2019-07-11 - Attachment Disorders

After Byron sent a guy and they caught up some in texts during the afternoon, Lilith got a customer and had to put the phone down for a while. He had a meeting to get back to anyway. The guard guy shows up and hangs around kind of close to her behind the counter with his own chair, which isn't the same as having other people do it. But! Lilith isn't being weird about it. It does give her the feeling of working in a pawn shop in an inner city where they keep security guards on hand, and given it's a cash heavy business, people might not even really bat a lash.

Carver is either out around the building smoking or in the back napping, more than like, for the time being. Lilith herself looks... fascinatingly better. Is she wearing makeup, though? No. She isn't, really. Maybe some flush of gloss or chapstick, but that's about it. She's still got the injuries healing, which includes knitting bruised gash from steering impact over her brow, but the shadows aren't hung under her eyes, she's focused, lively even if her body is still ginger, and there's pretty hale color in her cheeks with that naturally pretty glow genetics blessed her with. And that other more disasterous glow, but that's always there.

It's evening now and the shop's been pretty slow, Lilith is thinking about closing up while doing online order label printing for packages to make a stack. She's wearing a pretty ivory sundress and lacing sandals, simple enough, but light and airy to kind of set the whole picture of her mood/state of existance for the day, considering. But Byron is due at any time, so it's not worth getting up to lock things yet.

The luxurious black Wraith rolls smoothly into the parking area of the pawn shop. After some time in the shop, it looked impeccable once more. Spotting the company vehicle of the security contractor that he'd hired, Byron pulls on into a spot beside the red car. Giving the other vehicle a careful look, before letting his gaze sweep over what's left of the cars in the lot, he finally decides to make his exit, the beep of his car alarm being set clearly heard.

Having changed out of his business wear, as that's what he'd been wearing all day, he's dressed in form-fitted long-sleeved gray shirt and a pair of jeans. Motorcycle boot on his feet.

Nichols, the guy he'd hire to watch over Lilith stands at attention when his client enters. "Nothing to report here. Like I'd said the last time you checked in." The security guy informs the boss.

This is responded to with a single nod, Byron not really paying the other man much attention, but he offers a pleased, "Good. Thanks. Instead of heading back to the Apartments for the last couple of hours of your shift, take the rest of the evening off." No, Byron's attention is on Lilith. After the week she's had, he doesn't quite trust that nothing had happened at all this whole time. As both men cross paths, one making his exit, Byron continues further into the shop.

"Hey. You okay?" He quietly observes Lilith, taking note that she's still bandaged up, but other than that, she seems to be looking better at least.

"Yeah. I'm still feeling okay. I almost forget to look over my shoulder or up at the ceiling every fifteen minutes, now, too. I've gotten a lot done, it's been... nice." Lilith tells Byron with a quick flash of smile that comes and goes with genuine form for the likes of him, calling after the departing guy, "Thanks, killer." He may be hired and may not have been the best conversationalist, but she was busy anyway, and it's just kind of polite after spending a few hours with someone watching your back to say goodbye in some gracious fashion. Kind of like when the waitress brings you a glass of water, initially.

The woman upnods the door some indicatively after the man walks out with his evening off, asking of Byron as she somewhat carefully rises from seating behind the counter and computer into a stand to start stretching one arm, then the other over her head with tiny flex of back, as if sitting in the same place for so long has taken a toll on her. She's not a hundred percent, afterall. And the mid-thigh skimming hem of her dress shows a pretty hefty bandaging edge sticking out. But she's putting weight on both feet now, not so heavily favoring or limping on one, "Do me a favor and get the door lock, think we're just going to go to window-buzz requests for the night now. How'd the actual meeting go? Did you charm them out of being too rattled?"

She may be all chipper and the paleness to her features seem to be gone, but Byron is still skeptical that everything is alright. Even after she's tasked him with locking the place down, there's this moment that he spends just watching her, uncertain if she was going to slip off of the chair she'd been seated in or, otherwise, having part of the ceiling collapse upon her head. "You look better." Finally, he turns to do as she'd asked, all the while giving the shop a look-over. The last time he was here, chaos ensued, and that was a lot to clean up.

Working all the locks on the door and turning the sign to CLOSED, he says sounding more than a little annoyed, "When there's a murder in a building, one located in what was supposed to be a secure gated community, people are going to be rattled. They want to know how the murderer got in and how they got out. Like I said, some probably think the murderer is still among us. One of the tenants in the building." Once the door is secured, he wanders back over, hands in his pockets, "I'll need to have a sit down with each and every one of them. In part, it's my way of interrogating them... politely."

There's a few small, sympathetic clicks of her tongue for Byron, not the poor rattled tenants or dead in all this, because honestly, everything going on, he could have really done without. Her arms drop and she walks around the counter, "Of course they do. But it was good and smart of you to arrange a meeting like that. The masses can be calmed by believing someone has a firm hand on matters, or at least the assurances and appearance of such things. Can't imagine it's pleasant. But you have that in you, you always have when you go turning it on."

When she gets around to the other side where Byron is, she tilts her head and offers quite deadpan with a few generous bats of her lashes, "I have a husky, fine guard dog, do you want me to send him over to patrol for clues?" Dog.

"Aw, Puppies. Something came along and rattled their gilded cage?" That voice would most definitely not belong to Carver, even though it comes from the doorway to the back of the shop. Lilith's met the source of it, although Byron has yet to have the pleasure.

Closing the door behind her, even though it never actually opened in the first place, comes Melissa. Teenage. British. Possibly a nightmare made real. It's a lazy outfit she's kitting out in today, a black tank with 'HOLIDAY IN CAMBODIA' scrawled across it in a flaking-from-age iron-on transfer, and a red and grey plaid shirt tied just above her hips in lieu of a belt to hold up a pair of ratty-as-hell looking jeans. The cuffs of said jeans cut off a little high on her shins, coming nowhere close to an unlaced pair of hiking boots. She's over-done the makeup, too. Hints of blue and purple clash eyeshadow clash against pale skin, but actually match up pretty well with the dyed streak that runs through dark hair.

There's your introduction, Byron. Embrace it. She's even pouting at the guy with such force it's a miracle she's not balled her hands up in fists to rub away faux tears. Lilith? Lilith gets little more than a quick glance, a confused look, and a hand spreading out to indicate the pawn shop as a whole. "Okay. Where's hunky cop, and where's tank security? Did I black out again?"

And then a beat. And her eyes widen. So wide. "YOU HAVE A DOG?!"

"Not when the Police Captain I invited couldn't confirm that the murderer was not a tenant in the building." Byron flatly states, that annoyance still evident in not only his tone but, also, by the expression on his face. "That's what brought about more questions about it." His hands still tucked deeply within his pockets, his shoulders lift into raise, "I did what I could. I amped up security, added new patrol routes and I'll probably be needing to have all of my cameras checked. Something's setting them on loop for whatever reason."

With all that venting out of the way, there's this blank look on his face when Lilith brings up the husky at first, but he finally breaks out into an amused smile at the absurdity of it all. That is until an unfamiliar voice can be heard from the back room. "Is... someone else here?" He asks, eyes flickering to Lilith, before he makes his way towards the back and to the sound of that voice. Then she shows up. A teenage girl, looking like someone who stepped out of some 80's punk magazine. One hand lifts, being placed before Lilith as a protective measure. He doesn't shy away from staring at her, still trying to make heads or tails of it all. Maybe it's the accent that tips him off. Either way, he murmurs, "You're Carver's sister?" The ghost.

"I have a training dog." Lilith tells Melissa pretty off the cuff considering it's a ghost. Honestly, her eyes widen and she jumps some, considering the way things have been lately, but she's not full alarm for some reason. She's had her glimpses and little moments and maybe some running off and on commentary here and there from outside source with Carver around so much at length. She kind of didn't mention that to Byron, it wasn't worth getting into beyond when she mentioned it about the initial meeting. Maybe she should have given him more heads up. Thanks Lil.

"It's stuffed. It's this thing. Inside joke. And hunky cop is hunking at cop things. Uh. So this is Byron. And this is Melissa." Are you suppose to make formal introductions in a moment like this? Maybe! Mostly, she's watching him to see how he reacts, and when he catches on, she nods some even though the sister is clearly able to speak for herself. She flits eyes between the pair and gives him a moment to acclimate. Also it's still kind of weird for her too.

