2019-07-17 - Phase 1: Asking Nicely

It's a pleasant summer afternoon, slowly creeping into early evening. The sky is still bright due to it being the summer season, especially since the day is untarnished by heavy clouds and passing showers, which sometimes comes and goes even in July. Once again, very much like the day of the ring viewing, Byron is seated inside of his car, his eyes surveying the surrounding area. The past week had been a trainwreck for him; first with Lilith being cursed with bad luck and then the murder in his apartment among other things. It's been a whirlwind of stress and tension, the latter which heightened suddenly within the last few days really. The day which he met Melissa.

He still expects Lilith to be on her phone. The last he'd heard, she was texting Carver, which meant that Carver was not here. He knew all along that the man was unreliable. He finally makes his exit. He just came from the harbor and seems like he's taken another day off again with how casually he's dressed. That same motorcycle jacket is thrown over a different shirt, a dark pair of jeans covers the lengths of his long legs, feet still tucked away into combat boots. He has his expensive shades on right now, it is pretty sunny.

Pushing his way through the pawn shop door, he immediately notices the temp behind the counter. Lilith must be upstairs still. After a brief pause at the entrance to study the room, he makes his way towards the main counter, leaning against it briefly with the use of his right arm, he asks, "Is Lilith upstairs?" This pleasant expression on his features, partially veiled by the shades. His eyes flicker towards the office door. She could be there as well for all he knew.

The temp has an unremarkable face, hipster glasses and the very casually disinterested mien of youth in general. It's an easy gig. The owner is a little weird, sure, but this temp at least is willing to come back when requested. Maybe Lilith liked the apathy. It's definitely safer to have someone in the shop that isn't real smart or interested and just there for the paycheck before taking a trip home to the next town.

The office door through the aisles is closed. The outer door is probably not locked, as it leads to the loft stairs with a gap between there and the actual office, but the inner office door is if checked. Probably expected. After the girl stares at Byron, she sighs a little and says, "Upstairs. For now. She's been pacing up and down and all around for I don't know why, so maybe she'll come back down." She doesn't offer to ring her down like a normal, responsible employee, but she also has no clue who Byron is. Mostly, she's looking at her phone while seated behind the counter. Then blandly, she tacks on, "She worked the morning shift."

Everything seems quiet around the shop and perfectly fine. Lilith is in fact upstairs. She's expecting him.

Usually, Byron would be dismissive about some random temp working the register. There was nothing special about her and it's not as if there was a lot of traffic in the shop right now. Or ever, really. There's activity, sure, but the pawn shop wasn't a hotspot for it. He's been in a mood as of late, so watching this unattentive girl give him this dismissive look catches and holds his attention even once he's told that she's upstairs and so forth.

You would think someone would thank the woman and then go on their merry way, but Byron remains here, not budging from where he's positioned himself in a lean against the counter, dark eyes, behind dark shades, on her, watching her like a hawk, despite the pleasant expression he wears. "Do you favor your job here?" He asks, waiting long enough for a response, if any, before he pushes off from the counter to make his way to the stairs of the loft. At the base of stairwell, he lifts his chin to view the way up, though there is one brief look given the office door once more. Maybe he doesn't trust the girl at the counter. Either way, the moment passes as he makes his way up.

"... it's a paycheck. Had worse." Something about Byron's question and general appearance and demeanor and familiarity with Lilith that comes off seems to jolt the temp into putting down her phone, at least. She doesn't even glance toward the office, but she does look at the computer and starts printing off shipping sheets to go with the packing supplies that are at her feet with certain objects laid out, notes in Lilith's handwriting upon them. Apparently, she's supposed to be packing online orders to prepare for going out the next day and hasn't been. And she's maybe thinking she should do that, suddenly. She does kind of favor sitting and doing nothing a fair bit and might not want to ruin that luxury that comes with the pawn's casual pace for a temp.

