2019-09-03 - Be Careful What You Ask For

Alexander pays Byron a welfare call and he's bearing gifts.

IC Date: 2019-09-03

OOC Date: 2019-06-17

Location: Bayside Apt/Penthouse

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 1429

Social

Alexander

Byron

All things considered, Alexander isn't difficult to pick out among the minds that usually inhabit the apartments. For one, he has a powerful mental presence that rather stands out. For another, although his mind is protected enough that it's hard to get a sense of his feelings without directly challenging those defenses, or asking to be let in, there's an aura of awareness around him that just doesn't 'fit' for a regular resident of the complex. No matter how attentive to your surroundings you are, a place that you live tends to let certain details go on the back burner, things that have become part of the background; Alexander, by contrast, is almost painfully aware of everything he passes - the eyes of the security guards, the placement of security cameras, the people he passes (and how they stare at him like he does not belong here), doors, windows, vents. Hypervigilant, as if he expects an ambush or an attack and is tense and ready to retaliate.

Even with all of that, when Byron answers the door, he's surprised, and hesitates before actually coming inside. He's got an impressive set of bruises in dark blues and fading greens covering one side of his face, and a light, gauze covering over a wound that is no longer there, just to keep people from asking too many questions. His dress is...typical Alexander, really. A Black Sabbath t-shirt that's at least two sizes too big for him, and reaches all the way down his thighs, old enough that the band logo is barely visible, worn jeans with not-fashionable holes starting to open at the knees, and his old work boots. He is also carrying what looks like a donut box, or a cake box without the clear plastic panel, under one arm, and a small bag with the logo of a local pastry shop in his other hand. He stares at Byron intently for longer than's polite, eyes flicking up and down like he can somehow see under the suit to whatever damage might still remain. "Welfare call, mostly," he admits, as he sidles inside. "I brought pastries. I don't know what you like, so I brought several. Sorry." A flicker of something that might be a smile as Byron makes the obligatory gesture. "Water would be nice, thank you." He follows towards the kitchen, but only as far as finding a place to set the bag and the box down. The box clanks, somewhat.

Another sidelong, searching look at Byron. "How are the ribs?"

After a discussion with Geoff earlier, Byron had been using some of the day to get a better feel of his tenants. While he doesn't go prying into their minds just yet, what does is to sense their presence. Who was home, which apartments were empty and more specifically matching the person to a specific apartment, even if he tries to pick out certain individuals who stand out from the rest in one way or another.

If Byron didn't ask about the bruising on Alexander's face on first greeting, he isn't afraid to inquire about it now, a hand grabbing one of the glasses from a cabinet before he fills it was cool filtered water from the fridge. "I thought Gohl just slit your throat. Didn't realize you got into a fist fight with him too." There's only a short moment of staring, quietly assessing the other man's injury, the bruise aside, his gaze does drift down to the other's bandaged neck. "Some coffee could probably do you good." Because that was Thorne's ambrosia, "But hey, water's not bad either."

There's some disappointment when told that this was merely a welfare call, because he wanted to hear something new, something that would see about shutting Gohl down once and for all.

Joining up with Alexander at the kitchen island, his eyes looking between both packages now, he sets the glass of water besides the box. "By the looks of how much food you'd brought, it's as if you were planning for a party that I didn't know about. The ribs are fine. I practically took a few days off just so I didn't have to move."

"I didn't get into a fight with him," Alexander says, a thread of frustration there. "Didn't have a chance." He touches the bruises. "But it turns out that nearly severing a major artery then having surgery does cause a fair amount of sub-dermal bleeding. Hence, bruising. The healing removed the actual damage. This'll clear up pretty quickly. My doctor was most perturbed." He offers a brief smile. "Coffee's always good, but wouldn't want to impose. The water's fine."

His head tilts a little at the disappointment, and his eyes drop to the counter top, his fingers tapping lightly on it. "Research takes time, Thorne. And yes, I've been informed by Isabella we don't have much. Before various folk decide to enact extreme measures. But there are some possibilities. It's possible that the Johnson's mortuary was burned down because that's the mortuary that the bones were shipped to after they were disinterred. The Addingtons might have been trying to destroy them." A shrug. "It's not definitive."

