2019-08-23 - Happy Hour

It's a beautiful, clear day, with the end of the summer coming on. It's like everyone can feel it, even the tourists, so the Two if by Sea is rapidly beginning to fill up with scantily dressed people out to have fun and enjoy themselves. The music is perhaps a little louder than is comfortable, but it's not blasting, yet. It might get there as the evening goes on. Alexander arrived early enough that he managed to claim a decent sized table for his lonesome. He's got a glass of beer that looks like it's been barely touched, and a bit bowl of pretzel bites and some hot beer cheese dip for them. He's eating more of the latter than drinking the former, and he's watching people as they go back and forth. His expression is blank. To those who don't know him, it's probably not welcoming at all. But, at the same time, his head is bobbing with the rhythm of the music.

Eleanor just finished putting in all her purchase orders for September. As such, she's decided she deserves a nice cold beer for her trouble, and Two if By Sea is a good place for that and to maybe catch up on weird stuff gossip when booze loosens lips. The redhead walks in, wearing a breezy sundress and sandals, with her hair back in a messy bun and a laptop case slung over her shoulder.

She orders a corona with lime from the tender, and then looks around for somewhere to settle. Spotting Alexander, she heads over his way. "Mister Clayton. Can I sit with you or are you needing some space today?" she whispers to him politely.

Sometimes, just by coincidence, you find yourself the last one at the table. Gideon was out for a drink with his coworkers from the vet clinic. But one by one, they all had to depart, leaving him with a full pint and a plate of food and no company. Even more awkward is the fact that the place is filling up and he's taking up valuable space. He sighs, fiddles his pint around. Despite the fact that he'd get out of here faster if he just ate his food, he's instead trying to catch the eye of the waitress. It's not working. The table isn't far from Alexander's, but he hasn't realized it yet.

His career might have stopped, but Jonathan is still in the habit of working out. And when he needs to take it easy in regards to his shoulder, he'll go walking. And so, he passed by, and realized he needed something to drink. Thus, he makes his way to this fine establishment, looking around rather carefully. He's wearing a red golf shirt with the logo of the Red Wings on the left side, and comfortable clothes for a walk. He looks around as he enters, looking to see if there's someone familiar inside, before he slowly starts moving further inside.

Alexander sees and recognizes Eleanor before she turns to him - his twitchiness means that his people watching often settles by the door. When she approaches, the blankness of his expression holds for a few moments, then comes to life with a small smile. "Miss Lake. It's a pleasure to see you." He blinks at the desire, but rather than object, waves her at the several free chairs at the table. "Please. Not really the place to have some space, so good company is better. I think. Are you well?" He is not whispering, but his voice rises only as high as he needs it to in order to be heard. He glances at the bowl of pretzels. "Would you like one?" He notices Gideon at the next table, and attempts to catch the man's eyes. Mostly by staring fixedly at him.

Eleanor gives Alexander a grateful smile and she slides into a seat at his table, but not next to him. She squeezes her lime wedge into her Corono and drops it into the bubbling beer. "I am doing very well. Better than I have in a long time actually. Thank you for asking. How are you?" she asks in return, setting her bag at her feet. At the offer of pretzels, she beams. "I'd like one yes." She takes one and pops it into her mouth cheerfully. Truly, she is in better spirits than she has been in a long time.

August is having a weird day. Not like that odd stretch of bad luck; in fact things seem to finally be normal on that front. But he feels distracted constantly, like there's something just out of reach of his senses (even the glimmering ones), and no matter how hard he tries. It's wearing him out at this point, so he opts to swing by the Twofer. He can drive home later, once he's feeling a little less...weird.

He's in jeans and a dark gray Led Zepplin t-shirt, so it just have been a tree work day. He gets a pint of lager from the bar, has a sip, looks around among the crowd. Spying Eleanor and Alexander, he meanders that way. An upnod for Jonathan, whom he recognizes from the Waffle Shoppe some weeks past.

Even for one who assiduously avoids eye contact like Gideon Hughes, it's sort of hard to ignore the Alexander laser sight. He catches it on one of the sweeps for the waitress, and holds it for only a half second before he breaks it and looks down at his veggie burger and fries. Then he forces himself to glance up and call out, "If you...need any more chairs, feel free."

Alexander's gaze shifts from Gideon to Eleanor and he blinks at her. "You do seem happier than usual." Tact. He has it. "I'm...also better than I have been in a while. A long while." His brow furrows, thoughtfully as she takes a pretzel. "I'm expecting something to go terribly wrong at any moment," he confesses as he goes back to staring at Gideon. Which finally works. He blinks a couple of times at Gideon's words. "...no. There are only two of us." A pause. "I was going to say. You could come over here, Dr. Hughes. Then there would be three." Trying to lure the vet with his own personal variety of charm, he doesn't seem to have noticed August or Jonathan, yet.