Lilith's door upstairs is locked up fast, chain and all, which is audibly removed when he comes up to knock or try the handle. When opened, she's wearing a little thigh-skimming slip nighty of silken red and has damp, drying hair in tousle, a thin, more casual white robe with ties and pockets about herself, feet bare. Apparently she's done running up and down the stairs to check on the shop for the night and has already come up to shower and change for staying in. The television is on low to some survival show on the television in which people are naked and bug-bitten and camera blurred. It smells like cinnamon and apples, not the faux pleasant scent of potpourri that usually inhibits the place, but literal baking.

And when she sees Byron, she's fresh-faced with lips flushed by tinted chapstick she put on after bathing. By all appearances, she seems an almost lovely and thriving version of fine. She even smiles some when she lets him in, despite both of them having quite a day just yesterday that ended up with her seeming pretty drunk by the time he came around with her groceries. She pretended she wasn't, though, but her steps and breath kind of said otherwise during that brief stop in.

"Hey. So turns out Melissa can text on Carver's phone somehow. Neat, huh?"

Seeing his words spur the temp into doing actual work would normally bring, at least, the smallest smile to Byron's lips. Or this keen look that he'd accomplished some mission. That's nowhere to be found on his features. Once his back is turned to the woman, his expression hardens, his gaze set solely on the loft door at the top of the stairs. He does knock after having found it locked. As he waits, he throws an idle glance down the steps and towards the landing below. Then the door is opened.

Before he even gets the chance to see her, his entire demeanor changes. He wears a bright enough grin, if not a full smile. His body language, too, loosens as he takes a little stroll through the front part of her loft before settling his gaze on Lilith, catching her as she dries her hair. "Is this is a bad time?" He'd given her a few minutes to finish up what business she has with Carver and then a few minutes more when he sat there, waiting outside of her shop in his car.

The mention of the ghost, despite Melissa being pleasant enough, is still an uneasy topic for him. The grin may fade, for a second, but widens more, releasing a snorting sound as a form of abrupt and short laughter, "So she really is a Ghost in the Machine." Breathing in the sweet aroma, his gaze drawn to the kitchen, before he starts his way there, "Smells nice in here." Half-way to where he's headed, he takes the moment to turn, looking at the brunette from over his shoulder, "You look great too." If had any doubts that her bad luck still lingered, there are none now.

"When was the last time that Carver was here?" He's already in the kitchen in this tiny loft, just milling around to snoop.

The oven is on. There's a small apple crumble in a baking dish going. She did have him buy apples at the store, and apparently, this is what's happening with those apples now with him here to reap the benefits. Lilith baking is a pretty rare occasion, but he doesn't really know that. And it's an easy enough dish, maybe she just wanted to test coring and peeling and everything else with a knife to ensure things have really run their course. Her fingers and hands are unmarked, it seems to have gone just fine. It's also possible she knew he was going to be coming and set it to bake at this moment on purpose.

Lilith watches Byron for a moment at wander, then she starts standing and watching the television after wandering to stand at the back of the couch, apparently interested in whether or not extraction point is met, "Carver's never been up in my loft. But I guess he's been in and out downstairs, maybe. At least until the morning of the meeting, wasn't here last night or today. Why're you so interested in where Carver is? He said he's not taking money for this, you know. I was going to argue, but he threatened to give Melissa a trumpet and free reign of the shop if I pressed the issue." Stepping around to get the remote, she turns off the television after making a huff at the screen and rolling her eyes, "These people are nuts. Survival for kicks. They need lives like ours to get their rocks off."

Everything in the apartment looks like it normally does, nothing ajar, it's neat. It kind of smells like laundry too and there's a hum of the dryer going from behind the sliding doors of the utility closet. It's a load of towels.

Baking would be an incredibly dangerous activity if Lilith were still cursed. The stove hasn't caught fire yet. Not today, nor the evening that he was here for stew. Dropping down into a crouch, almost in the same fashion that he'd done when watching Lilith with the safe combination in her office, Byron observes the crumble baking in the oven window. "Looks like I came at the right time." He smiles at that, the warmth being heard within his voice. Then he catches his own image within the window's glass being reflected back at him. This is almost deja vu.

