2019-09-21 - Re-Negotiating

It was a grossly humid day, but that doesn't stop Byron Thorne from dressing in his usual business ensemble in dark colors to boot. He was here on business as tends to be the case every time he visits City Hall no matter the reason. But yes, this has become all routine for them now. They've met so many faces so far, that even if this guard isn't familiar to them, there was no need to question it. If he smiles at the man, it's terrible subtle, "Yes, we're here for the Thorne Party." Looks like he knows what he's doing at least, already leading them into, hopefully, the comfort of some good old fashioned AC.

A look is then given to Isabella, when he murmurs as he follows along, "Thank you for coming. You... know that you didn't have to." In fact, this wasn't something either of them brought up to anyone.

She is feeling extremely lazy today, for some reason.

When Isabella congregates with Byron at the Veil City Hall, meeting at their regular spot in the actual building itself before they follow whatever breadcrumbs have been left for them, she only barely manages to stifle a yawn behind the back of her hand. "It's one of those days," she murmurs towards her childhood friend, as always contrasting sharply with him by virtue of the way she dresses; painfully casual, compared to the man's expensive and stylish threads. She has a cup of coffee in her hand that she has made herself, in a spare paper cup, before that is discarded when they're met by an unfamiliar security guard.

His apology is taken in good stride and she smiles slightly. "Yeah," she says. "Isabella Reede. I'm with him." She inclines her head towards Byron. "Don't worry about it, I'm sure you've got enough to keep track of today."

Byron's murmur has her green-and-gold eyes tilting his way, a sideways list taking her close to him, but only a touch; just enough to nudge her shoulder against his. "I did know," she murmurs. "But nobody should go through this end without a buddy. Besides." Here, she flashes him a winning smile. "I'll always be your huckleberry."

Byron spent the early morning hours trying to invigorate himself for the rest by way of an early morning workout. How has that helped him? He felt great for a time, but this was the late afternoon, so he's already feeling the drain of the day. He could possibly do with another shot or three of espresso. He puts on a good face, however, posture erect, shoulders squared. His gait had a purpose.

What he didn't expect was an introduction by the friendly guard. Yes, he had seen the man's name on the tag, but he will offer up a polite enough, "It's nice to meet with you then, Jake..." He'll give the place a look over, allow some of his focus to be drawn to the lonely sound of a typewriter, making small talk all the way. "It's nice and quiet in here." That was a good thing right? Then the man gestures to the room, eliciting a nod from Thorne, "Thank you." A look is then shot over at Isabella before he reaches for the knob to proceed through that very door.

"Seeya, Jake," Isabella says, waving to the security guard before falling a step into Byron's shadow, and slightly to the side. It is his party, so he gets to go first. Hands slide into the pockets of her jeans as she waits.

There's also a curious glance down the hall - it is empty, of course, the Hall is already closed for the day, but the sign doesn't slip past her notice, denoting the Archives and whatever lies beyond it. Though considering the fact that this would be their fourth visit here, she already knows what to expect. She nudges her friend a little, lowering her voice. "I wonder if he'll wear a fancy hat this time now that he knows you're coming to see him," she murmurs. "Maybe some rouge?"

Isabella can tease at him all she wants, but she'll only get an eye roll from Thorne.

For the most part, the room looks no different since the last they'd been here. The books and other objects more as oddly as they did back then, though this time the entire place is lit up with candles. Or, at the very least, a grand chandelier that sparkles by candlelight. Byron's pace slow to a curious walk, taking in the sudden extravagance within this cluttered place. "...Fancy." He murmurs over to Isabella as they make their way deeper inside.

That's when they are confronted by the pinky flesh of the Archivist, all dressed up in this near glistening wedding veil. This does make him blink, doing his best to remain as unphased as possible. It's a good thing, perhaps, that this lightheadedness that he feels dulls some of his senses. Slightly. "Thank you for meeting with us today on such short notice." He'd like to ask what the occasion was for the Archivist to be all decked out like that, but he's being polite and happy to be ignorant of that matter.