"Oh." Melissa's face drops for just a second, and she actually goes as far as to scuff her boot across the floor in disappointment. "I like dogs." She follows up, stepping forward when the introduction happens. It's not to offer out a hand, or even a nod of the head. Instead, she starts walking around the pair, rolling her eyes a little at the hand Byron raised so instinctively. She's sizing him up; That much is instantly obvious, what with the tilting of her head from side to side, the slightly-too-long lingering gaze that hangs on his jawline, the form that his shirt fits around, and how his ass looks in the pair of jeans.

In that order.

In fact, she's still casting a judgmental look at that last one when she speaks up again. "Ally's not a huge fan of them here. Thinks they can be a little boring." Like this is the most casual conversation in the world. Which, considering her life? It's probably one of the more normal ones.

Byron has been pulled into dreams before. He's faced everything from giant gillamonsters with a Gilligan's Island flavor, to people who should stay dead. Like his father. He'd met his father in a dream and he wasn't a ghost. This, however. This was different, but Byron's not entirely sure whether this is reality or not either now.

His dark eyes remain level on her, staring intensely at her. He follows her movements, even as she begins to circle them, catching sight of her from out of the corner of his eyes, then turning slightly to not lose track of her. Lilith's having such a normal conversation, which is something that starts to soothe those nerves of his, setting them at ease. "Dogs? Boring? Where's Carver's heart?" Calmed enough to make a little joke, though you can hear the tension still lingering in his voice.

"His preferences probably lie with devil cats that have part time jobs as a witch familiar. Don't get me wrong, I'd take a cat as much as I'd take a dog. They're cute and soft and they purr." Lilith watches Melissa circle around Byron for the full survey (which she imagines was done much more subtle the last time she had a male visitor) and she watches him react in back and forth turns. The woman seems a bit humored, and she is keeping conversation pretty easy, though one hand comes out to rub over his forearm with brush of contact grazing.

Then she wonders of Melissa, "Quite fine specimen, mm? It's better without the pants." Lilith's eyes swap back to Byron with a rampant little spark of humor and a bit of an expression laid over her features that says she just had to take that moment of chip in, "Are you feeling objectified yet?"

"He bloody well should be. I've practiced this for years." Melissa mutters, clicking her tongue one last time at the sight, then throwing a quick wink in Lilith's direction. Don't think that little hand brushing wasn't noticed. Actually, it's really hard to think it wasn't, considering the eyebrow waggle that follows up the wink. "And his heart's in his chest. Where it's supposed to be. Last time he met a dog-" She begins, flowing back and forth on conversation topics like time and social norms are a mere guideline as she leaves the two to their own devices and head for the main counter. "-it had most of the skin missing and breath that smelled like a slaughterhouse offal bin. Aunt Sally's Bichon Frise seems like a fuckin'-"

There's a pause as she begins to body her way over the counter, sliding forward and halfway over it so that she can peer, upside-down, at the contents behind it. For a ghost, it's all very... physical.

"-Joke in comparison, y'know?" The voice sounds a little strained from the effort. And there's a pause. "Lily-pants? You got any hard candies behind here? Or just a heavy-as-fuck tin? Either'll do."

He'll have to put his trust in Lilith who is having the most casual of conversations with this spirit. If Byron were feeling objectified, those emotions are hidden away behind a layer of distrust and wariness. Lilith's comment doesn't help the matter, though, and he can feel this slightly embarrassed burn at his cheeks, but he takes the compliment in stride. "Are you ladies done yet?" The once or thrice over was one thing, but Lilith's chiming in adds far more fuel that is necessary to the fire.

There's something fascinating about this whole thing with the ghost. And something dreadful as well. Though he's ever attentive to note what Lilith is doing and where she's positioned, less she trip over something, Byron's eyes continue to very openly observe the young spirit. Perhaps, it's rude of him to ask, but there's just something that he needs to know. "How does one become a ghost? Is it something out of your control or do you get to choose?"

"I'm done, yes, now that I've thrown the have-they-or-haven't-they into the air for kicks." Lilith seems to almost be in delightful form when compared to the past week, quick with the comeback and it might be that Melissa's demeanor in general is a bit of a contagion for her. That brush over the arm, though, it's less about petting him and more about giving him something solid about the literal experience with what's ethereal, in a sense, despite her ribbing. And her eyes are a little less matching the rib when they move back up to regard his face, softened a touch instead to match the tiny slant of smile she balms on after mess-talking.

After a moment of considering Melissa's request, she moves over to get her purse with cautious lean so she doesn't hit her head (it's habit for now) from under the counter and she hands out a tin of peppermint altoids like a box of bullets. She even ticks it open first, because she's not sure that the ghost can do that, but we'll see how this goes. She's actually looking a little eager and curious to make the exchange with the dead, because it's a material item. Her backhanded curiosity becomes more forward on her features when Byron poses the questions, as well, because these seem like things to know.

"How-" Melissa grunts, leaning up to place her palms on top of the counter and pull herself back. It's just enough that she's not back and standing, but can at least turn her head to look at Byron like he's an idiot. Don't take it personally, she's not used to people asking questions that actually make sense. "-the fuck would I know? How were you born? Do you remember choosing? Or was it a spur-of-the-moment impulse that you had no control over?"

And she actually pauses for a moment, as if to let him answer, when she's completely distracted by the altoids tin. "Ooh!" That gets her standing proper, pulling down the hem of her tank top from where it slid up in her dismount from the counter. Sure, Lilith gets a touch of the ol 'Really?' expression when she reaches out to take the tin from her hand, in exactly the physical way you'd expect anyone else to. She even snaps down the lid. "I'll lob the whole tin, hon. I've tried waking him up with Jolly Ranchers before, but that only had any clout when I got him right in the eye." Her grin turns a touch wicked at the memory, and there's a little puff of air from her lips to blow a fallen strand of hair from her face.

"What I don't get..." She starts, stepping back for a moment to throw her glance between the two of them, and going as far as to toss the tin up in to the air for a moment and catch it again, her other hand resting down on her hip. "Is you two acting like this is a rarity." There's a furrowing of the brows in genuine confusion, if you look hard enough. "I mean, this town's haunted as fuck."

Just those words, 'Have-they-or-haven't-they', reminds Byron of something that was brought up in conversation recently. It brings back a torrent of memories, past and present. Feeling Lilith's gentle touch against his arm does help to get him grounded somewhat, but it does bring his attention to her now. It looks as if he may say something, but he'll save it for another time. They had company and in his mind, a stranger at that.

Byron had a feeling that this would be Melissa's response, looking almost relieved by it. "So, you didn't will yourself to come back? You weren't angry and full of rage or... full of sorrow that you felt that you needed to be back here?" These are all important questions to him, the way that he asks them. There's this sense that he really just wants to make sure that he understands the whole process.

The exchange between Lilith and the ghost is informative at best. He, too, didn't expect that a ghost could touch anything. So witnessing Melissa's not only slamming the candy tin closed, but picking it up as well comes as a huge surprise. The question, however, has his own brows furrowed. "This town is full of many things that we don't understand. Dreams, shadow men. Now ghosts. It's difficult to separate what is a dream and what is reality at times." There's a lift of his shoulders, "I, personally, have never encountered a spirit. I've encountered so many other things, but not a ghost. Not that I can remember. " It's his turn to rest, leaning his frame against the counter.

"I guess that's a pretty fair explanation. And hey, it's been awhile. Besides, people see what they want to see, don't you know. Until they just can't anymore, I suppose. But mostly, I never stopped to have a conversation with any of them, or had them, you know, in my personal abode as accepted company. Since I've been back around, 'instances' are more along the lines of things that like to try to kill me." Lilith tells Melissa a bit defensively with a little sniff aloud before the 'whole tin' idea for lobbing notches inside. She suddenly realizes what making that exchange of mints means in regards to a certain someone and she quietly huffs out a half laugh with some approval, head tilting a tiny bit as the tin tosses up and down. She thinks about that a moment, then blinks a few times out of trying to logic anything.

After stealing a glance at the office door, she takes a moment to check her phone shortly after it buzzes, types in a text and puts it back down on the counter. The woman's hand lifts when freed, knocking back through her dark hair with saunter back close to Byron's side. Lilith may be feeling better and things have been fine, but she likes to be right there in his personal bubble as a just in case, it seems, for the time being. It's just better for their respective peace of mind for the moment given hell week.

