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Luke's, Sunday

So Parker had come home yesterday to explain that the island was being weird again and Eliot was no longer Eliot, but some guy named Jake with a terrible haircut. Which meant that Hardison was coming down to the diner today to explain what was going on to the staff.

Only to discover that they were all present, but none of them were themselves. In fact, the busboy was behind the stove and, from what Hardison could see, was doing an excellent job. And rather than ignoring him, as per usual, the dishwasher was actually being friendly. Possibly even flirting as he wiped down the nearby tables.

Either way, it was creepy.

Seeing the staff was here but not themselves, Hardison reluctantly decided to stay downstairs and keep an eye on things. Because even though things were still strained between him and Eliot, he wasn't about to let anything happen to the diner if he could help it.

Today's Specials
Bitterballen
Andijviestamppot
Stroopwafels

[OCD-free]

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Hey! Jake liked his haircut, thank you! Parker had mentioned this diner yesterday -- though not, oddly enough, her name -- so Jake decided to stop by and see if he could get more information about his supposed Doppelgänger. Figure out if they were linked at all by more than just having the same face, apparently.

"Oh come on!" he said, staring at the specials menu. "The architecture's French, the delivery girl's Korean, the signs are all English, and now the food's Dutch?"

Hardison froze for a moment. It was just weird hearing Eliot's voice without the proper inflections. "America's the great meltin' pot," he said after a barely-perceptible pause. "Though it's usually the TA that's Korean. We ain't got a delivery girl."

He turned to look at...Jake...giving him a slow once-over. "Huh. Parker was right about the hair."

Jake's hand went up to his hair without actually touching it. He'd had to actually go out and buy product yesterday so he could style it right, he wasn't going to mess it up. "What is it with you people and my hair?" he shook his head. "Suppose you're --" What had the woman called him? "-- Hardison?"

And the woman was Parker. Good to know.

"That's me," Hardison said, stretching out. He wasn't going to answer Jake's first question, because the only explanation was 'Eliot's is better.' And for all that he was annoyed with Jake for not being Eliot (and annoyed with Eliot for being Eliot), he wasn't going to take it out on him, Poor guy was confused enough. "Heard you met up with Parker yesterday. How much she tell you?"

"Whole island's soaked in magic, this Eliot guy looks and sounds like me, stuff goes weird around here on weekends and I'll probably be back home by Monday. And that Eliot might be hitting my friends back in the Library. Which I gotta say, Colonel Baird's not likely to be too happy with that."

Eliot could probably take Colonel Baird, let's be honest. But it'd be a rough fight and probably send Jenkins into conniptions if it happened in the Annex itself.

"Yeah, that's our Eliot," Hardison said with a fond smile he couldn't help. "An', yeah, that's the gist. Soaked in magic's a pretty good description of the island. There's plenty of weird stuff around even when folk ain't poppin up in other folks' places."

"You know anything at all about the history of this place? Last one I saw that was this deep into magic was a college founded by an occultist in the 19th century. But this place looks like it's probably older than that."

"Nah," Hardison said, shaking his head. "I only just got here in February an' there ain't a whole lot 'bout this place on the net, regular or dark. It's a multidimensional nexus, though, which might mean somethin' to you?"

"Sort of." No. Not at all. "My specialty's art history and architecture. Cassie's the physicist." And she wasn't answering her phone, either. "Multidimensional -- that's -- you're sayin' this is a hub between dimensions. Like ours and the one full of giant tentacle monsters."

"You know, I was happier not knowin' there was a dimension full of tentacle monsters," Hardison declared. "But yeah. Folks from all over--literally--find their way here. An' the island itself just does weird stuff."

Case in point: the herd of tiny white horses that were currently trotting across the lunch counter.

"What kinda -- woah." Jake followed his gaze and broke into a broad grin, going for a closer look. "I heard of miniature ponies, but man!" He pulled out his phone to get video. "This stuff just happens around here?"

How was this whole town not tucked into the Library somewhere?

Because the denizens would fight anyone who tried?

"Yep. Pretty sure this is part of its Christmas celebrations, actually," Hardison said, unable to hide his grin. Seeing that geeky expression on Eliot's face was priceless. "The other day, we had polar bears handin' out bottles of coke. An' Santa hats that never fell off. An' a rain of marzipan candy."

Go ahead. Analyze this.

Oh, he absolutely was. "Mostly based on modern American traditions," Jake observed. "Marzipan and horses are more European, though. This place must have a hell of a lot of lay lines." While he spoke he leaned down to peer cliser at the horses. He touched his finger to the counter in their path and watched them split to either side of it. The sound he made wasn't quite a giggle, but it was close.

Well. That sure was a noise not!Eliot had made right there. Yes.

"Ley lines?" Hardison asked, frowning. A quick search of the internet found a basic explanation--lines of magical energy--but not much else. "They make a place more magical, the more they are?" He laughed, once. "You should go find an' alot or a teal deer. See how much they blow your mind."

"A lot of what?" Jake asked. "And yeah, ley lines mark the flow of magical energy over the earth. There are nodes and things too -- this is still kind of Cassie's area." He shook his head faintly, missing his team. Even Ezekiel. He'd be so pissed off by the talk of hats and the tiny horses. "Raining marzipan must play hell on your infrastructure and utilities, though."

A lot of what? That was the question, wasn't it?

"Nah, it just goes away again when it's over," Hardison said. "Honestly, yo, sometimes it's better to just not ask. Least about this island. Not everythin' has answers an' the things that do will just make your head hurt."

Jake snorted. "Everything has answers somewhere, man." Yes. And sometimes the answer was 'cruel and capricious god-like beings in control'. "Just a matter of knowin' where to look."

"You're welcome to look around the island for 'em, man," Hardison invited. "Good luck findin' 'em, though."

He wasn't going to tell Jake about the city of computers below the island. Sharing that kind of information just didn't seem wise.

"I'd avoid lookin' in any small, dark places, though. Gremlins like to hide in spots like that."

Like Jake would be able to resist that, Hardison. "Parker mentioned them. You know none of the traditional stories mention venom, right?"

His...multi-hour humiliation, then!

"You wanna tell me what on this island strikes you as traditional?" Hardison asked, snickering a bit. "An' none of these gremlins seem interested in bustin' tech. Near as I can tell, they like to bite people an' hang out in ducts. Ain't interested in gettin' bit just to find out more."

"But findin' out more's the only way to find out how to stop 'em." Jake shook his head. "'Sides, aren't you just -- curious? At all?"

"Why stop 'em?" Hardison asked. "They live here, too. Longer'n me, even. You be smart an' learn to avoid 'em an' they ain't a problem otherwise. Hell, sometimes they're helpful. They've chased off nasty things from the island a time or two I hear." The busboy-who-was-now-the-cook brought out a plate of stroopwaffels and Hardison grabbed one quickly, burning his fingers on the piping hot pastry. "'Sides, any curiosity I had was well an' truly killed off by the hours I spent as a priest. Or the time my boyfriend spent thinking he was a giant bird that was also somehow a six-year old kid."

Yeah.

"Like dealin' with rattlers," Jake said. "'Spose that makes sense. You folks must've come up with all sorts of methods of dealin' with the magic that goes on around here."

"Uhh...Does 'duck, cover, an' deal' count as a method of dealin'?" Hardison asked. "Mostly we just deal with it as it comes--" he nodded towards the prancing horses "--an' sometimes fight when whatever's come around proves to be nasty."

"What do you fight with?" Jake asked. "It'd be great to compare notes."

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