2019-07-12 - Successful Social Interaction

Alexander has been to the office before, and is well aware of the fact that Vivian still doesn't have a receptionist, so the fact that he's not met out front might be simply because she is certain that he can find his way back to her office. No other patients are currently there, since the door is open and Vivian is sitting at the desk, looking over some paperwork. There is quiet classical music that is playing at the moment, some violin concerto.

Today finds her in a dark navy blue suit, with a white button up. Very professional. Very well put together, not a single hint that the reality of the town and its horrors have been glimpsed. Might be a duck situation, calm on the surface and rapidly paddling beneath it all.

Alexander looks...well, like he normally looks. Today is a t-shirt day, a faded black sports shirt that's old enough to be frayed nearly through in places, battered jeans, work boots, dark circles under his eyes. He's not quite as skittish as he was on the first visit, but he still moves through the outer office and into the inner like he's expecting an ambush. He pauses just at the open door, and raps his knuckles gently against the frame. Just giving her warning that he's there. "Dr. Glass?" A flick of his eyes around the room. "Is this a good time?" The question seems sincere, despite the fact that it's an appointment arranged in advance.

"Come in, Mister Clayton." Vivian replies, evidently that is supposed to be a yes to his question. She closes the file on her desk, adding it to a drawer that she then locks before she gets to her feet, offering him a smile, "Come in, make yourself comfortable." There's a gesture towards the seats available for him before she picks up a pen from her desk, and another file and notebook before she moves towards one of the chairs herself, "How are you feeling today?"

Alexander sidles in to take a seat in one of the chairs. The exact one he sat in last time, as it happens. His hands fiddle with the seams of his jeans as he settles in, his dark gaze never leaving her as she gathers her things. "Difficult," he says, with a slight upturn of his mouth, to her suggestion to make himself comfortable. "And I'm," he clearly rethinks 'fine' as a response, "acceptable. I've been worse." His head tilts to one side. "And yourself? Are you well?"

"Quite well, surprisingly." Vivian replies with a smile, settling herself down in the other chair, legs crossing so that she can rest the notebook and file on her leg, flipping everything open to a clean page. "So in light of what I now....know as a reality within a reality. I'm curious, Mister Clayton." She taps the pen lightly against the surface of the notebook, then clicks the end of it to make a quick note on the page, "How much of your issues are truly rooted in what you've experienced, and the fact that most of the outside world would see any retelling of that experience as nothing more than a break with reality...then how much might actually be something that could be solved through medication."

"No medication." It's immediate, and Alexander's entire body tenses like he's going to flee from the office. Or possibly go on the attack. It looks like it could go either way for a moment, before he deliberately makes himself...not relax, exactly, but reach a less urgent level of defensiveness. "I don't want any medication, Dr. Glass." He looks away, towards the windows. "As for the rest - little of column A, little of column B? I don't really know. Other people deal with this shit differently. Better. Some deal with it worse. I'm somewhere in the middle, I guess."

The immediate reaction gets a note written down on the notebook, which comes as a shock to no one most likely. "I'm sure that at this point in time there is probably a lot of blurred lines, and I'm not sure that if positions were reversed I'd be able to always say within a shadow of a doubt what was and wasn't." Which is probably comforting, right? Vivian sighs faintly, fingers lacing together as she studies him, "Explain to me your usual coping methods when it comes to this." She gestures faintly, "For instance, how are you handling the situation with the bones and the....what was it that was wanting one of the bones again?"

"Coping mechanisms." Alexander looks blankly at her. His brow furrows, and he rubs at his face. "I don't know. The bones...all of that. It's unprecedented. I'm just trying to treat it like an unsolved murder or other crime. My previous experiences have been more," his fingers curl, uncurl, "unpleasant. And solitary. It helps, when people have seen the same thing? It makes me feel a little less crazy." There's a weak smile. "But the Archivist...I didn't go there expecting to find out anything about me, specifically. It's probably a trick. Some new torment or torture. It'll probably tell me I'm the Antichrist or something. I'll try not to care."

"I can assure you that you are not the Antichrist." Not that she has actual proof of this, but that's one bridge that she's clearly not willing to cross yet. Despite it all. "So the bones are new, yes. From what was said during the incident there should have been no way possible they were brought back to this side." There is a moment of thought, "I can't say without a reasonable doubt that you are not crazy, Mister Clayton, but I can say that I believe much of what would be categorized as crazy by an outsider is most likely this. These weird things in this town, and the experience of them does not make you crazy. I'm not sure if that is a comfort, though. But good, the bones and treating it as an unsolved murder or other crime. That grounds it in a recognizable reality, shapes it to fit what society has defined as standard."

