2019-05-30 - A Walk on Elm Street

It was a dark and stormy night....no, not really. A dark and drizzly night, perhaps. The Harbor's usual drizzle is falling from the overcast sky, which the residential light pollution has tinted a melancholic shade of yellow-rust. Alexander has just turned from the 'good' streets of town to Elm street. He's just about the only one walking, and on first inspection, is easy to take for a drunk. The deliberate gait, careful steps, and occasional stagger despite both of those things. If someone looks more closely, though, it looks like he's taken a flamethrower to the chest - his ugly green sweater has melted in places, and the skin beneath is a fiery red, with welts starting to rise around the worst burns.

Not for the first time since moving here does Easton thank God for his beloved rain jacket. With his hood pulled up and a very handy pocket for his flask, it has gotten more use than he would like but it does the trick. And while Alexander might be mistaken for a drunk, Easton is the real deal. He's just so happened to meander down towards one of the worse neighborhoods in town. Well not so much by chance, but Geoff hasn't exactly hooked him up with a dealer and he'd very much like to find something, so yea he's out scouring the streets looking for the tell-tale shady people on the corner.

Rain or no rain, rather....drizzle or no drizzle, Frankie moves down the street despite the time of night. In the dark. She's wearing a pair of jeans and a shirt that is obnoxiously occult related with the veve screenprinted across it, and a hooded sweatshirt that she's wearing, but without the hood pulled up over her hair. So she's faintly damp by the time she nears where anyone else is.

Even in his current state, Alexander doesn't walk down this street without keeping a wary lookout on anyone who might be sharing the side of the road with him. Or huddled in the shadows the houses, looking for easy prey. Whichever. He sees Easton first - possibly because of the slight but distinctive uniqueness of his walking gate. He pauses, taking a moment to confirm his identification, then moves to intercept. "Easton? Are you visiting someone?" Beneath the tiredness, there's a hint of skepticism that a Fine, Upstanding Gentleman like Easton has anyone that he would be meeting HERE. His eyes flick warily away as he catches more movement, and he shuffles around to try and keep both Easton and the other approaching figure in sight.

Having already dismissed Alexander as a possible candidate, considering he's moving with a directness unlikely found in his prey. Easton didn't bother checking to see if he knows the man so he's surprised when he's addressed. He stops and takes a second before greeting him, "Alezander" His voice a little rough and slurred at the moment. He thinks about the question as well and then decides, "Nope, just out for a little walk." Also, it's a good thing Easton doesn't know he's considered a Fine, Upstanding, Gentelman. That's a horrifying thought. Watching Alexander's body language, causes him to half turn and catch sight of Frankie. He trails off though, and just watches her for a moment.

Poor Frankie, unaware it seems of the attention that she's caught by the fine and not so fine gentlemen out on the street. She seems to be heading in that direction, though, even if she's not paying attention to where she's going, or who might be in front of her. Instead she's watching her feet with a single-mindedness that might clue people in to the fact the redhead is lost in some very, very deep thoughts. Probably also not the type of person that Easton is looking for.

"Easton, you're drunk," Alexander observes. As if the bartender might be unaware of this fact. He shuffles closer. "This isn't a safe neighborhood to be drunk in. Not for an outsider." He nods down the street. "Follow me. You can," he stops catch his breath, gingerly picking at a burned bit of sweater then swear quietly, "call a cab from there." He doesn't wait to see if Easton follows, but he's not exactly moving fast. And then he stops, again, when he recognizes the approaching Frankie. "Miss DuBois," he says, just loud enough so that she doesn't think she's getting mugged when she DOES become aware of two men in close proximity.

Blinking slowly at Alexander he looks off to the side as if considering trying to lie about that he decides against it. "True." He states to the part about being drunk. Then he pretends (badly) to 'realize' it's not a good neighborhood. He just nods dumbly at Alexander and follows after him. "I'm not really worried about some townie ruffians." He follows after Alexander and when he calls out to 'Miss DuBois', he 'corrects' him, "That's Frankie. She's a psychic." He so 'helpfully' provides this not-needed or relevant information. "Hi Frankie!" He calls, a bit too loudly.

The name causes her head to snap up, the proximity of the pair only getting a brief considering look, then Frankie just smiles before she moves the rest of the way towards them, "Mister Clayton, Easton." She greets, not bothering to update Easton on the fact that she's got a name other than Frankie. "What brings the pair of you out on this gloriously dark and dreary night?"

