2019-06-27 - reductio ad Hitlerum

One of the nice things about Alex's job is that it's not just a normal nine to five. So mid-afternoon on a Thursday? He's totally free to come strolling down the boardwalk. Since he wasn't at work, he's not dressed to the nines, but he's a fucking yuppy, so his shirt is still a button-down and his pants are still Dockers and he still looks like a preppie prick. But at least he's not wearing a tie. Anyway, behind a pair of (probably very expensive) sunglasses, he squints at the FRIED FISH sign, then steps under the awning of it with a mild, "Buenos tardes," and either 'senora' or 'senor,' depending on who runs the place at this time of day. The whole rest of this conversation is in Spanish; "Could I speak to Julia? My name is Alejandro. I'm a - " What, Alex? What is he to Julia? " - friend of a friend."

The slightly chubby Latino girl with her ends died purple and a clear penchant for wearing makeup like Gaiman's Death eyes Alex a moment and looks over her shoulder. "Julia!" she calls out. "Dude named Alejandra is here. Says he wants to talk to you!"

No reply for a moment, and then a shouted reply, "Tell him to go 'round back, thanks Ella."

Ella looks back to Alex, a mild customer service smile on her face. "Just head around to the shack, where the bins are. It's more or less our break area."

Oh, Alex and that composure. He leans his head forward a touch, cocking his chin a little askew, and repeats as if he's not entirely sure he heard correctly, "The bins? Donde..." But never mind, he'll figure that out for himself, with a quick smile of gratitude at the girl with the purple hair and the heavy make-up. (That composure also helps him not look like a judgey prick. Sunglasses, too.)

Hands folding to a loose clasp behind his back, he just wheels on around to wherever these bins are. Like this is fine.

The bins. As in garbage bins. Just like there would be behind the back of any eatery. Fortunately, the bins are also closed, so any garbage smell is curtailed unless one leans right up against them and they're grouped off to the side, carefully labelled for regular garbage and recyclables.

It takes another moment, and then the back door opens. With no makeup, hair in a serviceable ponytail, and wearing cut-offs and a Fried Fish tee shirt complete with mermaid logo, Julia steps out. She strips off the clear plastic gloves she'd been wearing, and unavoidably, as she nears him she brings the smell of the fryer with her.

Rolling up the little gloves into a ball, she heads to the bins, lifts one of the lids and tosses them in before walking up to him, hands going to her hips. "Yeah?" she says warily by way of greeting.

Yeah, it doesn't exactly come as a surprise to Alex that there are garbage bins back here, but it's clearly not his usual haunt. They may be closed and tidy and whatever, but still; he gives them a wide berth, hands staying clasped behind him so there's no chance he might accidentally... brush up against anything gross.

Again, he's a fucking snob.

Her 'greeting' earns his brow-quirk, visible above the frames of his glasses, but he's not going to be deterred. "Hello, Julia. I'm sorry to bother you at work, but I didn't know how else to get in touch with you." Polite and patient against her wariness.

Let's be clear: Julia is calm. But she also doesn't like Alex, and she doesn't bother hiding the fact that she doesn't like Alex. Her tone isn't necessarily hostile, but nor is it friendly. "What do you want?" Perhaps it's best called matter-of-fact.

Since he's the one that's come-calling, Alex makes sure to keep his tone and turns of phrase wholly polite. There's definitely a stand-offishness in his posture, and it's not like he's all huggycuddling up to Julia, but she called that question pretty well: he wants something, so he can play nice. "I need your help. Something happened to Violet," and to Alex but he leaves that off, ahem. "Involving Alice. I need to know more about the facility where the two of you were, please."

At the word that something happened to Violet, her eyes go a little white with worry, which turns into alarm at the further mention of it involving Alex. "Are they okay?" she asks, her concern overriding her disdain for the man in front of her. But then he asks about the facility, and her gaze narrows again. Her expression becomes pinched and painful, and for a moment she regards him with visible conflict in her expression, hands at her sides and curling into fists.

I don't trust you. Not just because you're a narcissistic asshole and a snob, but because that night in the bar, you used your magic to actually try to hurt me. And you chose to say the most painful thing you possibly could to me, and used defending your girlfriend as an excuse to cause that pain. And you know what, I think you enjoyed it. You want to point and say I was being mean to your girlfriend, but even Violet says she understood why I got upset, and at least my anger had a fair reason. You acted out of malice. And if that's going to happen with someone random, what's going to keep you from going for your sharpest weapon when Violet does something to piss you off? You go for the throat. You may not be able to help yourself. So I don't trust you."

