entranceway | ( audio )

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[ Audio clicks on to the shuffle of papers and a considering hum before Rafe speaks. His voice is mild. Sincere. Level in the way one can only sound when one is way too used to having things work out the way he wants them to, no matter how long it takes or how much it costs. ]

Well. Isn't this interesting.

[ When some people say interesting, you can tell they mean something entirely different. A professor reading over a test that clearly hadn't been studied for as he reaches for a red pen; a girl at a bar at the hearing how you just never have enough time to work on your novel; a cop flipping over your registration to find it's expired. It's one of those catch-all words but when Rafe says it? Nah. He just means interesting. ]

I always appreciate being prepared, and gotta say. This pamphlet? Good stuff, clean design, very to the point. Credit where it's due.

[ Arriving like a babe in the woods isn't really Rafe's scene. After all, a wide variety of factors have suddenly been yanked out of his control; the few he has remaining to him become all the more important to take advantage of. So although he's still learning the lay of the land, he's doing so after availing himself of a room, a shower, a fresh shirt, and this handy dandy pamphlet. ]

Although... You know, not to brag or anything but I'm a guy with a couple of talents. Architecture, for one. Anybody else checking this place out? I mean, here I am walking around those gardens and one minute I'm thinking 18th-century French, fantastically preserved, then there's some Gothic elements peeking round a corner— Jesus! Lloyd Wright, right there. [ You'd think the guy was watching a match at Wimbledon, and politely un-invested in who the winner turns out to be. ] Phenomenal fenestration, when it decides to stick to something longer than a minute. I suppose I'll have to get up higher for some bearings on this whole thing. Might even be a little fun with the right equipment.

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[Nate is not a technologically-minded person, but his proclivity toward pressing buttons until something happens has served him admirably thus far, and continues to do so when he switches the channel on his phone by complete happenstance - the controls are weird, like, who puts a radio in a smart phone? - and catches the middle of a transmission.

There are certain uncanny things in a person's life that trigger gut-wrenching, visceral responses: the sickly-sweet scent of decay, the slippery feeling of water-slick moss on a river stone, the curl of a familiar voice over your ear in the dark.

Architectural jargon in a lazy, low tone, mildly amused in the way you'd imagine a film critic to sound after watching something impressive and wanting to mute their enthusiasm. Nate hears the words in bits and pieces, as though he was only catching half the feed with a shortwave that keeps going in and out of range. There's nothing wrong with the receiver at all, of course, but Nate doesn't realize he's clenching his jaw and not breathing until he accidentally drops his phone on the floor.

How long has it been? he wonders as he stoops to pick it up with the robotic movements of a man who is internally short-circuiting. Eight years? No, nine? Nine years since Nate stole out of the camp in Scotland like a thief (ha) in the night, spur of the moment bag packed with sparse supplies while he collected the rest of his dignity and subsequently threw it off of a basalt pillar cliff?

The minutes pass as he stares at his thumb hovering over the DIAL key, a fragment from home and not the one he wanted, but-

Beggars can't be choosers. Nate presses the button.]

Rafe?

[ It's a good thing this first encounter's anything but visual. There isn't any hiding the twitch at hearing that too familiar voice from home. ...Or the way Rafe's free hand finds its way to his Colt m1911.

A moment later and he's back in control. If he had to be stuck here with some face from home, there had to be less appealing options than the legendary Nathan Drake. (The mother-of-pearl digs into his palm where his fist clenches around his gun.) This could even prove advantageous, if he could wring a couple of details out of Drake over Avery. Go home with a little bit more than what he went away with.

And hey. Worst case scenario, he just has to finish what he'd started on a Madagascar cliff.

None of this debate is evident when he finally sends the reply. ]

Nate. Now what are the odds?

