2019-07-18 - Murder Apartment

It's roughly fifteen minutes before Genevieve makes her way downstairs, moving to unlock and open the door. She'll wordlessly stand aside so Blake can walk in, and then she locks it again. She spends a few minutes looking out at the twilight before she turns to offer him a wan smile, she looks a little frayed around the edges. "Thanks for coming by, I really appreciate it." She is wearing a pair of faded red and gold linen boxers that look a little too big for her, a loose white tee-shirt and a sheer red robe that just hangs open. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, and there are dark smudges under her eyes. "Coffee or anything? Got tequila under the counter too."

Blake is carrying a large dark metal case that's kind of beat up around the edges where the paint is worn, if one looks closely. He's got his backpack and he's wearing a brightly colored jacket with turquoise sleeves. Still, his expression leaves him looking thoughtful. He slips inside without a word, doesn't press, his eyes sweeping over her state. "Tequila sounds good," though he doesn't sound excited about it. He just stands there for a moment, no smile in return. "I guess...I guess I'll get to work." He watches Genevieve for a moment out of the corner of his eyes before setting down his case.

No shot glasses down here, so she pads barefoot over to grab some of the crystal she uses for iced tea. A splash of tequila is poured into both glasses, one a little more than the other. She picks up the fuller glass. She steps from behind the counter, peeking at the case as she makes her way to the door. "So you said that I'll be able to tell if someone opens the door when I set it?" She leans against the wall near the door, watching Blake as he does his thing. She drinks from her glass, her teeth scraping the inside of her bottom lip when she's not speaking.

"It's on the entire time. You just listen to it when you want to listen. Like a mute button." Blake explains. He pulls out a pair of dark grey latex gloves and puts them on. Then he pulls out a metal plate, some screws, and a phillips head. "I texted you a site. I run that site," which might explain the strange url. He steps over to the door and unlocks the door, opening it slightly. He slips the plate in partially and tests that the door can close. Then he gets to actually screwing in the screws by hand. It takes a bit of elbow grease since he hasn't drilled the hole, but he starts strong as if expecting the amount of force he'd need to use. "Do we need to worry about someone coming round soon?"

"Tonight?" Genevieve glances around, for a moment her eyes are far away. "Unlikely." She takes another drink from her glass, setting it on the window sill, turning to watch Blake work. She pulls her phone out and taps the site that was sent to her. "How much did we agree on again?" Blue eyes shift to settle on the man as he works hard to get the plate flush with the door. "I heard about a new strip club opening outside of town. Did you find work yet? I think they're looking for people, saw something about computers before I stopped reading." Slender fingers hitch up her boxers before she sits heavily on the beanbag chair.

"I don't remember. Don't worry about it." Blake shrugs and starts in on another screw. His jaw tenses slightly and then eases up. "Haven't. Can you show me?" Something's gotta pay the bills. He leans to grab his drink and take a small sip. He finishes off the screws and sets the screwdriver down to grab a little board with various capacitors and circuits, a chip, battery, whatnot. He tweaks something on it with some pliers and then grabs the screwdriver to mount it. Meanwhile, on Genevieve's phone something pops up to ask if she would like to download. "The app. This should ping the app whenever the door opens. There's a mute button in the app, but you can also just close it." After mounting the device nearby, he trails a wire out to the plate where he rigs it. The color of the tubing was clearly chosen to blend in with its surroundings. Then he moves to put the cover on the small little box, shielding it away from the world. Then he grabs his drink, hands still in his gloves, and moves to sit down, eyes wandering over toward the ground around Genevieve's beanbag. "What happened?"

"I'm gonna worry about it, I'm not going to not pay you." Genevieve gazes down at her phone, frowning when it asks her to download. That's usually a no-no, but if Blake says it's safe. It might be? Heck, he could be getting all her information. She wouldn't know either way. She sets up the app with a few taps of her thumbs, and then she calls up the want ad she saw earlier, turning it to Blake can see it. "See?" She sets the phone down after, pulling her glass toward her. "You thought I was joking when I said the shadows were trying to eat me? I think they're working their way up to it." She gazes in his direction, and then she downs most of her tequila, setting the glass down instead of filling it with more. She gestures to the device, laughing softly. "I doubt they're going to use this entrance, but any port in a storm, right?"

