2019-08-14 - Marching Bands and Good Friends

Summer is doing its best to go out with a bang - today is already sweltering and humid, and it's not even noon. The coffee shop provides a welcome (and air conditioned) environment for hiding out from the hated daystar, so here Alexander is. He's actually doing what passes for work for him: he's dominated one of the larger tables, and has scraps of information spread out around a regional map, which is being scribbled on and marked up for...some purpose. His hair is disheveled, and his clothing is worn, but clean: a plain black t-shirt, plain black jeans, and his usual stompy workboots. There's a muffin on a plate, mostly untouched, and a large coffee, black, that he's steadily working his way through. Most of the townies are avoiding him, as if he and the entire table he's at just no longer exist.

Sometimes a girl has to treat herself. And if that means splurging on a Triple, Venti, Half Sweet, Non-Fat, Caramel Macchiato, then so be it.

Bennie pushes into Espresso Yourself with a little ring of the bell above the door. That light tinkling sound is given a baleful glance from over the rim of her sunglasses, and the heel of her hand gets ground into her temple. Blonde hair is in a slightly disheveled braid, stuck beneath a faded USMC baseball cap. Judging by the lack of bounce in her step, she's nursing one giant hangover.

Alexander's general nervous twitchiness means that whenever that door opens, his eyes flick up in that direction. Most of the time, just for a moment - it's often someone he recognizes, but not anyone who matters. Just another townie going in and out without looking his direction. Sometimes, when it's someone he doesn't recognize, his gaze lingers, eyes narrowed as he tries to commit their features to memory. Just in case. But it lingers now, too - first because Bennie is a more than familiar face, and second because she appears to be massively hungover. He taps the pencil he's using lightly on the table. Then, as she approaches, says, "Miss Oakes. Are you well?"

Bennie sort of startles at the address, sort of jolting at her name and then holding out her hand as if to steady herself against the unseen tilt of the world. Only after she's confident she's not going to throw up does she wobble to an empty chair at his table and drop into it. Where others might give Alexander a wide berth, Bennie doesn't seem to hold the same predilections. Hopefully the barista will take pity on her, and come take her order, because making it to the counter is just out of the question for now. "There is a marching band in my head." She groans.

"Is it playing 'It's a Small World'? If so, you have my eternal sympathy." Alexander's voice is dry. He studies her with that flat, creepy stare for a long time, before putting the pencil down. "Exciting evening?" At least his habit of speaking quietly shouldn't grate overmuch on her headache. "And what do you want to drink? I'll go get it for you."

It seems Bennie is content to forget that she currently thinks Alexander hates her, especially when he offers to fetch her order. "Coooooffeeeeee." The woman groans with the same enthusiasm as a zombie drones for brains, because apparently requesting anything fancier would take more effort and it just can't be mustered. Apparently she's treating the question of an exciting evening as rhetorical because the only answer to that is her arm going slack and the strap of her overly large bag slips off her shoulder and plops to the floor.

Alexander waits. He waits for a while, until he realizes that no further descriptors of what sort of coffee are going to come. Then he stands up, taking a few of his notes out of the way of her place at the table, and stacking them neatly off to the side. He moves to the counter, and orders a large black coffee. After a moment, he adds a chocolate chip muffin. Luckily, it's a simple order, so he returns fairly quickly, and puts them down in front of her. The little side container of sweeteners is nudged towards her as he sits back down. Then he goes back to staring at her for a while. Before, "'How are you' feels like an inappropriate question."

While Alexander is at the counter, Bennie slides her sunglasses down her nose slightly at glances at the nearest stack of papers, if only to see what she's interrupting. She nudges them back up with her thumb and a muttered 'thank you' as he returns with a cup of coffee and she curves her hands around the warmth like it's a life line. "An inappropriate question would be: does the carpet match the drapes." There is a little flicker of a smile before she's reaching for the sugar.