Alexander studies her, thoughtfully. "Are you assuring me, Doctor Glass? Or yourself?" Then he moves on, giving a jerk of a nod. "Yes. And no. I should say that I've never seen it done. That I tried to do it, when I was a kid, tried to have proof of the things that were happening to me, and it never worked. So I assumed it couldn't be done. I was clearly wrong. But I don't know.../why/. Is it the bones? Are they unique? Is it something one of the people who found them could do?" His smile returns, a little stronger. "Maybe it's you, Doctor. Maybe you can bring things back. I don't know."

The smile fades. "I don't like not knowing. And it's a bit of a comfort. To hear it from someone else." He blinks, once. "It's difficult. I never know what's real, when I'm in Gray Harbor."

"I'm assuring you, Mister Clayton." Vivian replies with a faint smile, tilting her head to listen to the rest, "If anyone else has brought out something it isn't common knowledge, considering another was very vocal about how this was not possible, never could be done. But I think it's the bones, that something about them is what allowed them to be brought back...sentient bones? Seems they are special, but why. That is my question." She does not write down anything about that, although she does start to quietly tap the pen against the thumb of her other hand in thought. "If I experience another one of these incidents, I'll see if I can't bring something back, just to prove the theory that it's not me, and instead the bones themselves. Or at least, cross me off the list."

There's a faint smile, almost a sad one, "I wish I could give you some way to tell what is real. My experiences, limited as they are, have been painfully obvious as far as reality versus...whatever this is, goes. Dancing corpses and buildings of flesh are pretty obviously not real."

"A worthy experiment. I think you're right. About the bones. But it's worth ruling out, although I don't wish it on you. To get lost." He runs his hand through his hair, but it's already as disheveled as it's likely to get. "And, it's fine. I've mostly got it figured out, these days," he claims. "If someone I like tries to murder me, or you start telling me that the only way to feel better is to start killing more people, that's probably not real." A shrug. "But the not-real can still hurt you. Just remember that, Doctor. If you do get lost. It's not just a dream, and if you bleed over there, you bring that back with you."

"I'll be certain to remember that." Vivian assures him, the flicker of a frown crossing her face at that bit of news, but she nods, "Very well...so you've begun developing some methods of detection, or at least some way to differentiate between these dreams and reality." She takes a moment to think about something, then smiles very faintly, "You strike me as someone that might be receptive to this suggestion. But have you considered keeping a journal? Assuming that you don't already, at least."

"A journal?" Alexander frowns. "No. I've never kept a journal. When I was a kid...I didn't want anything like that to be found. It'd be hard to keep from being committed if it was. When I came back to the Harbor as an adult," he hesitates, "I just didn't care about much. Writing things down didn't seem important." He shakes himself out of it. "I could dry. If you think it'd help." A curious tilt of his head. "Did you want to, uh, read it? Or?"

"I think that if you label it as a dream journal you should be safe from anyone else suspecting that you think what is in them is real." Vivian tilts her head to the side, thinking about it, "Those that know the truth, of course, could maybe pick up on it. But I think it'd be safe enough, and I'd do my best to keep you from being committed, because in my professional opinion....you don't need to be." She offers a faint smile at his question, though, "If you feel comfortable sharing them I'd read them, but I don't think at this point I have to read them. I want you to keep them for you. Every day, write what you experience. Perhaps a better way to tell reality from dream will come up, maybe it won't."

Alexander relaxes a bit when she says she doesn't want to read it. He nods, slowly, as if hesitating to commit to the action. But says, "All right. I'll start one." Then he stares at her, watching her. "Sometimes I think I should be. That it's selfish not to be. I'm dangerous. I know that." He breathes out. "I killed someone. Not long ago. A real person. And then I went home, and I went to sleep, and I slept the best I had in...more than a decade, Dr. Glass. Like a fucking baby." His voice is harsh, self-mocking.

There is a brief pause at that, but there doesn't appear to be any judgment from her as she studies him, her full focus there. "Are you absolutely certain that this was a real person that you killed, Mister Clayton? Not just a construct of these dreams."