He blinks at Thorne, confused for a moment. Then laughs, a short, sharp little sound. "Just the stuff in the bag is for eating. I wouldn't recommend it for what's in the box. I try not to judge. But that'd be a little weird." He gestures, inviting Byron to open it, if he wants. Then takes one of the glasses of water to offer a sip. "Closest I can get to fulfilling your request. Sorry."

If Byron does open the box (WHAT'S IN THE BOX??) he is greeted by the sight of a human skull, sitting on a silver-plated plate. The plate is old, and probably from a local antique shop, but has been polished to as much of a shine as it can hold. The skull, assuming Byron is good at identifying such things, is William Gohl's, last seen on an autopsy table.

"Lilith is out for blood, you know." Byron says returning to the kitchen to refill his own coffee mug. "She was the one who reached me first." Not that he'd called 911. "And had to put all of the pieces together alone." There's something about standing next to his espresso machine that makes him fall quiet, unfocused eyes staring down at the mug as it's being filled up with that pick-me-up brew; most likely being reminded of the very moment of the attack.

Despite the glassy expression in his eyes, his mind being pulled elsewhere, he eventually breaks out of his trance in order to top the cup with that frothed milk. "That's the scene you showed me. The Addingtons burning the mortuary. Too bad they didn't succeed in burning those bones. This was before your time, so... you probably wouldn't have been affected." He says probably, because who knows what it would've affected instead. "Speaking of, Bella was the one who gave the Archivist Gohl's ribcage, it came to mind some time afterward when I already on the mend and could think straight. I'd assumed that Archivist nor this Collector would have done anything to it? I mean, it's supposed to go into a collection." A pause, "And unlike you, I have no connection to Gohl or the Baxters at all. So that much was bothering me."

Bringing his espresso drink back to the island, Thorne can't help but quirk a brow when told that the contents of the box was not edible in Clayton's weird way. "My request?" He asks, taking a sip from his mug before setting it down. "Why wouldn't Gohl's coffin be destroyed in the fire?" He asks, a hand reaching to unveil just what Alexander brought him. With the box now open, Byron just stands there and stares. Yes, he sort of recalls making a joke about Gohl's head, but he didn't expect it to be brought to him here if ever. So while it did give him a sudden start, his gaze never leaving the gruesome gift, Byron immediately closes the box up again and quietly returns to sip at his coffee once more. "You shouldn't have. And I mean it."

There's a thoughtful sound from Alexander as he watches Byron. "So you do think that it was Gohl who attacked you? I have doubts, but I'm not certain who else it could have been. Have you upset any other healers, of late? And how is Miss Winslow, other than angry?" Another glance at Byron's chest, and a flicker of a frown. "You should encourage her to take care. Not everything needs to be healed. And it can attract attention that could hurt her."

He moves on after the brief warning, eyes going to the lovely view out the windows as he muses. "Honestly? I think the original coffin was destroyed in the fire, and that's the moment when Gohl escaped, only to captured back into Thomas'...mind? Soul? I'm not certain of the mechanism there, to be honest. Maybe the Addingtons meant to destroy the bones, but someone rescued them, put them into the Veil. I don't know why; I still don't know why the Carrs would even have the bones dug up in the first place. There may be some truth to the accusation the Old Lady was making, that some Baxters want to destroy the town." He clears his throat. "And the rib cage was burned. Believe me, I remember that part. Excruciatingly painful, remember?"

He watches Byron open the box. Eyes widening for just a second with, maybe anticipation? Maybe amusement? Quite possibly both of those. Although when Byron immediately closes it and speaks, he grimaces, apology and disappointment flitting across his features. "Not funny, then. I thought it would be. Sorry." He looks down at the glass in his hands, studying the play of light on water. "The pastries are good, though. No attempts at humor there."

