A place for Taylors to relax and unwind.
Yes, you read that right. Taylors. PLURAL.
Yes, you read that right. Taylors. PLURAL.
Little Owl Bar & Grills
- Thread starter Fanficologist
- Start date
- Created
- Status
- Ongoing
- Watchers
- 25
- Recent readers
- 86
- Threadmarks
- 2
-
Statistics (2 threadmarks, 3.2k words)
User Total Fanficologist 2
Chapter 1: A whole lot of Taylors (only three, actually)
New
In the spirit of 'If you can't find the fic, write it' I present you the plot bunny I have been trying to find for the last few days. Crossposted from SB.
Taylor Hebert stared at what she assumed was her afterlife.
The white void was more or less expected. There didn't appear to be any source of illumination, yet she could see everything (or rather the lack of anything) clearly, even able to distinguish the ground beneath her, which looked like smooth marble. That her clothes was completely clean of the filth from the locker was a surprise, but a welcomed one. She couldn't imagine being stuck in some kind of limbo smelling like blood and used tampon with no way to wash them off.
What's unusual was the quaint two-storied building in front of her with a simple designed sign board that read 'Little Owl Bar & Grills'. It looked nothing like the Fugly Bob's, but the architecture and exterior design just exuded this air that made you know it was a family restaurant, from the large blinded windows decorated with small flower pots to the couple of wooden benches on both side of the double doors.
The sheer contrast between the normalcy of the building and the seemingly unending void surrounding it only served to make the whole deal more unnerving.
Her eyes were drawn toward the small black board with neat handwritings in multi-colored chalk.
'WELCOME TO LITTLE OWL BAR
Please take note of the following rules before entering:
- If your power involves controlling or summoning creatures or substances that may infest or contaminate the establishment, please keep a tight control of them.
- Basic courtesy is expected and enforced. No intentional intimidation, bully, harassment, provocation, etc allowed.
- You may bring guests of your own, but be understanding if others may react negatively to their presence.
- Refer to the bar owner for a self-updating copy of the rulebook on things no longer allowed inside the bar.'
The content was unusual, but at least a little reassuring. Gathering her courage, Taylor twisted the doornob and peered inside. A soft chime came from the bell above the doorframe, and she took a careful look around the interior.
It looked to be an ordinary diner slash bar. There were about a dozen four-seat tables, some with sofas or beanbag chairs for seats. At the back, she could see some kind of small stage with curtain and a couple of ceiling spotlights. To the left was a bar counter with an assortment of bottles, cans, cups, and dispensers. It was quite, cozy, with the only movement being from the woman arranging something in the overhead bar cabinets.
"Oh, you must be new here, Taylor." The woman turned around, and Taylor was struck with how ... familiar she looked. "Come on in, take a seat."
The slightly messy mane of long, curly black hair. The pair of large brown eyes framed behind black-rimmed glasses. The pair of thin lips that were just a little bit too wide for her liking. The features that she would see in the mirror every morning, individually similar yet so distinctly different on that mature face that it was like looking at a funhouse version of herself.
"The first time can be confusing, I know. I can answer any question you have." The woman held up an empty glass with a couple of ice cubes. "You want something to drink? We have water, juice, and soda. And beer if you feel like it."
"Just...just water please." Taylor warily took the offered glass. A tentitive sip proved that it was just that, plain water, if a bit more refreshing that what usually came from the taps back home. Or maybe it was because we was just that thirsty from being stuck in the locker for so long. "Who are you? And how do you know my name?"
"Well that's an easy answer." The woman chuckled, and Taylor had to force down the sudden stab of pain at the familiar sound. "It's because I am also Taylor. It's one of those things that stay weirdly consistent across the multiverse, actually. Kind of funny when you actually think about it."
Her mind zeroed in on that word. "Multiverse? As in alternate Earths? So you're a different version of me." It kinda made sense seeing as she appeared like a Taylor who was a bit older. Early 20s, if she had to guess.
"Yes and no. It's complicated. While there are some features that the majority of us Taylors share like our first name, they are only enough to highlight the differences. Each of us may have wildly different background, personality traits, species, or even physics system from one another. Some of our regulars aren't even from us, or human for that matter. "
The bell above the door chimed. They both turned to look at the person entering, and Taylor (this was going to get confusing quickly) had to resist the urge to rub her eyes. Another person who looked just like her, except not. Uniform that looked too fancy to be Winslow, yet was distinctly not Acadia. Rounded corners on her glasses instead of square. Hair that was tied back in a low ponytail.