Alexander laughs, softly. There's no humor in it. "Yes, Dr. Glass. I've killed enough not-real people that I am sure. She was trying to kill me at the time. But that's," he falls silent, "that isn't why I killed her. I was angry. She and the blonde ambushed me a few days earlier and they," his lips press together, "humiliated me. Tormented me. I killed her because I was /angry/."

He doesn't look away from her study, meeting her eyes squarely. "The blonde survived. We killed all the other actors, I think, but the blonde survived. I'm looking for her now. I haven't decided what I will do when I find her."

"How did it make you feel, killing this...actor." Vivian wonders, making a note on the paper before she leans back, her hands folding once more, watching him in return. Much as he isn't afraid to meet her eyes, she isn't afraid to look right back at him. "Do you kill people unprovoked? Or is this simply a reaction to situations where you have been threatened, physically or mentally."

"Disgusted. Scared. Powerful. Still angry." Alexander doesn't continue to meet her eyes. His brow furrows and he studies his shoes. "All sorts of things. And I've never killed a person before. Not directly. Not like that. I just put my hands on her," he lifts his hands, spreads them wide, "and fried her from the inside out." His hands collapse slowly back onto his thighs. "I've killed not-real things, before. Sometimes they look like people. But they're not. And it's when they're trying to kill me. Not. Not just for any reason, Dr. Glass. I try not to do that."

"You said we. We killed all the other actors, except for the blonde." Vivian points out, studying him and his body language, "I don't think you are a danger, Mister Clayton. At least not from the information you've given me about this so far. I think you were feeling angry and threatened, and reacted in a...drastic but reasonable manner. Not everyone fights back, but those that do...it's different fighting back than it is if you seek out this sort of action. But, what was the exact situation that caused her to ambush you, and for whoever we is to kill others."

Alexander is hunched. Moreso than usual, even, his shoulders rounded inward, his head bowed. He doesn't say anything for a long moment. Doesn't look at her, either. Neither reassured or angered by her words. After a moment, he says, dully, "They were allied with the Shadows. I don't know why. But they were going around to people who stand out, trying to get us to hurt other people." He takes a deep breath. "There was a play they put on. I think maybe all of that prelude was just to get those of us who stand out to attend. And we did. And they pulled us into a dream. Told us that we had to choose. Choose one of us to give to the Shadows, and the rest could live."

His lips twist in a bitter little smile. "They suggested it should be me. Who was sacrificed. They were probably right. It still hurt." He rubs at his face. "But no one...in the group who was there, no one said it should be me. Not even Thorne." He laughs, a little. "He did want to know why they hated me in particular so much. I had to tell him I don't know. I guess I'm just an easily hated guy."

The mention that Byron was there causes her brows to lift upwards, a quick crack in the carefully crafted neutrality of her expression. But she covers it quickly by turning her attention to the notebook, even if she's not writing anything down at the moment. "I would say then that what you did was understandable. From what I can gather, and this is just from piecing together things, when these...Shadows want something, that anyone in their path is at risk. Which means that it was likely you versus them, and you survived."

After a moment she glances back up, offering him a faint smile, "I don't find you to be an easily hated individual, Mister Clayton. So I doubt that you were the target for that reason. No...much like the bones I'd venture to guess there is something special about you."

"I could have done something different, though," Alexander says, softly. "I could have...pulled my 'punch', so to speak. Not tried to kill her, just knocked her down. But I did. Try. And succeed." He looks up, studies her as she's looking down over the notebook. "And then, I slept. Well. How fucked up is that, Doctor Glass?"

He slumps back in his chair, shaking his head. His expression shifts, becomes blank, his voice turning neutral an analytical. "If I was honest, I think it's because they knew me. Knew how I was broken. I get aggressive when threatened. If someone in the group, or the group, /had/ decided I was a good person to throw to the wolves, I'd have panicked and attacked whoever was nearest. It would have caused chaos, and it would have been easier to overwhelm us and kill us all. If I'm special, it's mostly because I'm pretty much one wrong touch away from punching someone at any given moment."

"Would they have just come back for you if you'd knocked them down?" Vivian wonders, her brows lifting, "I don't condone such action, but I'm also aware that sometimes that is the only viable reaction to a situation. Justified, even." She spreads her hands just a moment, then settles them back down on the notebook, "When you get to those points, where you think that punching someone is an option, even when you are not being physically threatened, do you have any strategy for calming yourself down, of reining that urge in."

"I guess we'll never know, doctor. Because they're dead, and they don't get a chance to make that choice," Alexander says, simply. "I can't let myself justify that. Not when I can do it so easily."

