2019-09-12 - Reckless Decisions

The bar is doing a brisk Sunday night business with folks grabbing a late dinner in the fading light of late summer. The windows and doors are open to the deck allowing for a nice warm ocean breeze to blow in through the main bar area. The two waitresses on duty for the night take turns grabbing drinks and running food while both looking very much like they wish they could just go home. Easton is behind the bar tonight, looking a bit fresher than the last few days have seen him. Sure he has a remnant of a black eye, busted lip and there's a bandage around his right forearm but his hair's freshly cut, his beard trimmed and most importantly there aren't huge dark circles under his eyes. He's chatting with the regulars at the bar and occasionally drinking from a pint of beer he has behind the bar. There is some classic rock playing over the speakers inside and out on the deck and in general the place feels very relaxed like a beach bar should.

She's moving visibly slowly after a very rough day.

Isabella Reede has effectively lost track of how many bottles of her father's good scotch that she has consumed in the last night, and if she's being honest, she's amazed, herself, that she hadn't managed to succumb to alcohol poisoning the night before. But never one to elect to be a sedentary creature - though one could easily suspect she would feel this way even when she has lost an arm and a leg - she is up and about, forcing herself, at least, to obtain some sustenance somewhere. Pushing through the door of Two If By Sea, her strides take her up to the bar, fingers rolling gently on her nosebridge.

To her infinite credit, she looks the way she normally does, dressed in deference to the warmth of the evening; Summer has yet to completely relinquish its grasp on Gray Harbor, stubbornly clinging to the remains of the season despite it being mid-September already. Long legs framed by a pair of shorts, sandals that strap over her ankles and show off her careful pedicure and the array of three toe rings she has, split on each foot, she also wears a loose top with spaghetti straps, and the ever-present moonstone pendant that shatters light into shards of color across its fabric. Her hair is pulled up in that apathetically feminine disarray that she favors, though in her hands, it looks artful rather than an actual mess. What is outside the norm is the lack of clarity in her green-gold eyes, somewhat glassy and muted, and they look somewhat bloodshot.

Also the heavy way she drops on a stool and rests her head in her hands. "Hey, Easton," she greets, low and hoarse from the exertions of the last evening. "What's good here? I'm going to try and eat something."

August wanders in solo, dressed in a black, button-down, long sleeved shirt, jeans, and brown suede boots. His expression is quietly troubled, though otherwise he seems alright; better rested than he was a couple weeks ago, definitely. He meanders towards the bar once he spies Easton and Isabella, gives them a collective upnod. "Hey," he says, in the manner of one whose news won't be good, but he's not going to launch into it. "How're you two doing?" He glances at Isabella, seems to come to the assumption her answer will be, 'Shitty,' or some variant thereof.

And Alexander rolls in a little way behind August, looking bleary-eyed. There's a bit of bruising on his forehead, and he walks carefully, hunched over a little more than usual. He, unlike SOME hungover people, is not dressed well - although he's not dressed unusually badly. Because that would probably mean being naked. Instead, he's wearing an old army surplus jacket that dwarfs him over a ratty old t-shirt, which jeans and his work boots. His hair is mussed, like he barely bothered to brush it. Or brushing hurt. He makes his way slowly towards the bar. "Isabella. Easton. August." He pauses, trying to think what happens next. "Hi." Right. He claims a seat next to Isabella.

Well, Alexander's got some contention in the not dressed well department, from one police captain who looks about as hungover as the rest of them. He prowls in in one of his usual off duty ensembles: faded black tee shirt, dark BDU-style pants that he couldn't be assed to shove properly into his combat boots. Baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, so nobody can quite see how bloodshot they are. He's checking his phone as he wanders in, and once he spots the others, angles on over.

Dressed in his usual black dress shirt, with it's sleeves rolled up to the elbows over dark jeans and scuffed boots Easton is apparently twinning with August. He upnods at Isabella from down the bar and makes his way over to her once he can. At the question of what's good he narrows his eyes for a moment as if sizing her up, "Our burgers are solid. Along with all of our usual bar food." He quirks an eyebrow at the last part of try and eat something "You feeling okay?"

August and Alexander get a hardy wave. "Gentlemen. Can I start you all with some drinks?"

No one asked for a tequila, and yet there's Easton pouring a neat glass of Patron.