"I meant the shop. This place as a whole." He makes clear as he rises to stand, a hand reaching for the knife that was probably used to peel the apples, turning it over with mild curiosity before setting it down again. He seeks out her gaze once more, "The ring is still in your possession. Shouldn't he be here? It doesn't matter right at this moment. I'm here now." When he'd entered, the television was given only the mildest of glances, but he's looking at it now once she'd gone and shut it off. "The girl downstairs. The one who has no interest in keeping her job here. She said that were a little antsy this today? Pacing between floors. Something on your mind?"

"Byron. Everything is on my mind. Isn't everything on yours?" Lilith clicks her tongue a few times and drops into a sit on the arm of the sofa at turn to watch Byron across the way, rubbing at her knee where the stitches have apparently done the dissolve thing. There's just a pink fading mark from where she was sliced before. Higher on her thigh and apparent with her sitting and rising the hem of the nightie, her bandage is off from showering and there's still some notable stitches there where something gouged her on impact, probably during the wreck. There's some trace bruising at creep up between her breasts where the silken piece hangs, and clearly, she's bralass.

But other than those fading fingers of bruising that hint at more beneath and the lingering impact gash on her brow, she's perfectly healthy and vibrant even through stress. It's a little strange when considering how bad off she was just the week before, but it's a good thing, right? She watches him pace and look around, a small smile on her features, "Your timing is pretty good. I'm surprised the girl noticed I was doing that, she doesn't seem to notice much else. There's a reason I asked for her by name again. Probably paranoid I'm checking up on how many times I can catch her looking at her phone instead of working more than anything, though. I guess job preservation instinct is a thing."

Then her damp head tilts and she wonders of Byron, "Are you okay? You seem fidgety. You can see I'm okay."

Okay, Lilith's got him there and Byron knows it. Offering her this thin crooked smile, his lips tight, he just has to laugh. "You know, you're right. And yes, everything is on my mind. The ring. What we'd learned about the Michael family. These Addington deaths, those god damn bones of a serial killer that I still have in my apartment. Henderson getting killed, which unless the Henderons are related to the Addingtons it doesn't fit the nar--" He's about to say something very Alexander-like. It didn't fit the narrative otherwise, but he stops himself before he makes himself look the fool. There were other things on his mind as well. Things which he does not bring up.

He draws in a deep breath through his nostrils in an effort to forget that he was turning into Alexander Clayton. Moving in close, he quietly examines each and every nick and bruise that he can see with the shortness and shift of her slip. Some focus is paid to bruising at her chest, though it's the once bandaged part of her upper thigh that he examines when he kneels down before her, placing one hand just at the edge of the stitching. "I'm sorry that I wasn't there when you got into that car accident."

Slowly, he withdraws, but rather than standing up immediately, he just takes to a seated position on the floor there. "I'm fine. Just... you know." His eyes then flicker up at Lilith, "Oh by the way, Isabella said that some of the pictures didn't come out clear. Which... is odd. So I told her that I'd take more and send them over." A pause. "Whenever you have the time to venture deep within that safe."

"Henderson? You have... bones in your frickin' apartment? Bones?! You realize telling me that means you don't get to look at me like I am the crazy hoarder between us anymore. That kind of puts us on a level playing field as far as crazy goes." That's a name that Lilith catches on that doesn't sound familiar, but like Byron, her mind is full of unpleasant details, so when she asks, she sounds a little unsure as if she should know the name or not. Then he goes talking about bones, which he no doubt wanted to avoid throwing on her while she was avoiding hell week. He did mention about bones in a text conversation, but she didn't know he was sleeping with them around! That or she forgot. It's goddamn hard to keep track anymore of all the screwy things. Probably moreso for him.

Then because it's hard for her to throw stones while living in a glass house, she doesn't admonish Byron beyond that moment of eye-widened realization exactly what bones he has around. Plus he's dropping into a kneel in front of her, which makes her tilt her head, eyes following his to the stitches still remaining high on her leg. Her expression softens out of alarm and concern for his general fidgetiness and if she seems a bit thrown or wary by it, it's well put-aside. So is the fact that his hand is at her leg for that tick of moment and he's on the floor. And... asking about the box. Her heart accelerates on the sly. But is it because he's positioned like he is or because he asked about the box? Probably both.

