2019-10-04 - Never Ending Circles

All's quiet on the homefront. Which, honestly, isn't that unusual at first. Alexander's idea of being a 'good guest' has mostly been bouts of hovering to make sure he can do whatever August might need done, and then long periods of silence where he's outside or reading or otherwise trying to clearly stay Out Of The Way. And, of course, there was a lot of sleeping - although that was often punctuated by unhappy sounds as nightmares happened.

But the silence has that peculiar quality after a while, the emptiness of not just someone napping, or resting, or making friends with the goats. And a cursory mind touch reveals Alexander is no longer in the cabin, or in the immediate area around it. Instead, on the kitchen counter, there's a simple note written in his bold, neat handwriting that says: "August - had to go stitch up Easton. Be back soon. Rest." And that's it. On the bright (?) side, the blood-stained box is still stashed behind the futon, so, uh, whatever that is? He probably plans to come back for it.

There were exactly two good outcomes from the otherwise nightmarish time August spent Over There in the Blight's forest: his fever broke, and, he and Alexander returned to find dozens of aspen suckers poking up from the root system of the one August had cut down for Billy the Ghoul. Well, maybe three, if he was being selfish, which he felt entitled to after the last couple of weeks.

So first thing the following morning, he gets up and showers, and since he feels like he'll stay properly clean and sweat free, he puts on Real Clothes: a tight fitting black sweater, denim jeans, some black boots. And the whole time, there's no sound.

He reaches out, finds Alexander is Not Here, and in fact Not Terribly Close At All. Groans. Then he sees the note, and the box.

"Great," August mutters taking up the note and tossing it in the trash. He hesitates a second, decides to see if Alexander will properly answer him. He takes a seat in the reading nook chair, reaches out. The Gift feels rubbery, but after a few seconds, he's able to give Alexander's mind a proper knock on the door.

There's a moment of surprise when there's the brush against his mind. A quick series of impressions: Alexander is walking, enjoying the push of his muscles doing things other than cramping or trembling or holding him up while he throws up. Enjoying the cooler weather, too, without the raging fever to distract him. Underneath that, layers of worry - and, of course, through it all, that red tinge of rage that threatens to explode outward. But there's no hesitation to let August in, and his starscape unfolds, shining crimson light in all directions as Alexander thinks about things. <<August.>> Pleasure and worry. <<You should be resting. How are you feeling?>>

The forest and river which are August have altered yet again, though for the better: new saplings poke up among the undergrowth, not unlike the suckers festooning his yard. The river's running clear again, the skies are dotted with the lovely, promising clouds of fall. The presence of Gohl's influence is different for him than Alexander; there's a wind that whips through the new forest, the kind that encourages hunkering down and hiding, the kind that triggers survival instincts and overeactions to particular sorts of threats. He's holding his own against it just the same.

<<I should be resting? Look who's talking.>> He's amused none-the-less. <<Better. I can wear real clothes and everything. What happened to Easton? Isabella said he'd gotten into it with someone, because of Gohl.>> A sour note in the river's voice when August brings up the bane of their existences.

There's a long hesitation as Alexander takes the time to study the changed mental landscape. A little tiny bit of the anxiety he's carrying around eases, a star spinning just a little more slowly. <<You seem to be feeling better,>> is what he says, though, and the smile is clear, even as that wind is examined - but not touched too closely, lest it somehow double the pressure on his own mind. Alexander has managed to find a delicate peace of sorts with his own rage - the crimson is diffused, integrated with the rest of him in a way that tries to rationalize and intellectualize it - accepting the emotion but trying not to translate it to action. <<And I am tired of resting, August. I have to do things.>> Worry and anxiety spikes. <<Easton - he had one of those damned fever dreams, but he was either alone, or the person he brought in didn't help him. He didn't say that it was a person, just that someone was there and they stood by and watched while he got attacked. He was torn up pretty badly. He needs a hospital, if I'm honest, but,>> and here's there sad approval, <<he doesn't trust himself there. Hospitals are hard, as you know. So he's going to stay with friends who can keep him down, if needed. And.>> There's a longer pause. <<He hurt Bennie. She came by last night. I gave her my key.>>

<<I can relate to being done with this whole 'rest' thing.>> Dry humor makes the river ripple. Under the star the various ferns and vines glint, heedless of the wind that's tugging at them. They won't be deterred. They've had worse than Gohl.

