2019-07-16 - Operation: Minibar

It's just enough things going wrong in one week to make control freaks splinter around the edges. A harried text back and forth brought concerns and solutions.

TXT to Vyv: Yes, Operation: Minibar is a go. I'll be by after work

The uneven cadence of her walk announces her arrival with a ''tik-tap-tik-tap'' on the Ebony floor from one stiletto and the hard silicone end of that elegantly carved artifical limb, the clear acrylic one again with the vine of flowers preserved in it.

Elegant? Yes.
Put together? Always on the surface
Ready to take over the world to fix it? Unquestionably

There's something that remains bringing a lack of energy and hesitant, frayed to those that should know the difference. Her hand finds his cheek and there are the cheek smoochies on either side. "Please tell me there's gin. Lots and LOTS of gin. I need today to be over." She pauses and flaps her hand slowly gathering her thoughts, "Oh, how are you?" Etiquette mandates one should ask. It's only because it's Vyv she actually bothers like she's demanding an answer and a status update because it matters.

Of course there's the air-kisses, and a pat to Hyacinth's shoulder when Vyv releases the light grip. "I've still not throttled David as yet, and that's as much as could reasonably be asked of me," he replies. "Two more burnt caramels. At this rate I ought to invest in a sugar plantation." He shakes his head, and takes a half-step back to look her over critically. It's not the usual appraisal of her ensemble -- well, not mostly -- this time it's a consideration of those subtler nuances that betray the hairline cracks in the facade. Empathy may not be his bailiwick, but details are, and this is arguably takes-one-to-know-one territory in any case. "I see you've survived wrangling the relations, at least," he decides, and makes a vague gesture in the general direction of the living room. "Sit, darling, make yourself comfortable."

Turning, he strolls toward the bar cabinet. "There is, I'm pleased to inform you, gin. Four sorts, I think. Also tonic, vermouth, and lemon juice, should you covet something mixed amongst your weaponry against the day." This can probably be fairly interpreted as an inquiry into what precisely she'd like. "So. How are you holding up, post-wrangling? And have they really made you do a deposition?"

In a world of people with fight or flight responses Hyacinth Yvonne Addington is, and has always been, staunchly in the former category refusing to give up ground or flee until every rhinestone is accounted for and threats to good graces are abated. That is to say she in in excellent company where never letting the castle fall is concerned. It's not to say those constructed of tenacious fortification and resilience can't be hurt, harmed, harried, harangued, or harassed, but more there's a different approach and to identify when things are not, as they say 'splendid'. This takes an expert. This is why she's arrived specifically where she is right now.

"Gin and tonic. No fruit. It's not afternoon and we're not animals." Apparently this all has some notion of fitting together in her mind. Taking a deep breath she collects herself which, to the outside world might appear her to be entirely unaffected and perhaps annoyed at being so put out by three funerals in short order and also having shit to do. Vyv? Knowing like for like can see a woman trying to hold the world together for the sake of those in it. Controlling the situation is the only way one can control the outcome at times. It's the only way they have to protect others from outside things and themselves. Hyacinth is... tired.

"The truth? I'm running low on things to keep me busy and other people's useless unnecessary bullshit keeps cropping up as an emergency and I keep telling Judith, 'Sweetie, hey're plans. Yes it matters if the greens go with but they're not going to match. It's called organic for a reason.'" Fingers find her forehead and her hand finds his elbow to give it a squeeze in silent gratitude. Subtle signs and subtle signals. "I am jsut... treding water and really would like to be back on the island and people keep trying to sink it." Which is to say more problems and people are losing their shit. Someone's got to keep people from drowning.

"Animals rarely mix an acceptable drink," Vyv replies, "Ask most of them for a cocktail and at best you'll come away with a mouthful of feathers." He, on the other hand, has both thumbs and the ability to recall simple recipes at will, so it doesn't take particularly long to put together the requested drink. In proof of his ability to plan ahead, there's ice in the ice bucket there to prevent him needing to go to the fridge mid-mixing. There's a lime hanging out there as well, though given her firm no-fruit stance, that's what it continues to do. One of the less citrusy of the gins gets used, as well.

