2019-05-31 - Reunion in the Rain

After the thunderstorm earlier in the day, the cold and rain has settled in, with a hard wind blowing over the Bay, onto the land, carrying salt and water and the smell of the sea. It's not really a fit night for man nor beast out and about - but Alexander is here. Since a conversation earlier in the day, he's been stalking along the beach, muttering to himself. Eventually, he grabbed a water-worn reed, and is using it to create elaborate sigils of some sort on the sand. They might look familiar to certain people, although he's made his own alterations. The only light is provided by a camping lantern that he's brought out. It resists the steady rain. The sigils aren't as lucky, so he keeps having to redraw them.

It was cold. It was rainy. It was horrible. Why the fuck had she come to this stupid town with it's stupid cops and stupid conveinence stores and...Isolde exhaled, rubbing at her eyes. She'd wandered her way to the shelter that Captain Vega had given her the information for after her couple hour stint in the PD's holding cell the night before but after one night she was over that nonsense. Isolde with rather sleep under the Boardwalk than in that place. Too many people, too much noise. So that's what she was gearing up to do tonight. After wandering the town most of the day - trying to get a lay of it, she was trying to calm herself down some before finding a place to seek some shelter for the night. Under the Boardwalk most likely. Her attire had seen better days. Faded blue jeans with naturally formed tears and holes. A red shirt that was more pinkish now and an oversized men's flannel on top of that.

It was the light that caught her attention as she walked the beach. It was no kind of weather for anyone in their right mind to be out and about. Hah. She forged on, walking towards the light to see who might be as crazy as she was. She came to a stop about a foot away from the man and his drawings. Peering at the sigils as they were getting marred from the rain and wind. "Drawin' 'em on paper'd prolly work better." Isolde said, loud enough for him to hear - but she still wasn't looking at him, just the sigils.

Triangles within circles within more circles, sketched out with meticulous care. And almost immediately wiped out by the rain. But maybe that doesn't matter, because the man seems like he's changing them as he mutters to himself, anyway. As she gets closer, some of it can be heard, "...not-real geography, no, but geography just the same. Must have a locating mechanism - but how? Psychoreactive? A sort of mental tesseract?" Yup. Dude's crazypants. She's able to get fairly close before he notices someone approaching. He whirls, hands - one holding the reed - instinctively raised. Until he sees her. And frowns. "You're not a cop. I don't know--" and then he stops, and takes a couple of steps forward, eyes narrowed. "Do I? Do I know you? Miss Morrison?"

There's a subtle flinch as he turns so quickly, but then he's not attacking her - so she studies him. Silent, shivering, though she doesn't seem to realize it. From him to the sigils that the rain is erasing, and then back to him. "Miss Morrison." The name is repeated slowly, and then she started laughing. Miss Morrison. "Only the cops and doctors call me that." She takes the reed from him - if he lets her. "I remember you. You're old now." They both were - older at least.

Over a decade since she'd seen him in the flesh. Right? Probably. Maybe. It could have just been a couple years ago. Her thoughts were fuzzy and her sense of time dismal. "Clay." A single word as she starts drawing seemingly senseless lines in the sand now. "Clayton." Like the name is starting to come back to her. Those wild blue eyes looking up at him again. "Alexander Clayton." Her brow furrowed. "I thought you were dead. Musta been a trick." Looking back down and resuming the little lines.

Alexander relinquishes the reed without demur. His expression is blank as she starts laughing...but when she dredges his name out of her memory, his smile is wide and sunny, despite the darkness and the rain. "Alexander Clayton. Yes. That is my name. And you are Isolde Morrison. I remember you. Are you real?" He shakes his head at the thought of being dead. "Not yet, not yet. Oh, you should not come HERE, Miss Morrison. Isolde. This is not a good place, Gray Harbor." He looks up as if noticing for the first time that it's pouring down rain. "Why are you here, in the rain?"

"Mmhm. That's me. In the flesh. I think." Isolde pauses in her work to check her hands out, letting the reed fall to the ground as she pinched the top of her hand. "Yep. In the flesh." Raking a hand through her drenched hair. "Where else would I be? Where would I go? I can feel it. Can't you?" She bent down to scoop the reed up again. "This town is tainted. " Like all the others it seemed. She grips the reed tightly, her focus back on to Alexander. "Because I'm sleeping here. Well. Not here. There." She points back behind her - in the direction of the Boardwalk. "But why are you here? You don't sleep here." Or maybe he did. What did she know?