"Hi Bar Taylor! Slow day today, huh?" She looked around the place, before zeroing in Taylor. "Oh, we have a new face today?" The girl sounded happy, if a bit tired, to meet the older her. With a bit of effort, she managed to fit throught the door what Taylor realized was a giant grocery bag filled with veggies. This new Taylor walked toward them and, with a grunt, set the bag on the counter. "Here you go, some greens and spices you asked for last time."
Bar Taylor (an apt nickname, if a bit uncreative if she were to be honest) peered inside the bag and took out the receit. Her eyes gained this strange glint as she smiled widely, and she hugged the bag like it was teddy bear. "Excuse me a bit, Taylor. I got to throw these in the kitchen real quick." And there she went, disappearing behind the curtained door at the back.
"So, hi. Nice to meet you. I'm Taylor Costa-Brown."
"Taylor Hebert." She hesitated, but decided to ask anyway. "Did you say Costa-Brown as in..."
"Yes, my mom is Rebecca Costa-Brown, Chief Director of the PRT in my world." She said with a sigh. "That's why those of us here just call me PRT Princess Taylor."
"Sorry." She appologized sheepishly. Must be a touchy subject.
"It's okay. I'm kind of used to it at this point."
"That does remind me though." Bar Taylor walked out with a glass of what looked like grape soda and set it in front of PRT Princess Taylor, who took it gratefully. "Do try to think of a nickname for yourself. That's what we use to avoid confusion here. Better do it fast before your are saddled with something unflattering. I try to keep them from being too mean about it, but it has become something of a hazing ritual at this point."
"Yeah, they almost called me CBTaylor." PRT Princess Taylor sipped on her drink glumly.
"They aren't often vicious about it, and won't push things too far if you take offense to the name." Bar Taylor amended with a wince. "But teenagers gotta teenager."
"Just try to avoid Wolf Priestess Taylor, Kitsune Taylor, Catgirl Taylor,... Actually, avoid all Taylors with some kind of animal feature and look too mischievous for their own good. They tend to play pranks on people, especially new Taylors." PRT Princess Taylor set down her half-empty glass of soda. "Can I get a double cheese burger?"
"Just...just how many Taylors are there?" It's starting to get overwhelming, and Taylor felt like she should be having some kind of existential crisis right this moment if not for the friendly and cozy atmosphere of the place.
"Got it. Anything you want, New Taylor? Our menu is quite diverse so long as you're not craving something made from exotic ingredients." Bar Taylor wrote down the order on a little notebook and neatly tore out the page.
"I don't have any money with me right now."
"You don't have to worry. Everything here is free." Bar Taylor chuckled. "It would be weird to charge different universe versions of myself."
"Bar Taylor just run things for fun. There are a few Taylor who are loaded and quite willing to fund this place pretty much indefinitely." PRT Princess Taylor added. "If it bothers you, just remember to bring some grocery to restock the fridge next time. It saves the time travelling between universes for shopping trips."
"Oh." She realized. "Was that what the grocery bag from before was?"
"Yup. Or you can bring anything you cook yourself and share with everyone. We make it a weekly thing here, usually every Friday night. Anyway, your order?"
"I recommend cheese burger. You can never go wrong with cheese burger." PRT Princess Taylor quipped in.
"I guess. I'll have that then."
"Okay, two cheese burgers, one double coming up." Bar Taylor spoke aloud, and she could hear another voice in the kitchen repeating the order. "Oh, and new Taylor? About your second question." The women lifted the metal panel behind the bar, which turned out to be a window of sort that looked directly into the kitchen. Where she could see half a dozen 'Taylors' in chef apparel busily working various cooking stations.
"We have A LOT of Taylors here."
---***---
Taylor Hebert stared at what she assumed was her afterlife.
The white void was more or less expected. There didn't appear to be any source of illumination, yet she could see everything (or rather the lack of anything) clearly, even able to distinguish the ground beneath her, which looked like smooth marble. That her clothes was completely clean of the filth from the locker was a surprise, but a welcomed one. She couldn't imagine being stuck in some kind of limbo smelling like blood and used tampon with no way to wash them off.