He doesn't seem to know which to be more upset about--Easton accidentally attacking Bennie, or Easton being severely injured and in no condition to go to a hospital. In the end he splits it evenly. Christ, what if he did something to Ellie without realizing it? He could easily kill her before he calmed down enough to save her from something he'd done.

The wind howls, tries to worm its way into that. August grits his teeth, digs in his heels. No, he's not going to hurt Eleanor. He's not. <<Did someone already heal him? I know I should be resting, but, if he's in bad enough shape he needs a hospital, I can take care of it. I won't need to come near him to do it.>>

A soft sigh for Bennie. Yes, of course...she won't want to be anywhere near Easton right now. Maybe not for a while. <<If you're willing to consider staying with Hyacinth Addington, Bennie could stay here. I say Hyacinth because, well, she probably has the space, and wouldn't have trouble keeping an eye on you.>> He means 'you won't be able to kill her that easily', of course, but doesn't say it, knowing he won't need to.

<<It is boring.>> Alexander's voice takes on an air of disgruntlement. <<There are too many things to do. I have to meet with detectives soon, about the motel killings. And another detective about another matter. I don't have time to rest any more.>> Grump grump grump. Besides, from his point of view, it keeps him distracted - keeps him from thinking about the hurting his friends are doing, and the hurting he could make them do. The howl of that wind triggers a light recoil from Alexander, shafts of light like searchlights piercing down into the forest, searching for danger. <<August? You okay?>> And then, after a moment. <<We lean on you too much. ARE you okay? You don't have to be. Easton is with friends who can heal, I think. I don't know if he wants to recover too fast.>> An acknowledgement of the danger the man can pose, even without any abilities whatsoever.

<<Isabella mentioned that you wanted me to stay with Hyacinth.>> His mental voice is locked down, studiously neutral, although spritzes of anxiety and sparks of insecurity still break through here and there. <<I'd rather not. I'll be fine alone, honestly. I know you want to spend time with Miss Lake, and Bennie agreed to feed my animals. I could feed yours. Or whatever. Or I can go, if you'd prefer.>>

August has settled himself in with some tea, now, and is texting with his coworkers, and Eleanor (might be a bit before he hears from her, though), so he's quite okay. <<You don't lean on me too much, and yes, I'm okay. It's nothing that the rest of you aren't wrestling with. My version's just a little less...violent, maybe.>> For now. He'd rather not find out what might happen if someone made a flippant joke about Eleanor, for example.

A ripple through the landscape as August seeks to reassure Alexander. <<Nothing like that--I just wasn't sure if you being alone would work for you. If you think it's okay, and Bennie's alright at your place, we can do that. Erica's got the animals under control and all, and if I'm with Ellie well my cabin doesn't have to sit empty, then. Hyacinth was just an idea if you felt you needed watching.>>

August allows that Easton healing up more slowly isn't the worst possible approach. <<Okay. If he'd rather not, it's fine.>> A noticeable pause. <<What about Bennie? Does she need any?>>

There's a flash in Alexander's mind of Isabella lying face down on a hospital bed, and August's feet, and even of August, curled up in black corruption. Skepticism flows down the link. <<How are we defining violent, exactly? Less outwardly directed, I might suggest. As a revision. I just don't want you to not get whatever it is that you need because you're trying to keep the rest of us from losing our goddamned minds, is all.>> A pause. The mental equivalent of a blink.

