2019-08-05 - A Blanket Discussion

Lilith spent the morning cleaning and working. Even though she's generally 'blah' about one of those things and 'eh' about the other under normal conditions...having those distractions and pieces of catch up and clean up... they're a bit of a normalcy lifeline. It's good to have rote activity of late while recovering mentally from the last month now that she's not recovering physically. There's a lot of fallout, but yesterday, at some point, Lilith also found the quiet inside after so many degrees of roar for so long. The gem was inside her since she touched it. Now it's not. And that? That's nice.

So is today. It's mid-to-late afternoon, it's still summer, it's still sunny, and the woman doesn't have a car again yet after wrecking her rental SUV, but that's okay. She's ready to exert herself and take the space and walk to the beach. She's wearing a pair of little denim cutoffs and a white tank top with the word 'Savage' on it, and it shows her black swimsuit straps and edges peeking out beneath. Her feet are clad in little pull on bayshore Roxy sneakers with black and white flower pattern and she has a bag along too with flip flops, towel, and other random accessories, sunglasses on and hair blowing free.

No one would really ever outwardly guess she was tied to the bridge by the neck last week if they didn't know any better, 'cause really, she's happy to be outside. She hasn't gotten much chance to leisure and do that all summer, and yes, the water is cold, but the air and sun is warm and when she gets in proximity of beachside, she starts making a game of hop-skipping from rock to rock on way to a sandy strip. And here's the thing about Lilith-- when she's dry and casual or withdrawn, it's nothing like when she's occupied and happy. When that happens, she practically glows. The natural walls fall down. All in all, Carver might have had a good idea.

It's not really that hard to spot a Carver on the beach in a normal situation. It's incredibly easy to spot a Carver on the beach when he's standing on a rock, two pinky fingers tucked in the edge of his mouth, and letting out a piercing whistle that catches the attention of most bystanders.

Did you know that if you time it right, you can catch Alistair in something other than at least part of a suit? Like right now, when he's in a light and breezy blue shirt, collar undone, sleeves rolled to the arms. And cargo pants. Cargo. Pants. God only knows what Carver was doing before he arrived, but it seems to have been something that allowed him to show up with a cooler, a pretty damn giant blanket, and wander around in sneakers and cargoes. Really, the brain shudders to think.

Not that Lilith can really see the cooler or the blanket. He's set them both up in a little area, not exactly secluded, but definitely partially obscured from the more popular areas of the beach by a horseshoe pattern line of rocks. A coveted space. A known space. A space that he may or may not have had to act creepy around a family to take claim of. But it's not like anyone needs to know that, either, right?

His cry of "LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIILY!" is somehow louder than the whistle.

Really, Lilith has to do a bit of a double take because she's not accustomed to seeing Carver like that and there's distance. She looks around for a moment before following the source of the actual name call once the piercing whistle has been shot to sea breezes for carry. Then she puts her hands on her hips and just stares while posed with a foot on a rock. After breathing out a tiny 'huh' to herself, she picks up pace again and half-ass jogs and hops from a few more rocks before getting where she can saunter up the rest of the way.

When close enough, she ticks her sunglasses down her nose and looks at the man up close, then notes, "Why do I feel like the more pockets you have... the more strange stuff you're likely to pull out?" Oh yes, she noticed CARGO PANTS. She's free of cosmetics, mostly, but she has swept on some mascara for lash flair and her lips are flushed with some gloss balm as she slants a sudden smile of vague amusement. It's not a twitch so much as a lopsided full measure, so hey, maybe she does feel better, she's somewhat stingy about the good smiles on the best of days unless you're part of her little personal bubble, and even then it's totally situational.

"Because you're learning." Carver replies with a bright smile, reaching in to one of said pockets. Lilith hasn't seen the pair of sunglasses he pulls back out in quite a while, his non-touristy pair, but that's definitely them, arms opened and unfolded to sit atop his head in the slightly swept mess of hair that sits atop his head. His eyes drift in a brief outfit appraisal, which probably should have been done with the sunglasses over his eyes, but it doesn't linger too long, avoids full-on-stopping anywhere, and ends in a solid thumbs up. So, really, best outcome.

He turns slightly to indicate the ad-hoc beach camp he's set up, with the blanket spread across a small patch of sand in the little enclave, cooler box ope to show what appears to be at least three bottle of root beer, some... other beer, and straight up a bottle of vodka. There's also a whole bunch of stuff in silver tinfoil, which means Carver brought sandwiches. Which means he hopes you like bacon. And lettuce. And more bacon. "You look great, pet. And was that a fuckin' smile?"

She's beckoned to come sit whether it was or not.

Lilith fixes her sunglasses on the bridge of her nose to wear against sun and water glare after inspecting Carver with apparent approval, despite the quip of wariness. His bright smile and immediate response makes her huff out a noise of partial laughter before she goes to settle down with gesture, letting the bag drop off of her arm. She pauses a moment to get out of her sandy flowered sneakers before actually putting foot onto the blanket itself, lips pressing into a flat line before telling Carver, in regards to smiles and such, "Maybe. I got a mental image of you going full magician and pulling one of those neverending multicolored scarves out of one of the pockets and doves from another."

Excuse given, though, the smile kind of lingers with the compliment, and when she's barefoot on the blanket, she turns to drop down onto her ass and start digging out some things from her bag to show on a folded towel after she's taken survey of what Carver's brought about, "I think I'm impressed with the setup. I only brought..." One hand shoves hair away from her face to hold as a breeze blows through, the other digs things out, "Sunscreen. A wireless speaker. My phone and keys. A towel. Flipflops. And this little tin smoke case has some little rolled spliffs of green smoke." She pauses and digs deeper into the bottom of the bag for a beat before finally getting at something else like a grand finale, though.

This thing she holds out at Carver without explanation when it comes from the depth of the owl-patterned oversized shoulder bag.

It's a small turtle made of jade and stained green and black glass that's about the size of her hand when balled into fist and it sits there flat in her palm, catching the sun. It's heavy, it might be a fancy paperweight in part, but really it's just a very pretty trinket of uniqueness that probably runs the mill of random things she finds or gets. Secretly, though, she had this shipped from another shop overnight.

"This is for you."

"Gah!" Carver slaps his forehead almost immediately, the look of regret crossing his face plain to see. Sure, it's overly forced and wouldn't win him any acting awards, but c'mon, points for trying? "I knew I should have brought that. It's in my coat." And... this is Carver. The easy little smile he wears plastered on his face as he kicks off his own shoes to settle in on the blanket totally leaves the truth of that statement up in the air. If Lilith thinks he'd have one in his big-ass coat? He probably does.

Watching the list of things being pulled out of her bag, he leans over to his cooler, sliding it a little closer. It doesn't quite sit between them, but it's near enough for her to reach with a little lean, and near enough for him to scoop one of the root beer bottles out with very little effort at all, popping the cap off with a tiny little hiss, the metal plug clanking against the glass, held in place by a spool of wire. "Not even kidding, I didn't bring my phone. I'd have been really confused if you had to change plans." He admits, throwing her a little shrug before taking the first sip from his bottle.

The bottle that slowly lowers from his lips at the sight of the turtle.

He watches it for a moment, features expressionless, then confused, then that easy smile once again. If Lilith was really paying attention, she might even spot the glimmer of heartbreak that occurred between two of those as his hand reaches out to delicately pick it up between thumb and forefinger.

But come on, this is Carver.

"You beautiful little idiot."

That might have been to the turtle.

"I mostly brought my phone to connect to music if I want it for the speaker. I don't really... want to be interrupted. This is the first nice thing I think I've had in a while so I wasn't about to change plans." Lilith says a little idly after watching Carver for a beat after he's taken the turtle. If she thinks the beautiful idiot commentary is for her, well, it's not really anything but the obvious--she's kind of something like that lately, or in general. But she also seems to understand, maybe, it wasn't for her so much. And her words are maybe a little bit of subject changing filler after handing over a poignant reminder of what he's lost too.

It's a memorial piece for Melissa, wherever she is... or isn't. It can be both hope and tribute. She doesn't dwell on it, though. Instead, she leans to look in the cooler and pokes around before deciding root beer is favorable for now too because starting with vodka considering how she was last seen... eh. She chooses fizz and sugar and basks a moment in the sunshine after flicking the top off with indent of pressure and a very subtle tiny exertion of will to catch it mid-air in a palm.