August's deep voice might as well be as signature to him as his amazing black-and-silver hair. Isabella lifts her head to fix her eyes on him, but manages a faint smile. "Hey, August," she murmurs, fishing into her satchel to produce a small bottle of extra-strength Excedrin; a must for all academics, and anyone really who spends most of their day buried in texts and documents of various sorts. "You can say that a few, very vociferous, and very expensive mistakes were made last night. So pretty much the standard evening for the likes of us in this old town."

Alexander's appearance causes her to blink, and so does the way he claims the stool next to her. Last night's explosion of both their tempers had left them raw and chafed, but considering the fact that the man doesn't even hesitate sitting within range of her, it stands to reason that they've achieved some manner of accord or agreement in the last few hours. "Did you get in another fight?" she wonders quietly, her eyes flicking to the bruise on his forehead, before dropping her chin on his shoulder and closing them, lashes pressing dark crescents on her cheeks. She pushes the aspirin bottle wordlessly at him, because apparently childproof seals are probably a little beyond her at the moment. She seems to be aware of someone else joining them, though, and her gaze lifts once more, though they aren't fully opened, slits of hazy emerald falling on Ruiz. "Hey, Captain," she greets lowly.

Burgers? "Hungover," she tells Easton. "Maybe the mozzarella sticks? Or the pretzels with the cheesy dip?" The idea of food can't help but make her recoil a little, but she has to try.

August says, "Black and tan, thank you," August says to Easton, taking a minute to give him an amused smile for the simlar outfit. He glances from Isabella to Alexander to Ruiz, back to Isabella. "Were they," he says, tone dry. He arches an eyebrow. "Wanna talk about it?""

"No," Alexander tells Easton, drawing out the syllable with a look of faint horror on his face. "Never again." In fact, he shudders expressively when the glass of Patron is poured. Then pauses. "Wait. Yes. Just - nothing alcoholic. Pop?" A hopeful look at the bartender. "And what happened to you?"

He waggles a hand at Isabella. "I don't know how to answer that question. Probably yes?" He gives Ruiz a sidelong look as the Captain comes in. "Were we in a fight? Or. Is there another word for it? I'm not sure. It's fine, though." And then he has her chin on his shoulder, and he doesn't even flinch. He takes the pill bottle, and after struggling with it for a few moments, pops the top, and steals a couple for himself before handing the bottle back to her. "August, your plums are delicious when soaked in tequila. Too delicious. Don't ever do it."

Ruiz settles in alongside August, of all people, and slides the other man an unreadable look as he shoves his phone into a back pocket of his pants. His arms are stretched out in front of him, fingers dangled over the edge of the bar, ink and heavily tanned skin on display. He wasn't offered a drink by Easton, which results in some serious sideeye for his fellow ex-Marine. Particularly as the Patron is dangled in front of him like catnip.

"Evening," he greets Isabella lowly. Alexander gets a grunt. "Sí? Supongo que sí. I'd call it a fight. Maybe brush up on your technique, though, next time you try taking a swing at me." Completely deadpan.

Ruiz adds on to Alexander's raving about tequila-soaked plums, "I have to concur."

"Vociferous expensive mistake is what my parents used to call me actually." No, not really but it's a pretty good line and Easton takes it. He gives August a nod of approval at the matched wardrobe, granted it's what he wears every night he's behind the bar here. He makes August his drink and manages not to mangle the pour too badly on it so that they stay properly separated. Laughing at Alexander's refusal of a beer, he shakes his head at the pop, "We have soda." He pours him one and sets it down.

Ruiz's tequila is placed in front of him with an admonishing glare for the side-eye as if affronted that he wouldn't have the right drink ready for him. He looks between Alexander and the Captain at the mention of them being in a fight. "Taking my punching people therapy out for a test spin?" The two don't look all that upset with one another so he feels free to joke about it.

In answer to Alexander's question he shrugs, "Punch therapy. Got a little lost with Thorne. Nothing worth getting Bennie's magic hands all over me in that kind of way for."

Your plums are delicious ... Too delicious.

Easton's face falls into a very, very confused stupor as if he can't fathom someone saying that and not meaning for it to sound super dirty. And yet he's nearly sure that Alexander is 100% serious and not in anyway meaning for it to be taken that way. His mouth just gapes open a little and looks between Alexander and August ...

August's offer earns him a small smile. "Not much to tell," Isabella says. "Except my temper ran away from me as usual. A few chairs exploded when Lilith was trying to get Erin to tap into the flipside of her powers. Seems she's determined to take point on the..." She gestures. "But I suggested it might not be a bad idea to have all three healers on site, but I think you guys should hash it out definitively." Her fingers reach for the bottle, retrieving her aspirin and downing them dry. After observing Ruiz for a few moments, she offers the bottle towards him as well.