<<Oh! No, I didn't think you wanted to throw me out. Or anything. Just that I don't--I don't like how I feel around people like Hyacinth, and she always looks at me like she doesn't know why I'm even in the same room with her. I don't think cohabitating in my current state is a good idea.>> He takes a breath, and the echo of the scent of the woods in autumn, damp and with the slightest edge of decay, seeps through from his senses to the connection. <<I don't know what Bennie needs. She's very,>> a flash of memory, of a green bird shrieking and flailing its wings as it tried to escape, <<wary, right now. Of any of us who are ghoul-touched. And she doesn't want anyone to know what happened, I think, if she doesn't have to. I offered to help, but she would not accept much.>>

August's mind twinges, chagrinned. <<Fair.>> Well, he'd always been known to fight dirty. Nothing direct and outward with him, not when indrect and from a blind spot would get the job done twice as easily and just as surely. Truly, the Glimmer had been molding him from an early age.

He wills the wind to calm, and it eases off a fraction. <<What I need, is for all of you to be okay. Conveniently, that's something I can do things about. Little things, but, things, none the less. It's the helplessness that's my problem. Taking care of Ellie, keeping an eye on you, healing people--that's what keeps me sane.>>

A wry, low laugh about Hyacinth. The whole landscape brightens with it. <<I think she feels that way about a lot of people. But, understood.>> He grimaces for Bennie. <<Yeah, I imagine she doesn't. Which is fine, I won't say anything. It's not as cut and dried, with Gohl being the real cause.>> He's silent a time, mulling the panicked bird over, wanting to gentle it even as he knows it's only an image, an impression. <<She might tell us what she needs, might not. All we can do there is wait and see, keep an eye on her and Easton.>> He thinks but doesn't say that sometimes, relationships suffer something they can't recover from. Hopefully that's not the case here. But...

He makes a face. Gohl would love to have a few final victims, wouldn't he.

<<Helplessness is the worst,>> Alexander agrees, and there's a flash of frustration that he just barely diverts before it becomes rage. He turns it into amusement, light and self-mocking. <<I think that's the first time that someone's said that keeping an eye on me helps keep them more sane, August. But. I can get that. Just let someone know if you need a break or if things get a little dark in there/here?>> He sighs. <<But, yeah. There's not much we can do about those two. Not right now - not when any attempt to intervene might end up triggering something that just makes it worse. I don't know how they're going to deal with this, but I'm pretty sure it won't be able to happen until we put Gohl in the ground and get rid of this.>> A flash of rueful crimson.

<<But, either way, they deserve to be able to work it out - however it works out - with clear minds. I wish...but Dr. Glass is also experiencing the homicidal impulses, so that's not the greatest route at the moment. And I don't know that they'd agree to it, even.>> His mind worries at the problem, chipping away from a thousand angles, but coming up frustrated each time. <<We'll do what we can.>>

<<You're not as bad as you or others think. People just need to learn to accept other people not being identical to them, and how to lay down boundaries for things that bug them. All it takes it some communication and self-fucking-awareness.>> August pauses, laughs a little. <<I'm sounding like a therapist again, I bet. Anyways. I will.>>

A mental grunt for Dr. Glass also being afflicted. Speaking of the people meant to keep you sane maybe making things worse... <<Well, we could get them a recommendation for someone who does phone appointments, but better to just bury Gohl and have it done.>>

His agreement with the rest is silent, present in the way the landscape stills to listen and let those thoughts drift, echoing over the forest.

There's a long silence from Alexander's end. It's not an empty silence - it's clear he's restraining several immediate responses, from the dark to the lightly dismissive. What he finally permits to flow down the connection in a fully formed thought is, <<I am better now than I was ten years ago. And, honestly, better ten years ago than I was ten years before that. And small towns have long memories; I don't min--I do mind. I do. But I understand how I earned that reputation, and it's not...undeserved. And I never did much to try and change it. It was easier to be Crazy Clayton, in a lot of ways.>> A pause, then a warm smile that echoes through the starscape in a light that shades more towards gold than crimson. <<You do. But it's nice! It's sort of nice to have a friend whose immediate reaction to emotions isn't 'find something to punch' or 'drink heavily'.>> There's a lot of fondness in that observation, although it's wry and touched with that anxiety that lingers over him.

