2019-08-25 - A Fresh Perspective

Summer is on the verge of ending.

Unlike the last few days where it has been warm and sunny, the now has taken a furious rise in meteorological aggression; the air is stifling in its humidity, howling winds battering at low buildings and sweeping litter down the streets with extreme prejudice. The darkened skies hold lances of lightning, splitting them apart in blinding forks, heralding the explosive boom of thunderclaps that sound distant, but getting closer in increments. The storm had come without warning, as it often does in the Pacific Northwest, and in Gray Harbor, especially - tourists and pedestrians alike, out to enjoy a late afternoon basking in the heat, scurry off the streets in an effort to take shelter.

Isabella Reede is one of those today, carrying certain things with her that would probably impede her usual working pace if any of them got wet - her satchel carries a laptop, and her folio is full of documents that are necessary for today's research. Caught without an umbrella, she manages to slip into the coffeehouse before the deluge can truly pour, the twist of her hair burdened by water and leaving drops of it tricking down the hollow of her throat, and spools of dark tresses to cling to her cheeks. The jacket helps, though not much, made out of light fabric as it was and dyed a pale gray, pulled over a loose red top over jeans and sandals, her moonstone pendant swinging against her heart. She doesn't tend to fuss too much over her appearance, preferring that precise balance between stylish and practical - she often appears with minimal to no cosmetics, her complexion softened and protected by ocean-safe sunscreen and lips touched with clear gloss. That proclivity holds true today as it does almost every day.

"Jesus Christ," she murmurs, staring incredulously at the weather outside and shaking out her lapels, drops scattering over the floor in the doing. With a quiet sigh, and a brief check on the contents of her satchel, she starts moving for the counter. While she's here, she might as well, though considering the unbearable heat, she could use something cold instead.

You know those days where you're tired of being in the doldrums and you dress and plan the day to make cute and better happen? Well. Lilith Winslow did that, but Gray Harbor weather being what it is also rather pissed on that given she hasn't replaced the car she wrecked yet. So when a new flare of weather picked up after she thought it was dying down, she's proven wrong and decides to have her taxi ride drop her to have coffee instead of wrangling groceries in the rain, which was her original destination.

So even though she's dropped off right out front, she comes in a little wet, cussing under her breath, and windblown sulky scowls because OF COURSE she wore a nice little white tie blouse today, of course she did. After clicking her tongue at herself, she pulls a sweater out of her shoulder bag, a little charcoal button up cardigan to pull on open and loose, at least making her ensemble modest once more. She's opted for a fit and flare little violet summer skirt with silver lacing sandals to go with that airy blouse now partially concealed by sweater and she has a little bit of casual accent cosmetics on her face she's trying to keep from drip running with rain, fingers swiping under her eyes briefly while she puts herself back together appearancewise right inside the door.

After tugging in a breath, she gets out The Sparrow to presumably read with coffee, but then she pauses as she sees a familiaresque face kind of pissy about the same thing. Damn Gray Harbor weather. And it's someone she's been meaning to talk to once some of her ducks were back in order, "... hey, Isabella. Are you about to work on something, or do you want to sit together?" She puts on a vaguely reserved, almost shy little smile there for a beat, even though she's forward instead of shy nine times out of ten. Circumstances do what they do in life sometimes and make a little awkward here and there.

Despite having been caught in the rain, it is extremely difficult not to notice Lilith Winslow; traces of the downpour on her skin and clothing only seem to produce the relatively inequitable effect of making her appear all the more arresting no matter how irritable the accident and for a moment, Isabella visibly pauses, green, gold-flecked eyes falling on blue ones that look almost amethystine when caught under the right light. The shy little smile on her features only enhances the effect.

"Lilith, hi!" she finally says, shaking herself out of the small bubble of surprise she had fallen into after seeing her. An accusing glance at the weather with those brimming shards of exasperation. "I mean, I shouldn't be surprised, but seriously, today of all days."

There's a glance to the interior and extends a hand out in a gesture for the other woman to go first. "Please, that would be great. Best thing about being a consultant is that you get to figure out your own hours, I can have a coffee and talk to someone if I want to." She flashes her fellow brunette a wink, though that spark of levity fades as she takes a heartbeat or two of silent observance. "I've actually been wondering how you were, lately, but I didn't...want to intrude."

"Likewise. I was going to come by the hospital once I caught wind, but I also know that... being seen vulnerable isn't my personal strong suite, I imagine it goes much the same for you. Time was probably better to let us find some kind of baseline again. That and I don't... want some of the questions I have to sound a certain way and I think space and time helps with that, to boot." Lilith exhales and looks a little relieved and turns downright gush chatty there for a beat, a more genuine and slanted measure of smile lopsiding her features. Her hand works back through damp hair to knock it from fall into her face, and she steps forward with the gesture to go pick a place for setting up out of the way in the cafe.

She clearly knows certain subjects are going to come up and the woman is situating them out of the way just so. But not far enough away not to get coffee service, of course! While settling down, she orders a dark brew coffee with extra espresso and a mere splash of cream to curl around in it for softening the bitterness, but mostly, she seems to want the burn and abuse of good black espresso in bulk. Tucking the book away, she tells Isabella, "You look lovely, as seems trend. I hope you didn't have to stay in the hospital too long. They ah... have a particular way about their doctors, I can't imagine balancing that with, you know, things like insurance and explaining discharge on charts."

