2019-09-14 - Let The Bodies Hit The Floor

Whenever Byron accepts the notification from his videoconferencing app, he would find Isabella on the other end, her bluetooth earpiece winking their iridescent lights against the right side of her face as she bustles around her kitchen's countertop making herself a sandwich. He has visited a few times before, and even knows where the spare key to her houseboat is - the interior would look familiar, and the handsome entrepreneur would be able to identify the location for where it is. The wide, one-sided window behind her looks out into the water, revealing a remarkably clear night - the moon hangs gleaming over the cloudless horizon, though considering the prevailing darkness, it's almost indeterminable as to where the skies end and the ocean begins. The only demarcation available that he can glimpse is the spray of thousands of stars across the celestial canopy he finds behind his friend - and they vanish where they touch into the water.

Through the small receivers, he'd be able to hear audible notes of music, distant and faint - the classic stylings of Jazz icon Nina Simone, launching onto the first quick piano bars of Sinner Man.

She's dressed down for the evening, the warmth of it keeping her in a lavender tanktop that buttons up the front, and black pajama bottoms that sling low on the hips, and patterned with white dolphins, nevermind that they don't actually come in that color in the wild. Her dark hair is pulled up in a messy knot.

"Hey," she tells him, looking up from her cutting board where she's busily slicing up some cheese - manchego from the local deli. "How's tricks? I think the chaos around here regarding the found body finally died down." She casts a wary, green-gold stare towards a window he can't see through the camera. "I think. You never know in this town."

Luckily for Byron, he gets the call once he enters his darkened apartment; one hand reaching for his tie to help loosen it while the other flips the switch to flood the living room with light. With the tie loosened, next comes his jacket, shrugging it off from his shoulders then slipping each arm from out of their respective sleeves. The phone briefly vibrated in pants pocket, sending him a notification just as he hangs the jacket up to keep it from getting wrinkled before sending it to the cleaners. This was an end to an incredibly long and trying day, his mind and body felt its impact. Now, he just needed the time to unwind before bed.

Videoconferencing? At this hour? He can't be too upset with the amused smile forming on his lips. Rather than access it from his phone, he takes the call in his office, lighting up that room as well. Settling down in his office chair, he lifts the top of his laptop and wakes it out of sleep, the screen glowing brightly.

His own backdrop, looked like any other office. It was both masculine and professional, very much like its owner. In one section of the screen, off to the side, a window view is scene, but the camera isn't focused on that. Slipping on his own headset, looking like a man who has yet to reach for a drink to help soothe his nerves, Byron will admire the scenario shown to him, watching as she makes a sandwich before being drawn to the beautiful glittery night sky.

"I just got back from the hospital, Lilith's there recovering from being mauled by a giant seal from within a dream." He then considers something, this thoughtful look in his eyes, before he shakes his head and says almost wearily, "I was concerned at first, after her stint in the OR, she really wasn't feeling better. Called in Erin and she did all that she could for her, but there wasn't much of a change. Just tonight, I called in August Roen for assistance. That might have helped."

It's when she brings up the body in the harbor that lifts one of his brows, "It's assumed that the harbor murder and the Bayside murder were done by Gohl. I actually believe that the Bayside murder was. I drove by the place with the police tape up and everything. That's Michael Addington's residence, brother to the first victim, Susan Lewis. So..." There's no reason to smile, but he does so anyway, "That fits in with the web that Gohl has weaved."

She can't help but grin; she has been in his office once or twice, and much like most of the penthouse, it boasts an impressive view of the coastline and for a moment, she stops to marvel at the differences between his and hers - far away, versus closeby. Both have their appeal. The suit, however, will always be stylish - and guaranteed a standout, considering his small town surroundings. "Look at you, Hot Shot," Isabella tells him teasingly, dark brows lifting towards her hairline. "Which piece of the world did you try and conquer today? Shanghai? Seoul?" What is evening here is morning in the East, after all.