"Not tainted. Thin. Very thin." Alexander's expression goes blank. "It called to you. Of course. It seems to be calling to many people these days. Too many," he adds, with a shake of his head. He looks down at his reeds and her marks, then back at her. "Sleeping here. It's wet. You'll get sick." His eyes narrow. "You look sick already." He leans in to study her features. "When did you get here, Isolde?"

That she did. Like she hadn't had a decent nights sleep in days, or weeks, and she could use some meat on her bones. "It always calls. I just want it to stop. Leave me alone." Isolde muttered somewhat distractedly, leaning back a little when he leaned in. There were dark circles under her eyes and her eyes themselves were wide-pupils dialted. Isolde briefly looked up towards the sky and then back at him. "I guess it is." Head tilting a little. "...few days. I think. Can't be longer than that."

"It is the wrong place for THAT, Miss Morrison," Alexander says, quietly. He leans back when she does, straightening to his full height. In comparison, he looks better slept than the woman before him. Just drenched, and with something bulky under his t-shirt on his chest that might be bandages. "I would ask how you have been, but accommodations and countenance suggest not well." He frowns. "Walk with me. There's a bar down the beach. It's out of the rain."

"Yeah I fuckin' know it." Half muttered to herself. Because no matter where she went, she always ended up near it. Running away only brought her closer. But what else could she do? A little shrug and Isolde nodded. "...Tired. Very tired." She shifted a bit, letting the reed fall back to the sand finally. "Okay. Out of the rain. Out of the cold. Into the fire." Blinking. "Into the warm." Correcting herself, waiting for him to start walking before she followed suit. "...Why are you here? In this place?"

Alexander starts walking. He strides, as if it doesn't matter that she follows or not, but then he stops, and waits for her to fall in beside him before resuming at a more careful place. "I live here. I've always lived here. Eugene was a," a long pause, "an aberration. A pleasant one, for a while. Until," he gives her a sidelong look, a frown. "You know." He runs his hand through his hair, water cascades down. "But I didn't think to see you again. I am glad you are not dead. Where have you been?"

Isolde doesn't seem to mind him walking ahead, and she makes no moves to catch up. But she is appreciateve when he stops. Even if she doesn't say it out loud. "Here. Reminds me of home. It all feels wrong." And right, and inside out and upside down. Her nose wrinkled at the mention of Eugene. "I know." Because the very next day, Isolde had vanished. Gone from campus without a trace and never heard from again. Because it had been time to leave. Peeking over at him, there was another shrug. Looking forward. "Here and there. Everywhere. All over. Been awhile though. " There's a long pause, almost to the point where he might ask what's been a while, and then she suddenly continues. "Since I've been on the West Coast."

Alexander lets her talk at her own pace, his shoulders slouched against the rain, his stare flat and assessing as best it can be in the darkness. Now, in the stretch of space between the abandoned lantern and the lights of the bar up ahead, he's really just a dark shape. "I tried to find you. Afterwards. But you were gone. Not even Robert knew your whereabouts," fellow cultist and Preferred Dealer for most of the kids in the cult. "It was distressing." There's no condemnation in it. Just flat observation. "Will you stay for a while?"

Robert. She blinked a bit at the name. She hadn't thought about him in a long time. Hadn't really thought about any of them. "I'm sorry." Isolde sounded sincere in the apology. "It was getting too dangerous. Maybe next time would be wore. Maybe we would be dead for real." Looking over at him at the question of staying. "I'll stay...as long as it lets me stay." Tugging at her soaked sleeves and sighing. "You said...everyone was flocking...why is it gathering us here?"

"It's always dangerous. Running never really helps," Alexander says, ducking his head. "But everyone does what they must. And I don't know. Does it think? Do they think? I didn't think so, but," he taps at his temple, a feverish sort of light in his eyes, "I have started to wonder. Stay as long as you can, Isolde. You always stood out. This is a good place for that, even if it's a bad place." They approach the bar, and he hops up the stairs to open the door for her. There's the flash of a grin that hasn't graced his face for a decade or more. "After you."

"It never helps." Isolde repeated almost solomenly. "It lives. It breathes." She scratched the back of her neck, watching him as he hopped up the steps. A ghost of a smile twitching her lips. "If the voices start to tell me to leave...I'll let you know." Then she hurries up the steps and into the bar. Shuddering at the sudden change from cold and wet to..warm and wet. Which really just makes her colder.

