2019-10-06 - In Repose

Despite the fear leaping in his chest, Itzhak can't help but snort. Hya's her own worst enemy with the speech to text thing.

That Tesla may have never seen Elm proper before. Or Hya. Willingly anyways. The white and black car pulls up and the doors do not open. The window rolls down and she invites, "Itzhak. Get in. Don't plotz on my upholstery. I'm trusting you." Her eyes squint in an effort to remain civil and quell the ire that sits in the back like a ecohing storm.

Elm isn't exactly an Addington kinda street. It's absolutely a Rosencrantz kinda street though. He's waiting out front, fidgeting impatiently. Hya invites him to get in and he bounds across the lawn in a few long strides on very long legs. ...Okay, this is a really sexy Tesla though, and he has to say, "Nice wheels," when he gets in. "That's not what plotz means. I'm already plotzing. I shouldn't have let her go, I knew it was Gohl, not her!"

Hyacinth manages to rally enough to feign a wry smile, "Usually I hear that under very different circumstances, but... thank you." Flapping a hand she argues poking at the destination button and on its own the car starts to back out of the driveway. She doesn't even have to push the damn peddles! "I know what plotzing it. I'm asking you not to do it in here. And really she's an adult. Short of hitting her over the head with a frying pan and stuffing her in the truck- " she turns a shiny, chipped nail n him, "Illegal turns out- we can't just control her" She pauses and backs that shit up, "You can't control that. Be reasonable." His conclusion gets a patient sigh, "Of course its Ghoul. Why else would a perfectly reasonable woman make drastic life choices that make no god fearing sense?"

Itzhak looks up from clicking the seatbelt to give Hya a baleful scowl. "Plenty a perfectly reasonable people dumped me while NOT under the influence of a murder ghost. ...That said, she was actin' the opposite of perfectly reasonable," he has to admit, grouchy because Hya is out-rationaling him without further chipping a nail. "I know I can't control her, I just--RRRG!" His big scarred, tattooed hands clench into fists.

Then he yanks his hair, hard, scolding himself in rapid Yiddish (which Hya can understand if she takes the notion). "Get a grip, Rosencrantz, don't be like this, you can't be like this!"

The car is driving itself. As Itzhak grouches up on her she just stares with that infuriating patience blinking. Is it what she meant? Eh not entirely but the man is on a roll. Hands go into fists and the Yiddish comes to surface and her eyes widen so slightly and then-

SMACK!

Out of nowhere she tap-slaps Itzhak's cheek like there's a bug there. She blinks and in that slightest moment of disbelief says, "I'm helping!" There's another second that feels far longer than it should bringing a very abrupt sense of stillness with it. She can't stop him from getting offended but she can throw cold water on him getting himself worked up in a damn circle.

Itzhak, startled as hell, does a kind of full-body twitch when Hya baps him. He looks at her, eyes wide and wild, then shivers as she derails the oncoming train of a meltdown. Slumping back in the seat, he lets his brain eases out of the knots it was about to tie itself in. "...Okay. 'm okay." With dry humor he adds, "Ya shouldn't go around slapping strange men yannow." Yeah he's back.

Hyacinth waits for the meltdown to abate and slowly nods her approval. Her expression returns to calm and again concerned of the matter at hand while the car operates itself. "Some rather enjoy that. What is done behind a closed door needs not your judgement, Itzhak." She checks her phone again and informs with the same level of professionalism she always seems to hold, "I let Vyv know. He may meet us there. He.... is as good at putting things together as he is verbally tearing them apart so... that should help."

Itzhak's eyebrows pop up at that one. He goes a little red. "Well okay then. Noted." He rakes through his hair, without pulling it this time. "She thinks the world of that guy. He can help." Now he looks at Hya serious and intent. "Where is she."

Hyacinth lets her eyes fix on the road, "The Cemetery getting all very Tom Petty on us right now. Which is why we're hurrying." There's a smile that is genuine, hopeful, proud. "Well with reason. The man is a gift the world will unfailingly unappreciate. he works damn hard to get that level of regard from me. He dooooes worry about his staff. They don't realize it." She taps the button, "Vyyyyv, pick up pick up pick up."