The knife flashes in her hand, sharp and dangerous, the archaeologist spinning it in her fingers absently - thankfully she's stopped slicing her cheese when the news about Lilith filters through her communications array, and green-gold eyes lift, lips parting to gawk openly at Byron. "A giant seal?" she echoes in disbelief; she is only starting to remember her more fantastic Dreams back as a child, but she's never actually encountered violent marine life within any of them. But a more serious expression dawns on her, then, after a few moments. "Is she...?"

Her childhood friend, as always, anticipates her need for information almost instantly, and she leans forward towards her laptop, one arm folding across the countertop. "How bad was it?" she asks, quietly. "Did you try and-- " August. He would have been her suggestion, and she nods, stirrings of relief visible on her features. "How did that go? I knew August was a capable healer, but I've actually never seen him work. Was she feeling better after he visited?" She hopes so. Too many people she knows have kept Addington Memorial's doors revolving in all hours of the day.

"I'll come and see her, if she's open to visitors," she finally says, straightening up to assemble her sandwich. "Does she want anything from the outside world in particular?"

The slap of bologna and salami on rye fills the audio, a slather of dijon mustard, with Byron's information, she furrows her brows. "It does," she affirms, at Byron's assertions that it fits the web. "The police were knocking on doors along the docks, trying to see if anyone witnessed anything. I only caught a glimpse of the body, but it's nobody I recognized - but water does that, depending on how long it's been submerged. He was a man, age indeterminate, and rather heavyset. I haven't been able to get anything else, though I'm sure if I was armed with your silver tongue, I would've gotten much more headway." After a moment's contemplative silence, she adds, "Though I did find out that Detective Andi Johnson was assigned to that particular find."

"I'll have an order of what you're making right about now." Byron says, hearing the slicing going on and catching glimpses of the meal being prepared. "I had a few bites of cake at the hospital before I left. I was wondering if any of you had brought it. I thought that Clayton would've mentioned to you that Lilith had been hurt. Seems that she has more friends that I'd realized or someone was really grateful that she she accepted a pawn for some cash and decided to bake a cake to show their appreciation. Pretty good cake too."

There's something about this seal that brings out the intensity within Byron's already dark eyes, the frivolity of their earlier discussion about conquering the world and cakes and sandwiches is quickly forgotten and replaced with this strong silent grudge, the softness of his features showing signs of tension around the jaw. "The beach was attacked by a navy of sea creatures. Everything from crabs to groupers and then there was this one elephant seal. I think that's what it was, because of the nose." He's not a seal expert. After we'd practically wiped out all the crustaceans and fish, this seal charged directly at Lilith and crushed her body under its weight. After some immediate tending to by one of my tenants who was also present," Former tenant? The paperwork is being looked at if that's the case, "She was then rushed to the hospital and admitted into the OR."

If it looked like he was displeased before, that displeasure begins more clear within his tone the more that he explains things to her, "She was still weak and hurt but heavily medicated even after they carted her to recovery. I'm sure that the doctors and nurses were doing all that they could, but I didn't feel comfortable leaving her at the hospital. Or the fact that she may be bedridden there for who knows how long. So, I called in Erin. She brought some comfort, but with Lilith still helping her to hone her skills, Lilith wasn't able to aid with that at the time. Then the next day, since she still looked so weak and broken, I remembered that there was another healer, one who was in contention to take that spot during the exorcism. So I gave Roen a call."

"What Lilith wants it to get out of there." Byron states firmly. There's more that she wants, but he won't bring up that she still wants to be there for the exorcism.

"I think it worked. He had to do it remotely, because he was concerned that he'd have a difficult time explaining to the nurse's station on why he should be allowed to visit. She seemed relieved. It could still be the drugs talking, but if she's happy, then I'won't worry too much about it." There's far more to what went on that some remote healing. Lilith could remotely heal, this was far different and not something that Byron cares to bring up nor think on now.

"Hmmm. I figure that he'd have his wallet and ID on him so that the police could easily identify who he was and if it's not an Addington, then there's just that bit of research to be done to figure out where in the Baxter tree he might fall. By now the body is probably at the coroner or headed there. So unless they allow us access to see it or, by chance, pass along any information that they are allowed to, we'll have to hope that there's something that was missed that may tell us who the victim was. There's a lot that I can try with the body on hand, but without knowing who I'm looking for, unfortunately, I can't won't be able to do a remote reading." Then Andi Johnson's name is brought up, "Andi? Interesting, but not surprising."

