2019-09-13 - Funny Old Life, Isn't It?

Friday the 13th is a great time to drop by the Platinum Cabaret. Though it's a little slow at this hour, just before the evening rush, there's still a light crowd. The far end of the bar is the quietest place to be, and tonight that's where Love has stationed herself — not that it's quiet, just quieter.

On a cutting board on the bar she's opening some of the season's first pomegranates, spilling sweet juice and seeds across the heavy wooden surface. Her tattooed fingers are deft with the fruit, sectioning it open with a sharp little knife. There are two other bartenders along the stretch of bar, both busy serving drinks like drafts and bottle beers.

Alexander enters. He honestly probably fits in here more than in most places, although not in that awesome 'here's a guy who's come to splash some cash' way, but more in that 'here's a guy who's going to sit in back and drool creepily at the dancers while nursing one goddamned drink all night' sort of way. About forty, his hair framing an intense sort of face with dark eyes that have an unsettling directness to them, white, and dressed one step up from a hobo, with a battered, oversized army jacket over a tattered t-shirt, faded jeans, and work pants. No ink, and he doesn't look drunk or high, at least?

He scans the interior of the club from just inside, and makes his way towards the bar. Instead of just ASKING the woman there if she's his client, he pulls out a phone and sends off a quick text message: I'm here. While continuing to look around the place with a thoughtful frown.

The club owner is attired in a pastel-blue sportcoat and slacks, and sits at one end of the bar. He's sipping from a Bombay Sapphire and tonic, and the blacklight that hits his glass creates the spectacle of a neon-colored drink. Antonio's lips are curled upward in a smirk as he watches the bartenders at work, and casts an errant gaze over toward the stage.

Love's phone most likely chimes, and probably it chimes in her back pocket. Hey, she even hears it! She's been having that issue recently. The tall, tattooed woman puts down her knife, reaches for a towel to wipe her hands, and fetches her phone from her back pocket. She glances down at the screen, unlocks it, then taps out a quick reply: tattoos, grey hair, bar, knife.

The thing is she watched Alexander text her that, because he does kind of have the look of the dude who's going to leer from the back corner all night, then corner you in the parking lot after hours. "Tony, you want to try one of these Lucky 13s? Pomegranate, lemon, little orange, coconut water, and sugar rim." Sweet and tart, not his usual jam, but you never know. Mae and Park are probably going to love it.

Alexander looks up from his phone, confirms that the current bartender is, in fact, the person he's looking for, and moves further down the bar and sits within conversational distance. "Ms. Liven?" His voice, in contrast to his appearance, is actually rather pleasant, a quiet baritone that doesn't really match the reptilian mask of his face. His eyes flick down, gaze resting on Antonio for a moment, then back to Love. "I'm Alexander Clayton. Nice to meet you." He gives what she's working on a curious look. "New drink?"

The club boss gives Alexander a nod of acknowledgment, his half-smile remaining plastered across his lips. "All of that with a sugar rim, hmm? It'll sell well with the college kids, I bet. I'll try it." Antonio laughs and shoots a wink to Love, finishing his bright-blue gin and tonic and pushing the empty glass forward on the bar. "Always fun to try something new, y'know?"

The woman whose stage name is Echo is up next on the performance list. The lights dim, and when they come up, they settle on a figure in a strapless, sequined black gown, sweeping to the floor, with a high slit on one thigh, and black, elbow-length lace gloves matching her stockings. The song is familiar to anyone who has ever seen 'Who Framed Roger Rabbit'. Roxy lip-syncs with the Peggy Lee track, strutting slowly down the stage, hips swaying, and eyes roaming over the crowd.

You had plenty money 1922
You let other women make a fool of you
Why don't you do right, like some other men do?
Get out of here and, get me some money too.

"Good guess." Love looks up from her phone like she didn't already clock Alexander. She tucks her phone into her back pocket, resuming a test batch of the themely drink. "Seasonal ingredients, timely name." It is, after all, Friday the 13th. She's making a good show of being a focused bartender despite the day's events around town. "It is a new drink." She strains chilly dark red liquid into a trio of coupe glasses rimmed in sugar and lime.

Using a spoon, she neatly picks loose thirteen pomegranate seeds for each and dips them into the glasses themselves. Tucking lime wedges on each rim, she sets one in front of Alexander and one in front of Antonio. The alcoholic content is a combo of pomegranate liqueur and orange liqueur, along with some agave tequila. "My pleasure, Alexander. Your name appears several times in Silas' files." She leans on the bar, glances toward the stage. It gives him a moment to consider her pale silver eyes, to noodle if she really is who she says she is. A smile creeps across her lips. She loves this song.

