The Universe's Mixer

It was often Beauty's habit to sit on her porch among the fading scent of jasmine and watch the sunrise. This morning was no exception. As the early morning silver faded into shades of blue and violet and orange and pink, a brighter delight slid over her. The stable was back again.

The Here-and-Gone Stable, which is what she'd named it some years ago, sometimes appeared on the hill just across from her cottage. When it did, there were beautiful horses whickering and nickering for someone to come and take them out of their pens. She didn't hesitate when the sunrise lit the rooftops of that stable, but launched herself off the porch and dropped into a sprint. Not much later, she'd picked out a lovely white mare.

Usually she'd take her horse through the park, but this morning, there was a path into the woods. On a lark, she nudged her beast toward the twining trees and stretching vines, and onto the dirt path that slid into the morning shadows.

A few minutes later, it seemed like a mistake. The path had all but vanished, and she was about to turn around and head back -- until the strange crashing sounds came to her. Her mount high stepped and shimmied, and Beauty almost immediately slid off, her palms coming up to sooth the upset horse with soft touches and softer coos. When her horse had settled, she tied the reins to a low-hanging branch, then turned toward the sounds.

From the edges of the clearing, she watched a very familiar figure systematically destroy a huge log cabin. She knew this man. Logan. He had a strange sort of pull on her. When he finally stilled, she waited, then took the few steps she needed to get herself within arms reach.

"Hello," she said gently, her face creased with worry that was clear to see, even in this early morning light.

((Backdated to just after this thread))

With her hand loosely linked with Errol's, Beauty hummed a meandering tune on the walk back to the cottage from the bowling alley. Megan, Peter, Kitty, and Piotr had all gone their separate ways after the game was called, and that was all right with her. Swinging her hand lightly between the two of them, she punctuated the humming with a couple of words here and there.

"It was a nice time," she said to Errol, then started humming again.

And no one had yelled at anyone else. No one had gotten angry. There was that point in the night where she really wanted to shake the pixie for what she not-whispered about Errol, but Beauty had all but forgotten about it at this point. Her skin was flushed and warm, and her eyes were fever bright. The alcohol in her system had begun to work its way out of her, but she still felt cocooned in a warm blanket, a little floaty, and most decidedly happy with everything about the night.

The scent of jasmine floated around them as they walked up the path to her cottage. Her humming dropped off again, and she took the steps up onto the porch, turning into Errol's path when she got to the very top. In this way, she was almost as tall as him, and the extra height was enough to have her grinning. Looping her arms easily around his neck - no strain necessary at all to reach him - she did her level best to keep him there. He was always so proper with her, and she loved that he respected her enough to be concerned for her in that way. But tonight, she wanted him to stay. And she was just tipsy enough to ask him in the most straightforward way.

"I can make tea."

Maybe not the most straightforward.

"What if he doesn't remember how to get here?" Beauty asked, leaving the table for the third time in the last 15 minutes and crossing over to the door. She opened it anxiously and stepped onto the porch, wholly missing what Megan said back to her. It was Friday night at 4:52, and their dates - plus Beauty's special guest and his date - had 8 minutes left to make it here on time. The others - Errol, Peter - she wasn't too worried about. They'd been to the cottage more times than Beauty could quickly count. But Piotr...

Piotr last visited years ago. Yes, it'd been the place she'd insisted he stay - despite the fact that her bed was apparently way too small for the overlarge Russian - but that didn't mean that he really did remember exactly how to get here. It was a long time ago, after all, and so many things had happened since then.

After pacing a bit on the porch, she went back inside and closed the door again.

"Tell me more about this bowling," she asked Megan, to try to distract herself.

It'd been a day since she'd gone to Charlie's to share her sadness with the man who had been her surrogate father's best friend. Charlie was also Beauty's friend, but not in the same way as Ted had been. She was glad to have someone to share her grief with, though, and her heart was not so heavy now that she had.