"Pay me what you want. I already got some tequila," Blake lifts his drink with a small grin. Blake sets it aside so he can take off his gloves and then pulls out his phone to take a picture of her screen. "Thanks." He picks up his glass again but stays quite a bit. "I didn't think you were joking." He glances up as she looks his way. "You need me to rig up other things?" There's a crease at his brow and he sips his drink some more.

"Gonna go broke doing favors for people." Genevieve gets up then, pouring more tequila in both glasses before she steps behind the counter. She opens the register, pulls out three twenties and makes her way back to her beanbag. She sets the money next to Blake's glass before she sits down again. "I don't know what you could rig up that might help, so.." She gestures to his glass before she leans back in her mushy chair, smirking. "Just drink with me for a little bit, and then I'll let you escape the crazy." She turns her head, studying him for a minute. "Finding your way around town okay?"

"Yeah..." Blake rubs at the front of his chin idly for a moment. "Probably nothing if they are shadowy. Maybe a big spotlight?" He leans to grab his glass and lifts it in quiet acknowledgment to Genevieve. "I've been...well distracted." He's been holed away in his room most of the time. It's his turn to drink deeply. "I was looking up murder apartments. Well, looking up if they had fiber."

Genevieve was in the process of holding her glass up to her lips to take a sip, but when Blake mentions murder apartments she turns to look at him instead. "Come again?" She frowns in his direction and tries to unpack that, but comes up empty. "You did say murder apartments, right?" For some reason she finds that funny, a giggle escaping her before she smothers it with tequila. Sip. "What is your budget like? I can ask Eli to look into it. He isn't staying in his place at the moment, maybe it'll suit your needs."

"Yes. Murder apartments. I was going to get some-" Blake cuts himself off, realizing a little belatedly that Genevieve finds something funny. "Cheap as possible without roaches? I don't like roaches. They don't like me. I've done my time, did my part in that war." Against roaches? He lifts his glass and takes a sip. "I'm not sure I'm a tequila man," he says with a little low chuckle. "Booze is booze though."

"Eli's place isn't a murder apartment, as far as I know.." Genevieve takes a sip of her tequila before she adds, "..does it have to be a murder apartment?" She keeps her eyes on her surroundings, trying to be unobtrusive about it. "Sounds like they left some scars, the roaches." She glances back in his direction, eyebrows raised. "If you want something else, I probably have it. I should be embarrassed by that, but I think I'm comfortably tipsy enough that embarrassment is out the fucking window."

"No it just needs to be cheap. Why would it need to be a murder apartment?" Blake shifts in his seat when Genevieve mentions roaches again. "Why? It's just alcohol. You can have what's left in here." There's probably a sip or two. He leans forward. "I don't know. Whiskey or scotch?" He pushes up to his feet and walks back to the door to lock it again. "Forgot."

"I mean, you mentioned murder apartment first." Genevieve gets up and without any preamble she pulls open the inner door, and the sound of her footsteps fade away as she goes to the apartment. A few moments pass and then she thumps back down. A bottle of scotch is produced, poured into Blake's glass and then set down. "I've been hitting the alcohol a little too hard, stress is a bitch." She glares at the door and then finishes off her and Blake's tequila, putting the glass down. "I wouldn't sign a lease though, if you can help it, some people don't make it here." A beat. "I bought a building, so I'm fucked."

"I did." Blake is nonplussed when Genevieve departs. He moseys to put his gloves back and shuts his case. He watches when Genevieve reappears. "No one needs stress," he says as if he really means it, brain elsewhere again. He returns to grab the glass of scotch. "Thanks...Wait. You think I can't make it?" A brow is arched to the woman.

