2019-06-21 - Tea & Biscuits and First Aid

The power finally comes back on at 6am. August, his neck aching like a bastard, rolls out of bed to turn his backup generator off (unlike Addington House, August checks his monthly, and this right here is why). After a few minutes to recover from the previous evening, he gets out his phone, messages everyone ('Going in to check on things, no need to come in early, will touch base on appointments after I go through our messages'), and gets his morning routine underway.

He's at the store by 7am. Damage is minimal due to their preparations, but a few things need straightening outside, so he gets to work. At least the greenhouses are okay. He has, of all the things, a thin, gray, wool scarf wrapped around his neck, though it's really not cold enough to warrant it, especially not for a native.

Ignacio is actually there by 7:18. His hoodie under his leather jacket is still damp from the rain. He's moving at a sluggish pace of a man that walked here from wherever he came from. He pauses with the papers in the mail slot, notices a light in the back and happens to try the door. As it cracks a bit he knocks, "...Lo?" Dark eyes scan the place and he invites himself inside because at least it's dry and doesn't feel like the damp in the air is trying to assimilate him.

August comes tromping back in from outside. He sees Ignacio, stops, and stares at him. August looks exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes and his face drawn tight.

Eventually, he says, "Hey." His voice is rough and hoarse; he winces and grabs the tumbler on his desk, takes a drink (mint tea with honey and lemon). "You get through last night okay?" His expression suggests he expects the answer to be 'no'.

Ignacio arches an eyebrow at the state of the guy. It's about right now that he's probably very glad he said 'store side' and not up in a tree somewhere. Still they both look just haggard\, but undaunted the guy replies back glibly\, "Well when I finally get home I'll let ya know." That 'no' would be an affirmative. He holds the papers up not quite knowing where to go with that so offers the casual\, "Had nothin better t'do soooo I got everything filled about and thought I'd swing on by." On foot. No one said the story had to make any sense. He does point it around like 'where you want this?' Finally moved by his own curiosity and nosy concern he murmurs\, "Christ\, the tree land on you? No offense\, but ya kinda look like hell. You... need me to call someone or somethin?"

"Right." August sets the tumbler aside, pulls of his gloves. He steps up to take the papers, squints at Ignacio. He knows what 'damp person who was walking in the rain looks like'. Anyone from the PNW does. "...on foot?" He arches an eyebrow. "You need a car or something? There's a used lot up the highway a ways, they ought to have something affordable that'll run."

He waves aside the question of how he's doing. "I'll be fine. Just, ran into some..." His expression goes distant and unfocused for a second. He shakes his head. "Uh, something weird, at the museum. Was there to check on that fir of theirs, it's maybe a day before it comes down and blocks the road." He clears his throat, regrets it immediately and makes a face. "Anyways. You can start right now, if you feel up to it. Gonna do a little clean up before Thomasina gets in." He sighs, rubs at his eyes. "Up for it?"

Ignacio blinks and looks unconvinced to the sole point of asking, "How's a museum weird? It's just old stuff and art...and old art." The car lot though has him considering this. "Solid lead. When I get my shit settled in I'll have to keep that in mind." He leaves the application on the desk and walks around the office idly, "We got a coffee maker in this place?" he looks cold, but he's not going to complain about it so much as casually fix it.

His shoulders rise and fall to starting now. Tiredly he admits, "Might as well. I got nothin goin on and you look like you can use a hand or a hearse.." There's a lopsided grin faintly forming "Don't worry, they got me on enough cortisol and vicodin I can take on the damn world right now." He squints to the boss man and doesn't ask because he won't get an answer, "Where we off to?"

On a sigh, August says, "This one's got a history." He grunts, mutters, "Like the rest of this town..." And yet he drove through it and had to move here, so can't blame his presence on anyone but himself.

"Yeah, it's over in," he points at the office, "there, on top of the fridge. Ully won't tolerate Starbucks in it, he has a special kind he brings in. Talk to him if you wanna be something else. Fresh pot."

He folds his arms, gives Ignacio a once over. "Long as you're good for it. I don't ask people to do things that'll only worsen an injury." Because then he can hear the injury and it gives him a migraine, but that's hardly the point. He grabs a pair of gardening gloves and offers them to Ignacio. "Outside here. Plenty to pick up."

