2019-10-25 - No Gilding The Lily

With a trip to Seattle undertaken and several difficult conversations looming over the horizon, Isabella's To-Do list is a perpetually lengthy thing, but its demands today lands her in the threshold of Branch & Bole.

There's an appreciative glance at the pumpkin patch that she finds outside, clad as she is in clothing that is deferential to the weather's growing chill; a reddish-brown leather jacket pulled over a clinging cashmere sweater, fitted jeans tucked into knee-high boots. Her dark hair is pulled in its usual careless knot, and everything else is accented by a soft, multi-colored scarf draped loosely around her throat. It isn't enough, however, to mask the omnipresence of the moonstone pendant that she always keeps on her person, its pale surface catching the light and leaving motes of color over the fabric of her top.

An affable smile is directed to those who man the front of the house. "Just here to pick something up," she says, presenting her invoice for the kaffir lily that she ordered for one Erin Addington. There's a curious glance to where she remembers August's office is situated. "Is he in? Can I bug him?"

Thoma greets Isabella with a wave, gestures at the patio and outdoor collection. "Outside loading the truck for masquerade setup, but he'll be happy to get your order," she says, then goes back to stocking the knick knacks area with Halloween decorations.

One of the bucket trucks--the smallest, Little Lou, is backed up to the front Gothic arch greenhouse, and a small handful of people are carrying various plants out of it and placing them into the truck's back storage and bed. August is among them; as cool as the day is, the work keeps him warm, so he's in a dark gray and rust red, long sleeve Henley, black jeans, and his work boots. A huge variety of things is going into the truck: large, colorful pots wrapped up for safety are already stowed in the back, and all manner of fall blooming flowers, vines, and small trees.

"Thanks, Thoma!" She's always been good with details and her memory for faces and names are no exception. There's a wiggle of her fingers in turn, before she spins on her heel and ventures out through the patio, pushing the door open and letting the chilly Autumn air hit her face.

Summer may be Gray Harbor's most beautiful season but the Fall has its charms; there's something appealing and picturesque about the tableau August presents while he's deep in work, framed as he is by vibrant foilage and the deep greens of leaves and vines that have yet to turn in deference to the season. He'd be able to hear her approach, bootheels hitting stone and dirt, her quick pace reminiscent of big city living, still, no matter how far removed she is from London. Green and gold eyes flick to Little Lou before they gravitate once more to the Gothic greenhouse that captured her attention and imagination from the first time she visited the place. It looks even more gorgeous now.

"Hey, August," Isabella greets with a smile. "How are you?" A glance to his small team of employees. "I'm here to collect Erin's lily but I wanted to see how you were doing, too. Everything okay?"

August pauses in the midst of settling a Japanese maple, fiery red in its fall color, among the other plants. He gives Isabella a smile and focuses on the tree again. "Hey, Isabella. Not bad, how about yourself." He finishes up with the pot, steps aside to let Jen, the short haired, wirey arborist, past with a pair of fragrant rosemary. Then comes Cy with a collection of alyssum on various colors.

After pausing to confer with Jen and Cy, August moves to meet Isabella, tugging off his gloves and setting them on a nearby table. "Better," he continues, "now that the dammed flu seems to be done making the rounds." He grimaces about that, arches an eyebrow at her. "You're looking better--I assume it finally fucked off?"

"Thing's a killer," Isabella remarks about the flu, her expression relatively indescribable. "Been taking lives since at the very least the time of the Spanish Influenza epidemic, though I honestly have no idea how it managed to get here in the early 1900's. It's a relief to finally kick it off, though. I desperately needed to get back to work - my viva voce is early next year, which means I have to finish writing my submissions and give myself time to fill in the requisite forms and make some revisions." Her three-hour oral defense for her thesis, a process that August is probably familiar with considering he has a phD. "I'll probably need to return to London for a few days."