He takes a slow breath, shakes his head. "Not really. It's not thinking. There's a threat. I either escape or I...end the threat. Once I can do one or the other of those things, I can - usually - get myself back under control. But my threat radar is a bit," he makes the 'loco' gesture by his temple, "fucked up. I'm getting...better? Talking to people helps. Seeing them as people. Knowing that if I let myself be too crazy, they won't talk to me any more. That helps."

"Anyone can pull the trigger of a gun, Mister Clayton. It is knowing when or when not to pull that trigger that is important, and it sounds like you are at least working on that issue." Vivian points out with a nod, absently clicking the end of her pen again in thought, "Continue to socialize, you seem to be getting along well with others when I've run into you. I'd like you to continue that behavior, it'll become easier the more you do it, I think."

Alexander nods, slowly. "I can try." He falls silent for a moment, and then there's a sudden, sunny smile. The kind of expression that takes off ten years and several traumas from his face. "My friend, Isolde, got a job. She's doing well. Better than I thought she would. And a cop thanked me. For being involved in a case. Usually, that's not the sort of thing I'm thanked for. But he contacted me. And thanked me. We're going to go interview homeless people together about a drug overdose." He says it in the way another person might say 'we're going to hit the rides at the fair' or 'we're going to go skiing this weekend'.

"Congratulations to Isolde. I'm glad to hear that she's doing well, that's very good news." Vivian returns the smile, although hers isn't nearly as sunny as his is, but no less pleased by the news. The mention of a cop thanking him and taking him with him to interview homeless people causes her to tilt her head a fraction, "Interesting. Hopefully you and this cop are able to help figure out what is going on there."

"It is," Alexander says, softly. "She's a good person. She should have nice things. She helped save a child from an evil house, too. So that's good." A bit of humor flashes. "Gray Harbor never fails to provide opportunities for new growth experiences." Then his gaze sharpens, and he studies her. "But what about you, Dr. Glass? You look fine. You say you're dealing well. But it has to be hard. What's your," he hesitates, then continues, slightly teasing, "coping mechanism?"

"Afraid that I don't have any." Vivian replies with a shrug of her shoulders, "Acceptance of the change in reality, and that seems to be it. I've had far less exposure to everything than some people have, so maybe this'll get me through for now, maybe it'll work forever. I can't really say, I'm afraid. Focusing on the puzzles and problems I can affect, and not worrying about the ones that I can't."

Alexander makes a thoughtful noise. He looks perhaps a little skeptical, but leaves it be. Instead, he asks, "Do you have any questions? I don't claim to have all the answers. Or even half of them. And I might be wrong. But between myself, Thorne, and some of the others you've met, you might cobble together a working theory." He smiles. "As good of one as anyone else has."

Vivian shakes her head, "None yet...ready to be asked." She smiles a bit, almost apologetically, "I don't think that I've quite gotten to the point that I can apply words to the feelings. But you are top on the list of people to ask these questions to when I'm able to formulate the words for them."

"There's something I don't hear often," Alexander says. He rubs at his face again, closing his eyes briefly. "I feel exhausted. I suppose that's good?" He looks up at her. "So. Journal. Socializing with anyone who will let me. Any other suggestions?" A pause, before he adds, lightly, "Yoga?"

"It can be good, yes." Vivian agrees with a nod, "Yoga can also be helpful, it is good for the body and a good form of meditation. If you want to branch out into it there isn't any harm that'll come of it, and it might help you find an inner calm. Which might prove useful for the fight or flight moments."

"I'm not sure I have an inner calm," Alexander points out. "But sure. What the hell. Can't hurt." Says the man who has clearly never done yoga before. He rises to his feet. "Thank you. This...helped. Actually. I wasn't sure it would? But talking to someone. A doctor. Who didn't just say none of it was real. That's nice."

"I'm glad it is helping, Mister Clayton." Vivian replies, setting the notebook to the side before she gets to her feet as well, "Perhaps you should take your friend Isobel out to celebrate the new job? I suggest ice cream given the time of year, very calm social interaction."

"I cooked, actually. Didn't burn anything down. Nothing tried to kill us. It was a successful social interaction," Alexander says, all deadpan, but a humorous light dancing in his eyes. He doesn't offer a hand as she stands up, but he does jerk his head in a nod. "Have a good day, Dr. Glass. Thank you. For seeing me." Then he turns and slouches his way out of the office.