All your life, you've heard how rainy and miserable the Seattle area is most of the year. Whether you've just moved there, or have lived there all your life, you know the city's most well kept secret:
Summers are actually warm and sunny! .... mostly.
The end of June is upon you, and more specifically, the annual Washington Brewers Festival. Hundreds of brewers from around the state bring kegs full of their beers and set up in shared tents around Marymoor Park. Live music plays most of the day, and tantalizing scents waft over the crowd from a ring of food trucks that feed the masses during the three day celebration.
Maybe you attend every year and get the VIP pass. Maybe this is the first time you've gone, just to see what it's all about. Either way - you're here on the last day of the festival, the sun is shining, and you've got a little branded mug full of wooden tokens to turn in for samples of just about any kind of beer you can imagine.
Charlie Speck arrives with a group of people, though he's always on the edges. While the others are mostly dressed in t-shirts and jeans, he's in a shirt, tie, and slacks, though his sleeves are rolled up. So maybe that's his concession to being casual. He lights up only once, when it comes time to try the mead, though he scowls when he actually tastes it.
Brian Kincade likes festivals like this. It always does his heart good to see people enjoying themselves. He's happy to see everyone, friend and stranger alike. He has been floating through the festival, sampling the offerings. He's not a big drinker, but he knows how much work the brewers have put into their beers, ales, and meads, and how much they look forward to seeing people enjoying their work. How could Brian disappoint them?
Brian still has a little of the mien of the priest he used to be about him. He wears a corduroy sport coat over his black t-shirt and jeans.
Terry moves through the festival with all the direction of an unmoored balloon. He's definitely in jeans and a T-shirt (white, text reads "The Sun Always Shines on TV"), rain jacket tied tightly around his waist. He's wearing earbuds.
He holds a half-empty cup of something golden that he periodically sips from. In no hurry whatsoever.
The mead and wine area is a considerably smaller section of the festival than the space devoted to beer brewers. This tends to mean that the mead brewers have fewer people to watch sample their wares...
And the man behind the counter definitely catches Charlie's scowl.
"New to mead? Or's that one just not to your liking?"
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Something in Brian's demeanor immediately sets people at ease. Not just the vendors that serve him, but the people he apologizes to as he brushes past them, the people who catch his eye as he passes. All of them. No one is confessing sins to him yet, but a few of the vendors have offered him second (and free) samples after he takes his first.
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Terry is about as Seattle as it gets. Summer days in the area can sometimes necessitate three different types of outfits, so the rain jacket being tied around his waist is like camouflage for a hunter.
The mead and wine area is a considerably smaller section of the festival than the space devoted to beer brewers. This tends to mean that the mead brewers have fewer people to watch sample their wares...
And the man behind the counter definitely catches Charlie's scowl.
"New to mead? Or's that one just not to your liking?"
"I've never had mead," he says in a measured tone. "I've read about it. It's the preferred drink of vikings, sometimes dwarves and things of that nature. I didn't expect it to be so...cloying."
"I've never had mead," he says in a measured tone. "I've read about it. It's the preferred drink of vikings, sometimes dwarves and things of that nature. I didn't expect it to be so...cloying."
The vendor relaxes slightly, nodding. "Mos' people don't know what to expect when they take their first sip. It can be an acquired taste for some." He hitches his thumb out and to the left. "Blue Skye Meadery, two spots down, she makes drinks that are a little ah... more palatable, for a new drinker."
You get a weird shiver up your spine, like someone has scratched a lot of forks on the bottom of many sinks close by.
"I've never had mead," he says in a measured tone. "I've read about it. It's the preferred drink of vikings, sometimes dwarves and things of that nature. I didn't expect it to be so...cloying."The vendor relaxes slightly, nodding. "Mos' people don't know what to expect when they take their first sip. It can be an acquired taste for some." He hitches his thumb out and to the left. "Blue Skye Meadery, two spots down, she makes drinks that are a little ah... more palatable, for a new drinker."
Charlie frowns, cocking his head. Then: "All right, then." He approaches Blue Sky Meadery cautiously. He's apparently completely forgotten about the people he came with.
