2019-10-22 - Recruitment, Gray Harbor Style

Another clear, brisk fall day, the skies bright and blue, so there's a handful of customers in the shop for Thomasina to oversee. August is out back, having just returned from a tree appointment; he's getting the mulcher set up next to the back of the truck, which is parked in front of the big, open-sided, Trex box they use to catch the mulcher's output. He's in a dark gray, Led Zepplin t-shirt which has seen better days, denim jeans, and work boots, his standard tree climbing gear. August and the truck set up are easily visible from the parking area.

A beat-up truck rattles into the parking lot, and Juniper slides down out of the cab after parking and killing the engine. She takes a moment to settle her satchel over one shoulder and tug her sweater into place, then after a quick glance around, heads over towards the mulcher and the man operating it.

"Hey hey," she greets, her cheerful mood infectious, lifting a hand to wave as well in case he hadn't heard her coming, a bounce in her step as she approaches the set up. "How's it going?"

August is just about to flip the mulcher on when Juniper speaks, so he doesn't. They'll never be able to hear one another if he does.

"Hey yourself. How's the town treating you." He nods towards the shop. "If you need any pumpkins for Halloween, we've got a few in. After that disaster at the patch, figured maybe I should get some extra." In lieu of firing up the mulcher, he pulls out his phone, sends a quick text, pockets it. No doubt he is even now assigning that chore to someone else. Or telling them he'll get to it, and don't disturb the truck in the mean time.

"Nah, I'm good thanks," Juniper assures with a smile. "Did they find out who set the fire at the park?" she wonders with easy curiosity, head cocking slightly to one side. "Green plants shouldn't burn so easy," she then muses, something that doubtless August is well aware of too. "Town is treating me well, though. I found the waffle place last night and basically gorged myself on carbs at 2am. It was glorious." That smile brightens a touch. "So. You wanted to bring me up to speed?"

With a nod, August says, "I get liege from that place once a week for everyone in the shop. Good little place."

He grimaces about the pumpkin patch, rubs the back of his neck.
"They sure shouldn't, but that kind of thing has a tendency to happen around here." He studies Juniper for a long second, jerks his head towards the smaller, separated greenhouse. "Let me show you something. It's as good a way as any to...explain this place."

Brows raising slightly, Juniper follows August into the greenhouse, absently scraping a hand back through the hundreds of thin braids her hair is currently fashioned into. "Okay?" She sounds curious, though not concerned, the steady glow of power around her flickering outwards now and then as she passes plants, almost like it's saying hello to them. Then, as they step into the greenhouse proper she takes a deep breath, the aroma and texture of the air pleasing to her, exhaling slowly.

August gives Juniper an apologetic sort of glance as they walk. "I'm not trying to sound weird, it's just what this place does to you." The back half of the lot, behind the building and its outdoor collection, is a broad expense of rangey grass, allowed to run wild and do what it will on its way to the greenbelt. Closer to the building it's mixed dirt and gravel, and this is what the two walk on to the smaller greenhouse.

Unlike the big, Gothic arch greenhouses up front, this is a smaller, classic structure, and sparsely filled. There's a collection of potted, orange jessamines at the back; a rack of Japanese maple, dogwood, and aspen saplings in plain, terra cotta pots, all no more than a few inches tall; a trio of potted Ficus.

And most notably, what looks for all the world to be a birdcage formed from the wood of a corkscrew hazelnut. It's ornate, in the style of the fancy old lead ones which were bad for the birds placed in them.

No, not formed. Grown.

"This place," Juniper echoes, pausing just inside the smaller greenhouse, looking around and admiring the saplings and such. She drifts towards the birdcage, lifting a hand to touch the smooth wooden bars, head tilting slightly. "You've the touch with plants. Not surprising. Assuming this was your work?" She looks back over her shoulder at August, brows lofted in enquiry. She doesn't seem shocked by the creation of such a thing, more curious about who did it.

August relaxes to hear Juniper call it that, 'the touch with plants'. There's one awkward exchange they don't need to have. He nods, moves to stand by the saplings. He takes to staring at one of the trees, but his gaze goes unfocused, and Juniper gets the distinct impression he's not examining the tree at all; he's examining her.

"So do you, but that's not exactly a surprise," he murmurs. Now he focuses on her again. "It's a lot more than just with plants. That's just the most obvious application, for you and me." He looks around, takes up a dark blue, crackle-glazed, pot. Holds it up, stares at it. Slowly, new cracks begin to form, spiderwebbing out from August's fingers. His eyes mine to Juniper again, and he raises his eyebrows. "A friend of mine calls it the Song. I've been thinking of it as the Gift. And locals, some of them call it the Glimmer. Because we," he gestures between them with his free hand, "look bright to one another, I guess."

"Back home we called it all kinds of things. Most people figured it was alien brain waves or some shit," Juniper admits with a lazy smile. Probably not a surprise given 'home' is - or was - Roswell. "In my head, it's the shine, but yeah. You glow like the full moon on a dark night, August," she notes, nodding to the comment about looking bright. "I've.. well, not experimented overmuch other than with plants and a little bit of stonework now and then." So, while she's really quite good with those applications, the rest? One shoulder lifts to shrug.