<<I'm...really looking forward to this funeral. I wrote a eulogy. Javier asked to see it, so I sent it to him.>>

August accepts Alexander's personal evaluation with a thoughtful murmur. <<I wasn't exactly sunshine and rainbows myself in college. Especially in my late 20s. And you're not kidding, about small towns having long memories.>> A vision of a place somewhat bigger than Gray Harbor, with similar environs, but the same small town feel: Corvallis. <<Getting my degree and getting the fuck out of there was a relief. I'm not proud of some of my behavior when I was first sorting my shit out.>> Relief that he could do it, sympathy that Alexander probably can't.

Javier. August's reaction to the name is complicated and guarded, most of it having something to do with Itzhak. And, well, Ruiz was subjected to August's personal hell along with Itzhak and Alexander. Maybe they were even now, after a fashion. <<What'd he think?>> Wry amusement again. Aside from 'wasting good writing on that shitbag is a travesty'.//>>

There's a soft chuckle. <<College was good, actually. I was weird, but within acceptable parameters. Before and after were,>> a long pause <<less great. Although I was in a rock band briefly. A poor life choice, but not one I regret. Playing music is fun.>> Alexander swirls around the vision with open curiosity. <<I've never been there. But yes. Sometimes you have to leave. I was gone for a while. College was in Eugene - the 'acceptable parameters' for weird were pretty forgiving there.>>

His curiosity sharpens with the complicated nature of the reaction to that name. <<He hasn't gotten back to me, yet.>> A flicker of amusement. <<I like to think he's trying to spare my feelings, but I think he might have just run out of disapproving red ink. You haven't had any problems with him, have you?>>

<<A rock band?>> The link shudders with equal parts amusement and disbelief. And an attempt at what Alexander looked like. Wallet chain, long hair, black band t-shirt over a thin white sweatshirt? His instrument varies between base guitar and guitar, but it's always a classically styled instrument, no Flying Vs here.

August mmmmms. <<Eugene's not bad for that, it's true. Portland too, not sure if you made it out there.>> A flash of rueful humor. <<There's some spots there like we have here--where you can get across the border. I didn't understand it then, I was just a kid, but I think that's why I turned out like I did, soaking that up so much.>>

He's quiet and thoughtful a time, fingering his teacup. There's a brief image of Ruiz pointing a gun at his head, but it's not accompanied with any actual concern on August's part. The memory's a puzzle piece for him to mull over and worry the edges of. <<No, no problems.>> The forest and river predominate again. <<Well long as he doesn't hand it to you totally rewritten the day of, right?>>

Laughter, bright and silver, flashes across the link. <<You sound so surprised!>> More laughter at the image. Alexander makes a few adjustments: no wallet chain, hair a desperate attempt to emulate Kurt Cobain, and no instrument at all, but a microphone. <<Otherwise, pretty accurate. We called ourselves Limbo and we were terrible.>>

<<I spent a little time in Portland, after college. Mostly just passing through. Went south - probably trying to get even further away from Gray Harbor, even though everything that happened there was...kind of fuzzy. I never forgot. Just remembered that it was bad, but the edges were softened. Fetched up in Northern California.>> Here, Alexander stops, like the train of thought just ran into a brick wall built over the tracks. There's certainly a sort of wall there, although it's built with intention, and practically groaning with strain. He pulls away from it, hastily saying, <<After a while, I came back. To recover. Never left again.>>

It may be terrible, but there's no surprise at that brief image, just a sort of mental sigh. <<He's a good man. Underneath it all. I understand why he and Itzhak...bounce off of each other.>> Then another brief smile. <<And if he does, I'll just thank him, and then say what I intended to say in the first place.>>

August gives an approving nod to the result. <<Everyone's terrible when they first start out. No one popped out of the womb the next Chuck Berry, not even Chuck Berry.>> Is August encouraging Alexander to live his best grunge band life? Maybe.