"Do you want half my sandwich couriered to you?" Isabella quips, cutting her sandwich in half. "Or do you need me to order you pizza?" After a heartbeat or two of silence, she leans towards the screen to inspect his image, scrutinizing it carefully - whatever she finds quirks the line of her mouth downward. "You look tired, Ronnie," she murmurs. "I heard the Dreams have been particularly rough on you lately. Not the details, but the fact that you keep getting pulled in. I'm serious about ordering you some actual sustenance, you know, and not..." Mention of the cake has her inclining her head. "Homemade? Wow, lucky girl. Seriously, though, are you surprised? That face she has would definitely attract a lot of regard."

Said with a hint of admiration, and no small measure of envy.

"Anyway, Alexander hasn't mentioned anything to me about Lilith, but he was put on a paying job, recently, with a new client, so if it's in his radar, and it probably is." Because the investigator isn't the sort to drop the ball when it comes to people he knows getting hurt or missing, especially in the last few days - or he is perceptive enough of the close contact the two of them keep that he's anticipated that she would get the entire story from Byron, himself. "Chances are he just hasn't been able to tell me about it yet. But now that I've got you on the line, you can probably tell me more than he could."

And he does, with a rare, sharp intensity that he doesn't generally display anywhere outside where Lilith Winslow is concerned, and she quietly takes in the signs; the tension on his jaw, and how he palpably radiates displeasure and unexpended fury - not just because she knows him, not just because she knows what Lilith means to him, but also because it resonates with her own presently unaddressed rage, sitting somewhere within the churning maelstroms of her restless spirit, unable to truly deliver the blows where she wants them to land. "She's the most powerful healer I've ever seen in these parts," she confesses to the man on the other side of her line. "It stands to reason that after everything we've seen her do that there wouldn't be many who would be able to compare."

After a moment, she slowly exhales. "I'm glad she's feeling better, though I expected August's no slouch in that department, either."

If she senses that there is more to the story, she doesn't seem to twig on it, or sense it. She cuts her sandwich in quarters, though she doesn't eat, mindful of the fact that her friend is probably starving. But she is calling up an online delivery service with her hand. "I'm getting food sent over to you, if you need it," she tells him. For all that she immerses herself so deeply in past history, she has long since decided that she much prefers living in the twenty-first century, where such innovations exist, like Google and UberEats.

His remarks about the mysterious body has her gesturing slightly to one side. "Agree, if he's not related to either family, we can probably just chalk it up to a copycat or something else entirely, and that would definitely be official police business. Not that we haven't been performing our own investigations on the matter, but we've already got our hands full with the current situation, and I'd rather not get on the PD's bad side making this a habit. What we could do, though, is reach out to Andi and see if she'll give us anything in exchange for what we know so far." There is a pause. "She's got her own stake in this, as you know, with the entire Baxter-Addington mess. I don't know if I mentioned but she wrote me the day after my mother died."

"What I really need is to get to bed at normal hour so that I can wake up bright and early for the upcoming day without the weight of the evening's problems weighing heavily on my shoulders. Or my eyelids. But that's my espresso has been my best friend for years." When he's offered food after his initial joke, Byron shakes his head, "I'll be fine. And I'll have you know that I actually do cook. I cooked a lot when I lived on my own. Picked up some recipes online. Nothing too difficult, like I wouldn't try to boast about hosting a dinner party where I cooked every entree."

Yes, he knows that they call spiritualist healers but Byron states anyway, "Lilith doesn't consider herself to be a healer. That's not what she does. But yes, when she allows herself to mend others the way she repairs objects, she's damn good at it." A pause, "Which is why it's frustrating for me to watch her languish like this without anyone being able to do the same for her. Sure, they are trying but..." This is followed by a jaded sound of annoyance than anything, but he doesn't finish the statement. Then there's that look, like he's about to ask a question about, but once more decides against it.

