![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Sep. 6th, 2005 09:06 pmSaturday, September 28, 2002
NYC Hall of Records, Manhattan
One of the nice things about this bizarrely familiar, yet not entirely congruent New York, was that the keepers of public records were exactly like the ones back home. The right request, the right forms, the right attitude, and next thing you knew you were unrolling architectural blueprints for a building to which you had absolutely no link. It'd be a heck of a time getting them duplicated- for one thing Ray wasn't sure whether the service he'd used in his own world was still operating here- but at least he could get a look. He needed to know as much as he could before revealing what he'd learned to the local Egon and Peter.
He found himself a table near the edge of archival space and pinned down the paper as best he could. Yep, there they were- the same hastily marked but almost hideously precise notes on the exact metallurgical composition of the girders, the notes emphasizing the welding and riveting techniques to be used, the earnest demands for selenium- oh, yeah, he knew these plans, all right. You didn't forget a nightmare like that.
As he started tracing one finger upwards along the load-bearing lines of the building, a shadow fell over the paper. "Um, excuse me," he began.
"That's my building," said a shocked, all-too-familiar voice. "What are you doing looking at the plans for my building?"
He looked up. It was Dana.
She stared. He stared back.
"You," she said at last. "From the other day. You ran past me- how did you know my name?"
Ray had no capacity for deception, really, but he knew that this was no time to drop multiple worlds in the lap of someone he had essentially never met. He fell back to the nearest available truth. "You look like someone I know- my best friend's fiancee, in fact," he said. "I thought you were her, for a second."
"Oh," she said, frowning a little. She looked down at the papers again. "I guess... have we met? I feel like I ought to know you."
"Not to my knowledge, ma'am," Ray said, wincing inwardly. He stuck out one scarred hand. "I'm Ray Stantz- I teach parapsychology at Columbia-"
"Dana Barrett," she said, shaking the hand and smiling. "I'm a cellist with the Philharmonic."
It was all he could do not to say "I know". He just nodded instead.
"So... what were you doing in my building, anyway?" She gestured at the papers. "Obviously there's something about it that's caught your attention, but..."
"It's a long, long story," he said, ducking his head. "I don't know that you'd believe me if I told you."
Dana tilted her head a little. "Try me."
Oy.
"All right, but remember, you asked for it..."
She nodded, folding her arms across her chest.
"I... believe that your building may have been constructed in the early part of the twentieth century by an architect who had every intention of using it to burn a hole in the barrier between our world and the realm of one or more major supernatural buildings. I've seen this kind of thing before."
She stared at him again; he fought the urge to pull his shoulders up around his ears. "Sorry- you did ask-"
"No," she said, so quietly he had to strain to hear. "No, it's- it's okay, I-"
He tilted his head, blinking.
"... I was wondering if I was ever going to find someone who might believe me."
There was a long moment of stillness. Then Ray nodded, and let the plans roll up. "Why don't you tell me about it?" he suggested. "I'm listening..."
NYC Hall of Records, Manhattan
One of the nice things about this bizarrely familiar, yet not entirely congruent New York, was that the keepers of public records were exactly like the ones back home. The right request, the right forms, the right attitude, and next thing you knew you were unrolling architectural blueprints for a building to which you had absolutely no link. It'd be a heck of a time getting them duplicated- for one thing Ray wasn't sure whether the service he'd used in his own world was still operating here- but at least he could get a look. He needed to know as much as he could before revealing what he'd learned to the local Egon and Peter.
He found himself a table near the edge of archival space and pinned down the paper as best he could. Yep, there they were- the same hastily marked but almost hideously precise notes on the exact metallurgical composition of the girders, the notes emphasizing the welding and riveting techniques to be used, the earnest demands for selenium- oh, yeah, he knew these plans, all right. You didn't forget a nightmare like that.
As he started tracing one finger upwards along the load-bearing lines of the building, a shadow fell over the paper. "Um, excuse me," he began.
"That's my building," said a shocked, all-too-familiar voice. "What are you doing looking at the plans for my building?"
He looked up. It was Dana.
She stared. He stared back.
"You," she said at last. "From the other day. You ran past me- how did you know my name?"
Ray had no capacity for deception, really, but he knew that this was no time to drop multiple worlds in the lap of someone he had essentially never met. He fell back to the nearest available truth. "You look like someone I know- my best friend's fiancee, in fact," he said. "I thought you were her, for a second."
"Oh," she said, frowning a little. She looked down at the papers again. "I guess... have we met? I feel like I ought to know you."
"Not to my knowledge, ma'am," Ray said, wincing inwardly. He stuck out one scarred hand. "I'm Ray Stantz- I teach parapsychology at Columbia-"
"Dana Barrett," she said, shaking the hand and smiling. "I'm a cellist with the Philharmonic."
It was all he could do not to say "I know". He just nodded instead.
"So... what were you doing in my building, anyway?" She gestured at the papers. "Obviously there's something about it that's caught your attention, but..."
"It's a long, long story," he said, ducking his head. "I don't know that you'd believe me if I told you."
Dana tilted her head a little. "Try me."
Oy.
"All right, but remember, you asked for it..."
She nodded, folding her arms across her chest.
"I... believe that your building may have been constructed in the early part of the twentieth century by an architect who had every intention of using it to burn a hole in the barrier between our world and the realm of one or more major supernatural buildings. I've seen this kind of thing before."
She stared at him again; he fought the urge to pull his shoulders up around his ears. "Sorry- you did ask-"
"No," she said, so quietly he had to strain to hear. "No, it's- it's okay, I-"
He tilted his head, blinking.
"... I was wondering if I was ever going to find someone who might believe me."
There was a long moment of stillness. Then Ray nodded, and let the plans roll up. "Why don't you tell me about it?" he suggested. "I'm listening..."