After drinking long and tossing the bottle cap around for play, she wonders, "What's in the tinfoil? Did you cook? Because I think I smell bacon and that's going to be ten times amazing if I break into one of these smokes. But then again..." Lilith squints at Carver and finally stops playing with the bottle cap to flick it into the bottom of the cooler for trash collection before leaning back some in seating on her hand while drinking again, "I bet you're either fascinating or lazy as hell after you smoke. And you seem to prefer the whole sober wits thing lately."

Carver rolls the turtle over in his fingers, examining it from every angle as the smile on his face slowly dawns into something well past his standard expression. The slight twitch of his lip is almost invisible, and the inspection of the little jade figure lasts well past her words about speakers and sandwiches. He even misses the little trick with the root beer bottle, having flipped the turtle upside down on his palm to rock it back and forth.

There was a question in there somewhere, right? She was asking something about bacon. And smoking. And being sober?

Carver looks up to find her squinting at him. "Uh..." Wait for it. Give it a second. He's just got to figure out an order that normal English sentences adhere to, think of the words to make up that order, and then say them out loud. Normally? Easy as thinking, but he just got given a gift. A real gift. And nothing quite throws Alistair Carver like something given in sincerity, without him having to play a long-con in advance.

The turtle is placed into a pocket. Because of course it is, and Carver coughs, looking intently at the rim of his bottle. "Bacon and lettuce and Bacon and Bacon. I uh..." Non-bottle hand scratches at the back of his neck. "The best grease a food truck can offer, I'm afraid. My motel room doesn't have a kitchen." Hell, his motel room doesn't have a television. It barely has a shower. Still watching that cooler, he draws his legs in close to end up sitting cross-legged, only turning his head towards her once he seems truly comfortable, easy smile right back where it should be. "I.. I also don't know. Sober hasn't exactly done me wonders, lately, but-" A shrug. "It's a hell of a lot easier to look at you when I'm not hungover. And sorry. I had this plan for an afternoon, then you came along with a gift of all things and now I don't know what the shit is going on any more."

"Mm. It'll catch up. Half a joint to make bacon amazing and we'll still be perfectly sober and all kinds of loose just fine. That's the thing about weed, at least for me. I don't always want or need it, but when I have it, it doesn't de-rail me and I can... you know. Moderate and know my limits. Booze either hits my angries or happies, there's not a lot of inbetween, so the 'fuck it' point where I keep going, well... probably don't have to explain that to you." Lilith takes over being chatty as hell on Carver's behalf with planning and prattle because she can tell that her gift somewhat knocked him off his own tracks where he naturally operates. She admittedly isn't very good at proper responses or momentum when someone does that to her, so she fixes it.

After shoving the sunglasses up on her head to push windblown hair out of her face again, she drinks another swig of root beer, then puts it aside to dig in the smoke case for a slim rolled spliff. At least she doesn't have to fight lighter with sea breezes-- the second she puffs it ignites with another tiny flare exertion of will and those two tiny manipulations she's done now, at least display she does, in fact, have fine control over her powers to the point where she can finesse them without paying attention. It's just a whole lot of where she's familiar and pick and choose combined with circumstance.

After inhaling and holding the initial light-up smoke draw, she picks a loose piece of ground leaf from sticking to her lip, flicks it away, then exhales in plume that drifts thin, then away, being so close to shore and the ocean's wind. Her hand moves over with no-pressure over toward Carver while holding the little joint, speaking impromptu while doing so, "I lived in Miami for five years before coming back here in spring. I had a pretty good tan on accident, but I think it's pretty gone now. Heat and humidity is kind of awful as a whole in trade for all that sea and sunshine, though-- pretty matters a lot less when you feel like you need to cut the thick air all up to breathe it. And there were always lizards in my bathtub." She pauses, "I don't miss it. I wasn't any better at life out there than I am here."

Well then. Little Miss Open out of the blue.

Carver listens. Carver's pretty good at that. It's been pretty recently that people have learned Carver's pretty good at that even when it seems like he's not being good at that at all. Maybe it's the sobriety? Eitherway, Lilith's allowed to take up the slack in the conversation, his root beer sipped, a couple of nods given, and one hell of a head tilt at the sudden combustion. It's not that he's not actively looking for it, but more a case of... well, he's happy to let things just happen, sometimes. His hand waves off the offer given out to him with a little shake of the head. "I was in Guatemala for a while. And Mexico. Coahuila. I'm pretty sure I did enough Peyote while I was looking for... uh..." Oh, that's a glance away. Anywhere but her face. Nope. Anywhere but her face and chest. Hey, cooler. You're Carver's best friend today. "Weeeeeeeeeeeeell. A thing."

The thing you have to understand about Carver is that this right here? This counts as a detailed, in depth story. You take what you can get sometimes, right? "I can't smoke anything that isn't straight tobacco any more. I either get nothing or a blinding headache and flashbacks to the time this guy scooped out my intestines." Oh yeah, there's a wince at that memory, his hands dropping back, bottle still held in one. It's a good lean his got going on. And hey, eye contact came back. "I didn't even know you moved away. Well, I kind of had the idea. That little shingdig felt like a reunion more than anything." Good, Carver. Don't pry too hard. Sip from your bottle, ask light, on-the-edge questions to find out mo-"How big were the lizards?"

Goddamnit man.

Lilith's mouth twists a little sardonically with self-deprecating humor when Carver mentions he was looking for a 'thing' because goodness. He did warn her about touching 'things'. She can imagine it was one of those kinds of 'things' somehow without much detail at all and that's where things like 'experience' with 'things' comes in. She may or may not be wrong, but that's what she's going with, from the look of her and the way the word 'thing' seems to trigger her own reminder of 'things'. Things are a thing, okay?

Still wearing her sunglasses on her head, there's a mild blink of surprise, though, with the mention of scooped out intestines and she eyes Carver's torso in that light button up a little with consideration, like she's biting back some effort and the need to ask to see scars of any kind with morbid, pointless curiosity. After leveling the joint back to her lips, though, she swaps eyes to her middle finger, fine, but still a little stiff from recovery of gruesome injury in unnatural ways. Maybe there's no scars anyway. She takes a couple of back to back hits and then sits up to lick thumb and forefinger before pinching the lit end of the joint tip to smother a few quick times with damp pressure. "Okay. I guess that'd put me off smoking much of anything too. But yeah, I--"

Her hands clip the joint remainder back in the little tin-case and then the woman pauses a moment as if trying to collect how or what or how much to explain. She decides to show Carver with her hands a few varying sizes of lizards to start, "All sizes. It was ridiculous. Better than spiders, though, I guess." A pause, "I was gone from here over ten years before I came back in spring. I had years of play hide-and-shutdown through high school before that, though, so I guess it kind of was like a reunion and talking about times... before then." Her head shakes and she reclaims the rootbeer, fine features a little indecipherable as she looks out at the water, "Before I stuck in Miami, I just bounced around all over and made do for the other five years. I was a dumb kid for a lot of it. Left right after high school. When I finally broke Hank's arm on accident... I bolted."

She pulls in a breath and looks over at Carver with a small smile then, "That's why it felt kind of like a reunion and why I got overwhelmed so quickly the more sober I got. I knew most of those people, sure, but... I hadn't really talked to some of them since I was a kid. Then there were... people I didn't know, as you uh. Heard." Pause, "I think weed makes me talk a lot, even when I'm not high, you're going to have to deal."

Carver notices the look. The look that says she wants to ask. The look to her finger. His smile beams. That's never a good sign. But it's allowed to pass, for now, taking a sip once more from his drink as she talks about her life in more detail than he'd ever dare ask. "Ten years?" See, he went and asked the questions about the lizards, then focused on the more interesting topic that popped up. He's like this with restaurant menus, too. "And there's nothing wrong with bouncing around, pet. Or making do. It sounds like you had it pretty rough, and I'm in no fucking place to judge, considering I did exactly the same thing. Mind you..." Sip. Oh, Big sip. "Breaking an arm? Not a bad impetus."

There's a little sniff before he glances back to the cooler. "We... uh.. There was a building and... Then there wasn't. Basically."

Share and share alike. And always remember that Carver's listening, even if he isn't quite sure what to say in response. Especially to a sudden outpour of information. There's one last sip, one added smile, and his hand reaches out to pat her arm. "They might be dumbasses, but I think you've got some great friends there."

Was that a wink?

"And I know you want to know, Lily."

