Jack and Jules around spoke against that, easily enough.

So, it wasn't surprise Greg felt as he walked Allie back to her bedroom, and instead ended up in the familiar neon-and-fluorescent lit restaurant. It was more like resolve.

He had the forethought to lean back to stick his cane in the door, calling down the hall for the girls. Greg figured Ray would want his daughters back, assuming the danger was over.

Speaking of Ray... he really shouldn't sneak out on his husband again. Even if he wouldn't really know.

"Get your butt up, Ray, we gotta go." He leaned against the wall heavily, taking weight off his leg while making sure the cane would stay long enough for the family to follow him through. He didn't want to go through that 'stranded' shit again.

[[ooc: Anyone who's known me for more than a minute knows this isn't permanent; he'll be back in a few weeks, with a new plot twist/problem/whatever we decide to throw at him. But for that to happen, he needs to head out, and get some things done, first.]]

It had been a very rough couple of days, for Greg. Taking care of three kids was hard enough, doing it with a severe shortage of pain medication, and a constant fear for said kids' safety, and Greg was at the end of his rope. He currently had the older girls corralled in the Fort in the back, listening to them play... whatever it is they were playing, and trying to keep up with the quick Spanish. Allie was at his side-

Or had been, a second ago. She was currently toddling her way back towards the entrance to the bar, giggling to herself. Swearing to himself, Greg ran over to snatch her up, grumbling through her kicking protests (that were doing nothing for his damn leg).

He had almost made it back out to the forest, before he'd realized what he'd seen.

They had their door. He couldn't stop the smile, giving Allie a wet kiss on the cheek, before trotting over to the fort. "C'mon, girls, we need to go find your Daddy. I have to talk to him for a second," He should probably talk to others- the older twins, Jack, Mark. If he found them, great. But he wasn't staying in this damn place a second longer than he had to. He wanted his life back- his pills, his house. Ray. All of it. Nothing was going to stop him, now.

So, as it's established that time isn't a fixed construct, House is in two places at once; or, rather, there are two timelines happening at the same time:

One night, he was in his bed, tossing up the very-familiar oversized tennis ball up with his cane, while waiting for Ray and the girls to arrive. Or, waiting for Terry to get fed up and bring him the damn pot already. Either way, he'd be good.

The next night- for better or worse- he was down at the bar, nursing a scotch while waiting for his former boss to meet him for dinner. He hadn't spent much time with Cuddy, for a couple universes now. Well, better late than never, he figured.

So, a woman walks into the bar.

No, now, wait, it gets better. See, this particular woman hadn't been a woman, at the start of the day. The woman was, in fact, the usually-grumpy but decidedly male face that seemed to be one of Bar's favorites. But of course said man was never happy with his lot in life, and lacking the pills and alcohol that usually kept him sane, had begged the bar for 'something, anything' to take the pain away.

He should have been skeptical of the bottle of whiskey that appeared, as good as having a 'drink me' sign on it, but then that was like throwing a coconut cream pie in the face of a starving man. It took about five minutes for the almost-familiar feeling of difference to set in- and then an hour after that for Greg to convince the bar to give him clothes he might actually consider wearing in front of someone else. But with that done- well, he was finally out of pain. In fact, she was actually not injured at all- and seemed able to get all the drinks she wanted from the Bar.

So there the woman was- at the bar, nursing a beer, plate of onion rings to one side, sudoku puzzle at the other. Neglecting the longer hair, and obviously female curves, it wasn't really hard to see who he- she- was. And for once, she seemed in good spirits. It might be smart to walk softly, though- it had been a couple days. She was out of practice, with the whole 'socialization' thing.

The area just outside the door to the forest of the bar resembled something of a construction site, tools and nails strewn amongst piles of wood. And in the center of the less-than-organized heap of progress was one (computer) engineer, looking at the blueprints the Bar had given him with the determined concentration of a lost foreigner trying to read a road sign in China. The directions were in English (after two other sheets, one completely unrecognizable, one in Japanese), but that wasn't helping Mark any.

So- how many Engineers does it take to build a fort? Apparently more than one.

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Near the reflection pond, a blur of curly brown hair and bright pink sundress squealed as she chased after the evasive ducks that had come over thanks to the promise of bread humans usually entailed. Off to the side, sitting on the park bench, that familiar face (this time with both the cane and the toddler to set him apart) sat reading a book, occasionally looking back towards the sound of hammering and cursing coming from near the door. He was in too much pain to go help- or actively corral the girl, for that matter- but he had enough strawberries in the bowl next to him to call her back, much like the bread worked for the ducks, if she got too far away.