"It is," she murmurs back. "I wonder what the occasion is."

For some reason, the feel of the Archivist's domain feels different today, and in spite of fighting her sleepiness for most of the day, the sight of the glorious chandelier hanging from the endless has those green-gold eyes towards the darkness stretching into forever, framing an elaborate trellis of low, gleaming light. But it's the nothing that yawns from above them that has Isabella drawing back her stare again, her skin crawling and goosebumps pebbling over its sunkissed surface, that familiar dump of adrenaline setting every flight or fight trigger in her on fire. She swallows.

The slow drawl, thankfully, distracts her and she draws her attention away to look forward when they're identified. "Thank you for letting us see-- "

The Archivist is dressed for a wedding. His wedding.

"....you..." she manages to finish. After a long pause, she continues. "Congratulations. I didn't know you were getting married today." Byron probably had no idea, either, but miracles of miracles, she manages to keep that quip inside her somehow.

Thorne practically bristles when Isabella brings up this wedding. If he shoots her another glance, this time one of displeasure, he's very subtle about it.

"It's difficult to not worry about time I'm afraid." Byron was more or less making small talk as well now. He doesn't divert his gaze away from the veiled Veil creature, that would be rude. Instead, he'll look on the Archivist as if this were any other day and it wasn't wearing such an extravagant outfit. Or he tries to. "I believe that you may already know why I've come to you today? When we here last, I donated my collection of William Gohl's bones, not realizing that we would need them later." He's quick to add, "I know that by our giving you those bones, you paid us back with some valuable information and I thank you for that. I was hoping, however, that there would be some way for us to get as many of those bones back-- Of course, I'm not asking for all of them."

He gets right to the point. Mostly. Though he will let his gaze sweep over the room at the mention of cake and while he doesn't notice any, he does murmur an appreciative enough, "Thanks, that's.. generous of you." And cruel all the same.

There's no cake, but the mention of it has Isabella's expression shifting into something else that's woefully indescribable. Not just the fact that there doesn't seem to be any despite the invitation to partake in some, but also because eating Veil cake is probably not that great an idea. She's read Alice in Wonderland; she's not about to place herself in an Eat Me-Drink Me situation, no thanks!

She is always quick to don humor for armor and when Byron shoots her a look, she grins at him faintly, but otherwise, she falls quiet, and lets her friend dive right into business. She says nothing, yet, letting man and Veil creature converse about the bones. Her eyes remain, largely, on her present companions, but occasionally, they can't help but wander curiously in the changed chamber. She is wary, yes, always when it comes to the other side - but whenever she comes to the Hall of Records, she can't help but look and wonder.

If there's a time to look away from the Veil creature it's when they expose those sharp teeth when trying to get the wedding veil from off its face. Unfortunately, Byron doesn't divert his eyes quickly enough. "My..." He clears his throat, feeling a bit of scratchiness there, "My apologies. It's just that we have a killer to stop and... this was all my mistake." Giving up those bones was definitely a big mistake!

The deal is mentioned, the old deal and this is something that makes Byron stop and consider it all. If anything, he looks over at Isabella in an attempt to read her own emotions or ideas on this. "Is that the only way?" He makes sure to come out and ask, "Is there nothing else that you or the Collector may want in exchange for Gohl's bones." He's not sure how that works or what the Collector's Collection is filled with.

The request makes him just as uneasy as it did the first time they were told to give up their own bones for information on how to stop Gohl.

The books - waving and fluttering at her, as if in invitation; the movement at the corner of her periphery has Isabella turning her attention there. While Byron and the Archivist converse, she is unable to help herself. Burning, tugging, raging curiosity - like a tether, it draws her steps slowly in that direction, sidling over inch by gradual, painstaking inch. She doesn't make a move to touch them, once she's close enough, but she does take an inquisitive glance downward at the topmost book's cover.

Mention of the old deal reminds her of what she had been willing to do in the beginning, but she doesn't reiterate it just yet. Byron's question is a curious one and she listens to a reply on that first.