Lifting her chin, and eyeing him squarely, her hands stay on her hips. "I do believe you care about Violet. I don't know if that's love or obsession, and it's not my job to police your relationship, but if you want me to talk about some exceedingly painful memories after your obvious willingness to go for maximum damage, you're going to let me do one thing to reassure myself that you're for real. And you won't ask me what it is, or why I did it. I may decide to tell you, depending on how the rest of the conversation goes."

Well, so much for patient and polite. English-speaking Alex is conscientiously polite, with the infrequent curse-words. But Spanish-speaking Alex? He doesn't mince words. When she's said her piece, here's his: "I said horrible things to you, because you were being a bitch, and someone needed to put you in your fucking place. Other people may permit you to talk to them like that, but I am not other people, and I will not tolerate your childish bullshit where it concerns me and mine." They're getting along so well~

There's no argument from him about what he may or may not have intended to hurt in the bar that night, just the sunglasses peeled off his face for now, because Alex is a guy that loves him some eye contact. He makes some, assuming Julia's not shrinking from it. Crisply, "What? What do you need to do to reassure yourself?" Before his hands tuck back behind him, he holds them out to his sides, like: here, take your shot, lady, he's wide open for it.

Did she not just tell him he wasn't going to ask what it is? She doesn't have any problem going eye to eye with him, but what she does next might be unexpected. She digs into her back pocket, producing a compact. It looks antique, with bronze filigree on the top. One could imagine some classy lady from the 1930's using the compact and one of those fluffy poof brushes to powder her face.

And then Julia does the oddest thing. She turns her back on him, opens the compact, and looks for all the world like she's checking herself in the mirror. Except she's not. It may or may not be obvious, but she's actually looking at Alex's reflection. Why? For reasons.

It's fine. She can do whatever thing she needs to do that Alex obviously finds fucking crazy, he'll just stand here with his hands refolded behind his back, sunglasses having been dropped into his breast pocket. And in that reflection? He looks... normal.

Like, 90% normal.

You know how sometimes the sun will dart behind a cloud on a sunny afternoon? That's our Alex. When he lifts challenging brows at Julia, shifting his stance with impatience in the small rearrangement of his posture? That shadow comes-and-goes. But the rest of the time, he just has a normal person's normal reflection.

Turning back to him, Julia's expression is neutral. "You know you've got a shadow that goes along with you, right? Every time you give in to your nastier emotions, it latches onto you so it can feed. Now you know for sure it's there, and you can keep it in mind the next time you feel like you want to go for someone's vitals." Her expression softens...albeit only a little. "But I don't think you're in league with it. Try to keep it that way."

Her arms fold over her chest, and she asks bluntly, "What do you want to know?"

Sarcastic Alex so rarely gets to come out, normally just allowed to say 'interesting' and then forced to STFU. "Really? Good to know. I'm extremely interested in your philosophical opinion of my psyche, Julia. Thank you for sharing." He's irritated. It's showing. Rabble rabble. "Where is it? What is it called? It's like this place is fucking imaginary." Which is probably why he's so irritated, and he's just taking it out on Julia. BAD ALEX.

Julia rolls her eyes. Mother of God," she mutters, and then looks back at him. "No, you idiot. This isn't me analyzing you. I am telling you, there are actual, sentient manifestations that are like...like those smaller fish that attach themselves to sharks, and feed on them. Psychic parasites. And they think people who do what we can do are the biggest, juciest sharks, which is why they go for us more than anyone. And when you can see them, if you don't know any better like say a kid, you tell people and they think you're crazy. Which is what happened to me. And to Alice. And I am fucking telling you, Alejandro, the Blessed Virgin as my witness, you've got one on you like you're the banquet table at a quinces."

That being said, "No one's going to be able to tell you the name. No one's going to be able to tell you exactly where it is, or the names of the employees. Because it's way more sinister than that. It's run by people who are in league with those things, because they figure if they can throw someone else to the darkness, they'll be left alone." She starts to pace back and forth. "I can tell you that it's somewhere in Northern Washington, but they never let us outside so I can't say how far. I can recall the color of the walls, some of the layout, from when me and Alice and Hannah used to sometimes sneak away. I can remember some of what they did to me. But they kept as drugged for as long as they could, to keep us from trying to get out. To keep us in despair."

"Can the psychic parasites tell me the name of the mystery asylum?" So at least we can all see why Alex might be easy pickin's. The impatient, snippy little tone behind that question cares far less about these vampire-thingies than about solving this tangible problem. While Julia paces, Alex stays standing where he is, watching her with the movement of his eyes without changing the angle of his head at all.