"Cemetary," Itzhak mutters. "No, Bex." He groans the words. He's felt it, that pull to go curl up in a grave and rest. But it hasn't grabbed his soul, not like...not like it had Bex's. Now too late he realizes what that look in her eye was. Itzhak closes his eyes, whispering across the miles to Rebecca. "Don't. Don't do that. Hang on, we're coming."

He needs something. Itzhak squirms to dig in a pocket and find a quarter. He holds it in his palm, staring at it. "This can be like that," he mutters. This quarter. Bex's necklace. They can be the same.

The quarter rises above his hand, hovering in place. Bex's pendant rises up, too, tugging without strength at her neck.

Itzhak can sense it, wet from the rain, chilled from the air, where it rests against Rebecca's chest. The pendant lifts, a gentle tug, and her eyes open to slits and fix on the golden tree with the diamond at its roots. Her lids feel like the weight of the entire world is pulling them down. Her limbs feel like gravity has increased tenfold. She only knows one person who can do this. With a last effort her mind reaches out to find him, there, with Hyacinth, racing to her. She is too weak to form words, so she can only project a feeling, she is sorry, so sorry Itzhak. Forgive her. Then she goes dark again.

Hyacinth stays focused on Itzhak and says in her softest, most compassionately sympathetic tone, "If you keep carrying on like that I'm going to slap the shit out of you again." With a bappy fist like a rabbit. Okay so her range for compassion is really narrow but she is trying to keep people calm! Taking a deep breath she murmurs, "I'm going to see if I can find August or Erin. Maybe they can help us before we get there." Her eyes, not lovely and green like Isabella's dancing with sunlight, but more like a pissed off Maleficent flicker shut focusing on finding the gardener. There's a pause and her hand extends and bumps Itzhak. She feels blindly; shoulder, chest. She taps her nails against his breastbone to get his attention as if he wasn't entirely focused here to begin with and continues to let her hand hover and dry her nails. "Call him. Why am I doing all the damn work here. She's laying in dirt!"

And there across town: AH HA! ?"Miiiiiiister Roen, Our Rebecca is in repose. We're trying to get to her. She is medically in distress. I'm sending you a mental image of the location and surroundings I have. Thank yooooooooooou"/ It's an imperious sing-song tone but hey she's being pushy for the betterment of others. Does that help it pan out?

Itzhak, not thinking, grabs Hya's hand to hold her still and quit distracting him with those nails rapping on his sternum. He's trying to focus on the quarter, making it jiggle and dance in the air, trying to tell Rebecca through his power alone that he's coming and please don't die. Then he lets Hya go, hand snapping closed around the quarter, and snarls something in Yiddish, some long and elaborate curse while he's prying his phone out of his pocket and quickdialing August. "Roen! Bex is in the cemetary and we think she did something to herself, can you reach her!"

Not calm, his brain fizzing with panic, but he can at least listen to orders.

At In The Middle Somewhere:
Rebecca has lost consciousness, and when they reach her, she is in the arms of that stone angel, like it is holding her out to them. Soaking wet, but still alive, barely. The pill bottle is at the angel's foot.

The Tesla pulls up with the quiet humm of the electric engine that is more the fans spinning than any sort of revving. It takes no time for the mentalist to point and simply announce, "There. Get her, 'll start plotting the course for the hospital. They'll want to know either way. healing only does so much." And with that she starts in with the phone calls. Hya doesn't do lifting but she can facilitate the shit out of things.

Itzhak bolts out of the car before it stops moving, flinging the door open and jumping out. He races through the lines of headstones towards the stone angel, boots tearing up gouts of sod and mud.

"You see her?" he yells at nobody, but actually at August's presence in his head. The pill bottle catches his eye and he scoops it up. Grabbing Bex's limp, cold form, he lifts her out of the arms of the statue. "Come on, Bex, don't do this to me," he groans, desperate for her to be okay.