His hand reaches down to the bottom buttons of his remarkably casual shirt, unfastening them with a comfortable ease as he pulls forward from the slight recline. One he's reached up to the base of the ribs, one side of his shirt is pulled aside to reveal a perfectly circular scar that sits just below his ribs on the right hand side. It's about three inches wide, and while most of the grey lines and markings around the rest of his skin have faded, there's still a tapering circle around this singular mark.

"Byron meant well. He didn't want me to shut down again and was trying to prove a point that people care. The plan was just... executed a little badly with his need to make things okay and roll forward, especially considering timing." Lilith doesn't seem to really get the concept of building-then-no-building, but she gets it enough to take it at face value as far as explanation goes. She leans on a hand when Carver starts undoing shirt buttons with a slight smile of humor at him knowing and indulging her unspoken nosiness, prattling on with spurred explanation that's almost defensive, despite the way she laid into Byron as the Brit last saw.

"Him and I... mm. I mean, he was everything from the time we were six or seven until I was fourteen. Hank.. wasn't home a lot, drunk all the time, and he didn't keep food in the house much, so Byron... is used to trying to pick up all the slack for me when life starts pissing. Old habits die hard." Then she hushes about all that because there's skin on reveal and while leaned in on a hand to take a closer look at the scarring, she uses the other to poke hair behind an ear to combat the breeze. Her mascara-thickened lashes stay lowered for survey with consideration once the mark is on full reveal, then she wonders with dry humor, "...You still have both your kidneys, though, yeah? Something to sell and fall back on."

"I even have a gallbladder!" Which comes as much of a surprise to Carver as anyone else. Even if that scar is far more recent than the peyote dreams, it's amazing what a little of the ol' spirit fingers can do to make such a thing look far, far older. But that's not the important thing here. The important thing here is his root beer. Root beer and listening. Maybe even in that order. "That day? Byron's an idiot." He says, only taking a moment to think about it, and letting the words fly loose with a smile, toasting the topic of conversation with a raise of the bottle towards the sea. "But if I was pressed, I'd say his intentions were mostly in the right place." Sip. "Sort of."

His eyes narrow a little, watching her face. "Y'know, I think I'm just jealous he's rich."

Way to reach the crux of the matter, Carver. The man actually leans forward to clink his glass against hers, then shuffles a lot on the blanket. Some shuffling is while he does up a couple of buttons once more, the rest of is so he can sink the base of his bottle into the sand nearby, and slide down to rest on his back, tucking an arm under his head as something of a pillow, watching Lilith from the corner of his eye and shielding his eyes from the sun with the other hand. "Someone I knew always used to say the worst friends we had were the ones we thought were best, and the best friends we had were the ones who'd stick with us through the worst."

He lets that linger for a while.

"However, his name was Spoonlicker Pete, so, y'know. Pinch of salt on that bit of potteries wisdom."

"Me too." Lilith tells Carver after lifting her lashes up to grin a little at him with the back and forth commentary, apparently done with scar study to let the man button back up and sprawl. After draining her root beer entirely in a finishing go like it's a real beer, she kind of mimics that position while talking, but she takes a moment to do some clothing adjustments of her own now too for proper sun-basking exposure. After pulling her tank off to reveal swimsuit color (black, go figure), she wiggles out of her shorts with tiny butt lift too. It's a one piece, but it's dropped in a heavy v-baring between breasts that almost splits to stomach and the back is bare too, so it's really just kind of a one piece on technicality.

"Byron at least worked hard for his money and what he has now. He was always job-hustling. We had shitty families, both of us, just in different ways. He made something of himself because of it. I didn't." Lilith doesn't really seem to mind Carver's criticism too much on the topic of Byron because really, she's already done the defense bit enough without bulldogging it, and... she knows she gets the better pieces of him compared to other people. It's probably not a far cry for him to be seen as a particular kind of ass from others' eyes and she knows it. After getting settled back, she flips her sunglasses back down from her head onto her nose and tips her face back with laid out pose, quiet for a moment.

"Sometimes guys with really screwy names have good advice." Pause, "Tell me the weirdest afterglow and I'll tell you a Lilith thing you don't know."

Carver greets the sight of Lilith's outfit with a thumbs up and a click of the tongue, glancing out in a solid side eye for long enough to appreciate behind his head wiggles and shifts more into the crook of his arm. There will be no chest baring from this man. He burns in about three and a half seconds of exposure to sunlight on anything that isn't his face, arms or neck. The glasses on his head? Finally pulled down to shield his eyes. That's right, for a couple of minutes there he was the guy at a baseball game shielding his eyes with a hand when he's wearing a backwards-turned baseball cap.

"I never said it was a bad thing, pet. Byron, I mean. I'll trust an idiot with my life long before I trust a genius." A hand rummages down in his pocket to pull out a cigarette. Well, pack. A pack with one left, that's tapped out and stuck in the corner of his mouth, the dull and tarnished zippo lighter being used to light it before Lilith can even think of helping. "An idiot'll help you find a way to keep going because he's too dumb to give up. A genius'll know when to cut his losses." The proverb(?) is finished and punctuated by a long exhale of smoke, his head turning to the side to look at her direct, easy smile as ever. "Yes, another Spoonlicker Pete special."

"Weirdest afterglow, huh?" He knew this'd come up eventually. Didn't expect it to be this soon, but hey. "Okay, number one: Pretty sure she was part of some cult? We were doing it in this half hostel half campground bunkhouse, and the second we're done, she gains this second wind to tell me all about the father and how he'll come save us when the end is near. For an hour."

Another cloud of smoke.

"I couldn't fucking walk. She had a captive audience. Earnest as hell, though. Bless 'er."

"Woooow. I think I am impressed. It's like you put gasoline in the cult infomercial tank and started the engine with your penis. Or y'know maybe she just figures men are easier to talk into things after they cum and you already admitted you were disabled for the time being, which is smart. I don't... think it extends to joining cult levels unless you're a skilled succubus, though." Lilith says after listening at length and just sun basking in her still laid out pose with profile largely turned to Carver most of the times he looks, leaned back and low with recline on her elbows. She pre-empts that commentary with a sudden laugh somewhere in his story, though, and when she's finished speaking, she half-laughs again and ends it with a kind of trail into a sigh.

She did say she'd share a Lilith thing now, afterall. Maybe it will seem a little less jarring or strange considering what Carver just confession aired in trade. After shifting some, she reaches for his lit smoke for a drag once he's had at it and fishes out an actual beer from the cooler to quick pop the top without her hand by cracking the pressure with dent of force, "So. I stayed in Miami because I was finally making money and could kind of do that. But it wasn't just that.."

Lilith's tongue pushes at one of her canines and she takes a drink of beer before continuing, still shifted up into sit instead of recline as she looks at Carver instead of basking now, "Someone I met.. got me into dominatrix work. I always... had urges to tear things apart and break them. That didn't go away after here. And I had a lot of anger and I was broke. So." Pause, "I was strictly a pain specialist, less humiliation, no sex like some of the other girls used to play on the side. I beat, choked, and hurt... a lot of very rich men in private for money." Pause again, "Didn't do for me what I thought it might. I thought it'd be an outlet and money, but... that's not how it ended up. Shit fucks with you if you're not a sociopath. And it was hard not to feel like a whore all the same."

"Please..." Carver's eyes wince shut. It can't really be seen behind the glasses, but there's totally telltale signs in his brow. "Never say 'Started the engine with your penis' again. I have a very literal brain." Yup, there's the mental picture again. Another wince. Allowing a second for this to pass, he shifts and rolls up on to his side, still resting his head in the crook of an arm, watching her laugh and shaking his head as best he can while she does so. "It's not funny! Well, okay, it is." It kinda is. "But you wanna know the worst thing? I still can't fucking get the song out of my head."

"Come brothers and come sisters
Come weary and come strong
Come meet the man who reaps the land
On which we walk upon..."

You know what? Carver's not bad. He's not great, but he'd probably do okay as a recruiter. "Fifteen fucking years and it's STILL in my head. I think if she was a redhead I'da been signed up within the day."

But that's his story over, time for hers. You can tell because his head actually props up on a hand, watching her while he reaches out for his drink, trading the cigarette over to her for far more than just one drag so he's a free hand to take up the bottle, sipping as she talks. And he listens. Again. Nodding when she lays out the daily grind in a career he's no experience of, and pursing up the corner of his mouth when her final conclusions start to show. "Well." It takes him a little moment to reply, having to wipe his mouth of drink with the back of a hand, plus peeling himself from the blanket to sit up as well. "Duh."

Wait what.

