2019-07-16 - Unlocking the Box

Lilith has her music up before the doors to the pawn open. There’s a bell that chimes for notice, but it’s underneath the noise and isn’t too much warning for her. She’s not seated behind the counter like she normally is when Byron happens in, or upstairs or in the office. Instead, she’s between the aisles. And she’s… okay. She’s dancing. It’s Lady Gaga and she’s legit in the middle of killing it to Marry the Night with footwork in heels and turns and all that flair while progressing the paths to take inventory notes. Someone’s been in a lot of nightclubs and the man at least would remember that she was in ballet and dance when quite young, up until too much power started creeping on her far too fast and far too soon in life to knock everything off the tracks.

She dressed tactically for today, which also may be a tidbit which throws Byron. Usually she’s fairly casual or lazy pretty with sundresses in the shop while working. Today she’s wearing high-waisted and fitted black slacks that make her all legs to suit the dancing, even if the outfit doesn’t quite. A three-quarter sleeve blouse of sapphire blue is tucked into those slacks with a thin red accent belt, chic tall heels of red and neat minimal jewelry included to set it all off. Her hair is sleek with lazy flatiron curls and her makeup is done in full to play down the rest of her lingering visible marks from the wreck. She’s done a pretty good job of nailing that, save for the small healing impact gash through a brow. Makeup can only do so much and she wants to look together today, damnit, after being a disaster for so long.

Lilith wants to look together because she has a meeting soon that might rip her apart all over again. It’s psychological. It’s presentation. Outwardly, though, she looks fabulous (especially compared to last week) and she’s always been one of those people that just has no real clue how others see her because of how she’s had to live, even as a kid. Speaking of seeing her… she doesn’t quite know she has company yet. Her demeanor will probably change considerably once she figures that out. But for now, she’s thrown into her own moments of coping distraction, utterly vibrant and alive.

Byron is seated in his Wraith, hands on the steering wheel while his eyes stare out at the Pawn Shop door. Every so often, his gaze will lift to the various windows of the structure, and then to scan the perimeter surrounding the place. He remains here for some time, rather vigilant and attentive, but his gaze will always be drawn to that front door with this intensity within his eyes. He'll remain here for a good 15 minutes before the door to the Rolls finally opens.

As this isn't a formal business meeting and the fact that the shop is situated on Elm Street, Byron actually dressed down for the day. Leaving his professional attire left hanging in his walk-in, he's wearing a long-sleeved shirt in dark navy blue and a pair of fitted black jeans A black leather motorcycle jacket is thrown over the ensembles to go with the black combat boots on his feet. His hands are tucked away into his jacket pocket once he enters the shop.

He could hear the music blasting once he got out of his car, the danceable tune filtering to the outside world in all its dark, drizzle dreariness. It's easy to forget that it's summer with the Gray Harbor rain being back. While his attention is first drawn to the register on his entrance, he soon finds Lil dancing in the aisles of the shop. There's this very brief moment where he stands there at the end of the aisle, just watching her before she even realizes that he's there, this unreadable expression on his face. He eventually makes his presence known, stepping forward to tap her on the shoulder, that easy smile on his lips, "I'm glad to see that someone's in a good mood."

It must be those learned British sensibilities, after all those years living in Oxford, because she is at the pawn shop right on the appointed hour, as always ever punctual.

Pop music fills her ears when the bell above the door chimes at her arrival, the clacking of bootheels hitting the stone floor in quick, businesslike strides suggestive of one all too accustomed to fast-paced living, in places more frenetic in its everyday activity than Gray Harbor; from the old-world glamour of London to the smoky, colorful bazaars of Tangiers. With the kind of internal map she has, why Isabella Reede, archaeologist and professional adventurer, would elect to return to her infinitely sleepier hometown is a mystery on its own, if anyone knew her beyond a cursory acquaintance, but today, these marks of travel and experience are not writ largely, or obviously, on her person. At the moment, she is dressed like any typical graduate student anywhere, though that big city living leaves signs of it now and then upon her; her dark jeans are designer, the sandals on her feet make the most of her pedicure and the array of silver toe rings she wears - one on her left foot, two on her right - and her vintage, Edwardian-styled blouse is tucked under a light Navy jacket dyed a dove-gray, with black and silver accents.

Accessories are minimal; there's barely any jewelry upon her save for the moonstone pendant that she is almost never without, gleaming in a white gold chain and leaving a spot of color against white lace, her own piece of the Aurora Borealis, worn close to her heart.

She is carrying her leather satchel, the strap running diagonally from her shoulder, and she carries a like portfolio bursting at the top with paper, noting a visit to the library or the community college. Her hair is in its usual dark, artful disarray, pulled back loosely from her face. Inquisitive green eyes flecked with gold sweep over the interior, unfailingly curious and taking in the items within, antique and modern alike. But eventually, they settle on Byron and who she assumes is Lilith Winslow, her elfin features and blue eyes triggering faint, foggy memories of a childhood she has tried to leave behind.

She doesn't hesitate at all in heading in that direction, a ready half-smile on her face.

Lilith is so lost in her little moment of being a warrior queen in red heels with Lady Gaga, she doesn't see Byron take that moment at the end of the aisle before he approaches with the finger tap and easy smile to jolt her out of it. He had to have known -that- was like approaching a distracted pit-bull on some front, but maybe that's also part of why he did it, noise aside. She's mid-spin with that jolting, whipping around to stop abruptly with pull of her clipboard in against her blouse front with reflex, eyes wide and sparking with alarm and surprise alike. Then it's just Byron. Part of her had to have sensed that, perhaps, maybe it was the smell of his cologne before he reached, knocking at her subconscious. She's jumpy, and paranoia snaps right back into place for that beat, but... nothing breaks and no one gets hurt. Good times.

The dark-haired woman, for her part, works her mouth a bit soundlessly before telling Byron immediately with warning finger point and easing hold of the clipboard, "... shoosh." She probably expects him to make fun of catching her like that. Old habits die hard, it might be a legitimate warning, who knows. Then she starts to elaborate on mood or lackthereof and sees Isabella in the store and on the approach before pulling out her phone from pocket to check the time, "... I'm fine." Not a good sign, that word. Especially when all that life that was inside her and flowing outward with movement stops.

Lilith has not only stopped moving, she's pulled back on another front to a place of polite reserve with small slant of smile and study of company. For a couple of heartbeats, she's distracted at the eyes in that study, but it's barely worth notice. Happens in Gray Harbor. Eventually she gets the wits to mute the music from her phone and puts her hand out to shake, "Isabella. I remember you, to degrees. Been a long time. I'm... well. Lilith."