However, the restlessness that had been following her since her return to the City was still wrapped wholly around her. She continued to use vacation days from her job to stay away from the bookstore, finding time to see Errol when he wasn't at work. And for herself, she wandered the City, refamiliarizing herself with the places that were here for its citizens.

She had missed the City. She had missed her friend, she had missed so much about this place -- and she couldn't pin why she was so very unhappy. Sad, yes - grieving, even, for the loss of a good friend - but she didn't know what else was under the mess in her mind.

While she walked, while she tried to figure that out, a very large frame ahead of her caught her attention. He was a familiar shape - unmistakable, really - but it took her a moment to recall his name. It had been so very long, lifetimes ago it seemed, since she'd opened her home to the man who could not fit on a bed comfortably.

"Piotr?" she called ahead toward the man a few paces away. It was him. It was! Did he still remember her? Was this the same Piotr she'd given a place to stay while he was looking for his Kitty? "Piotr!!"

The City had told her during one of their night talks - when she spoke in the velvet darkness blanketing her bedroom, the scent of jasmine wafting in through the open window. Ted was gone. Ted had to go; it wasn't that the City wanted to send him away. He had to go. For his own sake. But it still hurt. Beauty couldn't do much but cry, and the City went quiet after that.

The next morning, she felt strung out and sore, as if she'd spent the night on a rocky hill instead of the softness of her bed. She cashed in one of those vacation days she'd learned about and spent the day in the spire of her cottage library, a book on her knee and her eyes far away out over the park.

It took weeks for her to grasp that she had lost the man she'd thought of as a father. Finally, when she could endure the ache long enough to entertain the idea, she dressed carefully and hailed a cab to take her across the City to the mansion she'd spent terror-filled days within, the mansion that had served as a haven - not because of its security, but because Ted had been here.

She knocked on the door three times and waited on the steps.

The weather in the City was pretty much always perfect. There were days with rain, but they were still mostly warm. But there were still seasons. In fall the leaves fell (the trees were never bare, though), in winter there might be some snowflakes (never anything like the one great storm where the City had gotten carried away), and summers were warm and sunny and nobody had school.

Still, this year, the City felt like celebrating spring. Not any particular holiday. Just spring in general. There were new people around, there were couples in love, and it wanted to have a great big party for everyone.

Overnight, it set up the great festival. Streets all around the park were closed off so that people could walk around without issue. The park itself was expanded to over twice the normal size. A great clearing was made in the center, stretching from one side to the other. There needed to be lots of room.

Through this clearing the City placed tents, stands, and tables. These were filled with food and wares of all types. There were representatives for all the popular shops, as well as some that nobody had ever seen there before. There were stands for balloons for the kids, too, free of charge. And flowers absolutely everywhere. Woven into the stands themselves, laying on tables, set up in vases, growing in every patch that the City was sure nobody would accidentally step on them. Colorful ribbons, some as large as crepe streamers, also decorated everything. The City wanted as much color as it could possibly get.

At one end of the clearing the City placed a small carnival. Rides, games, everything it could think of. Even a petting zoo, though some of the animals within weren't typical farm animals that usually went in petting zoos. At the other it placed a few stages for performances. Concerts, plays, musicians. The stages were all contained within their own invisible sound barriers, as to not disturb one another, but the noise from all could be heard on the main promenade.

It put signs up all over, put notices in mailboxes, ads on the radio, commercials on television, and even made Candy and Frank talk about it on the morning news.

The celebration would go from sunrise to midnight. At sunset, the City would have a bonfire, complete with a pig roast and s'mores. At that time, it would move the park closer to the water, creating a beach between for the bonfire to settle on.

