2019-06-26 - Insomnia, Chocolate, And Witch Burnings

Despite everything, the diner always has at least one patron, regardless of the hour. And for some brief moments, it may actually be full. One AM is not one of those times. No, this evening there's just Gina, sitting at one of the counter seats flipping through a magazine, a homeless woman with various bags of things sleeping in one of the booths (she hasn't hit the two hour mark yet, obviously) and a pair of possible-EMTs in another, bleary eyed and left with an entire pot of coffee. The music tonight is smooth R&B, and perhaps to match the mood, Gina is wearing a black and blue plaid skirt with matching plaid blazer, a black button-up blouse beneath it - it's got some Clueless vibes for certain, although her black eyeliner, purple lipstick and the heavy silver ankh around her neck toss everything gleefully into any teenager's gothy reinterpretation of it.

It was black licorice -- the Aussie kind -- or the darkest of dark chocolates without going the evil route to baker's chocolate, when Harper contemplated the gothiest foodstuff to bring her fellow classmate from younger years. So Harper enters the diner -- a place of food creation -- to deliver a small basket of a half dozen thin, high percentage cocoa, imported chocolate bars. The one on top boasts bits of espresso bean nibs in the bar. This late, there's bit of dark smudging under Harper's eyes and her hair is in a mussy bun atop her head, suggesting there'd been an unsuccessful effort at sleep prior. (outfit, not pb: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/493073859203792188/ )

As the librarian steps into the diner, she stops and tips her head slightly to take in the current music. The beginnings of a smile curves at her lips; then she heads over to where Gina is settled behind the counter. "Gina Castro." If it weren't for the quiet tone Harper uses, the full name would sound like Gina was about to win something on 'The Price is Right'. She steps up to the counter, takes a seat on a stool beside Gina and places her gift on the counter then pushes it a little toward the cafe owner. "I woke up and thought: Gina needs chocolate."

Ring-a-ling little bell on the door, there's a new customer. Alexander slouches in, having slipped out past his houseguest to avoid disturbing her when he realized that sleep that didn't involve screaming was not a thing that was going to happen. He's walked through the darkness down to the diner, and he looks about how you'd expect someone to look after that: dark circles under his eyes, mussed hair, a faint sheen of sweat. His t-shirt is much too large for him, and sort of billows around his thighs, and his worn jeans have water splashes almost up to the knee. He makes his way to the counter, and slides onto a seat near Gina, after giving the diner a twitchy once-over. "Tell me I don't have to go mug the paramedics for coffee," he says, tonelessly.

It takes him a few moments to reboot his social processes enough to a) recognize Harper, and b) find the right words to greet her. But he does, after that moment of staring, say, "Good morning, Harper. You make chocolate at midnight?"

The diner has a bell above the door. It rings when people enter. It's not obnoxiously loud, but it's /there/. And yet, Gina can so rarely be bothered to look up. No, she just keeps focusing on her magazine - who /reads/ those anymore?! - until someone addresses her by her full name. And she sighs audibly, drawing her eyes away from the magazine and giving Harper a blunt look of 'What EVEN'-- which changes to momentary suspicion at the sight of Harper, and then gracious acceptance when chocolate's mentioned. "Huh. Cool. The sacrifices are working." Gina says, and without so much as a thank you sets the magazine down and starts poking around the basket. Alexander gets a pair of raised brows, before Gina helpfully suggests, "It'd probably be cheaper than buying your own. Pretty sure they're too tired to pick you out of a lineup. But I can grab you a cup in a sec."

Even if it weren't for the time of day and prospective bleariness of Alexander's person, it would be realistic for him not to initially recognize Harper. For where--where is the prerequisite cardigan worn often even in summer? Denim jacket will have to do. Harper peers around Gina to Alexander and her smile tips upward again. "Alexander. You're looking -- usual. And it's nice to see you." A sound of amusement rolls in her throat at the suggestion that she not only made the labeled and wrapped chocolate bars, but did so somewhere in Switzerland as the wrappers attest. "Yes. I do my best chocolate tempering abroad and after midnight."