Nevermind that she's out here.

Alexander's mouth twitches downwards. "Francisca DuBois," he corrects Easton right back. His disapproval of nicknames is one of the true constants of the universe, it seems. Frankie gets a curt nod of recognition. "I live here," he reminds her, heavily. He doesn't stop walking, but does point to a house down the way. Then says, "Fuck," quietly, but viciously, as the motion causes his wounds to start ooze blood and fluid. He huddles over a little and tries to pick up the pace.

Easton doesn't seem to realize that he's being corrected, such is the fog of drunkness he's under. He sees Alexander's double over even slightly and that part of his brain is still functioning just fine. He says, "Are you okay?" And then to Frankie he says, "Just out for a walk, but now I'm taking this homeslice back to his place." He says now to Alexander, "You're hurt. What happened?"

"Oh my god..." Frankie adds in eloquently when the wounds start opening up, and she's moving towards Alexander as well, trying to catch up with him when he quickens his pace. She doesn't try to stop him, though, instead she tries to keep up while looking around nervously for what, or who, might have hurt the older man. Since Easton chimed in with the what happened she keeps herself pretty much focused on making sure that whatever was the cause isn't here. "Walks are good...I like walks."

Alexander takes a moment to look down at himself. "Not dying," he says, after a moment. "Burned. Think the boulder cut me up a bit. Went to the theatre." His lips press together. "And you don't even know where I live, Easton." He notes the nervous look Frankie gives the surroundings. "They're not here, Miss Dubois. They're dead, most of them." Speaking of where he lives, he turns and starts going down one of the narrow little driveways - the yard of this house is neater than most of the ones around here, although it's also fairly barren - the grass is overgrown, and if there's no trash, there's also no flowers or anything decorative. "You both might as well come in. It's raining," he mutters, before fishing out his keys, and going to let them in.

"Yea, you're going to supply that part, and I'm going to make sure you get there safely numbnuts." He follows into the house and tells Alexander, "Sit the hell down. Do you have a med kit?" he corrects himself, "A first aid kit?" He frowns looks around the place trying to locate a bathroom. "And take off your shirt, I can probably patch you up." He is still very much drunk, but that's never stopped him from trying to take charge of a situation before.

"Good." Frankie is at least relieved that they aren't here, and that most of them are dead. Once inside, though, she hesitates, looking out the door once more before she closes it behind them, locking it. There's a moment spent at the door, a hand resting against it, and if anyone were paying attention they might notice that she's drawing a little symbol on the door with a fingertip. Then she turns to try and help out the only way she knows how, hunting for the kitchen to get water and towels. Isn't that what everyone does in a crisis? Boil water!

The door to the murder-room is closed and locked, so the house is very...ordinary to all appearances. Maybe even cheerful. Certainly, as soon as Alexander flicks on the lights, there's an excited whistle from the bird cage in the corner, and a green bird with a greyish-head immediately starts rattling the cage door. One doesn't need to be psychic to pick up on the demand to be let out. On instinct, Alexander starts moving in that direction, although he freezes at the order. "...bathroom. Under the sink," he says, after a moment. And then he sits the hell down on the couch. The first aid kit under the sink is a large and very well-stocked one. Alexander slowly peels off his sweater, and it's pretty obvious WHY the kit is so well-maintained: he's criss-crossed with scars of various origins and severity. Old burns vie for skin space with what might be bullet holes (although curiously small ones) on his lower abdomen, and things that look claw marks, among others. The kitchen has water and dish towels, and is small enough that both are easy to find. Alexander's eyes move from one visitor to the other, his brow knitted with worry. "Miss Dubois? What...what are you doing."

Nodding as he is at least able to convince Alexander to stop and sit down. He figures out what is the bathroom in pretty short order and is duly impressed with the stock in the first aid kit. He is about to say something about it when he sees how jacked up Alexander's torso is. He lets out a low whistle and says, "You look worse than me, and I've seen combat." Okay, so minus the whole missing a leg thing, that might be worse. But Easton asks, "Sit up, need to check your back. Any other wounds?" He doesn't start cleaning anything just yet, doing an initial assessment of what needs treating first.