And boy, he's not kidding. Toppled plants, tree branches, leaves to take. Tarps to take down, now that the storm's passed. It's a mess.

Ignacio grabs the gloves out of the air like a badass... and promptly drops one like a dumbass. Well here's to trying.

Ignacio makes his way to find the coffee pot and looks at the cup and asks, "You got some honey around here you should consider it. Damp. Cold. Help you out." He pockets the gloves and goes to find everything to start the pot of coffee. Warm. Good. So good.

Heading outside Ignacio asks with an idle wariness, "Why's the town have history." He stops and hold s up a finger to pause and try that again, "Why's it weird? Like Salem weird? Roanoke weird? Palm Springs weird?"

August's phone begins to ring, and the return number seems to be that of Finch Celaeno.

"Salem weird," August clarifies. Normally he might dissemble on that point, but, something about Ignacio suggests he can be more candid with him. It's the kind of feeling he doesn't get with Ully and Thomasina. Thomasina in particular; she's nervy about the town's history.

He's about to go on when his phone buzzes. He squints down at it, holds up a finger to Ignacio and takes it out. "Yeah," he says, because he's of the opinion anyone calling him should know what they're getting into.

Ignacio watches the bossman with an even stare. It's jsut a dead stare. Fianlly he moves, "Sure, why not. You guys only have the IWnchester House out here. What's one more weird museum." Yeha, he's talking to Raf about that later. Right now he's going to give the bossman a hand because he's hurting jsut looking at em and it keeps his mind off all the noise.

The voice on the other end of the line sounds strained, and a bit wheezy. "Hey Boss, it's Finch. Got pretty banged up last night in the storm, so I don't think I can make it in." Understatement of the year. She should be in a hospital, but she doesn't have insurance right now. "And there's a tree that came down blocking the porch at Gran's place. Do you think you can put us on the clean up list? Gran wants to go out to tidy up but she can't get off the porch." And the other doors out are in the closed off sections of the house. She doesn't say that on the phone though.

August bobs his eyebrows at Ignacio and gives him a look which promises one hell of a story. A fragmented, partial one, as August has only been in town for a few years, and doesn't know it all.

But hey, here's a local on the phone! Except she sounds like death warmed over. "Celaeno?" He can't help but think of what happened in the museum. What if that had been going on all over? Christ. "Don't worry about coming in, stay home and rest up." He pauses, turns to look at Ignacio. He knows, instinctively, that she won't tell him what happened on the phone. But... "We can come right now, if that works."

Ignacio pauses and looks to the boss, gives him a once over, and announces, "I'll drive. You look like you can use the rest." He does pour himself a cup of coffee before they head on out though. He froens ad asks, "That Thomisna or Ully?" The only two names he knows.

"Thanks, Boss, that would be great. See you soon," Finch says, before hanging up. She looks to her Grandmother, who is sitting on an ottoman, her granddaughter on the couch, covered in blankets and looking pale. "They're coming, Gran. I think the boss can help me. I could see it in him, like its in me."

Dove squeezes the girl's hand and smiles gently at her, dressed perfectly in an elegant blouse and slacks, her steel grey hair perfectly coiffed, pearls around her neck, the polar opposite in fashion style to Finch. "Same thing my sister had in her, your great Aunt Starling." The one who went crazy and is locked up. "But you'll use it for good, darling girl. I know it."

"Be right there." August looks down at his phone for a few seconds before pocketing it. He sighs, takes to his tumbler of tea and reluctantly offers the keys to one of the three bucket trucks (the newest one, a 2011). "Celaeno. The other new person." He frowns. "You night not know her yet. She's a local." He shrugs as if to say, 'no time like the present'. He sends a message to Ully before locking up the shop. "I'll tell you how to get to there."

Ignacio catches the keys and turns out to actually handle a truck damn well. For someone who hasn't slept he also takes directions well and manages not to fuck up the truck. Approaching the drive he stops. "This the museum or some other creepy ass place? Dude she lives here? This is kinda bitchin in an..>Addams family sorta way." Still there's that uneasy part of his stomach he's going to silence when he pops that next pill in about an hour and a half and hten sleep like a damn baby.

When Roen and Ignacio arrive, Granny Dove is standing out on the porch. There is a large ponderosa pine that has fallen across the porch steps and bannisters, crushing some of the crumbling stone bannisters and stairs. The woman looks to be around 70, and delightfully polished. She looks like she has been upkept, even if the home has not. There is also one huge, creepy Madrone tree nearby, but that monstrosity has survived the storm.