The 'what even' look from Gina is expected, perhaps even with some odd sort of affection that makes sense only to Harper. The gracious acceptance sparks delight in the librarian's brown eyes. "So /that's/ what woke me up. The /sacrifices/," she muses. It all makes sense, or so her tone says. There are other flavors than the espresso. Orange. Mint. Blueberry. But all the chocolate is dark and bittersweet. Harper scans the place, the sleeping woman, the bleary EMTs, the usual decor, the slow staff, before swinging her attention back to Gina and Alexander. "What's the most interesting time of day around here?" As if it were that easy to pin down a specific time on a clock for diner strangeness.

"When you have time, Miss Castro, a cup of coffee would be appreciated," Alexander says, heavily. It's not even sarcastic, just resigned. He eats here a lot. Speaking of, "And some eggs. With things on them." He's not picky. He turns his attention back to the librarian and her gifts, and says, quite solemnly, "It's probably easier to control the required temperatures around this time." Then his head tilts to one side. "Sacrifices? Who is being sacrificed?"

No. Alexander is not at his sharpest at this time of the night.

Gina finds her chocolate of choice this evening - orange - unwrapping the bar and breaking off a piece, before she moves to take the basket safely around the counter (like she's sharing) and setting about to pour a cup for Alexander. There's a shrug for Harper's question, as well, "Depends on what's going on and who's working, honestly. Six to Eight's the breakfast rush, but evenings on weekends is when all the drunks come in from across the street. And the morning after hangovers are hilarious." Gina's amusement at other's bad decisions is never hidden. "Usually pretty chill here, though." At least if you don't care about anyone's opinion.

Alexander orders food and this, of course, sets off klaxons in some part of Harper's skewed psyche. Her brows uptip for a moment of concern before she lets it go. Food is here. In many incarnations. Gina's got this. Alexander seemingly speaks about the chocolate tempering process and Harper nods sagely. "Tastes better at night, too." Her reasons have their own logic. Gina describes different flavors of times at the diner and Harper considers them with a bit more silence before she speaks than is usually the social norm. "Hilarious hangovers. I've been doing them wrong." Harper's not known for her drinking habits, despite what she says. "Gina, you have always had some fascinating power to --" Here, Harper waves a hand idly in a circular motion. " -- evoke ambiance." Harper won't take any chocolate unless it's opened and offered overtly. Nor does she order anything to eat or drink. She leans forward and rests one forearm across the counter in front of her, her attention skating to and fro between Alexander and Gina. And ... now and then to a random spot in the diner.

Alexander watches Gina pour coffee as if she was writing out a check for a million dollars, addressed to him. His hands twitch, but he manages not to lunge across the counter and snatch at it. He waits. So politely if you ignore the staring. "Only crazy people and night shift workers at this time of night," he suggests and - without looking away from the coffee - asks Harper, "So what woke you up with a sudden and desperate need to give someone chocolate, Harper?" Because he's nosy.

Coffee is poured. It steams, and Gina glances at Alexander-- one can see, subtly, the way the mug lifts, as if she's so tempted, she's subconsciously just about to drink the coffee herself, right there, but instead she sets it in front of Alexander, with a faintly resigned smile. There are limits to her cruelty, apparently. Her eyes look towards Harper, brows rising when she's complimented somehow, but she doesn't refute it. Just shrugs, "Call it like I see it, I guess." A moment of thinking, before she scribbles up an order and sends it to the kitchen. ALexander's eggs, apparently. "What, you don't believe my weekly interventions to save local birds by dealing with the cat population is a valid reason?" She queries, before enjoying another bit of dark chocolate. Mmm.

Crazy people, indeed. Alexander earns a more sidelong glance from Harper at that statement. But there's no animosity to it. It's Harper, after all. She, too, watches Gina deal with coffee service as if the process were fascinating and new. "Nightmares," Harper states flatly, not offering any elaboration on that topic at Al's question. "And I haven't seen Gina in months." Is there some sort of time-table Harper works by with certain of her prior-classmates and visits and food? She lifts the elbow of her other arm and rests it on the counter beside her hand, settling her chin atop her knuckles and simply drawing from the late night tranquility of the diner along the the scents that identify it as a place that makes solidly good food (except the omelettes). A slow breath in, an even slower exhalation. Shoulders wrapped in denim settle a little. Harper's typically warm and relentless smile and attitude is subdued tonight, but still her lips curve into another of her smiles as Gina returns to the topic of sacrifices, or so she assumes. "That you do, Gina. With idiosyncratic panache." Harper apparently lets the words fly out willy-nilly at this time of night.

