2019-07-11 - Not Being an Idiot

It's a lovely summer morning for the Western Washington coast--blue skies without a cloud in sight, a balmy temperature wanring of a warm afternoon. The kind of day that brings in plenty of patrons to the garden shop, in as much as an area this size can boast a 'busy day' for a given business. Ully and Thomasina are in the shop proper, and August is among the plants on the outside patio, getting some new specimens sorted and nudging anything that's ailing from the warm weather back to a healthier state. He's in a white Prince t-shirt in deference to the oncoming heat, but the usual jeans and boots remain. The fact that he's working with the plants is really the only indication he's an employee; unlike anyone working in the shop propper, he doesn't wear a nametag or one of the store-branded aprons.

Eleanor Lake steps into the shop and glances around, a pair of takeout coffees in hand, looking for August. The redhead is in simple olive-green shorts and a simple white and black cotton top. Her hair is back in a low ponytail, and there are white Keds on her feet. She pokes at a few of the hanging plants before spotting the proprietor on the patio. With a bright smile she steps into the open air area. “Roen,” she greets, offering him one of the cups.

August glances up from tending to a few pots of foxglove (apricot, magenta, pale yellow, delicate pink), smiles a hello. "Morning. Ah, and you've even come bearing gifts. Thank you." He accepts the coffee with a nod, has a sip. "Don't think there was a clear winner last night, but either way it wasn't anyone we backed." He raises an eyebrow, has a little more coffee. "So we can either call it a draw or we both pay out, as you prefer."

“I’m fine with a draw if you are. I should have bet on the twins. They’re double the trouble from the looks of them.” Eleanor looks amused as she sips her own coffee. “How did your guy do in the end? Did he make it out of there ok? He was looking pretty green around the gills for a while.”

August raises his coffee cup in a toast. "A draw it is." He shrugs, continuing, "Eh, took him for a walk, got him back home. He's no doubt regretting it even now. Fine otherwise." He opts to keep confident the part where Itzhak began flirting with anything that moved and barely didn't need carrying out. Besides, Eleanor will hear all about that from some town gossip in the coffee shop soon enough, if she hasn't already.

He makes a face on the subject of the Kelly twins, hides it with more coffee. "Kellys have always been trouble, way I've heard it." But, well, Joey opted not to pop Itzhak in the face like he'd rightfully earned, so there was that.

Eleanor leans to smell a bloom on a plant before she murmurs, “So, there was a lot of talk about Murray House last night. What do you know about it?” Apparently she’s never heard the adage about what happens to felines who are overly interested in things.

Ho boy. August studies Eleanor over the edge of the cup, glances around to make sure none of the patrons are too close. Studying the lid, he says, "You know how sometimes, you feel like you have to go somewhere?" He glances at her briefly, a look that says he expects her to read a specific meaning in that statement. He knows how he looks to people who have the knack, the shine, the song, whatever you want to call it. He sees no need to beat around the bush except to not be caught talking ghosts and ghouls in front of customers.

”Mm. I do know. All too well,” Eleanor admits with a tight smile. She moves closer to keep her voice low. “I’ve lived here all my life. And most of that life I’ve been collecting things about Gray Harbor and it’s...oddities. Coffee may be my business but researching the Veil and all it entails is my passion.”

August makes a low sound. "You have, have you." He turns it over in his head, how much to tell her. All of it? Just a little? Why prevaricate, though--she'll just ask the others, and then not be particularly impressed that he held back. Also what's she going to do, tell people he's crazy? Everyone's already suspicious of him for living off in the woods by himself with a bunch of geese, ducks, and goats.

Decision made, he says, "You're gonna love this then." He clears his throat, taps on the coffee cup. "A few of us went out there the other night. Felt like we had to. I was going to try and ignore it like I usually do but," he gestures at the shop, "couple of my people, they wanted to go, and they're young, I wasn't letting them do something like that on their own. Some others had felt it to, we all ran into one another at the house.