"I don't know." Genevieve frowns over at Blake, squinting at him as if she's trying to discern something about him. "You said you're not a stranger to weird, but I suppose that it depends on how weird you've handled before?" She shifts from side to side, nudging herself deeper into her beanbag. "Some people rise above. Some people drink to make it better. Some people run." She glances toward the door and then back to Blake. "Change of subject, so you don't walk out of here thinking I'm crazy." Her brow furrows as she gets deep in thought. "You mentioned other things you're able to do, right? What is your favorite thing to do, with your.. you know.." She means laptop, but the word has escaped her. She points to the backpack, it's probably in there somewhere.

"Your life can't be weirder than mine." Blake flops into his beanbag. "I wouldn't worry about that. Trust me." He laughs a little hollowly and sips the scotch with a little blink. He blinks again at Genevieve's phrasing. "Nothing....you'd find interesting....." Silence. More silence. Sip. Look...somewhere else.

Genevieve looks at the backpack, a thoughtful look on her face. If she's tempted to go look in it, she's hiding it well. She gets to her feet, fingers pulling at the boxers again to keep them on her hips. "Okay hit me with some of your weird." She slants a look at Blake, grinning. "C'mon, I can take it. You share, and I'll share and then I won't be as worried that you're going to think I'm nuts." Her gaze settles on the tequila bottle, but then she starts to pace, the slap of bare feet against linoleum echoing as she walks the length of the shop.

Blake swallows nervously and takes a sip. "You promise you won't, like, call the men in white coats?" He rubs his palm across his thigh as he watches Genevieve starting to pace. Apparently he decides he's not drunk enough. "Fuck it." He knocks back the rest of the scotch. "Sometimes...I see my dad." This might be minimizing. "And other people can't."

"I mean, you could call them on me. Did I not say twice now that the shadows are going to eat me? It's not a euphemism." Genevieve watches Blake knock back his scotch, an eyebrow quirked as she drifts closer to him. She waits to hear what he has to say, her hand on the bottle of scotch. She considers her next words carefully, but she is tipsy, so being careful lasts for about five seconds. "When did your dad pass?" She picks up the bottle and pours some into his glass.

Blake looks past Genevieve and then back to her. "I'd take shadows any day of the week." He shakes he head, eyes slipping away repeatedly as if his concentration is slipping too. "A long fucking time ago." He pulls the glass to his chest and just holds it there, looking down in. "It's your turn. I don't want to talk about him. He got sick and he's gone."

"I'm sorry." Genevieve reaches out toward Blake, but thinks better of it, dropping her hand. "Uh, my turn? Okay." She brushes her hair behind her ears, kneeling down in front of Blake's beanbag. "I told you about the shadows. I can uh.. " She wiggles her fingers. ".. I can zap you with my fingers, enough to hurt." She jerks her chin at his glass. "Put that down, and I'll show you." It's kind of a challenge, he could tell her to fuck off, or he can humor her.

"Doesn't matter," Blake shakes his head, his gaze drifting a little. He blinks a little when Genevieve kneels. He looks down at the glass and then puts the glass aside, slowly. He doesn't say anything, just watching Genevieve. Then he holds out his hands to her, palms up. That look of deep concentration never leaves him, as if he's working out the world behind those eyes, and the world is a very troubling place.

It does matter, but Genevieve isn't going to press the point, people deal with grief in many kinds of ways. She doesn't take his hand, that would be cruel, and she said it was going to hurt. She places a finger against his palm and concentrates. For a moment there is nothing, and then she takes a deep breath, her eyes lidding. A spark jumps from her fingertip to strike at Blake's palm. She pulls back quickly, watching him for his reaction, her blue eyes a little wider than normal.

There's a slight jerk, the minimal twitch response to electricity jumping through to curl his fingers, but the minimal response is not the normal response. Suddenly, a broad grin curls its way onto his lips as his whole body posture changes. He leans forward a little, "You're a real firecracker." A light little chuckle escapes as he shakes his hand out belatedly. "Where'd you learn a trick like that?" He lifts his heel off the ground, one then the other, as if to see if there are any metal plates or strips on the ground, touches the floor, rug, whatever's down there.