Terry is about as Seattle as it gets.
Terry finishes his draught of invisibility potion (IPA) and goes to find another.
The vendor at Blue Sky is much friendlier. Her graying hair is pulled back into a tight bun, and deep smile lines radiate from the corners of her eyes.
"Welcome welcome! What can I pour for you?"
There are three different kegs with pictures on them next to her. The labels all look like they belong to amateur romance novel artists, and are called "Summer's Bounty Honeywine", "Hawkeye Pointe", and "Serenity". The latter has a picture of a fairy woman on it, reaching her hand out to touch ripples in a pond.
For a moment, you think you might have seen that picture used on fanfic somewhere.
These, too, fade away from the edge of your hearing after just a few seconds.
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Terry can close his eyes and throw a rock and he'll hit an IPA. Or someone carrying one. It seems to be a contest at this brewery to find and consume the hoppiest IPA possible.
You aren't sure, but you think you might have seen someone actually chewing on hops near one of the tents.
It takes just a few moments to find a short line that leads you to "When Life Gives You Limes" IPA at Redhook Brewery's tent.
While you're searching for your next IPA, for just a moment, you get a strong feeling that someone is staring at the back of your head. You know the one; that prey-near-predator feeling.
The vendor at Blue Sky is much friendlier. Her graying hair is pulled back into a tight bun, and deep smile lines radiate from the corners of her eyes.
"Welcome welcome! What can I pour for you?"
There are three different kegs with pictures on them next to her. The labels all look like they belong to amateur romance novel artists, and are called "Summer's Bounty Honeywine", "Hawkeye Pointe", and "Serenity". The latter has a picture of a fairy woman on it, reaching her hand out to touch ripples in a pond.
For a moment, you think you might have seen that picture used on fanfic somewhere.
Charlie surreptitiously dumps the bulk of the last pour into the dirt, then offers the now empty mug to the lady. "Uh...Serenity now. Sorry, dumb joke. The Serenity, please."
Charlie surreptitiously dumps the bulk of the last pour into the dirt, then offers the now empty mug to the lady. "Uh...Serenity now. Sorry, dumb joke. The Serenity, please."
"Insanity later." She says with a grin, washing out the little plastic mug with water and filling it with mead that doesn't look much different from the first batch Charlie tried.
The taste is floral, sweet, and soft. It's very different from the first tent's pour. You lean back to see the name of the first place you went - Hierophant Meadery.
When you turn around, there's no one directly behind you.
Terry likes life and limes both. He gets into that line, takes an earbud out of one ear, and leaves it dangling. He does a slow look around as he waits. He also checks his token count -- don't want to run out of beer before he runs out of desire for beer.
The sun is high and everyone is in good spirits. While sipping his mead and maybe even trying to enjoy it, Charlie is overwhelmed by the scent of burning rubber... and something meatier. He's not anywhere near the food trucks, so there's no obvious source for the scent.
But he does notice a few people nearby wrinkling their noses.
Terry, several IPAs deep, hears an otherworldly voice singing something in a language he doesn't recognize. It's maddeningly close to his ears.
A few folks near him look around for the source.
Brian, happily people watching, notices two festival-goers pass each other... then swing fists in a physical altercation that must have context... right? The people around them try to break it up...
And turn to fight each other instead.
The taste is floral, sweet, and soft. It's very different from the first tent's pour. You lean back to see the name of the first place you went - Hierophant Meadery.
Charlie peers around to find the source of the jostling.
First two
Last one
Charlie gives up the aborted search and focuses on this new guy. He'll circle around to approach from the rear, and try to get close enough to hear what he's saying.
Brian looks for some sort of context for the fisticuffs.
Well, he's not sure that counts as context, but it's something.
Brian strides up to the stranger. "Hello, friend" he says. "Anything I can help you with?"
Terry swats at his unbudded ear, and glances around, looking for the source of the singing.
When he finds nothing, he scowls, and finishes his JIPA.