You know, the Converse sneaker is really the most reliable shoe. It's canvas, so it's totally great for getting soaked-- you know, a deep soak that leaves your socks uncomfortably sticking to your feet; and those white laces are so quick to becoming a sad gray that it really adds a flare of grunge chic. But the greatest thing is when your five year old gets a hold of some colorful permanent markers and doodles a dragon that looks more like a green noodle with wings on both of the toe caps and adds a few swiggly flowers for good measure. Yeah. Converse sneakers are the best shoes.

And so, a pair of those Converse sneakers carries Magnolia Jones-- scappy PI and daughter of the dearly departed Detective Nathanial Jones-- into the pawn shop. Her soles squeak shamelessly on the floors, and she's huffing out a breath once she's inside and shaking out her rain jacket free of little droplets that go flying without much prejudice. Her blond hair is twisted up hap-hazardously in a working mom's bun and she's sporting a hoodie sweatshirt under that jacket that sports a pretty weathered Seahawks logo.

She gives everyone a knock-down smile that shines bright in her grey eyes, and she thumbs back out the door she came, "Welcome to the Pacific Northwest, am I right?" Then she picks up on the music, and she sets her head to one side as if listening. Then she is distracted instead by the three people standing there, looking probably a thousand times more fashionable than she is. She gives Byron an all-knowing wrinkle of her nose, and then she's smiling at the other two women. "Hi."

By the time Lilith's notices him, Byron definitely has an amused smile tugging at the edges of his lips. The hand which had tapped at her shoulders buries itself into his jacket pocket once more. "Don't worry, we didn't see you thrashing around like no one was watching. We're all too polite for that." Pivoting on his heel, he half-turns in Isabella's direction, sharing this little grin with her too, making Isabella a partner in this conspiracy.

"You remember Isabella Reede," He almost says sister of Isidore, not knowing which of the twins Lilith was more acquainted with, but he decides against it. It's at that moment Magnolia wanders in, those sneakers and looking a little drenched. This makes blink, "How far did you park?" He did take up the closest parking spot most likely, near the door. "And Magnolia Jones." Another known cop's child. "I'm sure all of you remember Lily." He knows that Isabella does. It came up in conversation when they first ran into one another. However, with what little they may know of another during that time of their lives, some probably remember that Lilith 'dumped' Byron at some point in middle school. He's sure they all know that part.

"Maggie has some information on the previous owners of the ring." He brings up.

Her movement towards her childhood friend and youthful acquaintance is just as brisk as her entrance; she carries herself with that easy, almost effortless confidence that has stayed with and bolstered her for almost her entire life, as if her very nature was fueled by the psychic corona that remains squarely on her by those who can sense it - a perpetually churning solar furnace of potential, however much she chooses not to explore its limits. Lilith's offered hand taken, Isabella returns her reserved courtesy with a warm shake and an answering smile. "So do I. It's been ages. Sorry for barging in, but Byron thinks I can help. So if you have any complaints, or if I accidentally break anything, you can send the bill his way."

There's an angled look over to the career investor, surreptitiously flashing him a wink, willingly entering herself in the conspiracy while throwing Byron under the bus at the same time. It's an old truth that they manage to lend credence to, every time they breathe the air of the same space - the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Releasing Lilith's hand gently, mindful of the injuries she knows about, but can't see, she turns to regard the newcomer in her Converse sneakers. Her hand also moves Magnolia-ward. "Isabella Reede, you look familiar, but I don't think you and I have ever talked." She was a year younger than the rest of them. With Byron's attention-grabbing introduction of Ms. Jones, however, her dark brows wing upwards.

"It'd really help with dating the object," she says, taking her hand back whenever Magnolia deigns to accept or release her handshake, slipping her fingers in the pockets of her jeans and taking a casual lean backwards, right heel braced back against the floor and most of her weight on it.

Lilith probably remembers Maggie better than Isabella, given her proximity to Byron and the other guys lasted until her shutdown and pullback freshman year before high school started. That and something about the way the woman is dressed and kind of just shows up owning it with that smile seems to put her more at ease than Isabella's professional warmth. Her own lips in polite smile kind of slant with twitch that signifies mild amusement before it grows some and she says, "Hey, Mags. Long time. Lookin' good." She draws in a breath to hold, then release, focusing on what Isabella has said with dry words following while the other woman goes to properly introduce herself to the newly arrived Magnolia, "... anything breaks, it'll probably be my doing, anyway. I'm used to it. But I can bill him, he's got it to throw."

After a more familiar look at Byron to wink with the vaguely self-deprecating quip planning that's casual dry and laced with backhanded humor despite it, she carries the clipboard over to drop off, goes to lock up the front doors, then gestures at her office door at the back of the shop, "Let's adjourn. I know Byron has said you are both in the know, but I need to be sure you understand something before we do anything. For me." Then she leads off that way in her heels, working her bottom lip in trap between her teeth with a bit of a faraway expression in her eyes when her back turns to walk.

Magnolia ducks out of her messenger bag-- either inherited or one of those thrift store finds because it's handcrafted leather, weathered and old, and there's some serious brass hardware, and it looks like she could take out a mugger with a single half-hearted swing. Embossed on the leather flap are the initials N.J. She sets it down on the closest surface, at least choosing somewhere moderately unoffensive.

She slants a look to Byron. "I don't know. How far is Mike's-- " One of the local mechanic's, "-- from here? However far that is, that's how far I parked." Then she sighs slightly. "I guess they're pretty serious about those ninety-thousand maintenance checks, or something, because I skipped mine and now Sunshine basically keeled over. Mike'll look after her, but I'm patroning-- patronizing? No, that's not right." She gets to it. "I'm taking the bus."

Then she glances back to Isabella catching the wink to Byron, and she gives her friend one of those looks tinged with a small smile. Then she's turning back to the archeologist, and she shakes her hand. "Oh, not all that surprising. I was more of a headphones on, book open, ignore everyone kind of kid in school." The past tense should make anyone who knows Mags laugh and laugh and laugh. The only thing that's changed is that she sometimes reads a Kindle while ignoring people.

Then at Lilith, Magnolia barks a laugh. "Oh, shut up. I haven't looked good since my second trimester." But she smiles that warm, bright, and almost brilliant smile to Lilith all the same. "You're lookin' good, too, Lil."

The shoulda-been-a-real-detective PI settles a bit into a more thoughtful expression when Lilith turns and starts to lead along. She slips into stride with Byron and whispers, "Hey, so. When this is all over, think you can give me a ride home?" Question asked, she slips back into her observant self.