"These dreams have been happening more frequently as of late. Of course, most of them have nothing to do with me at all and yet, or so I'd thought at first. But I can't help but sense a little of my own," Fears, "baggage thrown into the mix in a few of them. It's as if, while these are not my dreams, whoever it is, these dark men, they'll pick up on this darkness and use it against you."

"With Michael Addington being killed, I don't know why this one would be a copycat murder, but we'll see. Unless we find out what happened to the Kruger family," He knows full well who owns that motel, "I won't be able to link it to this."

Lilith doesn't consider herself to be a healer.

"I didn't know that." Isabella falls quiet, thinking back to past conversations - not just with Lilith, though she does highlight some key phrases in her long memories, with how she compares things and the mention of power sources, but with August, also, being the only other prolific one that she has come into contact with recently other than Bennie Oakes. "August calls himself a mender more than anything, that might be more appropriate."

His reminder about his own practical cooking talents has her grinning faintly, though - a quick, fleeting thing, brilliant and pearly before it fades again. Byron has his own degree of relentless self-reliance, and while she knows that well, she is also familiar with the vague shapes of the reasons that have developed it. And later, it fades entirely when he describes how pieces of his own experience have fallen into the Dreams of others, and she can't help but be discomfited by the idea; it's plain on that expressive face - after all, who wants that? Personal problems, private memories, all laid bare for someone else's perusal. It wasn't just awful, it was downright invasive.

A long moment of silence descends, and when she speaks up, it's quiet, but serious. "If it gets worse, let me know, alright? I won't ask about what's in them, but...I worry." The last is awkward. "You. Now Lilith, too."

There's a nod regarding Michael Addington. "Well, let's leave that until we talk to Andi," she says, walking back as she watches him intently from her side of the line. "No use speculating unless we get something to go on." The face he wears is familiar, and she finally addresses it after taking a ravenous bite of her sandwich, taking his word that he would rather sleep, it seems, as leave to start eating a very late dinner. "What is it, Ronnie? You have that look in your eye."

"Mender might be a good term, but she tinkers. She does repair work and..." Byron says this, though sounding as nonchalant as he possibly can, "And she can destroy. I believe that she felt comfortable enough to seek out and remotely heal Clayton because she had gotten into him, felt him when she flayed his leg at the bridge. With that in mind," He tries to make light of this particular topic, "That means it's easier for her to heal you once she's already hurt you."

Dreams are something that tends to be uncomfortable to discuss, especially if they are of personally dark nature. It's been days since he experienced his own personal nightmare and had been healed for the mental and physical damage done then with both the mental and physical linked in a way with the head trauma that he sustained. He was thinking more clearly now. He won't say much about Easton's. It's no one's business but Marshall's, but he brings up a little of what experienced with Lilith, "Lilith's dream took us through various moments in our lives. Some that I have very little recollection of, but others were memories I was familiar with. It sort of reminded me of both good points and the bad in our lives, twisted by the shadowy darkness. Mine," And here Byron practically dismisses it, though this was the dream where he was left incapacitated due to possible brain damage. This was also the dream with Alexander, "I was a the circus. My father was there." There were moments in their childhood where Detective Thorne had to play chauffeur and chaperone for children, accompanying them to events very much like the circus in the past, but Isabella probably knows that this was not a fun day at the carnival.

He'll say nothing more about these other murders. He only had the identity of one of the deceased, he couldn't do anything with any hint on who the other man was. It's the inquiry that follows that has him blinking. He'd been found out! Mulling over in his mind on what he'd like to say, he finally speaks out, "I'm still looking for the person who shattered my rib cage. I so much want it to be Gohl so that we can wrap this up neatly and bury it along with him. But if it's not? Then you bet I'm going to be on the search for whoever did this." This is all very well truth when he says it and he speaks on it so firmly and while it may have burdened his mind during previous things that were just discussed, it's something completely out of the blue unless it was really bothering him that much.