Jonathan offers a nod in return to August, before he looks over at Alexander and the others near him. He doesn't say anything for now, moving to place his order as he glances around once more.

Eleanor's eyes light up when she spots August, and she gives him a little beckoning wave to join them. "Speak of the devil," she murmurs under her breath so only Alexander can hear. "It's good to hear you're doing well too." She gives a nod to the veterinarian as well, though as someone without any pets at current, she hasn't yet met Gideon.

In an interior largely comprised of scantily-clad tourists out to enjoy the final days of summer, it'd be apparent that the next person who slips through the doors of Two If By Sea is decidedly not one of them. Isabella Reede's quick, businesslike strides cut through the wooden floor in her usual big city clip, the pace of some of the world's most metropolitan locations leaving an indelible mark on her that her return to a far sleepier location has been unable to quell. She is dressed for 'work', though to say that she looks in any way formal would be an exaggeration, when she typically dresses somewhere in the fine line between functional and fashionable, and looking very much like any graduate student anywhere - fitted jeans and a loose, short-sleeved linen top inspired by Edwardian fashion, with its cap sleeves and square neckline, and sandals. Her long dark hair is spooled in a loose twist, secured with nothing but a pen and reminiscent of the sort of feminine witchcraft that enables women with long hair to manage the trick without any help of other elastics or clips. Her satchel's strap runs diagonally from her shoulder, and she carries a folio bursting with paper under her arm.

It's the familiar Red Wings logo that catches her attention first, given its vibrant color, green-gold eyes reflecting her smile as she moves past the ex-hockey player, clapping his shoulder in a comradely fashion as she drifts past. "Hey, Jono," she greets, gaze taking a quick sweep of the faces she can see from the bar. She espies Alexander almost immediately, though not without help - Eleanor's tresses naturally draw the eye.

She doesn't wander there yet, as she flags down the bartender on duty...and takes a surreptitious glance at the back, leaning over the counter to do so. "Huh. Wonder where Easton is..."

Normally, joining one person he barely knows and one person he doesn't know at a table would be fairly unthinkable for the twitchy vet. But Gideon's awkwardness about taking up a table for six all by his lonesome is outweighing the awkwardness of joining the other table. After a moment, he picks up plate and pint and shifts. "Thanks, uh, I just...need to eat. Bad timing with coworkers. And this group...ah, there they go." A group of people who were sort of hovering around his table sweep in suddenly. It's then he manages to catch the server's attention. Hand gestures are exchanged to indicate that yes, he's moving over.

"Oh?" Alexander murmurs a bit absently to Eleanor, then follows her look and movement in that direction to August. His eyebrows go up. "Oh. Well-done, Miss Lake. He's very nice." August gets a brief smile when he can catch his eyes. But then Gideon is moving over, and his attention refixes on the vet. "You're welcome." It's toneless and he stares at Gideon for a moment longer. Then he nudges his bowl of pretzels and the bowl of cheese towards him. "Would you like one? Are you well?" It's more like an interrogation than a greeting - although when he spots a very familiar figure striding through the crowds, his attention wanders again. Fixes on Isabella like a search light on a fugitive, or a moth to a bug-zapper. When she looks his way, there's a bright and boyish sort of smile, clear entirely of wariness or stress. But he doesn't flag her down as she moves to the bar. He just watches her, his eyes flicking briefly to Jonathan, and recognition there. A brief nod, then back to creeping on Isabella.

August meanders through the crowds to the growing group at Alexander's table, angling closer to Eleanor than the others. He smiles, some of the annoyances of earlier in the day fading when he sees her notice him. "Hey," he says once he's close enough, leans in to give Eleanor a light kiss on the cheek. He raises his lager to Gideon and Alexander in turn, sips from it. "How's the day been treating you all?"

Eleanor blushes at Alexander's comment and her face matches her hair for a few moments. At the cheek kiss from August she murmurs back, "Hey yourself. Got all my purchase orders in for next month and decided that deserved an alcoholic reward. How was your day?"

Jonathan pauses momentary at the clap on his shoulder, before he offers a grin as he sees who it is. "Oh, hey.... A good day today, isn't it?" he offers, before he looks around again now. Noticing that brief nod from Alexander, he offers one in return to the man, along with a half-smile. As he gets his order, he looks around again, and notices there's some free seats over in the general direction of the others, so he starts moving slowly in that general direction.

"Ah, no thanks. I've got..." Gideon motions to his burger and fries. "Yes, well enough," he says to Alexander, but it sounds more like the polite response than the truth. When more people arrive, he looks up and nods, but otherwise tries to make himself as small and as unobtrusive as possible. He seems to have lost his appetite, but he picks at a fry. "I uh, don't usually end up here when it's this busy."