Alexander takes the cup of coffee and wraps both hands around it with a sigh at the sting against his palms. He drops his head as if he's just going to bury his face in the hot liquid. Instead, he just sniffs the steam appreciatively, and mutters, "Thank you." He doesn't look up, but it's clear he's still following the conversation as he echoes, sympathetically, "Nightmares." A frown at the coffee. "Usually summer is better. But it's not." He finally takes a sip, then hisses a little at the heat left behind on throat and tongue. He looks up. "There's good eating, on a cat." It's deadpan.

There's a light shrug from Gina, "I can't eat cats. Iggy and V won't cuddle if I move from murder to cannibalism." Iggy and V being her occasionally-mentioned cats. There's no change in expression at the talk of nightmares, but she does start fiddling around making herself something. Ice cream, a few crumbled bits of the chocolate, cookies, dash of candied orange peel. "Somebody's been reading their word of the day calendar." She comments, before the blender whirls to life. A few pulses, before she looks at Alexander, then back at Harper, "You gonna have something or just here to deliver chocolate?" She honestly manages to make it sound curious, and not accusatory.

Cats. "I suppose I wouldn't knock it until I tried it. People have strange boundaries when it comes to their animal-based foods. As if some animals are incapable of thought or emotion and others are." Those relaxing shoulders lift in a what-can-you-do sort of way. Harper's no vegetarian. Whether she dabbles in pet-material meats isn't clear from what she says. "Cuddling or its lack is a worthy consideration for lifestyle changes. Definitely give Iggy and V some tuna from me," she requests. She tips a querying look over at Alexander (who is either beside or one empty stool away. "How's Izzy? We were going to go interview-outfit shopping for her. Did she decide not to look for employment, or did I miss the trip to the consignment shop?" Gina's commentary about the librarian's vernacular just earns her an amused little look. And the ice cream. Who wouldn't be curious about /that/ constructed confection?

"Ah. Well, I suppose that's a good enough reason to keep one's culinary impulses out of felidae," Alexander says, with a faint smile. "My bird does not care if I eat chicken, thankfully." Now that the coffee is starting to cool down, he's taking more frequent sips, looking back and forth amongst them. "I'd say people don't like to eat cute things - but then there's veal." He blinks at the question. "She's fine. I believe she's looking forward to the trip, unless you no longer wished to go?"

Just a few more blends, and the whole thing is poured into one of the tall glasses used for floats, with a wide straw. Vanilla milkshake with dark chocolate bits and candied orange for a nice citrusy delight. Which she proceeds to sip, because even Clueless-inspired goths can't resist a good milkshake. "Izzy?" She asks, possibly thinking back to the several potential Isabels, Isobels, Azaleas, Isaiahs and who knows what else floating around Grey Harbor. Her eyes slant towards Alexander, "You finally getting an assistant to watch over your network of underground child informants, Mr. Fagin?" Gina might be teasing, except her expression is just -so- deadpan. But it does move into smugly pleased when she has another sip of her milkshake. Mmm. Tasty.

"No. No no no," Harper au contraires Alexander-ward. "It's simply been awhile since we had the conversation and I wondered if I missed a call while doing some research." If Harper has other reasons she thinks Izzy might have gone shopping on her own after all, she doesn't speak them. A wry light touches at Harper's brown eyes. "I'm not usually a requested partner on shopping trips." Because of too many cardigans? Or the bringing-along-of-books? Who can say? The word 'research' holds the tiniest bit of weight, otherwise Harper lets the hint fall away. Gina's Gina-ness earns the former classmate another warm glance before Harper announces, "You turned that soliloquey into a sonnet." With a nod toward the orange-imbued, chocolate chunk shake.

"Oh." Alexander stares at Harper for a long moment. Then jerks his head into a nod. "Good. She likes you. I'm happy that you can go. She has a phone, now. I can give you the number." He takes another sip of coffee, and turns his gaze to Gina. He studies her thoughtfully, before slowly saying, "It would probably be the Baker Street Irregulars. For me. I don't fence stolen items. But now. Isolde is a friend from college who is staying with me for a while." He glances at the shake, then at Gina, and shakes his head before glancing back at Harper. "Research. Yes. Your stained box?"