"I used to hurt a lot of very rich men in private for free. It's amazing how the fact there's money involved can change your whole feeling of a thing, isn't it?" His hand reaches out to touch her arm, low, just below the elbow, and it's the tiniest of brushes with a thumb sent her way before he's giving a little gentle pat on the skin. Easy smile, as ever, a little saddened, a little shrugged. "You tried a thing. You thought it would help. Maybe it did in someways, maybe it didn't in the ones you needed it to. You're looking at me and hesitating like you think this'd change anything, pet."

"She did a number on you, good gracious." Lilith whistles low through her teeth with amused commentary and a vaguely impressed noise in her throat when Carver picks up the cult hymnal, taking the cigarette for a good few drags and tamps of ashes into the wind. She rolls it between fingers while talking, then when finished playing with it for that spell, she hands it back in pass to the man for him to finish off, swapping out for playing with her beer bottle neck instead.

"You've seen and lived a lot stranger than a woman beating the shit out of a man with a kink." Lilith tells Carver like it's no big deal, brushing off any concern she might have slipped on the radar with brief wobble of insecurity about the whole thing in demeanor and general phrasing. Her mouth slants up as she says it and she takes a long drink after patting her hand in return catch and brush with his fingers where they're at her arm, "The thing is, people have their ideas and perceptions about that kind of work. Some of it's true. I had rules, but my looks still sold it, I dressed to suit the fantasies, and the hurt didn't stop them from being aroused or blowing their loads here and there. It's still a form of sex feeding even without fucking sometimes, no matter how you try to tell yourself you're in control and pain isn't sex. For some of the men, it was."

"For others... it was about something deeper. I understood them, but they were pretty rare. Then you get the ones..." One. The one. Lilith pauses here before continuing, "That can't separate the fantasy and want the game and the struggle. There's kickback and consequences that stick when you fuck up and play that." Abruptly, the woman shakes her head and looks at Carver directly again with one shoulder hitching up, "You've figured out I learn things the hard way. It was five years of doing just that until I couldn't do it anymore. Hank really... gave me the perfect excuse to come back, fucked up as is."

"... where the hell did you meet someone named Spoonlicker Pete?" Because subject changes. Also nosy. But subject changes.

Taking the cigarette back, Carver rolls the filter between his fingers a couple of times before tucking it back to the corner of his mouth, throwing a little shrug her way at the fact he's probably mind controlled by this point and doesn't entirely realize it.

He will. When the father calls. Oh yes. Absentee parent right now thought if you know what I'm saying.

"I might be wrong, love, or I might be right and people consider me wrong-" Like that's not the usual state of being for Carver "But I think of that as a job like any other. I was supposed to be a bricklayer when I grew up. Like fuck I was gonna be any good at it. Like Retail, different skillet, different requirements, different outfits." He stubs the cigarette out in the sand as he watches her, finishing off his own bottle to drop the crumpled cigarette inside the neck. "But you'll always have asshole customers. I'm sorry it ran such a number on you." Is he sorry she thought it was a good option, gave it a shot, might be worse off tomorrow because of it? Probably not. Mainly because he's not informed enough to make an opinion. Actually, mainly because he's pretty content with the now.

"Point is, love, you figured it out. I'm usually a fan of the hard way. Makes the lessons stick. You can't go changing the past, so might as well own today. Today, where you're laying on a beach, talking to an idiot, probably going to end up with the most amazing sunburn pattern, and learning that Spoonlicker Pete was the back-shop cleaner at our local caf' who used to lick the cutlery."

Lilith sits very quiet and listens to Carver with relative stillness and a bare tip of her head into accepting nod, at least until he mentions sunburn pattern. Then she looks down at herself with consideration and goes for sunscreen she yanked out of her bag earlier to start laying on to try and avoid weird striping herself given the cut of the swimsuit she's wearing. By the time he's finished talking, though, she downright giggles (yes, giggles) and says, "Ew."

After putting some of the lotion in her hand, she starts to rub and slather up skin to absorb and shine at length, starting with the most pale and vulnerable at her chest and partially bared stomach before moving on to arms, shoulders and legs. She seems to like the busywork and method of doing that after talking about what's probably some pretty heavy subject context, despite how conversational and thoughtful she kind of delivered it all. The woman side-eyes Carver some while doing so, wondering suddenly, as if she's digging spurs of reminder to prompt him.

"So what was your master beach plan?"

"Ogle you in a swimsuit." Says Carver, doing exactly that. And using the word 'Ogle', to boot. Well, he does it for a couple more seconds, then reaches out for the cooler, brushing a touch of sand that came with his drink from his forearms as he reaches for bottle number two, popping it open with little hesitation, and admiring Lilith's handiwork during the neck couple of sips. Three sips. Might as well make a day of it. "Right."

"Part two of the plan was make sure you had a nice afternoon. No hassle, no worries, just... Y'know. Fucking relax for once." Which, depending on your idea of relax, is either going great or woefully terrible. Sip number four, and a hand comes up to brush a spot on his chest to indicate a missed patch on her own, up near her collarbone. "And part three was ask if you knew you were moving shit in your sleep."

Sip. Number. Five. And this ogle doesn't go below her chin.

Lilith tilts her head a little to eye Carver more while he's going down the list of answering her question, losing some of the meticulous attention to laying on sunscreen. She sees and takes the cue to move more lotion up where he indicates at the collarbone, brushing hair back out of the way to hold with one hand and roll of neck to one side. Then abruptly, she tosses the bottle of sunscreen his way and scoots on her ass with shifting roll of turn before pushing with her feet so that her back is right there in bared reach for the man to get the hint.

It kind of times with his last bit sinking in, though, because after sweeping her hair up to hold in a messy pile against her head, she glances sharply back over her shoulder with alarm at Carver, "Wait, what? You... not just breaking? I mean... I might have suspected, but I've never seen myself do it. Did you see me do it? I thought uh." She pauses, "I thought maybe I had a haunted item in the shop like a poltergeist moving things, possibly, instead, because I'd wake up and things would be on the floor but unbroken. Couldn't really catch it on camera, though, so I gave up doing that after like two days and forgot when I got the idea to do a self-sleep study. Might only happen when I'm particularly... stressed."

Now, the last part has an uptick of question instead of actual explanation theory or justification because she seems a bit stunned, then... maybe less stunned as she admits, "Things crop up now and again that I can't explain or... like the thing I did to try and change a moment for the better, as I explained once to you. You called it jinxing or something. But even then, I... knew I was trying to will it." Pause, "Jesus. I feel like one of the X-men now." Because yeah, breaking things to pieces and ripping people apart and all the other things she knew about somehow didn't already do that. Apparently launching items with her traumatized sleep mind does that.

Actually managing to catch the sunscreen in spite of himself, Carver shimmies himself along the blanket to sidle up to Lilith's back, already getting to work with that sound a container of sunscreen makes when there's just that little bit too much air in it.

Or maybe he made that noise with his mouth. It's honestly hard to tell with him. Point is, Lilith is getting proper rubbed up around the neck and top of her back when she turns, looking at him like he just told her there's a bee in her suit. "Mmmmhm." He says, placing a few fingertips flat atop her head to get her to swivel it right the way back around, lips pursed, but throwing a nod her way while she can still see him. "You hit me with a couple of things. Well, tried. Sleep you fucking sucks at it, if I'm being honest."

He's working down the shoulder blades and along the back of her ribs, dipping his hands under the straps there and maybe putting a little too much focus on massaging the sunscreen in with his thumbs when she brings up the questioning tone and the matter of jinxing. The hands stop, just for a second, and then there's a gentle slap to her side with the back of a couple of fingers. "Finally she fucking gets it!" The man, he sounds jubilant. Hell, she almost got tickled. "So when a weird Englishman comes to your place in the future, says 'Hey, I've been where you are, i'd like to help', in his own weird little way, maybe next time you say 'THAT WOULD BE LOVELY, WE SHOULD ARRANGE A TIME TO TALK ABOUT THIS' instead of sicking a creepy rich guard dog to judge everything I do!"

Okay, he might have stopped with the lotion there.

"Oops. Sorry." Lilith blinks a few times fast behind her sunglasses as her head swivels back forward with the nudging fingertips, and while you'd THINK she'd have outright said that about, you know, catching Carver on fire, it's this that actually brings her to sheepish sounding and flat out apologetic. Fire's just one of those things that happens, apparently, in her head, but throwing things! Rude. "I'm... glad I suck at it. I think."