"You didn't know. If you had, you would have been there. I know that. And that honestly... wasn't even the hardest part of the week, all told. It just hurt the most physically. Getting back behind the wheel might be interesting, no telling what nerves will creep up once I'm able to steer a deadly weapon again." Her hand lifts to rake back through her hair while she looks at him with what seems like consideration, "I know that was uneventful, the viewing. But I don't think that's a good idea. I don't exactly want to go tempting something within me to tie myself a noose. I'd be very good at it. I can tie constrictor knots, you know." Then she reaches out a hand to graze some of his hair, "Besides, she saw the details, pictures can only do so much. I'm sure she has a mind like a trap and sharp eyes."

Byron should be proud about her wanting to resist another look. Shouldn't he?

"Doctor Penny Faust's brother. He left town to play for the Seahawks." Byron speaks of this Henderson. Of course, he knows sports. "I guess he came back. He was found murdered the other day. along with Doctor Faust, who was found in a pool of her own blood. She's fighting for her life in ICU." It's a very heavy topic, especially since Byron and a few others were working with Faust regarding... the next topic.

"The bones weren't my idea." He isn't afraid to say, "After the examination, there were some who thought that they should be separated, so... each of us took a set." No, he hadn't told her that part, about them taking the bones home. It's not something that he brought up to anyone really. No need to draw attention to their location. "I was planning on moving them to one of my empty apartments, but things happened." And he was preoccupied with one thought all day.

So now he finds himself in her loft, settled on the floor, his gaze lifted to look on her up on that perch. There's this look of deep fondness within his eyes, mixed with something else. There's this comfort that she brings to him, feeling her fingers brushing through his dark hair and yet, there's something that he desires. "I'll do it." He says with quiet bravery. "You don't have to be there. In fact, I want you to stay as far from that thing as possible. Just... just open the safe and I'll do the rest. I'll take the pictures."

"Leave you alone... with the box and the stone. That's a fucking terrible idea, Byron. Are you hearing yourself right now? It hasn't tainted you yet. You only saw some of the week I had. You have no idea how it broke me down and tore me apart and I am not at all surprised that those men hung themselves. You have no idea how badly you want it to end when it starts, how it feels inside to be hollowed out, how it melts you and snaps you and I--" Lilith looks disturbed about the bones bit in passing, but downright widens her eyes a little at Byron's idea with concern when he has the next idea. Due concern. But who's she concerned for? Him or the gem. Definitely him. Maybe the other, though, too. Mostly him. What's he doing on the floor? Is he trying to work her over knowing something about how she feels about him?

He was just in her mind days before. She has no idea what he felt or saw. She feels like her armor is gone. She needs new armor right now. She needs to protect. Him or the stone? This is confusing. He usually doesn't want anyone near anything to do with that thing. He also normally isn't on the floor at her knees. It's distracting too in the ways a woman sees a man like that, no matter that it's Byron, maybe because it's Byron. Everything's confusing. But does she look like everything is confusing? No. She's just impassioned, trying to make him understand. For him. For him. For him. (For it? For her?)

Her hand at his hair in stroke moves down to squeeze grip of massaging knead, then pet at the back of his neck as she leans forward a little, ensuring he's looking at her eyes when she drops her voice and stares at him intently with that concern for him, by all appearances, on her features, "Byron. What'd you see when you looked into me and felt me? Did you feel the mark of it?" For all she knows, this thing is in her now, she wasn't lying when she said she felt marked, maybe him being in her mind stroked something, made him feel something unnatural too. The gem sure wasn't singing. Everything is fine. Isn't it?

He's asked her nicely, so far and was even willing to sacrifice his own well being to protect her by not having her anywhere near the box once the safe was open. So it's frustrating when she makes up more excuses on why she won't let him get to the box. There's this brief show of underlying tension in the way which Byron's jaw tightens and he stares at her with these calculating eyes. What could he be thinking of? Right now, he feels like a child being scolded, something which fuels this quiet annoyance that slowly begins to brew.