There's a nod back to Antonio, and Alexander studies him for a long moment before deciding, "I don't know you. You must be the owner. I heard he was an outsider." It looks like he might say more, before the lights dim. Alexander twitches in place, frowning. It does, however, succeed in concentrating his attention towards the stage. The song makes him smile, just a little, and he watches Roxy with...interest, but it's a sort of detached interest. A man studying an interesting painting or performance rather than watching a woman who is very likely going to undress and be sensually athletic. When Love speaks, his attention returns to her immediately. "You could have a winter variant with only six seeds. And perhaps something smoky and bitter, to represent Hades." When the drink is placed in front of him, he reaches for his wallet. "How much?" Then a glance up. "Yes. I did several jobs for your father. I was sorry to hear of his disappearance." This is said with no more or less emotion than any of the rest of it.

The boss inclines his head to Alexander as he takes up Love's concoction, saluting the newcomer before taking a sip. "Antonio Williams, at your service. I hope you enjoy your time here, hmm?" There's a sparkle in his eye as his smile grows, and he nods his satisfaction to the bartender. "Real nice." Then his attention is squarely on the dancer, and he spins on his barstool to face toward the stage. "That's a nice little ensemble. Classy."

Roxy crouches down, her stiletto heels making her spin effortlessly towards one of the patrons at the rail, as she reaches a gloved hand to stroke his cheek lightly.

You're sitting there wondering what it's all about
You ain't got no money, they will put you out

She gives him a little mock shove to his chest as she straightens up and sashays away to the center of the stage.

Why don't you do right, like some other men do?
Get out of here and get me some money too?

The zipper on the side of her dress gets sloooowly drawn down to where it meets the slit, and she clutches the sequined fabric to her front, her lips in a shocked Oh expression, as it falls away from her back, revealing a black lace panty bedazzled with rhinestones. She moves her rear in time with the beat, a snap to the left, one to the right, looking over her shoulder at the patrons as if scandalized at her own behavior.

Love might even sing along to the song on the stage, out loud, under her breath, the way you do when you're not fully aware of doing it.

An outsider. That turn of phrase applied in public and out loud brings a funny little smile to the bartender's lips. It's like that in Gray Harbor now? Was it always? The last time she was here, she was eleven, black-haired, and trouble.

"Maybe a creamy shot with a bourbon-infused whipped cream topped with seeds." Love's willing to venture down the road of combo shots/desserts. "I like the way you think, Alexander. Maybe a pair. One flaming, one sweet." They're about one step down her train of thought from her telling Mae, and Mae talking Antonio into a Hades/Persephone themed event for the equinox.

The condolence brings a sad little smile to her lips. "... Yeah, me too. Thanks." As for the charge? "No, it's on me." She pulls an envelope out of her back pocket, a number 6, just big enough for a stack of bills. It's cash money. Yes, she's passing cash in an envelope across the bar to Alexander in front of her boss. At least somebody down this end is splashing the cash. "She's good, right?" She smiles at Roxy on stage, then looks from Antonio to Alexander. "Everyone who works here's very good at something or other."

"Antonio Williams. I'll remember that." Alexander is impassive about the salute and the hopes, but as the club boss comments on Roxy, his eyes drift back in that direction. "She's very pretty. And formally trained, it looks like." A glance back at Antonio. "Has business been good? I don't think we've had exactly this sort of business in town before." It's an observation, neither approving nor disapproving, and when Love pulls out the money, it catches his attention again, and he takes it. But a bill is taken out and placed on the counter. Enough to cover the drink and a decent tip. "I have some progress on your concern already. We didn't discuss how you'd like that exchanged. I can come here, but I suspect that it might be a better idea to discuss it somewhere more private, as things progress." But, his lifted shoulder suggests, it's up to the client.

"We're the best show in town. And the only show. I suppose that's a good position for this sort of business to be in, eh?" Antonio winks once to Alexander, rising from his barstool as his iPhone buzzes in the pocket of his trousers. "Make sure you at least enjoy the fun if you're here to talk business at the same time, y'know what I mean?" The ensuing smirk is directed to Alexander as Antonio heads toward the back office, just off the bar.

If you had prepared 20 years ago
You wouldn't be a-wanderin' out from door to door

Roxy lifts one gloved arm to stroke it down the side of her face in a dramatized woe is me, eyes closed, dark lashes stark against pale cheeks. She bends over to look at a customer and shakes her head as if she just can't stand this hypothetical no good man of hers.