Genevieve lets herself fall back on her ass when he leans forward, a soft laugh escaping her for a moment when Blake grins. "Firecracker, that's a new one." She watches him look around, so she pushes her bare feet on the ground to scoot back to give him room to do so. The hardwood is solid, and pretty new by the look of it. "Um, well.. I was almost mugged a few years ago, and I think it was a fright response, and I just .. practiced a little so I could do it when I wanted to." She shrugs, crossing her legs indian style. "Haven't found much need for it here."

Blake pushes up to his feet and looks down at his drink for a half moment before stooping slightly to snatch it up and lean into a step past the fallen Genevieve. Restless, he wanders idly around the shop, looking here and there, nodding a little before he turns to look toward Genevieve. There's something more fluid about how he inhabits his body in these moments, more self-assured. "It could be pretty handy. If you needed to short something out. Can you do it stronger?"

"Yeah, but stronger hurts a lot more." Genevieve's eyes follow Blake as he walks around the shop, curious to see what he's looking at or for. She finally slaps a palm down on the ground, twisting her body as she gets to her feet. She tugs again at the boxers on her hips, padding toward the counter and the tequila bottle. "I hope you're not thinking of my fingers as a pathway to crime or something." She rolls her eyes, picking up her glass so she can pour some tequila into it.

A smirk is flashed Genevieve's way. "I don't need your magic spark to go places I'm not welcome. If I really wanted," he tacks the latter on a half second later. "Crime for money is overrated. Doesn't help anything...So, you know what it is? Not every day someone finds out they can shoot bolts of electricity out of their hands."

Genevieve glances over her shoulder at Blake, grinning as she takes a sip of tequila. "Do I know what it is that allows me to do that?" She takes a longer drink, almost emptying the glass. She sucks in a quick breath, grimacing at the burn of alcohol in her throat. "I know what it is, I realized what I was..a while ago." She shrugs, turning back, her eyes on the bottle. She's already pushing it. She puts physical distance between herself and the tequila, ambling away from it. "I can do more than that. You.. uh.." She jerks her chin up at Blake. "You.." She clears her throat, keeping eye contact with him. ".. you shine too, bet you got tricks in there."

"Oh?" The man lifts his glass to sip thoughtfully, perhaps considering what else Genevieve might be able to do. He doesn't break away his gaze over the glass either. "Shine? Well..." He holds his palm up, his fingers spidering upward. His gaze gets a little more intense. Then, suddenly in the dimness, white hot electricity starts to spurt and crackle up from his fingertips in a chaotic dance before flickering out, leaving just silence. There's no wild arcing, no drama. He probably couldn't charge anything he couldn't touch.

Genevieve walks toward Blake then, leaning in to really look at him. Her eyes searching his face before she flinches backward, frowning. "Shine." She taps her temple and moves again, now she's trying to keep Blake and the tequila at a slight distance, both for different reasons. "Did you feel drawn here, is that why you came? You.. mentioned that you were coming for work, didn't you?" She looks flustered, and part of it is because she's had too much to drink. The other? She's not telling. "When did you find out that you could do that?" She gestures toward his hands, leaning against the far counter, tucking her hands behind her.

He doesn't back off when Genevieve advances. There's only an inch difference in their height which is probably difficult for either of them to detect offhand. "In a way. I mean, I didn't come here because there was a job here." In fact, there are much better places he could go in Washington as someone with skills. He smiles slightly. "There was this asshole, at work. I was sick of being yelled at. I got fired. I think they were looking for a reason anyways. I never fit in there."

Genevieve's eyes shift to the floor, frowning. "Did anything happen with the asshole?" The question is clearly hesitant, and when her eyes shift up to Blake, there is worry in them. "I don't think many of us fit in anywhere but here, but here.. has its drawbacks." She scuffs a bare foot along the linoleum, frowning. "Anything bad ever happen to you because of.. things?"

"Well, I now have to see a shrink, so there's that," though it sounds like there's a lot more to the story. There has to be right? He moves closer and looks down at the linoleum as if he might find something there. "You?...drawbacks? It's just a sleepy shithole. How many drawbacks beyond crappy bandwidth could there be?"