The massive Mallard House has definitely seen better days. Many of the windows are boarded, ivy is taking over most of the walls, and there only seem to be lights on in a few rooms of the massive mansion.

"A different creepy-ass place," August says. "They've got a whole lot of them around these parts." One wonders what other reassuring facts he can offer about Gray Harbor. He gives directions like someone used to not knowing where the hell anything is, points out useful bits of information as they go.

At the sight of the pine, he mutters, "Should've taken that damned thing out last fall," under his breath. The madrona gets a Look, like August is telling it, 'I see you, don't try anything,' as he and Ignacio exit the truck and approach the house.

"Morning ma'am," he says to Dove. "Sorry about this, I knew I should have recommended we take it out last time we were here. We'll get it picked up." He wants to just dive right into that, except, he can't. He gives Ignacio a sideways glance. "How's Finch? She sounded pretty bad on the phone."

Ignacio cracks a lopsided grin, charastic of all his expressions and really it suits his cavalier attitude. "Well... great then. People crave variety I guess." No hes not okay with it but some use humor to pave over the uncomfortable truths. Getting out of the truck he walks with that city cowboy stroll up the walk nodding to the elderly woman. "M'am." And he actually owns manners from somewhere? He frowns and asks outright, "She sick? God I hope she didn't get squished with a tree." He looks to the tree and informs, "I'll get teh chainsaw from teh truck."

"Mister Roen, it's good to see you again," Dove says with a warm smile and an extended hand. She's had his company do work for her before. "Thank you for coming so quickly. Finch speaks highly of you, and I think she may need your help today." That mysterious sentence is not yet explained. "Please, both of you come inside for a few moments and speak with her. She is refusing to go to a hospital, and I think without the intervention of a," she smirks and raises both brows meaningfully, "trusted person, she won't get the medical attention she needs. I have some hot tea and biscuits with apple butter for you as well."

August flicks a wry look at Ignacio. "Hold off on the chain saw a second." He steps up to shake hands with Dove. He can tell she's not injured, so touching her is relatively safe, at least. "You too, ma'am." He grows concerned the more Dove says, sighs and looks away. He likes to pretend like he doesn't do anything weird and out of the ordinary, but he knows that's not true. It would seem Dove knows it too--maybe even from Finch. There was, of course, one small problem.

"I'm not sure how much I can help her," he says, eyes still on the downed pine. It takes him a second to look at Dove again. "I'm...not always good with that kind of," his mouth flattens, "thing. If I can't, you want me to take her to the hospital?"

Ignacio no doubt sticks out like an oddity. August picked up on it, but weither Ignacio himself has is another story. There is such a thing as willful ignoace, or maybe they don't talk about these sorts of things in the Big Apple. He pauses half turned and looks at the building, the old people (sorry boss), the building, and the cavalier expression holds. Slowly he does as he's asked leaving a bit of distance there trying to read the subcontext in between. Uh HUH.

"I would greatly appreciate it, Mister Roen. Either way, whatever help you can lend is most welcome. She's stubborn, and she hates hospitals, but I think she has broken ribs and perhaps worse. She was swept into the sewers last night off Elm Street with some others, and although she will not tell me what hurt her so, I do not think it was just the fall." She grimaces, looking very concerned for her granddaughter's welfare.

Dove leads them inside through the front door, and the house must have once been epically grand. The marble staircase alone is testament to that. But it looks faded, dusty, and like it has been weakened by time and the elements.

"She spent most of the night in the downstairs bath's shower, and couldn't get up the stairs after, so she's been on the couch since in the parlour."

She opens a pair of wooden pocket doors in the hall, and the parlor is within, with Dove bundled in blankets with her un-styled pink hair spread across a pillow. She looks bad, really bad.

"I would greatly appreciate it, Mister Roen. Either way, whatever help you can lend is most welcome. She's stubborn, and she hates hospitals, but I think she has broken ribs and perhaps worse. She was swept into the sewers last night off Elm Street with some others, and although she will not tell me what hurt her so, I do not think it was just the fall." She grimaces, looking very concerned for her granddaughter's welfare.

Dove leads them inside through the front door, and the house must have once been epically grand. The marble staircase alone is testament to that. But it looks faded, dusty, and like it has been weakened by time and the elements.