"Getting water and towels!" Frankie replies promptly, but she's not gone long, and she doesn't seem to rifle around in the kitchen beyond what she needs to get things to clean him up. Because, she has no idea how this works. So she returns with water and towels, and promptly sets them down near to Easton and Alexander before she looks at the evidence of all the past encounters the man has had. She blinks very slowly, then she just moves to sit down out of the way, "What happened?"

"I get lost sometimes," Alexander says, sounding embarrassed. Alexander makes himself sit up, giving Easton a wary look as he approaches. He hesitates before showing the other man his back. It seems fine, aside from some minor abrasions. "The fireball knocked me on my ass, but I'll spare you checking that. I'm sure it's fine." There's just a touch of dry humor to it. He gives Frankie a bewildered look. "For...what?" A pause. "Oh. Ah." He has no tact, so after he thinks about it, he says, "A group of actors tried to force us to feed one of those of us who, uh, stand out to the darkness. We said no. And killed them. Most of them."

"It would hardly be the first ass I had to treat, believe me." Easton of course is not phased at the thought of having to deal with injuries anywhere. Checking that a private's privates were still attached after gun fire to the lower body was common-place. He quirks an eyebrow at the fireball but doesn't say anything just starts to clean and disinfect anything that looks particularly gnarly. He mutters "Fuck. Sorry I missed that." And more sorry that he didn't inflict the same on the Zombie Easter Bunnies that attacked him. "But glad you kicked their asses."

"Oh...actors." Frankie sounds momentarily dubious about them really being actors, but not the rest. The rest she just nods to as though this were somehow common place. "I'm glad that you didn't feed anyone to them, and that it was just a single fireball. Fire isn't anything to mess around with." It is a very lame comment, and her tone shows that she knows she's about as helpful as the clap.

"Were you a medic? In the ser--son of a BITCH." That would be when the antiseptic hits Alexander's skin. Yep, he is a GIANT BABY. A giant, cursing baby who squirms and flinches, and basically makes it nearly impossible to actually /treat/ him properly. Especially for someone who's already a couple of sheets to wind. Between whines and curses, he bites out, "No. We did. We fed them. We just fed them...the actors. And ourselves. Anger. Pain. Hatred. Deadly intent. They fed well. No one should have been there." He casts around for something to distract himself, and lands on the two of them. "Why were you out walking in that - fucking OW - rain? It doesn't - goddamnit - make sense."

"Ha! Nope" Easton laughs a little too hard as he scrubs, not so gently at the wound. It's probably better than nothing, but he's not paying much attention to how to properly treat a burn vs a puncture wound so it's not doing too much good. He shakes his head and says, "Yer fine. It's not that bad." He then blinks as Alexander 'explains' what happened. And he tries to start in with, "I don't understand what that mean- .." But then he looks up to Frankie as if wondering if she understands what he's talking about. It's not that he thinks it's nonsense, it's more like he can't speak the same language that Alexander does. He just says, "I needed some air. And a drink. This is pretty normal for me."

"I was thinking." Frankie is quick to point out when Alexander asks why she was out walking. "Not heading for any woods." She adds, just to be clear on that. But then she shakes her head a bit, "Feeding that amount of negativity is bad, hard to counter, too." She rests her elbows on her knees, her fingers lacing together before she rests her chin on her hands, "Do you think a steady diet of happiness and contentment would counter act the negativity?"

"That's my skin, Easton!" Alexander whines as he's scrubbed. When he can't take it any more, he eases back away from the tender mercies of the other man, and adds, "I can see why you weren't." Ungrateful. He reaches quickly for his sweater, as if he's going to put it on. Then looks at it, and sighs. "The actors. They worked for the darkness. Judas goats, leading others to the slaughter so they can live. The actors wanted us to turn on each other. The thing...the thing they were feeding didn't care. It'd eat anything. Us. Them. Didn't matter." He shakes his head and shudders. "It spoke to us. That's never happened before. I could FEEL it. Eating. Enjoying the show." He has to visibly shake himself out of falling into the memory, and glances at Frankie. "I don't know. I've never tried."