Alexander watches Eleanor's blush with a detached sort of amusement. One which transfers to August when he approaches and gives her a kiss. "August. Good to see you again." His attention trips back to Gideon. He stares at the man, noticing him making himself small. "It's a bit much, sometimes," he admits. "I was hoping to meet a friend, but I don't think he's working right now. Or he is working too much." He clears his throat. "Dr. Hughes, have you met August Roen or Eleanor Lake? August, Eleanor, this is Dr. Gideon Hughes. He is an excellent vet." He stares at the two with a look that says 'you are nice people, so be nice'. As Jonathan approaches, he tries to catch the man's eye, then nod at a seat. You. Sit.

Her more vibrant irises find the investigator's dark stare across the way and Isabella flashes him a quick wink, the devil's own mischief playing on her features - all brief, and she mouths something quietly to him as she makes an emphatic gesture to the bar - ostensibly to signal him that she's just getting a drink. With the bartender on duty finally paying attention to her after several minutes have passed oggling the gaggle of younger twenty-somethings that have clustered on the other end of the counter, she proceeds to slip a bill on the counter and soon acquires her usual - a scotch, taken neat.

"It's not bad," she tells Jonathan, as casual as can be, though she exudes the air of one who is having one of the best days ever, with the way her eyes glitter and how she somehow can't help but smile, though the latter is one she buries by taking a sip of her scotch. "You headed over? I see some people I know." But ever always a young woman on the move, she's already headed there, and in a quicker pace than the ex-athlete's slower-moving stride. Alexander may be creeping on her, but she doesn't seem to mind when she looks like she's about to rocket over the table to tackle him into the sand.

She doesn't do that though, thankfully. Chances are she won't do that unless Easton is present.

August smiles to see Eleanor blush, then makes a face at her question. He waggles a hand. "Could have been better, could have been worse. Didn't get scraped up taking down that monster ash tree over on Carnelian and Maple, so that was an improvement over a couple weeks ago. Took three of us to deal with it. Not looking forward to when she finally decides to remove the rest." He gives Alexander an amused smile for that look, offers the same hand he was waggling to Gideon. "Good to meet you. Got a specialty, or are you a generalist?" He's asking like he has a reason to ask.

"Nice to meet you Doctor Hughes," Eleanor greets. "I was considering maybe getting a dog for security purposes. Would it be all right if I came by to ask you some questions about breeds and their care?" she asks. She listens to August's tale of his day. "Still sounds more exciting than ordering napkins and stir sticks." She grins at him.

Jonathan nods as he notices that nod from Alexander, offering another smile in thanks. "Yes..." he offers to Isabella, before he sees her move past a bit faster. "Someone's in a hurry," he remarks a bit lightly, following over and nodding a bit to the people he doesn't know as well.

"Ah, no," says Gideon in response to Alexander's question. Idle fingers are worrying the edge of a paper napkin, shredding it a bit and turning it into a vague tube shape. "Hello," he says as he's introduced. A smile flickers, but in complete contrast to Alexander, he seems to avoid looking directly at anyone for too long. He shakes August's hand if that's what he was doiong, otherwise he does an awkward hand-dance. "Large animals. Horses, in particular. Wildlife rehabilitation. But no one makes a living at being a vet in an urban area without knowing how to care for dogs and cats." There's a wry note to his words. And then to Eleanor, "I'm...not really a proponent of purebreeds, to be honest. My advice is generally to foster one of the lovely animals who need homes and see if they suit. Shelter volunteers can tell you a lot more about what an animal's personality is than any breed description."

Alexander doesn't rise as Isabella approaches, but he does reach out to the chair next to him, not yet filled, and pulls it out in silent invitation. "Isabella," he says, and her name is alive on his mouth in a way very few words are. "It's good to see you up and looking well." A smile, not quite as brilliant as the first, but still warm. His eyes flick to Eleanor and August, and he adds to the latter, "It's good that you weren't injured, August." A flick of the eyes to Eleanor. A frown. "Has something happened, Ms. Lake?"

August huffs a laugh at Eleanor. "An exciting day, when you're sevety feet up, is not what you want. You want the most boring and productive day you can possibly achieve." He watches Isabella and Jonathan approach over the rim of his pint glass, plainly curious but not the sort to hop in with an introduction.

He nods at Gideon like he's filing the information away, raises his beer to Alexander. "Thank you. We'll see if I can make it half a year this time." He looks askance at Eleanor to see what she says in response to Alexander's question.

"Just been an awful lot of violence in the news lately," Eleanor replies to Alexander. "And things in town being," a vortex of swirling batshit crazy, "what they are, I thought maybe a dog would be a good idea. In case of um, burglars and all that." She looks at August and gives him a wan smile.

Someone's in a hurry, Jonathan says.

Isabella pivots easily on her steps so she can turn around and walk backward while watching the ex-Red Wings player, grinning broadly at him and pointing an index finger in his direction. "Hey, you're the athlete, I'm just surprised you're not racing me there," she tells him with a laugh.