"When I had my first real conversation with August, he shared the same observation that all the abilities had a flipside," Isabella tells him in between bites of sandwich - her first quarter of it quickly disappears between her fingers, and she can be glimpsed reaching for something beyond her laptop to produce a tumbler of water, which she uncaps and takes a thirsty swig. "Makes sense that if you can repair someone, you can tear him or her apart also, by that logic." She falls quiet, her eyes distant, sorting through her memories and falling in that day in the coffeehouse with Lilith, and how she described a life living with the kind of power she has - the fear, and the loneliness that followed. What she had to do because she kept doing the same thing to Byron in her dreams, over and over again. Her face holds that same active look of inscrutability - where there is simply just too much on her features to determine whether one emotion holds primacy over the rest.

In the end, however, she keeps it to herself - she can be insufferably proud, and vain for no reason, but she is not conceited enough to think that Byron doesn't know all of that already. Some part of her envies that, too, because she knows what it is like - to have such a deep, profound connection with someone that Life seems hollow without it, no matter how many transient pleasures and thrills one fills these empty spaces with when it's gone. What would she, what would anyone, give up to have that again?

"That makes sense, too," she says, returning to the conversation, grim-faced. "If you know how to pull something apart, you can put something back together again, if you're paying attention, and Lilith's very clever." She flips her hand this way and that. That would also explain how she managed to heal Alexander remotely, when she had savagely flayed his leg once before under the Ring's influence.

She listens quietly when Byron provides her the details of his dreams - she knew about the one with Lilith, in passing, but not the pieces that make up the whole, her chin finding the cradle her palm makes, elbow braced on the counter throughout the recounting, but the way she listens is never still, never a passive or dismissive thing. Her eyes are intent, alive, fixing her focused attention on her friend - as if he was in the same room with her. Mention of the Shadows has her heart ticking up again, the quickening throb of the life-giving vein at the side of her neck pulsing against the white-gold chain that held Isidore's token to her person, but she doesn't speak until he is finished. "Nothing good ever came from the Veil," she says, pushing the rest of her sandwich away. She has a half left. "And those things only corrupt the good things they touch. Having nightmares are bad enough." The hinge of jaw tightens, fury burning hot through her bones, nearly scorching the fear into ash - anger has a way of pushing her like nothing else. Of the idea that the few good memories Byron had with the only girl he has ever loved had been touched and twisted, or returning the dead Stephen Thorne and forcing him to come face to face with him.

"Are you alright?" she asks, quietly, seriously. And by her tone, she doesn't mean just physically.

The circle back to his own attack has her nodding once. "I told you when you first told me about it that it didn't seem like him, not when his prior murders were rather clinical - he wants to beat his record, so I don't know if he would risk anyone surviving his attacks. Most likely it's someone else. A new player." She chews on her bottom lip - that is worrisome also, on top of the other dreams he has been having. "I mean, maybe it is the Ghoul, trying to send a message, but he's never bothered before, so why now?"

"Right, it makes sense. Probably the reason why I don't think I'll ever be able to do what they do. Lilith always had a knack of taking things apart and fixing them." Even before she became weird and disappeared completely out of their lives. Byron's frame loosens a bit as he leans back in a recline against his executive chair. "I don't know if I'll ever have the patience or interest in any of that. I know how to fix things. Light repairs around the house, but that's it. Nevermind knowing the anatomy of a person, despite what you learn from text books." Or what he's seen on film. It's probably more the latter.

Byron isn't bothered by watching Isabella eat, hell, he watched her make the damn sandwich. But some people are uncomfortable being in the presence of others eating, especially if they aren't. If he's paying it any mind, it's probably intentional to bring out even a spark of self-consciousness. Then again, Isabella was probably really hungry.

"Oh, I have a feeling that Veil has some personal vendetta against me. Probably against all of us, but what can we do?" Wry humor in his tone, he smiles faintly with a slight lift of his shoulders.