Why don't you do right, like some other men do?
Get out of here and get me some money too

Roxy makes to stomp away up the stage from her last target and purposely steps on the hem of the gown, which rips out of her hands and leaves her standing there in a black lacey corset with rhine-stoning. She mock covers herself with one leg over the other, one arm over her breasts and another over the front of her panties. Her bright blue eyes are wide and shocked at her terrible predicament of losing her clothes.

"If the number of drinks I've sold in the last few weekends are an indicator, yes." Business is indeed pretty good at the Platinum Cabaret. Love mhms in agreement with Alexander's assessment of Roxy/Echo. She shakes her head, but smiles, when she sweeps up that bill from the bar, folding it to tuck it back into her pocket. "Hot girls and liquor will always sell."

On the question of information gathering, she ponders for a beat, looking to Antonio as he speaks. She smiles, says nothing until he's wandered off. "If you prefer evenings," she says to Alexander, "I'm here or the motel. Afternoons... pretty much anywhere. I don't know what your schedule is like. I do prefer it to be in person, if possible."

Love glances over to catch some of the action, grins at Roxy's expression when she very dramatically loses her dress. She shrills a sharp whistle, sliding two fingers into her mouth.

"Monopolies are usually very profitable," Alexander agrees, easily. He blinks at the smirk. He does not seem to know what Antonio means. Then his eyes slip back to the stage and he goes. "Oh. Yes. Right." So? He watches. There's even the flicker of a smile at the 'accidental' loss of her gown and he joins with the applause that comes up but not the cat calls, although he does say, to Love, "It's a little strange. As a thing to watch." He turns his attention back, and nods. "We can always arrange a meeting place if you'd prefer the afternoon. Or I can meet you at the Sea View or here. I'm fine with however you prefer." He reaches into his pocket, one of the inner ones of the jacket, and passes over a folded piece of paper. "The name of the victim. What I said before about this possibly being complicated information? It's been confirmed. He's got unsavory associates. This may have been professional."

I fell for your jivin' and I took you in
Now all you got to offer me's a drink of gin

Roxy tiptoes over to one of the patrons, and she takes his drink for a sip, handing it back, and handing him over an oversized fake coin in payment. Said coin is attached to a string. She gets up and walks away from him and the string...is attached to the corset's zipper, which gets pullllled all the way down, leaving the patron with the prop coin and string in his hand.

The corset falls to the stage and Roxy looks down at it, hands raises to the level of her now bared chest, as if not believing what she's seeing. There are little rhinestones affixed with spirit gum to her breasts, in a little sunburst pattern around each nipple. She spins around in a slow circle with her shocked expression.

Why don't you do right, like some other men do?
Get out of here and get me some money too

In a final fit of rage, Roxy tugs at the two ties on the sides of her panties, and they fall away, revealing more bedazzling down below, leaving her in stilettos, stockings, gloves, and rhinestones.

Why don't you do right, like some other men do?
Like some other men do

Roxy puts her hands on her hips, stands defiant, then stomps off the stage, glaring as if having taken back her pride by taking off her clothing.

The lights go down as tips are collected.

"Some people like it. Some people find it kind of tingly." Love seems amused by his reaction to the drama playing out on stage, but lightly so. "I spend a lot of my afternoons on the beach. That would be as good a location as any." Is she a little reluctant to go back to the motel tonight? Probably, but she seems pretty chill about it now that some hours have passed. "Hm." She takes the folded paper, turns it in her hand to slip her thumbnail under and open it. She looks at the name written there for a long moment. "I don't recognize it offhand. How unsavory?"

Love reaches under the bar for a highball glass to dunk it into the ice and have a cool water waiting for Roxy if she swings by the bar after her performance.

"Unsavory enough that if there is a will that this particular crime not be solved, I don't expect that you'll see any convictions forthcoming," Alexander says, his voice pitched low to barely carry to her ears with the background noise. "Or arrest, for that matter. But I'll get you all the information, as you asked. I simply advise that you not pass it around that you have any of that information. The victim wasn't killed at your place, if it makes you feel better. It was frozen, then dumped. No sign of the rest of the corpse. Perhaps I can find that and determine cause of death." A shrug. "I'll work on it."