Melissa looks over at Byron. It's a slow little motion, with only her head moving to lock eyes with him as her expression flattens out to something more neutral than her usual, easy, casual smile. Thinking about it, that casual smile is very similar to the normal expression Carver wears, but she does it far, far better. Anyway, eye-contact made, she holds it for a moment, and then just shrugs. "Maybe! I don't know. It was..." The tin rotates in her hand a little, spinning it around on a couple of fingers as she ponders. "A weird day for everyone." How's that for a helpful answer?

And then Lilith mentions things trying to kill her, and it couples up with Byron's comment on separating dreams from reality. Her upper lip purses out for a second as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, a tongue running over her teeth beneath the tissue(?) there as she considers her next words carefully. Well, she considers Carver's reaction to knowing she said her next words carefully. Judging by the little wince, it's probably not going to be a great one. "You two..." It's soft. There's little sign of her usual overly-casual tone. Or sass. Or belligerence. Her boots pad towards that office door. "You still consider them different things. Dreams. Reality." Her free hand touches the handle of the door, and she turns back with a somewhat sad smile, jerking her hand behind her roughly in the direction of where Carver is probably asleep in the other room. The contents of the tin rattle as she does so. "Whenever you think he's being weird, do us both a real big favour and remember it's all just reality to him, okay?"

Byron had this need to know what makes a ghost. Even now, as he studies Melissa's corporeal form, the way she moves or how alive she may look, compared to what one would believe a ghost to look like, he has a million thoughts racing through his mind. There's this intensity within his eyes when they meet with hers and it's easy to tell that he has many questions ready to be asked, despite the neutral expression that he wears like a mask.

His lips part, as he's about to speak, but he soon quiets to hear what the ghost had to say. His gaze will follow where she goes, watching her reach the office door, hand resting upon the handle. Though it's the words that really stick with him. There's this look of uncertainty that comes over him now, that serious expression still lingering. He has opinions on all of this, of course. Wasn't he the boy in school who, supposedly, didn't judge others for who they were? How much truth was there in that? There's no comment made, his eyes drifting from Melissa to look on Lilith now, to gauge her reaction to the warning.

"When you place a permeable solid into a liquid, it needs time to dissolve. When you mix liquids, they need time to diffuse. And when it's done, you rarely get that solid or separate state back." Lilith is very quiet before speaking, the pause there thick when Melissa is finished with the warning in regards to things and Carver's own general perception. While Byron leans, she's not hanging on him or anything, she's just hanging right unnaturally close nearby before those words, but after a long look at him when she's spoken on what seems to be their own explanation or behalf, she steps around a bit behind him as he is posed with lean on the counter.

When there, Lilith leans forward some against his back and arm, setting her chin to watch what comes next in regards to that tin of altoids, but she's not so easy with conversation at all now. It's a pretty reflective statement and maybe some sense of self-reflection spoken aloud. And she kind of wants to be reminded she's solid, for some reason.

Melissa shifts her weight from one foot to the other once more, her face turning from Byron and his silence to Lilith and her interesting and possibly accurate summary of things. But, you know, just because it's accurate, it doesn't mean that there's not a ghost staring at her for a couple of seconds like she's the crazy one.

"Oh-kay." Her tongue clicks, and she pulls down on the handle of the door. Once more, it both opens, and doesn't. It's a little hard to explain, and a touch harder to comprehend. To say 'A ghost of a door' opens wouldn't be entirely incorrect.

That Altoids tin is cocked behind her head, ready to throw when she does it, and she disappears as easily as walking into the next room, muttering something about glass houses and thrown stones.

About thirty seconds later, there's the sound of metal colliding with a sleeping man's skull, and a muffled "Whatthafuck?!" from the other room.

It's rude to stare, but Byron does just that. Even with her hand on the knob, there's a point where he's expecting her to just pass through the wall as if she were a gh--. Then it happens and it's a little difficult to determine how it's happening. This door, is there a copy of it in the spirit world or the dreaming? He's not quite sure what the difference is, if there is any, between the two. Once she passes through onto the other side, he just continues to stare, blinking once at the whole thing.

Turning his tall frame to face Lilith's direction, while he's still leaning against the counter, his eyes finally lift to find hers, "Does she visit often?" He was told about Carver's sister, but he thought it was a one-time thing. "And what she said about Carver," This is when his gaze lowers, his eyes once more fixated on the door, "About everything being reality to him. That's... look, I won't say concerning."

The surprised and annoyed voice from the other room is then heard, "But it is interesting how he sees the world."

"It's scary because... it's what we could become. The laws of what's agreed on as real or imagined all die, immersed like we are. We're the only animal who cares about those rules. And it's exactly why human beings go mad." Lilith has apparently put some thought into this prior to now and as Byron shifts to turn in his leaning watch of the door and her in turns, she straightens out of her own lean on him. Her voice is a little lowered, her features are sober with reflection, and it doesn't get a lot of time before the sound comes from the other side of the door where a Carver of the male variety appears to be having a rude awakening.

Knocking a hand back through her hair, she stops looking at the door where the ghost kind of opened-didn't-open it to get through and back at Byron once the noise sounds from the other side. Then she reaches a hand to fast grip curl her fingers around some of his where it rests with squeeze and small smile of assurance. It's silent after her dire reflection, but in a sense, when combined with tiny smile of brief reassurance, it's like her telling him it won't happen to them. They have each other to remind each other what's 'real' in the middle of all the wrong, despite how many degrees of reality may differ for them now. It'll be okay, right?

"She... is around here and there. Mostly just skulking in peripheral or I hear them kind of talking. That or she's running smart ass commentary." A pause, "One day I should wake him up... nicely. Biscuits and hot tea or something British." She doesn't sound all that inclined, though, because there's a twitch of Lilith's lips when she looks back at the door, expecting a good bust out. It's funnier when he wakes up this way. Then suddenly she frowns while considering the general presence of Melissa... and how she's maybe noticed the presence even when Carver isn't around. Huh.

Alas, there's no grumpy-looking British man bursting out from the back room. There's a little more muffled swearing from two different voices, and then an even lower-volume muttered conversation. It goes back and forth for a little while, even as the conversation between Byron and Lilith continues.

There's also a definitive groan from the male of the two, as well as something that sounds like "Jesus Christ", muted by walls and a door. That'd be Melissa talking about Byron's ass, Then. Or insulting Carver. It's pretty hard to tell.

Listening to Lilith's philosophical take on ghosthood, there's still a lot of questions which Byron wants answers for, but they will have to wait. "Is it really that bad?" He'll settle on that one. "She gets to be with her brother. Pop in and out at whim. She can pick things up like anyone else." Then there's a thought that suddenly comes to mind, "Can she be touched?" His chin lifts, attention pulled from the closed door to peer up at Lilith, "Have you seen them... hug it out yet?"

Feeling the soft touch of Lilith's small hand press down against him brings a smile to his lips. A small one. "You're making me nervous right now, sitting up there on the counter. The last time you were on a counter..." He won't continue with that train of thought. "For your sake, I really hope that the curse or bad juju is gone."

His voice lightens, even as the argument continues on on the other side of that door, "And here I was about to try and find a four-leaf clover for you. Or cut a rabbit's foot off for you." The son of God's name is then spoken loudly and that brings out a bit of laugh from Thorne. "See, being a ghost doesn't seem too terrible. Not as terrible as it is for the one being haunted."

"Mm. Maybe it's not so bad. I guess you'd have to ask her how it actually feels or doesn't feel at all. But I was more talking about what seems to have in part happened to Carver's general sanity and perception. Touched, though... I think I mostly see her interact with objects when she wants to make physical contact. She seems to like your ass, I bet she'd let you touch her if it were possible." Lilith tells Byron thoughtfully before slipping to stand on her own right nearby instead of leaning or propped, just in case given he goes mentioning falling through the glass case.

They took her little knee stitches out before putting more into her at the thigh after her wreck, seems. She's never explained the what or how of what that thigh bandage has been concealing because it was screwy. And too damn close to certain arteries for her liking, at that.

Instead of perching, propping, or leaning, Lilith loops her arms about Byron's midsection after looking a little disappointed there's no real fireworks from a sleep-addled and grumpy Brit guy as yet and tacks on a hugging squeeze there next she suddenly feels is long overdue, "Thanks for thinking about breaking and mutilating bunnies for me. And everything else. I'm kind of a pain in the ass." It's not quite an apology for that pain in the ass thing, but it's a whole lot of gratitude.