Her right hand lifts to show her middle finger with wiggle, "Was sheared clean off and I was damn glad for running into the doctor or nurses, I did. Granted, it might have been a little nice and vulgar to have a nasty finger scarred up to flip the bird with. Kind of drives the point home when you have a nasty finger to go flipping at people."

That small insight to her own foibles has Isabella blinking once, but her surprise is a fleeting thing and she can't help but laugh. "I guess I'm not exactly subtle when it comes to that sort of thing," she says, having the good grace to look sheepish. "Though really in the end, I'd rather someone just ask me straight than not. I guess it bodes well for us that we can actually somewhat anticipate each other's moods in that fashion - I mean, it's been over a decade since high school." When she certainly wouldn't have been so considerate of another person's feelings; the years have certainly improved her there, somewhat, but there was a reason why she was never as popular as her twin brother.

She likes her coffee black, also; strong and unadorned save for a splash of cream like hers, having developed a slight aversion to too-sweet things in the onset of her adulthood and once that's obtained, she is content to follow where Lilith leads, pushing her work away for the time being in favor of sitting across from the other woman directly and curling her fingers around her cup. There's a faint smile and a slight tilt of her head. "Just a week ago, I thought to myself that I would take intact if I could just get moving again, the hospital stay was almost unbearable, I felt sorry for the nurses who had to look after me. But if I can pull off lovely from you, I can take that straight to the bank." There's mischief there, before it softens. "You look beautiful as always...and alive." The last clearly the most important thing of all, and by the pitch and inflection of that low contralto, the archaeologist means more than just physically; much like a few others in her life, Lilith burns like the sun.

The glance at her middle finger brings a hint of startlement there, also, before a closer inspection. "I've heard it said once or twice that scars really bring something to the table no matter the situation," she says, her grin broad enough to chase an errant dimple from her left cheek. She hooks her pinky on the neckline of her top, pushing it aside to show Lilith yet another imperfection marring her light tan - the thin crossing lines of a scar the sutures had made closing a gunshot wound dangerously close to her heart. "X marks the spot. But I was never above tempting fate, anyway." Something rueful returns to her expression. "Definitely not winning any beauty contests anytime soon, though. Between the two of us, you're going to have to bring home the trophy."

It's light banter, punctuated by absent sips of coffee. "How are you doing?" she asks, folding her arms on the table. "Anything I can help with? To make up for the fact that I was nigh-near useless in the thing that I was supposed to help you with." The last is good-humored still, in a self-deprecating way, but there are traces there of genuine aggravation.

"I... it's strange. I know that Hank was... what he was, but... it's strange not to have that around to clean up after, too. It feels a little too quiet after that and.... all the noise inside. I wasn't quite alone for a good month, I suppose, considering the influence of the... item and how I touched it." Lilith starts with a knit of her brows, lifting her coffee cup to sip from and nurse and blow down into after a quick little semblance of charmed smile for the compliment of being... alive more than anything. Because she is, and Isabella saying that reminds her of just that, even though it's hard some days recently to really feel that way inside. Her eyes make a path to the indicated scarring, though, on the other woman after initial survey on gesture, wandering back when finished speaking with a bit of context prelude.

After clicking her tongue a few times, she decides, in better summary with a tiny shift of her seated posture to something more upright, "I'll be fine when it's time to be fine, though. That's what matters. It's like I told Byron after it was all done... everything hurt inside and out, in so many ways... and the quiet was just as loud as the roar when it came back on me and I only had silence and my own thoughts inside. But the important thing to feel is... free. And as long as I can appreciate that instead of the damages, it's what matters from here. Just that battle, you know?" After wetting her lips, she ticks her head toward the woman's recovering/marked body, more serious with tack on, despite her slow hesitation.

"If you ever want to be... not in the hospital in the event something... bad happens to your body, you can have someone call me or bring you to my loft. I... well. I have reserves about using my abilities in certain ways, but if I feel a particular bond or reason with someone, it's easier. And I understand not wanting to sit in that damn place and that... things do happen." That offer made for future circumstances of the Gray Harbor variety, she puts the Ring and past context related to it aside for a moment to make a more direct inquiry while looking at the other woman, bare knit to her brows with concern.

"You were... close to your mother, though? Or at least friendly? That... must have been quite a blow. You're handling that part okay? I know mourning tends to put additional stress on other things that need dealing. And you're certainly not in the clear as far as dealing-with-madness-and-mayhem goes, I gather."

Rumors about Hank Winslow were prevalent growing up and while Isabella manages to maintain a relatively steady face, there's a subtle tic at the hinge of her jaw that suggests that she is constantly aggrieved by the fact that most of her peers seemed to have home lives steeped in some kind of adversity; her standards for fatherhood are extremely high. She does not speak ill of the dead, however, studying the nuances of the pale, lovely expressions before her and letting them notify her that while the two of them largely lead parallel lives that do not tend to cross with the exception of certain occasions, there are certain glaring commonalities, the most immediate being the two of them aren't fine. At least, not yet.