What's unusual was the quaint two-storied building in front of her with a simple designed sign board that read 'Little Owl Bar & Grills'. It looked nothing like the Fugly Bob's, but the architecture and exterior design just exuded this air that made you know it was a family restaurant, from the large blinded windows decorated with small flower pots to the couple of wooden benches on both side of the double doors.
The sheer contrast between the normalcy of the building and the seemingly unending void surrounding it only served to make the whole deal more unnerving.
Her eyes were drawn toward the small black board with neat handwritings in multi-colored chalk.
'WELCOME TO LITTLE OWL BAR
Please take note of the following rules before entering:
- If your power involves controlling or summoning creatures or substances that may infest or contaminate the establishment, please keep a tight control of them.
- Basic courtesy is expected and enforced. No intentional intimidation, bully, harassment, provocation, etc allowed.
- You may bring guests of your own, but be understanding if others may react negatively to their presence.
- Refer to the bar owner for a self-updating copy of the rulebook on things no longer allowed inside the bar.'
The content was unusual, but at least a little reassuring. Gathering her courage, Taylor twisted the doornob and peered inside. A soft chime came from the bell above the doorframe, and she took a careful look around the interior.
It looked to be an ordinary diner slash bar. There were about a dozen four-seat tables, some with sofas or beanbag chairs for seats. At the back, she could see some kind of small stage with curtain and a couple of ceiling spotlights. To the left was a bar counter with an assortment of bottles, cans, cups, and dispensers. It was quite, cozy, with the only movement being from the woman arranging something in the overhead bar cabinets.
"Oh, you must be new here, Taylor." The woman turned around, and Taylor was struck with how ... familiar she looked. "Come on in, take a seat."
The slightly messy mane of long, curly black hair. The pair of large brown eyes framed behind black-rimmed glasses. The pair of thin lips that were just a little bit too wide for her liking. The features that she would see in the mirror every morning, individually similar yet so distinctly different on that mature face that it was like looking at a funhouse version of herself.
"The first time can be confusing, I know. I can answer any question you have." The woman held up an empty glass with a couple of ice cubes. "You want something to drink? We have water, juice, and soda. And beer if you feel like it."
"Just...just water please." Taylor warily took the offered glass. A tentitive sip proved that it was just that, plain water, if a bit more refreshing that what usually came from the taps back home. Or maybe it was because we was just that thirsty from being stuck in the locker for so long. "Who are you? And how do you know my name?"
"Well that's an easy answer." The woman chuckled, and Taylor had to force down the sudden stab of pain at the familiar sound. "It's because I am also Taylor. It's one of those things that stay weirdly consistent across the multiverse, actually. Kind of funny when you actually think about it."
Her mind zeroed in on that word. "Multiverse? As in alternate Earths? So you're a different version of me." It kinda made sense seeing as she appeared like a Taylor who was a bit older. Early 20s, if she had to guess.
"Yes and no. It's complicated. While there are some features that the majority of us Taylors share like our first name, they are only enough to highlight the differences. Each of us may have wildly different background, personality traits, species, or even physics system from one another. Some of our regulars aren't even from us, or human for that matter. "
The bell above the door chimed. They both turned to look at the person entering, and Taylor (this was going to get confusing quickly) had to resist the urge to rub her eyes. Another person who looked just like her, except not. Uniform that looked too fancy to be Winslow, yet was distinctly not Acadia. Rounded corners on her glasses instead of square. Hair that was tied back in a low ponytail.
"Hi Bar Taylor! Slow day today, huh?" She looked around the place, before zeroing in Taylor. "Oh, we have a new face today?" The girl sounded happy, if a bit tired, to meet the older her. With a bit of effort, she managed to fit throught the door what Taylor realized was a giant grocery bag filled with veggies. This new Taylor walked toward them and, with a grunt, set the bag on the counter. "Here you go, some greens and spices you asked for last time."
Bar Taylor (an apt nickname, if a bit uncreative if she were to be honest) peered inside the bag and took out the receit. Her eyes gained this strange glint as she smiled widely, and she hugged the bag like it was teddy bear. "Excuse me a bit, Taylor. I got to throw these in the kitchen real quick." And there she went, disappearing behind the curtained door at the back.
"So, hi. Nice to meet you. I'm Taylor Costa-Brown."
"Taylor Hebert." She hesitated, but decided to ask anyway. "Did you say Costa-Brown as in..."