"She spent most of the night in the downstairs bath's shower, and couldn't get up the stairs after, so she's been on the couch since in the parlour."

She opens a pair of wooden pocket doors in the hall, and the parlor is within, with Finch bundled in blankets on a sofa with her un-styled pink hair spread across a pillow. She looks bad, really bad.

August has been out to the house plenty, but never inside it. Accordingly, he looks around, taking in the structure's current state, when they first step in. A handful of seconds later he looks unerringly towards the parlor, before Dove has even started towards it, and swallows. follows with careful steps, like he's afraid of slipping and falling. When Dove opens the doors and he sets eyes on Finch, August has to take a steadying breath.

"Shit," he whispers. He's rooted to the spot, staring. He might not be seeing Finch, to go by the unfocused look in his eyes. Then he blinks, steps towards the wrecked bundle which is his second-newest employee. "The sewers did this?" he asks, looking over his shoulder at Dove.

Ignacio frowns and looks to Roen with some concern, "I might have somethin to help her out with that." He walks in on August's shoulder and looks around at teh place giing it one nod. "Classic." On so so many levels. On the upside e might be hallucinating half of this. She's wrapped up in blankets but it doesn't keep Ignacio from commenting confused, "That's one hell of a chest wound." It's apassing comment, and one he confuses himself with picking up on, but his hand fishes around in his pocket for a bottle and hands it to her grandmother, "Here. This'll help take the sting out of that." because of course he's got vicodin on him. He asks confused glossing over knowing anything at all curious, "Why...were people in teh sewer? Was there a wash out?"

Dove nods slightly to August. "Apparently so," she replies to him, though she doesn't look convinced whatsoever. She takes the pills and pockets them. "I'll get the refreshments." The older woman departs, leaving the trio alone.

Finch looks up at Roen and the dude she doesn't know and grimaces. "Did she bribe you with biscuits? She makes them from scratch; they're the best. She gets the apple butter from Cracker Barrel though, so don't let her tell you otherwise." Her breathing is a pained wheezing and she looks very pale.

Beneath the copious blankets and the plaid pajamas Finch is wearing, are various cuts and bruises, but the worst damage was what would be the approximation of a baseball bat to the ribs and a gash in her abdomen. Her entire torso is black and blue, with notable deformity of the ribs on one side. Broken for sure.

The normally bright-eyed young woman looks dimmed by her injuries, even as she squints up at August. "Drains backed up and the downpour washed a bunch off us right off the sidewalk. Did you get hurt too?" she asks, eyeing his throat for a long moment. A hand moves slightly from beneath the blanket as her fingers wiggle just a bit, like someone playing piano, or pulling puppet strings. Silvery strands of Spirit, only visible to her, move to inspect Roen's wounds, like living tendrils of Glimmer.

August nods at Dove, watches her go with a grimace. He comes to sit on the edge of the sofa, clearly uncomfortable. He makes a face at the feel of her reaching out. "It's fine, just, a thing," he says, voice hoarse and rough, like he has a sore throat. Bruising, gouges, but nothing severe. On its own it could heal in a week.

He shudders at the severity of Finch's injuries. He tells himself he's not hearing the sounds of a hospital in Sarajevo, and mostly manages to succeed. "You at least find anything interesting? Crocodiles, Big Foot maybe?" He doesn't wait for an answer to that, continues, "You got First Aid stuff? Gauze, saline? I've got a kit in the truck if not." He glances down at the blankets, back at Finch. "That's the only way I know how to do it," he says. 'It' has a specific emphasis that's subtle yet unmistakeable. At least to someone like Finch.

Ignacio bites his lip and just watches hanging back. He lifts a hand murmuring, "Hey. Cool house." Oh those east coast vowels are just being chewed on there. "Storm system's got a lot to be desired." He looks to August and hesitates offering, "Hey if it's in the truck I can go back for it." He might as well be helpful.

"Fuck, Boss, you do NOT want to know. Seriously. Ugh," Finch mutters, but softly as anything harsh hurts too much. She tips her head towards the fireplace in there, and on the mantle is a first aid kid. Dove apparently tried to help last night or earlier today. "I get it. I think. Hi, I'm Finch," she murmurs at Ignacio.