Alas. Carver lives to disappoint. God knows what Melissa lives for, but it's probably for the best the two in the main shop front have no idea either. There's the slowly rising and lowering lyrical lilt of an argument between two people far too used to bickering as a regular occurrence, footsteps eventually padding across the floor towards the door as the volume of the conversation actually becomes easily loud enough to hear for a second or two. It's Carver's voice that becomes predominant.

"-If she's doing alright, we'll leave them to it. Not ready for that, yet. Burgers?"

Melissa is replying in affirmation as the door handle actually jiggles for a moment, the sound of the internal mechanisms sliding open as the two voices Sʟᴏᴡʟʏ... ғᴀᴅᴇ... ᵃʷᵃʸ

"Ahh." Byron says, realizing what her response is regarding. "Do you think the touched are the ones most likely to have a ghost attached to them? To be haunted?" He's openly trying to piece together all of these bits of information in his mind. It's not difficult to tell that the idea of ghosts both fascinates and troubles him all the same. Then Lilith goes mentioning his ass and that brings back recent memories of that entire conversation, "About that... That was the most uncomfortable I'd felt in a ghost's presence thanks to you." There's no harshness of his words and though they are spoken in a flat and even tone, the edge of one of his lips quirks upwards.

Sensing Lilith's shifting to hop off of the counter, he reaches out a hand to steady her, ensuring that this move to stand doesn't have her legs giving way or any of that nonsense. Feeling her lean into and against him, the same arm that helped steady her drapes around her shoulder. "Hopefully soon, both our bouts with bad luck will run it's course. If that's even a thing." Right now, they both are just watching that door, partially listening to the heated conversation on the other side. "People getting in and out of the complex without being seen, without leaving clues behind or even being caught on the surveillance cameras?" He says people, when there was one murder.

Things start to quiet down on the Carvers' end and at first, he'd thought that they'd walk out the door when the knob jiggles, but then nothing. "Speaking of-- did you eat? Burgers sound good about now." Yet, he's still observing, being unused to the comings and goings of Carver and those who dwell in the spirit realm.

"I think so. But she was also supposedly powerful when she was alive, like me, from what I gather as inference. Maybe too strong, maybe too clueless, maybe too bold and reckless. I think... that's why Carver took an initial interest in me, in part, if I had to guess. Why he suddenly felt some responsibility to me as a stranger. Atonement, maybe, of sorts, with me as a proxy for it." Lilith goes thoughtful with Byron's spoken aloud ruminations, her voice a touch lowered still while she squeezes in close with gratitude. There's an incredibly pensive mien to her marred, but once again lively enough features, at that. It's as if she's focusing on trying to catch a detail or two of the initial meeting and conversation now in memory with context she has for the present more solidly in hand.

After a few heartbeats, Lilith bats her lashes a few times to yank out of thought and looks up at Byron's face there. As the woman looks up, she rests her chin against him and just grins a little, suddenly, "Anyway. There's worse things than a ghostgirl picturing you naked in compromising positions, c'mon now." The doorknob jiggles. The brunette gradually drops her arms from around Byron and waits for emergence, but... with nothing forthcoming, her head tilts. Then she walks that way to swing it open to the empty office while answering, "I cooked earlier, but I'll be eating leftovers of that stew forever. Burgers sound... pretty good." Did Carver leave out of the back? She seems to be standing and considering maybe... he didn't.

"Everyone feels that way about you, Lil." Byron says with after letting out a heavy breath. "Back when we were children. Hell, even now. There's just something about you that brings out this protective nature in all of us. It's like we want to be there to protect you, to nurture you." This whole time, he's been focused on the door, but his head soon turns to look down on her, catching her profile, "You're infectious. You always have been and always will be."

When she releases herself from him, stepping forward to swing that door open, Byron continues on, "I'm not saying that Carver doesn't feel that way about you. I'm sure he does. Or he wouldn't be hanging around as often or... going against my wishes and bringing the ring back to you. What I am saying is that you just have a way with people." Voyeuristic ghosts may have been a fleeting thought every so often when one thinks about ghosts, but now it's come to the forefront of his mind. "Yeah. Now I have to wonder who else is lurking about without us knowing. Watching us when we shower, when we change. When we... sleep." Other activities come to mind, dirtier ones, but these go unsaid.

At this realization that Carver was gone, Byrone just gives his head a slow shake, "Gone. Without asking if we'd like something as well. Figures. Well, we can order in, though trying some of your leftovers won't hurt. Never knew you to be a bad cook."

Lilith knits her brows a little bit while considering Byron's words and she's not entirely sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing, from the look of her there in that moment of visible thought. She's a little too balls to the wall for putting off the image of a particularly -helpless- princess, and she at least knows that much, so she's not reflex pride offended or anything. But... self-sufficient or not, she is a needy little thing by way of circumstances and always has been, and she considers the way people seem to sense and feed into that. The way he sums it up with the infectious comment, though, it almost makes her blush when she releases for some reason.

She kind of knows what he means, even if she never noticed it much as a personal trait. Some people just have a draw, and she can downplay herself all she wants behind casual wit or stubborn broods and bouts of hiding. But she's always just been a little too animated and "alive" even when dead silent. Maybe that's why she was good at what she did in Miami. Maybe that's why it also ended up with men like Grant who don't know how to let go. Double edge.

After the door is swung open and she goes in to check the back door to the parking and dumpsters to make sure it's locked and alarms are set, she tells Byron, "... yeah. I don't think I've ever seen her in my apartment, at least. Ghostly peanut gallery commentary on certain moments is kind of a thing I don't like to think about." Shaking her head some, she closes the door and goes for the stairs with gesture to him, "Come on, you'll like it. Stew's been low simmer for ages and... it's meat and potatoes, mostly, for your humble side, with a red wine base as flavor for your fancy side." Then she goes to take those stairs carefully all by herself instead of asking for a ride up them.

Grant. That's someone who is continuously in Byron's thoughts after the car wreck when Lilith mentioned that she'd received a text from the guy. He's been super observant as of late, sitting in his car for longer than necessary as he scopes the surroundings out in the case that Grant, or the ones looking for the ring or just about any threat, were lurking in the shadows around the pawn shop. Though she doesn't utter that name, Byron's still thinking about him. This experiencing what Lilith went through with the billionaire helped to make things personal for him.

After explaining just how she affects those around her, Byron waits for some sort of annoyed retort. He knows that she hates to be coddled, or at least treated like a child or someone who needed to be protected. She'd mentioned the latter before, that there was no need for him to put himself in danger for her. And she'd told him the former just the other day at the hospital. Quiet attention is paid to her now as he tries to get a read without the use of his powers, watching for her every expression and observing her body language.

"Mmm, meat and potatoes. And that's the savory aroma I was tempted by after having spent a good ten minutes or so here. " He can't help it, there's this look of dismay on his face when she begins to make her way up those stairs. All of the bad things that has happened to her come rushing back to him. His looming presence is felt as he stands behind her, in the case that she falls backwards, he'll be there to catch her. He's about to call out, 'Jeez, wait up.', but he stops himself before those words leave his lips. Instead, he'll just loom and hover and follow behind her.

"Sure is. I don't do a ton, but what I do, I do well." Lilith is pretty contemplative and a little conflicted, aside from being on the verge of blushing for a reason she can't quite even work out herself. It lingers on her as she goes to hit those stairs, but after a time, she does finally respond to his verbal assessment on the general way of her existence and being. Kind of. Halfway up the stairs, she glances back at Byron close on her heels with hover and slants a bit of a smile before looking ahead to the rest of the stairs with consideration. Maybe she just gets paranoid, as due the way it's been beaten into her for the week, or maybe she just wants to sate something in Byron with his concern.

"If I'm infectious and things keep going wrong, you're unfortunately screwed into perpetual migraines and gusty sighs, among other things. Still glad I'm back?" When she speaks, she turns with the stairs giving her a higher position for easier boost into a lift when she reaches to ask for it silently.

Maybe she kind of secretly likes being carried up the stairs. When they get into the apartment, Dog is situated standing under the windows near a bra and tilted forward like it's chewing it after drag out. You know. Like a puppy might. She did know Byron was coming to set the silly pose of it, afterall, for him to walk into.

Byron is standing /right there/ behind her when she turns to look back. When Lilith smiles, Byron returns one of his own. He's glad that she's slowed down to a stop, though there's a good chance that even though she's merely standing here, she could start her descent... or ascent as it goes in the form of a fall at any moment, so he's on the ready, despite how relaxed his posture might look right now.