As the only thing out of the ordinary that he can see going on, Terry takes a few steps toward the fistfight. Fistfights. Fistsfight? Fistsfights.
Neither in the beer nor the food area, a local coffee house - at least the logo is familiar - has a small food truck the smell of the roast mixing nicely with the nearby stouts. The same girl has been running the site since the festival opened. Hair hidden by a lightweight knit cap, white shirt with a few specks of coffee, a beat-up paperback in her right hand except when she actually needs both hands when it gets tucked in her back right pocket.
The longer this man speaks, the more the scent of burning rubber and something fouler bubbles up around you.
At first, it's just Charlie who can hear what the man is saying, coming up behind him to listen. But soon, anyone within a couple yards of the man with the pretzel necklace can hear what he's saying:
"Gnaiih dagon, mggoka'ai ya, mgah'ehye others ymg' mgr'luh Iiahe Y' ymg' mgr'luh"
And although under other circumstances it might be funny, hearing Lovecraftian speech now is giving you all goosebumps and turning your stomachs sour.
People who aren't actively shoving each other are hurrying away from this section of the festival, with music still playing on the middle stage and most people none the wiser to what's happening around you.
In front of the pretzel man, space twists and distorts in a way no one can look at directly. No one except Charlie, Terry, Brian, and Kari. You see beautiful oil slick colors swirling where there used to be nothing but air.
You feel... alive.
Mggoka'ai ya, Y' ah nog
The voice is deep and shakes your bones, and you watch as a slimy, otherworldly appendage taints and distorts the beautiful lights you all see within the tear in reality, pulling, tugging….
"Look away, you four!" A warm, masculine voice cuts through the haze that's falling upon you, followed closely by the owner and two companions as they charge towards the chanter.
Terry's brain is still rolling around the words fist fight fight fist fistsfight fightfistsfightsfist fits....
Brian looks away, and tries to pull Terry-with-a-Y's head away.
The espresso machine spurt, dots of hot liquid soaking through the sleeves of the barista's shirt to the skin below. At least it gives her something to look at other than the oil slick, something else to feel.
A lot of chaos follows in the next few moments after the man yells at you all to look away. And somehow you know, instinctively, that you are part of 'the four'.
As Brian looks away and does his best to pull Terry's head in the same direction, Terry's brain instructs his body to lash out at the source of the crazy before doing so.
Terry manages to get one step into the fist fight he's imagining, landing the perfect punch to the side of the Lovecraftian-muttering man's head before he's pulled away from the tear in reality. The man collapses like a rag doll, which stops the tear from widening, but does not close it.
Kari lets out an unintentional, and very loud, explicative when the hot coffee touches her skin. The lucky timing of the outburst amplifies her voice in a way that perfectly catches Charlie's attention. For a moment, he looks away from the too-many-fingered-thing clawing at the rend in the air.
A moment is long enough to prevent him from feeling any effects of madness.
"You can look now, if you want." The man who told you all to look away speaks again. He's tall, just over six feet, and wearing well crafted steampunk goggles with similarly oil-slick colored lenses that obscure his actual eyes. He's placed himself between the rend in reality, and your group.
Festival goers around you seem oblivious, and the few that were paying attention have left the area. Quickly.
"Damn it all to every version of hell," one of the three strangers curses as she examines the tear and stabs at the creeping appendage with a small dagger. A squeal of a rusted metal door being forced open pierces the air. "We can't knit this one from Earth. It's already too big."
"Fenwick, will you attend to the Agents here while Abigail and I handle this?" The third member of the group speaks, eyes likewise obscured by goggles, dark skin contrasting sharply against a well tailored white suit.
"They might be Agents. And it's Abby, how many times must I..." The rest of her complaint dissolves into a mutter. This woman's skin, what little you can see if it, is pale, and there's the barest hint of a lilting accent when she speaks.
Their clothing, and even the goggles they're all wearing, make sense to the lot of you. Plenty of people in Seattle have dressed like this at some time or another. What doesn't make sense to you is when Abby and her companion step into the tear in reality, and it disappears behind them.