The wall is simply accepted for what it was, and August makes no attempt to interact with it, no remark on it, nothing. When Alexander turns away from it, so does he. <<It gets that way. While I was out in Olympic, it got harder to remember Bosnia and Portland. Then I came here.>> He seems to feel the rest speaks for itself, given Alexander's own experience with that sort of thing.

August's emotions turn as dry as Eastern Oregon in summer when Alexander brings up Ruiz and Itzhak. <<That's not the kind of bouncing I expect them to be doing before long.>> Which, of course, might be the actual source of his concern. Good man or not, the 'all' that's underneath is an issue. Particularly for someone like Itzhak.

Resignation works it's way into that thought process. He can't do anything about it, isn't his place to anyways. It is what it is. He's been down this road many, many times.

<<We actually played a lot of metal - Metallica, Pantera, Iron Maiden - and then some other stuff. We just had a super hardon for Nirvana. Cobain was-->> There's that rueful acknowledgement of what it felt like being an angry teenager in this area of the country at that time, the feeling that Cobain was theirs and proof it could be done. Brief images of smoky rooms, terrible music, and enough alcohol that some people came and listened anyway because terrible music was better than no music.

An acknowledgement of the weird fading out that tended to happen away from the thin places, although then there's a <<!!>> of surprise at August's dry observation. Then a thoughtful consideration. <<I know Itzhak has a bit of a hatecrush. Is that a word? But I didn't think Javier swung that way.>> He hums thoughtfully to himself. <<That isn't likely to turn out well.>> A smile, then. <<You worry.>>

August has no judgment for Angry Teenagerdome, particularly not of the Pacific Northwest variety, having engaged in plenty of his own. A few brief memories of basic training with the music of that time blaring loud in their tents. It's maybe one of the only positive memories he has of his time in the military, and it's strong with the sense of something he's determined to remember, if only for the sake of the people he met at that time.

More laughter, this a little rueful. <<Did you really not know?>> He's holding himself back from several comments about this, Alexander can feel them. <<It is, and you're correct, he does. And I'm about one hundred percent certain he does. The way they're circling one another? Alexander, straight men don't do that.>>

A little shake of the normally silent volcano in the distance. <<It won't.>> He says this with utter certainty. <<Neither of them are in the kind of place they'd need to be for it to go smooth. And if they were, they might not be as into each other.>> There's a distinct sense August is highly aware of how this kind of thing goes because it's a waterfall he's gone over a half dozen times or more. Grudingly, he admits, <<I do. But that's because I'm me. Can't do anything about it, not without being an asshole and having Itzhak hate me.>> Bitter, hard earned knowledge.

Alexander drinks in the memories, unapologetically. There's a hungry sort of curiosity about him, and although he doesn't push at August's mind or memories, there's always the sense that he takes whatever is offered and packs it away, like a chipmunk with some unimaginably large hoard of nuts tucked away for winter. But, admittedly, his focus is a bit more on the other subject. <<They don't? Huh.>> A long pause. <<They do both seem to have sexual tension with every living thing that comes into their orbits. I suppose it was inevitable.>>

A swirl of agreement, turning into something a little worried. <<No, I don't think there's anything that can be done. Some bad decisions, people really have to make for themselves.>> A sharp spike of something uneasy, maybe even resentful, there for a moment, before it fades back into anxiety.

August is young in those memories, so very young, not even 21. Tall already, wiry thanks to all his physical activity as a kid, black hair shorn for the military, long face lean and cut the way society says it very tolerable. A tinge of regret; Don't Ask Don't Tell was in full swing, so he had to hide a significant part of himself that whole time. These things he has no issues sharing; they're the side of the landscape the volcano didn't wipe out when it went. It's easy enough to suss out what that volcano represents, silent and dark, one side of it nothing but wreckage (if wreckage with new growth over it). He doesn't reveal much of it, though, doesn't bring it into focus.