[ The chair creaks as he gets to his feet, suddenly too full of energy to bother staying still. The rooms are still settling for him but they're spacious enough already for him to stroll, necessary to properly digest this brand new information. ]

Then again maybe I shouldn't be that surprised. You do have a habit of just... [ A slow inhale before he scoffs, but all in good fun. If Nate can't recognize the smirk in his voice then he needs to invest in a hearing aid — presuming it's not already necessary from overdosing on gunfire and grenades. ] Turning up where you're least expected.

Edited (doh) 2016-08-23 01:23 (UTC)

[Nate almost didn't expect the pick-up, half-anticipating it to have been some vastly contrived cosmic joke, a hallucination to pickle his late afternoon by dredging up memories of another time entirely. The words he receives are conversational and almost warm, a hair shy of geniality because he knows Rafe, he knows that tone, and he knows precious little else.

Similarly incapable of keeping still at the desk he'd set up in his room Nate wears a rut into his floor, each syllable sinking into him with a weighted finality. Rafe sounds...different. Older. Which should be expected given the last time they saw each other

a lot of yelling, Christ, so much yelling and one of the work tables was overturned, papers and papers
Nate could smell wood smoke from the stove in the corner as it burned while Rafe did too
the wick lit at both ends

but it's been so long that Nate can't pinpoint why it feels off. It just does.]

I, uh. Never thought I'd say that I'm happy to hear your voice, but I've been here about a month, and- I mean, there's no one from- from where we're from.

...Really.

[ Rafe stops in his tracks, because there is no way he'd have expected Nate to be glad. Not after what Nate's put him through on the road to Avery, not after finally hearing what dear old Samuel had been up to the past two years.

A considering huh. Something is going on that he can't put his finger on, that he can't figure out, and not the same way he still sometimes lagged behind either of the Drakes when faced with clues that didn't add up. No, this isn't that beautiful mind bullshit routine that had him both admiring real brains at work and wanting to strangle somebody. ]

A whole month. [ Is there an echo in here or is it just him. ] I hate to overuse a word — you know me, Nate — but the word interesting just seems to keep popping up.

Yeah.

[A familiar, anxiety-induced laugh, half-weary exhale and half adrenaline high. There are so few people here to whom he can relate that having an outlet that knows him, even estranged by his own hand, feels like a relief.

Words come spilling out of him like a broken dam.]

I mean, you wouldn't believe- I was in Nepal - or Tibet, not...really sure - and then I woke up on the beach here like I hadn't just been dragging myself through a snowdrift on a mountain. It's insane, right?

I mean, that's what fucking happens when Lewis Carroll designs a mansion, you just, you just get a whole lot of random shit smashed together l-l-like one long acid trip.

Welcome to motherfucking Wonderland. I think you're literally one of the, the first people I've seen just go right for the pamphlet and actually do their own fucking reading instead of asking a bunch of strangers w-w-where they are and what's going on.

[ And just like that, the pieces fall into place. Improbably, impossibly, but they're there.

Nathan Drake raced a madman and his entire army to the steps of Shambhala.

But that was six years ago. Six goddamn years and Rafe still remembers the cold rage when he'd heard about it, that and the shine of fear in some poor moron's face when he realized he'd picked the wrong guy to gush about Drake's black market adventures to. The way the guy opened his mouth to try and dig himself out the pit trap he'd fallen into right before Rafe put a bullet between his eyes. ]

Tibet. [ He immediately catches himself, switches from ready to correct to wondering. Incredulous. Half laughing, he's quick to tack on. ] You gotta be kidding me. What the hell were you doing in Tibet?

[ Even in the face of the impossible — as he's well established already — Rafe is nothing if not opportunistic. ]

Is the author actually in residence? I mean, might as well go and pay respects to what passes for a host around here.

[ Not that he expects much to come out of that line of inquiry. If people have been around long enough to make a Wonderland for Dummies brochure, well... Then again, most people never made that much difference in the small theater of their own lives; what could you expect from them to get anything real done? ]

Can't blame sheep for bleating in panic the second they get the flock out of there. [ A wry smile as he shrugs a shoulder. ] You're what passes for a welcome wagon around here?

