2019-09-24 - Cabin for the Temporarily Composure-less

August was sent home roughly five minutes after Cy showed up at the shop. Cy took one look at him and sent him packing, like a proper business partner. Such was life. Truth be told, August wasn't feeling up to being awake, much less climbing a tree.

So he went home and took a nice long bath in the soaking tub, changed into some sweats because real clothes were for people who didn't feel like they were dying, and zoned out on his futon with tea and broth. He slept like that most of the day, until he fielded some texts from de la Vega about Alexander apparently going insane and trying to kill someone? also a phonecall about was Itzhak okay or had something happened to him and his violin case, from Isabella. So his social life was doing quite well for all that he was ensconced at home with the Martian Death Flu.

Now he's waiting, with a fresh mug of tea, for de la Vega to drop off Alexander. Fresh sheets for the fold out futon bed, extra set of towels in the bathroom. He really just wants to knock back some Theraflu and sleep for a century. The geese are put away (so de la Vega won't shoot at them), the goats and chickens and ducks are too. It's a quiet evening, birds and insects beginning to call to one another, sunlight fading from the sky. The wood stove is on, leaving a line of smoke into the sky, same as those in the other cabins in this part of the forest.

Some time later, well after that last text message went out from de la Vega informing Roen he'd be heading over, the rumble of an engine is finally heard. It presages a crunch of gravel under tires that skid only briefly before finding purchase on the the pitted road. A travesty, really, to be bringing a car like that out here; black, sleek and bulldog-like, it bleeds speed from every pore. Well, and law enforcement. It also bleeds law enforcement, courtesy of that ugly push bar mounted on the front.

Past the stump of a tree that once looks to have been a gorgeous creature in its own right, and the captain pulls to a halt just inside the gate, and kills the ignition. He closes the laptop, locks a few things up, checks his gun, and swings out before fetching the back door for Alexander. "Mantén tus manos para ti mismo," he mutters as he lets him out. And then, assuming the man cooperates, they head up to the front door, where he delivers a couple of sharp knocks.

Alexander cooperates! Like any good, dangerous person who is trying to not be one, he keeps his hands where Ruiz can see them, and his movements slow. Although that might just be the illness; he's a bit glassy-eyed and feverish. The workout clothes, still damp from being soaked and streaked with soot in places, probably don't help. He does pause outside the door of the car, looking around like he's trying to memorize the lay of the land. Or expecting to be attacked.

He doesn't hold up the procession for long, though. His head lowers and he slinks his way towards the cabin like a kicked dog, saying nothing. Just trying to breathe. And stay calm.

August isn't slow to answer, except for how his muscles are aching and making him a bit stiff. He doesn't look that bad, except for being a little pallid, with dark circles under his eyes. "Hey." He sounds bad, though; his voice is rough and heavy, like his chest's congested. He looks over Alexander, then Ruiz, steps back to usher them both in.

Inside it's warm and well-lit, cozy even. "I got a call from Isabella," he says, shutting the doors behind them.

Ruiz gestures for Alexander to go in first. The cop looks.. not great. His shoulders are slouched, dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. Red nose and the occasional sharp sniff. Might have to bite the bullet and take an actual sick day tomorrow. "You look like shit," he tells August. This, oddly, seems to cheer him up infintessimally. His fingertips brush the grip of his gun, then withdraw, and he prowls on in after the younger man he was escorting. "Nice place you've got here," he'll admit quietly, lurking in the entryway like he's waiting to be dismissed. And, "What did she want?"

Alexander gives August a crooked and apologetic sort of smile. "I'm sorry. About the burden." His eyebrows go up at the harshness of his voice. "You've got it, too." A spark of his usual inquisitiveness surfaces. "Fuck. Did everyone in this town come down with the flu at the same time?" And then Isabella's name is mentioned, and something both hopeful and ashamed sparks in his face. He slides inside and looks around. "Is she okay?" is his question, followed up by, "I had to hang up on her. It's lovely in here."