She doesn't speak until Lilith is done giving her a quiet picture of her present state, introducing these new, freely-offered (or so she hopes, being the sort to make a conscious effort to never impose) pieces into the ever-shifting, evolving kaleidoscope of the woman sitting before her in the back of her mind. Her colors, her shapes, forever illuminated by the radiant corona of her frightening potential and reminding her, unfailingly, of her twin, the genius. Her lips touch the rim of her cup. "You never really struck me as the caged bird type," she murmurs at last, a smile that hints at commiseration directed her way. "I mean...I know it's hard, though. No matter what else you endured, I don't hold any pretensions that anything of what you've gone through..." Not just the most recent events, but her life, and all the rumors that she had heard in high school. "...are the sorts of things that you could just scale without time and effort. But I like that you're determined to fight it out. I'm relieved that you are, especially with the picture the rest had managed to paint for me in the bridge incident. I hope you know..."

She pauses, chewing on her bottom lip, because she is not good with feelings, and often jokes about the fact that she tends to be ridiculously allergic to them. "I know we don't really know each other very well, but...if it gets bad..." And then, a wry twist to her mouth. "And you don't want to deal with Ronnie for whatever reason, you can call me any time, no matter the hour." She hunts around her bag, so she could slip her card across the table to Lilith. "And I really appreciate the offer, I hope you won't mind if I take you up on it now and then, if it's not too much of a strain."

Talk about her mother has her glancing down at her cup, that rueful expression returning, though she is silent for so long that she may very well be divining the future from the surface of her coffee. With a breath taken, she seems to make a decision, looking up to meet those blue-violet irises across the way. "Honestly, my relationship with her wasn't the same after my brother..." She pauses, her voice trailing off. "....but we were her only two children, and she did her best. I didn't have any doubts that she cared about me the way I did for her. I just didn't make it easy, like any other rebellious child on the planet." A faint smirk, but one that fades slowly. "I hate..." She halts, feeling the slow tightening of her fingers around her cup, hot filaments of unaddressed rage curling up the sides of her face, but she manages to find her center and she forces herself to let go. "...I really only got involved in all of this because I wanted to keep her safe."

After a moment, she lets loose an exhale, and shakes her head. "Rough few weeks for the both of us, I think. But I'm equally confident that you and I will get through it." She makes a big show of eyeing her sidelong, a half-smile on her lips. "I hear you're a force to be reckoned with, in your own way."

"No. I make my own walls, no need for cages. But I'm working on that too, I suppose. I let fear and other emotions dead end a lot of my life for a very long time. I did damage when I thought I was doing the only thing I could do. But with as strong as I was, and confused and uncontrolled with my growing situation added in, it just... powderkeg, I suppose." Lilith takes the card from Isabella while speaking aloud, a vaguely thoughtful, past reflecting cadence and drag to her quiet tone of voice. Then she smiles some with a ghosting of sheer genuine gratitude and general loveliness like a smile she can actually feel, instead of one of those half-measures, taking to pulling out her phone to text the number on the card for Isabella to have her number as well. Acceptance. Steps. Letting people... in. Or at least the means to do so, and that feels like something for her as a twinge deep down.

It's a far cry from shut everyone out high school Lilith in all black, or maybe even the adult she's become as a result. But certain things... they remind you that alone isn't...the best way to be a lot of the time, no matter why you think it's the best path at the time. The bridge is a keen reminder. Which she brings up after listening to Isabella keenly about her mother with a small nod of her head, tucking phone away after, "I never had a mother. I don't think, though, that they're supposed to be completely easy. I think the love and care is the main part and I'm sorry you don't have that now, from her." She pauses, "And I know, even without fully knowing your circumstances in regards to what happened... it's hard not to feel responsible. Which is the worst part about Hank, for me, and I'm picking up a little of that from you too. It's hard to admit that some things are bigger than us and just... out of hands, sometimes, to horrible results."

After drinking from her coffee long, though, now that it's cooled, the brunette continues with a considering tilt of her head, "Here's the thing about you feeling like you weren't able to help with the ring issue. I think that it... you were the result that was needed for others to see. Yes, I was wary because of that, and I'm terrible guilty about not putting my foot down about exposing you and Magnolia like we did, however...." Her lips do a bit of a twist off to one side, "Byron and I were always going to smoke and mirror any effects we had ourselves and people would have missed it. And we might have seriously hurt or killed each other if others hadn't shown. I might have killed everyone else trying to take it from me if Alexander hadn't been there and prepared. So it all kind of... we had our parts, I suppose, in the end, to make sure terrible wasn't more terrible."

Lilith's brows knit down a little, confessing before she poses inquiry, "I kept having a dream from overhead after it was done. When I was in the hospital and when I was home and very drunk. And I'll tell you about it, but before I forget... Alexander mentioned briefly when I asked about what you found on the ring.... it's from different makes? Deliberately so or just... time seeing new settings?"