"If anything breaks," Byron's voice rises over the rest of what's being said, "We blame it on the ring. Plain and simple." It's a joke. Probably a terrible one, especially with the knowledge of what that ring can do. But he's said it. "Isabella has a wealth of knowledge on a lot of things, having grown up to be the real life version of Indiana Jones. I mean, I'm sure she's run into her share of cursed temples and heart-tearing cults by now." Everything said is spoken in light-hearted jest.

Even when he learns that Magnolia walked from the car shop. "You have got to be kidding me." Then a swith of gears, "I remember, back in the day, trying to relay this cool story to Mags, only to realize she hadn't heard a damn thing. I've learned my lessons. Tug those headphones away from her ears. Works 50% of the time."

As they move to where Lilith directs them to go, listening to the serious tone she takes as she's set up some ground rules, he simply remains quiet. He probably knows what those rules are. That's when he turns back to Magnolia, responding in a quiet tone, "You know, you could've called and I would've picked you up from Mike's. But sure, I can drive you home."

Magnolia's explanation causes Isabella's smile to widen visibly. "Now I'm really surprised, because you sounded like my kind of target. I annoyed almost everybody."

Byron's jest has her poking the empty air in his general direction. "We already talked about the heart-tearing cult thing - if I ever come across one, you'll be the first to know, because I'm totally blaming you for bringing it up. Allegedly cursed temples is another story, though." Amusement glitters within the emerald depths of her irises. "I think we should both just chalk it up to me living up to my half of our bargain."

If she feels strangely out of place in a circle comprised of those who had taken up the same year and probably took the same classes throughout high school - and perhaps even stayed to graduate together - she doesn't show it. With Lilith ushering everyone else to her office, she falls a step behind the rest, lingering at the tail end of the party and taking one more look at the items on the shelves, lips pursed in a contemplative fashion. Oh, she follows, but she adopts a more rolling gait, visually indulging in her curiosity before the serious business of poking yet another one of Gray Harbor's mysteries gets fully underway.

Once inside the office, Lilith beelines to cap off the vodka bottle and sets it over out of the way at the back of the desk, along with the shot glass. Now that they've made the swap into the office, the rest of her demeanor shifts, no longer gently pleasant and polite, no longer dry humor and familiar affability. No. Just being in the room with the safe, a switch flips. She's a bit on autopilot with her movements and her eyes are hazy and deep with some frustration and heavy reflection, fine features somewhat clouded by a tick down of brows.

As everyone files in, the woman gestures to the couch which can easily seat three, then she props a lean on the front edge of her desk in a psuedo-sit, a leg out for digging a heel with grinding balance into the floor. Her hands go back to lean against on the surface some and she looks between all three, then at the oversized safe that's big, even for a pawn shop that's cash heavy. After wetting her lips, she starts to speak, and her words aren't harsh or cold, they aren't flat or without inflection, but... they're very firm and direct despite the soft cadence and delicate bids for pause between sentences in which she weighs expression. Her own expression is forcibly neutral by sheer will. One person in this room probably knows how much it takes to maintain that expression because it's foreign and clearly calculated as a cope mechanism to get through what she needs to say and needs to do to see a certain something through.

"When the box is opened, I do not think I will be a concern. Even though things are lightened I..." She pauses here, looks at Byron, then sweeps along, "think we're still connected. It's already in me. But you have to understand that I am dangerous." She pauses here and stares for a moment. Lilith doesn't look dangerous. But something about the way she says it, like she's afraid of herself as much as anyone should be afraid, it drives that sentiment home like a hammer. "I could unwittingly hurt you if that thing calls to me."

After a breath, she looks at Byron with sheer trust breaking through that wall she's built for caution. He knows he's meant to do what he needs to do to her, same as she's meant to do what she needs to do to him should anything worm their minds. They don't need words for that look. Not after so many formative years together, not after what the introduction of the item and wrecking fallout of the past week wrought.

She then carries on, "In the event any of you try to touch the stone, I will stop you by any means necessary to ensure you do -not- go through what I just went through. It could be it's dormant because it marked me. Then again, it could be just as bad. You have to understand that. Magnolia, you have a child, this could be a blood-carrying curse. My father was beaten around the same time I touched the stone. I expect it was his fault, but you need to know that so you can make an informed decision about this risk."

Then she gets to the last bit, voice softening, "Guard your research. Be careful how you ask if you consult, be careful how you phrase. No one can know where this item is. No one. I will be killed. If that is all agreeable and understood, I will open the safe."

When finished, she's thick silence, darling blue eyes sober as hell.

Magnolia flashes Byron a warm, easy smile. She even gives his shoulder a little shove out of companionable good nature. Then she's following along with ease. She shrugs slightly at his offer, and she offers up quietly, "Yeah, I only thought of that like two blocks from the pawnshop, so I just... dedicated. I was already soaked." Then she casts a smile toward Isabella. "Oh dude, I was pretty much invisible. But I'm sorry to hear we didn't cross paths until now." Because spooky ass cursed rings are a great way to meet new people. Most popular option for those singletons retreats.

Magnolia would have more wit, but then she's drawn to the interior of the office. She takes in all the details with a simple glance of her eyes. She doesn't say a word, has instead settled into silence-- thoughtful, serious silence. She watches the way Lilith moves, her expression, the simple or complex way she holds herself. She hasn't taken a seat, but instead remains standing. Her hands slip into the front pocket of her sweatshirt jacket. She doesn't say anything, not a word, though her brows do arch slightly when Lilith mentions Lark.

Finally, she asks quietly, "Alright, Lil." She sets down her bag. She pops open the flap and pulls out all her old school tools-- a thick pad of yellow paper, and a pencil case. There's also a file folder.

Byron is very familiar with this space, having been to the shop many times before. He knows exactly where they are headed now, much to his displeasure. In his mind, the ring shouldn't even be here, but he was betrayed by a stranger. So that's all on him.

Once inside, his eyes immediately find one of the surveillance cameras within the office, just as Lilith clears out the vodka bottle. For one very brief moment, he stares up into it, chin lifted, possibly observing his own reflection from off the lens. Running his fingers through his dark hair, he slowly turns to join with the others, just as Lilith begins this introduction to the powers of the ring for those who had not witnessed its allure yet.