Eventually, they manage to find their way to the growing cluster of people around Alexander's table; particularly accustomed to this proclivity at least, the incongruity between his stilted greeting and the visible affection underlying it. "I know," she tells him gamely. "It was a bit of a challenge this morning, but work was calling." She sets her satchel and folio aside, wiggling her fingers in greeting to August and Eleanor. "It's nice to see you again...Miss Lake?" She has only met Eleanor once, but her companion is a new face. Long, suntanned fingers extend forward to August. "I don't think we've met - I'm Isabella Reede."

Alexander blinks a couple of times as Isabella introduces herself. A grimace. "Sorry. Should have done that. August Roen, Eleanor Lake, Dr. Gideon Hughes, and it seems you know Mr. Wallgren." A brief smile and nod at the right people for the introductions. He reaches for his beer, takes a swallow, then nods to Eleanor. "Dogs are nice." If he looks a little skeptical about a dog's utility for safety in this town, he can at least agree to that: Dogs are nice.

"You don't...have to add the doctor on," says the vet a bit awkwardly to Alexander. "Just...Gideon is fine," he looks up again and offers everyone a bit of a nod. He takes a few bites of his burger and then either decides he doesn't like it or he's no longer hungry, because he nudges the half-finished plate away. Instead, he drags his pint towards him.

"Must be because I'm trying to rehydrate," Jonathan offers with a chuckle to Isabella, before he nods a bit at the introductions. "Jonathan Wallgren," he introduces himself. "A pleasure to meet you all." Moving to take a seat, he takes a sip from his beer. "Ah, good..."

August reacts to Eleanor's smile by shifting a little closer to her and giving her a reassuring one in turn. "Dogs are nice," he says, echoing Alexander and nodding at Eleanor. There's maybe an undercurrent of 'and then you're not alone in your house' in his demeanor, too.

He considers Isabella a second, shifts so he can take her hand and shake it. "August," he says, dipping his head. He glances sidelong at Alexander for an overlong second, smiles and ducks his head when Gideon mentions not being called doctor. "He might do it all the time, now," August warns the vet.

Eleanor nods slowly to Gideon's assessment. She makes a mental note to check out the shelters for a future furry companion that might be able to alert her to bad things. "Hello Miss Reede," she greets Isabelle. When August shifts closer she bumps shoulders with him gently and her wan smile brightens to a full one.

Alexander flashes a quick smile at Gideon, looking genuinely pleased. "Gideon. And I am Alexander." A puzzled look towards August. "Why would I do that? I like him. As long as he doesn't want to be called anything silly, I'll call him what he likes." That any and all nicknames fall under the definition of 'silly' seems to go without being said. He seems oblivious to that overlong look from August. He pushes the bowl towards Isabella with a smile. "Would you like a pretzel?"

Hard to say if it's the general scenario or the prospect of now always being called doctor, but it prompts Gideon to take a rather thirsty pull from his pint. He then folds his hands in front of him, knitting the fingers together a bit firmly. He worries the bottom of his lip with his teeth and then...drinks again. Clearly a deeply social human being. "So..." he starts after an awkward moment. Or several awkward minutes. "What...do you all do?"

Her face lights up in recognition, giving his broader, rougher hand a secure shake. "August the Horticulturist?" Isabella wonders, indicative that someone has been talking about him. "Nice to meet you, finally!" There's also a hand offered to Gideon when he is introduced. "I'm Isabella. Nice to meet you, also, Gideon. And yes, I know Jono." There's another grin directed his way. "He was my welcome wagon when I came back here two months ago."

This is when she finally sits, on the chair pulled out for her by Alexander, her shoulder gently abutting his. She eases back against it, legs crossing by the knee and taking a sip of her scotch. Finally off her feet, however, her relief is palpable by the way she tilts her head back and closes her eyes a little, every line of her screaming What a day, though it lifts again at the offerance of a pretzel. Fingers reach into the bowl. "A man after my own heart," she declares dramatically, pressing her other hand over where the moonstone pendant she is never without rests against her blouse. "I haven't had a thing all day."

August blinks at Isabella, cuts another sidelong glance at Alexander. "Probably the only August in this town too," he says, mouth twitching in a wry almost-smile. He tells Gideon, "I'm a botanist. Used to work for the Forest Service. Now I mostly do tree work, and we have a shop on the outskirts of town." He nods at Jonathan, says, "Beer's perfect for that," with all sincerity.

He asides to Eleanor, "Maybe I should get a dog too. Or a cat." A lift of his eyebrows, checking to see what she thinks of that.

Jonathan smiles, listening to what's said as he sips his beer. "Absolutely perfect," he agrees with August, offering a grin. "Pets? If I get things more stable, I might consider getting one of those. But until then..." He shakes his head a little lightly.

