2019-06-11 - The Shadow Defense Force

It's probably not the best idea to day drink at your job, but Easton's having one of those days. In this case just meaning that his leg is bothering him, so he's sticking close to home, but doesn't want to deal with his ghost roommate judging the crap out of him for drinking away the day. So, here he is. At a booth to be out of the way of the bar crowd, which is pretty healthy for a lunch 'rush'. As usual, one of the waitresses is filling in as bartender, which is a problem Easton's working on by throwing invites to have other bartenders pick up shifts, but that's slow going. His phone is out, which occupies most of his attention. And it's early enough that Easton is still drinking just beer, but it's early yet.

People, in general, are having too much damned fun, and Alexander is here to put a stop to that. Or to see Easton. Who can say? Either way, he looks like a drowned rat from walking in the rain, his hair plastered to his face, the oversized army jacket sodden and hanging from his frame. There's an unremarkable t-shirt underneath, and worn jeans, and his usual work boots. He pauses, looking first to the bar. Not seeing Easton there, a frown touches his face as his gaze sweeps the busy interior. A couple of locals groan or spin their fingers by their temples as they snicker to their friends, but once he spots Easton in that back booth, he starts in that direction, ignoring everyone else. "Easton."

It's obvious that Easton has been here long enough because he looks completely dry. He looks up from his phone, and turns to see Alexander. He smirks at the wet look and says, "Alexander. You look ... drowned." Easton is likewise dressed in unremarkable tee-shirt, jeans and scuffed boots, though his rain jacket hangs on the outside of the booth (also dry). "How ya been? Still batting a thousand on not punching a cop?"

Alexander slides into the booth across from Easton. He squelches, slightly, and once he's close, it's clear that there are still some bandages under his t-shirt. "It's raining," he says, tonelessly. One hand comes up to scrape wet hair out of his eyes. "I'm fine." A pause. "Still batting a thousand. Actually seem to have progressed with my research quite a bit. And the cop does not seem to be moved to jail me. It's been a better couple of days than most." His head tilts as he looks Easton over. "Are you well? Your friend still freaked out?"

"True." Easton sets down his phone and lifts his beer at that, as if agreeing to the fact it were raining was anything other than a forgone conclusion. He nods at bench across from him and asks, "Join me?" He ohs at the talk of it going well with the cop, "Interesting, not getting arrested AND making process? That sounds good." At the question, a small smile is stifled on Easton's face when asked about his 'friend'. "Oh yea. We got most of that worked out. Still plenty of craziness to cover, but plenty of time for that later."

Alexander joins. Still a little wary, as if the invitation might be rescinded at any moment, but once he's in the booth, he relaxes just a little. "Glad to hear. It's hard, when people don't remember things the same way you do." He looks away as a server approaches, and orders a beer. Whatever Easton is having, apparently. Please don't be something terrible. His attention shifts back to the other man, glancing at the phone for a moment. "You sure you don't want to just persuade her to run away with you to somewhere saner? A beach that gets more sun than rain, maybe?" A faint smile.

Having grown used to the wary looks from Alexander, Easton doesn't try to reassure him overtly. He shakes his head and says, "I can only imagine. I mean trying to explain to this smokin' hot girl that I dreamt we were being attacked by zombie Easter Bunnies and creepy little girls with a basket full of dead rabbits and grenades... would have probably been a mood killer. At least. If not a rape whistle, pepper spray combo." He does know that Bennie carries pepper spray. It's very plausible.

The question about running away somewhere gets a laugh. "Well first off, I think we're a little early for the let's run away together plan. But an actual sandy beach with sun is a nice thought. But, I can't let you have all the spooky fun." And there are other reasons that tie him to the town, but he's not quite ready to share all that. Yet

Alexander's eyebrows go up. "I don't believe I heard about zombie Easter bunnies. But, yes. Conversations like that usually don't go well. Even here in Gray Harbor." He looks down at the table. "People are invested. In things not being insane. Even when they are." His beer arrives, and he pauses to take a drink, and his smile returns, just a little, at Easton's laugh. "This is fun? No wonder I hate it." But there's a lighter edge to it than most of what Alexander says. "You said you wanted stories, Easton. Are you sure? They're mostly horrible. And I don't have answers. Lately, just more questions."