The fact that Lilith is being so candid about her struggles is also a surprising thing to her, but it isn't a thing that Isabella takes for granted - her career is, ultimately, about people and the way they've lived their lives, piecing together what they had managed to leave behind to attempt to reconstruct them, and learn from them. In many ways, the young woman before her is doing the same thing with her own history. While the green-eyed archaeologist is overall wordless at her companion's present musings, her silence is not a passive or disinterested thing; her attention is a fixed, unyielding thing imbued with its own intensity, placing Lilith in the middle of an empty stage and taking up all of its light, the rest of the world falling away, discarded in favor of these precious reflections. Absent fingers reach for her own device, withdrawing briefly from her scrutiny so she could look at the text and edit the information to include her profile and adding her in her list of contacts - a growing list from what had begun as a relatively empty page, the longer she stays in her hometown.

She sets her phone face down on the table, linking her hands together on top of it. "I didn't know that," she tells her. She's only ever heard of Hank, having assumed for the longest time that Mrs. Winslow, whoever she had been, had died before she could remember her mention in any significant way, but the fact that Lilith has never known her is just another tragedy added upon the mosaic of her tumultuous early life. "I wish you had - known her, I mean. I would want to know. It's something I can't help." Her wry smile returns there - Academia means the relentless pursuit for answers, and asking so many questions. "Have you ever wondered who she was?" Her sympathy softens the look of her, unable to help but give her companion a sense that at the very least some of her words hit the mark - about how difficult it is to absolve oneself of the guilt, how much of a struggle it truly is not to think that the associated failure is one's own.

"Having a conscience is a blessing," is what she says at last, lips quirking upwards faintly; there's a sense of gratitude also, to hear it from someone who is coming from the same or similar place. "I think you and I can agree it can be a righteous pain in the ass in the current circumstances though, sometimes."

How Lilith interprets their circumstances does give the scholar-at-large a pause, and by the expression on her face - too reflective, in the end, of what she is feeling despite not saying a word about it - she would be able to easily determine that it is one that Isabella has not considered before, and a thoughtful silence descends...followed by a low laugh, tilting her head back a little bit. "You know," she tells her. "What I just said, I had to hear something similar from Byron, how he felt after all of it. About how he could have killed you and put you in danger. I told him that if he hadn't done what he did to track you down, then Alexander probably wouldn't have been able to find either of you. Miss Jones, also. Now I'm hearing the same thing from you, without having realized all this time that it could be interpreted similarly for any of us that were involved. In retrospect..." Her grin manifests again. "It couldn't have happened to a more ridiculous group of people, but at the same time, like what you're getting at, if it hadn't been us...who knows who else it could've hurt. It could have gone on destroying more lives if it hadn't come into your business."

There's a glance at her coffee, her finger tapping on it. "Maybe we really are uniquely equipped to live right outside the gates of Tartarus," she murmurs absently.

Her attention draws back upwards, curiosity - and no small measure of concern, as always with Dreams - brimming in those green-gold depths. "It is," she says, tucking her phone away. "Alexander went full scorched earth on my research on the subject, so I don't know where my materials are pertaining to the Ring." There's slight exasperation, but unmitigated affection, also, at the mention of the very unlikely person she had fallen in with after that entire ordeal. "But I remember what I found before the obsession for it claimed me. The amethyst - the main stone, it's impossible to date. Not without tests, and the inquiries I posed to my colleagues denoted that it couldn't possibly be a genuine artifact, that it was a fake. But I'm relatively certain that the scaraboei are Ancient Egyptian - 18th Dynasty, around the time of its most famous pharaohs. It's considered the first dynasty of the New Kingdom period - Akhenaten the Heretic, Tutankhamun and the like. But the setting is clearly sixteenth century, during the Renaissance. It had a double-headed snake, which has different meanings depending on the culture, but if we're going by the Egyptian theme, the old belief system indicated that a double-headed snake guarded the entrance of Duat - their Hades, basically. But the symbolism could be alchemical, also, which would fit right in an era where the likes of Nicolaus Copernicus, John Dee and Leonardo da Vinci were making their marks on the world. The band was inscribed with astrological symbols along it. Byron took some really good pictures."

She takes another drink of her coffee. "I'm not particularly sure if it's by design, or if someone just found a giant purple stone and decided it would look pretty with that setting. Considering the symbols - astrology, the double-headed snake, the scarabs that symbolize eternity, and the aesthetic choices, though, I find it really hard to believe it was by chance. Whoever put it together, I think, had some idea that the gem was unusual."

"I used to wonder, but... Hank... mm. I was just very accustomed to having what I had and that's that. It... might be something to look into now as an adult. Though I'm not sure to what end. I'm not even sure if she ran out or died or.... what happened, really. The word "gone" is very broad when someone wants it to be." Lilith tells Isabella in regards to mothers, or rather lack thereof, one of her narrow shoulders pulling a few degrees with tiny, uncertain shrug. After wetting her lips, she drains the rest of her coffee and orders a refill with wave at a passing server, as well as some cheese and fruit danishes for kicks and stomach buffer, enough for her and company with variety, "Sometimes opening doors that hide secrets... eh. You have to be real ready. And I don't think I ever really hit that point because I'm kind of an avoidant and stubborn shitheel when I want to be." The last bit comes with vaguely deprecating smile that's mildly humored before she shrugs again in full with 'oh well'.

