2019-05-28 - Stakeout

Alexander spent most of the afternoon weeping in his bedroom, which is probably affecting his mojo. It's certainly affecting his looks - the man looks not just like death warmed over, but like death as, like, the third day of leftovers, when you're starting to wonder if the risk of food poisoning is becoming excessive enough to excuse the waste of food. Or, in this case, of death. He's not far from the staff entrance of the club, in the drizzling rain - and from the soaked state of his hair and clothes, has /been/ there for at least a half hour. He's pressed back into an alcove by some garbage, and is even trying to mask himself. But for someone else who has the Glimmer, the erratic fits and starts of his power just make him stand out more.

Hannah emerges from the club, a small figure in casual clothing with a laptop bag slung over one slender shoulder. She never likes the alley bit and tends to be on high alert during this park of the journey to her car...tonight is no exception and when you throw Glimmer into the mix, Alexander is practically lit up like a Christmas tree. Hannah stops immediately and reaches for her jacket pocket with her unencumbered hand. "What're you doing here?" It's spoken directly in the direction of Alexander even if he's still trying to hide.

"Fuck." It's under his breath, but not /that/ quiet, when she addresses him. He slouches his way forward a little, hands coming up to show a lack of weapons. "Waiting for you, Miss Butler," he says, quiet but at the same time, harsh. Like he suddenly took up a heavy cigarette habit. "I apologize if I scared you."

"Why?" Alexander's show of weaponlessness keeps her from just bolting back into the building, but Hannah's hand is still in her jacket pocket and it's probably not super difficult to guess why. Then there's a laugh, shaky and faintly incredulous. "Maybe don't hide by the bins next time."

"I wanted to ask you some questions," Alexander says. Water runs down his face, dripping from the long bangs plastered to his forehead. "I actually wanted to see if you would identify a voice for me," he says, "but I'm not...I'm not myself at the moment. Or perhaps I am. I'm not sure I could show you part without the rest of it. And you don't want the rest of it." He glances back towards the club. "Could we, perhaps, talk in your car? I don't...I'm not going to hurt you." His voice falls on the last, as if he's not entirely certain whether that's even a thing he can do. Or not do.

Hannah stares at the man, eyes dark pools in the falling night, then says, "Wait here," and disappears back into the club for a moment. And she does re-emerge, both hands visible, and heads for her car without checking to see if Alexander is behind her. She probably doesn't need to. "Any move I don't like and the bouncer comes out and pops your head off like a jelly bean." The lights blink as she unlocks her vehicle with the remote; it's a little black hatchback. Hannah opens the driver's side door and slips into the seat. Alexander is left to shift for himself.

Alexander waits. He steps back into the alcove while he waits, and falls in behind her as she heads for her car. "Jelly beans don't typically pop off of anything," he just can't seem to HELP saying, as he moves around to the passenger side, and if she hasn't locked the door and driven quickly away, he slips into the passenger seat. "Thank you for your time." A glance back at the club, then switches his attention to her. "How is your arm?"

"Heads do," Hannah replies in a somewhat preoccupied manner as she shoves her laptop bag into the back seat. No she has not re-locked the car on the sly though it almost certainly occurred to her to do so. She settles back in the drivers seat with a long sigh, head tipped back against the headrest. "It's fine. Totally fine. Thanks."

"No," Alexander disagrees, quietly. "Jelly beans are similar texture throughout, while heads have the hard cranium, then the softer brains, and even certain hollows and crevices. They crack more like a melon when struck hard, and you can feel the blood running down the inside of the backs of your eyes into your throat and things dribbling..." he stops. "Not the point." Another pause. "Actually, something of the point, but not the part of the point I hoped to discuss with you. Could I play you a," another longer pause, "recording, of sorts, of a voice, Miss Butler? Perhaps you would recognize it."

"Pretty sure Andre could manage to pull someone's head off," Hannah rebuts, then shakes her head and makes a little noise in the back of her throat. "I can't believe I'm arguing about this. Sure. Yeah." Alexander's meticulous descriptions don't appear to ruffle her. She leans foward to turn the key in the ignition and the car purrs to life. The wipers turn start doing their thing. "What'd'you need? Bluetooth? Aux cable? USB?"

"Andre?" Alexander's head tilts to one side. "I don't think I've run into an Andre." Which is going to make this /super fun/, because when she offers various technological assistants, he shakes his head. He lifts a couple of fingers to his temple, resting his elbow on the car door. It looks like a casual resting pose - or as 'casual' as Alexander ever manages - but suddenly the car is filled with a rough, booming male voice, shouting, "Uh-oh, guys, SORRY!" And an undertone of animal noises, quickly cut off. He's also reaching out with his Glimmer to monitor her emotional reaction to it, which she can probably feel. It's not subtle.

"The fuck," Hannah states when Alexander starts broadcasting and she can feel him watching her, watching her as the voice echoes through the small car. She lifts her hands as thought to clap them over her ears, but stops short of completing the gesture. Though her external reaction is a surprised series of blinks, it's clear from the roil of emotions coming off her that she recognizes the voice, even the animal sounds, and she knows Alexander knows she knows. Dark eyes squeeze shut and she shakes her head.