"Well, I would say I don't believe in the zombie Easter Bunny, but one stabbed in the shoulder with a carrot and that was real enough? So." He shrugs and is apparently a firm believer in the Easter Bunny, or at least zombies dressed like the Easter Bunny, which is close enough for him. "Yea, the girl, Bennie. She's a local, and even she was saying that she's just been trying to convince herself for so long that the weirdness was just rumors or people exaggerating or trying to make something up." But he knows it's not. His first dream was far too real and clear. And there's no missing Tom.

"Absolutely. Hit me with the horrible." Easton doesn't hesitate for a second at the warning, though he does drain the rest of his beer and signal for another.

"Ouch." Alexander winces, but there's no disbelief in him. "I'd like the story on that one, when you're ready to tell it." He settles back, squelching slightly, in his seat at the booth, and his eyes narrow. "Bennie. That sounds familiar. Paramedic? Don't think we've met, but I've eavesdropped on dispatch around town enough to hear the name. That's pretty normal, though. Most people in Gray Harbor do that. I don't think some of them can help it - the ones who don't stand out." He takes a sip of beer, and his eyes narrow. "Is there something in particular you want to know, Easton? I don't have a lecture prepared. I have a perspective. Guesses." He looks down at his glass. "The first time I can /remember/ getting lost, really lost, I was nine years old. It's been pretty regular after that. But recent events have...caused me to question things I thought I'd figured out."

Easton thanks the waitress as she brings him another beer and shrugs off Alexander's 'ouch'. He nods and says, "Certainly." He's not shy about sharing that, but he'd rather hear what the other man has to say first. "Yea. Smoking hot, EMT. Bubbly and .." Easton realizes Alexander didn't ask and likely doesn't care, so he just trails off.

"I want to know it all. But I get that's not possible. So. Let's start with this. I have a ghost living in my apartment. He's not from here though." He hesitates for just a moment before continuing, "It's my dead best friend. And uh, I saw flickers of him elsewhere, back out east. And somehow I just knew, that if I came here, I could... I dunno see him? Talk to him? And I can... Which has turned into a giant lesson in 'Careful What You Fucking Wish For Numbnuts.'"

With that bit of backstory out the door, he takes a gulp of beer. "So, I guess. What does that mean? Is he.. I don't know needing help to pass over? Why do I see him, but other people don't see their dead relatives floating about?" Not that he asked Bennie, but he's assuming she doesn't.

"Bubbly?" Alexander looks...amused. Actually amused. "Hot and bubbly. You make her sound like a bath, Easton." And that's teasing. Maybe someone slipped something into his drink.

Which he takes another sip of, as he listens to the rest. The smile falls away, replaced by his more usual blank expression. "A ghost. I've never seen a ghost. Not on this side of it all. But." He frowns. "I believe that you see him. Don't know what he is, or what he wants - 'unfinished business' is the cliche, but I don't know I've ever met someone with /finished/ business. As to why you? You stand out. I think that helps. It's easier for us to get lost, and maybe it's easier for things to cling to us. The shadows. Ghosts. Whatever."

"Yup. Hot and bubbly. Like a jacuzzi." She's not mere bath? Ugh, this is not very complimentary but Easton gets a kick out of it regardless. "And she also has that spark, or whatever you call this thing. It's not like mine though..." He doesn't have words for Glimmer still or categories for abilities.

"You've never seen a ghost." Easton seems surprised by this, though it's possible Alexander has mentioned this before, he can't remember. He nods at the information, "Yea, he actually pulled me into a slip, my first. But now that I think about it, I don't know if that was just part of the dream? I mean it sucks when you can't trust your own senses about what happened."