She watches him for a moment, taking in the lingering sense of some degree of calm, steady contentment from the man. "I'm glad you're feeling better," she offers. "What about Miss Lake? Is she on the mend also? Your powers working again?"

August grunts about the flu, though his expression brightens a touch when Isabella asks about Eleanor. "She's up and about again. The Gifts are all back in order, and," his expression tightens, he rubs the back of his neck, "I've even gotten a little stronger. Not sure if it's related, but." He's still putting in the weight he lost, but he's getting there. The sense of immediate recovery and gauntness haven't lingered, at least.

"Ah, good old defense time." He smiles in a mix of fond and amusing memories. "I'm sure you'll do fine. And hey, London should be an improvement over our winter." The smile turns wry for a second; old bones full of titanium don't care for the snow. "What's your thesis topic, I don't think I've ever heard you say."

His news about Eleanor puts an incredible degree of relief on Isabella's features. "And the two of you are doing good?" There's a press of her fingers against her chest. "I'm happy to hear that, too. For a while there, it looked like a few things were going to crash and burn while we were struggling with the illness and putting Gohl in the ground." Her bright expression fades there, a frown turned down to the tops of her boots. "I'm glad it's over, but he really tried to take out as many good things as he possibly could on the way out. Including what happened in the funeral. What do you make of that, by the way?" Her inquisitive eyes lift up again to focus on August's face.

His words about getting stronger only makes that sense of curiosity more intense. She takes a step back to take a better look at him, and what she manages to sense has those vibrant eyes widening. "You have," she says, and while her contralto is low, awed and carries with it no small measure of envy...there are other things there, too. Apprehension being the most prominent of these. "And...it could be related. I mean, I think it's common knowledge among people like us that you get stronger with practice, but...stress can do it, too. It can..." She gestures vaguely to the side. "If it gets too much, sometimes it can push you right into a different ceiling, if that makes sense. You feeling okay though? Now that it's...evolved?"

Her smile reflects his own, banishing some of her evident concern at the glimpse of whatever memories he is entertaining. "How the latest finds in underwater archaeology reveal a new maritime trade route through the Mediterranean in the time of the Ancient Romans," she says. "And how it took the fleet through several major ports in the Empire at the time when people actually took the state of the water seriously without building ridiculous casinos on top of it." There's a look of open disdain and distaste on the young woman's features there, though it softens and fades when her grin returns. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, though. What was yours?"

August hesitates before answering, seems to decide something. He glances over his shoulder, calls to Cy, "Gonna go grab something from the greenhouse," and Cy pauses to nod and wave him on his way. (Has Cy been trying to make sure August doesn't dive back into work too quickly post-flu? Signs point to yes.) August nods his head at the private greenhouse in the back. "Your lilies are back here anyways," he says.

The path leading from the outdoor collection to the private greenhouse has become a bit more official; there's rocks lining is, and its been filled in from a well-trodden rut to a smooth, shell-covered surface. The grass and dirt leading to the green belt has several stakes marking out sections as well. "Itzhak said it felt like when doors close. To Over There. Definitely felt like that, but I can still feel the thinner spots. But," his mouth flattens, "my reach, it's a lot shorter now. I can," he taps a temple, "speak to people from wherever still, but I can't heal them from that far, anymore." His eyes narrow. "Not sure if that was Gohl's doing, or...something else. Remember how Margaret kept saying we were fucking something up? I wonder if Gohl's presence didn't have something to do with how far we could act." He shrugs. "Gonna make a trip up to Portland, see if the same thing happened there. Talk to a few people I know who also have the Gift."

By the time he's done saying this, they've reached the greenhouse. Far smaller than the larger, shop greenhouses, this one is sparsely populated with what is clearly an eclectic mix of private projects. Orange jessamines in pots cluster along the back; there are a few racks of tiny aspen, maple, and oak saplings, no more than 6" tall, in little terra cotta pots; a few potted Ficus that look like they're recovering from some sort of mishap; and her keffir lilies. They're not blooming just now, being Spring bloomers, but there's a little card with a picture next to each pot: one will be a dusty bronze color; another a pale, buttery yellow; and the third, a delicate, minty green with a deep green throat stripe.