Eleanor arches a brow at August, looking amused. "You should. A dog maybe. I'm pretty sure your killer attack geese would beat the crap out of some poor cat," she points out. "A dog could herd the goats for you though." She sips her Corona and looks around the table. This is a lot of people for her. August seems to be anchoring her with his presence.

Alexander leans into the gentle shoulder touch from Isabella. Rather than his usual friendly response of drawing away like the other person has just caught on fire and he was coated in gasoline. "You should eat more than once a day," he murmurs to her, with both amusement and concern. August's sidelong look is met with a smile, rather than any verbal response. He doesn't answer Gideon's question, since Alexander's piecemeal 'career' is not exactly uncommon knowledge among townies. "A large dog with thick fur who likes to sleep on the bed," he suggests to August.

"Could you tell me the best plants to plant for bees? I have a good sized lot and I want to set up an apiary, but I find...gardening difficult." Gideon says this to August, though he addresses it more to the table than the other man. "There are...a few large dogs at the shelter who are good-natured," he offers, awkward as ever.

Mention of a dog or cat injects something wistful on Isabella's expression, fingers absently toying with her tumbler of scotch; her green-gold eyes are upon it when Alexander's lean and broader shadow slants over her own, his murmur inspiring a wry twist to her lips and glancing at his haggard, but handsome profile sidelong. "I can't help it today," she murmurs back. "I found a thread and I had to pull, and kept pulling and before I knew it, it was sunset. It feels good to get back to work." Head tilted, lips purse lightly on his cheek while he's hovering close, unable to help it - quick, and brief, but decidedly opportunistic. It does nothing but encourage the mischief in her eyes already.

"Me too," she tells Gideon with a sympathetic look and a lift of her glass towards him. "I can't grow anything with any competence. I love flowers, but I could never keep them alive for very long."

"Indoor cat only," August says, shaking his head. "Out there in the forest like that, outdoor cat would get hurt or eaten before I know it. But," he has some beer, "that's a good point. Dog for herding, maybe someone's left a herd dog mix..."

His attention shifts to the beer a moment, and he frowns at it. Then he shakes his head as if to clear it, says to Gideon and Isabella, "Don't feel bad about that, no one's perfect at everything. There's some plants that are easier to keep than others, but a lot of places never bother to warn you about that when they sell them to you." He considers Gideon directly. "I guess the first question is, do you want to stick to native plants?" He gestures with his free hand, "Obviously that's what I'd recommend but I'm not the boss of you. And then there's the question of flavor. Honey flavor varies depending on what you encourage them to gather. Fireweed honey tastes completely different from clover, and blackberry's got its own flavor." He grimaces at what he's just said. "Please do not plant blackberry."

Eleanor notices August's frown, and her hand moves to take his gently, with a questioning look. It's asking him if he's ok. At his words she notes, "Clover honey is lovely. I think that would grow fairly easily wouldn't it?"

Alexander blinks, surprised and owlish, at the kiss on the cheek from Isabella. He turns and offers her a warm smile, although not without catching some of that wistfulness. "Do you want a pet?" he asks her, quietly. "And I take it that it was a good thread? One of the ones you can't talk about, or something you can share?" He seems okay with either, and curious either way. That curiosity also has him looking back at August, head tilting to one side. "Why not blackberry? Blackberries are rather nice, when they're ripe."

"I don't know why anyone would plant blackberry," says Gideon with a little smile. "Part of the yard is totally covered in it. It's all I can do to keep it from taking over everything. I try to hack it out, but it keeps coming back. And I poke a million holes in myself in the process." Gideon sips his beer again, then purses his lips. "I'm...not really doing it for the honey. I'm doing it to help the honeybee population."

Another sip from his drink, and Jonathan grins a little. "Ah, honey. Lots of good uses in cooking." There's a brief pause, and he glances around.

The unexpected question has green eyes blinking up at Alexander's darker own, before she lets loose a small laugh. "I could never keep one," she tells him, though she directs the following words to the table. "I have a bias towards herding dogs, if not just because my father always kept a German Shepherd in the house," Isabella remarks with a small smile. "He tend to recycle the names, though. He loves old Stallone movies, so his dogs were named either Rocky or Rambo. So I think we're up to Rambo III and Rocky V before he finally decided to get off the wheel and name our latest one something else. They're incredible dogs, though. I've always loved them." Her voice lowers. "And yes, a good one - for the job that brought me here in the first place."

There's open interest on her features when August starts, a faint smile at his reassurance that becomes all the more inquisitive at his remark about blackberries. She might be about to ask the same question Alexander does, if he hadn't beaten her to it, so she falls silent to listen, and to learn something new, and even leans forward a little bit, expression intent. Can take the girl out of Academia, but not the other way around.