Isolde sheds the flannel, digging in the pocket of one while letting him pick where they're sitting. "Towel. Do they have towels?" Glancing to him briefly and then apparently grasping what she was looking for. A well used looking pill bottle that was long since missing the label. He might recognize it - she always had it with her. Her brow furrowed again. "Getting low." Mumbled to herself. Next on the list was finding a new supplier.

Alexander steers her to a booth away from the rest of the clientele. Luckily, the bar isn't that full tonight, what with the cold and the rain, so there's a booth available. He waits until she sits down, then jerks his head in a nod. "Wait here." His eyes narrow. "Don't become not-real." That's an ORDER. The pill bottle is acknowledged although not commented on. Dripping water on the floor, he goes to the bar and stares at the bartender until the woman deigns to acknowledge him. There's a brief conversation, and a towel is begrudgingly produced. And two beers, as well, wet bills painstakingly unfolded and handed over. He returns with all three items, draping the towel in front of her and putting a beer right behind it. He slides in across from her. His eyes return to the bottle. "Still?" There's no judgement, although a hint of concern. Alexander was probably one of the /least/ high cultists in the group, although even he indulged occasionally.

"I won't." Isolde confirmed, taking the order seriously. While he goes to the bar, she pours her pills on the table to count out. There's three different types. And she carefully separates them into little groups containing one of each. Four groups. Four days. Well, maybe she could skip a day or two. The thought made her visibly wince.She scoops three days worth back into the bottle and then knocks back the three remaining pills with the beer he's brought back for her. Probably not the doctor recommended combination but, whatever.

Isolde picked up the towel to start drying off some. Her flannel laid out beside her on the rest of the booth. The towel working in her hair. "Always." She frowned. "They make the voices stop. And the pictures. Sometimes." She had been more than happy to induldge in whatever was offered at those cult gatherings to try and drown out everything. These though, were her mainstay. The combination that seemed to work most often. "Tell me about this town."

Alexander settles back in his seat, his eyes settling with a rather creepy intensity on her. But, apparently, his power is just the lightest touch on her mind, trying to read the emotional weather there as she knocks back those pills with the beer. "It won't work forever, Isolde. Until it does, and there's no coming back from that." There's a beat, before he says, "If you need refills, there's probably someone at the Firefly Club who can hook you up. Don't mention my name." He rubs at his forehead. "Here? There's only so much to tell. Small town, reality isn't, people murder and kill themselves far too often. Things hunt, things whisper, things twist the world and we in it. It's not a good place. But," a pause, "you'll be stronger here. Than you are away from here."

Isolde doesn't seem to notice the touch of his powers against her mind as she's busy with drying her hair out and trying to soak up some water from her clothes. He gets an almost overwhelming sense of despair and hopelessness from her. She's tired and hungry and feeling defeated. "I know it won't, Alexander." Is the woman's quiet response as she takes a moment to take in the scene of the bar and its few patrons. The towel gets set down on the flannel. Nodding. "Firefly Club. I didn't hear it from you." A mental note to check that out sooner rather than later. Her gaze slides back to him as she takes another sip of the beer. "Things...dark things. Never good things." Saying more than asking. Because nothing good ever came from this. Rubbing at her chin as she contemplated his words. "But is stronger good or bad? Will it stop if I'm stronger?" No. Of course it wouldn't. But Isolde could be hopeful, right?

"That's not what I mean. I don't care about my reputation. They just might not like you. Might overcharge you," Alexander says, with a shrug. The despair and hopelessness that his mind brushes against make him shudder, which might be taken as a reaction to the cold. He stares at her for a long, silent while, nursing his beer. "No. Never silence. I don't know that I've ever had that. But you can...learn to focus. Block out the worst of it. Maybe." He rubs at his head again. "No promises. I don't do well with promises, Isolde. But maybe."

Isolde's eyes get wide suddenly. Like something he said makes her realize something. "...I need money." A hollow sort of laugh following. "Money makes the world go wrong." resting her arms on the table and then her head on her arms. "I'll figure it out." It's hard to tell if she's talking to him or herself. Maybe it's a bit of both. Closing her eyes for a moment as she listens to him continue on. "I don't even remember what silence sounds like." Opening her eyes again and peering up at him. "Focus. Maybe you can show me. Do you know how to focus?"

