2019-05-14 - Bridge over troubled waters

The day started with some gray clouds that have broken up, but the coolness of them linger. Thanks to the spring weather, its almost enough to make one feel angre when one of those clouds pass over as the only big of warmth on this brisk day is sun that vanished behind tose scatered gray clouds. Enjoying it or not, Jack is on a lawnmore riding the grass near the church. Rounding a certain statue but avoiding it, to help a few crows have perched on the shoulders of that statue. He can be seen muttering as he arcs around the growing grass near that statue. There are kids at the school, folks out and about. Its otherwise a normal day.

Jack pulls over near the sidewalk, deciding to take a seat near the stone bridge. He has a little morning helper, pulling out a flask for a swig. A late 70s or early 80s Buick of some sort, the old boats, swerves a corner and drives by, tires a little squeal'ish. Maybe bald and hard for it to keep control. And as it goes by, he comments to anyone nearby or no one, or the shadows, maybe the devil, "I swear, second time that jerk has drove past." Maybe local, but he's no clue who it is, not a parishoner for sure. The car turns a corner, squeals and it sets the crows off, cawing, lifting wing, beating circles and reseathing aroudn the statue.

Alexander is walking over that stone bridge with the slow, easy amble of someone who doesn't have anywhere in particular to be. Or maybe just someone who doesn't have any idea where he's going. Townies who recognize him make a bit of a wide berth, speeding up and focusing on their cell phones or conversations to keep from meeting his wandering eyes. He's dressed plainly: an oversized dark brown sweater that hangs a good way down his thighs, battered jeans, work boots. And his own attention is caught by Jack's words, allowing him to focus on the car, just in time for it to squeal around the corner, and the birds to take flight. His flat gaze follows them until they settle back down, then reorients to Jack. "I don't recognize the car. Do you owe anyone money?"

Himself in carhartt jacket, olive green t, jeans and boots, Jack is considering parking himself on the side of stone bridge. Impromptu couch sort of, or stool, depending on where he plants himself. Having watched the same, rubber neck and all, he is caught by the birds, and utters a low curse under his breath. Its a good way to expel the sour sweetness of whatever dark liquor he has in his flask too. A good combination, a curse and that flavor. A shrug as the voice brings him back down to the land, and the bridge. "I try to avoid owing anyone money. Funny thing about that car, usually that old, they'd come ask me to fix it. I haven't seen it at the shop before." A shrug, he turns to the other man more directly now. "I could be wrong, might not be money I owe." Devil's dues of some sort maybe. If they listen enough, they can measure out, a feint squeal, it rounded another corner. Then as he talks about owing something else, another one. Like the car is just doing the block itself around the church. Even Jack starts to turn to the opposite corner, to see if it rounds again, like expecting it nearly even as the crows quiet down finally.

"One for sorrow, two for mirth, three for a funeral, four for a birth. Five for heaven, six for hell, and seven for the Devil, his very own self," Alexander sing-songs at the birds on the statue. His head cocks to one side as he hears that distant squeal, before studying Jack with dark eyes and an impassive expression. "Pissed anyone off, lately?" But he pivots on his heels as the car's faint squeals make it to his ears, also turning to face the street where the car might emerge. "This is odd. I think this is odd. Is it actually happening?"

It earns a brow lift from Jack, the sing-song dues for the crows. Perhaps, in part, the reason he found it better to focus on the man than the crows. A slight chuckle at the question, but more a grump of a sound than mirthful. "Depends how you mean by pissed off. I don't lower my labor costs, I'm up front on my prices." Then both are looking, a slight nod from Jack, it could be happening indeed. "I should of just went to the shop, wanted a break." Hence him doing the mowing probably. And the squeal comes again, they round that corner. This time the car wobbles, and when it straightens, its aimed at them. Or the bridge mabye, not like going off is deadly, but car hitting it. "Shit," says Jack, meaning to get up and out of the way, fully expecting some collision to happen.

<FS3> Alexander rolls Mental (7 7 6 6 6 5 5 4 2 1) vs Driver (a NPC)'s 2 (8 8 6 4)
<FS3> Victory for Alexander.