And yet, for all of his frustration, the subtle tell-tale signs that may be glimpsed at with his body language, the tensing of his neck and the contracting of his muscles, he doesn't lash out or raise his voice. Nor does he do anything drastic. There's this conflict currently threatening to boil over inside of him and yet, he does nothing. Perhaps the side of him that remembers Lilith, the Lilith who was with him in Tobin's bathroom, the girl he tried to protect the way a heroic Knight did. Maybe that side is winning, despite the things which annoy him, angers him about her now.

"Nothing happened." He decides to remind her. "Nothing happened that day. Isabella, Magnolia they weren't affected by it. Neither were we. Maybe it's over." Byron tries to rationalize things, even if there was a point where he couldn't wait to get that ring locked up after all was said and done.

When she asks now about what he saw in his reading of her, Byron mixes the good with the bad. He was there in his thoughts, but he was not the only one. "No mark. Nothing--" He lies, "There was nothing negative in your thoughts. In your heart. I did see that time when we were hiding out in Tobin's bathroom..." There very well may have been other moments where they both were in the Gilford bathroom, but he's hoping that this one stands out.

Now. Lilith's hand is on Byron's neck. He's still perfectly Byron. She's still perfectly Lilith. But anyone watching them from the outside going back and forth like this might notice the sheer thickness of their exchanges, the going back and forth, the rationalizing, the excuses, the protecting... the fact that he's still on the floor. The fact that her fingers petting his neck pause before sliding into the short hairs just above at the nape to fan out over the back of his scalp. It's almost seductive even though it still has the very Lilith signature of doting on him in a moment of concern and worry. For him. Definitely not for the gem. Nope. Look at her sitting here, even without turning on the light and charm she can, perfectly fine and close to a fresh-faced version of lovely once more.

And she remembers the bathroom and she remembers which time. Because she remembers likening it to that secret moment of letting Byron so intimately inside right in the middle of the living room. She remembers the excitement and vulnerable ticks of fear about getting caught so intimately together after so long being absolutely in a different state of adoration and touch with each other for years. She remembers when hormones took over, when she let his hands wander the way she was changing with curiosity and re-familiarization. So innocent. So not.

Her hand is in his hair. He's looking intense and he's bringing up that moment and she's leaned forward, braless, wearing that goddamn slip that helps blow some smoke and mirrors over the fact that they're so intensely childhood bonded through time, through circumstance. Smoke and mirrors. She wants his mind there, not on the gem. She wants her mind there, not on the gem. Desire is confusing right now. Her breath is quickened. Which thing is she desiring? After staring at him for a breathless moment, she confirms, "I remember." Lilith pauses and stares at Byron a little longer before shaking her head at the next bit, words dropped, "But no, Byron. It's exactly where it needs to be. For now. We wait. That was the plan."

Exactly where it needs to be.

Byron may have thought that bringing up the bathroom incident was his Trump Card, something that he could use against Lilith to gain her... sympathy, adoration or even adding in that mixture of guilt for everything she's thrown away when she abandoned him. Whether it worked or not, for not it does not matter. When he'd scraped the surface of Lilith's mind, her emotions and came across that one moment in time, it was something that he couldn't help but treasure and hold onto. So much so, that out of selfishness or perhaps spite, he didn't mention it to her at the time.

It doesn't help that she's looking ravishing at the moment in her slip of a dress with those innocent and not-so-innocent memories of what they'd done together being stirred within both his mind and heart. He always wanted to be her hero and though he rarely let on about his troubles, she was always there to give him her support and this, almost, unconditional... love is a strong word to use for children. Adoration? He wants to be that hero for her and it's at that moment that he realizes in this instant just what he was planning on doing.