Alexander reaches for his wallet. It, like the rest of him, is soaked through the skin, but he separates out what bills he has left, and pushes them across the table. It's not much - only about fifty bucks. He doesn't say anything, just puts the wallet back in his jeans and takes another sip of beer. "Maybe. I don't know. I've," a pause, "I've never tried to, um, explain it to anyone. I can try. Maybe you can learn."

Isolde watches him push the money over and frowns a little. Like her first instinct is to push it back over to him. Crazy, but prideful and stubborn. However, she starts to sit up and carefuly lays the bills out so they can dry while they talk. "...Thank you." Not quite lookingat him as she says it. "Maybe I can. Maybe we will learn together." Relaxing against the booth seat and idly picking at the label on the beer bottle. It seemed her medicine might be taking effect as the wild look in her eyes has dimmed some.

Alexander shrugs. "You were just about the only one who actually wanted to work on the seals, rather than just paint on each other naked and get wasted," Alexander says. There's the dimmest ghost of a smile. "I appreciated it." He takes another sip of beer, then nods, a jerk of his head. "Yes. Fine. Let's do that. Probably won't end in murder. Not immediately." It's very deadpan.

"Did you ever try again with the seals?" An idle curiosity and a shake of her head. "Most of 'em were just lookin' for excuses. Using magic as a means for play." Isolde wrinkled her nose again. "They should know better than to play with magic." Tearing off a piece of the label as those blue eyes studied him. "I enjoyed it. Helping you. The distraction was much needed." Her head canted to the side and then she giggled. Maybe a little maniacally. Good thing there weren't a lot of people around. "We all end up with blood on our hands eventually." laying her hands flat on the table then, focusing on them intently as if she was trying to search for blood on them. Then shrugged and resumed picking at the bottle label.

"Yes. Yes. And yes." Alexander looks down at the table. He begins tracing one of the lesser circles on the table. "It helps. Focus. I learned to do other things, not the things that come most naturally to me. So...this helps. Sends the mind down the right paths. Not the lost paths. But the paths that help light the other paths. Without wandering." He takes a breath, looking up at her as she giggles. "Yes," he says, quietly. "We all do. But I don't want us to." He crooks his head to one side. "Maybe we could try that with you. Since you know the seals."

Isolde's gaze flicks down towards his hand when he starts tracing out the sigil. "Like a maze. Finding your way out." She offered, taking another sip of beer and then set the bottle aside and leaning forward a little. "Study the seals. Light the pathways. Maybe." Murmuring. "Maybe it will lead around the bloodied hands. Instead of through." Apparently agreeing with him. Probably? "Never hurts to try."

"Maybe." Alexander is wary. Clearly reluctant to offer too much or too certain hope. "We'll...give it a try. I know it hurts, Isolde. I know." His brow furrows, his gaze drops. "I can't save anyone. I know. I know. But maybe we can make it better. A little." He drains the rest of his beer, puts the glass aside. Then peeks up at her with a warm smile, a relic from days gone by dredged up. "It is good to see you again." Then the smile turns off, his expression going blank. "You can't sleep on the boardwalk. Or under it. It's wet and cold. I have a couch."

"Maybe we can." Isolde repeated his words thoughtfully. Saving people was hard. How could you save them when it was so difficult to save yourself? She stifled a yawn, a little smile of her own returned his. "It's nice to see a familiar face." She agreed. Studying him for a moment, Isolde finally nodded again. "Okay. No boardwalk. Couch it will be." Running a hand through her hair. "I will repay you." Seeming intent on that. Maybe she means the money, or maybe she just means his hospitality. Maybe all of it. Whatever it is, Isolde seems certain it will not go unwarranted. Rubbing her eyes again. "Do you have a dryer too?"

"You're tired." He slides out of his booth. "That's fine," he says to the talking of repayment. "I have a dryer. And a washer. Do you have things? Under the boardwalk?" He glances around. "We can pick them up. We'll have to walk. I don't have a car," he says, with a roll of his shoulders. "Can you walk? If not, I will figure something out. It's not terribly far." By Alexander's standards, at least.

Isolde shook her head. "No things. Just these things." Motioning to her clothes and her flannel as she picked it up...and the towel. Apparently that towel was hers now unless someone tried to stop her. The money he gave her is also gathered up and stuffed into her jean pocket. "Had things but...lost them between here and there. It needed them more than I did I guess." Or more likely she wandered away from them in a fugue state and couldn't remember where she put them. So just left them behind. "Lead the way. I can walk fine."