"Your interior decorating isn't really any of my concern, Miss Oakes," Alexander says, with apparent seriousness. He turns his attention back to his work, draws a neat, freehand circle around an area on the map. Frowns at it. Tap tap tap goes the pencil, without him even seeming to be aware of it. Then his dark eyes flick back to her. "Would asking why you hate yourself also be an inappropriate question?" Again, total seriousness. Because that's definitely a conversation Bennie wants to be having in a coffee shop while she's hung over.

A palm sliiiiides over the table, Bennie inserting her hand between the pencil and the table's top. No doubt it sounds like a base drum in her cranium, judging by the reaction. "I don't think hating myself was the precursor to this particular affliction. I sure loooooved myself last night. And tequila. After red wine. Hands down, would not recommend."

Alexander eyes the hand like it was a snake, slithering its way across the table to bite him. But, once it's in a position where bringing the pencil down would thump skin, even lightly, he stops. The pencil is set down. "Tequila and red wine is one of the less friendly combinations I could think of. Did you follow it up with champagne, as well, just to make sure your brain was extra fried, this morning?" It's amused, rather than condemnatory. A pause. "But I'm glad you loved yourself. All parts of yourself not including your liver." His eyebrows rise, giving the toneless words a hint of teasing.

"Mm." Bennie sort of vibrates the noncommittal tone as she draws back her hand, retreating to return to adding her sugar to her coffee. Shaking the packets is like rolling rocks in a tumbler, tearing the paper like loudest strip of velcro in the world. "For the record carpet matching the drapes is a reference to...you know what, never mind. So whatcha working on?"

Alexander's eyebrow arches. There's the slightest hint of one corner of his mouth going up as she seems about to explain the meaning of the phrase. Then she moves on, and he reaches for his coffee to take a sip before answering. "Tracking a bail jumper. There's a bounty hunter I work with sometimes - he's better at the," a brief punching motion, "part, while I excel at the investigation. I give him a location, he grabs the bounty, I get a cut." A look down at the map. "This one has been mildly interesting; target fancies herself an outdoorswoman, so she seems to have gone to ground in the woods in this area." A wave at a larger circled area. "Sightings with potential here and here," indicating smaller circles within the area, "seem to over lap in this area. Cross referencing with property records," a gentle tap of a small stack of notes, "suggests that an acquaintance of hers has a cabin and a few acres here." Points at a section on the map. "Just have to confirm routine, and should be able to suggest the right time for confrontation."

Bennie leans forward slightly and her sunglass'd face tilts at the places on the paper that he indicates. She actually does seem to take an interest in what he's describing, even if concentrating on it causes her forehead to form new furrows beneath the brim of her 'borrowed' hat. "She'd have better luck fishing than she would hunting this time of year, unless she's using a bow and arrow. The gunshots would get notice this far out of season. Provided she's living off the land, I'd stake out the nearest water source." She flops back into her chair, only to drag her purse into her lap and start pawing through it.

Alexander's eyebrows go up and stay up. He looks impressed, and makes a few notes on the map, studying it for water sources, with neat little markings. "Thank you, Bennie. That's very helpful." He starts to tap the pencil again - then stops before it can hit the table, giving her an apologetic look. "Sorry. I fidget." The pencil is put down, and he laces his fingers together to quiet the urge. "Was there a particular celebration last night, or...?"

There is a little shrug from Bennie, masterful at minimizing a compliment "I used to hunt with my father when I was little." Her own smile wobbles when he says he fidgets, a tentative thing only because it hurts to make that particular expression. "You're so endearing." She finds an orange tinted prescription bottle from amid the chaos of her purse, fiddling with the childproof cap which apparently also is Bennie proof this morning. "Well the wine was Sutton and De la Vega. The tequila was because I couldn't sleep."

"Endearing." Alexander stares at her. "I don't think anyone has used that word in regards to me, before. Thank you?" He looks back down at his map. "Ah, the Captain has escaped his confinement, then. Good. I know it was bothering him. Hospitals suck." He takes another sip of his coffee, then glances up. Studies the bottle and her attempts to open it. A hand is silently extended in an offer.