There is a wee squeak from within the blankets and a wiggling pink nose pokes out, followed by the rest of an adorable white and grey rat who is wearing a green tutu. "This is Mags." SQUEAK! "Ahem, Miss Magdalena Heinroth." The creature curls up on the pillow, making a nest of Finch's hair.

August looks to where Finch points. "That one'll do. Just have to have a way to," he grimaces, "direct it." He gets up to fetch the kit, opens it up and begins taking things out. He splits the gauze, saline, and ointment between himself and Ignacio. "I suspect you can do some of this too," he says to Ignacio, like he's talking about something as simple as bandaging a cut, not healing a life threatening injury. He gestures for Finch. "I can work on one of the ones on your leg or arm, there." He means, 'I don't need you to take off your shirt, since that would be a pretty huge violation of employment ethics'.

Ignacio murmurs to Finch, "'Nacio. Be nicer to meet you if your insides stayed- Aw no shit you have a tutu rat." This gets a lopsided grin of genuine amusement until the boss man does his things and the colour washes from his face. "The hell just happen?" Somehow she stars feeling better and Ignacio feels the direct need to sit down immediately. Quieter he checks the walls an looks to Roen as Finch reflects those sentiments in the ephemeral, "Seriously what the hell was that?" It's not often his fight or flight response gets kicked in and really he didn't want to fight these people and for certain not the cute mouse lady. All that's left is trying to get answers.

As August works, Finch gasps, feeling things inside her shift and mend. She's used to being on the other end of it, having healed so many things, people and plants, as subtly as she could over time. Her own hand dances, the one not being worked on, and the silvery strands slide into Roen's skin and begin to soothe and ease the minor damage to his throat. The redness from ghostly hands that clutched at him fades and eases. The urge to clear his throat to open it fully subsides. Clearly the little bird has the gift.

August sets to work on Finch's leg. "Sorry but, this might sting, looks pretty deep." He starts washing around the gash, dabbing it with ointment, just like you would if you were treating a modest cut that only needed a bandaid. Each time he does something, there's a push, guiding her body in how to do this healing thing faster, more efficiently. Each adjustment adds to the last, until the wound in her chest is reduced to a long, dark red weal. It might ache for a while yet, but it won't fester, probably not even scar. The wound in her abdomen subsides as well, as done another in her chest.

And the whole while, August is getting more and more pale. Until he's done, and he's not just pale, he's also sweating. He gets up, looking unsteady. "Okay ah...I need...your bathroom." He swallows, which doesn' hurt, thanks to Finch. "Now."

Ignacio watches this guarded, wary and as far from ground zero right now as he can which is 6' away. No one said this was a good plan so much as a gesture really. His hands rub his face and press together hiding most of his face in a thoughtful pose watching like a hawk. Some days you can't unlook at the man behind the curtain, Dorothy. Finally he asks, "We really not going to talk about this or am I the only crazy person in the room?" The words are casual as he can make them out to be entirely matter-of-fact. Ah, the poor New Yorker.

"First door on the right, Mister Roen," comes Dove's voice from the doorway as she enters with a tray loaded with tea and biscuits as promised. She makes way for the man, looking worried. "It doesn't make you feel like that, does it love?" she asks Finch with concern as she sets the tray on a coffee table and hands poor freaked out Ignacio a cup of tea with honey in it. "Drink, young man, it is not a thing to fear. Not for you at least," she notes.

Finch sits up slowly, testing her ribs carefully and looking relieved. As August got paler, she got less pale. Well compared to what she was before. She still looks like she either never sees the sun or uses SPF 1000. "'Nacio, nice to meet you. Here, wanna hold Mags?" She offers the tutu-donned rat to him and she squeaks happily to be shown off to new friends. "Sorry if we uh, freaked you out, but if we did, you have it too. The Glimmer. Don't you?" She cocks her head to the side. "Gran here doesn't but her sister does." No point in trying to cover it up when he clearly witnessed. She takes her own cup of tea from the tray.

August makes his way to the bathroom, somehow staying upright, even manages to make it there before he spends a bit of time dry heaving. He's in there for a good several minutes. Presently he washes his face, comes back into the parlor. If he looked drawn and tired before, now he looks like he needs a week in bed. He pulls off his scarf, though, since Finch took care of his neck.

"Sorry," he says, taking a heavy seat in a chair. "Just, uh...after...Sarajevo, it got hard, to be around people who were hurt." He shuts his eyes, spends a little while just breathing.