Then she's listening to Isabella's explanation with a bit of a lean forward and a cut of her lashes with pensive thought, finally concluding, "That... was a deliberate construct, then. Fascinating. But not enough for me to want to know too much more. Because I think it might have... taken care of itself. Possibly." She wets her lips and smiles up at the server some before pulling a danish over to start picking apart for eating in pieces. She seems to want something to do with her hands while explaining, even though she's quiet and conversationally calm, "I saw it all from overhead in the dream. What I... was doing and did, but... that's not the important part and it took me a while to see, maybe, why it kept coming about over and over. I thought it was torturing me, but really it was more..."

Her dark head tilts some and she works her bottom lip between her teeth, "When it flew off of me, it was so angry, so rageful. Shadows started following it-- one from the middle of Byron, a tiny one from Magnolia's shoe, mine... was slow and strong but it went down too. Then, though, there were shadows being pulled from other places far away, I assume yours and... whoever else came into contact with it at any point. And they all went down into the water with the stone glowing, so bright, so angry... and when that darkness all got slammed back into it, the water went bright and then nothing. No more urge. It's like there was kickback and it... fell into itself, in a sense. And I don't know if that means that it's gone or fully dormant, or imploded entirely, but the point is we're free and it shouldn't be calling to anyone from the water. I was very pointed about not telling Ruiz where it went when he got nosy about it's wherabouts." She sniffs audibly, "Damned if I was telling him where to comb to stick it in evidence room to drive whole forces mad."

The word 'gone' is very broad when someone wants it to be.

Something about that statement causes a subtle change - more felt than seen, though the glimpse of it is faint, buffered well by the waitress arriving to refill Lilith's coffee and to place the fruit and cheese danishes on the table; savory and sweet, and Isabella seems grateful for the foresight on food. While she loves it, she tends to forget it and the sight of them is enough to remind her that she hasn't had anything but coffee the entire day. But she waits until the woman across from her makes her pick, before selecting her own, tearing off a piece of it, her growing smile hidden past layers of flaky pastry. Avoidant and a stubborn shitheel.

"I think you're alright," she says in reply to that, as casual as can be, good humor present in the line of her mouth, followed by a cheeky: "But you can count on me to tell you if that changes." She chews carefully on her danish, before adding: "The problem with this town is that sometimes it doesn't really give you much of a choice as to which doors open at any given time, and what comes out of them."

This time, however, it is she who leans forward, listening intently to Lilith's explanation about the ring and its (hopefully) final fate. She had not been privy to these details, at least not on this level, and every word draws the growth of a thoughtful frown on Isabella's lips the further it goes on. Not just the words, but also the way the young woman starts to tear her own pastry apart, to occupy her fingers.

"You felt it?" she murmurs, stirrings of her earlier concern growing in prominence. Alexander has always been emphatic over the fact that he suspected Lilith to be a healer, and who can reverse the act if she was given enough impetus to do it. Reading objects - its emotional impressions - sounded more like the investigator's and Byron's specialty, and the fact that the object was radiating that much fury was startling, and more than just a little worrisome. Mention of the shadows has her fingers pausing from her own pastry-tearing, tension manifesting on the side of her throat, along the vital, life-giving vein, suddenly ticking rapidly like a disturbed metronome.

She manages to work a few words out: "I wasn't there, but if you saw it clearly in the dream, and we're not feeling it now suggests that you're probably right that it was neutralized, somehow. But...while you were actually there and awake, you didn't remember seeing anything like that? You only saw those details in the dream, when you had a bird's-eye view?"

After a brief pause, and somewhat hesitantly, but quietly: "Do you know anything about them? The shadows?"

"Yes. I felt it in the dream. And outside I felt... it's difficult to know what I felt as myself and as the effect of the gem when it was happening, but in the moment it was ripped, I wasn't just screaming with pain, it was rage and loss too. When the dream was over and I keyed into that rage belonging to the gem and being so poignant, I just... felt used. Like its whore. It made love to me with all this light inside." Lilith turns to obvious speculation given the way she leans forward onto her forearms and chews a piece of danish for a thoughtful moment, her fine brows ticked into knit of subtle frown.

"You see, I couldn't not touch it. The two guys, they felt the call and other things too like dread that stopped them, but me? I was drawn to the light like a moth to the flame that day it all started. I touched it or the world would end. That was that. And when I touched it, it... trembled inside, like life, and I've never had a man make love to me, but that's what... I imagine that moment was, not just seduction, something twisted to feel like us becoming one. It was intimate and I..." Lilith has to take a moment here to cut her profile to Isabella with bothered thought, "I think it's because... I'm too strong and it wanted someone strong. It was made of light that casts shadows that infect. I do that too. Sometimes, I used to see them in the mirror. When you're too bright, it stands to reason you cast longer shadows. That gem was so very brilliant and dazzling inside... when it was lighting the water and filled with all the shadows it cast... it had to be something insanely powerful, by that logic."