"That's excellent work, and fast, Alexander, thank you. It's ... I don't do well being in the dark." You can imagine how she feels about a missing father, whether she thought he was crazy or not. "Moving to Gray Harbor has taught me a thing or two about the boundaries of my belief." She speaks quietly, as quietly as you can in a bar, to the unlicensed PI, eating a spoonful of pomegrante seeds before she tosses the spoon into a wash bin hidden under the bar. "Wise advice. Hm. It does and it doesn't. I suppose body dump is better than murder scene." Marginally. "Interesting line of work you find yourself in, particularly in a small town."

"This town tends to do that, yes." There's a dry humor in Alexander's voice. He reaches out for the drink, for the first time, and takes a sip. A careful, thoughtful sip. But after a moment, he nods. "This is good. A little sweet, but still good." He puts the drink back down, and studies her. "It is. Better than it being a murder scene. They'll get out of your hair faster, and you don't usually dump where you don't want attention drawn, so the chances of this having something to do with your property have gone down. It's likely just crime." Just crime. He takes another sip. "But yes. You've probably noticed that Gray Harbor isn't your typical small town. I get enough work. Usually." Another of those dry hints to his voice.

When "Echo" emerges once more from the back, she is dressed in another 1940s style sequined dress. This one, however, is not made for easy removal in a routine, It's silvery and low cut in the front, skimming mid thing at the bottom. She makes her way to the bar, accepting an extra tip here and there from patrons as she passes. She gets to a stool and smiles at Love, thanking her quietly for the water, in a soft voice bearing an accent that says she is 'not from here'. As in America.

"I find myself curious enough to ask how it is you go about locating the rest of a corpse." Love considers this for a long moment, her hands resting on the bar. "And then I consider how far my interests have tumbled on the ladder of commonly thought concepts. I used to be like the history of memento mori, and now I'm like head and feet in a dumpster." It's a funny old life, isn't it?

"Good points all. It'll take a little of the pressure off. If you happen to hear anything about the motel..." She trails off. Movement catches her eye, and Love raises a hand to Echo. She smiles. "I love the song you chose, and your routine, as usual."

As approaches, speaking of extra tips, Alexander reaches into the envelope and slides a sizable bill towards Roxy. He makes no attempt to slide it into her dress, or even hand it to her directly. Just places it near her place at the bar to pick up at her leisure and tells her, quietly, "That was a very good performance...as far as I'm able to judge such things. Thank you. How long does it take you to design and practice a new routine, if I can be nosy? I often am. Nosy. Sorry."

His attention slips back to Love, and he smiles. "There are ways, although most likely, the police will find the other parts in the next few days, when some jogger stumbles over them. It looks like there might have been multiple dump sites in order to fool an attempt to do geographical analysis. Although there are other varieties of analysis that come into play when you have multiple sites. Most commonly used in serial killer cases, though." He takes a sip of his drink, and considers the pomegranates in there. "The pomegranate used to be one of the symbols of mortality in art, wasn't it? Or...wait, no. It was one of the earlier representations of the Fruit of Knowledge, so stood in for sin? Something like that?"

Roxy slides Love a tip for her water. "Thank you. I had to modify the routine a little for here." She makes the small sign with finger and thumb to illustrate. "In burlesque, you do not take off all your things. But there is no burlesque here." She smiles a very faint smile and sips the water. "I imagine the patrons would be very disappointed if I did not show them everything in my act." Instead she maintains her mystique by not doing lap dances, only private dances in the VIP.

She blinks at the large bill from Alexander and tucks it away in a hidden pocket in the dress. At his questions she moves over to the seat next to him, so she doesn't have to shout. She's very soft-spoken. "You are very kind. A new routine takes me at least a month. The choreography is not hard for me, but getting the clothing found or made, then altered takes time. Tear-aways, I believe they are called in English? Special closures that are not going to jam or fail on stage. I do not sew, so I must find others to help."

Love mmhms, "You're welcome. It's interesting to see the different takes everyone has, the dance styles, the music." She lifts her hands. "I don't know. I've been to a few clubs, but I've never bartended one before." She means strip clubs, of course, but doesn't explicitly say that.

She seems amused by Alexander's commentary on the dance, again, but she does seem the smiling sort. She has kind, appraising eyes most times, and both those currently joining her at this end of the bar have been deserving of nothing but kindness. "The more evidence people try to hide, the more they leave. There's no artistry in that."

"The pomegranate has varied in time from a symbol of life to prosperity, fertility, holiness, beauty." She lifts one of the ruby encased seeds from the bar top where it fell. "Some think that if a pregnant woman eats these, her child will be beautiful. Some people crack them on the new year to ring in the new with plenty. It's all very tangled. Red, blood, womb, temptation. Depends on how prudish ruling class is at the time."