"We went in and there was this little girl, said she was being kept there." He pauses there, lets out a slow breath. "Eleanor I have seen some things in my life, especially in Bosnia, but this was..." He stares out over the patio and its plants to remind himself that he's not, in fact, still in that house. "I'm not sure if I can even describe it. It wasn't a man, but it looked like one, and it was," he gestures, "huge. And it tried to take her back, but we fought it off." He shakes his head, has some coffee as a reward for saying all of that.

Eleanor listens curiously, watching August carefully, like she’s assessing the truthfulness of his statements. “Amelia Walton. She’d been missing for about three weeks. Three weeks alone in that house, as far as people can tell, with no access to food or water. But alive. Wounded, but alive. And you helped bring her out. The Veil has to be incredibly thin at that house. Time moves differently on the other side, from the stories I’ve gathered, so it may not have been as long for her as it was for those searching for her on this side.”

"Not alone," August says, shaking his head. "That house was practically alive." Before he can continue, a customer comes up with a question, and August sets his coffee cup aside. "Be right back," he says to Eleanor, and leads the older man off to one of the green houses. He's back a minute or so later, walking with someone else who has a question; that young woman heads inside after a few more exchanges with him.

Once they're alone again, he reirerates, "She wasn't alone. There was something in that house. Maybe a few somethings. It kicked us out once we started fighting back, but at least we got her out too." He folds his arms. "Any word on how she's doing? I can't exactly show up and check on her myself, I don't want to be dealing with cops."

Eleanor shakes her head. “Not much information available about her, other than news of an expected physical recovery. With minors the police tend to clamp down on any weird facts getting out.” She sighs. “Poor kid. The kids get targeted a lot. Because this stupid town doesn’t explain the truth to them when they’re young. Instead they just hope they won’t stumble into something.”

August makes a face. "Guess I'd rather the cops keep it quiet for her sake, even if it means I don't know what's going on." He shrugs at the notion of telling the kids. "Wonder what it would help, without adults who know what's going on to guide 'em. I've been like this my whole life, didn't know shit about it until I came here." He takes up his coffee again; around a drink from it, he adds, "Can't say I really do now either, just maybe I have a little better control." He narrows his eyes at her. "You figure it all by yourself, or did you have someone to show you?"

Eleanor grimaces. “I was a kid who had an experience,” she says quietly. It’s clear she doesn’t want to talk about it though. At least not in detail. “My parents weren’t from here. Moved here after they got married and pregnant with me. Neither of them glimmered. But I did. I think I brought them here, before I was even born,” she says softly.

August starts to say something, thinks better of that particular comment. He shakes his head, gives Eleanor a sympathetic wince. "Sorry to hear that. I mean, about the--" he gestures, "--experience. I didn't really run into anything as a kid. Nothing serious, I mean."

He rubs the back of his neck, pondering the likelihood that the burgeoning power of a child in her mother's womb drew them to Gray Harbor. It's certainly a lot creepier than how he wound up settling down in a cabin nearby. "Hell maybe it did. Maybe it finds ways to manipulate things until we're here, if we don't happen by in a timely fashion." He can think of several biological processes this mimics, but a lot of them are gruesome and he'd rather not dwell on 'gruesome' at this moment.

“Who knows? No one believes this stuff until it happens to them, right?” Eleanor scuffs a sneakered foot against the ground. “What did the thing in the house look like. Do you remember it? Sometimes these things fade pretty quick from memory, sometimes they stick forever. I try to talk to people right after something happens, so I can get as many details as possible. I keep records. I have maps even.”

August grunts, nods. "I sure didn't," he admits. He looks between Eleanor and his coffee cup. "I don't know if I could describe it really well. Draw it, that I can do." His mouth twitches in an almost smile. "I'd say that sounds like we're in conspiracy theorist territory except," his voice drops a notch, "I know I can fix burst kitchen pipes just by knowing about them being broken, and without seeing them, so if there's any conspiracy I'm part of it." He nods at the shop. "Come in the office, I'll draw it up for you real quick."