August moves to stand by the lilies, grimaces. He looks down at one of his hands. For a half a second, there's a shimmer in the air, a couple of sparks in his hand. Then it's gone. "Getting there," he says, voice low. He shrugs that off. "Alexander indicated this might not be as far as I can go, either." Another face. He's not happy about that. Not one bit.

Her thesis, then, is a welcome diversion. "Wow, that sounds pretty awesome. Mind letting me read a copy when you're done?" He snorts about the casino, rolls his eyes. "Here's hoping we can find an endangered species to use to run them off." Of his own thesis, he says, "Biodiversity in the Mt. St. Helens area, before and after the eruption. I did most of my graduate interning there."

The idea of exploring a place she's heard of before, but has never visited, brightens Isabella visibly; there's something girlish and enthusiastic about her approach as her steps quicken to join August's side, her hands sliding into the pockets of her jacket as she moves with him. Fallen leaves crunch under her boots, fertilizing lush, fresh earth and when they get to the private greenhouse - and while some aren't blooming yet, the promise of what they would become is fascinating enough to her. She knows nothing about plants, she is always happy and eager to defer to August's expertise in the matter when confronted by anything green, but it doesn't stop her from looking absolutely interested anyway. "August, this is amazing," she says, her appreciation set on her expressive features as she looks around. She doesn't touch anything, though she clearly wants to, as always a tactile creature that tends to throw herself in the mercy of her physical senses.

There is plenty to unpack in the next few minutes, but she replies to the easy ones first: a quick grin and the very rare flush when August approves of her choice for a thesis, and how she would happily send him a draft if he would like to see it, and there's a keen interest when he speaks of Mount Helen's. "You did?! Wow. Ballsy, I haven't had much experience exploring places with an active volcano, what was it like?" And talk of the casino? She sighs. "I can tell you all about my end of that in a few, if you want to hear it." Her earlier levity is gone there; she looks absolutely aggrieved, and somewhat despairing.

She doesn't address the rest of it just yet when she's quietly observing August as his fingers spark. "Fire?" she asks, leaning over to watch him work, those incisive eyes on the way motes of light dance around those digits before they fade again. "I think he's right," she tells him. "About that not being as far as you can go. Have you talked to Lil about it, yet?"

It's only after that when she focuses her attention on the rest of what August says, nodding once. "I felt it, too," she murmurs, grimly, visibly suppressing a shudder down her spine. "And maybe, but what I'm wondering is if Margaret knew this would happen, why wouldn't she have stopped us? Why did she let this go on? She was attached to her brother's side throughout, if something disastrous was going to happen with the way we did it, then why didn't she just go ahead and put Thomas in the Asylum? Did she have something to gain having us make a mistake like this? And if Alexander's right about the Addingtons having some kind of arrangement with...Them...it didn't sound like they did when she berated us from around the casket about paying our respects to a murderer and snuffing out all of our lights." Questions that the young woman has probably been turning in her head over and over since the funeral.

She falls silent after that, letting it linger between them, before she continues with a sigh: "We're definitely neutered in some way," she murmurs. "I can confirm it on my end, also. Remember that thing I mentioned that we're trying to fish out of the water?" The cursed ring, the thing that nearly killed more than two people on the Hanging Bridge. "Miss Jones and I couldn't even feel the bottom, and she's more practiced than I am. And when we tried the drone..." Her lips press together tightly, her voice lowering in an effort to smother the worry out of it. "August, it's gone."

"Well thank you, it's just my humble pet projects." August smiles, runs a hand over one of the Ficus. He mmmmms about Mt. St. Helens and it's decidedly not-dormant-or-dead nature. "It was interesting. They don't ask anyone to go out there who doesn'r want to, but..." His expression goes distant a second. "I kinda feel like I've got a lot in common with that place. So it didn't unnerve me so much."