"It's called negotiation." Byron says, but he understands where the Archivist is coming from. "The bones in question," He means his own, "How many do you need for the rest of William Gohl's bones? An equal trade for each of them? You were willing to give us information for one of Gohl's bones the last time, so I'm a little curious." At this point, he doesn't notice that some book has piqued Isabella's curiosity, now listening to this new offer that comes up. "Gohl's ghost? Because if we have to trade the rest of his bones for the bones I've already donated--" A pause, "Or do you mean the possessed Thomas Addington?"

He knew that the exorcism was coming up that would separate the two, spreading Gohl out to those present for the event.

Grippe Outbreak? And from the start of the current century to the last year of the next. Isabella's lips purse faintly.

Unable to help herself, perhaps. It's the only thing in the entire records hall that she can actually read, and she's not about to miss the chance. The young woman pulls up the end of her satchel, to unzip it and rifle through it, but lets the strap slip off her shoulder and 'accidentally' drop her entire bag into the pile of books, perhaps knocking it over. "Oh, god. Sorry, sorry," she mutters, hastily getting down on one knee so she could attempt to re-stack the books in the right order, reaching out, if she can, to pluck the Outbreak book off the floor and even makes a big show of blowing the dust and the like off the top of it, brushing her fingers on the cover.

Byron feels like he's standing there in front of the class being scolded by some teacher. This one wearing a wedding dress. Two of his bones? The first time around, he wasn't willing to give even one of them up. It seems that his assumption is correct on exactly who they need to drag here. "Impossible. Those bones are needed only after Gohl is separat--"

His words are cut off by the sudden clattering of books going on in one corner. Strangely, or not so strangely, Isabella was there. There's just the slightest furrowing of his brows when their gaze meets, though those dark eyes can only watch just where these books were scampering to. He's about to say something, lips parting, most likely to ask if she was alright, buuut there was no need to draw further attention to her after some a catastrophe. "We're separating Gohl from Thomas Addington in the next day or so." He's sure the Archivist must already know this. "Just so we can bury Gohl and as many of his bones as we can get our hands on. If we give Addington to you now," He's trying to work some of this within his mind, "Maybe we won't need the exorcism." This is spoken mostly to himself, as if trying to convince himself of this.

She is many things; painfully curious is one of them, and while it would be a lie to claim that she has never tried to steal an artifact in her life, if not just to make sure it ends up in a museum where it belongs, Isabella doesn't intend to perform Grand Theft Library: The Veil Edition today.

Byron Thorne is presently attempting to make a deal with the Archivist, and she suspects, considering their present track record, that they will still want to be welcome here in the future. The act of carrying away a book from the records room will probably count as an offense that would have them banned forever; people have been ejected from exclusive nightclubs for less. But with the Archivist presently distracted, she attempts to grab the fleeing book.

If she's successful, she'll open the cover a crack and take a look at the first page she manages to read in the now dimmer light of the room, now that some of the candles have been extinguished. If not just to indulge her curiosity as to what the god a Grippe is.

He may be dying of curiosity on what Isabella is up to, but Byron will keep his focus on the Archivist in the hopes that he doesn't notice either. Well, his focus was on the Archivist until the familiar scent of Chanel No 9. fills the room out of the blue. It's not something that he's entirely familiar with, but perfume is perfume, and fancy women in L.A. loved their perfume, especially their Chanel. At first, he thinks someone else just stepped into the room-- another Veil creature, this one wearing a heavy dose of perfume, but that does not seem to be the case. Instead, his eyes meet the dark beady eyes behind that white veil.

"It... has a pleasing fragrance." If that's what is being asked. "Pleasing enough." He's not put off by it.. yet. Perhaps if he had to remain here for longer and breathe that in all day, he might change his mind. "But yes. I understand and accept your terms. We'll need time to think about it, of course." Like the last time.