Just as with Magnolia, he remains standing as well. It's not a relaxed situation. He remembers what happened the last time. Though some of what Lilith says brings one of his brows into a lift. That serious cast can be found in his eyes as well, especially when he sees the knowing look which Lilith gives him. Only then do his hands finally withdraw from out of the pockets of the leather jacket, one of his shoulders raised, followed by the other side. It's almost as if he's loosening his muscles to prepare himself for anything.

"I'll open the box." The way in which this is said, it's not a suggestion.

The stairs leading up to the hidden upper floors of the building, and Lilith's office shortly after, is given the same quiet, intense scrutiny Isabella gives almost everything else - her eyes tend not to miss much, roaming over the desk, the comfortable couch, the computer upon it, the bottle of vodka and shotglass before it's taken away, the green-painted metal door and the safe, exhibiting all the attempts made to camouflage it from casual notice.

She is quick to catalogue information, and just as quick to dismiss the details she doesn't need. Long-legged strides take her to the nearest wall where she can set her bag and portfolio down, leaning against old paint and plaster by the couch, fingers tucked in her pockets, still. She listens without interruption, letting the rest of the world fall away, her internal spotlight resting on Lilith as she speaks; the unyielding center of her diamond-sharp attention, for as long as she has to explain herself and broaches the ephemeral consequences of the current endeavor. A waiver, of a kind, bidding them all to sign the dotted line in blood before it is sent off to the powers. and may they help them all if one or all of them chooses or choose not to abide by it.

But you have to understand that I am dangerous, Lilith says. Years in a relatively dangerous profession, she has learned early on in her career not to rule anything out, and never to underestimate something that promises to be precarious, no matter how unassuming it looks. The words, however, do inject upon her sunkissed mien a hint of expected resignation - because of course it is. Of course she is. Because nothing in this god damn town is ever just as simple as 'take a look at the thing, note observations of the thing, make conclusions of the thing, and go onto the next thing.' Never in her remembered experiences has that been the case.

It is rooted from frustration - towards this terrifying, awe-inspiring place that mercilessly traps its children and refuses to let them go.

"You have my word," she tells Lilith afterwards, breaking the ensuing silence, following the end of Magnolia's assent. "I don't know how much I'm going to be able to help without touching it, but I'll do what I'm able."

When Byron offers himself up as a potential sacrifice, her green eyes snap towards him, something volatile and brief within them; a flash, a tightening of their corners - gone in a heartbeat, but she doesn't stop him, and neither does she disagree. She recognizes the tone, and prudence dictates that those with the necessary experience should be the first in the breach. She doesn't like it, but she is enough of a pragmatist not to make it a point of contention. So with her promise given, she waits - though it can't be said to be a patient thing. Restless energy emanates from her in waves.

Lilith eyes the vodka bottle after she's finished eyeing everyone else with their agreements and it seems very timed with Byron saying he's going to open the damn box. But she's seen Carver with the box. The woman sits for a moment incredibly still, then she rises up with breath held to gesture to the man on the way to the safe. On the way, she tells Isabella and Magnolia in a more natural, gracious tone of voice, "Thank you." She grabs a hand towel to pass to following company as well, just in case.

Squatting, she admits to Byron, "I only have half the code. Like I told you, Carver has maintained full access, not me. But..." Her tongue ticks a few times and she looks back toward her shelves where there's a hidden, less prominent security camera pointed toward the safe if anyone's eyes are real sharp or accustomed to looking for such things, "I pulled the footage of him setting it before you got here. All but the last number. I can jimmy the last bolts." In Lilith speak, that generally means "I Can Break Them" but that's not what she does. The last number has her putting a hand to the safe and eventually the last bolt slides after some very, very, very hard focus. She's good at knowing things from the inside out.

Honestly, Lilith doesn't even really know or realize how she manipulated things there, but she's seen Carver do it and like a hellbent little sponge, she spent time trying to do it too. She doesn't really realize at all it's outside the realm of how she normally influences things. She just wanted in and she's good at 'things'.

When open, lo and behold, Byron gets no argument out of her despite the wariness that's in her eyes, "There's a false back behind the duffle." She lets him do the digging after pulling the bag out of the way, explaining to him where to push.

To the thanks, Magnolia just shrugs. What else is there to say to that? She's here, so she's here. She sets down her bag, it once more tucked away somewhere innocuous. She noticed the video camera, so she doesn't even look up at it when Lilith mentions pulling the footage. She snorts. "This is why you stick it in a fridge, lock the fridge, wrap the fridge in industrial straps, and lock it in an empty apartment where someone who hasn't touched anything has a key." She gives Byron an arched look.

Then she sighs out a softer breath, and she just watches as Lilith breaks into the safe. She doesn't say anything until she mentions the false bag. "Ron," she says in a warning voice. "You get all weird and I'm throwing you threw a wall." Not into, not against, threw. "Because I love you."

When told that she only has half the code, it doesn't set Byron's mind at ease at all. He knows that she can tear things apart with her mind. This safe included. So if the urge came, nothing would be able to stop her from reaching that damn thing. So as all of this goes on, dropping down to one knee as well to carefully observe what Lilith is attempted to do, there's no sense of relief to be seen, his expression remaining all the more pensive.

For all Byron knows, whatever she is doing, he can't quite tell from mere observation is just something that she always tends to do with the items she fixes. It doesn't occur to him that it's a different power set altogether, having limited knowledge on what everyone else can do-- including other mentalists. He only really knows what abilities he has in his arsenal.

That look of displeasure returns to his features, the way that his jaw is set when he realizes that, yes, without Carver here, she is still getting into the safe. "Carver needs better plans." Is all he'll say, that slight hint of annoyance tainted his tone. Then hearing Magnolia chime in, he says in a somewhat flat tone, "That was my initial idea, yes." He doesn't consider himself as someone who touched anything, but he definitely would have the key.

Once the safe is swung open, he gives Lilith a look. Whatever agitation he'd felt earlier, some of it is gone, only because there's that tension, that anxiousness of even handling the box that the ring was kept in. There's only the briefest of hesitations on his part, but he soon leans forward, reaching to push any obstacle out of the way before he makes contact with the box. There's a moment of pause once he touches it, but he'll slowly withdraw his hand with the bounty within. Any joking is set aside in his mind. From here on out, anything could go wrong. For now, he sets it down on Lilith's desk, giving the others in the room a cautious glance, "Ready?"

Tension, invisible but palpable, fills the office space. Pushing away from the wall to take a few steps closer to the desk, Isabella gives Byron a nod - curt, but there's no sign of hesitation in her. She waits for the contents to be revealed, though she is aware enough of her promise that she keeps an overt distance from it.