The question of the Addingtons Senior and their alliances makes him sigh. "Yeah I've been thinking about that. I don't think it means they didn't have a deal with Them, just that what we were doing was fucking with it, somehow. As to why she didn't stop us..." He licks his lips. "All I can figure is, something about what we were doing would've given her blowback, if she'd interfered. There's a lot of that, when it comes to things like our Gifts. Give and take. A balance. Or," he shrugs, "maybe, if they do have a deal with Them, there's some clause in it that bound her." He's only guessing, though. This is far from his area of expertise.

He flexes his hand again. "Been meanin to talk to her," he says of Lilith. "I've been able to set things on fire, but not...wield it. Not like this." His level of discomfort is noticeable. It was one thing to give Erin the ability to do so (albeit briefly); another to do it himself.

He clears his throat, frowns about the ring. "Wait, the--the ring's gone? This is the one that made everyone," he stops short of saying 'go crazy', opts for, "obsessed?"

His distant look has her watching him quietly from where she stands, concern wreathing her features there. "Good memories, or...?" Isabella can't help but ask - not out of the desire to voyeur on the ghosts that linger around the man's presence, but the fact that she can't help but remember the Tower and how much the Warden had wanted to kill August Roen or worse, and cut down anyone or anything that stood in the way. She still feels the massive shiv burn against her back on some nights.

August's points on Margaret are all salient, and fingers lift up to tug faintly on the moonstone pendant around her neck, toying with it thoughtfully. "The only way we'll probably be able to confirm whether there's any arrangement between Them and the Addingtons is....and Christ, I hate to say it, but probably try and see if the Asylum could be found," she tells him quietly. "That's the first mention I've heard of a possible Addington and Them connection - it's a theory but considering the fact that the older generations seem to know a helluvalot about the way they operate, it's one that isn't unsound."

There's an encouraging nod about an inevitable conversation with Lilith. "Other than you, she's the best source I know about both sides of the coin in that regard." In terms of healing and un-healing, and the latter aspect can't help but pull her back in again on the things that Alexander has told her. Tension manifests at the hinge of her jaw.

When the talk slips towards the Ring, that worried look also intensifies. "Mags and Lil saw where it fell last, but when we worked out a plan to try and fish it out, it's no longer there." She hesitates for a moment. "I have an idea but I think I might need your help again." Her expression shifts, and it is potent in its apology. "Is that offer still open?"

August doesn't seem bothered by the question. "Some yes. Some no." His mouth twitches in a near smile. "I was six when it happened. We had to stuff every seal and doorway in the house with rags to keep the dust out. Dad bought an air purifier for the trailer." He shakes his head. "Hell of a thing."

"Well, we've got at least one other person wanting to find the Asylum--Julia. She said a friend of hers is still stuck there." He hesitates, then continues, "And I know someone else who might have a relation stuck there as well. There's interest. I wonder if maybe this isn't something for us to ask that Paranormal Society about. More than a few of them have the Gift."

He makes a thoughtful sound. "Her, and Finch--one of my," he gestures out towards where the bucket trucks are parked (when they're not being used to ferry plants around), "employees. She can make fire too." He laughs, though it's almost a grunt. "I suppose it's my turn to get taught a few things. And," he gives Isabella an exasperated look, "of course it's still open." He frowns. "What did you have in mind?"

She hadn't known he was within the vicinity of the event - just that he had returned to study the area. Isabella's eyes grow wide as saucers when he drops that particular revelation on her lap. "Oh my god," she breathes. "I'm glad you and your family were all alright during, but...oh my god." She has weathered her share of storms, experienced earthquakes along the west coast and even some distant instances of attempted piracy, but a volcanic eruption is a life event that is so far removed from all of her other life experiences that she can't help her reaction.