If anything, the discovery is rather macabre - just a book of death, of pages and pages of names of people who have died, and people who have yet to die. Isabella does not leaf through to the middle or the end of the book in her hands, unwilling to find out who is on this list in the next few years. But she does slip her phone out of her pocket, swipes her thumb into the lock screen from where Alexander - with his bird on his shoulder, and his new cat on his lap - and his dark-eyed stare is looking up from her through the ones and zeroes that have etched his image to life, makes sure her camera's flash is turned off, and attempts to take a picture of the page before she lets the book go and lets it skitter away from whatever academic indignity it has just endured in her fingers.

"Thanks," she murmurs towards the book, and blows it a kiss.

She straightens up, finally, to shoulder her bag again, her phone tucked into the back pocket of her jeans. She moves further back into the room, though the air seems to have...changed. She takes a whifff, and glances over to Byron curiously. The question is in her eyes: What are you doing?

"I'm willing to part with one of my wisdom teeth," she says at last, for both Byron and the Archivist to hear. "If you think that'll help. We can leave with some of the bones now." She had been willing to part with all of her wisdom teeth the last time, just to spare her friend and Alexander from the burden.

If Byron's head was hurting earlier, the assault of Chanel No 9 helps amplify that every minute that he remains in the Archives. He looks more than happy to leave, though happy isn't the word. There's no smile on his face. When he catches the look Isabella gives him, the same thing can be said about the look he shoots over at her now.

Perfume and the sudden chime of wedding bells. Yep, it's time to go. "Thank you again for--" He'll start, then maybe he notices one of those black eyes suddenly disappear from beneath the thin white veil. This, of course, is followed by just a single blink, his brows lifted, "for your assistance. Again." To Isabella he calls out, "Ready to go, Izzy?" Even if she doesn't say anything in agreement, Thorne starts on his way out, because he's drowning in Chanel.

The booming voice kills more of the candles, darkness growing within the chamber.

There's an instinctive step back when the voice rattles through the chamber, because this is the first moment when the veiled Veil creature has actually raised his voice on his visitors.

Her heart hammers wildly against her chest - it was different, when it was Byron getting the brunt of it, but now that it's in address to her comment, she can't help but feel tension wind up from her stomach and braid across her shoulders. "But that was what you suggested as a tribute the first time we were he-- " Isabella bites back the rest of her words; it's not a hill that she wants to die on, and from what she remembers of the Veil from her time as a younger girl and unafraid to explore her talents, the only thing constant and consistent about the Veil was the fact that it wasn't. She can only sigh.

"Thank you for the appointment," she murmurs, before taking a step forward to join Byron in his egress out. "Not gonna to lie, this close to calling Doctor Tillie Harlow to chop off part of my coccyx if it makes this all easier," she murmurs. "At least we have a back-up plan if the exorcism goes south?"

Once outside, perhaps with him leading the way and after they'd said their good byes to both the Archivist and Jake, with a normal sounding name, Byron asks something that's been on his mind since it was uttered, "Get well soon? Exposure to recovery? What the hell was that all about?" It feels good to breathe in fresh air again and clear out the heavy perfume scent, even if the stuff clings to his hair and clothes still. "I was getting a little nauseous back there." Sure, it was all the perfume's doing! "What did you get up to?" He has to come out and ask, because whatever it was, it sure made a huge raucous even if it, oddly, didn't attract the Archivist's attention.

With their option made available, he doesn't like either. "People didn't think it was final enough to send Addington to the asylum. I say we just drag him back here with the De le Vega's help and we donate him and the rest of Gohl's bones to the Collector. How will they get out of that one?"

Ten or eleven days from exposure to recovery.

There's a look shot over to the creature as she leaves, brows furrowed. Byron's query gets him a lift of her shoulders, Isabella's face just as baffled as the man's expression. "No idea," she murmurs. "I mean, we've been through a lot the last few weeks. Maybe he means that? Just...the rest of us returning to our lives after all of this." She scrubs her face. "It would be nice to just get away for a while and focus on other things. Like work. I made some really good progress on my thesis yesterday. But that entire perfume cloud was really sudden, I didn't think they'd have even heard of Chanel No. 5 over on the other side."