Alexander's expression changes only a little. He doesn't look surprised, but he inclines his head, with a sigh, and he looks away. "It's not admissible," he says, quietly. "And even if it was, cases that touch even tangentially, even theoretically, on Mister Monaghan have a way of being round-filed. He's a stellar, upstanding member of the community, after all." See? Alexander CAN use sarcasm. When murder is involved. He rubs at his head. "I mostly want to know if it's over, Miss Butler. And if there's anything I can do to help you. I have...inadmissable theories about what happened to your predecessor, and I don't." He pauses, frowns at the dash. "I don't know if I can help. But if I can, I wanted to offer."

Hannah slumps in her seat and covers her face with her un-slinged hand. She remains this way for awhile, as the car wipers swish back and forth. Finally she lowers her hand and her face is even paler than usual; her eyes are closed. Her voice is quiet but bolstered with fear and frustration. "I don't know if it's over, I don't get to know if it's over. I do what I'm told. You can't help me, if you know anything about Felix you know-" She cuts herself off and her eyes fly open at the sudden realization/revelation. "Shit. I had a predecessor?"

Alexander waits. He looks at the dash, not at her, but his hand twitches, as if momentarily urged to reach out a comforting hand. But, let's face it, he accosted her at night and he's Alexander, and he at LEAST knows enough to know there'd be no comfort if he reached out. So he waits, shivering beneath the fear and the frustration. "Mister Monaghan is intelligent, ruthless, and brutal. Not a man to be crossed lightly, and yes, I am aware of the extent of his influences." His voice is soft. "Yes. Retired...with prejudice, I believe. Hence my concern. If I can risk insulting you, Miss Butler, you don't seem the hardened criminal type."

"Retired." Hannah lets out a desperate laugh-snort at that news. "'Course they were." While his head might remain on his shoulders, Alexander makes the right choice on the question of comforting. And the tiny hacker waves a dismissive hand at the apology. She's well aware of her type. "I'm only in danger if I fuck up again. And I'm not gonna fuck up again. You are going to be in danger if you keep poking into this shit though." It's not remotely a threat. It's a warning, though there's a certain dullness to it, as though she realizes she's telling the man something he damned well knows already.

Tonelessly, Alexander says, "This morning, two Shakespearean actresses played my psyche like a fucking virtuoso violin to try and persuade me to feed people to the darkness, and I was nearly eaten alive by hungry sand. And they took my goddamned tablet, probably. It puts local crime lords in perspective." He raises a hand. "Not that I'm looking to cross Felix. The man is terrifying, and would crush me like a bug. But, to my knowledge, he is not aware of those of us who...stand out, or the /particular/ nature of Gray Harbor. It does give certain resources. If things get beyond what you feel you can handle. I just...I know we are not...friends. Or associates. Or anything but complete strangers united only by what amounts to a cruel cosmic joke. But it is," a long pause, "unpleasant. To be overwhelmed in a strange place with few support systems and a lot of threats. I just wanted to let you know that, uh, the town loon is happy to help if he can?" He gives a rusty laugh, and shakes his head. "God, that does sound stupid. I'm sorry. This was stupid."

Hannah faces forward, a thousand-yard stare out through the windshield. "That should probably make less sense than it does. Really? He doesn't know about the-" She wriggles her fingers next to her temple. "I left a place full of people like me. And now I'm in a place full of people like me. And the things that happen to me happen to them and happen to you and I am...so far beyond what I feel I can handle." She blows out a breath, then finally looks at Alexander when he laughs all rusty-like. "Allies are important. Don't apologize."

"I hear that a lot," Alexander deadpans. He grimaces. "And I don't think so. He's not...like us. And people not like us often don't, or can't, /see/ things in the way we do. It doesn't stick. And if he did know about us, I suspect he would be moved to either use or destroy us. I've not seen a lot of evidence of either. Just," he gives her a sidelong look, "don't let him know. Ever." A downward jerk of his head at her last. "/Is/ there anything I can do, Miss Butler?"

"They just think we're crazy." Hannah looks down at her hand and wriggles her fingers, lips pursed in a grim half-smile, some private dark amusement. "I won't." There's a bare hint of hesitation, and then she shakes her head. "No. Not now. Maybe...when I know more about how this stuff works." Her gaze tracks to Alexander's somewhat-drying hair. "Did you walk here?"

Another jerk of a nod, accepting this. Now that the subject is not directly crime lords, murder, or imminent possibilities of violence, Alexander is sort of shrinking into himself, his shoulders falling into their usual slouch, his expression going blank. "I walk everywhere," he says, with a shrug, and reaches for the handle. "Good night, Miss Butler. Be careful. Right now, your boss is not, I think, the most dangerous person in the city - and these women appear to be seeking us out."

"I can drive you home," Hannah says quickly when Alexander starts to open the car door. "If you want. Or wherever."

Alexander gives her a wary look, one hand on the door. But, after a moment, he sinks back into the seat, and reaches for the seat belt. "All right. That seems fair. Considering that I invaded your space to some degree. It's natural to want to know where to find me if you need to send the goon squad." Is he joking? He doesn't look like he's joking. "13 Elm Street." REALLY?

"I'll be careful around the actors." Hannah sits up straighter in the driver's seat and flips on the headlights. "You know where I work. And I assume you know where I live. Even-Steven." She is joking, though it's low key. That address does cause her to raise her brows in an incredulous manner, but she just shakes her head and puts the car into reverse. Hannah isn't one for chitchat, especially not after being accosted and questioned, so unless Alexander feels some burning need to be sociable, the drive to 13 Elm Street is accomplished in cordial silence.