"Are you okay up there?" He starts to ask, just as she extends a hand towards him so that he can more easily grip onto her and carry. There's this smirk that plays on his lips at all of this, just a cocky thing, an expression very reminiscent of the Byron of his youth. Bending his knees a bit, he leans forward to carefully scoop her up within his arms, holding her close against him. His legs steady on the staircase before taking the first step forward. "As long as we make upstairs without the both of us breaking our necks down there." There's this gesture with a turn of his head towards down the steps, "I'd say that yes, I'm still glad that you're back." The intensity of the smirk lessons, turning into more of a quiet smile. A very quiet one when he looks on her.

There are so many reasons why it's good to have her back, despite the problems that may come out of it all. Dark problems.

Once they reach the loft, he doesn't set her down until they get further inside. It's comforting in a way, holding her like this. He used to carry her all the time as kids. Not that she was lazy, though sometimes he'd tease her about that. Oddly, he sometimes thought of her as a princess and he was being all chivalrous. That's when he notices Dog sitting there with one of her bras at its stitched mouth. "Someone has waaaay too much time on her hands. Though all I gotta say is, the pup's got its priorities straight."

It was exactly how they met. Were they seven? Six? A tiny Byron was waiting his turn and watching an even tinier Lilith struggle to reach because she wanted to do it too just like everyone else. And she was hopping and precariously perch hanging with reach that was just out of grasp, frowning and hellbent. Maybe kid Byron was just impatient and wanted his damn turn already. Maybe he liked that little bit of stubborn hell in her or thought she was pretty. Whatever it was, it was how they met.

Byron gave Lilith a boost and held her til she could reach. And he walked behind to secretly spot her the whole way. Turns out, she could only make it about halfway through on her own. He was there to catch the slack.

Lilith breaks into a bubble of laughter at Byron's notice of Dog Pose with Bra and shoots a proud glance that way like it's a piece of clever modern art to appreciate, a hand tickling at his short hairs on the nape of his neck before she's let down, "Definitely a boy. Let's get you a bowl. And you can update me about what all's been learned or going on in the building."

So far there's been no accidents, something that Byron had grown unused to after that damn ring entered their lives. That doesn't make him less wary, just attentive to it all and this change of situation. Crouching slightly, he slowly lowers her to her feet before rising to full height once more. Even though he's taking steps towards the dog, picking it up in casual inspection, tilting it randomly to the side in one hand, there's still this look that the throws over his shoulder in Lilith's' direction. She was about to make contact with the stove. This whole place could go up in flames. Rather than this being a deep and serious thought, after a while anyway, it started out that way, it turns into something of an amusement to him. The deal with the ring has made them all a little paranoid.

His eyes examine her bra too, looking at the color, the style. It's an idle curiosity really. And he's a guy, alright. For whatever reason, he resettles the dog back onto the window sill, before taking up her bra to put the lacy thing on Dog's head like a busty hat. They may be adults, but there's a childish teenager in there that tends to show up every so often.

"There's really not much that the police were willing to share, to be honest. The only thing known is that Susan Lewis was found murdered in her apartment on the first floor of Building A. They would not tell me in what manner she was killed, but with the amount of blood found, I'd go for a stabbing." Stepping away from the bra-wearing husky, he makes a casual pace around the space, heading over towards the kitchen, just in case, "We were just informed that her husband was cleared and is no longer a suspect. Same with their adult children."

Standing in that small kitchen space, just watching Lilith as she works to scoop up some of that stew, he continues, "You remember Susan Lewis right? She used to be Susan Addington." In fact, now that he thinks back on it, Susan Addington was from his family's blood line.

Lilith might have just grabbed a random or planned for the moment, but it's a pretty bra, turquoise and vivid with satin cups and black accent eyelash lace trim, probably part of a pretty keen lingerie matching set. There's something else that Byron might think of after the fact, considering all that chunked meat and potatoes and carrots and garlic and onion and whatever else is in there... it took a very big knife to get that way, at length! And her hands and fingers are one of the most unmarked places on her, perfectly fine.

Nothing goes amiss, but the woman does turn off the low flame she apparently was bold enough to leave burning while downstairs. Just in case. She gets Byron a bowl and one for herself to set up at the bar before pouring two glasses of red wine cabernet while listening with a pensive tick to her features, "Addington?" She pauses, "Are they up in arms over it and complicating things as well with lawyers or anything yet?" Then she pauses again and tries to think back on some of their conversations with a look at him. While she doesn't know everything that's going on with certain family histories, something ticks with her there to give that next pause, "This is pertinent, maybe, isn't it?"

Lilith also hasn't noticed the dog or what Byron was doing, quite yet, all that bustling around to set the bar.

It's a pretty bra, but not something he'll comment about. Once the food is done and the stove safely turned off, Byron helps her to set the table, this gaze following behind Lilith wherever she goes. "God am I starving. And I spent the whole day eating pastries and hors d'oeuvre while sipping at coffee." It's been a really long day, rubbing elbow with all of his tenants and their families and that included the Addingtons.

Settled down into his chair, utensil in hand, he doesn't hesitate to scoop up some of that hearty stew and savor it all when he shovels it into his mouth. "They were concerned about safety, yes. Questioned the complex's security, as they should. No talks of suing me or the building in any way. So that's a good start." Taking a sip wine, he licks at his lips, "I'll be upgrading my security cameras some time in the next few days. We've been getting unreliable footage from them last I checked."

"Interesting. Whoever did what they did if they did it with an orthodox and solid hand, they're good at covering tracks, seems." Lilith is mostly operating on the fact that this tidbit on the cameras is due to manual interference, like a rational person, but part of her now wonders... how much do cameras capture or miss when it comes to the strange and alternate that's just a part of their lives as now? She blinks a few times before settling down herself next to Byron to capture wine glass by the stem between fingers, drinking thoughtfully, "I wonder if any of the strange things can be documented at all. I never really thought much of those stupid ghost shows capturing orbs and things like that, or their cameras getting drained to die."

It doesn't seem to be an intense wondering, though, because she doesn't linger on it, instead looking with double take at the dog during her next wondering of Byron, "Did they hint at anything in her life that would have someone... I don't know. Inclined to do it? I'll be honest, it's kind of how I expect to end up in the event I'm suddenly unable to pay or turn into a snitch or something, considering ah. Things. So was she in debt? Or having an affair, maybe, or--" Abruptly, she finally sees the dog while putting her glass down, wearing that bra cup as a hat with new arrangement and her throat spills with a short, delighted little laugh at Byron, "Cute."

"I really don't know, Lil. They're both ninja and assassin. And don't say that a ninja would cover both of those roles. Not all ninjas killed." Byron makes clear to state for frivolous reasons. Leaning back comfortably in his seat, his glass still in hand, "You know, that's something we should try. Recording ourselves doing something. And then trying to record ourselves while in a dream. Though that would mean carrying a camera with you 24/7-- and sometimes it feels like people forget they have phones on them" He doesn't come out to say that the 'strange things' is what happened to his tenant, but it's always a thought to keep in mind in a town like this.

The wine glass set back down, he begins to scoop up more of that delicious stew, "This really is delicious. It tastes as good as it smells. And.. hmm.. No. I mean, she's an Addington and the Lewis family are wealthy in their own right, so I don't /think/ they fell on financial hard times, but who knows, right? One can't really say what goes on in another person's life, if you didn't really know them." He was considering not saying this aloud, but he does so anyway, "I've been doing a little research on the Addington-Baxter feud as I'd mentioned before. Addingtons just end up dead in this town."

He doesn't realize that Lilith had spotted the new Dog display, though, he'd probably really forgotten all about it. When she starts to laugh, he just blinks, then slowly turns in the direction that she's facing. Then he remembers what he'd done. He plays it cool though and oblivious. "Why is that dog wearing your bra on its head Granted, its' head fits into the cups well enough."

"He's into drag. You brought me a gender confused dog. Hope you didn't overpay for that level of inbreeding, but I bet you did." Lilith tells Byron after a little clear of her throat and hover to take a bite after she realizes what that sudden laughter seems like, given timing. But whatever, his fault. And he catches on for her to go making deadpan return about it. While she's chewing, though, she angles a little bit more with turn in her chair to really look at him with what he says and she considers that for a time. "Do you think... given the week I've had being quite unnatural... that it's possible to curse someone's very bloodline, not just the person? Seems like storybook level power to accomplish, even when put up against the strange power of things we've seen to compare. But." But. Did the Baxters somehow cause such a strong curse?