To say he's spooked is an understatement, but he's keeping himself together as if resigning the fact he's losing his mind, or worse, not. The mouse though? That gets him to lean over with two hands cupped together. "Yeah Love to see her." Because that's a concrete thing in a dress. When she starts talking about Glimmer he just blinks at her shaking his head. "Uhhhh I know weird things happen and the world falls the f-" he looks to Gran entering the room and shifts gears, "hell apart." He pets the mouse with care though and looks to the two remaining in the room and the boss leaving and the ladies again, "Ya so casual about it. I feel under dressed like I shoulda worn the fancy brown pants." Funny guy.

Dove chuckles and settles primly in an armchair. "You're not from here, dear boy, so it's understandable. Our family has been here, in Gray Harbor, since we were drawn here in 1910. It brings those with the gift to it. Some for good, and some for ill." She smiles warmly, knowingly, and folds her hands in her lap. "You felt compelled to come here, didn't you? To town?" she asks him.

Finch reaches for a biscuit and slathers it in apple butter, because that shit is the only reason to go to Cracker Barrel. "I mean, we all leave for a while I think, but we always wind up back here. I was in New York for years and came home on breaks. I went to Cornell," she explains.

The little rat gleefully curls up in Ignacio's hands and snuffles at them curiously. She really is the cutest thing ever. Finch looks over at August with concern. "That sucks, boss. I guess it never really bothered me, all things considered." A look from Dove gets her not to elaborate on that. Slaughter is kind of her family's brand.

August opens his eyes when Dove talks about being compelled to come to Gray Harbor. He doesn't say anything, but it's plain as day on his face: he certainly did.

He grunts at Finch, gets up to take a cup of tea. He adds plenty of cream and honey, sips a bit. "It's easy enough to do animals. Their injuries and pain don't...scream, like that." He sighs, has more tea. "War's the gift that keeps on giving."

He glances at the biscuits, grimaces. Nope, his stomach won't be ready for anything solid for at least an hour. He studiously avoids looking at anyone eating. "Glimmer," he murmurs, turning the word over in his mind. He shrugs; it's not like he has any other idea what to call it, aside from 'pushing things around' and 'making injuries go away'.

Ignacio just focuses on the mouse running around in his hands, his thumb pats the top of her head as she grabs his thumb with both tiny paws to investigate that too. He looks up to confirm to Finch, "Queens." Brown eyes finally lift to granny Dove and looks around trying to sort out the conspiracy theory in his head, "My brother's here, buuuuut my family ain't from here or nothin. Naw." This is either going to give him great nightmare fuel or fantastic writing material for later.

Looking up his jaw sets and the slack expression gets thoughtful finding phrasing. "Like a damn current like too much coffee. It was... weird. and I tried to let it go and get out of... it was bad." He shrugs, "Still bad." The rodent being the cutest damn thing ever at least gives him enough focus to keep the loud parts of his head from screaming at him. He hands it back to Finch and just waits fo her to take her mouse back trying to find soemthing positive in the fucked up news and that's how much worse off she was prior and how much better she seemed to get. He's not altruistic, but August has it in one: Feeling other people suffering just sucks on so many front.s He's likely not conscious of it but the clarity in that one want reaches out to try to finish pulling the loose ends of the damanged soft tissue and inflamation back into its insitu place like snugging up teh laces on a shoe..

"Thank you, Mister Roen, for helping my granddaughter. I know that could not have been easy for you. Please, relax and enjoy your tea. The tree will keep a little longer. But Finch here, didn't sleep a wink last night, so I'm going to insist she go upstairs and rest for a while," Dove says with a smile.

"But Gran I feel fi-..." Finch starts as she takes the rat and sets it to perch on her shoulder.

"Young lady, you are not operating a chainsaw on fifteen minutes of sleep. Upstairs! Now!" Dove points with a bony, finely manicured finger.

"Yes ma'am," Finch mutters, touching Ignacio's hand and mouthing 'thank you' to him, recognizing what he did. Then she takes her tea and biscuit in hand and trudges towards the stairs. "I'll be back to work tomorrow," she promises as she climbs up the sweeping expanse of marble.

Dove nods to both men, then goes to make sure Finch gets in bed and actually sleeps. Then she'll burn those clothes the woman went sewer diving in.