Alexander and Ruiz get a sidelong look. "How the hell did the two of you end up fighting when it was him and me that were mad at each other?" she wonders as she gestures between herself and the man next to her, exasperated, the delicate bones of her expression clearly resigned - men, too, can be baffling creatures.

Easton's quip earns him a faint grin, appreciative of it, though mention of tequila-soaked plums has her turning curious eyes to August. "It must be nice to have a direct-to-table supplier," she observes. To the bartender, she lowers her voice in a stage whisper. "Actual plums, E. Get your head out of--" She pauses. "No, on second thought, you do you, it's much more entertaining when it's swimming in there." She flashes him a thumbs up, but she finally eases her chin off Alexander's shoulder so she could bury her head in her hands again, and stifles a quiet groan.

August looks askance at Ruiz, gives him a nod, grunts and smiles at Alexander. Easton's look just adds a sly edge to that smile. "Oh yeah, I coulda told you that. So could a few people." The expression lingers just long enough to let Easton wonder, then August sobers a touch once Isabella reassures Easton. "Chop 'em up, throw them in some sangria? Absolutely fantastic. Prunus do great up here." He bobs his eyebrows about being a direct to table supplier.

His smile becomes wry at the question of how Ruiz and Alexander wound up fighting. He almost says something, seems to decide not to. Instead, he just gives the two in question a knowing look, nods about Lilith and August accompanying the exorcists. "Can do, if that'll help. I'll chat with them and Minerva, see if that's how they want to play it." He takes a sip from his black and tan. "And Erin probably should. He took from her. She should have a chance to take back."

Alexander snorts at Ruiz. "Fine. I'll work on it," he grumbles, then makes grateful eyes at Easton. He takes the soda, and uses it to swallow the pills. Once they're down, he turns a bleary gaze on Easton. "Oh, you were one of the others. He's getting sucked into a lot of lost places lately. What the fuck is going on with that?" He sounds worried, rubs at his chest a moment, before adding, "And yeah. And I tried bag work at Kelly's Gym. It was," a long pause, "fine."

He seems entirely oblivious to any double entendres regarding August's large, ripe, and excellent plums. Instead, he studies Isabella out of the side of his eyes. "I wasn't mostly angry at you, Isabella. Don't worry about it. I'm better now. Now I only hate my head and tequila." He lets out a small groan as August talks about sangria. "Make that alcohol in general." There's only a nod about who takes on the Spirit duties; he clearly agrees Erin has 'won' the right if she wants it, as horrible as that is.

All is forgiven as the glass of tequila is set down in front of the captain, and Easton's the recipient of a truly devastating smile. Hair of the dog? You bet. He tips it back for a healthy slug, and sucks his lower lip in between his teeth to catch a trickle that threatened to slide into his beard. His eyes come up with Easton mentions getting lost with Thorne, which sounds like a slightly odd turn of phrase. Though he doesn't question it.

"I agree," he concurs with August in regards to Erin. "It has a certain poetic justice." Alexander he won't torment any further about the fight. Besides, he's got tequila, and that takes precedence.

"Well, I for one am now jealous that I haven't gotten to suckle your tequila soaked plums." Easton shoots Isaballa a grin as he declares his desires for August's goods. But at the talk of Erin, Lilith and Minerva he gives a questioning look and says "I think I missed something." But he's not prying, just feeling a bit out of the loop on the latest.

To Alexander he sighs and shakes his head, "Yea, this was all me dragging Thorne in. At least it was my memories getting mined for fuckedupitude." Which is not a word, but should be for describing Dreams. "But sucks if he's getting targeted more for that, though he held his own just fine in a fire fight in mine." He offers extremely high praise, which sounds like mild approval.

She quietly listens to what the rest are saying about Easton's dream, and people getting sucked in more often these days, but her head is throbbing and it feels like a watermelon ready to burst. It makes it easy to focus on that instead of the twisting sensation of pure, unbridled apprehension winding in her stomach. "I didn't know that's been happening to him lately," Isabella says with a visible frown. Not that she could blame him - journeys there tend to be harrowing and extremely personal, from what she remembers of past experiences.

As Alexander groans about sangria, she glances to the back of the bar. "Maybe I should have some of that," she murmurs, while she waits to get some food in her.