This confusion as to whether it was Gohl or Addington who had hurt him or some other is certainly one of thoughts that he ponders over when he has time to even think of anything else. Then again, he ties it all up with the Gohl situation, so when he thinks of the victims of William Gohl, the agony he'd felt when his ribs snapped isn't far behind- which in turn, reminds him of something more personal from his past. "What if it's because I gave the Archivist those bones? Now that I realize that I'm finding it harder to decide on what to sacrifice for this cause, I'm thinking of paying another visit to City Hall." A pause, his eyes staring out at the camera, staring into Isabella's eyes through the image on his screen. "Do you think that they'll agree to return them? It's a hard thing to ask for because they've already given us the information we need, told us about Thomas Addington. What do you think they'd ask in exchange even if they allowed for a trade?"

"Nobody's perfect, B, even you and me," Isabella quips, self-deprecating humor there, and the wildly exaggerated way she wiggles her eyebrows at him suggests the self-aware realization that the two of them are ridiculously flawed creatures who are most probably well outside of their depth whenever their powers are concerned. But this dip towards levity is brief, and it's not long until her more serious expressions take over again.

And she is. Starving. But she's left half her sandwich to the side, to consume later, contenting herself with her water. "Alexander thinks we're cursed," she tells him, regarding the Veil. "Spawn of the poor bastards that God kicked out of the Garden, not that I can begrudge him or anyone heaping measures of cynicism, but Minerva seems to believe that it's not all darkness here. That there are things that live there that are actually benign. Most of the things I've seen are either hostile or neutral." Her expression tightens, briefly, before it gentles again. "But I also think that we're uniquely equipped to not just survive, but combat the stuff that happens around here. It's not our job. It shouldn't be. We have lives to lead, our own happiness to find, if we're lucky. And yet..." She gestures between herself and him, and then to her surroundings, to signal their entire situation. "Here we are, trying to stop a ghost from killing any more because he pissed us all off in some way or another."

And speaking of the Veil...

The archaeologist's expression is rather skeptical when Byron meets her eyes through the screen, toying uneasily with her tumbler. "I don't know, Ronnie," she murmurs. "Between you and me, I don't think they will. I mean, if you were the guy on the other side of the desk, and a person gave you more than you asked for on a certain transaction, would you give it back? You're the big business guy, the things we deal with in the Veil run a ridiculous bureaucracy - you'd have more of an insight there than I do, I think." She chews thoughtfully on her lower lip, before leaning forward. "The Archivist seems to like you, though, and he might be willing to listen, but be prepared to give up something again in exchange. In my experience..." Her eyes lower on her water bottle, toying with it lightly. "Nothing in the Veil is for free."

Nobody's perfect Byron thinks on just that one statement. Perfection was the image he had always tried to portray for himself, even in his younger years. He might not have been the well-dressed, incredibly successful Rolls Royce driving type that he is today, but he always tried to exude a similar type of confidence and charm, this magnetism in his desire to get everyone to like and trust in him. Image was everything to Byron Thorne. This image of perfection.

"When he said that we were cursed. Spawn of the bastards that God kicked out of the Garden," He, meaning Alexander, Byron asks, "Did he mean humans, everyone in Gray Harbor? Or Baxters?" That's quite a statement to be made, but it could encompass everything he'd just mentioned. His face brighten on hearing how Minerva's outlook on this whole thing differed from Clayton's Doom & Gloom. "No shit. That's.. the opposite of what I would have expected. I remember back in high school when they," The goths, "Liked to pretend to be witches or even worse, vampires. And wrote bad depressing poetry. Or snark about everyone else normal. You know, Lily used to be like that." That's about the time that she dumped him! "Am I glad she grew out of it. Doesn't seem like everyone does." And he's not talking about just Minerva.

"Look, I'm just trying to find the guy who broke my ribs." Byron starts off semi-defensively, but it's not hard to see that he's making light of the whole matter. Not the fact that he want to hurt whoever hurt him. He's all about old grudges and vendettas, but as a smart-ass response to Isabella telling him how pissed off they all were that they joined forces to make this huge sacrifice. "I mean, I've lost tenants because of the murders, don't get me wrong."

All joking aside, he nods to Isabella's image, "I know that nothing is for free. I don't have much to offer, but if some kind of deal could be cut, needed my services for anything. I'll definitely see what I can do. It's a thought, I don't even know to even make an appointment for something like that. Remember, we tried calling before and were left hanging until we finally got something they wanted."