With Lilith's hand at the nape of his neck, he reaches back there to place his upon hers, giving it a little squeeze. Whatever has gotten into him holds firmly, but for just this moment, he realizes the fault in his action. That's when he rises, moving off from the floor. All the while he's unable to tear his eyes away from her, keeping their gaze locked as he sorts through that tempest inside him and all the conflict it brings. "I should go." He starts, sounding almost nervous in town as he's drowning in guilt. He can feel his own desires burning hot, but one of those desires wasn't going to rest so easily.

Lilith lets her hand slide away as Byron rises and she straightens out of her lean and that eyelocked position with him, swallowing down hard and thick when he's finally standing. Then after wetting her lips, she rises too, dragging a hand in brief over her midsection and down her hips like she's literally trying to unruffle herself. Desire is confusing. Did she do that wittingly? She's not even sure. But she knows standing here what it wrought and she tries to ignore the way it flutters in her. Protect. Smoke and mirrors. The confusion of desire worked to benefit the moment instead of ripping it apart. The confusion of desire might not save the next moment. It's very easy for them to visibly react to what cropped up while they had their own motives at hand. Because see, Lilith is a little opportunist here and there too. And she has to protect Byron. She has to...

Oh god, the crumble. There's some smoke-aroma starting to tinge the delightful smell that's so forgotten in the air and that gets her attention off of Byron in a hurry, especially after last week. After looking back at Byron instead of the kitchen, she seems torn, then she all of a sudden grins with one of those utterly lopsided grins of sheer darling to tell him, "... yeah, you should. You made me burn my apples." So easy right then, so off the cuff and changing the moment to try and let him leave on a lighter note of teasing as she sweeps toward the kitchen and pulls the dish out in a hurry while he goes to leave. It's not flaming or anything, it's just the edges, it's even still edible. See? Not a disaster, just a normal baking distraction.

Standing there in the kitchen watching him at the door after, she calls after more softly, "But hey. If you need to talk about anything later... anything you're feeling or going through outside of this stupid mess with me... I know you've got other stuff. Call me. No matter what time it is. Okay?" They're fine. They weren't just staring at each other like little dogs in heat over each other (and the gem) at all. She wants to imprint that on him on the way out. She does adore him. He is her superhero. She needs to keep him strong too. He's being Byron enough, but... stress is a hell of a thing.

(It's hers. She wants him to go even while she hates to see him leave.)

Walking down those stairs in this state of confusion filled with both regret and something darker, there's a moment where Byron stops near the lower landing. Where was he going? The ring was right there. And here he turns to face the locked office door. If he could only get inside. He almost turns back, willing to head up those steps, but after what he'd just gone through despite this mad desire to possess... it. The Ring, at all cost, there's this fear of what he may be forced to do if this obsession consumes him.

If only he knew what the effects of the ring had in store for him after this failure, maybe he would have gone up those stairs. For now, he departs wordlessly to dwell on his thoughts and his memories.

Lilith watches the door close and she waits until she hears the footsteps moving down to the next landing. In fact, she counts to ten even after that. Then when she's satisfied enough time has passed with her eyes still on the barrier between her loft and the stairs, she darts over to catch the lock and bolt and chain back into place like it wasn't just Byron who left her loft. With him not in the room, with his presence not clouding her thoughts, there's something else clouding her thoughts.

The woman realizes that if he had kept up about the gem, she was going to pick one hell of a nasty fight to make him walk right out of that door so she could lock herself in here alone again. She feels pretty bad about that. She wants him to come back. She wants him to stay gone. Desire is confusing.

Turning her back flat against the door, she reaches into her robe's pocket and pulls out a little box. She takes it to the couch with her. She turns the tv back on. She settles down on the couch with some wine. And the box. It's hers. She's not alone. There's a reason it came to her. There's a reason it sang to her and gave her no options. Maybe she'll take a walk to the bridge tomorrow. Maybe it will whisper the way they died, maybe it will share a secret. She's powerful. She's strong enough for this gem. She fought off and survived everything it threw at her. Those men were weak. Survival of the fittest.

She's not alone at all. The box is exactly where it's supposed to be. She doesn't need to open it up and touch it again. It's part of her now. Lilith is perfectly fine.

... at least while she has the ring.