Easton's deliberate double entendre has the young woman choking into a sudden laugh. "Why are you looking at me?!" she cries, wadding up a paper napkin and hurling it across the counter at the bartender. "If you're going to do that, you should be looking at August! If you're going to do a bit, commit to it, damn it! I expected better from you!"

His comment about missing something has her glancing at the rest, before she looks over at Easton. "We figured it out," she tells him finally. "How to end the Ghoul business. It's just..." She makes a face. "It's going to take some work."

After a pause, she sighs. "I think I'll have my scotch now."

Ruiz doesn't add a single thing to the conversation. Those juicy plums were not his doing, much as he enjoyed eating them. Though he does look intrigued when Easton mentions Byron holding his own. He wouldn't have thought it of Mr. Fancy Pants.

August makes a low sound and nods at Ruiz. "And, who knows. Maybe that sort of thing matters more in this kind of situation." His lips twitch in amusement at the talk of boxing--especially Thorne, who knew?--as it brings to mind a memory that's positive in some ways and not in others. He sighs at Easton around a drink of his beer. "Sorry. Too late now, they're spoken for." He offers a not-especially-apologetic smile. Once the discussion has moved to the reason for the long faces, he sighs. "Yeah," he says considering his beer. His eyes flit around the bar at the patrons. "You got a private room, or want to take over one of the decks? Then we can get a little more...detailed."

"It's okay, Easton. If you want plums, I can give you some that August gave me, and you can soak them in anything you like," Alexander tells Easton solemnly. He's a bright guy, intellectually, but sometimes there are spots of obliviousness - like right now, when he looks genuinely a little anxious that Easton might be upset at missing out on delicious plums. Although as Isabella sputters and throws a napkin at him, he cocks his head to one side, and re-evaluates. An observer can almost see the moment where he rewinds the conversation and goes 'oh'.

MOVING ON. He takes a sip of his soda and listens to Easton with a frown. "I'm glad he did. And that you came out of it," his eyes go to the bruises, "alive." He opens his mouth, probably to ask a nosy question like 'what happened', but now they're talking about the Ghoul so he follows that change of subject, possibly to Easton's relief. "To be fair," he mutters after Isabella, "we didn't so much figure it out as get lectured by a bureaucrat from Over There. But yes. Solutions have been posited." He looks about to launch into those solutions in detail, until August is a smart person and suggests privacy. Because Alexander rarely worries about people overhearing him talk about crazy things. Which is why he's so very popular.

Grabbing a plate of cheese fries off the tray of a passing waitress, Easton sets them down in front of Isabella. He calms the waitress telling her to comp the table something and explain it away as a kitchen problem so that he can get something in front of Isabella sooner. He also makes her a bloody Mary that she didn't ask for, "I looked at you because I was pretty sure I could make you laugh out loud. Silver fox over there is a harder mark I think." Easton explains to her why he picked her out for that joke, and then explains "And I'm not pouring you a good scotch until you can keep this down. That's just risking wasting good scotch all over the carpet."

He considers Alexander as he offers to get him some plumbs and thankfully is rewarded with a very satisfyingly visual of him realizing what he was saying.

The part about figuring out how to end the Ghoul business has him picking up his beer. He whistles at one of the waitresses who rightfully flips him off but agrees to cover the bar. It helps that Easton doesn't tip himself out at night whenever he needs them to do this.

"To the deck then. Should be pretty empty." He tops off his beer from the tap before heading out that way with the group, chivalrously carrying the plate of fries for Isabella down to the second deck around one of the fireplaces.

"So by the glum faces I'm guessing the solution isn't holding hands and doing the Care Bear stare? Which is too bad, because I would pay so much money to see the Captain do that."

The young woman's fingertips lift to roll her thumb on the base of her skull. "Right," Isabella murmurs back to Alexander. "But it's not as if we were being slack on it before the meeting. Lilith ended up being right after all, as to what three people were required." That had been her theory, and she is as always quick to give credit where credit is due. With August's suggestion being a decidedly prudent one, she slowly starts to rise from her stool, feeling her bones and joints creak - she has not been able to exercise much at all today.

With the cheese fries set in front of her, she looks extremely grateful, as well as the Bloody Mary that she didn't ask for. Reasons for the denial of scotch are taken in good stride, though if allowed, she does reach out to pat his cheek lightly with a smile. "You're sweet," she tells him simply, though not without a small measure of genuine gratitude, before she gathers up her drink, now that Easton has taken the burden of carrying the food for her.