Blinking slower than normal Easton tries to catch up to the 'eating negative emotions' and just can't quite wrap his drunken mind around it. He asks, "What eats my sads?" And something in the corner of the room catches his eye and his eyes go briefly wide. He manages to stay focused on the conversation even though his buddy Tom appears in the corner, visible only to Easton. "Banks" as Easton always calls him, acts out crying and then scooping the tears off his face and eating them, like a very unhelpful expository mime. Easton forces himself to not pay attention to the other two actually living people. He puts a hand out to stop Alexander and says, "Fine. But you need to disinfect that stab wound. The burns need oinment. They're not bad, but infection's a bitch. And can I buy a fuckin' vowel? What did they want to feed you to? What was it?"

"The darkness." Frankie offers helpfully, since that's about as good as she's got as far as answers go. "I'm not sure, but it's possible, we could at least try, right?" She seems to be hopeful, at least. There is a faintly worried look cast towards Easton, then she looks back at Alexander, her shoulders lifting in a slight shrug.

"I don't know what they are," Alexander says, heavily. "Not...not /really/. I call them the Shadows that Hunt. Dolorphages." Okay, that probably doesn't help. "They eat suffering. Whisper in the back of your mind - you're twisted, you're worthless, you'd be better off dead so why not open a vein or two, you should just /fucking kill them all slowly/." Alexander. One of those things is not like the other, and he doesn't seem to notice that at all. "Snatch you away to dreams that hurt you. Things like that. Pressure. Influence. Not...this is the first time I've ever met a real person that worked for them. And I've never...had one /speak/. Like that. I could feel it." He pauses, looks at both of them. "I could try to...show you. If you want." He also reaches for the antiseptic and starts dabbing it GENTLY, EASTON, on his wounds.

Glancing up at Banks as Alexander tries to explain what is chasing all of them Easton stiffles a few choice curse words as Tom just shrugs and does his best zombie walk. "Right. Okay." Easton tries to process, and lets slip, "fuck that's ..." crazy? bizarre? so weird? "familiar" Yea, no that all sounds exactly like some of the things he's been going through. He looks to Frankie, knowing this probably isn't much of a surprise to her, not that he really cares. She already knows he's got issues. "I like the idea of fighting them with happiness and snuggles though. We should just get all these bright light folks rollin' on some e or molly." Again, drugs might just be the answer, hear him out!

"You fight the darkness with the light, but the darkness, it always consumes the light." Frankie points out quietly, "You just have to be positive. We have to at least try it, I mean..." She smiles very faintly, "It wouldn't be a bad idea, but I don't know that drugs are the things that would help help. It'd not be a lasting feeling, right? But maybe there is something that can be done." She glances at Alexander, looking contemplative for a moment, "Show him might be helpful."

"I have a hard enough staying in one reality, Easton. Drugs don't help." Alexander looks thoughtful at the suggestion of snuggles and happiness, though. He shrugs, then winces. "I don't...I don't know. It couldn't make things worse, probably. If you have a supply of happiness on hand." He stares at Frankie for a moment, then jerks his head downward. "I won't...force it on you. Either of you. But if you want to hear..." He takes a breath, and dredges up the memory, sharing it as best he can. His Glimmer is strong and the memory (and its emotional impression) is fresh. If they want it, it comes through loud and clear:

Cold rain splashes. A fork of lightning strikes the castle, sending a shower of bricks and stone down into the corpse-laden courtyard. Something breathes down the backs of the necks of those who are conscious, and it dances behind the eyelids of those who aren't.

The voice that echoes in everyone's mind is Keene's... and Megan's... and neither's. << Who really won here tonight? One of you was all they asked, but you chose them instead. >>

The flash of Keene's blistered face before he was done, of Polly in the moment she crumpled and died, of Sarah's lifeless body in a heap on the stone ground, Ashley and Louis in their dying embrace, all those poor archers. << Their blood is on your hands. Pain is pain. >>

The voice fades. And you know... soon... any second now... you'll be back in that theater.

Easton shrugs at the thought that it's hard enough to keep Dreams and Reality clear here even when not tripping. It's something he's coming to realize is probably true even if the habit of wishing for the escape of something dies hard. "Fair point." He concedes at least to Alexander. He looks to Frankie and then Alexander when asked if he has any happiness on hand. He sounds utterly defeated as he admits, "I'm fresh the fuck out." But someone springs to mind, which causes just a slight uptick in the corner of his lips. Assuming she's real. Ugh, that'd be a knife twist. He stops himself from checking his phone to make sure there are actual text messages to back something up when Alexander talks about sharing.

