2019-10-24 - Here's To Going Mad

Nighttime at the beach in Gray Harbor Bay, and with that brisk, chilly autumn air, it's not exactly a hopping spot tonight. The sound of waves lapping softly at the shore is all that can be heard, really, and not a soul in sight. I mean, there's one short little dude sitting on a rock looking out over the dark waves, but given the ginger tone of his hair and bushy beard, the previous statement about no souls in sight remains true. Said little ginger dude is James, and he's just sitting there, blue eyes distant and thoughtful. In one hand, he's got a metal flask, likely full of cheap whisky, and in his other hand a lit cigarette. Or maybe a joint. Could be either, with him. He sniffs slightly.

Now there are is one soul in sight, as the second person on the beach is definitely not ginger. Meandering up the beach, a bottle in hand and a cigarette between her lips, is Juniper. Why is she here? Probably for a similar reason, sipping alcohol and smoking alone, probably not noticing James until she gets close enough for movement to register in the gloom of night. Oh, hey, there's someone. Her bottle-holding hand lifts in a vague sort of greeting/salute, and she grunts something that might be a hello, though doesn't seem like she's going to stop or invade his bubble.

James sneezes, which would have likely brought him to Juniper's attention even if she hadn't already noticed him. He blinks, rubbing at his nose, and then notices that wave from her, and freezes in place. His eyes look her over warily for a couple of long seconds, as if looking for something, but after a few moments, he visibly relaxes. A faint smile can just barely be glimpsed behind the beard, and he raises his flask in her direction in acknowledgement of shared alcoholism.

Like as not, Juniper would have continued on by, the two just miserable ships passing in the night. But then she catches the unmistakable aroma of James' joint, and she turns towards, to sit on an adjacent rock, within reach but not close-close. Stubbing out her own cigarette - which is just that, nothing fancier - she extends a hand towards the ginger and makes the universally-known pass-it-around gesture, brown eyes fixing on his face.

James doesn't even hesitate. Puff-puff-pass is the law of the land, and who is he to defy such sacred commandments? The joint is passed over, with a nod of acknowledgement, before he takes a long sip from his flask. "So, which is it for you? Forgetting, or remembering?", he asks.

"I want to forget," Juniper replies quietly, her accent not a local one. Somewhere down south, New Mexico if he'd recognise it. Taking the blunt she lifts it to her lips, drawing deeply and exhaling slowly, then again, before offering it back. "Thanks." She takes a sip from her own bottle, the clear glass and liquid inside suggesting maybe a vodka, or heck it could be fancy water. Who knows. She's got the looseness of limb to her body that comes with alcohol, though. "You?"

James's own accent is definitely local, if a bit fainter than some. 15 years away will do that. "Same.", he replies, reaching to take the joint back before taking a nice, deep inhale. It's good stuff, and surprisingly smooth, the tingle of THC quickly hitting and spreading out, relaxing both mind and body, unfocusing the eyes just a bit. "Been a non-stop barrage of old memories since I got back in town, and not much I can do about those, but maybe I can blot out some of the newer ones before they settle in, eh?", he asks, giving a low chuckle.

"Amen to that." Another sip of vodka and Juniper muses, "That's a smooth draw. That strain got a name so I can ask for it at the dispensary?" She sits back a little, crossing her legs and leaning back on one propped hand, the bottle of vodka nestled in the crook of one knee.

James says, "Blue Cookies. Blueberry and GSC hybrid. Makes you happy, won't couch-lock you, and a little goes a long way.", James says, smiling in that way that makes it clear he's had more than a little already. He chuckles. "Kinda nuts that there's a dispensary here in town. When I left in my teens, if you wanted weed you needed to know a guy who knew a guy who knew a guy who would probably just sell you some oregano anyway." He looks out over the ocean a moment, and lets out a breath. "Name's James, by the way.""

There's a slow nod from the woman on the other rock, making a mental note of the name - though she'll probably forget it anyway. She extends her hand to take the joint again, puffing on it and exhaling again, a content plume of smoke out into the sea air. "I'm Juniper," she replies in kind, taking another draw and then passing it back, closing her eyes and tilting her face up to the night sky. "It's nuts but useful, for sure."

James nods his agreement, swirling the booze in his flask around a little, going silent for a moment. "Say. You, ah... been in town for a while?", he asks, tone of voice going a bit uncertain.

"About three days now," Juniper responds quietly, eyes still closed as she tilts her head down and lifts her bottle, taking a few slow sips and then adding, "But I know places like this. Where people shine and dreams can be dangerous." Whatever that might mean, depending on how much he knows or has experienced.

James grunts a bit, and lets out a sigh. ".... yeah, that sounds about right." He lifts the joint to his lips and takes a long puff, holding it several seconds before exhaling a plume which the night breeze immediately blows back in his face, because, well, that's just his luck. "Alright, then riddle me this- why are we still here? I mean... this place, right? S'weird. I'd forgotten just how weird but now I'm back and..." He goes silent, motioning lazily around them. "S'weird."