"I'd say that stalking someone over failure to give a discount would be petty and unlikely, but it's a strange world," Alexander says, with a shrug. His brow furrows as the car comes into view again. Maybe he's not a very bright man, when all's said and done, because he doesn't get out of the way like a sensible person. At least not immediately. Instead, his left hand comes up and rubs at his temple as he stares at the oncoming car. "Oh. No. Not anger. Fear. Exhaustion. Pain. It doesn't help, self destructing, but you do it anyway because you don't know what else to do, and it's just too hard." He shakes himself, then reorients himself. "Shhhh. Stop." It's not to Jack, although his voice is far too low to be heard by the oncoming driver.

<FS3> Alexander rolls Mental (8 8 7 6 5 5 4 4 3 2) vs Driver (a NPC)'s 2 (7 7 2 2)
<FS3> Victory for Alexander.

The man standing there while he bails, leaves Jack on that hard rock. Right between Crows, and now a guy muttering about emotions or something. He uncaps his flask again, and watches, full spectator for the moment but not wanting to be in the midst of what is happening.

The affect at first is another jolt at the wheel, tires squeal as it turns erratically. Then a secondary squeal, as breaks are found. Jack definitely doesn't hear issuing of the command to stop. But, all said and done, the car does stop, just as one tire find the curb. It was enough slowing that the tire doesn't burst, the tie rods do not bend and the alignment stays intact even. Though the bottom bottoms a brief moment on the curb, the car lurches just a little but stops, halfway on the curb, leaving Alexander as some barrier between car and the wall of stone bridge.

That's enough for Jack, another drink is in oder. Jack doesn't hear it, but the woman inside is shaking her head, eyes glazed looking ahead and seeing nothing, muttering, "No no no, I can't go back."

Alexander seems oblivious to how close he came to getting smushed between a stone wall and not even a /cool/ car. He stares at the car for a few moments, expression blank, then turns to Jack. "You talk to her. People don't like it when I talk to them." The tone of his voice is flat enough that it's hard to tell if it's a suggestion, a plea, or some sort of command. "What's your name?" That definitely sounds like MORE of a demand than a question.

Jack is entirely uncertain he wants in on this business. He does come forward, "If there is a will, there's a way." Like thinking she may have stopped because she didn't want to injure Alexander, but suggestive that she'll just find another way to do it, when she finds the courage to feed that impulse again. "That's your answer, its How are you? Name isn't important yet I don't think." That's what he's saying. But the lady, hands still glued to the wheel as other gawkers stop. Some stop, others who've been in the town and have seen the town more than some, they're leaving the area not wanting in on this business. "Lucy," she says, responding to the question asked by Alexander, finding ground in it even. Starting to blink. Jack does a 'huh?' sort of sound and blank look, proved wrong or curious now.

"Every moment not dying is a victory against a callous and malicious world," Alexander says to Jack, with a hunched little shrug. He looks surprised at the answer from the woman behind the wheel. "I wasn't asking you," he tells her, flatly. It's a mystery why people don't like it when he talks to them. But even he seems to realize that's maybe not the best response to a suicidal person trying to make a connection. He frowns. "Sorry." A long pause. "Why were you trying to kill yourself on the bridge?" Maybe he'll get partial points for directness.

Still in that curious dazed look of, this actually worked. Stopping the car by standing there, and asking the name. He catches on to what Alexander means, he was asking Jack, and he responds, "Just Jack." Like its a normal name and all, nothing important. She is looking more at him now, realizing he wasn't asking her and not focused on her in those moments she might need some focus. "I ... maybe. But I can't, not anymore. They come, every night." SHe says, lowering her head to touch the steering wheel, right between those two hands planted on it. Jack offers, "I can call for help," and his phone is coming out to dial away. He's old school, its a flip phone, small at least, maybe a decade+ old. Others have probably already called. In fact, maybe a minute or so out, there is a feint siren in the distance. Lucy hasn't heard it yet.