It's warm out in the deck, and just by being this close to the ocean puts her in a calmer mood; she takes an audibly deep inhalation of the briny air outside and closes her eyes when the breeze from the Pacific brushes over her cheeks and tangles into her dark hair. She follows the other taller silhouettes accompanying her to one of the fireplaces and takes a seat, and reaches out to snag a fry immediately. She'll also gladly share her bounty with those with her.

"Pretty much," she tells Easton. "Well, maybe? There might be some handholding during the exorcism." What? "The killer's in the body of Thomas Addington, we need a ritual to get him out, using a powerful enough mover, reader and healer. And that's just phase one. Phase two, we need to bury whatever's left of his bones and hold..." Her expression twists, a mask of fury highlighted by shadows and flame from the nearby hearth. "...a funeral for that motherfucker, but since we don't have all of his body, that won't be enough to convince him to pass on, so whoever wants to be involved needs to sacrifice something important to them to get him to." A vehement bite of the fry.

August watches Alexander's realization dawn. Ah, that's satisfying. He chuckles, has a celebratory sip of black and tan. "Now Easton are you trying to say I don't have a sense of humor?" He sighs in mock disappointment. "Kids these days."

He gets up to follow them to the deck, settles himself in a chair where he can stretch his long legs out in front of him. He nods, grim-faced, at Isabella, says to Easton, "We're not talking, you know, that High School trophy you might have held onto, or anything like that. We're talking about, the last memento of a loved one, or your wedding ring--something irreplaceable. Something that it'll hurt to lose. Something that'll change you." He raises an eyebrow to see if that brings the severity of the request home.

Alexander follows Easton, sticking close to Isabella's side. He settles in beside her when they get out by one of the fireplaces, but at least doesn't get all grabby on her fries. Honestly, looking at them seems to make him just a bit queasy. "A real funeral," he puts in, gently. "Something respectful, so that he can be laid to rest. And yes, any of us who want to participate have to bury something with him. Something we'll miss, something meaningful." He holds his soda in both hands as he sips from it. He frowns, but nods at August's words. "You don't have to, Easton. If you don't want to. It's a lot to ask of anyone."

"Only if I get to be Funshine bear," replies the captain to Easton without missing a beat, his bulky frame dropped into a chair at their new table, between Alexander and August. The latter gets a nod, over a sip of his tequila, for his explanation of the criteria required for the sacrifice. Which causes his brows to furrow slightly. He's not given up any options, as far as his own offering goes.

"Obviously you're funshine Bear." Easton also doesn't miss a beat, though he can't quite repress the grin forming at the fact that Ruiz a) knows the name of an actual care bear apparently and b) is willing to admit that. Easton tries to take in the information about their being a two part thing and a burial and then the part about losing something and immediately something springs to mind and catches him off guard. He sits down in a chair hard and takes a drink of his beer as he tries to process all that.

"Well fuck. I'm in, but ... " He tries to mentally check himself. Committing to sacrificing that will change your life, to giving up something that dear. He shrugs and says, "Fuck it. People are dying. We can stop that. So yea, whatever the cost."

Something that will hurt to lose

Easton actually doesn't have another quip for that. No big joke and grin. Even the volume of his voice has dropped down to what most would consider polite conversational tones instead of his usual boisterous volume.

She needs something to soak up the liquor, and while Isabella has no appetite to speak of, she forces herself. Her chewing is more mechanical today, unlike the times when she would savor her food with gusto, forever a tactile creature who habitually immerses herself in all five of her physical senses. At the moment, however, they are all crying in misery at the headache she is nursing, so that particular tendency of hers is more of a punishment than enjoyment today.

August explanation earns a nod. "The Captain said it best, I think - for whatever we choose to cast into the casket, those willing would have to ask themselves whether parting with the thing would change their lives," she says softly, after a quiet swallow of her bloody mary. "And while the Exorcist wasn't very definitive about a lot of things, she was very specific about the fact that the greater the sacrifice, the greater the chance that he'll pass on."

There's a brief ripple there, hints of agitation that she can't eloquently express, green-gold eyes fixed on the water while fingers curl over the gemstone hanging around her neck and gripping it tight. "It's not an easy ask, Easton. I've been telling anyone who would listen that nobody's obligated to pay. I'm glad people are willing, I just hate the fact that the bastard already took so much and the only way to banish him permanently would be to give him more."

Alexander reaches out, tentatively, and if Isabella allows, he will offer a gentle massage that goes from her temple, to the back of her neck, and back, putting the soda down to do so. "But," he offers, quietly, "I don't think you should give up something you can't live without. The goal here isn't to cripple ourselves - that's why we're distributing the burden. Something meaningful, but she never once said it has to be your whole life, or your whole heart. Just that you'd miss it, and that it matters to you." He rolls his shoulders. "Don't weasel out if you're in, but we have to live after this, you know?"