The woman seems to be distracted enough by all of this, but her body is doing the thing where it feels everything else given Carver's doting attention with sunscreen application. The line of her spine flexes with slow motion arc of appreciation and subtle straighten of posture shift, hand still holding her hair in wad against the back of her head. Then when he stops and swats her with smack, she jars a bit with start and whips her head back to look at him with a little working of her mouth on the last part.

Nothing really comes out at first before she says, defensively, "Well, hell. I didn't sic him on you, he just... was... curious 'cause I told him. And besides! There were like... dark agents of doom rumors going around then! And! And! You looked powerful but all... something else 'cause you were... all stopped up or whatever!" Pause, "I took steps." Another pause, "Shut up."

"You know your steps probably have cops looking for me, right? I'm willing to bet one or both of you mentioned I was there when that whole box shit went down." Carver's brows are right the way down, but at least the sunscreen's getting applied again. Actually, the motion of it appears to be pretty soothing for him, too. Pretty sure sunscreen doesn't need to be applied with knuckle pressure along the sides of the spine, but to hell with it, it's an afternoon on the beach where probably nothing is going to try and kill them. Enjoy it while it lasts.

"And you do, pet. You really do. But you know what? I always found it a lot easier to learn than making things explode. There's something more..." His fingers click, sending little spatters of sunscreen flying off of them, his head turning as he searches for a word. "tangible! You're not trying to fill something up with juice until it pops, or changing it. You're just going 'Okay, that-" One hand low on her back runs up to a shoulder. " 'Goes There.'"

"Pffft. I was trying to convince Ruiz it was all my fault because I felt awful, and... that he didn't want to ask me questions about what actually happened to the thing. I didn't want him going nuts or for it to get found and end up in the police evidence room to drive entire forces mad." Lilith clicks her tongue at Carver once with 'nyeh' style admonishment and correction without that noise quite. "Pretty sure I didn't even think to mention you outside of the vague 'us' and 'we' references, which you weren't always or only a part of. I don't think he liked interviewing me much, but also I think he got the point. And the point was, he probably didn't want to dig too much for his own sanity. It was just... one of those things."

Lilith pulls in a slow, deep breath through her nose after speaking that goes through her body with another shift once Carver's hands go back to lotioning her back and sides up to kneading excess. Then she goes off of defenses the rest of the way on exhale, looking back forward again when she considers what else he's trying to explain. That and his constant attention of touch and pressure is kind of working on her like petting a particularly tempermental cat that puts claws away when someone's deciding to hit the sweet spot with rubs. The tension gradually unlaces from her back and she wonders quietly and curiously and cautiously, "... Carver? Is that how you move lock bolts in the safe too?"

"Ruiz?" Carver asks, but only with the lightest of inquiry. He doesn't really care. It doesn't particularly sound like a cop name, but that sounds like a cop interaction. The last thing he needs is any casual interactions with law enforcement. "Sounds like he lets things go pretty easy, at least." Silver linings, right?

And she's not wrong, there's far too much excess in that kneading. Probably to ignore the voice in the back of his head that whispers 'Not the fun handcuffs coming, Aly.' Which, y'know, just that. A voice in his head. Seriously. Memory is a bastard, sometimes. So's grief. Grief is always belayed by kneading sunscreen into someone's lower back with your fingers, right? That's how the pro's do it, after all. And knuckles. Always more knuckles.

She's been set on sunscreen for like, a minute.

"Yup, pet. And handcuffs. And doors. Takes practice to get down, and apparently it takes practice to remember. It's like I'm riding a bike. Drunk. And the bike is on fire."

"Well. You see. That's how I got into the safe the rest of the way. I heard you do something back when, and then I thought, hell, it's my safe, I can do some wiggling on what's leftover because I can see how it's made and I won't have to break things all the way. But... I also was distracted and willful at the time and not..." Lilith slowly makes explanation to Carver after considering one thing or another, or trying to remember exactly WHAT she was doing to safecrack her own safe just because she wanted to break into it without breaking it. And woah. She did move things. She knew where the mechanisms were because she could break them down mentally, but she didn't realize exactly how she was manipulating not the make of it, but the motion.

"Jesus. I can do that. What the-- okay. Okay. When do I hit some... power cap or bracket or glass ceiling or something... because sitting here realizing I can... wreck things in more than a few ways now is uh. I... goddamn." The brunette woman sucks in a slow hiss Carver can feel as she laces herself back up again with tension despite the way she was starting to melt right into manipulation and soothing pressure on the musculature of her back prior. She seems to be having some kind of very self-aware moment of how powerful she actually is. She knew she was dangerous and strong, of course, but the way she can make tickboxes not only next to the things that are common, but unknown, emerging, and possible in a pinch now and count up...

At what point do you start feeling a little overwhelmingly not human thinking about that? She kind of seems like she's having that moment where she actually fathoms what she's capable of and knows there could be even more. Her hand finally releases her hair to tumble and she turns a bit with her hands coming together with lean on Carver's leg for support after she knocks up sunglasses to show big eyes, "This is going to sound crazy. But you know how... supervillains never start as supervillains? They just... get too strong and broken?"

Lilith gets an arm. Simple as that. Simple and easy as that. The second she's leaning on Carver's leg, having done the mental floor-routine to reach the conclusions she's come to, one he had more than the occasional dalliance with all those years ago. Lilith gets what he got. An arm slipping around her side in the most casual hug someone can give. "Again, pet. I was you. I hate to ruin your fantastical character arc, but you've got something of a cheat sheet here. And your cheat sheet is telling you that all the power in the world doesn't mean a damn thing when you can't heal yourself. You wanna go nuts with glory and power, and do all the wrong things for all the right reasons? Be my guest."

Carver is helpful as fuck, right? His other hand drops to the gathering of hers, leaning in a bit to give a gentle headbutt to the top of her scalp. "3,044 feet a second. If you ever feel you're starting to slip, start thinking you don't need to listen to people around you? Just repeat that number. Three thousand forty four. Three thousand forty four."

"Why? Do you know from experience that's how fast the human body is in free fall? Because it would vary by weight and general design, you know. I think. At least fractionally. I could probably figure it out if--" Okay, Lilith is a fucking nerd because suddenly her mind starts to wander to some engineering physics and mathematical equations and really, she probably should have gone to MIT like she wanted to once upon a time. But that ship went where it went and so does that train of thought.

After stopping her words with lean against the headbutt in brief with the arm around her, she sits for a beat, then repeats after Carver semi-obediently with acceptance instead of trying to figure out the tick tock of the instruction, "Three thousand forty four." Her hand under his shifts, keeping one in her twist-leaned support, the other upturning to wrap fingers around his in pulse of squeeze. Her posture then slants with shift of legs to fully turn into the arm hug after that moment, breathing out a soft, gusty sigh to herself afterwards. Because... she knows very well what it's like to start slipping, "... thanks. And fair point. I'm a bit of a glass cannon."

"Human synapses fire at 393 feet per second, Lilybug. A 50. bullet has a muzzle velocity of up to 3,044 feet per second." Carver is a charmer. Look at it. Look at the charm. Sure, his face is smiling, casually resting on the top of her head, and the words are light and breezy as she shifts around to fully turn into the arm. "It's a shitty lesson to learn, but a good one to know. You can be as brazen and bold as you like, but a little piece of lead the size of my thumb?"

Look, she's even getting a thumbs up. This might not be the best demonstration. Or timing. Carver's never really been known for either, though. "Oh. That'll get you every time. Three thousand forty four. It's the magic number."

His arm squeeze again. His other arm slides around the other side, looping underneath her own to end up with a hand at her back.

A little bit of silence.

A bit more.

"Magic number. Geddit?"

"Oh. Right. Now that I think about the actual number, that makes more sense. So does what you're saying with it. But... you know, in chemistry, there's more than one magic number-- two, eight, twenty, twenty-eight, fifty, eighty-two, and one twenty-six. Those are the sets, and they're the magic seven when it comes to completing shells in the atomic nucleus." Lilith doesn't seem to actually get the magic number part, but she does seem to get the bit about bullet velocity because she's a fair hand with a gun (like she needs to be here) too. Self-protection was important as a working girl in other times and places and Carver has seen the shotgun under the shop counter too. It's not some antique for show.

And you know. All those words coming out of her with recitation of totally useless chemistry facts about how things are made deep down in regards to magic numbers, they seem... to be a bit of filler or distraction after the first bit of what she says, the tone of her voice starting to drift somewhat idle like she's distracted or her mind is actually elsewhere. It might well be. When Carver's other arm lifts to lace around her and draw her in more solid and proper with hold, she leans in more, then shifts her body entirely to lace arms around his neck and shoulders, "... this month sucked."