"Yes, my mom is Rebecca Costa-Brown, Chief Director of the PRT in my world." She said with a sigh. "That's why those of us here just call me PRT Princess Taylor."
"Sorry." She appologized sheepishly. Must be a touchy subject.
"It's okay. I'm kind of used to it at this point."
"That does remind me though." Bar Taylor walked out with a glass of what looked like grape soda and set it in front of PRT Princess Taylor, who took it gratefully. "Do try to think of a nickname for yourself. That's what we use to avoid confusion here. Better do it fast before your are saddled with something unflattering. I try to keep them from being too mean about it, but it has become something of a hazing ritual at this point."
"Yeah, they almost called me CBTaylor." PRT Princess Taylor sipped on her drink glumly.
"They aren't often vicious about it, and won't push things too far if you take offense to the name." Bar Taylor amended with a wince. "But teenagers gotta teenager."
"Just try to avoid Wolf Priestess Taylor, Kitsune Taylor, Catgirl Taylor,... Actually, avoid all Taylors with some kind of animal feature and look too mischievous for their own good. They tend to play pranks on people, especially new Taylors." PRT Princess Taylor set down her half-empty glass of soda. "Can I get a double cheese burger?"
"Just...just how many Taylors are there?" It's starting to get overwhelming, and Taylor felt like she should be having some kind of existential crisis right this moment if not for the friendly and cozy atmosphere of the place.
"Got it. Anything you want, New Taylor? Our menu is quite diverse so long as you're not craving something made from exotic ingredients." Bar Taylor wrote down the order on a little notebook and neatly tore out the page.
"I don't have any money with me right now."
"You don't have to worry. Everything here is free." Bar Taylor chuckled. "It would be weird to charge different universe versions of myself."
"Bar Taylor just run things for fun. There are a few Taylor who are loaded and quite willing to fund this place pretty much indefinitely." PRT Princess Taylor added. "If it bothers you, just remember to bring some grocery to restock the fridge next time. It saves the time travelling between universes for shopping trips."
"Oh." She realized. "Was that what the grocery bag from before was?"
"Yup. Or you can bring anything you cook yourself and share with everyone. We make it a weekly thing here, usually every Friday night. Anyway, your order?"
"I recommend cheese burger. You can never go wrong with cheese burger." PRT Princess Taylor quipped in.
"I guess. I'll have that then."
"Okay, two cheese burgers, one double coming up." Bar Taylor spoke aloud, and she could hear another voice in the kitchen repeating the order. "Oh, and new Taylor? About your second question." The women lifted the metal panel behind the bar, which turned out to be a window of sort that looked directly into the kitchen. Where she could see half a dozen 'Taylors' in chef apparel busily working various cooking stations.
"We have A LOT of Taylors here."
Chapter 2: Therapy? In my Worm fanfic?
New
AN: I aimed for a fluffy, feel-good chapter, but my usual depressing writing managed to sneak right in, and the result is some kind of mishmash that flipflops between the two. Hope you guys don't mind.
The burger was really good.
It wasn't some kind of gastronomic delights like you would imagine being served at an obviously parahuman-run restaurant. You don't order a cheese burger at Fugly Bob's expecting high-end cuisine, but because you suddenly crave that combination of savory, salty, and mild flavors delivered in a dish so simple that not even the most novice of cooks can screw up. At the same time, there's not much you could do to improve it even if you try, at least not to a degree that the average person can appreciate. It was junk food, and no amount of high quality cheese, meat patties cooked to perfection, or fresh and expertly prepared toppings could change that.
Taylor looked at PRT Princess Taylor, who was finishing her double cheese with delight, then at her own half-finished one.
"Is the food not to your liking?" Bar Taylor asked gently.
"No. It's good, really good actually. It's just..." she hesitated, "All of this...it still feels so surreal that I'm having a hard time putting my thoughts together. What exactly is this place? Why is it surrounded by this white void thing? Why and how did I get here?"
"That quite an ambiguous question new Taylor, but I'll try to answer it as best as I can" Bar Taylor hummed as refilled her cup with a water jug. "This restaurant is something I have built so that we Taylors can have a safe place where we can just…get away from it all. You see that plaque over there?"
Taylor watched where the woman pointed at above one of the glass windows. There was indeed a large plaque with ornate wooden frames and a short sentence in cursives on something that looked like parchment.