"You said it was a box within a box within a box...? Like a Russian nesting doll?" She recalls what little she knows of the thing out loud, for Magnolia's benefit. There's a glance towards the private investigator. "And you managed to find out something about the prior owners of the ring?"

"When he first brought it in, he nestled it between boxes, but... the air was still wrong, even before that. Fear instead of efficiency, I think." Lilith positions herself with Byron between her and the box, a little to the side and behind him with tactical positioning. She's not only distancing and putting herself like that with him as manshield to block her initial view, allowing him grab a hold of her in the event things go wrong, but it puts her in range to act less drastically on his own behalf if he gets a sudden urge himself. The comment about getting thrown through a wall makes her lips twitch a little despite herself with a glance at Magnolia.

The woman waits and swallows thickly before putting a hand to one of the man's nearer hands to squeeze suddenly once the box is down. Honestly, she looks like she's going to faint there for a second with memory of what last time wrought and the general PTSD the recent week imparted on her. All that calculated calm needs an anchor for a second. It's hard to explain how personal this is for her.

But once she's leveled that touch and grip, she sets her jaw, stands up straighter, then looks at the other two women to ensure their readiness before nodding small and sharp with 'do it' at the box-wrangler.

While that heavy air of tension and dread may not hang in the air currently, not even with the box out of hiding and on display for all to see, Byron, too, remembers the need to fight off temptation the first time that he was in this situation. And this urge to keep that damn thing away from everyone else so that they did not do its bidding by touching it. This is what he'd failed in.

He shuts the world out of his mind. Right now, it's only him and this box and though he'd offer to open it, he honestly wanted nothing to do with it ever again. Somewhere from the distance, he hears Isabella's voice asking a question, then from a position closer, much closer, comes out Lilith's response. All the while he's staring down at it, this box. After breathing in a deep, tension-easing breath, or so he'd hoped, he reaches a hand to carefully flip the thing open and expose the treasure within.

Magnolia's stance has shifted slightly. It's not anything refined, but dirty and scrappy and probably a stance that suggests she fights very unfair in most brawls. She's not planning on throwing a punch or kick, not planning to bite or scratch, but she did promise if Byron goes weird that she is going to throw him. She speaks to Isabella without looking away from Byron. "Safety measures. Can't get rid of it, so maybe put it in enough boxes and it will all be okay. It's like how we lock things in drawers, or hide things in the back of the fridge... we can't get rid of it, but if we hide it deep enough, maybe we will forget it's there. So you take something and you put it in a shitton of boxes and then put it inside an ammo box, and you bank on that." Then Magnolia shrugs. "Also makes Christmas more fun."

She's rambling this all because her skin has started to crawl. She can feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, and the air has that tense feel. Her stance shifts just a bit more, rocking her weight back onto her left leg while both fists clench and loosen in a slow rhythm.

Maybe it's because Byron already fought the urge, fought the temptation and won against the gem once before. Perhaps, that's why the draw to touch the ring doesn't try to grab ahold of him now. He was bracing himself for just that, as he was the closest person to the ring. Without this battle of wills which he was expecting, while his guard never drops, the muscles in his lean frame tensing the whole time, he gives the others a wary look now.

First, he looks on Lilith. She was the one affected the worst, the last time. It doesn't look like she was about to crawl all over him to get to the ring, but he keeps himself positioned between her and it despite it all. Then he looks on the others, wondering since this is their first exposure to the cursed object if they will need to struggle against any dark thoughts.

There's a frown at Lilith's reply - her own recounting of the box, though Isabella says very little after that, save for a quiet, contemplative noise from the back of her throat.

Security cameras documenting this moment aside, she is sharply aware of the other brunette's reaction towards the box, also, a hint of vulnerability bleeding out of her determined facade when she seizes Byron's hand. She had heard that the accident was bad, but not the extent of it - just the prevailing doubt that the accident was what it was, completely devoid of anything nefarious. Magnolia gets a tilt of her head in acknowledgment - though before she could ask about the prior owners again, her childhood friend opens the box.

The first thing she notices is the sheer size of the flawless amethyst - it's tremendously difficult not to, with the way ambient light passes through and is reflected by it like a prism, and this is quite possibly by design. The second thing she notices are the flanking stones cut like scarabs. Fascination burns within her viridian stare, taking several steps closer and manages to barely prevent herself from straying past the invisible boundaries they all agreed on. Something intensely curious, and pensive, slips through her expressive face.

With Byron so close to the box, she reaches into her jeans pocket for her phone, and lightly tosses it to him. "Could you take pictures for me? The stone, the band, the flanking stones...as close as you can, as detailed as you can, as many angles as you can." Fingers lift upwards, absently, to toy with the moonstone dangling from her chain, feeling the icy bite of it cutting into her skin like a knife. Even with the warmth of the inner office space surrounding them, it retains its chill, keeping her focus...and forever reminding her of the loss of half her heart and soul. "I can't date it definitively without additional research or metallurgical tests," she begins slowly. "But the Egyptian-inspired motifs on the band are interesting - the scarabs flanking the stone. Near Eastern art and artifacts tend to have periodical resurgences in popularity in the market, especially the ones dealing in fine art, jewelry and illegal antiques, but the biggest rise that I can remember was back in the turn of the century...around the mid to late 1800's, during and after the end of the Napoleonic wars, and then again later in the 1920's after Howard Carter discovered the tomb of Tutankhamun. I'll have to hit the books, but at least I have a few time periods I can focus on."

Teeth nip delicately at her lower lip. "Though I don't think it's a coincidence that many of our disparate threads seem to be pointing to the late 1800's to the early 1900's." There's a glance at Byron at that.

Lilith doesn't look at first, she watches Byron instead like a hawk and stands there steeled at the core, all of the tension from that riding her slim posture like a bird ready to take flight into action. Her eyes sweep to Magnolia and Isabella, knowing the box is open and she gauges for a moment, a long, long moment. Then she exhales a huge breath of air and swallows down hard.

Eventually, she leans and looks with daring around Byron to face the moment and what's in that box now that she has her own wits to do it. She didn't have those the first time. It's exactly why she agreed to this when fear and paranoia and doubt and mistrust in others as a general concept was clanging panic in her the day before when the texts came.

The woman looks and looks and then a small smile touches her lips of all things. She almost seems... fond of the piece that brought her hell, but it's a very, very subtle thing that could be mistaken for relief. She tries to make a point of not fixating her study too much after that initial time of looking at it, though, probably not just because Byron's eyes are apt to be watching her, but for her own damn good.