She doesn't just mean her own month. It's entirely inclusive and acknowledging he may very well need a hug too.

Carver's head just dips down an a soft little laugh as Lilith starts reeling off numbers and facts. Some, sure, he's got an idea of. Others? Might as well be in a Spanish. Carver used to hum tunes to himself. Little songs, ditties. Those were what would stop him from panicking, or letting things get to him too much. Then, it was the drink. It took him a little while to acclimatize to Gray Harbor, but damned if he hasn't found it easier to go sober ever since.

Must be the optimism seeping through. That's not going to end any time soon.

"You know... It really kinda has, hasn't it?" And that's a full laugh, the forearms against her shoulder blades pulling her in close for what would be a rib-crushing hug if they were actually lined up properly. Instead, it's just meeting at a point, keeping her there for a moment in a combination of reassurance, comfort, and, really, if we're completely honest, general dislike of how the world seems to go some days. On hand holds softly at the back of her neck, adding that little extra impetus on the embrace. Considering the whole swimsuit thing? Pretty damn chaste, all said. "But fuck it, Lily. There's always next month."

"I can only imagine what happens next month... given precedent. But it's really not worth worrying about until the new fuck up happens, mhm." Lilith tells Carver, and for a moment, she's almost nuzzled in there while saying it and starting to shift like she's going to pull a leg up and over his sprawled lap to align them. She stops in that shift, though, tugs with squeeze, then turns her face to consider the water and surf for a moment.

"Let's say... I go play in that little bit of water and push it back with force. The water stops in that place I focus on while trying to roll in?" There's a certain amount of lingering distraction in the middle of the brunette's curiosity, but oh, the curiosity itself is pretty rampant when it comes to the way she's apparently deciding she wants to try to harmlessly test a thing or two. Assuming she can even pull it off. At least it's not picking up a beer bottle to sling just to see if she can. It's honestly not a terrible idea as far as learning to exert hard force somewhat gently goes. But then again, she seems to have only done such a thing sleeping.

"Didn't you get the calendar, love? Next month is all sunshine and quiet and copious napping while everything seems to work out fine." Dropping his hand back to give a quick rub between her shoulders and letting the pressure go so she can take a look out at the ocean, Carver's all about the wishful thinking. And don't think that shift went unnoticed.

"Water's..." His head tilts a little at her question, pulling an arm away so he can swivel on the blanket, turning his whole body to face the topic of the drift in conversation. His free'd thumb rubs at the side of his jaw, working the muscle there as he considers how to phrase something that, by nature, is really awkward to really pin down. "Difficult? It's like trying to hold jelly between your fingers on a hot day. And that's a lot of mass. Heavier is harder. Hey-" He's still got one arm in the half-hug, and that one pats her side, turning to flash her a smile. "Buy table tennis balls."

Lilith thinks that would make sense. Water is dense and heavy, she can see that and it has the whole of the ocean pushing it with nature forces far stronger than she is. So with a little tilt of her head, she stops considering the water while listening to Carver and leaning on him with her arms still slung around him. Gradually, though, they drop and she has her very much thinking face on, which isn't always a good thing because yes, curiosity occasionally kills cats and almost killed Lilith and a lot of everyone else.

Running the tip of her tongue with back and forth over the line of her top teeth, she turns eyes from the water to look at the sand and rocks next to where the blanket's been arranged in the little enclosed space for some sense of seclusion, then she looks back at Carver, "But sand is a hundred little pieces and if I..." She shifts more to lean her back against Carver's body, looks at the sand again, then she tries to push some of it like she's going to make a little hole in the sand.

So. Lilith isn't good at doing things lightly when she's unfamiliar, nor does she quite know what she's doing to control the amount of sand she moves. She turns mental will to force and movement and thinks of sand like a collective, not a bunch of little pieces to... puff. So when her eyes really snap hard with will, she BLOWS a hole in the sand on a hard little exhale that has nothing to do with what actually happens. The rock enclosure is sudden sandblasted as she blows a full divot into the space next to the blanket, right to the point where one of the rocks goes sling skidding across the beach and it's not a small rock.

After staring at the results with big eyes because 'oops', Lilith decides, "... that's one way to dig a hole."

Carver watches the results, his hair blowing lightly as a result of the blowing sand, hand coming up to cover his face. His first reaction? That's a little low whistle, dragged out for as long as he can muster. The second?

Well, there's a new divot to put his root beer bottle in. So that's done.

His arm has to leave her entirely to do so, so when he comes back from that little appreciative lean of a bottle-cubby, the hand re-alights about her person. That is to say he pats her. On top of the head. Twice. Like a condescending prick. "Weeeell, you either moved the sand, or exploded it. I figure if something's moving hard enough it becomes pretty difficult to tell the difference. High five."

Yup. He's holding his hand out and everything. Don't leave him hanging, Lil'. "But, uh, maybe think about the tennis ball idea?"

"Okay. Yeah. Maybe. I have plenty of junk around, but... maybe softer bouncy things are..." Lilith kind of squints at the hole left from where she either blew sand apart or slung a whole bunch of it at once. Suddenly, given the results, she's not quite sure what she did, but something... felt less familiar about the way she did it and that's visibly on her with her brows ticked down to small knit. After batting her lashes a few times and staring at the sand sliding and partially filling the hole slowly from falling spill over the edges, she grabs for her beer after the pat atop her head and drains that, returning the high-five because it's there and that's what you do. She even makes a fist after, then explodes it with little gesture and ka-pow noise because she... just explode-pushed sand and those rocks are probably slightly smoother because of it and she's into dry self-deprecation.

Then she decides to shift onto her knees to get another beer and a tinfoil something to unwrap and bite from like she's not really paying attention to what she's eating. While chewing, she drops back down next to Carver and shoves the next bite at his mouth like she's trying to shut up any further commentary he might have on what she just decided to try out of the blue just because. She pops the beer cap that unorthodox finessed little pressure-pop-dent way of hers without even thinking, and it's everything opposite of the lack of control she just had while forcing her mind to something. Go figure. Mindless utility doesn't count, probably, according to her brain.

"So... uh. What's your favorite color?"

"Please don't mention soft bouncy things when you're in a swimsuit, if I get too many easy setups it dulls the edge." Carver's hand meets the explosion, wiggling the fingers away in something similar to her own post-high-five exuberance... and the he has to leave back to go get his bloody root beer again. This is the trouble with theatrical displays. They're never very practical.

Sipping from his drink with idle pace, watching her move about and even going as far as to tuck his legs in when Lilith makes moves for the cooler, Carver seems pretty content to just let things occur as they do, only casting the most cursory of glances around him to see if there's any reaction from other beach goers or bystanders to the sudden rocky explosion that just happened mere feet away. There are no screams, no sirens, and no sudden calls of 'Hey, whaddafuck?' So, all said, that went about as well as it could have!

Leaning forward when offered, he takes a bite of the bacon with bacon and a helping of bacon sandwich, chewing thoughtfully for a moment before settling back, back. More back. Wait, no- The bottle is finished off, then he goes full recline once more, spreading out one arm behind where Lilith sits, and using the other as a pillow once more. She's watched through those sunglasses, curling up that outstretched arm at the elbow to brush some sand out of his hair.

"Magenta. What did you wanna be when you grew up?" Asked, answered, asked.

"Can you tell the difference between magenta and fuschia?" Might be a trick or tease question as to Carver's discerning taste for color, giving such a specific answer. Suddenly, after saying that though, Lilith beams a smile that's far from magenta, but just as brilliant and bright as she remembers something and makes a noise in her throat before tack-on that seems to actually appreciate the answer to a simple, mildly awkward subject change now that she's considering it, "Also did you know that magenta is special because it's not on the visible light spectrum? That's why people have trouble explaining the difference even when they look alike. It's very perception based with the total absence of green-spectrum light."

Yeah. She really is a nerd when it comes to certain science facts she's retained, or at least relatable portions of those facts. And that might be explained by how she answers Carver's own question. After taking another bite of bacon sandwich, she levels back herself, reaches back to tug at Carver's arm to re-position it behind her after he takes to brushing sand from his hair, then uses it like a neck pillow after commandeering the limb to appropriate position. Once down, she flips her sunglasses back to her eyes and lies out in the sun somewhat against him side to side like that, eating a bacon sandwich with occasional force-share bites poked at his mouth between sentences and bites of her own.