"As far as I'm concerned, there's no one other than Gohl that would have me on their radar." Byron says, sounding a little annoyed by the whole ordeal, "Not anyone who could've done this. So unless some random name comes out of the woodwork who would have targeted me specifically, I'm not going to be convinced that the person who did this was not Gohl. Or Thomas Addington." He'll add that last part there. "Captain de la Vega and I were considering these extreme measures, as you may have been told." Probably by Isabella, "And while I had not committed to any of it, it was on my mind. Would that have been intercepted somehow? Possibly by Margaret Addington?" He shrugs his shoulders, before adding, "Lilith knows what she's doing." A pause, "I wouldn't let anyone other than her touch me if given the choice."

So if this wasn't some aftermath effect by the destruction of Gohl's own ribcage, Byron mentally checks that off his list of reasons.

"Why would the /Carrs/ have dug it up. They went out of their way to change their names, was that a ruse to throw everyone off because they wanted to continue their malicious Baxter plans under guise?" This is spoken in a slightly impatient tone, but there is definite sarcasm there. "If we can summon up ghosts, maybe we should ask some of the elder Carrs to explain themselves."

There's this loss of appetite at the sight of William Gohl's skull, but he takes a peek into the pastry package anyway. "Thinking back on it in hindsight now, there's a million other things I should have asked of you when you requested." If he was going to be so literal about it. He then continues on his own attack because it was the most recent as far as he can tell, "Give me good reason why it wouldn't be Gohl? Because if I need to watch my back due to other assailants who we don't even know, that in itself is disturbing. Unlike with this Gohl incident where I know /who/ to possibly warn, then that just means there's another threat out there."

Alexander's eyes widen a bit. He frowns at Byron. "The Captain told me what he was considering. No one told me that you were involved." And now he sounds a little annoyed, so they can be annoyed together. He starts to pace, his movements restless and a little manic with sudden agitation. "You're not going to be involved in murdering Thomas Addington, even if it needs to be done. You're not going to be involved in murdering anyone, but particularly not an Addington. Aside from the fact that it's wrong, Thorne, I expect you to be smarter than that. Do you really want the Old Lady coming after you? She'll tear apart everything you've built, even if she can't invent evidence to pin the charges against you. Fuck. She had Detective Johnson's relative committed to an insane asylum and lobotomized, and that was just to cover up something Margaret did, I think. Imagine what she'll do if you kill her brother, possessed or no."

He takes a deep breath before he can work himself up into a proper rant, and returns to the counter and his water. Sip, swallow, okay. "That said. I don't think she'd retaliate against you in this manner. I suspect that if Margaret Addington chooses to send a message, she makes damned sure that the message is understood. She'd be more likely to strike at your financials - your festival is still coming up, and I'd expect a 'stay out of my business' note would come via cancellation of permits or new regulations that would make operating very difficult for you." To the remarks about the Carrs, he seems - not oblivious to the sarcasm, judging by the thinning of his lips but determined to consider the question seriously. "Maybe not everyone. Maybe just the Addingtons. Most of the Baxter lines that still exist in the vicinity aren't calling themselves Baxters anymore - and judging by our meeting with the Old Lady, Addington antipathy is alive and well for the family. So, if you have a reason to continue to meddle with the area, for good or for ill, you probably do it under another name." There's an exasperated breath, and he walks away to prowl around and stare at things on the walls. "And I don't think ghosts work like that. But maybe. We could always ask Dr. Kosimar, if you're curious."

There's nothing disgusting or morbid about the pastries! They're wrapped in individual bits of wax paper, and there's some sweet pastries, and a few savory pastries in a variety from one of the nicer pastry shops just down the road. He clearly picked them up on the way, because a couple are still a little warm. "As for a good reason why not Gohl?" He stops his prowling, stares at the wall blankly while he thinks. "It just doesn't fit his methodology, as far as I can tell. Tremendous kill count, but no evidence of torture or sadism. You can do things like what was done to you with healing, and a lot worse besides. But Gohl, when alive, according to the historical records, was a utility killer: he identified victims who wouldn't be missed, killed them, and took their money and possessions. No evidence of prolonged torture or ritual to the killings. And that's remained true now that he's dead. Even Erin's parents - while the methodology doesn't exactly fit the other murders, which bothers me, there's still no evidence of toying with the victims. Even when he--when I--" Alexander stops for a moment, takes a breath, "even in the incident at the seance, with provocation, he went immediately for the fatal move. Arguably, because he didn't want me to strike back, but his penchant for going for the vitals is notably efficient. I think it's about the power of death for him, not about the power of suffering."