Fenwick chews on his lip for a moment as he looks at the space where both women have disappeared.
"Alright you four, we need to head back to the Estate to have a proper conversation about what you just saw, and how you can help us. Yes, you too, behind the counter." He says directly to Kari, as the only part of 'the four' who isn't currently standing on the grass with the rest.
Kari blinks away looking where there used to be an impossible slick in the air, realizing that the woman she'd been making a flat white had left... without paying, sighs. Caps the drink anyway.
Before she says anything, she looks at the man speaking, just observing and considering for a long moment, then she picks out the other three where there is no longer a crowd. "Do any of you want a flat white?" Putting the cup on the small ledge meant for such things. As she drops the shutters of the food truck, she has a cell phone in hand.
After a bit, she moves out of the closed food truck, locking the door behind her. The smile is a bit cautious but she waves at the festival goers.
Text on the cell is to the boss. "Hey Nigel. Emergency just came up and I can't stay at the festival. Truck's secured, but you need to send someone to clean and pack-up. Sorry boss. -Weer"
Terry tucks the rest of his beer tokens away. "I think I was done drinking for the day," he says, slowly nodding at the goggled man.
"Thanks for the yank," he says to Brian.
Charlie steps forward, glancing at the now-unconscious sorcerer, before turning his attention back to Fenwick. A grin slowly spreads over his face. "Apparently, I need to come to more work outings." He goes to stand near the apparent magic-cop. "Is this more of a beaming up situation, or are we walking through a gateway?"
Terry tucks the rest of his beer tokens away. "I think I was done drinking for the day," he says, slowly nodding at the goggled man.
"Thanks for the yank," he says to Brian.
Brian nods in acknowledgement. "Mean right hook you've got, there," he says to Terry, by means of a reply.
Brian moves to follow Goggles.
As Kari moves away from the food truck, there's a flurry of activity as the folks arriving to order a coffee find themselves in an unexpected fight for the Last Coffee Standing.
"Uh, miss? Is anyone coming to like, relieve you or something?" One woman asks Kari's back in a huff.
Your boss, Jim Akins, responds almost immediately: "Take the time you need, thanks for the heads up and let me know if I can help with anything."
Jim's always been a pretty supportive and compassionate guy.
At Charlie's question, Fenwick looks like he's amazed. "How did you… oh!" His laugh is an honest one, straight from the belly. "Right, Star Wars came from here." He pauses. "Star Trek?" Scratches his nose. "Anyway, you're on the right path. We're going through a gateway."
Fenwick kneels on the ground to tug the necklace off the unconscious cultist. He pockets it, then stands and dusts his knees off. "Follow me."
He walks just beyond the boundary of the festival; there's a fence a short distance away, but this edge of the park is more wild, more filled with foliage that will hide you from view.
He pulls an opaque sphere the size of a tennis ball from his pocket. Inside, smoke swirls, lightning flashes, and that oil slick color moves like mercury in a thermometer.
"This will take you hours when you first visit a place, new friends, but I'm very familiar with the path home." He closes his eyes and stills himself. Moments later a portal blossoms around him, roughly the size of a door. It's open, and beyond you see completely unfamiliar landscape. "Welcome to the Strange." He says with a grin, new light bouncing off the lenses of his goggles.
He sweeps his arm out, inviting you all to step forward into an impossible door leading to a place you know, for a fact, is not on Earth.
Final text: "Will do. It was a dead lull when I closed but the zombie masses are moving in, make sure you warn whoever you send in."
"Uh, miss? Is anyone coming to like, relieve you or something?" One woman asks Kari's back in a huff.
It's not a customer service smile Kari gives the woman as she turns briefly, but a bright one that invites the speaker to smile to. "Boss has got someone coming just as soon as traffic allows."
He sweeps his arm out, inviting you all to step forward into an impossible door leading to a place you know, for a fact, is not on Earth.
"Much better than work." Her fingers twitch, like they want to touch the point of interface between mundane and extraordinary but she pauses, look back. "Is it ok to just leave that guy there?"
Brian looks around at his new companions. He looks forward through the portal, realizing that the answers he seeks are through there.