<<They don't.>> Regret for that. Straight men, all men, should be able to, but this is another thing society declares: men who are emotionally involved with someone must also be physically intimate with them. There's no space set aside for something like what August and Itzhak share, an intimacy that has no need for physicality. <<//Yeah, I think it was. There's some very unstoppable force/immovable object going on there. And, you're right, some people really need to ride that car off the cliff and all the way to the bottom to know how it'll turn out.//>> He shares in the unease and anxiety, if not the resentment (the later would be hypocritical of him, considering his early 30s). But, really, as long as Itzhak survives, August doesn't mind being there to help him through it.

<<You were very cute,>> Alexander says, with warm affection. He's not as good at being polite as August is when it comes to others' minds; the urge to explore the wreckage is there, a restless sort of urge to shine light on everything, to understand it, to categorize it. He doesn't barge forward or try to bring it into focus, but it's always there, even as he stays in the willingly shared area. Like his needle naturally points towards a magnetic north of 'I don't know this'.

<<Huh.>> Alexander says, again. His own notions of intimacy are tangled, complex, and fraught with pain and uncertainty, and he doesn't think about them for very long. <<Well. They're our friends. So as long as they can wait until the murder-brain is past to resolve whatever that is, we should be okay?>>

August laughs. <<Thanks. But I'm told the current me is preferable, by a variety of people.>> He was also something of a jackass, at least in August's twenty-years-on opinion, but there's nothing to do for that now.

A murmur of understanding for that complicated, tangled feeling. Intimacy and emotions are a large ball of string, even for someone who's spent a lot of time pondering it like August. <<At the very least, I hope they'll understand they should leave off any fucking until after the funeral.>> Which, he hopes, is when the rage will peter out.

Having a personal notion of how Ruiz likes to deal with things, August can't especially agree with that being a point at which they can say they're okay. He has opinions, and Alexander can feel them. Still. <<We've got the tools to deal with anything that comes up.>>

<<We all grow. And the current you is quite pleasant as well. Probably wouldn't trade it for the younger version.>> Alexander grins, rays of sunset light piercing here and there. <<And this me is definitely...preferable to the younger me. Although no one really says that. But it's true. Most people just never knew both.>>

<<Well, Itzhak's in the hospital, and I believe Javier is under house arrest at a hotel, so the logistics at least would be difficult to work out, unless they get dragged into more dreams - and honestly, anyone stupid enough to get distracted by sex in a lost place deserves exactly what they get.>> A sharpness there, an edge of exasperation that sex might actually be a distraction for someone when Over There. The pressure of August's opinions, even unspoken, brings a conflicting response - a bristling defensiveness and a weary sort of resignation, and agreement, all at the same time, and of almost equal strength. Like he wants to argue with whatever those opinions are, even while he's aware that they're probably pretty accurate.

Finally, he just sighs, sharing for a moment through his eyes a view of a trickling stream he had been walking past, the water running over vibrant mossy rocks and under fallen logs. <<I could probably get a hold of some professional grade sedatives if we really needed them. And there's five figures worth of stolen Adderal behind your futon. I didn't steal it.>> And that's probably not the kind of tools August was referring to.

<<Flatterer.>> It's August's go-to accusation when someone says something nice about him. <<I'm sure the younger you wasn't that bad, but I appreciate preferring the current incarnation.>>

A wince at the mention of Itzhak being in the hospital. If August wants to go see him he'll need some Xanax. The free association of sex in the Over There has him somewhat surprised, though maybe it shouldn't. <<I guess for some people that might be a draw.>> He's not naming names but is Itzhak at the top of the list? Yes.

August enjoys the stream with the moss on the rocks. Does the river take on a little of that look? It does seem to, here and there. <<We might.>> He's not joking, it would seem. <<And I noticed.>> Both that there had been a whole lot of Adderal, and that it was stolen, and not by Alexander. So Alexander's definitely not the only nosy one. <<Do you need me to get rid of it? I can, if so.//>>

<<I'm not, usually.>> It's Alexander's simple and sincere reply to that accusation. He's very quiet about the notion of younger him.