He hurries back to Hya's car with Rebecca, maneuvers her into the back seat. They're both soaking wet and muddy, sorry Hya's upholstery.

Through him, August's healing strength reaches Rebecca. It blooms through her with warmth and life, breaking down a majority of the drug before she can metabolize it.

Rebecca is cold and muddy, her lips bluish and her skin pallid. Her hair has gone to curls from the rain, and her expensive cashmere sweater is definitely ruined, something Hyacinth would understand the horror of.

She is barely breathing when she's laid in the back of the Tesla, then August's powers reach out and seep into her, through her, cleansing the drugs from her system, reversing the respiratory distress and potential liver damage. He gets rid of the alcohol found in her system too, the reason the pills were even dangerous to begin with. Where she got that, is anyone's guess.

Her skin tone improves, her breathing becomes more regular, her heartbeat stabilizes. Her eyes flutter open as she sucks in a lungful of air and they focus slowly on Itzhak. "It was Billy," she whispers, hoarsely.

Hyacinth isn't complaining a lick about the upholstery. That's for people that can't afford having their cars detailed and place objects over human lives. ...

...yeah okay it's fair to call her out on that one. Her eyes green, sharp, and too often malevolent watch Rebecca. Her words bite as any abrupt command does, "Path, engage." Her ginger his a button on the screen with a tap of her nail. She watches the lovers do their... thing. That thing with the emotions shes burned out of herself but while some things are alien to her there's a respect in waiting. Recbeca was hers- well, her tribe. Her people. LIke... hers by proxy of being those that do not curl her hair with the humidity of rage. Queitly she tries, in taht tone she uses when she wants something (Yeah that one sounds less hostile to people. That'll work!) she assures, "We know. And he's not going to win today. It's not your fault."

Rebecca lying against him, Itzhak keeps his arms around her, supporting her upright so her lungs don't have to work as hard (that's his theory anyway). He cradles her head, long fingers cupped around the back of her skull, nestled in her wet hair. "I know," he says to her, his voice hoarse. "I know it was." He tips her face towards him so he can look her in the eyes, not for any specifically emotional purposes but so August can gauge how she's doing. "Stay awake. Look at me. Hya's here too. She found ya."

"Thank you," Rebecca whispers to them both. "When I became aware I fought him but it was too late." Her eyes are far clearer, and she looks like she is going to be all right, just tired. "No hospital please. It would ruin me." Overdoses are a mandatory reporting situation.

She meets Itzhak's eyes and she mouths to him, "I'm sorry," silently. She knows she said and did terrible things under Gohl's influence. She tried to wound him emotionally.

Hyacinth listens and has that eternal look of derision on her face. She might be a judgement elemental or a goddess of catty gossip, or, it seems, the regent of rerouting! Still has a decent enough ring to it, but she's not changing her business cards over just yet. "Reroute to home." And with some blinking of light on the monitor it reroutes back to her Victorian. She declares in that imperious tone (because really world, come fuck with her people more and see what happens), "We're going to my house. Bad things don't happen there because they know better. We will go. You will stay. And if William has an issue with it tell him to make an appointment with me." This is Hya taking care of her people, well, the Hya way anyhow. "Car, send text to Vyv. Have Rebecca. Bring dinner. Threat level is no longer socks with sandals in a shareholder's meeting."

Itzhak makes a strangled little protest in his throat. No hospital?? Who cares about reporting! This is her life we're talking about! He groans. "Bex..." And then gives in with a frustrated growl. "Okay. But if you get worse I'm taking you to the hospital." Hya does have a pretty good point about how she can lock her house down, though. He glances over the back of the seat at their imperious driver, issuing commands like an extremely fashionable general. "Thanks."

"I promise. Hyacinth's is safe. He cant get to me there," Rebecca whispers, a hand curling in Itzhak's sodden shirtfront. "I feel better, just tired. Not from the pills, from not sleeping."