"How busy do you need to be kept?" he inquires, offering it over. "Running yourself ragged would be a disservice to yourself and the world at large, you know. And admittedly large portions of the world could probably use a disservice or two, but I suggest we hold out for some more amusing ones. Like that chicken shortage in the UK last year. Queues of people staring woefully at shuttered KFCs and calling the police to report this terrible miscarriage of justice. You deserve better, however. One of those floating loungers to stop you treading water, at the least." He makes himself a drink as well, another of the same as long as he's already got that right at hand. "They can at least make it the night without supervision, yes?"

Hyacinth manages, in her stress, a sly smile relieved for the banter. Sparkly nails make the gimme-gimme gesture with the smile that is gratitude. It's hard to be understood when one speaks need in the language of pontificating the world's inadequacies and expect to be understood. Today it's the art of being fruit free. Nails wrap and tap to the glass as she gets comfortable here where everything isn't chronically broken; the carefully constructed dwelling a sanctuary instead of some place to put discordant things.

"Busy busy but I don't..." Pause. Drinking is happening. Her eyes roll to a close and she pauses as the taste of balance returns in the storm of absolute chaos. "Thank you." The rare and elusive direct gratitude bestowed. "Vyv, I liked them. In particular just because Erin can't dress to save her life doesn't mean she's undeserving of people leaving her life in tact." The frown creases on her forehead, "And my aunt was a generous woman of questionable but generally good taste!" Her expression becomes less facade and instead shifting into one of frank feelings speaks volumes of trust in the room, and specifically to Vyv. She's far from happy on this and while not one to fall apart is far from unaffected. "I won't tell Erin, but I don' think the car accident is an accident. Call it... a really odd feeling."

That smile gets one in return, a slight thing, but genuine. If their language might not be precisely alike, the dialects seem to be fairly mutually intelligible, and the apartment's a balm for souls bruised by the haphazard and half-assed that'll-do-ness of the world outside. It will in fact not do, world. Buck up your ideas.

Vyv's little smile remains for the thanks, which receives a small, acknowledging inclination of the head and a simple, "Always welcome," but fades as she goes on. Sympathy is not one of the emotions that comes most naturally to him, which means neither does expressing it, but "I am sorry you're going through this," is entirely sincere. As is, "And no, it doesn't, particularly when there are people walking around in Crocs out there unmolested," sadly. Her final remarks get a furrowing of his brow over the first sip of his own drink. "You think someone caused it on purpose, then?" he asks, tone intrigued rather than dubious, "Why?" A slight pause. "Why do you suspect that and why would someone be inclined to, both. Here," he touches her arm, applying a light pressure as if to guide her, "Come sit. I'll bring you a refill when you need one." It's not a lot of contact, but considerably more than most people get. If she cooperates, he steers her toward the couch, where they can most easily both sit.

Hyacinth sips her drink and gives him a grateful look which is a thoughtful face softening the expression. She's hyper-focused, not without feelings. All of her feelings are derived from her wants but they're for the greater good by making the world perfect as intended where there is balance and order...and mojitos.

Sitting she reaches down and peels her shoe off wiggling her toes now that they have room to do so. She turns her hazel green eyes to him following the Brit. "I have a feeling and as much as I do NOT care for my cousin at many a time he didn't kill his wife and it..." He pauses, her lined eyes closing, "I have a feeling."

Vyv lets her sit first -- part of it may be making sure she actually gets off her feet without further encouragement -- and then settles on the couch as well, beside her and at a slight, conversational angle. "So someone's certainly killed her," he says, "and you suspect the same for Erin's parents. If you're right, either one person is taking advantage of an opportunity opened by another, or the same person's done it, which implies a connection. Of which there's one quite obvious one." He studies her a moment, a slight furrow in his brow. "Are you in danger, Hyacinth? Or do you think it's more likely the first scenario?"

Hyacinth stops and looks to Vyv and while her face remains the picture of neutral and tired her pupils dilate and it's clear in an instant, while her expression is still as porcelain, that this is the first she's even considered that. Her fingers adjust around the glass and one finger rubs the rim of it really mulling that over. "For their sake I hope not." Presumptuous? No, busy. She has things to do like Not be in peril again. Ever.