"Fagin was more interesting as a character than Sherlock. Sherlock kind of sucked as a person, AND he was a know-it-all, which was the point." Gina opines, before smirking at Harper's commentary. "You want one? Special deal since I'm bored. Four bucks." A ding! sounds, and she turns to grab a plate from the kitchen, setting it in front of Alexander. It's simple. Fluffy scrambled eggs, lightly salted, with a slice of toast and a small pile of mixed seasonal vegetables lightly sauteed in butter to one side. "Fagin sucked too, but he was interesting at least. Plus I hear fencing can be pretty lucrative. Missed opportunities for me, I guess." She looks to Harper again, curious, "Stained box?"

Harper is steady under the stare, neither discomfitted nor rising to it one way or another. Long moments are her Thing. The conclusion Al comes to earns him a warm, if sleepy, smile. "It's mutual, then." An uptipping of Harper's brows at the offer of a phone number. "Well, maybe that's why I haven't heard from her. She texted about shopping. I assumed that it was her phone and number." She slides her hand into the pocket of her denim jacket and pulls out her phone, confirming the number with Alexander before putting it back away without so much as a check for texts. Harper leaves Alexander to share the deets on Izzy given as she's, without a doubt, under the man's purview. A network of child informants. So possible, yet so not as much at the same time.

Harper re-rests her chin on those knuckles and blinks a few times slowly, perhaps fighting the battle with fatigue so late (for her) at night. She hadn't actually considered Alexander's involvement in less-than-legal affairs, and seems to find this, or some other, thought fascinating. Enough to open her eyes for, at least. Gina sullies Sherlock's good name and Harper's lips part in an expression of shock and dismay. "Flawed characters," she finally manages to get out. "-- are the best characters." Harper looks to the special shake and back to Gina again, as if determining whether or not to stand up further for her imaginary (and fictional) boyfriend. "Sure. I'll take one." Her hand fishes back into her pocket and all she comes out with is a ten dollar bill. This she sets beside the place where she recently leaned on the counter.

Stained box, stained box.... Harper finally nods to both, incongruous friends at the same time. "Waterlogged and in the pile for clean out. I just had to take one last look. It fell apart when I did, of course. But I found a couple things. Really, those sorts of items in that sort of shape are the most likely to hold the most interesting little crumbs." Maybe she's referring to the library basement and the research she does for work. But Harper is muzzy at best this eveni--morning.

"Not true," Alexander says, with an upward quirk of his brows. "Sherlock Holmes' misanthropy has been significantly exaggerated by the various retellings. He was seen as strange and eccentric for his habits, and arrogant in his attitude, but he was never cruel in the stories, nor even very callous. With clients, he was always polite. With friends, less so - but most people give their friends shit on occasion, or so I am told." It's all very bland - his passions don't appear to be as engaged as those of Harper, even if he spends more words on the defense. "I will also take a milkshake." He confirms the number with Harper and adds, to her, "You may need to remind her." His own money is fished out as he starts on the eggs and veggies. "I like crumbs. When they're crumbs of knowledge, anyway."

"I never said he was cruel or callous. That might even make him more interesting." Gina rolls her eyes, before taking Harper's money and moving to go make another milkshake - even using some of the gifted bittersweet chocolate, too, for that chocolate kick. Whirrrrrrrr. She raises her voice slightly to speak over the blender, "It's worse that he was a smug fuck who was weirdly judgy about stuff not in his field. I can respect a guy who is weirdly obsessive about his passions in life, but not if he starts smack-talking shit I might be into as pointless." It's a quick and tasty concoction, complete with a straw, placed in front of Harper. "I'm all for flaws and shit. But flawed or good-mannered doesn't equal interesting or cool. And interesting isn't really good, either. Just is. Everybody sucks somehow, it's just some suck in ways I don't mind." The Philosophy of Gina, condensed. As for the box, she grabs her milkshake again and has another long sip, thinking, "Huh. Sounds like fun."