[A little strange that Rafe has chosen to ignore the impetus for their last parting, but perhaps he's attempted to forget it as vehemently as Nate has. Water under the bridge. He's changed, maybe, and his interest in a different professional subject might as well be indicative of a decrease in the same ravenous fury that drove Nate away from Scotland the first time around.

But there are few things Nate enjoys more than extolling the mayhem and mystery surrounding a good job, and this? This is Good Job in neon with extra glitter, and one of those wacky inflatable arm-flailing tube men on the side.]

Almost dying after I got shot and uncoupled some train cars with a tank of propane, mostly. [This laugh is somewhat more nostalgic, even if his right arm is still sore from the dislocation and subsequent relocation.] But, uh. Following a few leads Marco Polo left behind about a silk road trade route that ran through Kathmandu and into modern Tibet. The ancient script?

[Pause, for dramatic effect.]

Referred to the destination as Shambhala.

[ Oh, that's a few too many maybes to be hanging your hopes on, Nate... but it's sweet of you to assume. Never mind any second thought on the matter would torpedo such wishful thinking. Rafe Adler, forgetting the betrayal of a partner up and running out on him? Rafe Adler, giving up on anything he'd set his mind to unless it was pried out of his cold dead fingers? What a fucking joke.

The temptation to continue playing dumb is there, certainly, but while Rafe isn't about to shoot the gift horse he's presented with that doesn't mean he has to gape at it like it's the first one he's ever seen. So he makes an executive decision. ]

From the remains of crews off the lost fleet in Borneo. [ Nate can't see but Rafe is lounging out on a couch right now, one arm pillowed behind his head with a grin as he can't wait for the reaction he's bound to get. ] Yeah. I remember that.

[ Past tense, but conversationally so and wholly unimpressed as he doesn't so much reluctantly pop Nate's proud little bubble but brandishes a fistful of pins. ]

Edited (the words were awkward and i was annoyed weh) 2016-08-23 05:46 (UTC)

[Nate, who was pacing excitedly just moments ago, feels the floor drop out from under him just as he hears a smile curling into Rafe's voice. It's unmistakable, laced with I know something you don't know, which is the worst kind of sub-textual message on an otherwise good day.]

Wh- how did y-

[Harry Flynn? Nate didn't think they knew each other, at least not personally. Lazarevic? Warmongers seem kind of outside Rafe's wheelhouse, particularly when they're 100% Grade-A psychotic material.]

How the Hell did you know that? How could you possibly remember that, we only just found the-

[The quiet reminders from hospitable residents to new people trickle back in now that they've earned their keep with usefulness Different times, different places. Shame he never planned for this possibility (not that he would have followed a plan, at any rate).]

What year is it?

[ There's no mistaking the chuckle on the other end of the line as he waits for Nate to run his course of indignant bluster. Hell, Rafe drops his device onto his chest to better offer a round of applause when he finally gets there. Patronizing? Condescending? Him? Perish the thought. ]

There you go. I knew you'd catch on eventually, Nate, even if it took you just a little while longer.

[ It's not every day he gets to pull a fast one on Nathan Drake so you'll have to pardon if he relishes the experience. Not that he's about to ignore the question because after all, where's the fun in that/ ]

2016. Which puts you... Hell, almost seven years back. [ The tone turns knowing, almost a well-meaning scolding. ] I know you've always hung behind the times, Nate, but you didn't have to be so literal.

[Great.

This is the Rafe Adler he remembers, a patronizing, businesslike air to his insults, prodding at a distinct disadvantage as though it were overripe, low-hanging fruit.]

Oh, you're a real comedian. Glad that hasn't changed.

[Nate snaps, partly out of confusion, partly out of anger for being strung along. So much for familiar faces providing him with anything outside of mild anxiety. The sudden and violent desire to hang up the phone twists in his side where Flynn's bullet sat several weeks ago. It's easy enough to play off when he's spent the better part of his youth lying, but it doesn't make the news shock any less.