Instead, she focuses on Isabella talking, nodding small because she's seen plenty of scarabs on vintage Roaring Twenties pieces, even the non-expensive cosmetic stuff with much less valuable metals and stones. But she doesn't often deal with anything older than that, so she tilts her head to listen at length despite the distraction of the box being open, considering one thing or another from the way she's standing. Then she looks down... at herself for a long, long moment. People read about the wreck. But there was so much more for so long, the extent beyond what she's even talked about. With lashes dropped, she wonders how she's still alive and if the worst is to come.

No one else looks like they are about to crawl up onto the table just for a single touch of the amethyst ring, Byron is making sure that much is certain. They were close enough to see the details on the ring, in fact, Isabella takes notice of important details from where she's standing and it isn't much further from where Carver was when they'd opened the box last. That could only mean that they've beat back temptation, or that's the only thing that Byron can think of right now. "So everyone is fine, righ--" That last word is cut off when a phone is being flung to him and he reflexively reaches out to grab it before it bounced off of him to land on the table, possibly even knocking the box to the side to expel that ring. Hey, it's a long shot, but that ring has bad mojo.

"Jesus, Izzy." He says with this look of frustration, a heavy breath being exhaled through his nose as his lips are drawn into a thin line. Yes, he's looking across the way, directly at Isabella now. "If I would've dropped this, I wasn't gonna pay you back for the damages." They are right back to where they started, when they first entered the shop.

Flipping through Reede's phone, his fingertip hits the camera app. That's when he turns slightly to the side to catch Lilith closely observing the ring with some sort of fascination in her eyes. "Lil, can you move a little over to that side? I need some space to work and I don't want any of this light blocked." He lies. Byron just doesn't want her lingering near the ring at all.

With the phone raised, he snaps one shot directly from the top, before he leans over, semi-crouching to be a good shot from the side. He even moves the box closer to the edge of the table, with careful hands, just so he can get a picture partially from a lower position, angling Isabella's phone in a tilt. "This ring," He decides to start, "was passed from generation to generation within Jack Michael's family." Once he's satisfied with the images he's caught, he gives them a look before handing the phone back.

"Mister Michael's grandfather hung himself from the stone bridge. Then a few years ago, Michaels Jr, the father of the man who dropped pawned the box off to you, Lil, he was found hung at the same bridge as well."

If I would've dropped this, I wasn't gonna pay you back for the damages.

"That's what screen protectors and smartphone cases are for," Isabella replies to the dark-haired man, as always quick with her return fire, lips set with a smile that's only half-contrite. "You weren't in any risk..." And here, some of her usual mischief manifests itself, the devil in her resurfacing for a few heartbeats. "...but you and I both know that was rarely any fun for you."

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

That small spark of levity fades, replaced by a more thoughtful facade. "In all seriousness, though, I think we're fine." She cants her head over to Magnolia, as if to check on the private investigator at the corner of her eyes. The rest of it - what Byron says about Jack Michael, a name that doesn't sound familiar - pulls her attention back to him unerringly. "I'm not discounting the idea of a family curse," she says slowly. "If it's been passed down from generation to generation in the Michael family. Some supernatural malady tied through the blood, maybe - there are a lot of cultures out there that believe enough in that kind of thing, but this one acts like more of a parasite, since Lilith described it more like...a bonding, or an infection." Her stare fixes on the other brunette for verification.

Whenever the pictures are taken, she takes a few steps closer, lifting up her hand in a wordless request for her phone back. "I'll do what I can to find a thread we can pull on," she remarks, her speakeasy contralto taking on a gentler inflection in an effort to be reassuring to the both of them. "I'll be in touch."

The woman easily moves over to the side with pace and wander backwards in her heels, though she doesn't really turn her back on the others while the box is still open, incident or no. Instead, she makes safe, out of the way space for... lighting. And Lilith's verification to Isabella's look, whatever she actually feels, is pretty lame and non-committal because she glances at Byron first and it clearly makes her uncomfortable to really agree to those unpleasant words with him looking at her. Instead, it comes in the form of a pause, then a hint of a shrug while she focuses on Magnolia taking notes and then stepping out with a call from the sitter.

If Isabella had met Lilith last week, looking at the woman, a parasite might not be a far stretch from the way she seemed eaten and hollow from the inside out compared to the way she's standing here now. The dark-haired woman can't help but consider how parasites incubate and evolve. She swallows down thickly and keeps her quiet all of the while.

And that non-committal shrug with a certain someone in the room, it might have something to do with the fact he just told her how it ends, how the worst comes for the others. When Isabella claims her intent to go get started on things, though, she rouses out of the silence and steps forward to place a hand on the woman's forearm suddenly, words quiet and serious and weighted, "Thank you, Isabella."

"You were always the biggest risk taker of all time." Byron comes out to say, his eyes lifted to better view Isabella. "I couldn't compete with that." While as a teenager, it might be rare for him, at least in Isabella's presence, to admit defeat, he's slightly more mellowed, perhaps due to maturity, as an adult now. "And if your phone had knocked that ring out of the box, guess who would be stuck trying to grab the thing with tongs and set it down proper back in its box?" He wouldn't allow anyone else in the room to take that risk. Still, none of this is said out of spit or frustration and for this small moment, he even smiles.

Reaching into his jacket jeans pocket for his own phone, he pulls up his notes to ensure that he's said everything that should be brought to light. "Some time in April of this year, Jack Michael made a Facebook post, mentioning that it was the 3 year anniversary of his father's death. And that he was finally ready to open the box." If either of them does some calculations, that would have been approximately two months ago. "All I know is, one of the first mention of that family that the papers printed was that the grandfather, Michael Sr. was planning on opening up a nightclub here. That's about all the information I've got."

"I mean, from what it seems like, this ring just curses whoever it's passed down to." This is when he looks on Lilith now. "Which is why you need to give it away. I mean, I can understand not doing so until we learn more, but the ring went from grandfather, to father to Jack Michaels. I gotta wonder what he knew about the ring and why he felt ready to open the box last April."

That's when Isabella announces her depature and here Byron gives her a nod, "Yes, thank you for coming all this way," To ELM STREET, "Out in this weather. Let us know if you find anything." A pause, "Take care of yourself." Sure, she only has images on her phone of this ring, but maybe those were bad luck too. Or just being in this very room and exposed to it. You never can be too careful.

"Not gonna lie. If that happened and you went all Jack Nicholson from the Shining, it might be a little, tiny, itsy-bitsy worth it to see Miss Jones throw you through a wall," Isabella banters back, but his smile is one that she returns; it was her all over, forever shying away from softer emotions, lashes faintly lowered in an effort to hide her own concern. Truth be told, her skin is crawling at the idea of anyone in the room breathing in the thing's direction, and she knows the man well enough that he would be the first to throw himself on top of that wire.