And okay. Maybe there's compassion there, too, because - all evidence to the contrary - he's not a full-fledged monster. "I'm sorry for what happened to you," and means that. "But I can't solve the past. I need to know more. How old were you when you were sent there? What was the name of the doctor that referred you there? What was your diagnosis? What drugs were they giving you? Do you remember any of the names of the doctors there?" All these questions come out rapid-fire, rat-tat-tat, one right on the heels of the other.

If he doesn't understand how it all ties together, she can't drill it into his skull. So Julia focuses on the questions she can answer. "Our family doctor was Dr. Kovacz. I remember being taken to specialists too, but not any of their names, it's kind of a blur. But he was our primary. I was diagnosed with schizophrenia," she continues, and gives a run down of the drugs she was initially given in that stage of her development. Anti-psychotics, thorazine for controlling hallucination, medications for anxiety, ADHD and bi-polar disorder. Either her parents were incredibly abusive, or desperate to help her and were at wits' end. "Once they got me to the asylum, everything becomes incredibly vague. My clearest memories are when I was with Alice and Hannah." Again, it's the three of them. "Some of the things the did...I remember something going in my mouth, and then it was like my brain was on fire."

They electrocuted her. Possibly more than once.

Honestly, leaving Alex to think he already knows everything already is the easiest conversational path, so yeah. Good choice there. 😃

The cocktail of anti-psychotics has Alex's eyebrows lifting, surprise writ large for a beat or two. "So Kovacz referred you to a specialist, and the specialist sent you to the hospital? Do you remember if the specialist was at the hospital? Or did he have his own practice somewhere?"

"Kovacz referred me to multiple specialists. A psychiatrist - more than one, a child psychologist, an endocrinologist, a neurologist, I think they even tried acupuncture." The last makes Julia huff, but it comes out quite bemused. "I honestly don't remember when the decision was made or who made it. I don't even remember the trip to the asylum. I think my parents were instructed to drug me before I was taken from my house and brought there. I woke up one morning in the girls' ward."

She starts to shudder a bit. This is difficult, not only fighting for scraps of memory, but also bringing the associated emotions into the present. Julia's gaze loses direction for a moment. When she speaks again, it's with a furrowed brow, like pulling the memory from her mind is sandpaper grating against skin.

"One time, we managed to sneak out onto the property. It was nighttime...there was...there was a graveyard. I remember one of them. Um...Daniel? No, William. William Grohl, with a date of 1927." She swallows hard and says, "Look, I need to - is this enough for now? Because if I keep pushing to remember out here, I'm going to lose my shit. I need a break." She is, after all, being asked to relive some traumatic stuff.

No, it's not enough. The growly noise of irritation in Alex's nose is enough to answer for that, and the tight working of his jaw while those dark eyes continue to hang expectantly from Julia for a while longer. At length, after staring at her like he's waiting for her to lose her shit right this second, he finally answers, "I guess it has to be enough for now, doesn't it." An impatient series of gestures see the sunglasses going back on, and he starts looking back over his shoulder, away from the dumpsters, toward the nice, clean air of the Boardwalk proper.

"I'm sorry to have to ask you about all this," he tacks on. Like he means it but still, it was obviously an afterthought. "If you see," he hesitates a beat, then says the name in English in the middle of all this Spanish, "Alice. Tell Violet about it." Beat. "Please."

"What do you mean, see Alice?" Julia asks in confusion, and then asks another question with a hopeful tone. "Did she get out?"

"I mean, if you see Alice." Alex slows it down a little, in the way of someone that's spent a lotta time talking in Spanish to people who aren't able to keep up with his comfortably rapid-fire cadence. "Tell Violet about it." Like, wtf was not clear about that?! As for if she got out: "I don't know. I think so. Something happened. I'm trying to get in touch with the facility to confirm if she got out," he gives her a look, like he finds that term stupid, "but since the place is a fucking apparition, it's been a bit of a difficulty."

"Oh my god, that's the last thing you should do. That's like telling the Nazis Anne Frank's up in the attic." And she's reached her quota for dealing with Alex for the day. "If I see her, I'll call Violet - as long as Alice doesn't give me a reason why I shouldn't."

"Hm? Was Anne Frank notorious for breaking into people's houses and scrawling ominous messages in blood?" That's where Alex will leave the invocation of Godwin's Law. He looks at her briefly over the tops of his sunglasses for that last clause, and it's pretty obvious that he's thinking some seriously hateful things at Julia right this second, but at least he doesn't blurt them all out at her pissily. Just a tight, "Thank you for your help, Julia. I'm sorry to put you off your day."

He's just going to stroll off now, managing not to look like some sort of sketchy mofo that hangs out by the dumpsters.

"Alice, the real Alice, would never do that." Julia whispers after he walks away, and with a shudder turns to go back into the shack. It's official; standing in front of a fryer is infinitely more pleasant than a conversation with Alex.