Brian walks through the portal.
"Is it ok to just leave that guy there?"
Fenwick looks at Kari. "Hmm? Oh, yes, I've taken the thing that was giving him power he shouldn't have," he pulls the Lovecraftian necklace out of his pocket, "and left him with a couple cyphers that will keep him out for a few more minutes, then track him when he high tails it home."
He smiles. "Good of you to consider loose ends; that's something all Agents need."
He waits until you've all passed through the portal before he steps through himself.
The sky and ground vibrate, everything with color seems to blend together around you, and with you. There's a slight pain behind your navel, as if something is insistently pulling you forward. You are colors, you are vibration, you are…
Somewhere else. And, perhaps, someone else.
The sky is spiraling fractal patterns, iterating and moving ceaselessly as you watch. There are hills, things that are probably trees, with leaves that grow, and split, and multiply, and curl in on themselves, and drop, and lift back up to the tree...
and a path underneath your feet, but it's all just so alien.
"It takes some of us quite a bit of time to acclimate. Some Agents never do." Fenwick says, watching the sky. He winces, pulling the goggles up onto his forehead. His eyes are honey colored, glinting an odd silver occasionally as he looks around at the group assembled before him.
Tiny creatures made of dripping ink dart around you, hiding in shadows, or perhaps becoming shadows themselves.
"The Estate Campus is a short walk from here. Maybe the length of several questions, if you'd like to ask them." He begins walking towards the hill before you, where the path rises up and disappears over its crest.
"The Estate Campus is a short walk from here. Maybe the length of several questions, if you'd like to ask them." He begins walking towards the hill before you, where the path rises up and disappears over its crest.
Brian follows Fenwick on the path.
"I think I speak for most of us when I ask 'what exactly is going on here?'" he asks mildly.
"I think I speak for most of us when I ask 'what exactly is going on here?'" he asks mildly.
Charlie's form is less than stable. His skin keeps rippling like geometric shapes spinning in place to reveal different colors with each pass. His clothes are similarly in a state of flux, both cut and color stretching like elastic.
"From what I've been able to determine, this Fenwick person is some kind of policeman, either interdimensional or interstellar. Conceivably, a Lovecraftian entity could indicate either, but that is attempting to apply a rule of genre to reality. Which is unlikely to work out the way you want it to. He and his group are tracking a number of such... I don't know a good word for it. 'Criminal' feels wrong. Malefactors? Sure. Anyway, presumably each one of these malefactors possesses a piece magic jewelry. For some reason Fenwick has decided to recruit the five of...no, sorry, the four of us to..." Charlie trails off in the middle of his Sherlock summation. "I've lost my train of thought," he says, with the tone that implies that this isn't a normal thing.
Charlie's form is less than stable. His skin keeps rippling like geometric shapes spinning in place to reveal different colors with each pass. His clothes are similarly in a state of flux, both cut and color stretching like elastic.
"Um," starts Brian. He looks a little distracted to pay too much attention to Charlie's deductions.
"Do you feel alright, friend?" he asks. "I only ask because you are resembling an LSD trip made manifest."
"Do you feel alright, friend?" he asks. "I only ask because you are resembling an LSD trip made manifest."
Charlie frowns--though it's a bit hard to see on his shifting features--and looks down at his hand. "That is diff... are you sure it hasn't always been this way?"
"That is diff... are you sure it hasn't always been this way?"
"Quite certain."
"From what I've been able to determine, this Fenwick person is some kind of policeman, either interdimensional or interstellar."
Kari seems to be a little hypnotized by the kaleidoscopic colors, but she nods a little with the explanation. "The whole Agent thing."
"And the Estate is where they train people that are, can be Agents?" Kari's own changes aren't as noticeable, the color of her skin a tad darker but grey eyes have a metallic purple shine.
"I'm Kari, by the way." She looks down at her shoes for a minute as she walks, "in case more mythos monster start opening rifts and you need to warn me", she mumbles under her breath.
Terry leans in and takes a closer look at Charlie's amazing technicolor everything. "Pretty sure that's new."