"Then no one has been paying close enough attention to you." Bennie says succinctly as she plunks the bottle down into his hand. He already has the advantage of knowing that she subscribes to better living through chemistry, so she has no qualms about putting the branded bottle in his grasp that declares it's Aderall. "The man always looks bothered, I'm surprised anyone could tell the difference." But it's coming from Bennie, so there is no malice in that assessment.

Alexander doesn't really seem to know what to do about that response, so he ignores it in favor of studying the bottle. The prescription is read, and then his fingers go to work opening up the bottle. It gives him a little trouble, but not much. He places the bottle in front of her, with the cap neatly laid beside it. "There are degrees of bothered. And he doesn't always look bothered. Not always." A pause. "Probably about ninety-five percent of the time, though. Or maybe that's just around me. Hard to tell." There's a brief smile. "People who always project one emotion or another often do it to try and hide the others. But they always leak through. Around the edges."

Projecting emotions and hiding others? Bennie wouldn't know anything about that. Of course if Alexander read the label carefully, he'd notice the fill date is over sixty days ago and the blonde is shaking out two tablets which is twice the listed dosage. If she were doing that regularly, she would have ran out a long time ago. Popping them into her mouth and washing them down with coffee, she grimaces. "I secretly think he's soft and gooey on the inside, just like you. You two are good friends?"

Alexander does, in fact, know to look at the expiration date and note the dosage prescribed compared to the dosage administered. He studies her for a long moment. "Do you think that wise, Bennie?" Just a quiet question, before he looks back down at his coffee and then takes a hit of his preferred drug of choice. "There's not really anything secret about my soft and gooey interior," he points out, voice dry. Then a longer pause. "I don't know. Define 'good' in the presence context?"

"It's fine." Bennie says of the quiet question as she screws back on the cap and tosses it back in her purse. Everything is just fine. It's the unofficial motto of Gray Harbor after all. Assuming that chocolate chip muffin was meant for her, she drags it open and peels back a bit of the wrapper, pinching off a chunk of the baked good. "I dunno. Do you confide in each other? Have inside jokes? Hold back each other's hair when you puke?"

Alexander continues to hold the stare for a minute longer, before sighing, and looking back down at his work. He picks up the pencil and goes through some of his notes, eyes flicking back and forth as he catalogs, compares, confirms various pieces of data. His own muffin (blueberry) is still untouched. His brow furrows. "...no. No? I don't think so, no. Neither of us has vomited in the other's presence, so I can't absolutely say we wouldn't, but our hair doesn't seem like it would get in the way in the first place." Alexander's is longer than it should be, but probably not that long. "And I'm not very good at jokes, while the captain is not very good at confiding things. So...no. I suppose we are not good friends." He frowns. "By that criteria, I don't have any. Do you have good friends?"

Bennie goes very still for a second, "Yup." She then cants her head slightly and stills again. "Nope." Followed by a long exhale. "For a second there, I thought you and I were about to become very good friends." Meaning there was a possibility that her swallowing the pills and trying to eat something very nearly back fired. All over Alexander's hard work. In the form of vomit.

"I better go hook myself up to a banana bag, or there is zero chance I'll make it through my work day." She leans back to fish in her pocket, drawing out enough wrinkled bills of tip money to cover what he procured for her at the counter plus gratuity. "Thanks for the company. And for the whole not hating me for almost laying hands on the Captain without permission thing." Because for someone who needs an explanation of what a 'good friend' is, he certainly was very protective of Ruiz.

Alexander blinks a couple of times. "I did suggest it wasn't a wise idea," he murmurs, with both relief (because his work isn't covered in ick), and a touch of concern (because of so, so many things). Tap, tap, tap goes the pencil; he's forgotten again. He doesn't protest when she puts the money down, but barely even seems to notice that she did it. Just staring at her. "The company is always welcome, Bennie. And why would I hate you? I was angry. Now I'm not. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause you distress. I don't hate you."

"A discussion for another time." Because really, Bennie is looking quite woozy and it's best she leave on that high note. The normally physical woman doesn't end their conversation in a hug or a cheek kiss, just a little double tap of her fingers on the table vaguely near his hand and that damnable bouncing pencil. "See you around, Sailor."