"You're pretty bright yourself," August says, eyeing Juniper. And now that they've at least established she has some context, he drops all pretext. The cracks he introduced in the pot seal up, and he sets it side. "Maybe Roswell's like here the other ways too," he says, tone absent. "Would explain all the alien stuff." He scratches at his beard, leans against a shelf. "So the thing is, this Gift we have--it's linked, somehow, to the fact that there's another, world, another place, beyond this one. Sort of like the shadow cast by our thoughts." He frowns once he's called it that, since it seems an inadequate description, but he's fresh out of better terms. Whatever, he'll have her talk to Itzhak about that.

"Anyways," he continues, "the barrier, between that place, and our world, it's paper thin here." He raises an eyebrow at her. "Roswell have that going on too?"

There's a nod to that, Juniper confirming, "Yeah. The barrier between is pretty thin there, yeah. I'm half convinced that's why there's so many 'alien' sightings around there. Whatever did or didn't happen decades ago, people are primed to see what they want to see, and if the dreams.. well, sometimes they've got a flavour, you get me?" She makes a slight face. "Honestly, I'd kind of figured it was unique to home, but then I felt it a little bit at that conference over at Olympus, and.. well, it doesn't surprise me that there's stuff going on here too."

"Yeah it sure sounds like you moved from one hot spot to another." August gives Juniper a wry grin. "My condolences." He folds his arms. "There's a lot of us here. I'm sure you've already seen a fair number just being in town. And...there's also a lot of activity from Them." His mouth flattens. "Not sure what to call Them other than that. Itzhak says They're powerful because They don't have a name or a form. Since we don't know what or who They are, were can't take the fight to Them. They're more like a malevolent force."

He sighs, runs a hand over his face, gestures at the pot. "The more we use our Gift, the more They're drawn to us. And if we get to much attention from Them, They come and..." He looks aside. "They take a nice big bite out of us." Wherever he's thinking of, it's made him uneasy. Very uneasy.

"There's always a price to pay," Juniper replies mildly. "Which, honestly, isn't always a bad thing. Otherwise we'd be unstoppable." She has, it seems, a fairly balanced view towards Them and such. "Checks and balances. I accept the price when I use my shine." Another lazy shrug, it's a fact of life to her. "So, what sort of things happen here? I'm curious as to whether it's the same or different."

August makes a low sound. "There's a price alright. Nothing taken which isn't given in turn." He seems somewhat bitter about it, though.

He's glad, then, to shift to an alternative, if tangential topic. "Ah, well, there's a nonzero chance that mess in the pumpkin patch wasn't an example. There's the Murray House, it likes to eat kids. And there's been some weird books taking people on trips." He scuffs the floor of the greenhouse with a boot. "That flu that came through, a guy who was possessed by the ghost of a serial killer..." He pauses to see what she makes of all that.

"A flu?" Juniper sounds perplexed. "I've never heard of it - them - manifesting like that, but. I guess, yeah." She turns to take a seat on the floor, her back resting against one of the larger planter pots. "Ghosts of serial killers.. sounds more like what I've had experience with, a bit. It's always murderous."

"Not sure the flu was Them," August admits, "or if they were just talking advantage of it. I'd have assumed it was a garden variety flu, except a lot of us wound up Over There, in Their," he pulls a face, "constructs, is how I think of them."

He nods about the ghost. "Never the ghost of a local good Samaritan, you know? Or someone just wanting to have their cold case closed. Nope--serial killers." He sighs, shakes his head.

"So, listen," he continues, "a lot of us try to work together on these things. Help one another out, tech one another. If you don't want any part of that, no problem, but if you do, I'm happy to point you at people you can talk to." A raised eyebrow, to see what she thinks.

Juniper considers, giving the question due thought, then nods. "I'd like in," she confirms, folding her hands together in her lap, looking up at August, expression serious. "The more you know, the more you can cope. The more you can cope, the better you can handle the price demanded. And I like being able to handle myself when it comes to Them." Though, her tone and expression suggest it's not always possible, her track record far from pristine.

"Don't we all," August says of being able to handle Them, tone one of grim resignation. His expression turns sympathetic. "This is the best place to get that kind of support, that I've found so far." Not that he's exactly scoured the country.

He pulls out his phones, starts up a few texts. "A couple I know I can just point you at. Others might want to meet you first. Okay if I offer them your number?" His eyes flick up to hers for a moment.

"Yeah, sure." Juniper confirms with a nod, fairly relaxed about her number being given out. "Are you vouching for me, August?" she then wonders, her smile returning at that notion. "After one conference and a few chats? Guess you must figure being good on reading people," she teases lightly.

August considers Juniper very seriously despite the teasing. "We need all the help we can get. I didn't get anywhere not trusting the people I've met here. And barely knowing some of them--less than I know you now, even--we've gotten one another through some heinous shit. So," he smiles at her, for once without any sardonic or morbid amusement, "yeah. I'm willing to vouch for you, go with my gut. Maybe it's not always the smartest decision, but," a half-hearted shrug, "it's what I've got." He hits send in the texts. "So. If you want, I can give you a quick tour of the collection, you can see if there's anything that strikes your fancy to keep in stock for your work, yeah?"