The smell of pizza still lingered with Castiel as he teleported from rooftop to street corner, appearing, watching for a few moments, and then dissappearing after he was sure he hadn't found any of his friends. Or Megan. He held that image in his mind ahead of most, second only to Dean or Sam, part of him hopeful that he could do a favor for the Spiderman who'd fed him. It was still strange to him to eat, even after losing some of his power, but it also seemed to make him feel better at times. He supposed that might be a side affect from being human for a while, but since it was still unneccessary for him he wasted little time thinking about it. Not when there were people to find and information to gather.

As he moved he remained largely hidden, picking up information about this... "City", as it seemed to have no other name. He was also feeling stronger than he had in a while, perhaps with distance from the dead world, and by the time he appeared at the edge of a park he felt and looked normal once again, his battered clothes regenerating as the rest of his body did.

At the sidewalk's edge he stood, hands in his pockets, looking out over the green space. Everything here was... odd. Changed. Forced, even, though it felt like whatever placed it here had left it to its own devices since. The angel pondered the difference from his own planet and home, and from that of the dead world. Every new place he went felt fundamentally different, and so far neither alternative sat with him better than his own original had at the end.

Lost in thought as he watched people enjoy the afternoon, he didn't notice he'd reappeared, even when a passerby gasped and jumped slightly at the seemingly unremarkable man pop out of thin air. They hurried on, and Castiel continued to watch the people forelornly, unaware of having caused any fuss at all.

Nice to meet you
Where you been?

The earth that had been filling Beauty's hands was suddenly gone. No. No, that wasn't exactly it; the earth she'd had in her hands was still there. She was still kneeling. But the earth under her was gone. Replacing it was a very familiar wood floor. Beauty squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again.

I could show you incredible things
Magic, madness, heaven, sin

She was in her living room. Her cottage living room. Her home. In the other room, a radio was blaring Taylor Swift. Beauty stood quickly, then rushed to the door to toss the earth out into --

-- into the nighttime lavender beds that filled the whole front yard with its gorgeous scent. Beauty took a deep, long breath, and then exhaled, and then did it again. Was she...

Home. Home! She was home!

"Megan?" she called out over her shoulder. "Megan! Are you here? Megan!" Her hands were still filthy. She rubbed them off as quickly and as thoroughly as possible and then raced back inside. Her kitchen with its yellow curtains! The table set for two! The perfect mess in the living room that meant that Megan had been through. Everything was exactly as she remembered. There was a bottle of hot pink nail polish on the kitchen counter by the dish drainer, and she caught sight a magenta sweater top on the back of the couch.

"Megan!" Her heart was in her throat, and she couldn't stop smiling. Were they home? Were they both home?

Backdated to December 25 at 5:30 pm

They'd spent all day preparing for Christmas dinner. The cottage itself was decorated inside and out. A fire crackled and roared merrily in the hearth. A lovely silver and blue tree quietly twinkled in the corner closest to the door. A larger-than-usual table took up most of the great room, and it was set to perfection with bright and creamy china, sparkling goblets, silverware that gleamed, poinsettias and pinecones and ham and mashed potatoes, tarts of every kind, salad, green bean casserole -- and oh, every holiday food imaginable! The wine selection was top-notch (after all, Beauty was French!), and the hostesses themselves were grinning ear to ear with excitement.


Under the tree, tiny presents waited - hostess gifts designed to surprise and delight!

At 5:30, Beauty went to the door and stood, bouncing on her toes, and waiting for the very first knock.

By now, The City had watched many of its denizens celebrate this thing called 'Christmas' and it was beginning to understand it better. It was a time for fir decoration. A time for singing songs. A time for creamy or apple flavored beverages. There were also presents.

The presents were the most interesting things to The City. It understood that the presents were designed to be special. To be meaningful. To express care. And The City did care about its people. Very much.

This year, it decided that it would participate in this 'Christmas.' And it wanted to participate in a big way.

A Douglas Fir sprung up overnight, positioned in the heart of The City. It was huge, dwarfing most multi-level buildings, bedecked in oversized copies of the decorations that previous and current citizens had used on their own trees. The Christmas star dwarfed the moon in its brightness.