2016. Seven years from now. He switches to the defensive almost instantaneously.]

So are you stalking my jobs or is future me a lot more lax with giving out details?

[This kind of reaction is different from most she's seen in her time here. The Gem appears on the feed, her brows furrowing and wrinkling just under the giant pearl in her forehead.]

You seem to be awfully calm all about this. Are you used to such strange events?

[ Nerd. ]

Usually, people're more "ah, my life is a trippy drug novel now" and less... whatever you just said.

[ There's a pause, and then, despite herself, a curious-sounding question: ]

Are you really gonna try to climb the mansion?

[It is a marvelously rare occasion when new arrivals edify themselves first and foremost, as opposed to begging the whereabouts of associates or - more commonly - making network-wide threats of bodily harm should the culprit behind their abduction not come forth. Certainly, boasting over a transmission is a little gauche, but the claim seems well-earned when followed by an articulation de style.]

I'm glad the pamphlet was of use to you, although lacking in some minutiae I eventually intend to amend.

[Evelyn is always adding, it seems, but when one has little else to do in the downtime, one supplies the work as seen fit. Having recently started the striking process of her little camp out on the dunes she isn't looking forward to the encroaching chilly weather that will peal over Wonderland in September. Better to collect the trappings of her dig before the winds pick up.]

If you do have any additional queries I would be more than happy to accommodate. [A beat.] Evelyn O'Connell.

Are you always this pretentious a prick.

[That's rich coming from Alex "loop of unhappiness" Kralie over here.]

[ So, about all that-- Oh wait, never mind, there it is. Cheers, Alex, one on you! ]

^ What he said.

apparently sue a guy for having an education instead of wandering around with a thumb up his ass

noticing the weird morphing house and having a vocabulary counts as pretension
stop the presses

Rafe Adler. Charmed, Ms. O'Connell.

[ To be fair, the smile he offers is charming in the practiced way of an old glad-hander — polite and best offered around a glass of something expensive. Finally, someone who isn't either weirded out that he's acting like an adult about all this or knocking him for having a brain and daring to use it. ]

I'll take it this is your handiwork then. [ The pamphlet is flipped up, folded crisply between his fingers before being put aside again. ] And you'll have to take a thank you in exchange. My credit's a little lower in a place like this than I'm used to.

[ His expression remains relatively cordial until he takes in the details behind Evelyn. Sudden interest sparks in his eyes, expression shifting from dinner party small talk to something a little more genuine. The tools of the trade may be antiquated but Rafe has lived and breathed archaeology (of varying degrees of "legality") for fifteen years. ]

I take it you're calling from either a really big sandbox or there's a fair bit of this place I still have to check out.

[ The richest nerd you will ever meet. ]

I'm not most people.

[ And damned happy to say so. As for the question, he actually chuckles. ]

Why not? Is somebody going to try and stop me?

I'll admit it's not exactly how I expected the day to go. [ His daily planner had roll in righteously earned pirate treasure very clearly penciled in for today. Alas, the best laid plans. ] But I have seen some— I wouldn't say stranger things? But in my line of work you go and keep an open mind.

[ Sounds like a case of sour, seven-years-late grapes. ]

Stories get around. [ Which is answer enough. Even if Rafe weren't meticulous about tracking the competition — which is what Nate is, no matter what he says about giving up on Avery or getting out of the game — there are no shortage of rumors about Nathan Drake. ~~Unfortunately.~~ ] Unless you think that shootouts with known war criminals over historic goldmines are low profile.

[ That was always Nate's weakness, all reaction without forethought to guide it. It was true fifteen years ago, an hour ago, and right now which somehow manages to be in between the two. It's almost comforting to know how unchanging Nate can be and Rafe can't help pushing a familiar button. ]

And what line of work would that be?

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