Easton closes his eyes and tries to let himself see and hear what is being shown. He doesn't seem bothered by the violence, though that voice does send cold shivers down his normall well composed spine.

"Fuck." It takes him a beat before he asks, "Who else was there?"

Now his phone is out for real. He's texting someone with slow drunken thumbs.

There is a decidedly frightening moment when already pale Frankie gets just a little paler, and slightly green. But then she rallies, reaching a hand out towards Alexander to give his arm a squeeze, then she rubs at her face, "So, was not giving them someone worse...because of this?"

"People." Alexander seems to realize that's not very helpful. He rattles off a few names - always full names, never nicknames, for what seems to be a good portion of the 'shiny' people of Gray Harbor. Not all of them, not by any means. But a chunk. "And the Addingtons were in attendance. But not in the Dream. Except the younger Miss Addington who crashes the cars." A long pause. "Three of the actors tried to convince the group to turn me over to the darkness. They didn't." He sounds like he still doesn't quite believe that was the outcome, or like he expects Easton and Frankie to suggest it was stupid not to chuck him to the darkness. Or maybe like HE believes it was stupid not to chuck him to the dark. He scoots away from the attempted arm squeeze by Frankie like a startled cat, sliding all the way down the couch. "I don't know. I don't know if they would have left if the group had given them me--someone. But if they did, they'd just have done it again. And again. In the long run? More misery. I think. This way is, it's a feast, but maybe it's over." He grimaces. "But I don't know. Something has been bothering me. About the voice."

Taking in the list of names as best he can, considering he knows people almost exclusively by nicknames or at least shortened first names, Easton nods. "Erin." Easton says as Alexander describes her, "Fuck. FUCK" He tries to remain calm, and it helps when Geoff's text pings back that they are okay. He then realizes that Frankie looks like shit. He pulls the flask out of his jacket pocket and hands it to her, "Take a drink. And a breath."

"See? I told ya they liked you." He cracks a slight joke about the others refusing to hand him over. It's better not to think about what that even means or how that works. It's just not an option, no need to even consider the consequences. "That's not how these things work usually. You make concessions, the enemy just keeps asking for more. And obviously I don't know this enemy, but that's how war works and I'm pretty damn sure this is a war." Because of course he relates to it as such, training almost forces him to.

"You mean besides the creepy 'makes yer asshole curl up to your stomach' nature of it?"

Frankie isn't about to suggest it. She just looks thoughtful, her hands rubbing slowly against her face before her fingers then begin to rub slowly against her temples. When Alexander says something bothers him about it she glances at him, "What bothers you?" There is a glance towards Easton, "I don't think they things operate like a normal enemy."

Alexander's lips twitch upwards, slightly. "Maybe." It only takes not getting sacrificed to horrors to acknowledge that someone MIGHT actually like Alexander, apparently. "And, yes. Aside from that. It...it doesn't fit a pattern." He grimaces. "People, crime, even horrors - they have /patterns/. Even the Shadows. They whisper, they push, they tempt, they torment. But this was," he frowns, trying to put words to his unease, "direct. As close to /communication/ as I've ever gotten. I didn't even know they could. Talk like that. I don't like that." He rubs his hands on his jeans, then jerks his head at Frankie. "That's it. Communication is, it's almost normal. It's almost like people."

Starts to understand what Frankie means when Alexander explains what's off about the situation. After all they've been brushing up against this thing or these things they're whole life.

"Maybe it's a different player? You said 'shadows', like plural? Maybe we got us a different breed here? Less content to flirt and tease, he's just down to fuck?"

He misses exactly what Frankie said that triggers Alexander. But looking down at his phone he frown and says, "I have other people I need to check in on. I'm writing down my number though, call me if you need anything or your wounds look worse. I can take another stab after I sober up." If he sobers up. And if Alexander ever lets him near a wound again. He stands and says, "I'm glad yer alright." to Alexander before going to find a pen and making his way out to go check on other people.

"Bye." Frankie informs Easton when he leaves his number and takes off, the comment almost absent before she nods, "Maybe. Maybe that is what is different, but I'd curious what it is that caused the difference. Is it like what he said, it's a different player...someone that isn't...well, someone that hasn't been in play before. Like a reserve that's uh...been pulled out or something." She's mixing up all kinds of metaphors, though.