Genevieve looks up at Blake when he mentions having to see a shrink. She isn't afraid of him, she probably should be, but she's not. "Drawbacks." She pushes away from the counter when he speaks, looking frustrated and flustered. "The shadows eating me? That's probably basic compared to some of the things I've heard people go through here. I don't know if it's because of where this town is, people talk about .. things happening here. I'd have nightmares in Georgia, they'd wake me up, I'd be afraid. Here? My nightmares try to kill me, and when I wake up.. I'm wounded. Sometimes I didn't even fall asleep before the shit happens. How is that for a drawback?" Her voice raises as she explains, and soon she's in his face, her hands gesticulating wildly.

"Maybe you need some melatonin," he says with a a small smirk as he reaches up to try and take her hands to calm her, as if quieting her hand motions might quiet her as well. "Maybe you just need to learn to relax," says the nerd who was wound up tight just ten minutes ago. This man is different though. There's more of a liveliness in his eyes. "Does that mean if you dream of good things they come true too? Like, you want ice cream and you wake up with some sherbet in a cone?"

Genevieve flinches when he takes hold of her hands, she's breathing hard and she looks pretty freaked out. "Learn to relax.. really?" She watches him as he speaks, and despite her mood not even three minutes ago, a peal of laughter escapes her when he asks about the ice cream cone. "I haven't tried that. I try not to dream, because I can never tell when it's happening until I'm bleeding." She gently yanks at her hands, trying to reclaim them. "What do you do to relax?" She might be trying to distract him with questions.

There's an empty glass of something that was amber in color on the counter. "You ever partake in your own stock? It helps prevent dreaming. Well, I mean, I don't remember any dreams at least." Suddenly, when Genevieve pulls away her hands, he stares for a little too long, lets go, and steps backward, breaking eye contact, retreating back into himself with a slightly confused look as he peeks through his peripheral vision at mostly likely nothing again. "Sorry? Did you say something?"

"I used to not mess around with my stock at all, but lately I've been eating some of the edibles here and there." Genevieve walks away from Blake, her eyes falling on the tequila bottle, and then she diverts again, gazing out the door. "I dream still though, when I sleep." She frowns and turns to watch Blake for a moment. "I said a few things." Her eyes go to the scotch. He only had one glass, right? "Are you okay?" She glances back out the door. "How do you relax?" She isn't above repeating herself.

The door opens. Not the front door - the one that connects the shop to the apartment that's upstairs from it. Eli steps through, blinking and sweeping his eyes around the room to take in the scene. His expression is vaguely curious and he pulls the door closed behind himself. He's wearing a pair of comfortable track pants and a well used t-shirt, clearly the kind of look you'd have if you're bumming around the house trying to be comfortable for the evening with no plans to go out into public again. He may not have realized Eve had company, but he isn't about to go freshen up - it looks like a casual situation.

There's a case that's been transferred to the ground, a rather large metal black one and if one is fairly observant, they might find a new small black box installed just out of the way with a tiny insulated wire trailing somewhere. Blake's in a brightly colored jacket with turquoise sleeves. He lifts his hand to rub his head. "How much have I had to drink? I have a headache," he answers out of order. Distracted, he looks over to Eli when he enters. The answer to Genevieve's question never really arrives, perhaps not in the form she wants. "Anything that works," he mumbles.

"You had a bit, so did I." Genevieve sees Eli through her reflection in the window, and she turns to peek at him, there is no way to hide that she's stolen some of his clothing. Oops. "Eli.." She shuffles to him, her bare feet not making much noise on the linoleum. She wraps her arms around him and then snags a hand, pulling him toward Blake. "Eli, this is Blake. He installed a sensor on the door. Security things." She gazes over at Blake. "This is the guy you thought was going to kick your ass while yelling in Russian." She moves briefly away from the pair, collecting the liquor so she can put it somewhere so she won't have to avoid it.