Terry tucks his dangling earbud into his jeans pocket. "Terry," he introduces himself, "Terry with a Y."
Terry doesn't look any different than he did before stepping through the portal.
He turns to Fenwick and says, "I agree with that guy," indicating Brian. "Looking forward to hearing this story."
Fenwick lets you guys chatter for a minute, listening to what Charlie says with particular amusement.
"Names are a good place to start, aren't they? I'm Fenwick Grimm, formerly Rukian, now spending most of my time at the Estate with those newly exposed to the Strange." He gestures to the fractal skies above you. "What you're all experiencing right now, you in particular," he says to Charlie, "is what a shift in realities can do to a person. It's fairly common for someone to find that they are one way at home… and quite another way when they visit another Recursion. Reality."
You all crest the hill, and in an undeterminable distance away, you see a sprawling and beautiful campus that's as good a place to cement your sense of reality as any other. At least the buildings don't seem to be shifting the same way the sky is.
"I'm… I guess a policeman is a good way to describe it. My team and I, that includes Abig… Abby and Baruchiel, we are one of many teams working to reduce Recursion instability, protect our worlds, and prevent monsters in the Strange from eating any of our worlds. You know, small stuff."
He turns his attention to Kari, walking backwards so he can face the group. He seems completely at ease with this, and in fact, makes it look like he was born to walk backwards. "Nice to meet you, Kari. And yes, these goggles on my head here, they allow me to see evidence of the Strange when I'm in other recursions. On other worlds. And you four, you were absolutely covered in the dust of it. Glowing with it. So at some point, you've seen it, touched it, or been touched by it. So me and my crew, we find people like you, bring them back here, tell you what's what, and you decide whether or not you'd like to work as an Agent of the Estate."
He turns his gaze to Terry-with-a-Y. "Nice to meet you as well. All of you! I love working with new folk. You aren't jaded yet. Still got that "wow what is all of this" sparkle in your eyes." He closes his own, taking a deep breath before opening them again.
"Right then, here are some documents for you guys to look over on our way to the Estate. Or you can wait until we get there, either suits me fine." He continues to walk backwards. "We're in dire need of new Agents. That's one of the reasons we happened to be on Earth. You know, no pressure or anything." He smiles as though he's told a joke.
"I dreamt you," Charlie says, as though suddenly remembering. A few of the shapes in his skin are detaching themselves, hovering inches over his flesh. There's no blood, and they don't look entirely organic anymore. "I'm late. There's a test, and I can't find my locker...no, wait. That's not right." He shakes his head.
"I'm...Speck! Yes. Charles Speck. Charlie. I think I've had friends who called me that. Maybe."
Fenwick seems completely content to watch Charlie turn into Strange geometry.
"You might have dreamt me. Or the Strange. Dreams are a common portal to this place. And on Earth, you certainly do have friends who call you Charlie Speck. Here? I'll call you Charlie until you decide you have a new name."
The campus seems much closer, and also much further away than when you first crested the hill.
Kari looks at Speck, a hand moving like she might want to help ground the fracturing person, but not at all certain if her help would be wanted even if she could help. [smaller]"Charlie, does any part of what's happening to you not feel OK?"[smaller] Worried.
"Or you guys, Terry, Brian, you are OK with..." she motions her hands around, clearly not feeling quite settled in her own skin.
To Fenwick, "So even if we go back, we won't be the same as we were before that guy started with this amulet-driven..." she waves her hand in the air when she doesn't know the word she needs. "What are the other choices if we don't become Agents?" More than a little of a Seattleite's suspicion of authority colors the question.
"The translation between realities can be a little uncomfortable, usually more to the viewer than the one shifting." He pats his pockets down. "I do have a bottle of Rukian painkillers, if you're not afraid of a few nanobots scooting around inside you for a day or three."