"Just Jack," Alexander echoes, sounding skeptical. "That's only HALF a name," he grumbles, but before he can go off on a proper rant about it, or an improper one, the woman is speaking up. His expression twists, pain reflected there like she was a bonfire of it and he a polished mirror in the dark. He rubs at his temples in agitation and sympathy. A brief nod towards Jack, and then he's moving towards the car, like a puppet whose strings are being yanked this way and that. He reaches in to, if she allows, put his hand gently on her shoulder. "It doesn't help, Lucy," he says, slowly. "To self destruct. They laugh when you hurt yourself. Pain is chocolate and Turkish Delight and sex." His mouth works, clearly trying to find some sort of words that won't make things creepy and worse. "Get away from Gray Harbor if you can," is all he can say in the end. "The shadows aren't as deep in other places."

"The other half is another story," returns Jack on that topic. It might not even be a long story, but in the span of minutes give or take, another story to not divulge out of the blue perhaps. He comes around as Alexander moves to the woman, watching as if helpful. His phone finally gets through, they can hear him explaning the situation and the voice on the other side probably expresses that services have already been dispatched to the location.

But Alexander is also in conversation with the woman. She look up at him. "They do, they know," she responds, as if he gets it, this man that stopped the car, or her, from self destructing. "You are sure, they will not come?" As if a spark of hope is there. The sirens are louder. "I have family, in Montana." As if really thinking about it. The sirens are loudest. They round that same corner and the noise goes off as they approach.

"No," Alexander tells the woman, flatly. "I am sure of very little." He grimaces, removes his hand to rub at his face. "But it helped me. To leave. Just if you leave, stay gone, Lucy. Don't let them draw you back. Don't let them draw you down into the dark where your dreams have teeth." He flinches at the rise and sudden stop of the sirens, and backs away from the car, hands instinctively raised as if expecting someone to yell at him or try to arrest him. He backs towards Jack, although that seems to be as much of a function of Jack being in the general direction of 'away' than out of a deliberate choice.

The EMTs jump out, "What seems to be the problem ma'am," they say, approaching the vehicle.

Jack, on the other hand, notices Alexander's hands going up. He lift one of his, stepping towards the man as if to push a hand down. "Whoa, partner. They're looking after the lady, not us." He does offer his flask over to the man even. Not police about yet, just a harmless flask and all, no public lewdness or drunkeness. Looking back to the lawn mower half a second, "Need a moment yourself?" Again to Alexander, "It's Jack Wellington, but I prefer Jack." To Ditch the last name. His offer to walk away stands.

The woman with that spark of hope, there is a little fear. They will most likely take her in. Its that moment of wonder, what if she's trapped now, some doctor's orders. Keeping her hear for delusions or worse. Leaving the mind to wonder, should she have gone right away, off to Montana. Or off elsewhere with that stone wall at Stone Bridge. Jack is better moving along and not dwelling it seems.

Alexander's hand skitters away from the raised hand of Jack's, which does at least accomplish the goal. Alexander's hands comes down, and he just stands there sort of awkwardly. The flask is stared at, then given a quick shake of the head. "Jack Wellington," he murmurs. "I'll remember that. Alexander Clayton." When he's questioned, he jerks his chin in a ragged nod, a flicker of relief for an excuse to get away from the paramedics. One corner of his mouth turns up. "At least no one was trying to kill you?"

Fair enough is the look from Jack, his hand slowly lowers to give the man his space. Then the flask is tucked away. "The same Alexander." On remembering the other, and the name. Half a grin, forced maybe, Jack nods to the question. "Yep, not my time today. In fairness, I suppose if they were, it'd be the first time someone was trying to kill me." Just a hint of emphasis on 'one' of course. Specifics. "I don't know about providence and that," as he looks up at St. Mary's, then disdain in his eyes at the crows, watching like the scene just like the people gawkers are doing now. "Right place right time I guess. You'd planned on coming this way? I don't see you on my other mowing days." Or he never noticed, which is more logical if one followed that route.