He turns around, and offers his hands, palms up. "Which is all circumstantial. But it's categorically impossible to prove a negative; I can't rule out that Gohl decided to target you, and instead of racking up another kill for his list, chose instead to cause you a great deal of pain, but wounds that wouldn't be fatal - or even incapacitating - even if you didn't have a healer on hand." He frowns. "Honestly, if I were investigating your injury as a crime, a wound like that would make me want to track down your personal enemies, first. That sounds like someone wanted you, personally, to hurt. Gohl doesn't really have a motive for wanting you to suffer."

"I wasn't involved no, even if I agreed that it needed to be done." Byron says flat out, "I'd told de la Vega that it would be difficult to find people willing to go to that extreme, though in truth, if their loved ones were in danger, I'm sure many would. If those I cared about were in danger, I may have gone and done it by now." Though as far as Thorne knows, those closest to him are not, Bella aside. "After I had several bones in my chest cracking one by one, I thought to myself... why didn't we take Thomas Addington down. /My/ life might not mean anything to you, Clayton, but I sure as hell would've done anything to have prevented the excruciating pain that I felt from happening."

Taking a sip from his cup, eyes on Alexander, he considers, "Margaret would have to figure out who had done it first. I mean, what could /I/ do to either of them? It obviously wouldn't have been me. Then it would be a guessing game on the who. If word spreads that the old crone was after any number of us, believe me, we'd band together to stop her." He puts that much faith in his social circle. "If you don't want community justice, which another friend of mine brought up if ever the culprit were found, then I hope that you all come up with something soon."

Seeing as there's no way that he and Clayton would see eye to eye on this, he'll move the subject along. While the pastries look delightful, he doesn't have much of an appetite for any of it.

"How were Erin's parents killed? Obviously, the police department refused to release that information to me. Were they slashed like some of the others or was their car tampered with, which is also something that people like Lilith can do-- if those are the same abilities of Thomas Addington." He's not one-hundred percent sure if they share abilities or not, but he knows that it's not one of his own.

A smile forming on his lips, Byron has to laugh here, "Personal enemies? For the most part, that's all in the past. One's been dealt with, the other..." He shrugs his shoulders, his mind hadn't even bothered the idea. "Most of who I deal with are out of town. Out of state even. And I'm pretty sure that none of them can do what we can do either." There's this narrowing of his eyes when Clayton tells him his own wounds. "The last time I had my ribs broken, I nearly died." He'll leave it at that. "There's no other leads to this than Gohl. Or the Addingtons." Now that he thinks about it even if it wasn't done under Gohl's influence.

Alexander's shoulders set in a defensive sort of hunch. "There is nothing in what I just said that states or implies that your life means nothing to me, Thorne." His voice is rough with frustration, eyes near black as he stares flatly at the man for a long, tense moment before turning away. He walks over to the doors to the balcony, shoves his hands in his pockets and stares out at the view. Glares, really, and his hands have knotted into fists in the pockets of his jeans. "Tires blew, at a point on Dead Man's Curve where the railing was conveniently missing due to an earlier incident and had not yet been replaced. Screams 'manufactured accident', which is why I've never been quite sure that it actually was Gohl, or just someone taking advantage of an opportunity. Although Gohl did seem to claim responsibility in his body count during the seance. And, yes, someone with Miss Winslow's abilities could have done it." His mouth twists. "Although, to be honest, someone with a nail strip could have done it, if they were on site to remove it after the crash."