He moves on, without addressing that. But he does offer, tentatively, <<You might not. If I go with you. And you want.>> A flow of calm laps at the edge of the connection. Not pushing it on August, but just demonstrating, reminding. <<If you want.>> That, a bit hasty; he's accustomed to people having an instinctive rejection of the idea of any sort of alteration to their feelings. And a moment of agreement, touched with affection and exasperation, at the idea of some people finding that attractive.

<<Did you? I'm sorry. I don't know the good hiding places in your house.>> No apology for having five figures worth of stolen Adderal in his house, just not knowing where to put it so that it wouldn't bother August. <<And no, please don't. I have plans for it, I think.>> His mind turns sharp, calculating, the lights and the stars baring their edges like knife blades in the dark. <<Yes. I think I do.>>

<<I'll just consider myself lucky, then.>> The subject of Alexander's younger self is left uncommented on.

August considers the offer. <<That...might work. Really, it's easier if someone's with me.>> There's a lurking subtext here of 'if someone is there to remind me it's not what part of me thinks it is', so by 'easier' he really means 'possible, at all, when normally I wouldn't drive on that street if I could avoid it'. <<I want to chat with him first. Just see how he's doing.>> And discuss with him the part where August's subconscious attempted to smack them all around and drag them over the coals of their failures, but that was beside the point.

Rueful amusement greets Alexander's apology. <<It's alright. I wouldn't have agreed if I didn't expect some shenanigans might result. I know you're into all manner of things.>> Anyways who isn't, in this town? August is curious at the shift in Alexander's mind, considers it thoughtfully. <<I've got a lock box for weapons, I can move them all into the safe and you can put it in that. That way only you and me can get into it.>>

<<I certainly wouldn't mind seeing Itzhak, and it is also easier for me if someone is with me. Right now.>> So if Alexander decides to shank a nurse, someone can punch him in his inner ear. Friendship: it's a give and take. Comfort and punches. Punches and comfort. <<And of course. Just let me know when and how I can help.>>

<<Shenanigans. Yes. I suppose.>> There's consideration. <<If I can get it out without needing to bother you. I'm going to give it to one of the new detectives. I don't believe that Monaghan has gotten to her yet, and I think she might do interesting things with it. And I sort of did horrible things to her, so this would make a good apology. I think. Yes.>>

August mmmmmms, thoughtful. The wind rushing through the trees falls quieter as he has something less concerning to focus on. <<That could work. Two man team, we'll keep an eye on one another. I'll let you know.>> Because first, he has to check on Ellie. Itzhak has trained professionals on his case, Eleanor doesn't.

One of the hardest lessons August ever learned was to Not Ask. This is one of those times he has to put it into practice. <<Alright. If that falls through, let me know, I'll sort out a way to deal with it.>> The sense of him pulling away. <<Gonna get packed up here and go see Eleanor. I'll get the box into the lockbox.>> There's a little flicker, and a slip of paper floats to Alexander's stars, bearing the lockbox combination. It seems odd at first, because what Alexander is seeing is just a Nautilus shell with a number 3 on the center. But presently it comes to him; the combination is a Fibonacci sequence, beginning from 3: 3581321345589.

<<That's beautiful.>> A moment of pure delight from Alexander as he works out the number. <<I like you. And please give Miss Lake my regards. I'm almost back to the cabin. I'll settle in for the night and work on not killing anything.>> A pause. <<Joking. I have some research to do.>>

<<Well I like you too.>> A visual of where he keeps the lockbox: top of the linen closet. It doesn't need to be anywhere special, after all. <<//You can not kill anything and do research, you know.>> He's teasing. Mostly. <<Take care, if I don't see you before I head out.//>> The river and the forest fade; the volcano lingers, a dark and silent reminder of what Alexander saw in the Dream. Then that, too, is gone.