"You don't seem like a guy a lot of people would want to kill." Maybe it's meant to be a compliment, although it's mostly flat except an answering emphasis on 'people' that so perfectly mimics the emphasis on 'one' that it HAS to be deliberate. "And I don't plan a lot, Mister Well--Jack." A glance back at the car and the paramedics. "Plans get disrupted. I was just walking." His gaze sweeps across to come back to the mower. "You don't always mow. You mentioned rates, and cars. A mechanic?"

"There see, you ain't half bad with people," offers Jack, stoically, which leaves open that Alexander isn't half good with people either of course. "Good guess, not my shop, I work for someone. Not enough drive to run my own place. Mowing is, what do the kids do these days. Meditation? Relaxing. And its my church, grew up nearby." He doesn't mind explaining that to the fellow it seems. "I don't imagine you're just a walker, not your plans to disrupt, but coincidence then that you were here when her plans needed the interruption." Or she didn't need it, as she's strapped to a gurney and wheeled for loading into the ambulance, and probably the care of some psychiatrist later. She may not escape the shadows at all.

"Usually when people say that, it's sarcasm," Alexander replies. "But facts are easier. Meditation isn't bad. And this is a good church as churches go. Very few mysterious murders or disappearances in the past decade or so. At least, for Gray Harbor. Still statistically above average for size, demographics, and geographical region." That's rattled off. He glances back at the woman, his brow furrowed. "I don't...know that I helped. Sometimes dead is better. But that's always a choice on the table. Better to try the other options first."

A brow lifts, he lifts a hand to scratch his beard in that thought. A little snip of a breeze rustles the crows, the caw a little quietly, not the scream sort, but talking. Maybe about changing winds, as a few take flight, leaving one or two left to stand sentry on that odd statue. "Yeah, you're probably right. I don't think much of people I guess, so it works out." One not always liked by people, the other just liking random people all the time or something. "You know a lot about that." Observation, like he hasn't thought to consider how Gray Harbour compares to the rest of the world even. He moves to stand by the mower, to put a foot on the small side rail. "Yeah, maybe not better today, but them folks of hers in Montaana, maybe she'll get there someday, put it all behind her." A grin, not quite a smirk, but enough to show more sarcasm, "That your deal, walk around, upset peoples life plans, that's why they don't care much for you?"

Alexander follows along with Jack, giving an idle glance towards the crows, but not seeming overly fascinated by them. The mower comes in for more scrutiny. "I hope she does," he says, very quietly. Then raises his head, shakes it. "They don't care for me because I'm emotionally unstable, lack social skills, and make them uncomfortable in many different ways. I don't blame them. If I weren't me, I wouldn't care for me very much either." There's neither bitterness nor self-pity in the statement. "And I know a lot about murders. They're interesting." There's a flicker of a smile. "Probably also a reason people don't care for me much. Why don't you think much of people, Jack?"

His hand lifts, towards that pocket. He thinks better of it, so just pats his jacket instead, as if straightening it out. Jack rubs his foot on the side step there of the mower, it is a good focus away from the statue gathering. Half a grin, he looks up about the murder comment, because of the crows probably. "Me, well, sometimes they just don't trust each other enough, in the moments they should. Then, you know, half cocked crazies out there ruining the notion of trust by just being asses." A shrug, nothing he can do about it, "Give me an engine, I can fix it. I'm not half bad on the grounds here either. A good little cherry tree out back, planted that a few years back, should have a blossom or two this year. Growing right up. People, confusing." HIs eyes wanderd the grounds, but land back on Alexander, a nod, "Yeah, that murder thing, interesting or not, probably not everyday stuff. I can see people not getting it. I guess, if its your interest, so long as you're not out there murdering." A pause, "You ain't?" Its offered stoic, but undrerlykng he means it as a joke, he just watched the fellow save that woman from self injury.

"Plants and engines are definitely less confusing than people," Alexander agrees, and offers Jack the shadow of an actual, genuine smile. "Trust is difficult, though. Sometimes it's better to not." Like, in his answer to the next question, and the way his face goes sort of blank. "I don't think I've killed anyone who was real. I've tried not to." Very reassuring. He scuffs the ground with his foot. "I should go. It was nice. To meet you, Jack. Maybe next time there won't be suicide." He turns and walks away, then.