Alexander shifts as Roxy takes the seat next to him, keeping a notable space between them. Perhaps especially notable in a venue where many want to get as close to the dancers as club custom will allow them to get. He shakes his head dismissively at the mention of kindness. "It seems like a lot of work - time and effort should be rewarded." A quirk of his lips, and his voice shades dry. "People often look at something that takes only a few minutes to convey, be it in on stage or elsewhere, and not realize just how many hours and how much effort go into making it work and look effortless." He takes another tiny sip of the drink. "I don't know you. You're new to town. Where'd you come from?" Hey, he warned her: NOSY.

Luckily, Love is there to keep him at least partially distracted. "Not entirely true. There are some very elegant ways to dispose of evidence, if you're inclined and have the resources. My favorite was flensing a body, turning the flesh into a mulch mix, and the bones into bone meal, and using it to fertilize the house gardens. Catching that really was sheer luck, as it happened - forgot a finger, and the gardener found the finger the next time he went to the shed, called the cops rather than talking to the lady of the house." He sounds genuinely enthusiastic about it.

"Also Hell," Roxy says softly after Love. "Hades. Persephone ate the seeds, and was doomed to have to stay half the year in the Underworld," she murmurs. Alexander's question has her shrugging slightly. "Here and there. But I have been in Gray Harbor just a few weeks. I do not even have a place to stay yet. Using the...hotel? Motel? I mix those up sometimes." She peers at the pair as they discuss evidence and the disposal thereof.

"They do. A few dollars for an end product someone spent thousands of hours honing the skills to create. The arts are a grind, but all anyone sees is the beauty at the display, and misinformed people think that makes it easy for an artist." Love agrees with Alexander, thus facilitating his nosy questions. She already asked some the other night, so she's happy to listen to all the answers.

Love props her head in her hand and regards Alexander across the bar top. "Your personal favorite way, hm?" Significant enunciation. Her dark arched brows go up a tick. "Blood meal is excellent for richly bloomed roses." She shakes her head, "I'd take a woodfire kiln any day. It's a lot of work, though, cone ten." She doesn't say why, but she does pronounce kiln as kill, so her statement could be entirely misunderstood in any case.

At Roxy's words she sighs. "Always the bad boys with their romantic little gestures. I guarantee he regretted that trap at some point." She smiles full on then.

"Here and there." It's not an answer, not a real one, and Alexander clearly knows it. He studies her for a long moment more, then shrugs. "The Sea View? Just be careful there. I understand two bodies were found there this morning." His attention shifts to Love, and nods. "Exactly. People always think that art - or research - just 'happens'. It's undervalued."

Her steady regard and reply gets only a slow smile. "I like creativity, Ms. Liven. That's all. It's admirable even in the commission of horrible acts, even when the acts themselves are not to be admired at all." He takes another swallow. "There was a ancient Chinese glaze, wasn't there? One that was rumored to be unobtainable except by the burning of humans in the kiln when the glaze was being fired?" He maybe isn't an artists of any sort, but if it's about murder, his knowledge seems to be fairly wide-ranging.

Roxy blinks at Alexander regarding the bodies. She was at the dance studio crazy early to practice. She opens her mouth to reply when one of the other workers for the club comes over and whispers to Roxy. "If you will excuse me, I have an appointment in the VIP. It was nice to meet you, don't be a stranger," she says to Alexander, before giving Love a genuine smile. Then she's off the stool and heading into the more exclusive area of the club.

Every time someone brings up the motel, Love presses her lips together briefly in a little line. She hasn't run across Roxy at the Sea View yet, but they probably keep different hours. Love doesn't do a lot of sleeping. "It takes me ages to research anything. I respect a faster mind at that." Obviously, she's paying for one!

"You're right. Ingenuity should be appreciated for what it is, even if it's imperfect. Honestly, who leaves a whole finger behind. Check your margins, people." She smiles, though, at his question. "Bone ash is still mixed into glazes today, though sparingly. I mixed my grandmother's ashes into a series of pots I did in undergraduate — mm." Never mind that. "I'm sure that's a story someone's told, though I haven't heard it myself. Sounds ghoulishly interesting. I'm willing to bet it had more to do with the cold spot it created in the kiln for a time, redirecting the air flow. Or one time they tossed in a dude with oxides in his pockets."