August grunts a laugh. "Yeah well," he arches an eyebrow at Ruiz, "looks like that's going around." He chases that with a brief, wry smile.

"Thanks," he says, to the compliments. Then sighs, folds his arms. "She sounded fine, just, you know, worried. Said there's...a concern, that Gohl did something to us during the exorcism." He looks pointedly at Alexander. "She suggested maybe I have a look at you. With," he taps his temple, "and see if he hurt you somehow, or, something like that." A long breath in and out. "You're not the only person having some problems right now, so I'm inclined to agree with her." He cuts a glance at Ruiz, who may or may not have noticed Lilith's destruction of the rock in Erin's yard. "That Gohl gave us a little payback before we shut him away."

Ruiz is off in his own thoughts, while the pair converse. His brows are knitted, dark eyes narrowed slightly as he stares at a spot on the floor. Some dirt one of them tracked in. Irrelevant, but he stares at it like it did him wrong. A swallow, finally, and his chin comes up a fraction to regard the taller man whose house they're in. "If you could. I'd appreciate it. Are you able to keep him here for a few days?" He sounds distracted. Tired, hanging on by a thread.

"I wasn't anywhere near the exorcism," Alexander points out, quietly. But can't help the flare of hope. Being possessed, or influenced, it would be so much better than what he fears is going on that his voice is downright eager as he says, "Look at whatever you need to. You know I don't mind." But his gaze flickers to Ruiz. A frown of concern. He starts to sidle towards the cop, hands coming up in the 'unarmed and harmless' posture. "Javier." He coughs a couple of times, hastily covering it, "You need to rest. You look like you're about to fall over. Can you make it safely to town, or..." a worried glance towards August. Yes, he was contemplating forcing the man to commit suicide less than an hour ago, but now he's worried. They're friends!

August eyes Ruiz and then Alexander by turns. His gaze goes unfocused for half a second, and he frowns, shakes his head. "This fucking flu," he mutters under his breath. "Yeah, not a problem. Since we're both sick with this thing, I can keep him here at a minimum until I'm doing better. I'm sure not going anywhere like this."

Another glance at Ruiz, then August says to Alexander, "He's just got this same garbage we do. Probably needs at least a couple days in a tub with candles and a romance novel." He gestures at the futon. "Come on, let's have a seat and check you out."

Ruiz's job was to get Alexander here, where August could watch over him. Nothing else has mattered; the man can be singleminded when he wants to be. He's about to turn and go when a flicker of movement is caught from the periphery of his vision; the guy moving toward him. He starts to back up and reach for his gun almost by reflex, and it takes him a tick or two to realise the man is unarmed and showing him his hands. He squeezes his eyes shut, then blinks them a couple of times as if to clear his vision. Mumbled, "I'm fine." He remembers, dimly, his own gun held to his head. However briefly. The desire to squeeze the trigger.. he can taste it still, the possibility sweet and bitter all at once. "Please keep me updated," he tells August, and then fumbles for the door handle.

"You're ill, August. Are you sure you're up to this? You've gotta be feeling pretty weak, yourself." It could be just worry that prompts Alexander to say that, as he studies August with wide, dark eyes. Except one corner of his mouth curls upwards, just briefly, after he says the word 'weak', and there's something cold and calculating that flickers briefly to life behind his eyes.

But only for a moment. He raises a hand to his head, rubs at his temple, and the moment is gone. Alexander is just worried again, watching August move with a furrowed brow. He goes obediently to the futon and sits down. His eyes flick to Ruiz. "Javier. Please be careful." He switches to clumsy, halting, strained Spanish. "Estas bien. Por favor no te mueras."

August holds up a hand to Ruiz. "Hang on. Keep an eye out while I do this, okay? Because if Gohl did do something to us, well..." He raises his eyebrows at Ruiz to finish the thought. "Soon as we're done, you can head out."