His persistence to maintain an outer, perfect shell is much like how Isabella, herself, clings to her ridiculous and overinflated confidence like second skin, nevermind certain insecurities that threaten to rear its ugly head on occasion. In the end, however, they are only human - raw, and messy underneath, no matter how many layers they try to use to cover it up.

"I think in that context, he meant us who were born in Gray Harbor," she says, with a resigned look that suggests that she doesn't necessarily believe Alexander is wrong in that regard - after all, look at the situation they're in at the moment, though Byron's dissertation about how the goth life should have been left back in high school has her grinning faintly. "People will like what they like," she tells him simply. "Minerva's highly unusual, but she's good at what she does. I don't think Alexander would have lived through that seance were it not for her protections." There's a brief flicker there, glancing down at her hands, remembering how so much blood poured across them as she tried to tape his throat shut. She takes a low, slow breath, looking back up at him with a start. "Oh yeah? I didn't know she had a goth phase. She and I didn't really know one another well in high school, though..."

She gives him a sidelong glance, though she's clearly trying to suppress a grin. "Though it seems to me that you kept tabs on her in high school, still." Said oh-so-innocently, remembering how his younger self had been so nonchalant in those years after their break up.

Look, I'm just trying to find the guy who broke my ribs.

She can't help but laugh, earning him a brief shake of her head. "Oh, well then, excuse me, Mister Thorne, for misjudging you," she tells him gamely, expression lit with mirth. She even puts her hands up in mock surrender, but with all joking set aside, she sighs. "It is a thought, and a pragmatic one in the end. Because if there was a way to get most of his bones back, nobody needn't sacrifice anything and you would have lifted a tremendous burden off all of us bound to attend his funeral. I would say keep calling, but that definitely did not work for us the last time - though it's a start. That's how we knew they were there to begin with. Maybe calling signals them that we need to see them, and whenever they think it's the right time, they call back? That's what happened with me the first time we went. I had to signal them somehow. Repeatedly. Persistently."

She pauses. "But since we've been there a few times already, and the Archivist does seem to like you, maybe you'll have an easier time than Alexander and me. It can't hurt to try. If you do end up going, though, I'm coming with you."

"But it's not only us." Despite the subject matter, Byron remains in this mostly languid position, back of his head fully resting against the cushion of his chair with his head tilted slightly to the side. "Clayton brought up that there were other locations like ours too. So we can't be the only ones feeling shafted right now. It makes me wonder just how bad off the rest of the world is. Though you wouldn't be able to tell through mundane sources, like the news." He goes off on a bit with this thought in mind, "There's a writer who is renting one of my units. You may have heard of him, Dante Taylor? He writes horror, but he's also written a few non-fiction books, on series in particular which I believe is called Dark Hearts. The one of those that I'd read before I actually got a chance to meet with the author was his writing on New England folk lore and legends." His words begin to slow at this last part mentioned. He's obviously thinking about something now. "Strangely, he doesn't seem to have encountered anything in our fine town as of yet. Or, if he has, he hadn't let on." Not that he'd read the guy or anything. He doesn't care that much. "But I asked if he'd felt something similar in other towns. Or, well, trying to get to the point, if he felt something odd in our own. I guess every town has their oddities." He then goes to mention why he's a shifty landlord, "While I brought up some of the rumors going on regarding goblins, ghostly serial killings and cursed family lines, I left some of this open for him to decide on his own what he cares to believe." A pause, "He has a very faint glow. I expect him to experience something before he leaves town."

He has no more to offer about Lilith's goth phase, though he can't keep himself from grinning when Isabella makes it a point to bring up that it seemed that he was keeping tabs on the moody goth girl. "I knew she hung around Gina, alright!" And Gina was an Addams Family style Goth Princess or something.