"To that extent I can't say." She pauses and lifts a hand, "And before anyone brings it up, No, I don't believe in all that Baxter bullshit. Still it feels strange. That's... " Three in two days! But the words she chooses looking to Vyv for answers he doesn't possess, "my family." Someone moved her things. Hers. No touchie, but lo, here they are in teh aftermath of something that has quite the fallout.

Vyv, ever comforting. "I do suspect trying would be unwise," he says, "And if someone were to succeed, I'd be most put out." Whether he'd have any capability to make them regret it, who knows, but he's almost certainly got the willingness to damn well try. The understated phrasing and casual tone might not say as much to most people, but the common underlying thread of no-touchy likely feels familiar enough.

"What's the Baxter bullshit? ...isn't that your PA's surname?" A tiny twitch of a smile, just at one side of his lips. "I am still new here, after all. I may be clever and reasonably observant, but I'm not," there's just the beginning shape of the word 'psychic', but isn't he, though? "A mindreader," he finishes instead, the hesitation in the switch barely perceptible. He doesn't explicitly give sympathy for the family again, but there's a slight nod of acknowledgement. Basically the same, right?

Hyacinth operates very cleanly on the metrics of 'mine'. My family, my people, my city, my parking spot, my coffee, my personal assistant, She sighs getting comfortable giving her decorative leg an assist tucking up there on the couch. "The Baxter bullshit is this. Back int he thirties one of them lost their damn mind and like killed an entire family picnic's worth of Addingtons. It's why the park is named after u. IT was totes horrific and the most exciting thing like ever in this town that happened and naturally like all the Baxters were run out f town. 90 years later our points of interest have not evolved- A failing on the events planning committee if you ask me- and now everyone's suspicious." She shakes her head and while she looks very put together she also is quite put out on this. "So by birth or by coincidence Edison's a Baxter and Reginald, at the office is already telling me aren't I worried? Like, Reggie, sweetie, if you can give me better then you can give me your opinion. But he can't so he and the others are welcome to close their little bug traps like the slack jawed yokles they're acting like. but that's it in a nutshell."

It's very important to take proper care of one's belongings. Why stake a claim if you don't want to keep it? Even so, Vyv arches a brow when she gets to the '90 years later' portion of things. "I have been known to hold a grudge," he says, "but there are limits. Did the killer even stick around? It can't be that satisfying punishing someone's family when they aren't there to see it. I suppose it lets other families know not to try it, but then you start getting into autocrats and underworlds and it's not a particularly flattering look. If they had the power to run people out of town, they could probably have got as much mileage out of being magnanimous. And then you wouldn't need to deal with this now." If only people would think ahead! About Hyacinth! To be fair, there is a hint of amusement in there, but it's difficult to tell how much might be a joke and how much isn't. There's somewhat clearer flippancy on, "Clearly, one ought to find a suitable Addington and marry them off to Edison. I believe that's the traditional manner of resolving these things." A sip of his drink, and he shifts position slightly as well, a bit more comfortable.

Hyacinth pauses and squints really considering that declaration of Vyv's and while that plan would work there's an inner fury at the concept and never him. "Vyvvy... I am not inclined to share. There's little worse than losing one's assets to their own blood." She slouches and lets her self settle into the picturesque conforts of #808. She bemoans, "Maybe I can get him adopted? Or... just lick him like a postage stamp and tell them, he's ours now." Those bright hazel green eyes blink looking to Vyv tapping nail to tumbler, "Oh god... that could work Are seige rules still in play?" A happy sound comes from teh bedazzled woman, "I would make a wondrous warlord." Looking to Vyv she just watches him for a moment, tired, but honest, "You're so damn good to me. " She inclines the glass slightly with a less imperious smile, "Cheers to you, my greatest of fortunes found- you and your art, darling."

"Well, I suppose you could always marry him yourself," Vyv muses, "...particularly if you're going to start licking him like a postage stamp." The tone's almost convincingly speculative, and that upward curve at the corner of his mouth is quite faint; it's the eyes which are the best tell of the teasing just now. "A good husband would still bring one anticipatory Mojitos, after all. Though I do hear they're somewhat more difficult to fire if they cease to satisfy."