"But what do you think is happening when we slip? Are we passing out into some magical dream state? Is it more like hallucinating? I mean I get that what happens there, might actually happen. But I also watched someone die there, and be just fine back here when it 'ended' so I don't know if that's more of a guideline than a rule?"

"Jacuzzi." Alexander laughs; it's rusty but warm. "I'm never going to mention this conversation to her, even if I meet her, but good luck with it. And no," there's a shrug, "never seen a ghost. Not a real...not-real ghost. I think you have to be," a pause, "connected to people. Someone has to want to stick around, maybe? Whether because they love you or they hate you. It's not something I usually have to worry about." He frowns. "But I don't know if ghosts can be trusted. That sort of thing causes pain. Seeing someone gone. Pain feeds the shadows. And anything that pulls you into a dream isn't...isn't your friend, Easton."

To the rest, he sighs, and slumps in place. "I think it's a liminal realm. Psychomorphic to some degree, a space between HERE and THERE - and don't ask me where 'there' is, because I'll be damned if I know. I guess I think of it as the place the Shadows are from, so it's probably a shitshow. But that's just a guess. I used to think that the places we get lost were," he runs his fingers along the rim of his mug as he thinks, "hiccups in reality. Broken places the Shadows used for hunting. Traps and tricks. But the theatre. The actors. They /made/ a dream. And pulled us all into it - but just the people they wanted. I've never seen anything like that. Never knew you could do that."

Easton just shrugs about Alexander not mentioning a word of it. He's pretty sure Bennie would see it as the oddball compliment he intends it to be. But more importantly he's glad to at least get a laugh out of Alexander about it.

The talk of ghosts and specifically Banks causes the smile to fade. He listens and knows exactly why a ghost of Tom would be here. Not attached to Jenny his widow, but Easton. He exhales a bit and nods, "Yea. I think.. " He starts to put forth a theory about what Tom's ghost actually is, and what it's doing to him but stops himself. "I agree. I don't think it is Banks." Because Tom's dead. And letting that bit of reality slip is something he really can't afford.

Easton tries to follow but liminal and psychomorphic through him for a loop. Until he thinks about it and asks, "Like we could shape it? Do we have more control in that place?" He's certainly used his abilities more there, but only because of the near constant threat of dying. "I shared another dream with Bennie. It was, more like a mix of memories like a regular dream. Well nightmare with the almost being killed by a motorcycle gang, but less supernatural spooky murder. More just regular kind of murderous."

Alexander looks a bit relieved when Easton agrees regarding the ghost. As if he thought he might resist that bit of knowledge. He brightens, though, as the man goes on. "I...think that it's a possibility. I never thought so before. I was always just trying to /survive/. I thought it might be shaped, to some extent, by our subconscious fears or doubts or worries. But I thought, I figured, I believed that the shadows were /pulling/ that from us, using to craft traps to hurt us. And maybe they are. Maybe the castle was created by whatever the actors serve. But," he shrugs, "maybe not? Maybe we have more potential control than I believed." To the last, he nods. "That happens. I think," a pause to drink, "I don't have evidence for this, but I think maybe a lot of dreams, for normal people, aren't balls-to-the-walls supernatural. A lot of people kill themselves here. Or each other. And I wonder, sometimes, how much of that is being shown a dream where everyone really does hate you. Or walking in on your husband banging your sister in your bed, and then just not being able to handle when they both claim that it never happened."

Easton has at least internalized that things here are out to screw with him, and try to cause him as much emotional pain as possible. And really, what better way than parading around with his dead best friends face and occasionally voice. He shakes his head, "Fuck." apparently still thinking about Tom as the conversation moves on.