He eyes Alexander, especially at that almost smile. He seems about to say something in response to that, changes his mind. "Yeah. I'm sick. Probably weak too. But this, I can manage." He moves to sit on the other end of the futon, wincing as he does so. A deep breath in and out, and he murmurs, "I am not there. I do not sleep." He spends a second just sitting and breathing, then Alexander finally feels the gentle, tentative rush of a river. August, oh so carefully asking to have a look at him.

Ruiz hesitates, like he's chafed by the very idea of doing what Roen told him to. But he does stay, with an agitated sounding huff. And watches from the shadows as August spins his glimmer and knocks on Alexander's mind. So much more finesse than he's capable of. Or interested in, perhaps. Hard to say whether his particular flavour of mindspeak is violent by design, or due to lack of practice.

Alexander says, "Frye. A beautiful poem," Alexander says, his expression lighting up briefly. He doesn't resist the touch of August's mind, incorporating it easily into his own mental landscape - the river stretching out under the glass starscape. Which, at this point, seems to be afflicted with an aurora borealis in crimson and dark blue, nearly indistinguishable from black. The faceted, razor-sharp stars rotate at an agitated pace, flashing their light and dark in random, intense patterns. But more worrisome, instead of the normal gold of the light, it's touched by that crimson aurora - a deep anger, murderous rage, that just waits for the slightest provocation to leap upon. It doesn't feel like Alexander, exactly - this kind of hatred wasn't a feature of his mental landscape last time they linked, at least. But it has a lot to play off of in the younger man's mind; his own insecurities, and hints of his own violent nature - a thing he does his best to keep caged and buried, but which this new light is encouraging to grow and bloom like a poisonous flower.

Alexander's attention, after that first acceptance of the mental contact, remains on Ruiz. He considers the cop. "Would you like to join? It might be useful," he adds, hastily. "I mean. If there is something. You'd be able to see it.""

The forest in August's mind is making steady progress on growing back, but those charred skeletons still stand out under the starlight of Alexander's thoughts; the boiling anger casts a red pall over the hulking, blasted out stratovolcano in the distance. <<Definitely something going on here.>> He doesn't poke or prod, just observes the way Alexander is at the moment. <<I don't think it's that he's possessed you. More like a...mosquito bite. You know? Or an infected cut.>> Not a bad comparison, maybe, given how Alexander's own mind is what's actually going the lashing out; it's just being provoked.

He comes back to himself for a half a second, cuts a glance at Ruiz, arches an eyebrow.

Ruiz's phone, meanwhile, promptly goes off with a flurry of text messages, prompting him to tug the thing out of his pants pocket. The screen illuminates his face for a few moments, dark eyes dragging from whatever he's reading, to the pair seated across the room. There's a tic in his jaw when Alexander makes that.. offer? And for a second there, it looks like he might accept. If for no other reason than the compulsion to be alone is so, so strong in him right now, it's like a force unto itself.

His phone buzzes again, and he drags his gaze back to it, and growls softly. "I have to go," he murmurs. Another sharp sniff, phone shoved away, door hauled open. And then, unless someone stops him, out he goes; the door slams shut after him, frame shuddering with the force of it.

Alexander says, "Infected?" Alexander's eyebrows go up. He speaks aloud, rather than returning the mental voice. Still, his own restless mind can't help but studying August in turn; the places that have burned and are now growing attract the most attention, starlight that should be gentle but instead has sharp crimson hues to it bathing the forestscape under Alexander's scrutiny. Curiosity radiates, but he doesn't probe or poke. There's a great weariness about him, like he could just lie down and sleep forever, and he seems to be conserving his energy because of it.

At least, until Ruiz growls, and turns to go. He doesn't try to stop him, but there are spiking flares of light all along the dreamscape - worry, guilt, shame, and affection all tangled up into a complicated mess. He just stares at the closed door for a long moment. Then, he asks, "Will it go away, August?""

August glances from Ruiz's phone to Ruiz, nods as he says he has to go. He flinches at the door shutting like that, clears his throat and sighs. "He needs some alone time. And a long bath."