Eleanor nods and she follows August into the office. “I don’t even Glimmer all that strongly, myself. But I’ve been researching Gray Harbor and the Veil since I was twelve. Maybe it’s because I just have a little taste of it, but I feel like I have to know everything about it.”

August leads Eleanor through the shop, which is doing a brisk business. Thomasina watches the two of them with a shrewd gaze. Town busy-body gotta busy-body, after all.

The office is really just a back room with a window into the shop proper. There's not much in the way of furniture: a re-purposed, 50s chrome table with mix and match folding chairs around it; a couple of filing cabinets; a scarred, old, oak desk and office chair, with a tablet and its Bluetooth keyboard on it. August settles himself at the oak desk, pulls a sheet of paper out of the printer on the filing cabinet behind him and takes out a graphite pencil from the desk drawer. He gestures at the chrome table. "Have a seat."

Eleanor sinks into one of the folding chairs, glancing around the office curiously. But her eyes return to August more often than not. Face it, he’s a hell of an attractive man. “So, is there a Missus or Mister Roen that you brought here with you?” she asks awkwardly. For someone with such a sound business mind, she is a bit of a social disaster. She herself wears no rings.

It's not hard to tell this is a plant shop's office. There's a handful of potted plants on the filing cabinets and on the sill of the window that looks out onto the shop's side grotto, including a mountain lady's slipper orchid, a variegated spider plant with a train of plantlets that almost reaches the floor, a lily of the valley, a bleeding heart, and an overly health maiden hair fern. And since only the spider plant would be easy to keep alive indoors, it's also a sign someone in here either knows what they're doing with plants, or has some other way of making them happy.

In August's case, it's both. He's unaware of Eleanor looking at him; he's sitting with the pencil held loosely between index and middle finger, expression distant. He blinks and looks at her, playing back the last few seconds so he can figure out what she asked. "No," he says. "Never really met anyone who seemed that interested." He shrugs. "And I was assigned to some corner of a National Park or the back country half the time anyways. It's not a great way to maintain a relationship." Those assignments were on purpose, but who's counting.

He waggles the pencil between his fingers and his attention strays again. Eventually he starts sketching, slow and hesitant at first, gradually picking up speed until he's drawing with a purpose. Years in the field documenting things by hand as much as with a camera taught him how to draw, so he's a fair hand at it, if no artist.

“Seriously? No one seemed that interested in you?” Eleanor sounds like that is a crazier thing than any of the weird crap that happens in Gray Harbor. She watches, still open mouthed with shock at his revelation, as he draws the thing. Her awe turns to concern. “How did you get that kid away from that thing?” she whispers, staring at the monster.

August pauses in his drawing to laugh. He looks up from the page, gives Eleanor a wry smile. It borders on coy. "Not interested enough for anything long term," he clarifies, raising an eyebrow at her. Then he's back to drawing. "And you know, I've got my own issues just like anyone else does, was out on assignment for months at a time, and there's the--glimmer, the song. Who can blame people for not wanting to get wound up with someone like that." The pencil stops again, and he looks at Eleanor one more. His expression's more serious now. "A lot of them can tell, you know? People who don't have it. At least, I think they can. Especially once we're close to them. They know there's something off about us. It's like an instinct, they know that know matter how much we look like any other person, we're not the same as them." He sighs. "And I think that scares a lot of them off."

He considers the drawing, declares it done, pushes it towards her. "Well, someone grabbed the girl and ran. Then one person set it on fire, someone else dropped part of the roof on it, and someone else shot at it with a gun. Which I guess was enough to convince it to fuck off, because it fled into the basement and told us to get the hell out, and we didn't bother questioning that. We just took her and left."

Eleanor takes the drawing before she leans back in the chair and snorts. “Well if they can tell we’re off, that would explain my abysmal dating track record,” she mutters. Her eyes sweep over the likeness and she frowns. “Well I’m glad people were able to convince it to fuck off. That poor kid, being stuck there with that thing.” She shudders involuntarily. “You do realize it’s probably not over, right?” she asks him, hazarding a look at him which is part sincere, part embarrassed goo goo eyes.