He perks up a little bit though when Alexander gets animated about the possibility. "Yea, survival is primary. But, the more we understand the rules of engagement, the better off we are. And I absolutely think these things are pulling from our heads. My first slip was a mix of two memories. One good, one .. really shitty one." He listens and nods, "Yea, I agree. I mean fighting the Harlem Globetrotters is fucked up, sure. But reliving your worst memory? Or taking away your bes.." His voice catches and he winces and takes a drink as if he just was suddenly parched. That's all. Yup.

"About sums it up," Alexander says to the brief curse. He watches Easton with that flat stare, then gives a curt sort of nod. "Rules of engagement. Yes. And there are more people now, who stand out. We're finding one another. Out of towners being called to this place. It's strange. Feels...important." He looks down at his mostly empty mug, and finishes it off. "I'm sorry. That these things are hurting you. Throwing back things in your face."

Tipping his glass towards Alexander, he agrees at the summation. He takes another big gulp of beer and swallows contemplatively. He nods, seriously, intently, when Alexander talks about there being 'more' people, and outsiders. "Agreed" At the part about being sorry though, Easton's face curls into a wry smile, "I'm hardly the first. I have a feeling you've been through shit, and on top of it, alone. So, let's save our sorries for others?" He lifts a glass as if to clink them on that notion.

There's another rusty laugh, although this one lacks all warmth or humor. Alexander raises his mug, and clinks it, solemnly, against Easton's. "I got lost for the first time, that I remember, when I was nine," he says, quietly. "I'd always had nightmares. But that was the first time that I can really remember. My stuffed animals tried to turn me into one of them." He mimes cutting something open and stuffing it. "My parents just wanted to know why I'd hurt myself. Didn't get much better from there." A roll of his shoulders. "Shit happens. But. I bought a book, and the book made me think about some things. About why all of this might happen, maybe. You probably don't know much Harbor history?"

Dammit! If you are going EVER say 'sorry' that would be the time to say it. Easton's eyes grow slightly larger as Alexander explains his first experience. But he just agreed to save the 'sorries' for other people. They even clinked glasses! So he instead says, "Well fuck 'em. Cause picking on kids is one thing, we ain't kids." And yes, he doesn't have the first clue how to fight these things yet, but he intends to all the same. He nods at the book and says, "I'd like to borrow that when you're done, if you don't mind." He sadly shakes his head at the last question though, "Not a damn thing. But I assume it's full of rainbows and happiness."

Alexander smiles, although it's a sharp and strange little thing. "We might as well be, Easton. I don't know what the Shadows are, but they terrify me." His expression turns rueful. "I was bringing you scans of it. On my tablet. Two of those actors jumped me outside," a nod to the bar, "and they stole my fucking tablet." A pause. "Among other things. I'll make another copy. The scans are on my desktop, still. I have to sell the original back to Miss Whitehouse." He looks down at his empty beer, and raises a hand for another. History requires bear. "That's sarcasm," he mutters. "There's no rainbows or happiness. Lots of disasters. A lot of them, the ones that kill or disappear a lot of people, seem to be linked to one family, that /used/ to be around. Before the town was properly founded. Baxters. And it seems like it's being covered up - trying to erase their existence."

Narrowing his eyes at Alexander, Easton nods. He gets that these things are horrific. But he's lived through real life horrors too. "Yea well, you probably didn't know anything back then, couldn't fight back. Being terrified is good, stupid to underestimate them." He finishes off yet another beer as Alexander explains about the scans and the book. He frowns, well that's interesting. "Yes." He confirms the sarcasm, again wondering if Alexander is on the autism spectrum somewhere between the full names, lack of niceties, and having to call out sarcasm. But he just listens. "The Baxters. So maybe some crazy family curse? Maybe they summoned something dark." He shrugs as if he's also surprised that he's offering these solutions. "I mean I understand that these 'shadows' probably don't line up with well.. anything I know. But it's hard not to think in those terms."