Quietly, Lilith draws in a short and sharp audible breath through her nose before looking back at Isabella with a tinge of a smile, "Theory about these things is what it is, though. Essentially I imagine everyone it shined on caught a shadow in some fashion, thin or thick." She pauses and cants her head a little, "Why? Has something else had shadow that you've been dealing with?"

It wanted her.

The realization slowly poisons her from within, renders her lightheaded; the description of the experience resonates in a way that returns that old fear, skeletal fingers of it raking down her back. And why wouldn't it? To her, it wasn't unheard of for such things to be drawn to those who were as bright as Lilith, Alexander...her brother. Intense, brilliant, superbly talented, and unafraid - at least these days - to use what they've been given. Isabella's fingers close tightly into her cup of coffee again, looking at a spot over the woman's shoulder, taking a slow, deep breath.

"I think you're right," is what she says, finally, her voice low - nevermind the fact that think sounds suspiciously like know. After a long moment of silence, she continues: "Byron never held back from telling me how close it had been for you, but a lot of it had been the physical circumstances." How she got shot. How she was found with a rope around her neck. How the worst could have happened if she lost her footing on the bridge. "But I never realized until now just how much. I'm...glad you got out of it. That you were torn away from it."

The cant of Lilith's head draws the eye, before she takes another pull of her coffee, letting the faint bitterness return her focus and easing back against her chair. After watching the woman in front of her, and how her extrasensory abilities register the way she emanates nuclear brightness, she lets out another sigh in turn as she leans forward, her fingers linking together. "A photograph," she tells her. "I can't see the shadows in it, myself, but Alexander can, and Byron can. Of my direct ancestor presiding over what looks like the fiery execution of six women." Her mouth adopts a humorless twist. "He was a preacher. But the thing about the photograph is that it isn't an original, and I guess if you're strong enough in a particular specialty with the Talent, you'd be able to see it. Shadows coming from him, no matter how many times the photograph is reproduced. Alexander suspects the original, whatever happened to it, must be a powerful object to be able to keep giving off those impressions no matter how many times it's copied. It reminded me of what you said about the Ring."

She rubs her eyes with her fingertips. "That picture was how I managed to get involved in....all of this...to begin with." She waves a hand vaguely to the side. "Alexander was convinced that there's something unusual attached to the deaths associated with my mother's family across generations, why they keep dying or vanishing in Gray Harbor. Byron knew about his investigation, so when he and I ran into each other again a few days after I returned, he introduced us. That was how I realized my mother could be in danger. I wanted to prevent it. Whatever that's about, I think, is tied deeply with the real history of this town."

That gnawing sense of failure returns, threatening to swallow her stomach. After another breath, she finds Lilith's eyes again. "Are you still dreaming about them?" she asks. "The shadows?"

"Not any specific ones like that once I figured out what I was seeing. I've always had nightmares or started viewing my own reflection funny sometimes, and that makes... alternate perceptions that can be pretty... I mean, there's... it's not just about the power and light when someone is like me. Or maybe it is and I'm just unlucky. I've always had a lot of kickback from getting... to be too much in a way I couldn't handle or understand too fast, maybe. There's times when I feel dread and my due and what I'm... capable of and it just..." Lilith pauses and flats her lips, voice dropping, "...that's why I stopped talking to Byron back when I-- I used to have dreams over and over about ripping into him, sometimes against my will. Still did occasionally after returning home. And heh. Guess it almost came true anyway--bunch of good ripping my life out at the roots to protect him did."

Lilith drinks a long swill of coffee and drops her lashes after that small, bitterly vehement commentary at the tail end of the explanation to consider the other woman. Then she shakes her head some, puts the coffee cup down and sits back to look at Isabella, instead, with a massive amount of redirected focus, thought, and concern, "Hank was only at the bridge because he was my blood. It echoed that hard inside me, I believe that and the Michael's family link helped that idea. There may be something or someone still in existence that... is marking your blood too, from the sounds of it. Something old from the feud, maybe. We think the ring was constructed, for instance, for 'bad mojo' if we had to guess based on what we know and what you found, don't we? I don't think it's the same item, but if you apply the same principle..."

Lilith turns a hand over on the tabletop for a moment, then shifts and reaches for Isabella's arm, squeezing down with a soft sigh and an intensely serious cast to her fine features, "I lived through... more than people realize. I couldn't even go up and down my loft stairs without the simple act of trying to go up and go to bed... trying to take me out. I exploded my damn car. All the shelves used to try to fall on me for about a week straight, it-- you've got this. And I'm sorry your mother didn't make it, but you are ready. I don't know if it's a spirit source from a person infecting your bloodline or some stashed item that gave the man power that needs to be found, but... something can't make shadows to run long over everyone if you kill the light. Just need to find the power source, I bet, mm?"

"Mind you, this is blind logic, I only know bits of what Byron's been dealing with and that you're tied to it. But sometimes we're in too thick to see things so maybe having something outside to consider... helps."