But what to do for presents? The City had seen that presents were supposed to be personal. They were supposed to be something that made sense for one to give to the other. But The City did not know how to give presents in this way. It tried to calculate what would be right for every citizen - and failed. At last, it decided that it would grant one wish to each citizen. Just one. And it would do its best to fulfill it in a personal way.

Restlessness had ridden her for most of the night. It was a strange feeling, especially since she'd been curled in the place where she was most content - the privacy and glory of her own tower library at the back of her cottage. But it didn't seem to matter what book she tried to settle into, and tea only made that restlessness worse.

Finally, Beauty gave up the library for the night and headed to her bedroom. There was an outfit waiting at the foot of her bed, and the cottage whispers urged her gently into the task of changing. The clothing and the jewelry veritably flew onto her, with hardly any effort on her part. It was often that unseen helpers dressed her in her cottage, as if the cottage itself remembered the young lady from Paris with her attendants.

The shoes weren't to her liking, but they still settled on her feet. She'd learned long ago that fighting only resulted in delaying the inevitable. Once she was dressed, the next step seemed to be leaving -- but she had no idea where she was to go. It was late, far later than she usually would venture out, but there she was, walking carefully down the path leading from her cottage in the park to the City streets themselves.

A winding walk didn't ease the restlessness -- nothing seemed to. She was frustrated and baffled and ready to walk back home again, when the light of a corner tavern caught her eye. It drew her close, and before she knew it, her hand was on the door. She never frequented places such as this, but yet she found herself pressing into the dim light of the establishment.

The hum of the tavern quieted when she walked in, and she felt the heaviness of eyes on her. With a lift of her chin, she tried very hard to look unfazed, then found a seat as quickly as she could. No place seemed open, except for a stool at the far end of the bar. She took it, then, and smiled at the man who came up to ask her what she wanted.

She really didn't know.

At last! The library! Abraham Sapien had, in his short 30 some odd years of consciously living navigated hundreds of sewer systems, ran through more forests in the dark than he had cared to recall, and once found his way back to the BPRD van in the desert where there were no markers and while undergoing symptoms of supreme dehydration.

Never, in his life, had he had THIS much difficulty finding a location. And, if that weren't enough, his destination had been a library. Him, of all book loving amphibians, should have found this location days ago. It must of been The City, Abe decided as he entered the establishment. He ignored the gasps of what he had learned were called 'city borns' at his appearance and finally made it to a pretty girl at the desk.

"Excuse me, miss. You wouldn't happen to have a reference section to the history of The City available?" Abe asked hopefully.

Some years ago, four scarred and stained and spindly wooden table legs held up a singular tiled tabletop -- a tabletop that itself had been itself holding up a number of brightly-colored bits and baubles. In the middle of this chaos, hiding under tarnish and tangle, Beauty found a small chandeliered string of tiny bells no larger than the length of her palm. She loved the set immediately, rescued it, polished it to gleaming brightness, then brought it to Bookmark Books and gave it a position on the inside railing of the front door. Since then, the delicate sound of bells heralded the coming or going of anyone passing through the front door.

From the force she put on the door this afternoon, the sound turned dissonant and harsh. It was neither a bound that set her over the threshold of the door, nor a leap... Someone watching might have called it a storming, if storms could ever be deployed from such a slender frame as hers. Before the door closed, Honour stalked from the front of the store to the middle aisle that ran the length of the bookstore. She hurried down that aisle, looking for customers -- and when she found the only one in the store, she approached that man with a very bright smile.

"Congratulations!" she said cheerily. "You're Bookmark Books' ten-thousandth customer! Your purchase today is on us. But naturally, there are conditions -- aren't there always? We can only allow you to take as many as you want if you can get to them and get out the door within 60 seconds. Ready?" She checked her watch on her wrist. "One-- two-- three -- go! Go!"