Alexander watches 'Echo' leave with a thoughtful look, like there's this big ol archive in his head, and he's quietly making out a new file to go into it. His gaze drifts back to Love. "You're right. Sloppy work, despite the creative idea. You gotta have imagination AND follow through if you want to reach the big leagues. In murder, as in most other arts." A crooked little smile, and he shrugs. "Just a thing I heard. Probably just a way to scare people about the scary foreigners and their wicked ways." He takes another sip, then looks at her. "Have you considered finding another place to stay until the investigations are concluded and, perhaps, justice is done?"

"I, for one, like the scary foreigners and most of their wicked ways, but I could really do without blood pudding." Love chuckles when he says justice is done. Something about it is a little archaic and cheesy, but somehow he seems like he means it. "No, I mean yes, though my options are limited. Beach access, inexpensive. Silas may have left me a stack of properties to manage, but most of it's a juggling act with the project out on Sycamore." It's like walking into a kitchen with all six burners on the stove going, and you only vaguely know how to cook and what might be in each pan, and how long they've been going already. "I'll land on my feet, not to worry. I always do."

"Blood pudding isn't bad, in small doses. I don't know that I could stomach too much of it at once, though." Alexander shrugs in partial agreement. He nods, thoughtfully. "Yeah, if you want to live Bayside, it's hard to find something that isn't pretty outrageous. But if the beach is that important, well." He finishes off the drink, at last, and puts it to one side, his expression tightening at the mention of her father. "He was an interesting man. I didn't even realize he had a kid running around - but our interactions outside of work were minimal. If you were serious about wanting me to see if I can track him down, let me know. But," he sighs, "I'll be honest. It's not likely to go well. A lot of people disappear in Gray Harbor. Few are ever found."

"For most of my life ages twelve to twenty five, he didn't remember he had a kid running 'round out there." Love leans on the bar. This information might help explain why it took her so long to acknowledge him once Silas let her know something in his life was amiss.

"I've heard a few stories about this town, and I'm getting used to the mystery. He clearly intended something. He knew he was going to be gone when I arrived." She brushes her thumb across her fingertips, silent for a few beats. "I think if he's going to show up once I sort his mess, that's one thing. If he's dead in the woods, that's entirely another. I'm not sure I'm ready for either." Maybe an odd thing to say, but their relationship was obviously a complicated one. "It may come to that. If you hear anything, yes, I would like to know."

Alexander considers her, listening with that strange, flat attentiveness, like everything she says is getting recorded, somewhere, despite his otherwise slouched posture. "Statistically, the chances of him still being alive after such a long time missing are slim to none," he points out, bluntly. "But once I have a few other things off my plate, and this is resolved for you, I'll look into it, if you're interested in continuing our association." He looks over at the stage and the current performance for a moment, before turning back to her. "I shouldn't keep you from your work for too long, Ms. Liven, but it's been nice. To talk to you. I hope I'll have something for you, soon. And that we can talk again." He slides off the stool. "Before I go, is there anything else you need?"

"Yes, I know the statistics. I had a ... crime phase when I was deeply depressed and confined to a bed for the better part of a year." Love doesn't say why this was. Some people have a phase, and other people make it into a career. "That's also when I started with the tattoos. As you can see, I delve deeply into my interests." She nods, takes a breath. "Thank you for taking an interest." Sure, she's paying him, but she thanks him just the same. He could have said no. "Thank you for that further offer. Let's see how this goes and reevaluate then. Be safe. Good hunting."

Love's fingertips drum the bar lightly. She considers his last question only briefly. "Would you happen to know where to acquire a small, concealable, untraceable firearm?" Well isn't that a question.

Alexander's eyebrows go up. "Really? How interesting." He doesn't press further. This time. But it's clear some internal file is being updated, possibly with an asterisk or an exclamation point in there. He inclines his head. "You're quite welcome." That question stops him, and he studies her. "No," he says, at last. "I'm afraid I don't. However, legally firearms are not required to be registered in the state of Washington, so if you pop over the border to Oregon and hit a gun show, you might have some luck." A shrug. "I don't know if I would advise that, but it's a possibility. Good night, Ms. Liven." And then he's gone, slouching his way out into the night, careful to avoid touching anyone in the growing crowd, like they might be contagious.

Love merely smiles at Alexander's firearm advice. She nods succinctly, like it's no big deal, something she'll take under advisement as if he's just told her the Safeway has a special on mandarin oranges this week. "Thank you for the information." As he seems to be a font of facts and curiosities, and isn't also preachy, she finds that parting smile growing fond. "Goodnight, Alexander."