She listens intently to the other bits of information Magnolia has managed to unearth, though that expression of faint resignation returns. "I'll keep that in mind once I go diving," she tells him. "Though you know...that Facebook post, and how he waited three years after his father died before opening it. You think it might be worth looking into his last will and testament, see if the older Michaels left any instructions about the box?"

He said it himself before; Isabella was bright, and incredibly sharp. Like a honed blade, she strikes without a moment's notice and if not handled carefully, can cut down to vein and bone. She leaves that possibility in the air.

Despite not knowing Lilith well, she can sense her discomfort, her fear...and her attachment to the thing that hurts her. It is nothing upon which she even relies on her psychic potential, but rather due to like experiences; anyone who has grown up in Gray Harbor, and knows what its like to live there and battle its strangeness, its darkness, can empathize.

And Isabella's roots run deep in Gray Harbor; her blood is its blood, her connection to it so complete that it was downright suffocating and insufferable. She had done everything in her power to get away and almost succeeded. Almost.

Her hand lifts to rest gently on Lilith's once the other woman's own finds her arm, squeezing once. What waits for her within those green-and-gold depths is something else; gone is the Trickster's smile, something open and raw swirling within, indicative of wounds that would never heal, occupying the empty space that once contained these missing pieces of her - what she would claim to be the best parts of her - that she could never replace. A decade and change living as half a person....and knowing what caused it, what took such a lion's share of her heart and soul.

And knowing that it will never stop unless forced. Unless beaten to submission.

"You're welcome," she tells her quietly; two words, simple words, but burdened with the ones that she is unwilling and incapable of expressing. With that, she slowly releases Lilith's hand, and turning towards Byron.

"I'm always careful," she quips, flashing him that familiar grin; bright, irrepressible, it banishes away the shadows and embers of her earlier expression. Followed by an equally simple: "You too. Both of you."

And with that, unless there's anything else, she departs.

"Insurance records too. Magnolia should pull any records locally to see if there's a date as to when it first came into possession, generally people insure things that valuable." Lilith pipes up that bit too with prompting about pulling wills, eyes flitting to the doorway where Mags stepped out to handle some other business. Then she just lets Byron and Isabella go back and forth, taking in the information on Michael family generations and the details, standing still and quiet, even on the bit about giving it away. He doesn't seem apt to push it for the moment, she doesn't seem apt to start her familiar bulldog act.

When the other woman departs, she looks at the box with a rake of hand through her hair, grinding her back teeth just a smidge before she stops and shakes her head. Quietly, she says, "For now, we should put it back, yes." She pauses, still subdued, "Was there anything else?"

With Magnolia preoccupied in the other room with a phone call, most likely from her babysitter, Byron taps out a few notes, jotting all the suggestions being given him. "Any sort of will from Michael Jr. And insurance records." As he's typing all of this out, he brings up, "I am curious as to what night club the family would have built. Couldn't be the Firefly Club, but it seems that all of that is in the past anyway and there have been three generations of that family living in Gray Harbor over the years."

"Three years ago." Byron thinks, wracking his brain some, "That would'be been the year that I'd returned back home. I might not have been paying attention to any suicides at the stone bridge at the time." Or he'd arrived back after the fact.

With that box still sitting there, open for all the world to see, Lilith doesn't have to tell him twice that they should probably put the thing back. The lid is quickly shut closed, blocking all view of the ring within. With the other two out of the room, he then asks, his hands clutching the box tightly, "Do you trust yourself to have this box returned to the safe? As Magnolia said, it might be better to keep it locked away in one of my empty apartments where no one will think to look."

"No, but clubs can be old and just transition from one thing to another over the years. Or maybe a nightclub was code for competition of sorts between-- but mm. Seems a little generationally out of place and I'm not up on our crime lord history. And that seems a bit dangerous to dig into just because the word 'nightclub' came up. We don't need any more complications." Lilith looks at Byron with the box, though, when he asks her that question and she nods a little bit, twitching a barebones smile upwards, "Your apartment luck sucks lately, I'd really rather not. If I'm going to throw it anywhere, I'm inclined to throw it straight off the stone bridge so I don't end up there next and hope that's a cosmic alignment. But we're not there yet. We wait for more."

Then Lilith is more clear with her answer, soft and solid with a level of her chin while she looks at Byron, "It's okay. I promise. Just for a little longer. We'll figure it out." When she's given him that look, she steps to go uncap the vodka bottle to tip and fill the shot glass for a swig, finally feeling okay enough to turn her back with the box closed once more to be stashed in the false back, hidden behind the duffle, and locked away once more. Her features are still pretty reserved and after she's drank, she tips a single shot out for Byron to hold out for when he's finished. She knows what that took for him, too, deep down.

While he could easily dismiss the fact that, maybe, the night club scene just didn't work out for the Michael family, there's something that continues to bother Byron about all of this. "There's already complications." He starts, crouching down once more so that he's hidden out of view, behind the table. "There's someone still after this ring. That's our complication right there." Leaning in, he places the deep inside of the safe, before hiding behind its protective covering. The duffle bag is replaced before he finally pulls himself out completely.

Byron knows that she's not wrong when Lilith mentions just how shitty his security has been for the building and this actually is a very sort spot for him. He's paid good money for those cameras, those security guards. The walls, the gate. And for what? How do people keep getting in and out of the place? With all of these thoughts in mind, he remains where he's crouched, letting that anger that he feels regarding his failure to prevent invaders from entering his complex boil, then fizzle in silence. He's not happy about it and neither are his tenants.

When those feelings of simmering rage passes, he draws himself up to stand, only then does his gaze meet with hers. He's got a lot on his mind. Everything regarding this, the security of his building among so many other things that he needs to deal with. The offered shot of vodka this early in the day is a brief repreive for him so he accepts it graciously. "I'm not sure that this is anything that anyone can make a promise about, but once we learn that we can dispose of this... thing without needing to worry about what it may do to you, then we'll chuck it into the pond. Or obliterate it in some other fashion." He's about done with the cursed object, but seeing that Lilith was no longer affected, as far as they both knew, maybe the thing was done with them too. The glass raised to his lips, he takes in that much needed burn.