Fifty-three seconds later, Beauty cheered, "Great job, sir!", threw the lock to the door, flipped the sign so that 'Open' was facing into the bookstore, and closed all the blinds. When the shadow of the last customer passed across the blinds, she raked a hand through her hair and turned.

Preston was starting to get used to the idea of living out the rest of his days here, but he wasn't finished exploring and he wasn't keen to drop old routines and fall out of practice. He spent the early hours of the morning on running and gun work before donning on the black clothes he wasn't ready to get rid of just yet and going out to map out another part of the town.

He seemed to be purposefully trying to get himself lost, taking turns down side streets and small alleyways, but somehow he weaved his way through to the park and that was when he was truly lost.

All the greenery was regarded with a small (healthy) dose of suspicion, and he took one glove off to rest his hand against the coarse surface of an old tree, feeling the cool, rough, crackled bark underneath his warm fingers. The dried leaves shattered as he crushed them beneath the weight behind his shoes and twigs snapped everywhere he walked.

He seemed rather taken by it all but the house he came up to held his attention the longest. This free-standing unit with vibrant, colourful flowers on the lawn was something out of a book or a work of art. Seeing and feeling the embodiment of imagination dabbed onto an oil painting gave him some pause as he circled the cottage.

Eventually he tore his eyes away from the structure and started heading deeper into the park.

The City had been eager to volunteer the whereabouts of Bruce Banner, and Beauty had been just as eager to follow the instruction. She had, that is, until she found herself standing in front of the warehouse at the very address the City had given. There were bright green question marks emblazoned on the brick, question marks that were terribly familiar. She didn't place them immediately, but foreboding filled her heart to the brim and overflowed into her hesitant movements, her quiet footsteps.

She tried the door, and whether it'd been left unlocked or the City unlocked it for her, she couldn't be sure -- but it opened all the same. Again, she tried to keep her footsteps quiet, but it was difficult in a place that seemed built for echoes.

"Bruce?" she called softly, and winced when her voice filtered seemingly through every corner. "Bruce Banner?" she called again, softer.

((Backdated to when Beauty first comes home!))

Megan had been distracted enough trying to deal with new responsibilities at work that she hadn't noticed that she'd been coming home to an empty house every night, actually being tired enough that she slept almost immediately and through most of her days off. But as she got used to her new schedule, she noticed. There was the matter of clutter, for one thing. Megan wasn't exactly a slob, but she did have a tendency to just leave clothes and DVD cases and magazines where they dropped and not notice, because she didn't actually have to walk over them if she didn't want to. And there was the lack of fresh food in the house.

And there was the distinct lack of her roommate's cheerful presence welcoming her home and being around to just hang out and gossip with and be friends with. You know, all the perks of having a roommate.

Actually, she'd noticed that first, but it hadn't stopped her from letting her shoes clutter up the living room or actually buying something other than frozen pizzas for dinner.

It wasn't like people didn't disappear from around here, though. Rufio seemed to be gone, and that made her sad, but sometimes people just... weren't there any more. They were dead, or sucked into other dimensions, or shot into space. That was life. She did some poking around, but she was no great detective and she certainly wasn't a good spy, so she didn't get very far.

Dispirited, she sat on the floor in a nest of issues of Seventeen and ate a pint of soy mint ice cream.

A delivery man entered the bookstore, setting three large rose bouquets on the counter, tipping his hat to the person manning the counter before leaving. The bouquets were obviously done by someone with great care, yet inexperienced in such matters, some of the thorns missed, one of the flowers broken from where it had been jammed into the vase.

The envelope in the orange bouquet read simply "Beauty", with a small rolled letter tucked into the purple and white.

I know these can't take away the pain caused to you. But perhaps the knowledge that they come from a place dear to my heart may put truth to the words, that I am sorry. And perhaps the knowledge that if Ivy ever finds out I cut them will murder me horribly might make you smile... I cannot change what has occurred, not with flowers or poetic words...but this is all I have.