He grimaces. There's this urge to argue about something Byron says bubbling up inside of him, and it's clearly hard for him to keep it inside. All he lets himself say, though, is, "Deviations from a pattern are notable. There's no visible reason for the Addingtons to target you for anything you've done thus far, nor for Gohl to change up an MO that has worked for him quite well so far. It doesn't mean that both of those things didn't happen. Merely that it doesn't match the evidence thus far. But either way, it will be easier to narrow down the cause once one factor has been eliminated, so taking out Gohl remains the most useful path to pursue. At the moment."

While Byron may have added emphasis to this accusation directed at Alexander, he most likely didn't mean any of it. Or at the very least, he was stating fact rather than taking it personally. So when Clayton tries to inform him that this was not the case, all that Thorne does is sip at his hot mug of coffee again, his dull gaze watching the other. The same eyes that now trail behind Alexander when he makes his way across the living room towards the fancy French doors.

"That in itself definitely didn't fit the MO and while it's uncertain, they could have possibly survived the wreckage. At least one of them, but I'll assume that it was Mister Addington who was the target, his wife was just collateral damage." A pause, "Maybe Gohl will just take credit for anything that happens here, but then again, he seems the arrogant sort even if the method used wasn't up to standard."

Perhaps out of morbid curiosity or to give him something to do, Thorne opens the box up once more after setting his coffee mug down and this time he removes the skull from within. He knows what Alexander told him not to do with the skull, in a text when Byron hadn't realized that the man would be here today to drop the thing off. The skull is turned to the side as if he were actually examining it, his eyes lingering on the hard object, almost as if he's reminiscing on something, "I'm sure that Gohl had gone through worse, but I wonder if he ever experienced having his skull crushed. I wonder if /he/, his ghost, actually feels what happens to his bones."

There's this quiet on Thorne's end and one can picture him imagining something, though it most likely has to do with this skull being fractured into many pieces. A slow looks is then given to Alexander, that skull still in his hand. Lucky for Alexander that Byron doesn't plan on trying this out today. Or ever. The skull is returned back to its box. "Where will we find the remnants of the coffin? At the site of the mortuary then? In a dream or the other side?" There's still confusion there.

"I don't know the man well enough to say if he's content to claim credit for murders he didn't actually commit, or not. He might be. He...I do think he enjoys the killing. There's no rhyme or reason to it. Not even any great grudge, maybe. Sometimes he just wants to kill people, so he does." Alexander doesn't sound baffled by this, although he does sound angry. Almost betrayed, in a way. Perhaps by the idea that this person is his blood relation in a disturbingly direct fashion. "I don't have enough reason to question the official line at the moment. I admit, a part of me wants to read that car. But I don't think anyone would let me." A pause. "Maybe the Captain."

A shake of his head as he turns back to Byron, his irritation passing as quickly as it rose. When Byron picks up the skull, there's a moment when he grins. "Alas, poor Yorick," he states, a bit over-dramatic in the moment, struck by the unintentional pose. Then, as Byron goes on, it turns into something a bit more thoughtful, wary. Even his response is more careful, the words coming more slowly as he watches the skull in Byron's hand. "Didn't seem like it. Or, at least, he didn't mention it at the seance, and he didn't seem angry at Isabella for having burned the bones. He was dying anyway, though." A pause. "His ghost...he seemed a little confused about whether he was dead or alive, or...somewhere in between. Also? Never read a corpse that's had its skull cracked open. Not a pleasant experience." Which is the closest he'll apparently get to asking Byron to pretty-please not shatter the skull.

He does let out a perceptible sigh of relief as it goes back in the box. "That's...going to be a bit experimental. Easton saw the coffin in a dream. He's going to share that vision with Isabella, who is going to try to use it to lock on with something she can apparently do, which is 'find lost things'?" A shrug. "I don't know a lot about what the movers do, if I'm honest. I didn't know she could do that. It'd be terribly useful, though. I wonder if 'stolen' counts as lost?" A flicker of a smile. "Make a killing in loss prevention." He walks back across the room to take up the glass of water again, and take a sip.