Her face hardens into a gold-toned mask when Lilith opens up about her experiences, and how terrifying it must've been for her. It hadn't been like that in her childhood, and once again Isabella is left gritting her teeth at how unfair it all seemed - that she should suffer, and relive these terrors by herself, while so young. By comparison, she had been fortunate - back in their youth, the Talent was something magical to her, something to be embraced, and she had the additional benefit of being bonded mentally, emotionally and spiritually with a savant, who completed her in ways no one ever could.

Until it happened.

The truth comes out in a whisper, finally introduced to what truly caused the rift between her childhood friend and rival and the girl he loved - possibly the only one he will ever love - and that hard facade softens palpably, because who couldn't understand that? Watching her for a heartbeat or two, her contralto lowers further in favor of the confidences being imparted. "He was confused, those years," she tells her. "Why you would just...he would get so distracted. He tried to hide it, but I knew him pretty well, and I would like to think I still do. Thinking of you, and trying to figure out why. But that night on the bridge, he doesn't blame you for it, if he hasn't told you that himself already. I know how that is, though." It is her turn to look self-deprecating. "Feeling culpable regardless of how many times the subject absolves you of a sin."

She listens to the theory with the same, quiet intensity of a young woman who tends to prefer to sharpen her wits on a mystery, and the look of open appreciation she wears makes that evident enough, milking as much wisdom from another's harrowing personal experience as she can, especially when Lilith is imparting her opinions so freely - and she is not a novice when it comes to such things, rendering it all the moreso valuable. What the other woman describes is confusing, terrifying, but curses are what they are and once again she is silently grateful to Alexander Clayton and Magnolia Jones for being instrumental in keeping her alive.

Eyes flicker when that delicate, pale hand touches her forearm, the quiet words exchanged in between the shadows their faces and bodies cast on the table. You are ready, and in spite of the fledgling nature of their connection, something in her rises like a sudden squall, burdened with the desire to tell her. Tell her everything. She isn't Alexander. She isn't Byron. But when she sounds so certain and sure of it, she is torn between the urge to want to believe her and all the reasons why she thinks she isn't - to confess all of her sins.

Just need to find the power source, I bet.

"If you're right, I have a few ideas," she tells Lilith quietly - though that doesn't escape her notice, either, with the terms she tends to use, and wonders privately whether the young woman had an interest in mechanics or science. "The problem isn't identifying it, but gaining access to it." She dips her head closer to her companion, lowering her voice. "There's a theory that the people who run this town may have dealings with these things, and they're extremely protective of their saw mill."

Her hand finally moves, at that, to rest lightly over those porcelain knuckles, giving her a warm, tentative squeeze. "I hate that you had to go through all of that alone," she confesses. "You...and Ronnie, too. That most of the people I know and have grown to care about here tend to follow this sort of pattern, in different ways, but they're no less galling, no matter how similar the experience. Pieces still get broken off, and usually nobody's that lucky enough to find them again to reassemble what was damaged."

Green-gold eyes find Lilith's near-violet ones. "The more talented you are, the more they'll want you. So...I mean it, Lilith. If it gets bad, if it doesn't stop, or if it gets worse, whatever the hour, call me." She pauses, and then smiles ruefully. "Or call Byron, and then call me."

Lilith works her bottom lip between her teeth hard, the trapped flush there turning pale with pinch as the lip is manipulated when the subject turns to Byron and his confusion and hurt and it's hard not to bust out that he was better off, that he still is, that she was never going to fit what he fought his whole life to make-- something better for himself, everything just so, controlled and picturesque the way it should be for him.

She didn't fit that before. She still doesn't. But none of that habitual trailer-trash inhibited self-esteem burn can hold a candle to the guilt of making Byron spend years confused and hurt because of it. He's better off now, though. Isn't he?

"Mostly, I just tough it out. I... Byron is always busy and he has a life, so I contact him somewhat sparingly to make sure he's doing alright if we aren't in a circumstance that has us seeing each other... more. The option and offer is nice to have. Especially from someone that knows what the trenches are like, to a degree." Lilith clasps Isabella's hand with quiet warmth at resonance, gradually dragging hands away to pick up a piece of danish edge for pop into her mouth. Her eyes are a touch far away for a spell, despite the tone of her voice conveying as open and direct with gratitude. Lilith may be spells of blunt or direct openness, then even more spells of certain walls or reserve, but it kind of works to make the things that do come out of her carry a lot more weight, including smiles and emotion, those things laced through and seen and felt just a little bit more than people that operate in the constant realm of social niceties or social butterflies.

After a moment, Lilith blurts out, blinking a few times fast, "The Sawmill? That actually... hell. Now I want to go in and deconstruct it and pretend there aren't about fifty seven hundred ghost stories about the place." She slants a lopsided smile at Isabella and bats her lashes a couple of pointed times, "Sometimes it's less scary and more convenient to have a wrecking ball around." The woman pauses again, absolute tangential byline coming to her in murmur, "... I wonder how much of the machinery is still operational." She pauses, "... do you need help breaking things?"

She doesn't stop her when Lilith pulls her hands away, Isabella releasing those knuckles so she could also start eating her nearly-forgotten danish, suddenly starving because it's gone in a blink of an eye, further evidence of the archaeologist's tendency to eat her feelings when emotionally stressed. Coffee left lukewarm, she pushes the rest of the cup aside, watching those expressions flit over the other woman's face. The uncertainty, ripples of remembered and present emotions.