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Back at the bar, hunched over a book with a sandwich in one hand, a beer in the other, was that 'wizard' PI again. The plate for the former was strategically placed under his right hand, so he could set the food down to turn the page of his latest book ('1001 More Spells Using Just Your Junk Drawer'; he'd thought it was a joke. It wasn't.) He still wasn't so sure about this 'magic bar' theory, but the place was definitely interesting. And other than a bit of a scare the night before, with some far-too-familiar howling, he was deciding to just go with it. It wasn't like they could pin this on him; and other than the decidedly late rent, and the fact that his cat was likely to get creative with his mice, in retribution, he didn't see how a bit of a vacation could hurt.

It was a Chopin kind of night. Anyone who knew Greg, knew exactly what the slow, morose music coming from the piano meant. He was deep in thought, eyes closed, rocking along as a sort of human metronome, to keep time as his hands walked over the keys.

He hadn't really been paying attention, to the relative date outside the bar (or what the date would have been, had he been outside the bar, at least). But one glance at his watch that morning had him instantly reminded of just where he was, just how alone he'd felt. It was stupid, he knew- they said he and Allie would be going back to the moment they left, no harm no foul. But to him, it was a day he'd bothered to remember, going so far as to make reservations, make sure the twins could keep an eye on their daughter for the night. And that felt like an effort wasted, with no one here to share it with. Without Ray here, to share it with.

The music turned a bit faster, a bit more aggressive, at the idea, almost a dare to anyone who would try to bother him. While most of him didn't want to be bothered, a small part almost wished he would be- this could get pathetic, and fast.

( OOC )

Sitting at the bar was a possibly familiar-looking, definitely haggard looking wizard, staring down into a mug of beer as if he expected the answers to float to the surface. Despite having been in the bar for over a day, he was still in his trench coat, and rumpled enough to have not figured out there were rooms to be found. Other than the occasional drink from his beer, or look around, he kept to himself. He really wasn't sure what to make, out of being magically dragged into some sort of... magical bar.



Down the bar a ways was another man with a particularly familiar visage, lacking the child and the cane that usually set him apart from the others with his face. He was also nursing a beer, but substituted watching it, for working on a sudoku puzzle book, just to give him something to do with his hands. Normally, he'd be waiting over at the piano, but that was currently occupied by another. And while the music that drifted around the bar had a familiar tone to it, he didn't approach the stage, not really ready to deal with the realization that more of his 'family' was bastardized, here.



For his part, Mark was oblivious to the man at the bar- he was completely immersed in the song he was tinkering with, sheets of scribbled-and-rewritten music resting on the music stand in front of him. He was working on something, if the way he softly played and replayed the same piece of music, with only the occasional change, was any indication.

It took a few days before the pull of human interaction with someone that was over three feet tall drove the cranky doctor from his room. (This self-imposed exile had been helped, for better or worse, by his discovery that the bar would feed both him and Allegra in their room. He would've left otherwise, of course. Eventually.)

There was currently a very pensive sort of blues melody drifting from the piano on stage, Greg trying (and failing) to distract himself from the building withdrawl loneliness by immersing himself in his music. Occasionally, he would turn without missing a beat to check on his daughter, sitting in a violently-colorful pile of foam blocks a few feet away. She seemed generally happy, which was about the only thing keeping him from heading back up to their room. It was one thing to pull this shit on him, but his daughter deserved better. She deserved her father, not... whoever that was, he'd seen before. She deserved not to be cursed like he was.

Sighing, he started on a new song, a little slower, a minor key- probably less inviting than the earlier music. But he's going to keep going, until someone comes over and asks him to stop sulking. Any takers?

There was a reason people called children 'toddlers'. It had been one thing, when the little girl had been a mostly immobile, mostly quiet, mostly happy baby. But toddlerdom really suited Allie, Greg thought.

At least until she figured out the 'toddling' part. (And how to work a sliding door- that had been a wonderful five minutes.)

Now that he knew to expect the antics, the panic that came from the girl's making a break for it was mostly a resigned sort of amusement, as he staggered to his feet and followed her...

onto carpet.

Greg's eyes shot from the curious girl, up to the curious-in-another-way-entirely scene in front of them. Instinctively, he moved forward and scooped the child up, despite her wiggling protests. He started back toward the door, only to find himself face-to-face with drywall. That earned a grumble probably not appropriate for little ears.

"Alright. I give up. What do you want?" Spoken, predictably, at the ceiling- indicative of the man's understanding that he was officially in someone (or something) else's hands. The 'what' he was speaking to might surprise him, but for the moment, he's more concerned about conceding the joke, and getting back to his family. His life.

After a minute without response, Greg sighed, setting the now-whining child on the ground and leading her over to a table. It was a bar. Someone would eventually come out to serve them, right?


( OOC )