He turns his gaze back to Kari, a glint of silver flashing in his eyes for just a moment. "You won't be the same, no. But are we ever really the same, day to day? If you go back to Earth, back to work, trying to forget all of this, even then... you'll dream it. You might even have a little something extra you bring back with you. Latent psychic abilities, speaking with animals, the ability to heal others, or yourselves. Rock-like skin. It manifests differently for everyone." He finds a little bottle filled with pills, rattling them with one good shake.
"If you decide not to become an Agent, the worlds are your oysters, really. Working with us, you'll have significantly more resources at your disposal, but you will have missions. People to report to. And some of the other Agents can be a little hard to deal with. If you choose to go back home, tell us to dust off... well, you can still teach yourself to translate. You can see other worlds, hells, even create them! There are people who make the choice not to work with the Estate, and choose to work for the chaos that lurks outside in the darkness. Well. Those people we hunt." He smiles. "So you can do whatever you like. But if you put other people in danger while doing it, or you attempt to weaken Earth's defenses against Planetovores... well, please don't."
He brightens and raises a finger. "That'll be the first order of business when we get you all registered at the Estate. If you're interested after our business pitch, that is. Abby usually delivers those to newcomers, so I'll let her explain. But my team's first order of business after that is to find someone named Ratliff Mason who seems very intent on letting a little more Lovecraft into your world. He's not the first. Certainly won't be the last. That particular Recursion has a very strong allure to certain types of people."
At this last comment, his eyes flick to Charlie, hold for a few seconds, then he looks away again with a small smile quirking his lips.
Charlie nods. "Like Obi-Wan Kenobi mixed with Robocop." The changes are slowing down, and he seems slightly more lucid. At least for the moment. "I'm fine. But I think I might need to pee."
Fenwick lets out another good belly-laugh.
"More than you know. Also, if you all do end up choosing to head back to Earth without signing up with us... I hope you at least make an effort to find Obi-Wan. He's a stand up guy."
He slips the bottle of questionable pills back into a pocket once he's sure everyone knows they're available.
"We're just a couple of minutes away from the Estate, if you think you can hold it?" He asks Charlie with a grin. "If not, behind a tree is fine. Just don't let your flesh touch the bark. Any of your flesh. I know an Agent, Oskal, he leaned up against one of those trees and... okay, maybe that's not a good story to encourage you to pee on any of these trees. Never mind, let's just hurry on."
To your eyes, at the moment, it looks like the Estate might as well be a million miles away.
Kari studders to a stop, her arms wrapped around her middle in a purely instinctual defensive posture. Her attention snaps to three others for whom this is brand new. Well, maybe not new to Charlie. Her breathing is much too fast one fist held so tight that her knuckles are white. "How are you all so calm about this?"
She motions to Fenwick, to the impossibly far close building. "If this is real... if people can call forth mi-go and the like. That all the worlds are possible."
"Why the hell am I the only one freaked out by this..." Her feet still on the ground.
Fenwick stops as well, a sympathetic look on his face. "Hey, it's completely normal to be unsettled here. You've just stepped from a regular day into something most people only see if they do the right kinds of drugs." His voice is gentle.
"It doesn't get easier than this. You'll get used to it with time, but this is just the tip of the weird. People have gone mad with the things they've seen once they leave home. But..." he smiles again, "you'll see beautiful things, too. Things that take your breath away. And once your insides figure out where your outsides are, they won't be fighting against each other the way they must be right now."
He gestures to the side of the path. The meadowy grass that grows there looks soft; perfect for sitting on to catch a break. It smells a little like summer back home, too.
"Maybe we should all take a few minutes to sit, breathe, and look at something that isn't so Strange? Meditation is, after all, a crucial skill to get the hang of for what we do to travel between worlds."
Brian's appearance was not changed by translating to the Estate.
Brian gives Kari his best "reassuring-priest" smile. It's all muscle memory, really. "Kari, I wouldn't say I'm 'OK', but I'm dealing with it. I've had some experience with the ineffable and transcendental, but this is a lot for anyone to have thrown at them."
Brian gets off the path and finds a nice soft patch to sit on.
"I think Fenwick's suggestion of meditation is a good one." He sits cross-legged, closes his eyes, and start taking slow, measured breaths.