"I'm sure the Captain will want you to do more than just read a wrecked car." Byron says taking on a casual stance, one hand slipped into a pocket while the other occupies itself with serving him a sip of coffee every once in a while. "But we're all holding back just so you and the others can sort through this shit. At this moment, there's nothing more that I can contribute on, aside from waiting on the sidelines and holding my breath that someone else doesn't die." A pause, "Or have their ribcage ruthlessly shattered. As far as I can tell, there's been no further sensations of distress within the apartments, but of course, somethings can still be missed."

If Byron smiles at Alexander's Hamlet bit, it's incredibly faint, but the expression that he's already wearing is a mixture of wonder and amusement in observation of this skull. "That's unfortunate that the bones can't be used to threaten him with." Obviously, the pain that he went through is something he wants someone else to also endure.

There's then this arch of a brow when Easton is brought up, "He... has our abilities as well?' While the question posed may seem innocent, there's this sharp look in Byron's gaze for a moment before he's practically rolling his eyes. He, personally, had no idea what Marshall could do, only being able to sense others like him. "It's like /everyone/ knows how to do everything." Everyone except for Byron, who's a specialist, apparently! And not a very good one, from what he's learning. But when this is said, it's not said totally out of anger, there's even that smile plastered to his lips. A forced smile.

Taking another gulp of coffee, he asks, "Is there anything else I can help you with? It seems that everything is covered aside from the fact that Gohl is still on the loose. If not," There's a dismissive wave of his free hand once it's removed from his pocket, "I have things to do, but once more, I thank you for the gifts, the whiskey and pastries and... the skull." The skull is something that will most likely be best to not be in Thorne's possession. "Unless you want it back. I don't mind."

"You're reading the complex?" Alexander gives him surprised look. "A good idea. Just be careful. Practice is good, but balance is important. You can attract attention you don't want." His gaze turns to the skull. "If I thought it would end this, I would smash them to powder myself." It's low, only barely conversational volume.

A nod to Byron's question. "He's new to it, I think." He studies the other man's changing expressions. "If there's something you..." His teeth click shut as he stops, shakes his head. A moment of standing there, arms slightly akimbo like a robot unexpectedly shut down as Byron continues.

At the dismissal, he shakes himself and comes close to claim the box and the skull
"Better to keep the rest together, I think. Just in case they prove useful." He gathers it up. "Sorry. For interrupting your day. Don't die, Thorne." With that abrupt parting, Alexander turns on his heel and heads for the door without another word.

"Reading? I like to think of it as scanning. If it helps keep me up-to-date on how my tenants are doing so that we don't have another episode where several of us felt that we were the only ones whose bathroom cabinet irrationally hated us." Byron says before taking a final sip from his cup which is then set down next to the pastries and not the box with the skull in it. "After my own attack and once I was recovered enough to do so without being overly distracted by pain, I thought to myself What if I'm not the only one? What if my tenants were suffering the same fate or worse?" A pause, his words coming out firmly now, "I needed to know if I was the only one."

When Clayton moves to collect Yorick, no Gohl's skull, Byron isn't disappointed. He didn't want it here to begin with, despite the brief fascination with cracking it open. There's this moment where it looks as if he might say something more or inquire about something, but for now, he decides to keep those words to himself to play over in his own mind. "I'll assume that you... or Bella will let me know if something new comes up. And I'll keep you informed if something happens in my part of the world." At Clayton's normal parting greeting, the man in the suit says nothing.

Watching as Alexander leaves, feeling a hint of tension in the air, though it very well could just be him, Byron reaches into his pants pocket to retrieve a pack of cigarettes that he carries for moments where he needs help relaxing. He's not a regular smoker. Just a stress smoker. Tapping one out into his hand, he lips it between his lips before lighting it up with his brilliantly shiny gold lighter. He breathes in a deep breath as he slowly makes his way towards the terrace, pushing this doors out to allow some of the fresh air within, even if he has the AC running.

He hated the waiting. He hated needing to put faith in others in order to see this through. Byron Thorne hated a lot of things; a list that seems to grow with every passing moment. If Clayton was right and the person who attacked him was't Gohl.. but who could it be? And why? This and many other dark thoughts play out in his mind, his nerves being relieved by the sweet poison which he breathes in.