Lilith twists her flush glossed lips a little to one side while standing there and waiting for Byron to take the drink, mum's word about him pointing out that the ring is a target for hunting down. Oh, she hadn't forgotten. But mostly, at this point, she tries not to think about that part because it's actually been the least problematic issue so far. Of course, when and if it happens, it might be the most problematic moment of all, so. Yeah. Don't think about it. And definitely don't get him riled about it.

The woman blows a long sigh out once the box is actually locked up again and watches the man take the drink down, wandering toward the sofa to sit with drop on the arm of it, "You have a smoke on you? That was hard. I feel shaky and buzzed and through the wringer because my adrenaline is finally coming off of the tightrope it's been on." She doesn't bother waiting for the shot glass back, she takes a swig right from the bottle while holding it by the neck with her nails painted flashy red to suit her heels and little belt. She went all out with that looking-well-in-order-thing without being particularly overtly dressy. It's all just kind of sleek as a whole, instead of in your face professional or fancy like she's putting on airs, and so it suits.

Slamming the shot glass back, he keeps his head tilted back for a time just letting the vodka burn right through him as both inhales, then exhales a heavy breath. Lowering his chin, he licks at his lips to take in the rest of the vodka that lingers there. Toying with the shot glass in his hand, he sets it face-down upon the desk, just like that one scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark, but with only one shot glass. "Yeah, I got a pack somewhere." Patting at his jean pockets, he reaches inside to pull out a soft pack, before retrieving a lighter from his leather jacket. Rather than toss it at her, the way people tend to do in this town, he simply makes his way over to hand it to her.

"That went far better than I expected. There was no need for any restraints or having people thrown through walls." Yes, he'd heard Magnolia's threat, even if he didn't respond to it at the time, his mind far too preoccupied. "If not for the bandages," What more that she's needing to wear, "I'd figure that neither of them would've realized that you were cursed. I mean, whatever happened," He won't mention anything about luck or good luck charms, "The bad seems to have passed." Though why did the men in the Michael family hang themselves if the curse simply passes? He won't bring this up, for her sake, but it is troubling all the same.

"I..." Lilith doesn't want to talk about parasites or the way she doesn't want to get rid of the gem, the way she remembers the way it felt with a warmth that can still shoot through her and stir a flutter low in her stomach and in her heart.... even though the unnatural desire to touch it is gone. The woman doesn't need to touch it again, it resonated through her and resided in her. She doesn't want to talk about how she feels better, and because she feels better, there's a different kind of dread on her. It's like stepping into the sun after being in the dark for ages and everything suddenly seems too bright. Your eyes adjust, sure, but what jumps out to get you while you're blinded and basking in the warmth of the sun?

And she doesn't want to talk about how she's suddenly terrified that stone was dormant because it's still in her, somehow. Just like a parasite, it hollowed her out and took what it needed and... what is it now? Her lashes drop. She doesn't say a goddamn thing about anything. She gets out a cigarette when she's handed the pack and it ignites with a sudden flame at the tip, no lighter, leaning to hand the pack back. Instead she drags and exhales and says quietly after a moment, "I'd plow you with more, but you need to drive Mags. I assume no leads on finding Jack alive or dead since he was in the shop?"

Byron was a stress smoker, yet even in these circumstances everything was going wrong and people were dying around him, even though he considers doing so, once the pack is handed back to him, this force of will keeps him from lighting up himself. Watching as she lights up without the use of his heavy, gold lighter, he slips it back into jacket pocket, but he doesn't do so silently, "Show off." There may not have been a smile on his face when he'd first uttered those words, one eventually forms shortly afterward.

The pack of cigarettes is also stashed away once returned. "Yeah, I probably should be heading out. Drop Maggie off." One hand digs into his left jacket pocket to retrieve his keys, "No leads, I don't think, but she's on the case to try and find him." The safe was still wide open and he wasn't going to leave until it was shut tight. Setting his keychain next to the overturned shot glass, he makes his way behind the desk to shut the safe closed, scrambling the code haphazardly, but as they already witnessed, it doesn't matter that she didn't know the full code.

"Are you going to be okay here?" He's not even dressed for work, so who knows what he has on schedule for the rest of the day. "If you need anything while you're working, I can stop by and drop it off." When he speaks, he continues to watch her, taking in this controlled demeanor, especially in the face of what they had done today.

"Mhm. I'll be fine. I need to get groceries at some point, but it's not dire and I'll figure it out when I'm motivated." Which apparently isn't right now, because Lilith takes another long drink from the vodka bottle before puffing away at the cigarette right in her office, instead of stepping out back with it. Then she lets her ass slide from arm of the couch down onto the couch cushion proper to cross one leg over another and bounce her heeled foot in perfectly fine and sitting pose with her smoke and vodka.

Her shoulders hitch up a little instead of smiling once in that pose to be cute or overly animated, though, telling Byron with a glance back at the doorway, "Car problems are a thing lately. Don't worry about me. Do your Byron stuff." Then she manages a little slant of lips on looking back with something like reassurance.

His Byron stuff. So much of his Byron stuff has been set askew with everything going on as of late. Perhaps, he knew too much and all of that information, as sinister as they were, was heavily weighing him down to the point of distraction. Then there were other things; things that had been unearthed from a time in his past that he'd tried to forget at one point. He had cleared his schedule for the day to focus on other things.

Looking on Lilith with one final look, he reaches for his keys again and turns to head out the door, "Text me a list of what you need. I'll pick it up some time today." Once the keyring is hand, he casually tosses it up before snatching it from the air, making the keys jingle.

What he doesn't say is that after dropping Magnolia off, he'll most likely cruise around Elm Street every so often, making sure that the shop gets no unwanted visitors, whether they are looking for the ring or coming out of state.

"... well, okay, if you wanna be bossy about it." Lilith tells Byron on his way out, and despite the way she's still way pulled back and maybe even a little shut down residually for one reason or another as she has been since coming into the office... there's carry of sheer fondness on those words. The vodka might be doing some unloosening somewhere, perhaps, or the cigarette. Or y'know, the gesture of someone grocery shopping on her behalf in general. No one actually likes going grocery shopping, do they? She doesn't. "Be careful."

When she's sure the shop is clear, though, she rises up, puts out the remains of the smoke in the shotglass after flipping it back over with a shaky hand. Then she puts down the bottle and goes for the couch. And when she's there, she grabs a pillow from the opposite arm, something embroidered with the moon and the stars. Then, holding it in huddle against her face and upper chest, she leans forward and muffles a scream into it, then another, then another. Then she's done. She throws the pillow. She gets back up. And she goes for the vodka to keep under the counter with her while she pretends to work. But mostly she just thinks about how many different ways in life she feels stuck.