The single hint of a smile spreads, becoming something still fairly small but both more definite and more balanced, and he gives her a fond look. "You would make a magnificent warlord," he agrees, "I daresay superlative. In the event of the Apocalypse, I have every faith our tribe would prevail." A pause, considering. "Can't say I fancy the Mad Max look, though. Let's try not to hasten it." He tilts his glass slightly as well, going ahead and very lightly tinking it against hers. "And to you. I have to be good to you; imagine how drab this town would be without you. And I don't just mean the state of the architecture... although that too."

Can one be stressed out, inebriated, and artful about it? Seems so! It really takes a pro. This is not a skill for the faint of heart lest you spill on yourself or worse, look funny.

She arches an eyebrow, "I've met my parents. I'm not certain marriage is fashionable anymore., also I have issue with how it's regulated, and... the sharing bit." She pauses with the end of her drink halfway to her Revlon Red lipstick, "Oh, at least lie to me and tell me it'd leave you the slightest bit envious or bereft." The compliment on hr warlordship, however, balms the ego a bit and it is genuine appreciation for unprompted compliment. "I accept this fashion challenge. Getting the right leg would be the challenge but OH wouldn't that set Halloween on its ear at the very least? And, yes, you'd be sad and solitary and your art would suffer in lack of solace. I promise you, whatever is going on with my family, I'm not done with this place so long as someone can describe any part of it as ..." Her nose wrinkles, "rustic." With a sigh she looks to him on a more serious note, "I don't know how to help them, Vyv."

Vyv arches a brow right back. "If we do it, it's fashionable," he declares with an airy arrogance that may not be entirely genuine but is definitely well-practiced. "And in any case, we don't really need fashion. We have style." Which everyone knows is infinitely better. He gives her a sidelong look at the request for lies. "Well. One doesn't like to look needy." A beat. "But really I just presumed we wouldn't let it interfere. You wouldn't just run off with this shiny new husband, would you? Then I would be sad and solitary and my art would suffer in lack of solace, and do you really want that on your conscience? Just think of the loss to pātisserie. The rosy-cheeked children never learning to tell a bastardized crescent roll from a proper croissant." Even as a rhetorical device, invoking children makes his own nose wrinkle slightly.

He takes a sip of his drink, nodding to her more serious remark, and is quiet a moment. "I expect there's only so much one can do, but it's all very..." Not his area of expertise. Which is probably also part of why the light pat to her upper back is less graceful than most of his movements. Is that right? "I suppose we probably can't just make them all gin and tonics." And that one's not intended as humour; it comes out regretful rather than arch or even deadpan. It would be so much easier if they could!

Hyacinth turns her head to Vyv with that dry look of Really!? Her hand reaches out and pats his forearm giving it a squeeze. "Husbands are perennial. You are not. If I learned anything from my grandmother it's don't ever put yourself in a position where one can take half your shit lightly. And you? You have the very fortunate distinction to always be stuck with me." The comment about style draws a tired but winning grin from her. The squint of adoration is entirely genuine if the smile is tarnished with a sadness. "I don't like people trying to scare me and I don't suppose we can although since you're offering," (He did not!) "Yes I will take another."

The gesture, as stilted as it is in comparison to his other gestures is still read well. Vyv made the effort and didn't have to . She asks, "I wouldn't mind the company if we find this person at fault and make their life an utter fucking nightmare."

"Are they perennials? What does that make me, an evergreen? I'm not sure it's my best colour." And Botany is not his best subject, either, but that's fine, there's more to focus on. "I'll accept that it's a fortunate distinction, though, since it means you're stuck with me too." Vyv takes a small sip of his drink, adding a small rub to that pat, and then retracts that hand to reach for her glass. All right, no, he didn't offer just now, but he did promise refills earlier, and a gentleman keeps his word! So this one in particular rises to his feet, strolling back toward the bar cabinet.

"I don't like people trying to scare you either. Or manipulate, incapacitate, fold, spindle, mutilate, or otherwise distress. So yes, should we find the responsible party, I am entirely at your disposal for crashing it and ensuring the police break it up." He eyes the bottle of gin for a moment before he gets to pouring the drink. "Do we have plans for the finding portion of the festivities?" He's short on details, but apparently at least empathetic enough to approach that issue obliquely. Nearly perpendicular, in fact.