Easton's breathing gets a little more intense as his jaw clenches. He's considering the cost of something, obviously. He's so tuned into that thought process that it takes him a moment to hear Isabella talking to him. He nods and says, "That makes sense." Hearing only the part hating to permanently give him more. But Easton already knows what he would give and it's threatening to swallow up his attention at the moment. His mind wanders down that path again and his brow furrows deeper, wondering what it would take physically to represent giving that up. Or even if it's an option?

Thinking back to August's talk of wedding rings he attempts a joke with, "Damn maybe I should have gotten married. I'd have given that up in a heart beat." Yes, he realizes it probably doesn't work that way. If it's easy to give, it's not paying the price.

Alexander's talk of not crippling ourselves gets a dark, "Well good, because I'm not giving him my other leg."

The investigator's chilled fingers are a comfort against the unseasonable warmth of the air outside the decks, and Isabella tilts her head back, eyes shuttering as rough calluses find the knots of tension hiding underneath her own sunkissed complexion, the hollow of her throat limned by nearby firelight. "It's just that we don't know how the sacrifices are going to be quantified," she murmurs. "We don't know whether the value is a cumulative one or whether it'll be based on how many people are willing to sacrifice a lot versus the lower limit, or..."

She takes another sip of her bloody mary, and uncaring of the witnesses, she turns her face to press her mouth warmly against the hollow of his cheek, leaning the side of her face against his. There's another concerned glance at Easton, perhaps recognizing the look on his face, but his dark comment regarding his other leg has her furrowing her brows. "That would probably count, but thankfully you're not thinking about giving up your mobility entirely," she observes. "But that's basically the long and short of it. We're still waiting on our occultist to get back to us on the exorcism, and once we figure out the requirements, the Captain will be bringing Thomas in for protective custody."

August nods at Alexander in agreement, actually manages a smlle for Easton's joke about getting married. "Yeah, I agree--the stronger the sacrifice, the more likely it is to work, but don't render yourself unable to move on. That's not the point. Like, maybe if you lost your dad or an uncle to Vietnam, and you had their flag, and that was important to you? That'd be something, maybe." He gestures at the bar. "Sure, you could burn down your bar, or I could burn down my shop, and bury those ashes, but that might be overkill."

He makes a low sound. "It's true, we don't," he says to Isabella. "Which is why you don't want to hedge your bet too much. But..." He sighs. His expression says he knows what he's sacrificing, is in the process of coming to terms with it. "I feel like a lot of people will know what it could be, once they think about it." He makes a face. "I knew immediately. But there was only a couple of things it coulda been."

"I think we shouldn't tie ourselves into knots worrying so much about quantifying something that is, at its heart, sort of spiritual," Alexander says, his voice pitched low as he continues to massage Isabella's head. "I think if each person chooses a sincere sacrifice, then it'll be enough. Or it won't, and we'll find another way. But no one should," a nod to August, "what he says. No cutting off legs, or fingers, no giving up things you can't live a good life without. Just something that you'd miss, that owns a piece of your heart. Not the whole damned thing."

Easton's barely listening because he's lost in his own little private world of considering the sacrifice. He blinks and looks up at August and says, "Yea, right .. I get that" About not burning down his bar or anything crazy. But the bar is just a bar. It gets a little dangerous asking certain people for sacrifice, particularly when they're being faced with a near constant reminder of the sacrifice of others who gave all.

"I should head back in.." Easton stands and nods at the assembled group. "But I'm in. For the funeral. And whatever needs to happen to get Billy out first if you need me?"

It's clear that he's distracted, and though it's possibly about work, the serious look on his face and complete lack of sex jokes about any of the assembled people would probably tell otherwise.

Ruiz, for his part, is probably also mulling what to give up. Or considering how spectacularly wrong this whole protective custody thing is likely to go. He's been fairly closed-lipped about the whole thing, outside of insisting that he'll handle it. The captain adjusts his cap and sips his tequila while the others talk, dark eyes flitting from one face to the next without really focusing properly on anyone.

She watches Easton go with those sharp, emerald-gold eyes, though her head remains tipped slightly back at Alexander's ministrations. There's a grateful smile to August - his steady presence is a comfort, too, and Ruiz's furtive silence is familiar enough that it doesn't put her on edge as much as it used to. Slowly, she lets go of the moonstone pendant around her neck, letting it swing against her clavicle.