Alexander's attention fixes on Jonathan. "You can cook? How did you learn? What's the easiest thing you know how to cook?" He probably doesn't mean for it to sound like an interrogation. It does, anyway. Isabella's answer to his question does distract him, saving the athlete from further demands and possibly recipe solicitations. He leans and bumps her shoulder lightly. "It's hard, with all the travel in your career," he admits, quietly. "And I'm glad that you're making progress on it." There's a moment where he might ask another question, but rethinks himself, and just leans more firmly against her as he turns his attention back to the table.

August glances sidelong at Eleanor, shakes his head in a gesture of, 'it's nothing' or perhaps, 'later'. Then Alexander asks that, and he levels a Look at Alexander. He seems to visibly stop himself from some sort of lengthy tirade, and just points at Gideon for the answer. "The question that botanists in Oregon and Washington face isn't whether or not the Himalaya blackberry bush will take over the entire Pacific Northwest, burying us in thorns, but rather, will gorse manage to do it first." He smiles without any humor, lets it drop in favor of a sigh. "As nice as the fruits are, it's best kept in a pot with no access to open ground."

He nods at Jonathan. "Raw honey's amazing for all kinds of things. Theoretically the pollen helps reduce allergies but I haven't seen much research on that yet. But," now he's addressing Gideon again, "if you're not after honey, there's a lot of easy growers you could put in. Poppies--a lot of your culinary herbs, too. Parsley, rosemary, oregano. Lavender, and," a gesture to Eleanor, "clover. Those all do pretty well up here. Raised beds or pots, or just on your property. And if you don't mind ceding your property to it, spearmint."

"My...house backs on the woods," says Gideon. He says it almost like one might say 'my house backs on a major highway' or 'a culvert.' "The trees are tall and dark, and they shed needles over most of my yard. The front is a little better." Then he flags down the waitress finally, and asks for his bill. "It was, um, nice chatting with you all." He flickers a smile. "But I've got an early shift tomorrow."

Alexander asking Jonathan about his culinary skills generates a grin she doesn't bother to quell, Isabella watching the investigator sidelong, and then turning her attention to Jonathan, also, to see how he responds to it. The lean of a sturdier shoulder next to her has her looking up at him again, however, flashing him a smile filled with rue, a hand lifting with her index finger extended to tap gently against his shirt. "I'm excited also, and I wish I could tell you more about it. Not like I can't tell you about other real life stories about long lost Spanish gold, though."

She seems a little disappointed that August doesn't launch into a tirade about blackberries, because rants from an expert are things that she tends to enjoy. But she learns something new anyway and her brows draw down. "I had no idea they react that way on open ground," she says, freely admitting her ignorance. With Gideon taking his leave, though, she lifts her fingers up in a wave. "Nice meeting you," she says in parting.

Eleanor squeezes August's hand and nods. She listens to the conversation quietly, sipping her beer and trying not to be overwhelmed with the crowds in the bar.

"I raise rosemary, parsley, and oregano. In my house," Alexander says, quietly. "They're pretty easy to keep alive." He sort of ducks his head at August's look, and there's a sudden air to him like he has the urge to apologize. Possibly for the existence of blackberry and gorse. He manages to stop himself only because Gideon makes his goodbyes, which proves enough of a distraction for him to study the other man. "It was nice seeing you, Gideon. Don't die." He glances at Isabella. "Long lost Spanish gold is always a good time. Especially if we can go find it. Sounds like fun," he adds, with a waggle of his eyebrows, playful and brief, at her.

"Nice to meet you all. Have a good evening." Gideon makes the most eye contact of the evening as he glances around. "And thank you for the plant advice," he says to August, before taking his leave to settle up, and squeeze his way out of the crowded bar.

With sympathy, August says to Gideon, "I live out in the woods. But, feel free to come by the shop if you want to chat about ideas on what to plant." He squeezes Eleanor's hand back, smiles faint and reassurring at her. It doesn't quite reach his eyes, though. At least, not until Alexander's 'farewell' to Gideon, which gets a snort.

He shakes his head at Isabella, says around a drink of his lager, "Doesn't even have to be open ground. Same with the spearmint, it just goes hog wild. Which is fine, if you want a few acres of spearmint." His brow furrows, and he looks between her and Alexander. "Spanish gold?"

"When spending so much time on the road as we do, doing something completely different always helps when you need to relax," Jonathan replies, before he adds, "I think it might have started from not wanting to go somewhere for food all the time, then I found I really enjoyed it." A brief pause, and he drains the rest of his beer. "The easiest? I don't know... pasta carbonara is always easy, and tasty too." He nods at the others, smiling a little. But it's about this time his phone starts ringing, and he looks at it. "Looks like I will need to head off too. It was good to meet all of you."

"All used for cooking. At least you won't have any problem looking for fresh herbs for your culinary experimentations," Isabella observes, though the smile she flashes at Alexander is one laden with encouragement, though the mention of the plants he keeps is not unfamiliar; she has seen the plants in his kitchen, the time she visited Isolde.