"When I was little I had questions about how everything worked. I read an article, once, a long time ago about the increasing number of women attending MIT and decided I wanted to be one of those women. I never really... narrowed down what I wanted to do entirely-- mechanical engineering seemed right, but chemical engineering seemed kind of fun too." She pauses, "I didn't really do that. Obviously." Another pause, "When I was fourteen the... power started creeping on me real fast and hard and it made things... very hard. I was confused. I had a lot of nightmares about ripping my friends, especially Byron, right into bloody pieces. Then I started breaking things and killing plants on accident, so I... removed myself. I felt like a monster. It... derailed everything."

Maybe, with a little bit of hindsight, Lilith will think that if Carver were to give any answer to 'what's your favorite color', of course it would be one not on the visible light spectrum. Because... of course.

The theft of his arm accepted without a hint of denial, his hand flexes open and closed a few times once she seems to settle. His smile is the usual one he wears, fitting back in to the easy look like someone throwing on an old coat; comfortable, relaxed, watching her find a point to run with and talking through it, the smile creeping ever wider the second she mentions that 'Did you know the color you picked is very, very hard for people to distinguish?' Gosh. Wonder if she'll catch on. That's what his face is saying. Well, that and I wish she'd give me a bit more of that sandwich. So, really, it's very nice of her to offer him a second bite right as that thought drifts by, his head rolling slightly so he can do just that.

When she starts replying to his question, one of his leg stretches out, the other drawing up at the knee some to rest his foot flat on the blanket beneath them, his head dropping down a touch as he listens, with the back of his neck ending up resting on a wrist. There's plenty of chewing as she works through the path that lead her to this point, giving his best impression of a sympathetic nod when she starts on the part about... well, you know. Where life gets difficult. It's not his best impression of one because he's not, mind you. Only that it's a long time since Carver's had to actually feel it. "Glad you felt like a monster, pet."

What.

Carver sniffs. "We didn't. We felt great. The world was our oyster and who the fuck was gonna stop us? We could do whatever we liked and get away with it." He lets that hang for a second, watching her from behind the completely opaque shades and shifting his lower back a little more into the blanket, contouring the sand beneath. "One of us got a second chance. I don't think you woulda if you haven't given it to yourself."

What. Did he just say...

Lilith turns her head to look at Carver instead of sunbasking while talking and eating like he's lost his goddamn mind somewhere in that trying-to-be-visibly-sympathetic thing once he's stated he was glad she felt like a monster. Honestly, she looks like she's about to reach and pop him on principle with her free hand, but he keeps going and she reaches for her beer instead to wash down the last shoved in bite she's apparently using as a butthurt balming, polishing off the rest of the sandwich.

Then she seems to actually get why he said it given what comes next. Her features take a turn for thoughtful, and even though she has sunglasses tinting the study behind the lenses, she seems to be studying Carver's face in the close-ish quarters with them laid out like that. Her own legs shift, staring to stretch and cross at the ankles before she re-adjusts to just lay them straight and wiggle toes--weird tan pattern precaution apparently is still somewhere in her mind after the much earlier commentary from him.

"What's the worst thing you've ever done?"

Mmhm, she's going there. Her voice is quiet and sober despite the curiosity.

Carver shifts again, getting that full-torso wiggle going on to try and remove a slight peak in the sand beneath him that's totally making a meal of how comfortable his left kidney is right now. It means his shirt rides a little, but there's nothing to be done about that. One arm is Lilith'd, her shoulder getting idle brushes with the only finger that can reach, the other hand occupied by scratching the side of his own head. Maybe the wiggle was to cover a flinch when she moved to ostensibly hit him, maybe it was just to get comfortable? Carver'll never tell.

His face totally will, though. There's a look of relief on his face when she keeps going for the beer. That's a dead giveaway. So's the absent look that crosses those features when she asks the next question, one side of his face twisting up as a tongue pokes at the corner of his cheek, the air sucked in between his lips causing the slightest of whistles for a moment or two.

"I've got a long list of worst things, pet. So you'll have to deal with the cop out answer of 'Made people trust me.'"

Which, y'know. totally the smartest thing to say.

Lilith accepts that. She looks like she wants to know or say more there for a few ticks, but after those heartbeats have passed and she intakes the subtle breath with part of lips to do one or another of those things she's inclined to do... she keeps quiet. The woman keeps studying Carver with a thoughtful, sober expression before she breaks the moment with a lift of her head in brief to make an impressive draining of the rest of her beer now that she's done being occupied with eating and talking for a spell. Then she settles with shift after rolling the bottle away from herself on the blanket, switching herself with angled turn.

The woman ends up angled on her hip in side position, propping her head up with a hand while she leans on an elbow, Carver's arm still slung underneath in that gap of space she made with prop up. Then she continues to watch and study him, unabashed, just damn quiet as she tries to figure out where to put the weight of that answer from him. Because she knows and feels the weight of it, somehow, considering the context of what she just asked and eventually, details seem extraneous, maybe.

"Do you feel bad about it?"

"Sometimes, but it's not as if I made the choice for them." Carver's response is instant, practiced, and comes with a little 'and so it is' shrug of the shoulder that also has his arm bending up, patting somewhere around the edge of her back. It's followed by a stretching out, his head tilting up as both arms reach away, both legs straighten up, arching a little in a motion that really needs a yawn to complete the look. One that unfortunately never comes. So it totally just seems like an excuse to stop looking at her face, and instead watch a few lazy clouds drift across the sky above them.

"It's a messy bloody world we live in, pet. Kids running around with the shit they can do, all eager to learn and find out just what they can and can't do. This ain't the first town I've seen with packs running around like a bunch of superhero kids, and I'm sure it won't be the last."

One arm comes back, rubbing at his nose as he gives an absent-minded sniff to clear a blockage in one nostril, rapping the back of Lilith's upper arm with the back of the knuckles on his other hand. "Why'd'you think I just about shat myself when I saw your little gathering?"

"Mm. I suppose that might have looked like a bit of a thing, now that you say that. But it was just... you know. What it was." Lilith says to Carver after listening to him with a certain attentiveness level that implies she's not only listening closely, but reading between lines of what's said and isn't said. After twisting her lips a little to one side, she pats the flat of a palm down against the man's stomach to indicate and pat a few times before the next things she decides to say, taking a beat to push up her glasses again. It keeps the hair from blowing in her face and allows her to really look at him solidly without reserve or flinch, whether he wants and likes that shit or not.

"Trust is... not absolute. And I'm sorry to break down your ego, but it's like you say-- you didn't make the choice for them, and it's possible they didn't trust you as much as you think. I trust Byron, for instance, but there's certain things I don't trust him with at all and it's no reflection on him. Part of that is because I don't know how to trust anyone in full, part of that is because I don't know how to trust myself, so I have trouble forming trust in the way that people view trust. But here's the thing..."

Lilith's eyes finally take a wander and she leans forward over Carver's prone body to grab at some of the sand from blanket edge, pulling it to trickle over his shirt and midsection like a dick emptying an hourglass onto him in slow stream, "Trust is like these grains of sand. Together, it's one big concept-- we tell ourselves it exists in one form, but it's really a bunch of tiny pieces that make an estimation. I trust you one way. I don't trust you the other way. I trust in myself. I don't trust myself at all. I trust others to be a certain way. I don't trust others to be that way all the time. People put too much stock in it, because at the end of the day... the wind blows and changes everything. We forget about variables."

Carver's thumb keeps on rubbing at his nose as Lilith talks, seeming to take in with almost an idle fascination how quickly she can latch on to a subject and grind it down to... well, a singular grain. The first few times, it was a curiosity, a quirk he'd noted and mentally filed away about her in his little dossier, but the more she continued, the more he started to think about how she saw the world, maybe how she dealt with it.

Which means it's totally time for another drink, moving that hand on his nose up to her shoulder, gently goading her away from leaning over him. The other? That slips out from where it's still sort of beneath her, brushing away the sand from his torso as he takes the space he's freed up to scoot himself into something resembling a seated position, reaching into the bottom of the cooler to pull out what is possibly the final root beer. Well, it might be. There's plenty of space down there for things to get lost, and that's not just said because he's forgotten how many he said were in there earlier.

"You.." He says, pulling the glasses down his nose some, and pressing the cold-ish base of the bottle just below her sternum, just above where the swimsuit joins up once more. "Came here to a beach. With me. Alone. That's trust enough for things to go awry." It sounds potentially ominous, but he's totally smiling. Which is also potentially ominous. "So I'll take it!"