Everyone was a little mad, sometimes. Her sisters had gone strange after leaving Paris. Her father, a little before. But then there were some who never came back from it. Beauty wondered, as the front door of Dr. Crane's Asylum swung closed behind her, when the man first stepped into insanity. It seemed he never moved away from it since.

And to think she hadn't seen it until now... He'd seemed so normal when she first met him. They'd even danced. When they met the second time, in the cell where she'd been placed, Beauty'd had little time to reflect on Dr. Crane's sanity before the drugs began. But today, she saw it as clearly as she could see the sidewalk pavement in front of her. He'd said as much: he was insane. Would there be any redemption for him? She thought no.

Beauty's chin set firmly. If he couldn't be brought back, then there was only one thing left: to protect others who might fall before him, to keep what happened to her from happening to someone else. The police in the City were clearly no help. She'd reported her kidnapping and torture already, and yet he remained in his asylum, untouched. What, then?

She didn't have a moment more to think on it, before she turned the corner and encountered an entirely different man. Her answering smile for him died as quickly as she saw his expression.

Planning was key.

At exactly 12:04, with a quiet "Excuse me," to her co-worker, Beauty went to the front of the store. She didn't typically carry a purse, but today she'd taken one -- a small black thing with a cell phone pocket on the outside, small enough to clutch in her lap. She pulled out the note she'd written last night on rose-embellished stationery. She'd put Errol's name in beautiful script in the center of the creamy envelope. Tapping her finger nervously on the side of that note, she eyed the front door and waited a few more seconds.

At 12:05, the yellow car pulled up in front of the store. Beauty set the note directly on top of the register, then hurried out the door, leaving the bell to ring behind her. The beating of her heart was rapid, but she ignored it. Once inside the cab, she tugged out the bit of paper where she'd written down the information about her false appointment. During the cab ride, she read her notes twice and focused on the next steps, firmly pushing her trepidation away. She was angry enough to do it more easily than she'd imagined.

Just outside Arkham's reception area, Beauty took out the watch Bruce had given her and looped it around her palm so only the strap was visible if she kept her hand closed. Then she used her cell phone to dial Errol's mobile number. While the phone rang, she tucked the device upside-down in the pocket of her purse, then stepped up to the receptionist.

"Hope Jones," she said to the receptionist. "I have an appointment with Dr. Crane about my nightmares."

She was shown to Dr. Crane's office. When she stepped into the room and closed the door, she didn't turn around immediately. A breath. She smoothed the front of her dress with her free hand, then finally whirled. Beauty was not smiling as she advanced toward the desk of the so-called doctor.

Far different from the slithering, gleeful voices that usually jerked her out of bed, this one was familiar and wonderfully odd and very dear. The City. Its voice still sounded like Thomas Townsend's, to her. It woke her tonight before her memories of Doctor Crane and Edward Nigma started in on her.

Often, the City spoke with her. Sometimes they simply talked about people and why they behaved they way they did. Sometimes she talked with him because she felt alone. And she thought, maybe, sometimes he did the same. But the things it said tonight were not the typical normal conversations they had with each other, and none of it was easy to hear. She was up immediately, threw herself in and out of the shower, and dressed just as quickly. A glance at the clock showed that it was 3 a.m. and she knew it would be terribly, dreadfully rude... but some things were bigger than manners.

Beauty set the watch Bruce gave her onto her wrist as she waited at the gates of the City Commons for the cab she'd called. Normally, she would have been terrified to be standing on the street alone at 3:25 a.m. on a weeknight. Her anxiety over the City far out-shadowed the anxiety that normally would have seized her. Doctor Crane and Edward Nigma seemed tiny, compared to what she knew now.

15 minutes later, Beauty knocked on the door that used to belong to the mayor himself, before the City sent him home again. "Fred!" she called softly. "It's Beauty! I know it's late, but please..."