The playful remark about Spanish gold lets loose a quiet laugh, and at August's look, there's a slightly more sheepish bent that slips over her sun-touched mien. "Alexander's convinced I'm here for treasure," she says. "My mentor in Oxford sent me here to do some local research on a ship that was purportedly spotted in the bay in 1895 before it vanished for parts unknown. But since I can't talk about it due to the terms of my non-disclosure agreement, I have to divert his curiosity with other finds I've heard about that I could talk about at length. The adventure with the Spanish gold was another job - not my own, but something that my colleagues have discussed at length." She takes a sip of her scotch. "A tragic tale of five hundred million dollars worth of it lost in the ocean depths, to be recovered at great expense...only for the explorers who found it to lose it all because they weren't careful."

Jonathan's parting earns him a wave, followed by another cheeky grin.

"Pasta carbonara. Thank you." Alexander looks as if he's making a mental note about that. "It was nice to see you, Mr. Walgren." A smile to August. "Isabella is an adventurous archaeologist. She finds things like that." He is very nearly gleeful about this, in his way. "It's rather remarkable, and it means she can read both Latin and Ancient Greek. Important life skills." He's totally serious about that.

"That sounds very exciting. Finding lost treasure. Is it dangerous though?" Eleanor asks curiously.

"Ah, an NDA. One of the many reasons I didn't go work for an Ag company." August sounds sympathetic, as he knows from personal experience that one's employment options can be limited in this regard. "Knowing a few languages is a very good thing," he says with complete sincerity. "I wish I'd had time to add a couple more on, maybe keep up with the ASL." He waits to see what the answer is about the danger level; as a field researcher, that's something else he has his own experiences with.

"My work is less about treasure hunting, really - but it has everything to do with recovering objects lost in time and attempting to reconstruct how people lived their lives before," Isabella tells Eleanor with a hint of a smile. "I specialize in underwater archaeology, I've been diving since I was young, and careers in exploration and seafaring is a bit of a family tradition. But it can be dangerous, yes." She gestures with her hands. "The ocean floor can change in the blink of an eye, and safety precautions are something that my field team take very seriously. Nobody dives alone, and panicking underneath can be deadly - not just for yourself, but also for your buddy. Rising too fast, for instance, can be dangerous, and if you don't keep an eye on your oxygen levels, you might not realize that you're hallucinating due to the lack of air until it's too late. And that does happen, another reason why you shouldn't be diving alone if you can help it."

Her expression takes on a dreamier cast. "But it's beautiful down there. Anyone can do it safely, provided that they listen to the instructor, remember hand signals and remember not to rise too quickly to the surface. You can dive without certification to as deep as thirty feet, which is honestly all a hobbyist needs in the end - you can barely see anything past that depth, and part of the wonder of it is to see what's down there. Most dives occur in the upper levels of what's called the Sunlight Zone, named because you can still see light. Underneath it is what we call the Twilight Zone - crush depth, for most submarines."

"You also know ASL, August?" Alexander cocks his head towards the other man with interest. "Itzhak knows it, too. It's interesting. I think I like the Yiddish better, if I'm honest. Non-verbal languages are a bit more difficult to translate." That last sentence appears to be as much for himself as anyone at the table. Then he goes quiet as Isabella speaks. He just watches her talk about the diving with a fixed, flat attention that draws much of the other emotion from his face. Only his eyes are alive, dark and intense.

Talk about ASL gets a curious look, and a wistful one - despite knowing Greek and Latin, it's clearly not enough for Isabella, and she's not exactly powered the way Alexander is regarding his sudden abilities regarding languages. "What made you decide to learn?"

"Ah, gotcha. Shipwrecks and that kind of thing. But I'm sure there's plenty that aren't," August gestures with his beer, "full of gold or whatever." He pauses, gets an uncomfortable look on his face, decides he probably needn't specify what he's thinking. Of Itzhak knowing ASL, August says, "He does?" sounding pleasantly surprised. He smiles in a conspiratorial manner. "Ah, yeah--not very well anymore, I was learning when I..." His gaze fixes on a spot on the table and his voice fades. He licks his lips. "I should probably get going," he says, like he hadn't just stopped talking mid-sentence, and finishes off the last swallow of his beer. "Nice to meet you, Isabella. See you around, Alexander." He gets up, not letting go of Eleanor's hand, gives her a hesitant look, maybe to see if she's coming with.

She is definitely coming with. She saw that blank look, something is up. "Nice to see you both again. We'll catch up on, uh, research stuff soon, Alexander?" she offers, then she heads out with August.

Alexander nods to August. "He showed me a little. The other day." August's sudden pause draws his attention, and he studies the other man thoughtfully. But doesn't pry. Instead he just says, "Don't die," and his smile makes the parting encompass both August and Eleanor. "Of course. Just send me a text when you have time, and I'd be delighted." He considers August again, following the man with a hint of concern. His fingers tap out a quick rhythm on the tabletop. But all he does is watch.