Lilith doesn't seem so sure, but hexes that can kill you have been a thing with her lately since she's been in contact with a very valuable and powerful stone. It might not be such a stretch that the idea occurs to her, given she's a walking example of how the world sometimes just gets pissed and tries to eat you like some form of punishment. After a pause, she shrugs a little and shakes her head, "I don't know. The whole thing is weird. And maybe things aren't trying to kill you, precisely, but your luck isn't great lately as far as things going smoothly, and all you did was touch the box while it was open." Then she draws in a breath, "Even if I feel better now, I still want to look into this like we were trying to do. I want to understand what happened."

His gaze still on the dog, Byron turns around, reaching for a napkin to dab at his lips. "I'll return him if you want me to." The tone used is one of indifference and callousness, knowing full well that she's not going to have him return the pup. He's just teasing her with this deadpan humor.

The topic becomes serious again and the talk of curses brought into the mix. "Possibly. I... I've asked Isabella to try and help us figure out what the ring is and how to break the curse. I mean, if the curse is still with you." See, in this short amount of time, where he would normally be wondering what else could go wrong, his mind was completely off of Lilith's curse as nothing bad had happened yet. Maybe it's gone dormant, but he won't bring that up.

She then brings up something that he'd pondered once, but dismissed. "Do you think the murder in my building has to do with this curse? That just my presence here got Mrs. Lewis killed all in the name of giving me and my Apartments some bad press?" He reaches for his glass, taking this necessary drink now. "If that is the case. Man, that's fucked up."

"No..." Lilith grins some at the offer to return dog, but then she's making serious response after a tiny bobble of her head in agreement of aid with looking into matters, brows ticked down a touch. Her features are overtly thoughtful for a moment, as if she's trying to recall something to explain the difference to Byron, "But if an Addington was due to die, it might be that luck dictated it was going to happen in your building as it did and give you a damn headache. You didn't touch the stone. Even if it resonated some kind of bad mojo onto you when the box opened, I know I got the bulk. I was afraid of passing it onto people or having them be a bystanding casualty that gets it instead of me due to proximity, but honestly, Byron? I think that was just fear talking."

The woman takes another bite and looks back over her shoulder at the door, then at her closet, then at Byron while pointing out, "You never tripped holding me on the stairs. People never got hurt running interference on things that would have hurt me falling, crashing, or so on. No one else -ever- got hurt around me. Not even during the wreck. I avoided the dog. I avoided the car. Both of those things just ensured it was twice as bad to make the moment uncannily bad." She looks at Byron long with a level of her chin to weight her words, "So don't think that, at least. Because yes, that'd be awful, but I'm fairly confident you didn't -cause- a thing."

She takes a long drink from her glass afterwards and leans back some to nurse it, sighing out a huge breath of air, "I like wine."

"Hank?" Byron says her father's name with mild hesitation in his tone. He knows that Hank was the one person to have gotten hurt during this ordeal unless his was not connected. "Then again, we don't know who beat Hank up. We're not sure if he just had it coming, because of money owed or... not being able to hold his tongue for once and say something decent. Other than Hank, though, you're right. I think. No one else got hurt because of you. Even when we were in your presence, whatever was out to get you, seriously wanted only you."

"And all I got was some spilled coffee the Sunday after, my car breaking down that Saturday and a murder in my apartments-- followed by a break-in and ransack of a separate apartment unit." This is something he had not told anyone before. "Checking my video cameras then, that's when I realized something strange was going on. My security guy said that it was on a loop. But why? And how?" He then says, reaching to hold onto his own glass of wine, "I'm not going to report that particular incident to the police. I don't need to alarm my tenants any more than they already are and it seems that no one witnessed that it happened."

"Hank makes his own mess--" Lilith starts to dismissively scoff to Byron before she slows way down and trails off while listening to the rest of what's happened for his particular week. Her brows lift a smidge at him having a break in and a ransacking too and after a moment, she nods and says, "No, no use kicking up fuss and drawing more attention unless the tenant.. wait, were they apartments with someone in them? Is the tenant pissed? Did it seem as if they were torn apart in a way that suggests someone was looking for something?"

The woman is real interested suddenly in this ransacked apartment for some reason, because usually tenants file with police, it's the natural path when you have a break-in. It seems as if she has another question, but all of a sudden her eyes go extremely wide as she connects some potential dots out of the blue. "Oh. Oh, Byron. Hank's my blood." She pauses, "What if I was the reason why?"

Now. Lilith and her father have a very strange family dynamic that mostly manifests in her wanting to choke him out. She resents the neglect, the bad parenting, the debt, all the messes she's had to clean up, and no one in the world has more excuse to want to kill or beat this guy. Knowing Hank was beat up so badly, it never seemed to particularly upset her, it was just another thing to deal with. There's not a lot of love there. But she takes care of him in her own way despite all that. We get what we get in life. It seems to literally have never occurred to her that the beating might have been connected to what she did, not something he did. And oh man. That kind of winds her now that it seems like a feasibility as far as curses go. Blood curses.

It's a surprise that no one on the 7th floor heard anything when the destruction and chaos was going on. It must've happened at a time when everyone else on that floor had gone. There was no complaints from downstairs either, except for the flooding, but he'll get to that. "One of my apartment units on the 7th floor was broken into. The placed was completely totaled. Whoever did this even left the water running and, strangely, the only reason why I know about this is because the overflow of water soaked through the flooring and began leaking into the downstairs unit."

He's finishing up with most of his stew, chewing and swallowing between tossing out bits of information. "That's when I went to check the security cameras and found that they were on loop. On further investigation, we found some footage from days earlier. It was footage of the tenant of that unit leaving. He was the man who'd dropped the box off here. When I did a read of the box, I... the interior of the place was familiar. I knew it was one of my units, so I did some investigating. Not that it did anything because this whole thing just fell into my lap."

Yes, he hadn't mentioned any of this before, perhaps waiting to do so only when he had enough information. "There were.. or are men after him, but I couldn't get a good read on /who/ they were or anything of importance, really. I might try again later. I did pull up his tenant file and I'm having a private investigator try to dig up some dirt on him."

Then she starts to panic about her father, of all people. "I really am not sure. I don't know what kind of curse this is or how it works. Or if it does affect your blood relatives rather than anyone else around you. But," Seeing just how upset she is, he puts wears this comforting expression, reaching a hand out to place upon hers, patting at it gently, "You're probably right though, Hank gets himself into his own problems."

Okay, Lilith felt a little guilty thinking that the very moment she touched the stone was seeing Hank beaten somewhere as a result. She thought he might have had something to do with the guy or the box or the thing ending up with her, potentially, of course, but... that guilt also doesn't last. Because she has tons of 'Fuck Hank' in there too and he is just the kind of guy to get his ass beat at random. She's not about to get emotional or anything, but the scope of it seems to scare her briefly. What the hell did she touch? How much worse could it have been if she had actual family, or kids or... shh. What-ifs. Her lashes bat and she shakes it off with a tiny drift of her head with back and forth. Her hand turns after it's patted with upward of tickle at Byron's palm to say she's okay, that bobble of weird daughter duty that made the guilt now gone.

Also Byron has kind of just dropped a bomb on her concerning that box, it seems, because suddenly it looks like she's having a bit of trouble following his explanation and needs clarifying. She drains the rest of that wine, thinks for a long moment before speaking, setting down the glass. When it comes, she speaks a bit slow and deliberate with an intake of breath, "Okay." Pause, "The man with the nice teeth and eyes that smelled like the -sewer- lived in your building? And he lived in the apartment that got ransacked and ruined... I assume not too long after I assumed possession of the box? And hasn't been back since, I imagine. Which means he either left or got caught and..."

Lilith's lips twist a little bit to the side before she wonders, "What was his name?" Another pause, "Why didn't you tell me?" Another pause, "Who the hell called me a 'good girl'? If he lived in your building, he wouldn't have... known Hank."

His smile will try to reassure Lilith that what happened to Hank was not her fault, despite what Byron had said earlier. It was foolish on his part, but he didn't realize just how hurtful just bringing that up would have been. "Don't worry about it, okay? Whatever Hank got into, he's tough... for a drunk." Then the edges of his eyes crinkle when his smile widens, "That must be where you get it from."