Hyacinth replies evening, "You're a rock. A big fucking diamond people would kill to get their hands on." Her hand pats his as he moves past her There is a frown and thoughtful pause, "And what is this you're volunteering other for something you're not willing to do? Cheeky." Her green hazel eyes follow him with limited suspicion before she resigns to close them and listen with the first simple, but assured expression in a week. "Thank you for not making me do this alone. I mean... yes Edison and Justin and my mother have been there but mother is actually grieving and I can't deal with another person being angry right now. And I..." She winces an expression. Fine. Everything is fine!

There's a silence and her manicured fingers worn with work and far from delicate as one might expect curl into loose fists. It's a pause and when the drink makes a return and feelings smelted into motivation or rage fuel accordingly does she look up to him eyes glossy, but unfallen. "Just... it's valued beyond measure to have backup and no. I don't have a lead yet. We should look at commonalities. I don't trust the police to care much beyond what duty requires."

"There's not much point volunteering others for things I am willing to do, darling," Vyv replies without an iota of shame, "...though in this case the aim was family reconciliation old-school style, and I am not a Baxter. QED." He stirs the drink, the soft clinking of spoon and ice floating across the room. "Even if I were, you know I'm not precisely the ideal candidate for that sort of job. Haven't got all the proper qualifications."

Both glasses properly filled again, he returns to the couch, handing her glass back to her before settling in beside, once more. Slightly closer, this time -- nearly touching, as if general proximity might make up for being less than facile with the active gestures. "I'd hate to think of you having to do it all alone. Not that I doubt you could. You just oughtn't have to." A sip. "And in any case, helping to do something about it would be far more... satisfying, than not. So. We'll need to see what we can find out about each case, then..."

Hyacinth watches. It's hard to say if she's watching Vyv or the drinky drink of solution management. The words land home though and she considers something else nodding. "Perfect. I can work with that." Her smile is less sharp and more languid tired in terror and her thoughts outside the walls. "Oh, pfft. You can Oscar Wilde that in and I can outsource any remaining qualifications left over." Oh, Vyv what did you just accidentally agree to??!

She considers shaking her head, "Or I'll keep my own little empire and just keep very, very good company. Seems more... mod." She pauses and takes a deep breath taking the drink back. "If someone doesn't fuck it up by assailing me and making me turn their brain into pudding." She stops and looks to Vyv with a curious concern, "How many calories are in pudding?" Her hand slides out and pats his taking the drink and falls silent staring at it. It gets a swish and a sigh. "Thank you."

"Oscar Wilde ended up in jail, no thank you very much," Vyv points out tartly, "and I am still not a Baxter in any form." He sips his drink, clearly deems his most recent bartending work acceptable, and allows, "Although aside from that there are worse people to emulate. Wit and style and enduring art. Random people eventually naming their sons after his. All that sort of thing." Also the laws are different. "Mn. Well, I can genuinely say there has never been a woman I wanted to marry more than you," he says dryly, the sidelong look coming along with an arched brow and a less than wholly successful attempt not to smirk. Even less successful when it's joined by a soft snort of a laugh, "God, my grandmother would be thrilled. But on the whole, just keeping good company sounds far less complicated. All that effort arranging outsourcing and the like. It's not like either of us need a green card."

At the question, he turns his entire head to look at her curiously. "I'd estimate about 150, average. For normal puddings. No idea on brain pudding, it's probably much fattier. How would you go about preparing it? Although I couldn't recommend eating human brain no matter how it was prepared, to tell the truth." A pause, and a smile -- smaller than the smirk, but genuine -- at the pat to his hand. "You're welcome."

Hyacinth tiredly grins as Vyv tangos around that threat of a life conventional. She lifts her drink. "nope, only my AMEX Black." The grin lingers. "No one said I need to fix this either, " The discussion carries on with one drink after another until shoes are gone and Hya is bunched up like a spoiled Persian cat unwilling to go out and be rained on or otherwise touch nature. The pudding question comes back around to lingering phantoms. Fingers over her mouth with a yawn her hand flaps, "Just if I'm going to be possessed again I need... to account for the... things. The calories." Drifting off she murmurs with stark frankness something about never intending to abscond with his couch. Terribly rude. Terribly comfy. At least it was worth it.

Suffice to say the week, and shadow gremlins, she is absolutely done with.
The good company and the minibar can stay.