Her smile holds, as easy as can be when August and Eleanor leave the bar, before Isabella swings her green-gold eyes towards Alexander - how his focus lingers on his departing friend, and the absent taps of his fingers against the wood of a table that had been teeming with people just a few moments before. That half-smile remains as she takes in the concerned look.

"Oh, grand," she tells him, reaching over to take another pretzel from the bowl. "I'm not the only one who thought that was strange."

"It's a little unusual," Alexander murmurs. Then forces himself to relax. "But it looks like Eleanor will be on hand to help with it, if any help is needed. August is a good guy. Very," he thinks about it, "well-controlled, most of the time, but in a nice way, not in a leashed sort of way. He's a deep forest." He reaches for a pretzel himself, and turns his attention to her. "A woman we met in the Waffle Shoppe called him 'protected'." He snorts, expression turning wry. "Right before she pointed out that I wasn't."

Protected? Isabella's dark brows wing upwards faintly at that, taking a quiet sip of her scotch. The bite swallowed, her spine returns to its place against the backrest of her chair, fingers tapping faintly on her tumbler, drops of condensation clinging to her skin. "I wonder how she could detect that, but at the moment, I don't think you are." Concern softens her features, green-gold eyes sweeping over his own. "With your blood ties to what we're dealing it at the moment, I can say you're far from. That and what you've explained to me before about regularly getting lost." She inclines her head, dark chocolate locks curling against her jaw at the gesture. "What do you think she meant by that? Protected."

Alexander blinks, then laughs, and shakes his head. "She didn't mean that. I don't think she meant that. But she did give me her number and asked me to call her, since she'd 'piqued my curiosity'. Which she did. But no. I think she has the healing gift," he says, looking away and reaching for his beer and taking a big swallow. "You can sometimes feel people's abilities - what they can do, how strong they are - with that gift." His expression goes a bit blank. "I'm not well-protected against that gift, for whatever reason. Which is great if I'm bleeding and need to...not be bleeding. But not so much if someone wants to," he gestures at the leg that Lilith tore down to the bone.

"Oh did she?" Amusement glitters in her eyes, Isabella propping her chin on one hand as she looks at him, her lips curling faintly in a mischievous grin. "You know, you made so many noises last night about how I shouldn't be seen with the town crazy, and here you are, managing to somehow obtain women's phone numbers without even trying. Thankfully you never harbored any secret designs to be a rock star, otherwise I'm going to have to hear about all the panties getting lobbed in your direction."

There's a glance at his leg when he gestures to it, and her teasing expression fades. "I wonder if it's a consequence of being ridiculously strong or talented in one specific area. Some cultures believe in a universal balance," she murmurs, draining her scotch and setting down the empty tumbler. "Have you considered that before, in all of your...experiments?"

Alexander looks clueless at what Isabella is getting at, until she gets to the panties. Then he blinks. "Oh." His brow furrows. "...no. I don't think that's what she meant. She was interested in what I could do. Not in having sex with me. I'm pretty sure." He dismisses it with a shrug, then smiles. "Although I was in a rock band as a teenager. Ran away to join, uh, we called ourselves 'Limbo', actually. It was not a very good band."

Then the conversation goes on, and his expression shuts down. "...no. I don't think that's it. It's probably cosmic justice, if any exists." He finishes off his beer, and stands up, fishing out money for the tab and tip. He offers a hand to her. "I don't know that I am physically capable of a repeat of last night, but may I walk you home, at least?"

"Alexander," Isabella begins, laughing. "I was jok-- "

I was in a rock band as a teenager.

"....you WHAT? Really?! What does that mean? That you can play an instrument?" She searches his face, and her green-gold eyes go wide. "Does that mean you can sing? Oh no. No no no. No." She points a finger at him. "You, Mister Clayton, were holding out on me this entire time and I demand to be compensated."

There's a blink down at his hand, before she slips her own in it, smiling faintly and watching him for a moment, though whatever is passing through that quick-thinking mind, she doesn't say. "Sure," she says.

She pauses, and as they move out with their things, hand in hand:

"Don't think you've gotten away scott-free, by the way."

"I used to play the guitar," Alexander admits, his blankness fading under her wide eyes and demands. "I haven't since I was about nineteen, though, so I don't think I could do anything more than strum a few chords." He leads her through the crowds, dodging the heedless motions of the tourists, and the disdainful looks at the townies. "I sang for a lot longer, though. Still sing, sometimes. Not really in public." He laughs, softly. "I was never very good at it, any of it - I get distracted and never really practiced enough to be good. But I enjoy singing. Sometimes."

He turns around to give her a fond look as they pass into the night. "Catch me in the right mood, Miss Reede, and I might sing for you." There's a grin for that promise before he promptly changes the subject and teases her all the way back to her houseboat by refusing to say anything more about the band, his musical 'talents', or what the 'right mood' for singing might be.