The salute with the bottle is far less ominous, a soft hiss as the cap opens, and a little narrowing of his exposed eyes as he takes that first sip once more. "And thanks, by the way. For both the reassuring and slightly belittling speech, and the fact I can totally feel sand in my navel."

Lilith sits up as Carver does and makes a little sudden squirm and squeak when the bottle is placed against her bare skin with a dose of jarring cold. The noise breaks into a full-on bubble of airy laughter instead of a huff and it's honestly lovely when she lets it out that way. It sounds relaxed and natural and pretty and... free to move into the wind. She might be laughing some at his words too, because after flipping her sunglasses back onto her nose, she draws her legs up some, and side-eyes the guy to remind him, "Maybe. But I put up a hell of a fight when things are awry. So I trust your self-preservation to a certain degree."

Then she shoves up into a stand, probably not serious with the offer while rising, because they both saw what happened last time she tried to BLOW SAND, "Y'want me to blow the sand out?" Of course he doesn't. Lilith doesn't hang around for the answer and takes off with a skip to the surf. And she doesn't stop at the cold lapping her ankles, she just hisses and keeps plowing forward until a full wave of surf rolls over her and douses her into gasps and flinging arms and hands and shivers, bold as fuck and hellbent to wash away the rest of the month. Or just scamper and abuse herself for the sake of the thrill. It's kind of hard to tell. She seems a little freely delighted while abusing herself with cold water in that moment, though she doesn't hang around -too- long.

Eventually she kicks her way back to the shallower, harmless surf rolls with splashes and pushing hands back through her wetted, salted hair.

The sound of laughter gets the least stern "Yeah, see, that's what you get." and finger point of warning Lilith's probably ever seen, Carver's expression breaking into a little tooth grin as the glasses slide back up his nose, bottle brought back up to his lips. It drops back down in an instant, the man shaking his head and pointing at her with the neck of it. "Just my point. You fight like hell, I'll run away. It works every time."

And he knows her question wasn't a real one, which works out pretty well. Lilith doesn't wait for an answer that wasn't going to come anyway, Carver watching, sipping at his drink, and eventually laying back down on the blanket after throwing out a little "Yeesh." and a wince at the full wave of surf colliding with her. He's nice and cozy up on that beach, but damned if he didn't shiver when he saw the flailing arms.

By the time she's made her way back to the shallows once more, he's well and truly comfortable, arm-pillow restored, most of his bottle gone, and a hand draped low on his stomach that occasionally scratches away an errant itch from his previous encounter with Lilith-The-Hourglass. And you know what? During that whole time he looked up a total of once, and thought she was insane at least six. That water's damn cold.

Lilith probably is a little insane because Carver doesn't know, of course, but that douse of cold seawater does something for her. The idea starts like the kinks that men used to pay her for, in a sense, she needs the jolt of it, the pain before everything starts to kind of numb and burn in turns, the push of something bigger than her while she's all tied up in herself, something she can't control slapping her straight in the face to leave her standing there gasping. It's like being reset to face everything else and wash away what was, as much as she can. And she'd been planning on doing it the whole of the while just for the sake of doing it. So she does it.

And goddamn, it's cold. She walked right into it expecting that. But you can expect a thing and still be shocked, don't you know? It doesn't quite do what she expected the moment to do. She doesn't feel washed clean and free and ready to move on, this isn't a storybook miracle moment or anything. But she is punched straight into feeling washed over and small with some of her fires extinguished. And after a long few days of feeling like a monster or less than human or like something far, far too much because of how she is? It's enough. She comes out of the surf downright smiling despite the shivers and feeling like just-a-woman again. A woman who...

Yeah. She's standing right over cozy Carver in a heartbeat after play-kick sloshing her way out of the surf and she flings water from her hands and grabs her hair to squeeze out in dribble right onto his general face and neck area, "... most of the world is ocean and sky, you know. But we weren't made with gills and we weren't made with wings. We're stupid, beautiful accidents, aren't we?"

It comes out of nowhere. And it feels entirely relevant while Lilith looks at Carver and he looks at her, somehow. Maybe it was that reset button she just hit making her kind of okay with that. For now.

Carver? He's honestly started to drift into a comfortable nap. There's the soft sound of the beach in his ears, the soft heat of the sun on his skin, the warm feeling of a belly full of bacon and root bear. The guy's happy. The guy's content. Lilith seems to be having a good day of it, and there's a little, self-satisfied feeling somewhere in the back of his head telling him to pat himself on the back for a job well done. So, mentally, he does. Job well done, Carver. You're not a complete asshole.

And he's basking in that. Truly basking in it when the sensation of cold-as-hell water dribbles and drops on to his face. He didn't even hear her come back, so the surprise is... tangible.

"WhathefuckinAUGHGYUCK."

We've mentioned that Carver is ever-eloquent, right? Because he is. Even with flailing hands that rush up to his face, wiping away the water with a total look of anger directed up at his unfair, cruel, mean and slightly ingenious assailant. It's not real anger. They eyes would give that away. Unfortunately, they're covered by his sunglasses. All Lilith can really see are the angriest pair of eyebrows.

Which lower. Eventually. Reacting to the words she utters as he slowly wipes a hand down his face one more time, flailing over, decorum somewhat maintained. Or, at least, recovered. "Naw, pet." He says at last, reaching out a hand to pat the side of a leg a little higher than he initially intended. "We weren't made for anything. We're bad luck and heavy odds rolled together, an' we went on to build wings and gills."

Lilith is undeterred by angry eyebrows and seems more than pleased with them cropping up, in fact, after the cold water assault from the hair dribbles straight down to attack Carver like some overdue revenge she doesn't quite realize she might be doling out. He is very Carver about most everything, afterall, and sometimes that can leave a person confused or agitated at some point because yes, she secretly did feel abandoned, so disturbing his bit of cozy-almost nap? It feels a little prime deep down. It's not like she was awake enough to get satisfaction out of setting him on fire. But mostly she just kind of looks amused and self-pleased. Because ultimately...

Lilith seems to accept that Carver is Carver at this point just like others have accepted she's so very Lilith, which works to detriment here and there. Besides. He gave her plastic flowers that don't die after she set him on fire. And he brought her to the beach to get some long overdue air and freedom from everything else. So when he pats her leg, she stops messing with wringing her hair and considers his retort with a low 'huhm' noise in her throat like that may well be a valid conclusion or perception that she'd naturally favor more than the poetry about being a general human mess. Then she drops down onto the blanket again to sprawl out next to him to dry in the sunlight before it fully starts to drop and signify closure on what's currently a perfectly fine day.

Perfectly fine isn't made to last in a place like this, of course, but for now, it is what it is.

"Shhh. I was trying to make something sound pretty instead of dire for a change. Stop fucking it up with rational and go back to sleep."

Lilith seems quite onboard with a nap-haze herself, from the sound of it. She'll have to walk back at some point, but right now, comfort and sunshine and company are tops. It's been a very long month.

Carver's hand reaches out to take the hand of the sprawled form beside him, the last wipe of his face ending up with advice being taken and a pillowed-position resumed, returning her short retort with little more than a poke of his tongue. Yes, he's an adult. What of it?

Sure, there was a little shift of his head when she dropped back down to the towel, eyes watching how a wet swimsuit can cling, but he's sleepy, not dead. Besides, that was all behind the glasses. Mystique: Intact. "Shouldn't try and make things sound pretty, pet. The world's ugly as sin. It's cluttered, mangled, twisted and filled with rot. Making it sound pretty is fucking useless." He's delightful as ever, even as he starts to yawn, squeezing at her hand as he does so.

"Do what you can to make it pretty, instead. Better use of your time."

"Harder, though. Let's waste time instead." Lilith murmurs to Carver, turning hand to lace into the hand reaching to take hers with pulse of squeeze before she leaves them kind of conjoined more limply and lazily to suit form, her eyes closed behind the glasses. She likes the anchor of it while listening to all the air and sea and everything that's bigger than she could ever hope or fear to be.

It could also be that hand stays in place because they're both kind of lost right now in their respective ways and trying to find footing. They've both taken some hits that can make a person feel pretty damn alone, respectively.

Maybe Lilith thinks Carver needs a bit of an anchor right now too. So this hand thing while drifting off? It feels like the most natural thing in the world right now. Everyone needs an anchor here and there. Life's pretty goddamn sink or swim, all told.