"Individuality is also like people," Alexander mutters. "Still disturbing. Still not something I knew" He nods briefly to Easton's goodbye. He doesn't return it; but then Alexander hardly ever says things like 'goodbye' or, for that matter, 'thanks for trying to treat my wounds'. He reaches for the first aid kit, and begins carefully bandaging himself up. But his attention has settled on Frankie, with a frown. "Also disturbing. There are a lot of us coming to Gray Harbor, or coming /back/ to Gray Harbor. I had trouble understanding. Why they attacked us like this, all at once. They didn't have to. Two of them brought me to my knees pretty easy, and I am...I stand out more than most I've seen." It's resigned, not proud. "They could have picked us off one-by-one. Pitted us against each other in the dark. Misery for days, or weeks, and weakening us bit by bit. But instead, they got us /angry/ and then made it a brawl. Stupid. Unless," he breathes out, "unless it was to see how strong we were, and whether we would turn against one another immediately."

"Unless." Frankie agrees with a nod, "I guess, yeah. That makes sense, because that lets them know just what they are up against. Sure, they could pick us off one at a time, but that wouldn't be effective if we keep coming, or if we start working together and they weren't expecting us to do it, and then...Something." Frankie smiles very slightly, the expression almost bitter for a split second, "But, whatever it is, something has changed, yeah."

"Change," Alexander echoes, frowning down at his hands. "It seems that you are right, Miss DuBois. I suppose we'll have to change with it. I just don't know in what way." With that, though, he finishes covering his various ouchies, and repacks the kit neatly. "I'm sorry. For interrupting your evening in such a fashion." A sidelong look. "Although if you were heading for the forest, I'm only a /little/ sorry. That place is dangerous."

"It is dangerous, but I like trying to..." Frankie pauses a moment, struggling perhaps with how to explain what it is that she likes doing. "I find going there to be dangerous, sure, but sometimes the dangerous things need to be flipped off." She ends with, dropping her hands from her face, "And I actually wasn't heading to the woods tonight, that was the other night. I went out and buried some things...told this new cop that I was sacrificing animals to Freyja....he didn't yell or anything. Which was pretty wild, if you ask me."

"I would ask why you're teasing the new cops, but I think you answered that question already," Alexander replies, dryly. He stands, and holds up a hand - hold on a sec. He makes his way to his bedroom, provoking an outraged fit from the small parrot in the cage who is STILL NOT BEING LET OUT OF HIS CAGE. The indignity of it all! Alexander disappears into his room for a minute or two. There's the sound of cursing, but when he re-emerges, he's put on a huge, ratty sweatshirt that engulfs the top half of his body completely. "...would you like something to drink? I have," a thoughtful look at the kitchen, "...water. And fruit juice."

There is an amused, helpless shrug to the matter of teasing the new cops. But she holds still while he heads into his room to get himself sorted out with a new sweater, she lets her attention wander towards the parrot, "You want out, buddy?" She doesn't leap to let the bird out, though. Not her bird. "I'm fine." She answers when Alexander comes back, "I should probably actually go and let you rest, you've had a pretty rough night."

"Luigi." Alexander says. When he says the bird's name, it immediately begins whistling the first part of the Super Mario Brothers theme. "And he always wants out. But he also likes to try and eat antiseptic." He stares at her for a moment, then nods. "Of course." More staring. Now that they're not talking monsters, Alexander's social scripts tend to show their massive, gaping holes. Slowly, like he's reading the words off a teleprompter just behind her, he says, "Thank you, for coming over, Miss Dubois. I apologize for interrupting your walk. But the company was appreciated." He turns and walks to the door to let her out. "Be careful. Don't tease the wrong cop."

"I'm sure he's a very good boy." Frankie points out, getting to her feet to give the bird a little finger waggle before she moves towards the door, "I won't tease the wrong cop, I hope. And I'll be careful, I promise..." She shoves her hands into her pockets, then she shakes her head, "You be careful, too. You really...you need anything, you know where to find me, okay?"

Luigi agrees /intensely/ with his general good boyness. Alexander looks a bit more skeptical, but he also smiles a real smile. Just a hint, around the corners of the mouth and his eyes. "He's okay," is all he says, though. He opens the door for her. "I...will. And you do the same. And know where to find me." A shrug at the house they're currently standing in. Then a wince. He waits until she's through the door, before closing and locking it behind her. No goodbye.