This other issue that has been plaguing, it's a relief when he finally reveals it, in full, to someone. It's been grating on his nerves, and really, it still does. How do people get into his apartment complex without being spotted? And how do they get out? And why do the video cameras crap out every time something important happens, that no footage of anyone coming or going is found??

He'll listen to her playback of what he'd just told her, nodding in various places to confirm that she's on the right track. "The thing is, when I had that vision, that memory from the box, someone was already at his door. However, what video footage I was able to find, had him leaving his apartment, alone. That was taken on the same day, right before, he showed up here. To your pawn shop. Who was pounding at his door then? Because there was no one else with him when he left his apartment. It's really all a mystery."

Then the answers start pouring out. "His name was Jack Michaels the Third. An Investor. As for why I didn't tell you earlier? I needed to find all the answers before I brought it up. When I'd seen the interior of one of /MY/ apartments in a memory from off that first box, I had to investigate. I felt that it was something that I could handle on my own... and possible deal with if necessary."

The last part, he has no answer for. "I honestly don't know. I have a P.I. doing a background check on him right now. You might remember Magnolia Jones? Her father was a man I looked up to, it's unfortunate what happened to him." Killed the very same year Byron's dad took his own life. "But Maggie? She's on the case."

"That is... bothersome. Where would an investor with a name like that have gotten something like he brought in? And for him to be driven mad like he was and... smelling like sewer in light of that information is... hell, maybe he was so desperate, he started hiding or moving himself from place to place in town through there. This all makes no sense. But it sounds like learning about him is the absolute right track if we want to know where the thing came from and who might be after it." Lilith nods small to Byron with accepting of all this information, even the bit about him holding back in relation to box source.

In fact, instead of being offended, she actually seems to understand that part once he starts explaining how disjointed all the pieces still are in relation to the piece of jewelry. Her hand brushes in dust over the back of his hand this time before she rises up to get a suddenly much needed refill. The woman stands and drinks down over half that refill too, before refilling again and carrying the bottle over to Byron's glass for a re-up, "My week was already too much." She gets it. Her eyes slant over to Dog wearing that bra-cup on his head, and she twitches up a small smile despite herself, "Wasn't all terrible, I guess. I was so scared of rubbing it all over others, whatever this last week was. But... my general pride getting shot to hell eventually reminded me... I do better when I don't shut people out."

Her dark head tilts some with thought. Then abruptly and seriously, she leans to kiss Byron right on top of his head of hair while he's seated. She starts speaking while leaned to linger there, gradually straightening as she goes on quietly. It's not quite an apology, but it's one hell of an admittance that's weighted with the gratitude she suddenly seems to feel for the week entirely. "I fussed at you for treating me like a child. And I meant it. I'll probably continue to fuss at you and make you work for all the times you want to boss me around or make decisions. But right now, I'll also admit, sometimes, like a child, I'm better off when you take matters into your own hands and button away some of my options. You just want what you think is best. You were afraid for me. I couldn't imagine watching what happened to me happen to you. I'd want to burn it all."

It looks like they've mostly finished their meals, though Byron does appreciate it when Lilith tops off his glass of wine and immediately partakes in his refreshed drink. His posture remains relaxed even if some of the topics mentioned brings a bit of tension up to the surface. "I'm just surprised that there were no complaints about Mr. Michaels. His appearance. That smell. He looked just as disheveled leaving his apartment that Saturday morning. So we know that he hasn't been sleeping out on the streets. One possibility is that he found the ring in its box in the sewers, that or he tried to hide there. Possibly the latter."

Leaning forward to set his glass down onto the table, he says with a voice filled with concern, "We were really worried about you. After witnessing misfortune after misfortune hit you like a freight train, with everything beginning to escalate and you ending up in the hospital due to a car accident, now that was scary. I wish I'd found out about it sooner, you know. They wouldn't let me in anyway, not being related to either you or Hank."

Feeling that press of lips against his dark crown, Byron lifts his chin to lean gently into it. A certain statement grasps onto his attention tightly, even though she continues on with her apology. She did better when she didn't shut people out. That brings back bittersweet memories of what should have been a much simpler time for most people, their childhood. For Byron, however, it was complicated, confusing and such an incredible trial. He had freed himself from one bad situation to be confronted by a different kind of pain. And all because she had shut the ones she loved out of her life.

"You do know that there are many of us out there who would have preferred that it was us instead of you. The car accident was a huge turning point." Her car. He'd always been concerned about her, but that car was totaled. "Did you have a full coverage policy when you rented your car?" Despite some of the emotional turmoil that had begun to creep in, he returns to asking practical questions. In a way, they are a good distraction, but this was part of his concern as well.

"You're my medical insurance and hospital emergency contact now. I didn't have any listed, they didn't know who to call on my behalf." Lilith doesn't go into all those other options they both know she had to get his attention at any of the varied points before he actually learned and got there, but it's clear she feels pretty bad about it now while thinking more clearly as herself, not as the concussed, paranoid, terribly strained ball of pain and stress and fear she was at the time.

Feeling that tingle of guilt, she leans to place another kiss atop his head before picking up cleared out bowls to take into the kitchen with her wine glass left behind, explaining another thing that is no doubt going to satisfy him as much as the emergency contact step she's taken, "And yes. I had full coverage insurance. Michael was very... patient in lieu of my head injury, he ensured I had my statement straight in a way that wouldn't reflect reckless responsibility. There shouldn't be any trouble with pay out and I'll get a new car very soon. As I told you before, my credit is good, I don't really need to wait on the settlement to do that part."

He does seem somewhat satisfied to learn that he was her emergency contact person, despite not being family. Nor having known her for so many years until recently. It does bring Byron to say, his voice speaking in a normal conversational tone, "I wonder if anyone we knew back in school works at the hospital now. Isabella said that we were the Will They-Won't They of middle school." Yes, he's talking about Middle School. "I'm sure someone somewhere had put a positive bet for us to succeed. They might even try to cash in once they see who your emergency contact is." It's all incredibly silly, but he's making light of a few things at the moment.

Maybe there is a part of him that wants her to feel guilty, despite everything that they've recently said or done. It gains him another kiss atop his forehead this time, giving him a partial view of act of affection. After taking another deep drain from his glass, he'll rise to help her with the dishes, clearing anything off the table that she may have left behind. "That's good to know. Just, if you needed anything extra, don't be afraid to ask." Then the cop is mentioned and that seems to pique his curiosity somewhat. "Are you planning on going on another date?" It's light teasing, but he knows that Michael had been watching over her for a time.

"Mhm. He's been ridiculously good with me while I'm a mess, it's almost uncanny. I was in such a bad place, I just... let him be good to me. It was hard. Then it was easy. I think my natural fight was just gone by the time he got a hold of me with his brand of safety and care and maybe... that's not a bad thing." Lilith looks aside at Byron after hitching her shoulders up some and explaining, sighing a little at the next bit, "I tend to shut men down before they can even begin to know me. I always have. It's lonely. I need to stop doing that to myself. I tried to start correcting that before I left Florida, but the men I tend to attract that are bold enough to see the challenge and try..."

The woman just kind of sighs and shakes her head a little. She doesn't say it, but she attracts narcissists that want the challenge and trophy to show. Passive men stay away. She attracts men like Grant. Leaning to place spoons with drop into the dishwasher slot after rinsing things out to load, Lilith's hair is a curtain in brief about her face, only partially concealing a bout of lip pressed frustration, "I know he's a cop. I don't expect some big thing. But he did so much he didn't have to do because he -wanted- to do it. It's different. He thought I was beautiful in the middle of being a crazy, battered disaster. Maybe that's... a cop kink. I don't know. But it -felt- good to have the walls down."

Lilith sniffs then and reaches for a towel to dry her hands, "All I know is that nothing bad happened at his place. And the next day after he took care of me, I..." She flips the towel with gesture over her light sundress, the way of her compared to how she was all week before. She looks like Lilith again. Who is... now frowning and contemplating, "Irish lucky charms, I guess."

Byron remains mostly silent when she goes on about Michael. It's hard to read his expression, wearing that mask of neutrality that he tends to wear. There's no hint within his eyes, which sometimes shows up, being flared with an intensity. He helps where he can, passing things over to her to rinse out.