They pass by the security guard, Jake, and she flashes him a smile. "See you later, Jake," she says in parting as they pass, moving towards the EXIT sign just as Byron asks the milli9on dollar question...

...only for her steps to pause. She rubs her eyes and takes another look at the sign, and all she sees is...

"Um." She shakes her head hard again, and pinches her fingers into her nosebridge. Her heartrate is up again, ticking at the side of her neck like a timer winding down. "Well, the last time we offered the bones to the Archivist, he swallowed the bones. Might be he'll do the same to Billy and Thomas if we take them in there. I don't think we ought to give them anything more, plus I don't know how that transaction makes sense, in the end. Bones for bones - he said. If we gave him Thomas Addington for the bones, then what's the point of getting Billy's bones back when he'd still be trapped on the other side with them? What's burying them going to do when we're just giving both over to the Collector? Not to mention we don't really know what or who he is, just an entity with so many appointments that he has no openings for thousands and thousands of years. It-- "

Her expression becomes even more perturbed when they pass another sign, on their way out of the building. "...I think I'm more tired than I thought," she murmurs, pressing her fingers hard against her eyes.

"I have no issue with them swallowing Thomas Addington or Gohl." Byron will say in almost a huff, "If the Collector's Collection can keep Gohl locked up better the asylum? Then I say we do it? This way, there's no need for an exorcism. Sure, we'll get the bones back, he'll we'll let the keep the bones if they keep Addington and Gohl." He then stops once they are outside to turn and look at Isabella, "That's what we want right? That's why we're doing this? If the bones and Addington and Gohl are part of the Collection, that keeps them away from our world. Also, this way? No one has to sacrifice shit."

There was some heat to his tone, but he allows that to simmer down, "I don't want anyone to sacrifice anything that they'll regret. I know that they are preparing for it now, but once it's gone, there's no taking it back." It's at that moment when his intense eyes lower to view Isabella's pendant, all without her toying with it this time. She may notice the look, but his gaze lifts immediately afterwards. "Either way, we have to think fast. Once the exorcism is done then we're left with one option and that's to give up our own bones if we want the chance to get those donated bones back."

Walking towards his car, his hand in his pocket ready to retrieve his keys, he asks, "Want me to drive you to your place? You can pick your jeep up later." Not that his own head wasn't hurting to add to the lethargy.

She listens to her friend's opinions in silence, fixing her attention there despite the growing well of dread within her stomach when she realizes that she can't read anything. It's a silent scream that she manages to hide under the guise of thinking through the new option presented before them.

When she speaks, finally, it's in measured and considering tones: "We don't know if the Collector will do that, is the thing," Isabella murmurs as she looks over at him. "If he intends to put Thomas Addington in a display case for the rest of his life or something else entirely. I don't know whether that means he'll be able to use his powers, or if he's going to be in hand to be used by something that may potentially be even more dangerous than Margaret Addington. We could be worrying for nothing, but we do want this solution to be permanent and I feel that to ensure said permanence, we should try to do it ourselves without relying too much on their help. We don't know what happens there, and the rules aren't consistent. They change. I mean, you saw what happened in there. When we first visited, the Archivist said teeth were acceptable. Now, it's not. When it comes to these transactions, I don't know if we can trust them, that's all."

She chews on her bottom lip. "That's what I'm thinking, anyway. I say we stick to our current plan, even if it means costing more. If the exorcism tomorrow fails? Then we have a plan B. If it goes off without a hitch?" She exhales. "That means giving up our own bones. I'm willing to do that, even if it means surgically extracting something out of me that nobody's going to miss. But this was your gamble, Ronnie - maybe send a message to the group proposing it, but everyone's done a lot of work already and they might have the same concerns I do."

The young woman doesn't miss it, the way Byron's dark eyes fall on her pendant and something within her constricts, then. Her fingers lift, to touch the side of his face lightly, and gives him a small smile. "Let me worry about that," she says quietly before her hand lowers.

The offer of a ride has her shaking her head. "I'll be fine," she says. "I need my vehicle tomorrow anyway for work, but I'll see you soon."