The change for the ten, by the way, was set beneath Harper's milkshake. Exact change, even!

Harper listens to Al's Sherlock argument, then dips her chin once. She watches Gina argue back while making the delicious concoction. Mmmm. Candied orange peel. And there's the chocolate, too, of course. "I may be biased, but his arrogance --" in the original books, of course, "-- was charming. His tendency to deduce and choose to ignore others' expertise now and again? I don't think Conan Doyle would have dreamt up so perfect a man, if Sherlock had been more congenial and collaborative. in his endeavors" Ah, Harper's /feelings/ are showing, though not in an adversarial way, oddly enough. Even Gina doesn't get Harper's typical sit-back-and-take-in on this topic. But then, it doesn't sound like she's trying to convince anyone, anyhow. An infatuated little smile touches at her eyes and lips just before she tucks in to that shake, the remaining cash left where it is under its glass. "Mmm. Dellicious. Thank you very much for sharing." It's only after a few swallows of the concoction that she looks over to Alexander and nods to his last. "Not much better in the world, in my book."

Alexander considers Gina's words with all the seriousness of the stoned. Or sleep deprived. He blinks, slowly, a couple of times. "Fair enough. I disagree - I consider cruelty to be worse than smugness, on the scale of people sucking, but opinions vary." He alternates sips of coffee with bites of...late night dinner? Breakfast? Whatever the hell it is. Eating rather mechanically, as if just something to give his hands to do that isn't fidget and fret. He watches the milkshake consumption impassively, but then adds, "Did you find anything appropriate for the delicate ears of Miss Castro?" A flicker, just a flicker, of amusement there.

"Agree to disagree. If you want arrogance done right, The Count is the actual perfect man. Meticulous, handy with cash, persevering, and a mastermind. Perfect man material. Too perfect, obviously, but if we're talking fictional mancandy or top ten men to rub your shamrock to..." Gina shrugs, because they are talking fictional mancandy, at this rate, and she has her preferences. She gives no 'you're welcome' to the thanks, simply accepts them with a nod, but there's a grin at Alexander's question, "Do share if you did. But only if it's appropriate. I'm a delicate hothouse flower."

"Dumas didn't do a terrible job at it, I'll agree with you, Gina. Revenge and 'choosing the right time' and perfectly placed footsteps toward a desired outcome -- there's something to be said for that kind of man." When did this become drool-over-characters night? And is Harper that desperate? Or lonely? Maybe it's just part of the quirky-jagged person a horror-filled life has molded her to be. It also could be all in the name of literature. Sure it could.

Alexander goes there. He asks. This means, over deliciousness, she can answer. "There questionable documents that seemed to show that the Addingtons purchased the Gray Harbor lands from the Baxters at the end of the nineteenth century. But there was something just ... /off/ about it. No funding evidence or notarization that certainly such a document would contain."

Harper pauses, rifling through her sleepy brain without her notes. "There was some indication that the Baxters left town immediately after that, /but/ in the St. Mary's Church history, I found records of a preacher named Lindon Baxter -- this was a few years /after/ the town's incorporation -- and those records suggested that Reverend Lindon Baxter was part of some of the last of the town's witch burnings in the year eighteen-eighty... four, I believe. Only after /that/ did Lindon Baxter move to live in Hoquiam." The nearby town.

Harper, of course, gets a little lost in her recollection, goes on a bit longer than she'd intended and refocuses on Alexander abruptly, her gaze querying. "Not much, but a few more details, some suggestions of possible under-the-table actions, and a bit more on Lindon." A faintly apologetic glance is offered to Gina, then Harper drinks some more of her shake before offering it to Al since he didn't get one.

Alexander thought he was following this conversation, then has to blink a couple of times, and swings his head back and forth. His brow furrows. "Wait. WHICH Count are we talking about, here? I was thinking Sesame Street, but Harper's clearly going literary. I confess I don't find myself wanting to masturbate to either prospect." He focuses on finishing off his eggs while Harper goes into detail about delicious historical facts. "Lindon Baxter. He must be the man in the photo, then." A pause. "Did you find any references to a Bill, Billy, or William?" He skittishly shakes his head at the offer, but tries to soften the rejection with a quick, crooked smile.