It read 'Being Taylor is suffering'.
"That was something Prankster Taylor put up some time ago as a joke, but we pretty much unanimously decided to keep it up in the end. As much as it was a somewhat mean jab at several Taylors at the time, it was also both a self-deprecating joke and a statement of truth. One that all of us can commiserate over at some point, because it is almost unavoidable that each of us have or will go through some great struggles in our life."
It fell like something at the back of her mind just froze over.
"I pretty much have PRT troopers and several capes in reserve as bodyguards 24/7 because the daughter of the Chief Director of the PRT is too enticing a bargaining chip or assassination target to pass up on." Her same-aged counterpart said in a somber voice. "Many people, good people who were just following order, have taken attacks meant for me, have died protecting me, and I couldn't do a single thing to help."
Bar Taylor laid a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder.
"So…what you're saying…" Taylor could feel anger bubbling up inside her mind like shimmering water waiting to boil, "is that everything I've gone through…being betrayed by my best friend…being either bullied or ignored by everyone for years…being shove into that DISGUSTING LOCKER, is because I am destined to be some kind of COSMIC PUNCHING BAG?!"
"It's a sad reality, yes, but only if you want to think of it that way." Bar Taylor said patiently.
"What the FUCK is that supposed to mean?"
"You said you were betrayed by your best friend, right? Does her name happen to be Emma Barnes?"
"Yeah, and what of it?"
"It puts things into perspective, Taylor, because for us, Emma had been many things. Yes, sometimes a traitor, a vicious bully, someone seemingly handcrafted by fate to be the root cause of all our sufferings. But also, sometimes a steadfast ally, a treasured friend, the love of our life," the woman's voice hesitated, and Taylor could hear the tiniest crack in her voice as she continued. "Someone who was cruelly taken away from us too soon. And sometimes the only thing that separates those outcomes was the smallest, the most seemingly insignificant choices."
The woman turned to Taylor, and once again she was painfully reminded of her mother when their family was going through rough times. "The point is that things could be worse, but they could also be better. If we could go through life with just a bit more insights, and the knowledge that all else fails, you can always find here those who can understand and empathize with your pains. Those who can have your back, spiritually if not physically."
Taylor wanted to scream at the woman. She wanted to call her out for being just another empty talker. She wanted to rage at the idea that she could ever come to love that, that BITCH ever again. But she knew that it was true. Much as it pained her to admit it, much as she utterly hated who Emma had become, the description Bar Taylor gave was how the two of them used to be. How they could be. How a tiny, traitorous part of her dearly wished they could return to, like everything had just been a scary nightmare.
The explosive anger died down, leaving only debris of numbness. She was just too exhausted to think anymore. She didn't want to think anymore, and grateful that Bar Taylor decided to switch the topic.
"As for the 'white void thing', I'm not sure I can give you a satisfying answer because I don't fully understand it myself. Far as I can tell, it's a dimension outside of time and space and beyond even the multiple universes and reality itself. A gigantic space of practically endless nothingness where you can spend days in and get back to your reality with not even a nanosecond having passed. Some of the more scientifically inclined Taylors held debates over the nature of this space, but most of it went over my head." Bar Taylor chuckled.
"All I know is that I was the first of us to access this place, or at least the first one who decided to stick around long enough to make something of it. It started out a pocket dimension where I can relax or cheat out some time inbetween study and work, but then I discovered that other version of me sometimes popped into this place, mostly by accident and almost always in some state of distress. So I brought over something to help them calm down. A blanket, some snacks, a hot mug of chocolate, maybe just a hug and some time spent listening to their story. It was like a multiversal picnic spot."
"In the beginning I only got to spend a short amount of time with each Taylor before sending them back with my power, but one day Arc Inventor Taylor came back, having succeeded in making some kind of cross-dimensional locator slash transporter that allowed everyone to return freely. That being said," Bar Taylor crouched down to retrieve something from under the counter. "Here's yours, new Taylor. One translocator, neatly compacted and perfectly disguised as an innocuous wrist watch."
Taylor gingerly took the offered device and put it on her wrist.
"It can also take the form of any accessory you feel is more appropriate, or even hide itself as a layer on your skin using some kind of nanobot or magictech nonsense." PRT Princess Taylor chimed in. "Mine just merges with my phone and show up as an app on-screen. It also always return to you whenever and wherever you want, because Tinkers are just bullshit like that."