If nothing else, she really ought not to interject here, she promised herself she wouldn't touch the subject of Byron's relationships with a ten foot cattle prod, but she can't help but sympathize, because she knows what that is like - to feel like you've lost someone so inherently part of your life that it never feels complete again, and all because of something that was deemed necessary.

"You know that if you do tough it out, and something does happen, nothing would stop him from involving himself the moment he finds out, right?" she wonders, though she doesn't press it. She lets it hang - but in the end, she suspects that Lilith knows this already. Still, the gratitude is warmly reflected and received, her smile finally returns, visible and real, emerging from the ghost of its earlier, less substantial self. "Seriously, once he's fired up, that guy is ridiculously tenacious. I like to think I taught him everything he knows about that." She didn't, really, but she's clearly jesting in that regard, playing up their ridiculous rivalry their entire lives. "But yeah, it's always open - the offer, and the option."

She pauses from taking one last swallow of her coffee before she gives up on it entirely, at the batting of those lashes and those big doe-eyes, and she can't help but laugh. It feels good to, after several minutes of serious conversation, feeling iron bands of tension unwind from her chest and shoulders in the doing. "Always," she tells her, regarding assistance with breaking things, determination, that brazen, reckless confidence that fuels a certain tendency to kick doors down and storm in whenever she feels the need, lighting up her eyes and leaving them glowing like emerald embers. "When the time comes, you're on the list."

There's a glance sideways at the windows. The storm has abated, leaving the heart of the city awash in nothing but a faint drizzle, and she exhales a quiet breath. "Anyway, I should probably get back to work." She reaches into her satchel, to produce her wallet - she clearly intends to pay for both of them. "You get the next time?" she offers.

After a moment searching the other woman's features, her smile reappears. "You're right, by the way," she tells her. "It helps to have someone around who can deliver a fresh perspective."

"I know. But he also likes things handled his own way. Which..." Lilith tilts her head as if she doesn't need to say any thing more about that to Isabella, starting with a light joke and a little blow of her cheeks before she repeats more softly and seriously, "I know." Then she nods one solid time and holds her breath in brief to the next bit, flashing on a melt of a full smile for the woman across the table in brief that's raw gratitude before it tapers off back and away to more typical calm reserve and tinge of lingering at her lips, "And thank you. I may well take you up on it at some point."

"Especially if..." Lilith rises up with Isabella claiming a need to work, tipping her head with agreement and gratitude to the wallet pulling bit as well on the way to standing. She adjusts the cardigan around herself and breathes out a quiet half-laugh to herself before finishing the sentence for the other woman's benefit and sake, "You're going to call me to break things. Kind of nice to think of myself as useful, not a liability. Just point me at something, it's all good from there."

"Anyway, I'll let you get back to work and we'll... get into wine next time to have a little less nerve-amping chat, mm? It was nice to... get to talk to you. I don't really talk to people as much as I should, I have trouble attaining a level of comfort with... I don't know, I'm weird. But take care, be safe, and good luck with your work, hey." She pauses and puts her hands into her little sweater pockets while rocking back on her heels once the shoulder bag is settled up to go, "And yes. I think it does help. I'll see you, pretty lady."

I know..

There's a small grin at that, though she doesn't comment on anything else regarding Byron - either saving it, perhaps as a chaser for whatever liquored nights they may have in the future, or respecting her companion's contemplation in the matter not to press it. "Please do," Isabella says instead, of the option and offer, once she retrieves her satchel, slinging it across her body and picking up her leather folio. A few bills and tip are slipped out of her wallet's confines, to be tucked under their empty plate.

Once they've vacated the table, she falls a step next to her companion as they start crossing the coffeehouse's breadth, her hand sliding in her pocket, other set of fingers reaching up to toy absently on the iridescent gem that she never seems to be without. "I will be, like I said, I heard you're something of a powerhouse in that regard, and some part of me is actually quite eager to see it in action." She winks at her at that. "Especially for that. I'll keep you posted."

She pauses at the door, but only so she could open it for the both of them, the night beckoning them to go on their separate ways. A pivot, a step, is all she needs to turn her body so she could look at her companion and schoolmate, with her hands in her pockets and near-violet eyes, the line of her mouth a slanted, lopsided thing imbued with the devil's own mischief. "Wine, scotch, just let me know and I'll bring whatever you would like," she tells her with a laugh. "But yeah, it was nice getting to talk to you also. Kind of a crime, yeah? All those years attending the same schools, and this is probably the first real conversation we've ever had? By all accounting, we've got a lot of catching up to do."

She tilts her head back and sighs, then angles a look at her fellow brunette sidelong. "You too, Lilith - take care of yourself, and be careful out there. I'll see you soon, hopefully." And then, a brilliant smile crosses her lips, cutting through the black of the evening like a scythe. "Sooner if you keep sweet talking me that way." She dramatically presses a hand to her heart, and playfully pantomimes a stagger out the door.