"Bonsoir, Eve." Eli says with a small smile toward Genevieve when she comes over to him, taking in her outfit with some clear amusement in his eyes and wrapping a hand around her waist in return while putting a polite kiss on her cheek. Then he's turning to wait for the introduction. "Nice to meet you, Blake. I don't speak Russian very well, but I could likely fake it convincingly. Also not much history of beating anyone up. But, I am trying a lot of new things lately." He steps forward and reaches out a hand toward the man to offer it to shake. "Security is likely a great idea. A lot of dollars in inventory and - well, also the type of place someone might break into just to get some for personal use."

Blake looks down at his empty glass and nods. "Right." He nods slightly and reaches up to rub his head a little. Then the hand comes in his vision. He reaches out to take it. A decent shake, but nothing to write home about. Perfectly forgettable even if his jacket screams 'remember me.' "Well if you ever end up punching me, I expect there to be a lot of shitty Russian involved, not that I'd know," he mumbles. "It won't tell you if someone breaks through the glass. That'd take other sensors...so, just keep that in mind." He lifts his eyes just enough to look to Genevieve. "Thanks for the drink...um." He still seems a bit scattered. He looks around and his gaze settles on his case.

Genevieve is watching Blake as Eli reaches out to shake hands, a little puzzlement in her gaze. She rests her head against Eli's shoulder and makes a face when punching is mentioned. "I don't know that someone will break the glass, let's hope we won't have to go through all of that." She goes quiet, and when Blake looks at her she frowns. "You okay?" How often is she going to ask Blake this question, probably a few more times. "I didn't get you drunk, did I? I can call you an Uber, you can sack out upstairs. I'm sorry." She gazes over at Eli, something quiet passing between them.

Eli's brow furrows, glancing toward Eve and then back at Blake when he pulls his hand back. "I'll practice a few good curses just for the occasion, but hoping it doesn't come to that. Been awhile since I threw a punch." His lips twist a bit as though remembering something but he shakes his head, shrugging it off. "I can run up and grab you a glass of water or something too if you need something with a little less kick than tequila. It seems to be the drink of choice around here these days, but we don't require all of our guests to drink until they pass out." Even if they do have a bit of a record of that.

"I'm fine. No. It's fine. You guys already put me up before. I'm just tired. Sometimes I just get tired." Blake just shakes his head like he's shaking out the cobwebs. "I think I'll walk back." He glances between the other two and then turns on his heel to grab his case. He tugs a little at the collar of his tshirt, as if it might be too tight, though there's no way that's possible by the looks of it. He looks even paler than before as he slips out into the night. When the door opens, Genevieve's phone buzzes, and again when it closes. Originally Blak came from the left, past the window, but he departs in the other direction, disappearing into the night.

Genevieve watches Blake take off, glancing toward her phone when it buzzes and then he's gone. "Shit. I don't really know how much he had to drink, I hope he's okay." She moves away from Eli, opening the door slightly to look both ways to see if she can spot him. No joy. Her phone buzzes again, and she glances back at it as she eases the door closed, locking it. "The sensor works." She says, making her way back to Eli. "Maybe he thought you were going to punch him." She might be joking, might be serious.

"What did you tell him about me?" Eli asks, expression a little bit alarmed at the idea. "I don't consider myself to be all that aggressive. Anyway. I'm sure he'll be fine. It's not so strange to have a bit too much to drink and then get in a weird head space. That jacket he is wearing is bright enough that no one is going to run him down if he's roaming through the middle of the street. Likely just heading home to sleep it off." He leans back against the counter, watching the testing of the sensor and nodding. "Pretty sure I've been in the same place before. Night starts off OK and then it seems to spin out of control. Just feels like you need to get away."

"I didn't say anything bad about you." Genevieve reassures Eli, patting him gently on the arm before she takes hold of his hand to lead him upstairs. "He's uhm.. he's a little shiny, and I might have zapped him a little, but he seemed okay after that, so this isn't my fault." She wants to make that clear. "Hey, so about your place, is it a murder apartment, and how long are you gonna stay here before you sublet it, because he's looking for somewhere to live...mind, he isn't always that strange so.." Her voice trails off as they climb the stairs, and the shutting of the apartment door thuds, the shop is quiet.