"Can't." Alexander says it quietly, but firmly. "Can't fight back. They whisper and they push and they hurt. And you can't fight back. You can endure. But," he shakes his head, "it's not an enemy you can kill. Or even hit. When those actors jumped me, I felt the thing they served, with more clarity than I have before, and all it wants is endless pain. Endless suffering. A feast." It's a toneless recital. "Don't think you can fight them, Easton. I prefer you alive. Sane." A pause. "As sane as you are now, anyway." Then his head ducks down. "Curse might be it. Might also be deliberate. The other big family here in town is the Addingtons. You've met Miss Addington. I think they're involved. I don't know why. But they've done things. I can't, I can't prove those things. Not now. But I'm working on it."

Nodding along, Easton doesn't argue with Alexander about the type of enemy they're facing. It's hardly an opposing army you can just blow the fuck up, sure. He tries, "But. Hear me out. Maybe I can't shoot it in the fucking skull, as I'd like to. But, I got a feeling it works in the shadows for a reason. I got a feeling, it doesn't like people talking about it. Sharing what they know. What I'm saying, is this? This is fighting it. You telling me what you know, so that I'm more prepared. Because maybe we can't stop it from trying? But we can stop people from being unaware." Strategy! Maybe!

"Yea, Erin." Who owes him a couple punches in the face. "I'm probably not much help in that area, but if I can help?" He shrugs, indicating a willingess to.

"Optimistic." Alexander looks skeptical, but he doesn't argue about it. He gets his second beer, and starts on it, although significantly more slowly than the first. "Most people don't want to know. But the ones that do...yes. I don't mind telling people things." He frowns at Erin's name. "She gave me her number. Said to call. If I need patched up. But she's an Addington." It's clearly a source of confusion for him. "I want to look into certain cold cases. But knowing more about the Addingtons. Or finding a Baxter still living. Those would be good." He looks up, then, staring at Easton. "But why? Why not just ignore it? You have your own pain. Quite enough of it. If we start pushing, whatever this is might start pushing back. It'll hurt."

"She's an Addington" Easton may be from out of town, but he understands what Alexander means by that. He has a bit of history here after all. He ammends that though with, "But she's fucking an ex-con from the trailer park. Who has a heart of gold, sure, but still. The point remains, she may not be as up her own ass as you assume." That's his heart-warming take on the fact that he's whole-hearted routing for Geoff and Erin, it's just buried in that sentiment somewhere.

At the question of why he considers it before saying, "Because letting an enemy lie in wait and plan the attack is a poor strategy. It will just pick us off at it's leisure." He does admit, "But pissing it off for no good reason is dumb. Granted."

"I don't think she's evil," Alexander says, running one hand over his eyes. "She seems nice. But the Addingtons are into this up to their well-adorned necks, I think. I don't know /why/. Whether they're just trying to keep a lid on it so they can run a town and not an abandoned freakshow, or what. But it makes me wary." There's a rueful half-smile. "Yes. I'm aware a lot of things make me wary."

To the rest, he listens, thoughtfully. "I...never thought about it like that. The shadows always have the upper hand. How do you fight something that's in your head, Easton? That knows every nasty little thing about you. That's happy when you hurt people or hurt yourself. Even when those people are on its side?"

"Oh." Easton had misunderstood his misgivings about Erin. He thought he was just assuming her to be stuck up, not possibly part of a family conspiracy of sorts. And as much as he would like to assume that's not true, the reality is, he doesn't know. It's possible. Who knows?

He gulps his beer before saying, "I don't know. But I think the first rule is, find out what it wants and make sure you don't fucking let it have it." He shrugs and says "After that? I don't know."

Alexander stares at Easton. That flat, almost emotionless yet intense stare that has earned him his sterling social reputation. It goes on too long, of course, for politeness, and on into an almost reptillian sort of concentration. Then he blinks, and lowers his eyes. "Well. It's more than I've got. So. Sure. If I can help...block them. Somehow. Count me in." Looks like Easton was just elected leader of the Shadow Defense Force.