There's a smile at that, one that is a combination between lazy with a slight twist of bitter. "Why do we build our homes where there are regularly earthquakes and tornados?" Juniper asks in return, implying the answer is much the same whatever it turns out to be. "Besides, with the weird comes the wonderful."

"Does it? Does it really? 'Cause I'm having a hell of a time spotting the wonderful. So far it's mostly been...", James says, and flaps his hands around, at a loss for words. "Y'know... the bad stuff. And it's like everyone in town is either in on a secret that I don't know and they're being hella annoying about it, or I've finally gone ahead and snapped thanks to the one-two punch of rekindled childhood trauma and goddamn giant frogs." He stops his ranting, and slumps. "Sorry. Clearly I need more booze."

Turning her head to properly look at James, Juniper considers him for a long, silent moment. "I dunno about everyone in town, like I said I haven't been here long. But if this place is like home - and I believe it is - then there's a definite 'those who know' and 'those who don't'. Folks are pretty cagey, not wanting to talk about it with people they don't trust, lest they end up wearing a nice new overly tight jacket."

James wrinkles his nose and then takes a sip from his flask. "... that sounds about right.", he mutters, then shakes his head, glancing over at Juniper, looking at her curiously. The best part about being stoned and drunk is that he can tell himself the ripples he sees in the air around her are from the weed, and not anything else. "So... you've been to other places like this? And now you're here? Is it like a hobby, weird-hunting?"

Shaking her head slightly, the woman sips from her vodka again before reaching for the blunt, drawing and exhaling slowly. "Not exactly. I had to leave home, and I ended up here pretty much by accident," Juniper replies quietly, before puffing again and passing back. "But there are some places that are very much more like this than others." She looks out to the sea briefly, then back to James. "Why'd you come back?"

James takes a nice long puff himself as he listens to her, and tries (and fails) to blow a smoke ring. "Dangit." He glances back at her, running a hand through his beard. "Uncle died.", he replies. "He'd been living in the house I grew up in. The one my parents died in. Left me the house in his will, so I had to come in and do some paperwork." He leans back, looking up into the sky. "Turns out old Uncle Dan was a hoarder. My plans to just find a real estate agents and sell the house and be back in Brooklyn by the end of the week kind of took a detour after that."

"Ah. Yeah, that sounds like it'll take some time. I mean, you could get a company in to do it for you? But that might be expensive," Juniper murmurs, letting her eyes close again, the comforting velvet touch of THC working it's way through her brain, relaxing and soothing and pleasing. "Sucks though. You got out."

"I thought I did. Now I'm not so sure.", James murmurs, tapping a finger on his flask. "Ran into some old friends the other night. Kids I grew up with. We used to play D&D together, if you can believe it.", he says, and gives a sad smile. "Couple of them offered to help me out with the house, see if there's anything worth salvaging. Funny thing is- pretty much all of them had left too. And then... they came back. I keep hearing that. People leave. Then they come back. It's like, no one leaves forever. Except when they do."

The woman nods slowly, a low 'hmmm' of distracted thoughtfulness her first reply. "Except when they do," she agrees, her voice quiet, a little floaty. "Maybe they go to other places like this, like I have. Maybe they die. Or they just forget."

"I mean... there's nothing stopping me from picking up my shit and heading back to the city, really.", James murmurs, thinking out loud. "But... I can't shake the feeling that it... like... wouldn't work?" he says, and looks over to Juniper. "Y'know what I mean?"

"I know what you mean," Juniper confirms slowly, breathing deeply of the sea air, then sipping more from her bottle of vodka. "Leaving home, there were all of these nagging feelings. Did I forget something? Did I need to go see someone? What about the post? All kinds of reminders that I should turn around and deal with." Obviously she didn't, since she's here, but still.

James chuckles at that. "Yeah. That. But not... just that.", he says. It's a little like... like an infection. Like whatever's in this town, in the air and the water, well, it's in the people too. You can leave town, but you're always taking a little bit of it with you, and it wants to come back home."

Opening her eyes, Juniper tilts her head to look over at James again. "Huh. That's not a bad analogy," she decides after a few moments of thinking it through. "Though apparently my 'bit of it' likes it here just as much as it does Roswell."

James blinks. "Roswell? Like, New Mexico, Roswell?", he asks, tilting his head. "Crashed spaceships and anal probes?"

"Mmhmmm." Juniper's dry tone suggests that's pretty much the response she was expecting. "That'd be the one, yeah." She reaches for the blunt again, taking a puff to deal with the alien bullshit her hometown attracts. "Figure the place attracts crackpots anyhow, but you ever figure that the dreams might just be why there's so many 'alien' sightings?"

James chuckles. "S'as good a theory as any other, I guess.", James agrees. "I mean, I'm no expert on weirdness, whether it comes from space or from dreams or from whatever. But I guess there's spots everywhere that are just a little... off." He thinks for a moment. "At least there's fewer tourists in this one?"

"Hah, yeah. Amen to that," the woman replies with a faint laugh. "Here we can go mad in relative seclusion with the wider outside world none the wiser." Which, to some people, might be preferable. Or not.

James gives another short chuckle, and then leans his flask over in her direction for a toast. "Well, here's to going mad, then, Juniper. Nice to know we're not alone in it."