He leans back on the futon, rubs at his eyes. The sounds of the river and the wind are distorted, fuzzing out on occasion. "If...it is Gohl, then I suspect we have to bury him. That's probably the only thing that's going stop this. So, the sooner we get him in the ground, the better." Another sigh. "Itzhak's having trouble too. So it's not just you. And I watched Lilith crush a rock--a big landscaping boulder, not some little football sized thing--because Byron said something that upset her. So. Don't feel like you're the only one doing this. You're not." He grunts. "Hell, even I'm feeling jumpy and irritable. I spent like two hours in the tub today. Which, if you want," because Alexander looks like he could need it, "it's right through there." An off-handed gesture with his hand which would normally be spot on and for some reason, this time, is a foot off. He can't tell, though, with how his head it tipped back.

After a second, he asks, "Did you really burn down the gym?" He mostly sounds curious, like he's trying to imagine the Rube Goldbergian series of events which began with Alexander and somehow lead to Kelly's gym being on fire.

Alexander shakes his head. "No," he says, quietly "He doesn't need to be alone. But in my current state, I might end up--" he looks away from the door to August. "I lost my temper. I was going to make him shoot himself." A pause. "He turned the gun on himself before I ever touched his mind. Just at the suggestion that it might be a good idea." He rubs at his face. "I'm gonna make a brief call to Isabella, ask her to keep an eye on him if she can. But she's got the fucking flu, too."

The news that it's more than just him should cheer him up. It probably will, when he thinks about it. But right now, he just shudders a little at the thought of Lilith, of all people, dealing with bouts of homicidal rage. "A bath sounds...very good. Soothing." The question brings only a flicker of a smile. "I wasn't trying to set his gym on fire, August. Just kill him. Things got out of hand." He stands. "Thank you. For this. I'm sorry it's necessary, and I'll try to be a good guest." I'll try not to kill you. He doesn't have to SAY that part, not with the mental link in place, because it echoes in the space between them, before Alexander shuts it gently down.

"Well that definitely sounds like Gohl," August says, carefully, the suggestion there being that it doesn't, to him, sound quite so much like Alexander. He huffs a laugh at 'simple' homicide escalating to a building-destroying fire, nods. "Well, I can't say I'm surprised you got into it with Joey Kelly, just that you set his gym on fire in the process. That'll be one for the grandkids."

He winces, gets up to put more wood into the woodstove. "Not a problem." He smirks, looks askance at Alexander. "I know you won't be doing it on purpose." He seems about to say more on that topic, opts not to. He gestures at the rack of firewood against the wall. "Stove should be good for the night, but there's more if you think you need it. Plenty to drink in the fridge, some leftovers if you get peckish. Futon there folds out." He gestures at a stack of sheets, blankets, and pillows piled on an armchair.

A yawn, and he starts up the stairs, pauses half way. "Erica, girl down the way, she'll be by around dawn to get the animals sorted. She won't come in or anything, but don't panic."

"He finds fertile ground with me," Alexander says, simply. "And I didn't mean to--" he breaks it off, sighs. "He's probably going to kick my ass at some point over it. Can't fault him for that." He nods to the rest, expression dull and tired. "I don't need much. I'm going to try and sleep as much as I can." A smile flickers to life. "I promise not to kill Erica. And let me know if I can get you anything. You look...slightly more sick than I do, which means I'm on chicken soup duty if it's needed." Then he heads back to the promised bath.

August makes a low sound that turns into a cough. "Well, if you need to be stitched back up after he gets his, just let me know." A rueful smile for the promise not to hurt Erica, and a sigh about chicken soup duty. "Yeah. I should prep us some easy stuff to make for the next few days, we'll need it." A yawn, and he resumes his way up the stairs, saying, "Night."

He gets into the loft, and his phone buzzes with a new text. He glances down at it, curses, swipes out a reply, then sends another. A sigh, and he climbs into bed.