It's only when the door is shut behind the bartender that Isabella addresses the rest, quietly. "I've been inside his head," she murmurs, eating another fry and forcing herself to swallow it. "The contrast between it and how he is...it's outrageous." Her expression goes distant, reliving the sound of gunfire and the cratering of brick and mortar filling her skull. While she is not a stranger to conflict, she has never been in a war zone. "You all know him better than I do, do you think he might do something reckless?"

August nods at Easton. "Take care," he says, watching him go with a pensive look. He gives Isabella a sidelong around a drink from his beer. "I wouldn't say that I do," he says, tone dry. "I've definitely not linked up with him." He watches Easton go, shrugs. "Maybe, but he doesn't seem any more likely to than Itzhak." Probably not the most reassuring comparison he could have made, except Finch and Ignacio were all about reckless ideas, and Eleanor was too far the other direction. Nope, Itzhak was the closest comparison he could make. A glance for Ruiz and Alexader, to see what they think.

Alexander also watches Easton go, with a frown. Isabella's question gets a sidelong look. "He won't do anything that he feels will endanger the success of the mission, I think," he says, with a shrug of his shoulders. "But if you're asking if I think that trying to get him not to pick something that may hurt him quite a bit was a failure? Yeah. It probably was." A pained grimace. Then a look towards August at the mention of Itzhak, worry flitting over his face. "How is he? I mean. Obviously none of us are cheery campers right now, but I mean." A wave of his hands. "He's not going to do anything stupid, is he?"

Ruiz hasn't. Been in Easton's head. But, "I know what he is." His drink's polished off, empty glass nudged away from him, ballcap tugged off entirely so he can scrape his knuckles through dark hair that - unlike August's - hasn't started to go grey yet. "He's a Marine. Of course he might do something reckless." Isabella, however, is watched curiously at her assertion that she's been in the man's head. "I didn't know you were a reader as well," he adds, evenly. As well, presumably, meaning like himself. And, possibly, Alexander. Whom he watches for a moment at his question about Itzhak.

Isabella watches August and Alexander curiously as they speak about Itzhak. "The snarly mover?" She hasn't forgotten the way he so vehemently reacted to her in the Exorcist's office, though there's a faint air of confusion there - she had been nothing but nice to the man in the gym, and she had been trying to relieve him of the burden of being involved in something dangerous. What she did, exactly, to warrant that reaction is a little puzzling, but one that she doesn't think about too hard or too deeply.

Ruiz's remark has her glancing down on her glass of bloody mary, chewing on her bottom lip before she takes a solid swallow. "When I was a child, I could do a little bit of everything," she tells the Captain quietly. "It couldn't be helped. My twin was gifted, and I spent over half my life living inside him. I've been away for over a decade, so much of the skill and knowledge has atrophied. Much like anything else, the Talent is like a muscle...it doesn't improve, or develop, without practice." Her eyes lift to meet Ruiz's from her side of the table.

But the longer I stay here, the more I remember.

August starts to say something, stops, shrugs at Alexander. "I don't think so," he says. "He talked with Hyacinth Addington," he says the name like he can't believe someone saddled their kid with 'Hyacinth'; at least he can be sure his won't ever be pronounced or spelled wrong, "and Rebecca Carr. That helped." He sounds like he wants to believe it was enough but maybe doesn't. He glances at Alexander. "You should talk with him, though, when you get a second."

He gives Isabella an amused look. "Don't take it personal, he might've just felt like it was a suggestion he wasn't up for it." Another shrug, this one more general. "Place stank like a Marlboro factory, our chairs were moving, everyone was asking questions, and she was talking with a big fucking hole in her throat. That's enough to put anyone on edge." He tilts his head, considers Ruiz, then Alexander, then Isabella by turns at this talk of their gifts. He nods, has a drink of his beer.

"He's not really that snarly," Alexander says, quietly. "It was just a stressful situation. It wasn't really personal towards you, I don't think," he adds. When August speaks, he looks briefly skeptical that talking to Hyacinth Addington could help matters, but nods, slowly. "I'll send him a text, see if he'll chat with me sometime in the next day or so." His jaw setting with some sort of stubborn resolve, even as he leans forward to kiss Isabella on one of the temples he's been massaging. Then he stands up. "But for now, I have to go. I have a couple of things I need to do. It was nice getting a chance to see you all. Don't die." It's fond, and he reaches out to caress Isabella's shoulder before he turns and heads off without another word.