"With a reliable way to go back and forth, several other Taylors contributed material and construction skills to help build this little restaurant. One thing led to another, with several renovations and expansions along the way, and here we are."
"What about those Taylors in the kitchen? Do they just work here all the time?"
"Ah, most of them just stay over for some time and help out in the kitchen because they like cooking." Bar Taylor smiled sadly. "Some of them live here permanently though, either because they feel like there is nothing left for them, their world was destroyed, or they...died. Sometimes a combination of the three. Thankfully we have a few Taylors who are either full-time psychiatrists or can call in some favor for one. Professional mental help does wonder around here."
Taylor made a vague sound of agreement. It all sounded a little too fantastical, like a dream her delirious mind made up while stuck inside the locker. Even if it was a dream though, she hoped she would never wake up from it. And some weird way, it was nice to know that if nothing else, she had a place where she could vent her grievances and not be mocked or had them used as more ammunition by her tormentors. Taylor just wished she had found it sooner, and she confessed as much.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Strangely, or perhaps not, the compassion from the older her did not feel as grating and Gladly's pitying gaze or Blackwell's condescending glare. "I'm not a professional like them or anything, but I can lend an ear whenever you want."
Taylor nodded.
Somewhere along the way, she found heself ending up on one of the massive beanbag chair, huddled together with both alternate versions of herself in some kind of bizarre group hug. She didn't particularly mind, though.
She didn't know it felt this good to have a good, long cry after such a long time.
---***---
The burger was really good.
It wasn't some kind of gastronomic delights like you would imagine being served at an obviously parahuman-run restaurant. You don't order a cheese burger at Fugly Bob's expecting high-end cuisine, but because you suddenly crave that combination of savory, salty, and mild flavors delivered in a dish so simple that not even the most novice of cooks can screw up. At the same time, there's not much you could do to improve it even if you try, at least not to a degree that the average person can appreciate. It was junk food, and no amount of high quality cheese, meat patties cooked to perfection, or fresh and expertly prepared toppings could change that.
Taylor looked at PRT Princess Taylor, who was finishing her double cheese with delight, then at her own half-finished one.
"Is the food not to your liking?" Bar Taylor asked gently.
"No. It's good, really good actually. It's just..." she hesitated, "All of this...it still feels so surreal that I'm having a hard time putting my thoughts together. What exactly is this place? Why is it surrounded by this white void thing? Why and how did I get here?"
"That quite an ambiguous question new Taylor, but I'll try to answer it as best as I can" Bar Taylor hummed as refilled her cup with a water jug. "This restaurant is something I have built so that we Taylors can have a safe place where we can just…get away from it all. You see that plaque over there?"
Taylor watched where the woman pointed at above one of the glass windows. There was indeed a large plaque with ornate wooden frames and a short sentence in cursives on something that looked like parchment.
It read 'Being Taylor is suffering'.
"That was something Prankster Taylor put up some time ago as a joke, but we pretty much unanimously decided to keep it up in the end. As much as it was a somewhat mean jab at several Taylors at the time, it was also both a self-deprecating joke and a statement of truth. One that all of us can commiserate over at some point, because it is almost unavoidable that each of us have or will go through some great struggles in our life."
It fell like something at the back of her mind just froze over.
"I pretty much have PRT troopers and several capes in reserve as bodyguards 24/7 because the daughter of the Chief Director of the PRT is too enticing a bargaining chip or assassination target to pass up on." Her same-aged counterpart said in a somber voice. "Many people, good people who were just following order, have taken attacks meant for me, have died protecting me, and I couldn't do a single thing to help."
Bar Taylor laid a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder.
"So…what you're saying…" Taylor could feel anger bubbling up inside her mind like shimmering water waiting to boil, "is that everything I've gone through…being betrayed by my best friend…being either bullied or ignored by everyone for years…being shove into that DISGUSTING LOCKER, is because I am destined to be some kind of COSMIC PUNCHING BAG?!"
"It's a sad reality, yes, but only if you want to think of it that way." Bar Taylor said patiently.
"What the FUCK is that supposed to mean?"
"You said you were betrayed by your best friend, right? Does her name happen to be Emma Barnes?"
"Yeah, and what of it?"