Many would consider Byron to be a narcissist. The challenge was the entertaining part. It made life more interesting. He enjoyed, winning, of course. But there was also the control. So when she mentions these bold, challenging men, he has to ask, "Is there anything wrong with enjoying a good challenge?" The Byron that she'd known seemed far more easy-going but at his core, despite his friendly and good-natured demeanor, maybe he always a narcissist all along. He had a temper, though he often tried to hide it, when he didn't get his way. And for a while, Lilith had become his obsession, after she had disappeared from his life. He may have been more dismissive about the whole thing to others, pretending that he didn't care, but it was eating him up inside.

Did Byron have anything against cops? Not really, he's had a few friends in the force, but many of them have been the children of police officers, just like he was. Then there's this mention that he thought she was beautiful despite everything. There's a lift of a brow at first, before he smiles, "Of course, he thought that. I mean, look at you."

With the dishes being mostly done, he stretches his tall, lean form out, leaning his head to the side to both crack and ease some of the tension within his neck. This comes immediately following the statement where she calls O'Malley this lucky charm. Something which he was planning on getting her.

His back is turned to her, so she doesn't see that darkness within his eyes as he wanders forward, towards Dog to give it an idle look in passing with that silly bra on its head. He eventually turns towards her then, glancing over his shoulder, "Lucky charm, huh?" That fakes smile on his lips as he turns to face her. "I suppose that means that I'm no longer needed here. If you believe that he cured you." He's watching her now, his chin lowered slightly lowered.

Lilith bats her lashes a few times at Byron before she laughs a little despite herself and shakes her head on the matter of challenge, "No. Challenging can be good. Challenging can be fun. It can be incredibly satiating. But some men get very obsessed with the challenge itself. They get obsessed with collecting or owning, I'm not sure entirely what it is about me that triggers it. At some point, you see through the charm, right before it all goes strange and dark. At that point, it's no longer an exchange. The game changes. It becomes a hunt." The more the woman talks, the more she kind of slows down and her own demeanor starts to shift. She's not saying a certain someone's name, but she's giving a roundabout prime example of what happens when 'challenge' goes wrong.

She follows after Byron out of the kitchen with task done, then draws up a little short after he's turned to look at her with the next question. Then after a pause, she feels the need to clarify inexplicably with a hand coming up to rake a hand back through her hair, holding grip, then release. She blows out a long breath and looks at Byron like she knows she just said something silly, now that she's hearing it aloud. It started as a joke when it came out, but she stopped to actually consider there too long, and she kind of knows it.

Eventually, she speaks with a gust of sigh, "I highly doubt he's a leprechaun on the sly." Here, the brunette's brows knit down as she looks at the man and levels her own chin, "I'll always need you. More than you probably know. But you have a life. What was I supposed to do? Come to your house, run into your girlfriend, fight my urges to set her on fire while broken and beaten down? Let a complete stranger I didn't even know existed meet me like that? We've never had to -share- each other, Byron, not really. How would it have gone, in truth? Alternatively, should I have gone to Tobin's house to piss on the only safe place I've ever known just... by existing? Make new horrible memories to shadow the sacred ones?"

She steps forward, her lashes dropping to look at the stuffed dog with the silly bra on it's head, way more serious with expression than she should be while looking at such a thing, "I wasn't -terrified- of hurting -him-."

She might be talking about Grant and perhaps unknown to Byron, himself, some of what she says still describes him. Or the 14 year old Byron who she had left behind. That was the only time in his life where he had lost something that he really wanted. Of course, many are blind to the fact that some may consider them to be monsters. and the Byron at that age, wanted everyone to think of him as some brave hero type. They always get the girl.

He's already keeping tabs on Grant, so though she may not speak his name, he already knows who she's talking about. Since that evening when he had studied the cord, the harsh intimacy that he shared with Grant via the emotional residue alone has him wanting the man's hide. He'd hurt Lilith and Byron not only witnessed it all, he could feel it.

What starts out as a light response to his inquiry, something which he would have dismissed and let go, turns into something more. Perhaps, she felt cornered and needed to explain herself and her reasons. The mention of Vivian, if not by name is quietly noted. In fact, he simply blinks when his girlfriend is brought up, saying nothing when Lilith goes on about Tobin's house. He feigns surprise, when she seems to get upset, passing it off as an innocent enough question "I only asked because I wanted to know if you needed me to spend the night here and... if you feel confident that you're no longer cursed, then I'm happy for you." He even tosses in a joke, "Saves me from hunting down rabbits, right?"

He doesn't address the rest of what she says, even though he'd heard every bit of it. What he does allow to show is this quiet concern, as if just trying to make sure that she'll be fine. "It's also a pretty bad idea to hurt a cop. Just saying." Stepping closer towards her, he opens up his arms, an invitation for a parting hug, most likely. He also only now semi-addresses some of her argument from earlier, "You know that nothing would've happened. She wanted you over too, but with the elevator and being on the top floor? Anyway, I would've stayed the night." Like he was planning on doing today! "But, I'm glad that you had someone else watching over you."

"And I'm glad that you're no longer cursed. Irish Charm or not." This sudden lightening of demeanor may be something Lilith had seen in the past. But Byron was good at covering up his true feelings, especially his anger, only letting that out in private as he wouldn't want to tarnish his public face. Biting down on his lip, he pats at his pocket for his keys. "Thanks for dinner and the next time you see Carver's sister, tell her I said 'Hi'." It's all light banter from here on out.

There's a problem with Lilith feeling and looking better. Her pride is coming back. He's fishing for his keys and suddenly there's a panic inside her about staying alone. She's conflicted, but while Byron hides behind smiles, she puts up all the little walls she needs to get through right now and shuts down. She flips switches. She gouges herself out of the things she wants and gives herself the things she thinks she might deserve. Especially when it comes to him. Especially after running her stupid fucking mouth. Two steps forward, three steps back.

"Right. Well." It has a bit of a 'my bad' tone to it, but she's not quite apologetic with that, she just doesn't seem to know what else to say. In fact, she's a little baseline confused because there for a moment he... doesn't matter. Byron's arms are open and she's stepping into them to hide her expression with cling of hug. Not all things are rational. Someone can be the source of agitation and comfort at the same time, when things are just so, "We'll see how tonight goes. I'm glad you came. I'll see you when you pick me up for Tobin's."

The return of the old Byron, or the easy-going Byron, who often seemed difficult to ruffle, hiding behind a facade of being untroubled by much, can be a confusing thing. While Tobin had once said that Byron is just Byron around them and that's what he liked about him. In truth, who is Byron really?

Speaking of Tobin, Byron nods, "Right. Yeah, I'll pick you up. It should be an interesting time. I believe Geoff was gonna be there as well." Nothing was wrong and if something were, Byron wasn't showing it. When she moves into his embrace, he kisses her at the top of the head, very reminiscent of what she had done with him earlier. "You really look great, Lil." There's some warmth to his features now as he looks into her eyes. It almost looks like he's about to say something and there are a few things mulling in his mind. She may no longer be cursed, but Grant was still out there -- then there are those seeking out the ring. In his mood, however, he wouldn't be pleasant company for too long. So despite those concerns, and they are very big concerns in his book, he sacrifices that peace of mind to save face. "Call me if you need anything." Which should read: Call me when you're in trouble.

Pivoting on his heel, he lifts his arm into a subtle wave before he starts his way down the stairs, "Night." The alarm system will have to be turned off alas.

Lilith shifts her chin and stares upward at Byron, listening to him after the kiss against the top of her head rouses her out of whatever that little moment of subtle confusion and bother was, blue eyes catching on his dark ones. Her alarm bells should be ringing, shouldn't they? She knows these games, the baits and switches to make her react, the way the tables turn right after in tact to make her question herself instead of the moment and the source. She knows very first hand how this works and what it can turn into.

Here's the thing, though. That's not what happens at all. Whatever internal warning system she has for that with the life she's led, it's kind of defunct with Byron. Because while he confessed he can't help but see her a certain way, it's the same for her. He's her rock. He was hers first. People don't understand why they're so clawed into each other, but they know why. He wouldn't do that, now would he?

Her lips slant some. She smiles with her eyes as much as her mouth at the compliment and pause. Then she breathes and withdraws from the hug so he can leave. Then she turns to look around the apartment with a cautious eye. When she's sure he's gone, she goes down to fix the alarm and instead of going back upstairs, she goes to huddle on the office couch to wait for Carver to come back around. She even preps the lie about working late and brings invoices from the desk to fall asleep with. And Dog. She doesn't cuddle that stuffed animal, but she puts it right on the floor nearby. It's stupid. But she's been traumatized by the past week more than she'll ever tell anyone else.