Ruiz doesn't know the guy well enough to wager one way or the other on what that little outburst might have meant. So he doesn't bother weighing in on it, and instead stares down a passing waitress until she gets the hint that he'd like his drink refilled. A quick smile that lingers at the corners of his eyes, and since they're technically seated outside, he opts to light up a cigarette. "Have you heard back from.. shit. What's her name. The one who's going to be doing the ritual." He's looking at Isabella as he asks this. "I'd like to have a good day's worth of warning, if possible."

Alexander, of course, is given a murmured farewell, likely in Spanish, as he departs.

The fact that the man probably didn't mean his outburst is an explanation that the archaeologist readily accepts, her head bobbing towards August and Alexander. "I feel terrible," she confesses. "He was only involved because of Miss Carr and now he has to take up such a heavy burden. I'm glad he's up for it, but...it must've been a shock, hearing that from the Exorcist when he was just there to keep an eye on his friend."

Her hand lifts upward to cover Alexander's knuckles briefly after that kiss on her temple, green-and-gold eyes watching the man go, vanishing in the growing darkness of the beachside evening. She doesn't seem to be conscious of the fact that she is following him by sight as he leaves, but her attention soon gravitates back to the rest of the bloody mary in her hand. She drains it, before pushing another fry in her mouth.

There's another glance to where Easton had vanished, before Isabella focuses her attention back on Ruiz. "Minerva? Not yet, but I left her a voicemail last night and I should be seeing her soon. I'll let her know that you need at least a day's notice. I'll see if I can get more details on the location, also. And I'll leave August to coordinate with Lilith and Erin, though honestly? The more healers we have during the exorcism, the better, if not just to ensure that our Three have enough juice, and to keep Thomas alive. I don't know much about the occult, but if I remember correctly, exorcisms take a toll on the body....and we definitely don't want him dying on the table because of the strain. He's old, and a habitual drinker on top of it. The risk of a cardiac arrest is high." Her eyes fall on August there.

With that said, she rubs her face, bone-deep weariness slipping through her usual easy, confident facade. "I should probably try and get some sleep."

"Night Alexander," August says, raising a hand as Alexander departs. He mmmms and gestures at Ruiz in agreement. "Maybe we'll have to go around and remind people like Easton and Itzhak, no one's asking for your liver. If you opt to toss that in the hole, it's your call, but." His mouth flattens. He knows how hard it can be to talk people in off that particular ledge.

Of coordiating with Lilith and Erin, he says, "I'll chat with them," and nods. He drinks his half-empty beer down a little further. "Lilith's probably the best healer of us," because she won't get nauseated or pass out, he thinks but doesn't ssy, "but I agree it might wind up a bit of a round robin either way. Mention that to Minerva, when you talk with her? Find out if more people there is any kind of liability."

He studies Isabella a moment, bobs his eyebrows. "Yeah. Good luck with that."

Glass lifted to his mouth, Ruiz seems intent on drinking himself right back into oblivion tonight, even as others are taking the far more reasonable path of sleep. He chases his hard liquor with a drag off his smoke, and surfaces from his thoughts for long enough to tell Isabella, "Duerma bien. Creo que lo necesitarás." Of course, she won't understand what he's saying, but that hasn't stopped him before. His dark eyes meet her green-golds for a moment, and a touch lands on her knuckles if she permits it; uncharacteristically gentle.

There's a smile towards August when he suggests making the rounds. "Like the mighty oak," Isabella tells him, a teasing note to her mouth before she rises and slings her satchel back on her shoulder. The rest gets a nod. "Yeah, I'll tell Minerva that's the plan, if we can swing it we should definitely make it happen. I don't know what sort of complications might come up on the actual day itself - no plan survives first contact with the enemy. But luckily the Captain's on the front lines in that specific endeavor."

The good luck on her sleep has her winking faintly at him, turning to look at Ruiz, and while she recognizes a few words - bien and necesitaras in particular - she's able to get the gist; the woman knows Latin, after all. And her expression warms considerably, softening the entire look of her and leaves her green-gold eyes burning like embers in the dark of the deck. The touch on her hand earns him a faint squeeze of his inked fingers, before they slip away, to press her mouth against them and if allowed, touches them lightly on his cheek.

"I'll keep in touch," she tells them both, before spinning on her heel and moving for the doors.

August smirks at the mention of an oak. "Like to think of myself as an aspen," he says. The smirk turns into a smile. "Take care."