"It puts things into perspective, Taylor, because for us, Emma had been many things. Yes, sometimes a traitor, a vicious bully, someone seemingly handcrafted by fate to be the root cause of all our sufferings. But also, sometimes a steadfast ally, a treasured friend, the love of our life," the woman's voice hesitated, and Taylor could hear the tiniest crack in her voice as she continued. "Someone who was cruelly taken away from us too soon. And sometimes the only thing that separates those outcomes was the smallest, the most seemingly insignificant choices."
The woman turned to Taylor, and once again she was painfully reminded of her mother when their family was going through rough times. "The point is that things could be worse, but they could also be better. If we could go through life with just a bit more insights, and the knowledge that all else fails, you can always find here those who can understand and empathize with your pains. Those who can have your back, spiritually if not physically."
Taylor wanted to scream at the woman. She wanted to call her out for being just another empty talker. She wanted to rage at the idea that she could ever come to love that, that BITCH ever again. But she knew that it was true. Much as it pained her to admit it, much as she utterly hated who Emma had become, the description Bar Taylor gave was how the two of them used to be. How they could be. How a tiny, traitorous part of her dearly wished they could return to, like everything had just been a scary nightmare.
The explosive anger died down, leaving only debris of numbness. She was just too exhausted to think anymore. She didn't want to think anymore, and grateful that Bar Taylor decided to switch the topic.
"As for the 'white void thing', I'm not sure I can give you a satisfying answer because I don't fully understand it myself. Far as I can tell, it's a dimension outside of time and space and beyond even the multiple universes and reality itself. A gigantic space of practically endless nothingness where you can spend days in and get back to your reality with not even a nanosecond having passed. Some of the more scientifically inclined Taylors held debates over the nature of this space, but most of it went over my head." Bar Taylor chuckled.
"All I know is that I was the first of us to access this place, or at least the first one who decided to stick around long enough to make something of it. It started out a pocket dimension where I can relax or cheat out some time inbetween study and work, but then I discovered that other version of me sometimes popped into this place, mostly by accident and almost always in some state of distress. So I brought over something to help them calm down. A blanket, some snacks, a hot mug of chocolate, maybe just a hug and some time spent listening to their story. It was like a multiversal picnic spot."
"In the beginning I only got to spend a short amount of time with each Taylor before sending them back with my power, but one day Arc Inventor Taylor came back, having succeeded in making some kind of cross-dimensional locator slash transporter that allowed everyone to return freely. That being said," Bar Taylor crouched down to retrieve something from under the counter. "Here's yours, new Taylor. One translocator, neatly compacted and perfectly disguised as an innocuous wrist watch."
Taylor gingerly took the offered device and put it on her wrist.
"It can also take the form of any accessory you feel is more appropriate, or even hide itself as a layer on your skin using some kind of nanobot or magictech nonsense." PRT Princess Taylor chimed in. "Mine just merges with my phone and show up as an app on-screen. It also always return to you whenever and wherever you want, because Tinkers are just bullshit like that."
"With a reliable way to go back and forth, several other Taylors contributed material and construction skills to help build this little restaurant. One thing led to another, with several renovations and expansions along the way, and here we are."
"What about those Taylors in the kitchen? Do they just work here all the time?"
"Ah, most of them just stay over for some time and help out in the kitchen because they like cooking." Bar Taylor smiled sadly. "Some of them live here permanently though, either because they feel like there is nothing left for them, their world was destroyed, or they...died. Sometimes a combination of the three. Thankfully we have a few Taylors who are either full-time psychiatrists or can call in some favor for one. Professional mental help does wonder around here."
Taylor made a vague sound of agreement. It all sounded a little too fantastical, like a dream her delirious mind made up while stuck inside the locker. Even if it was a dream though, she hoped she would never wake up from it. And some weird way, it was nice to know that if nothing else, she had a place where she could vent her grievances and not be mocked or had them used as more ammunition by her tormentors. Taylor just wished she had found it sooner, and she confessed as much.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Strangely, or perhaps not, the compassion from the older her did not feel as grating and Gladly's pitying gaze or Blackwell's condescending glare. "I'm not a professional like them or anything, but I can lend an ear whenever you want."
Taylor nodded.
Somewhere along the way, she found heself ending up on one of the massive beanbag chair, huddled together with both alternate versions of herself in some kind of bizarre group hug. She didn't particularly mind, though.
She didn't know it felt this good to have a good, long cry after such a long time.