"I don't /think/ so, at least ... not that I recall," Harper finally answers the latter question first regarding iterations of 'Bill'. "I presume Gina is referring to 'The Count of Monte Cristo'. But I could be mistaken. By Alexandre Dumas." Harper is startled to a sudden, if brief, fall of laughter at Alexander sharing what he would or would not masturbate to. She simply shakes her head back at him after he declines her offer of dairy-chocolate-orange goodness. She's used to being in the at-arm's-reach zone with Alexander, and seems to enjoy his company no less for it.

Gina smirks, nodding towards Harper when she gets the reference, "Yup. He's bae." Gina deadpans. Or is it deadpanning? Honestly it's hard to tell if she's serious or joking about use of the word 'bae.' "Anyway, does that mean that secretly, the Baxters are the rightful owners of the Addington fortune, except they murdered their way to the top?" A quirk of her lips, amused, "And then Preacher Lindon tried to get everyone burned at the stake for revenge? Respect. Talk about old school. I always knew that old rumor about them having mob ties was true." Again, she's possibly joking. But her interest, at least, is real, as she thinks over the information bits given. "That's some juicy gossip, right there. I feel like I heard a little about the burnings back in High School, but that was whatever."

Alexander makes a thoughtful noise, then looks confused by the sudden burst of laughter. Harper gets a suspicious, narrow-eyed look. But it passes fairly quickly as he considers each of them in turn. "There's a lot that's unknown about the relationship between the Addingtons and the Baxters. But this Reverend Lindon Baxter burned what appeared to be members of his own family, as well as Addingtons and others. So if he was getting revenge, then he was angry at a lot of people." It's said blandly. "Which may be true. But one wonders if that was the start of the strangeness in Gray Harbor, or a reaction to it." A focus on Harper. "So the purchase documents don't exist?"

Gina 'bae's the Count and Harper's eyes sparkle in response. To her theorizing. "It's like some giant soap opera where the bad things actually do hurt you," she agrees in her own way. Founding families entwined. Historical feuds. Mass hysteria and burnings-at-the-stake. The fire incidents may take on a whole new meaning to some. "It's not really gossip, when there's..." Harper regains her hold on Gina-language and smiles. "So much of what's in the high school texts is wrong: it's a travesty of epic proportions." Harper nears the end of her shake with a small shake of her head.

If Alexander's confusion bothers her, Harper doesn't stop to inquire after it. It's when he wonders about cause and effect in terms of these events relating to current happenings in Gray Harbor that Harper murmurs softly, "Exactly. One just needs to figure out where the cart goes in relation to the horse." As for purchase documents she furrows her brow the faintest bit. "It was quite strange, really. Nothing that you'd see involved in that kind of transaction. No signatories, no official marks, seals, or notaries. And no reference to additional documents. At all." Harper seems to be most mystified by this detail than much of the rest.

There's that stuttering, slurpy sound of a straw failing to draw in liquid, as Gina finishes off her milkshake. She fiddles with the straw as she listens, trying to get the last bits of it while she listens to the information junkies compare latest crumbs. And shrugs. "You can't really trust history books. But it's cool to see the scans, even if spelling back in the day sucks balls. The penmanship was on point." A little smile, before she collects her mugs and cups, "Gotta get the numbers done for the day before three AM, though. If you two need anything, I'm sending Pepper out here to watch the counter." Pepper being the young, gangly, mohawked, pierced hooligan who is also known to do fantastic hair and manicures on his break.

"Another researcher was going to try the county seat for those records," Alexander muses. "It might still be useful to go - if you assume the records existed at one time but were destroyed or removed, then whoever did that might not have had the reach to affect the county as well. Or they do, which also tells us something interesting." He rubs at his face. "I should try to sleep. But I'm not sure this current structure is working. Reorganization may be required." That seems to be muttered to himself more than anything else. He stands. "Thank you, Harper. You are invaluable. And you, Miss Castro; it is always interesting." He leaves tab and tip on the table in wrinkled cash, then leaves without further preamble.

"Thanks for the shake, Gina. So good to see you again. Let's not wait four months until next time." Harper leaves the $6 under her shake-glass and slides off her stool. To Alex, "I wouldn't say /invaluable/. But it's nice to be helpful now and then."