"It could. But if it's been men, keep in mind, most of us are total idiots. It takes a while to find one worth keeping around." August winces in genuine sympathy. "Anyways, you've got a business, you're a good looking woman, you'll find someone who's not useless eventually." He smiles, shakes his head. "They show up sooner or later, or so my mom always insists."

He sobers at her question. His eyes drift to the picture, and he studies it a spell, leans back in the oak chair and folds his arms. "We didn't kill it, and that house is still standing. So no, I don't think it's over." He looks out over the room. "Yeah. Definitely not over," he murmurs after a second.

“You wouldn’t be interested in possibly being idiotic around me, would you?” Eleanor blurts out. Yeah see? This is why she doesn’t do so well in that department. She has no concept of the whole etiquette thing when it comes to dating. She turns scarlet across her freckles, her lips pursed like she can’t believe she just asked that.

August's attention slowly returns to Eleanor from wherever it had strayed to. (A not-so-great place involving how to demolish the Murray House and destroy the evil whatevers inside it, so the distraction is welcome.) He blinks at her. "Why would I want to be an id--" He stops abruptly when his mind assembles the entire thread of the conversation into one coherent path. "Oh." He tilts his head at her. "Really?" he asks, looking and sounding genuinely surprised, even a little cautious.

Eleanor gets redder if that’s even humanly possible. Her face is now blending in with her hair. Oh dear. She swallows. “I, uh, well, you’re an attractive man. You know about the weird stuff. And I enjoy talking to you.” This is like a middle schooler on the playground. Next she’ll punch him and run away laughing like a 12 year old girl who likes a boy and doesn’t know how to express herself. “But I totally understand if that’s not of interest. Totally.”

It's a question August hasn't had to consider for some time. Not that he's been a monk, but there's fooling around, and then there's actually dating someone and having something approximating a relationship and, well, everything.

If he's put out by her methods, there's no indication. (Probably because he's encountered more awkward and worse.) He has to think about it for a second, get himself centered in what's going on. Then, "Sure." He considers her across the desk. "I'll see if I can be less of an idiot than you're used to, though," he adds, and smiles. "Any particular place and time you want to be not-total-idiots at one another?"

Eleanor stares at August. Because she was not anticipating any sort of answer in the positive. At all. She blinks a few times, and then finally remembers to breathe. That may have had something to do with the crimson state of her face. “Oh, um, I can check my schedule and uh,” what the hell do people do in this town for date-like things? She has no idea. “There’s a boardwalk, kind of fun. Sort of Coney Island but for a tiny town of the Pacific Northwest?” she offers.

August continues to give Eleanor a smile that's a mix of wary and curious and almost amused, like he's not sure he's imagining this but isn't about to question it. After all, the last month has been full of surprises; why stop now.

"You know, I've lived here three years, never been to it." His smile becomes a bit less wary. "Sounds like a date. Just let me know when." He's managing not to say anything about the color of her face and her hair matching even though he really...really wants to. Well, maybe he can bring it up on the boardwalk.

"Ok then," Eleanor stands and reaches a hand to shake his, because that's clearly what people do when they've agreed to go on a date. "I'll uh, give you a call and we can work out when, after I check my schedule at the coffee shop? And can I take this?" she holds up the drawing.

August stands when Eleanor does, accepts the handshake. It's not the worst idea; now it just looks like a business transaction to all the busy bodies out in the shop (for example, his own employees). His grip is firm and friendly, his hands have more than a few calluses.

He gives the drawing the barest glance; he doesn't want to ruin the mood of being asked out in a date by remembering anything to do with Murray House. "All yours."

"Great, I'll add it to the murder board, uh, weirdness board, thing I have up in my apartment. Yeah so....I'll call you soon!" Eleanor turns on a heel and she skitters out of the office like her ass is on fire. She didn't even remember to order the plants. Ah well, today took an unexpected turn!