No, Byron doesn't like the idea of going back to City Hall and asking for those bones back, but what else can he do? "I'll give them a call to let them know I'm interested." However, when she brings up thing about the Archivist taking a shine to him, there's an arch of his brow, "I'd take a shine to me too if I were the only person polite and courteous enough to answer a question after they'd already answered some of ours." His answer having been taken as a compliment, apparently!

The fact that there are other places in which the Veil could be reached doesn't surprise her at all, though Isabella's face remains grim throughout that exposition. "I wouldn't be surprised," she murmurs. "I wonder if they're as populated as Gray Harbor with...you know. People like us. I've been out there, but I don't think I've ever wandered into a place that felt like our fine little corner of the globe. Though I wouldn't trust me, I don't think - I tried to keep the blinders on while I was away."

She looks surprised, however, when Byron mentions Dante Taylor. "I've met him," she tells him, leaning back on her stool and crossing one leg over the other by the knee. "At Easton's place having a nightcap. He was looking for a place to stay in the short-term so I suggested that he look you up and see if anyone in your building is subletting an apartment." She seems intrigued that the man would have gone with her suggestion, but her expression becomes all the more mischievous as she wiggles her fingers. "This is the part where you tell me what an excellent friend I am," she ribs him. "Still, it's strange that he hasn't encountered anything strange yet. Maybe because he's deliberately looking for something to write about? You know, Murphy's Law."

Mention of the man's faint potential has her brows lifting towards her hairline. "Huh. I didn't look at him too closely, but it was at a bar, and I was distracted. It was the night when I asked Alexander to meet me with a copy of the photograph that started...all of this." She gestures between him and herself again "To send to Elias to see if he'd be able to use it in his own research. I really should catch up with him, though - I ordered some books to be delivered in Likely Stories. Maybe I'll see how he's doing, then, when I pick them up."

Regarding Lilith's goth phase, the grin that lights up his face is absolutely worth teasing him about it and the archaeologist laughs, lifting her index and middle fingers to point at her eyes, then to his on the screen, I'm watching you. But her face gentles at that, lips turning upwards in a smile that manages to somehow be more wry and rueful at once. "I'm glad the two of you reconnected," she tells him, sincerely, and leaves it at that.

His mild chastisement over how she last treated the Archivist does, to her credit, inject a degree of sheepishness to her, looking somewhat awkward at being called to task - and she can't deny it either. She was rude, and snippy. "I was dealing with a lot that day, my patience was thin," she tells him - that had been, after all, just two days after her mother's murder. "I was fresh out of sending my father and Skipper out of town when I met you guys there. Still, out of the three of us, you're the most qualified to make the best impression, anyway. Alexander's social graces aren't the best, I have a temper..." And how. "...you were honestly the best bet in the end to play the honey and diplomacy card. The three of us have our strengths, right?"

She glances at the remaining half of her sandwich, before she sighs. "Anyway, I should probably finish my dinner, pick at my thesis and then sleep. You should, too. You need it more than I do, these days. Keep me posted, and stay safe?"

"Where do you even start when doing research on this sort of thing?" Byron has to ask, curious now on whether there's someone or somewhere (a wiki, perhaps!!) that held that information that you could inquire with or look up. Thorne had shown little interest in learning more about where his powers came from or the shadows in the past. He knew about them, these shadow men too. Heck, Tobin even warned him about them through his mother; but now, there was a real reason to figure everything out.

"Ah, so it was you who directed Mister Taylor in my direction? I hope you're not expecting commission from that." He says still grinning, "But I'll make sure to pick up the tab the next time we go out." That's something he tends to normally anyway. "I haven't visited that place in," Years, probably, "A while. Likely Stories. I always thought it was a witty name."

Despite his weariness and things that had happened earlier that linked his mind with another, Byron seems to be in a better mood. Especially when told that Bella was glad that he reconnected with Lilith again. He won't add to it or comment, but he does seem pleased. As he seems even more pleased to be told that he was the right man for the job to handle professional situations like those in City Hall, even the City Hall on the other side.

Sleep. She reminds him. "I'l probably get some of that sleep thing after a hot shower." One hand is already reaching forward to cut the call, but he'll add in before then, "You sleep well yourself, Bella. See you tomorrow at the docks."