Julia? It's a small town and her stand on the Boardwalk is a fond summer tradition between herself and Byron Thorne, still, she seeks clarification: "Velez? I didn't know she was connected to the place." Quite a few are, it seems, and brows draw down in thought. But his suggestion about the Society is sound and there's an able nod. "Minerva's group. I was going to go to the next meeting as a show of support now that she's switched businesses." There's a hint of a smile. "She does know her stuff. Yeah, why not? It's as good of an idea as it is right now about it."

His laugh and self-awareness on the reversal of roles he's facing has her quirking up a grin. "Learn what you can." There's a glance down on the ground and on the pretty pots and the colorful lilies growing within them. "I can't help but miss it, sometimes. I don't know how I would ever take new instruction when it comes to that."

The exasperated look earns him a sheepish grin. "I just...I don't know! It's awkward, okay?" She laughs and rubs her cheek in a self-conscious fashion. "I pestered you constantly while Alexander was staying with you and...I didn't want you to think I just come here because I want your advice or help or...I mean, the voicemail I left you." She hangs her head. "It was a little embarrassing. I'm almost thirty, but I probably sounded like I was twelve."

At his frown, her levity fades. "Well, it's an approach. It fell in the lake, and it's gone. So I'm thinking two things - one, someone was looking for it and took it, which is about the worst case scenario as with any premeditated crisis, or two, someone accidentally fished it out first, or maybe caught something that swallowed it. I've been gone for a while, but you're...when it comes to the wild, you're an established name around here. There's probably a few businesses that rent out hunting and fishing equipment around the lake area, I was wondering if you had any contacts there you could poke at and see if they heard anything interesting? About a found treasure, or...someone acting weird or a regular going missing?"

August shakes his head to reassure Isabella. "We weren't that close. It's just, fifty miles is plenty close when it's that big of an eruption. No real earthquakes, thankfully, just a lot of ash and dust."

A nod about the Society and Asylum. "Right. And, Eleanor's been with that group for a while, so you can talk to her about that. Maybe she's got some information that'd help."

And the reassurances continue. "Don't worry about that. An illness like that, and the Gohl situation--which was bad, please remember--anxiety would've gotten the best of a lot of people." He shrugs. "It's not like I needed much prodding to check in on Alexander on the regular anyways."

He scratches at his beard. "Yeah, definitely, I can ask my old Forestry contacts, talk to people at the license shops. If someone got hold of it, well," his mouth flattens, "I guess you should look into some of those recent murders. That's the sort of thing it would trigger, right?" He's trying not to say 'that's the sort of thing it did trigger', since he's well aware that entire situation on the Bridge was hell for all involved.

She relaxes a little bit when August clarifies - she is absolutely guessing, but being within spitting distance of a volcanic eruption would probably traumatize any child.

"I wonder if Alexander's asked her about it already," Isabella murmurs. "If not, I'll go talk to her in the meeting. See what she says." She winks at her fellow field researcher. "Thanks for the tip. I'll see what I can dig up with her help."

His reassurances do unwind some of the tension on her shoulders, and she flashes him a grateful look. "Thanks, August," she tells him quietly. "You're a great guy." There seems to be something else, there, encouraged by what she now knows about Alexander's past wounds. But she drops it, instead, electing to take the man's word for it, and marvel in his steady presence.

August isn't wrong about the last, and there's a rueful nod. "We acted too late," she confesses softly. "It couldn't be helped, with Gohl and the illness - when I got the call from Byron, I was already hard up and when Mags and Kevin told him about it, it had been a month or so after the Hanging Bridge Incident. It could've vanished anywhere around that time." She chews on her bottom lip. "But yeah, if you could, that'd be great. I'm no help with recent murders, especially if they're active investigations - that's Alexander territory, though Mags is already involved and I bet her father's old contacts in the PD will talk to her. So far that's all I've got to work on and considering how much trouble that thing caused with people who knew what it was..." Here, she scrubs her face in a frustrated fashion. "I shudder to think what would happen in the hands of people who don't."

"Well I try," August says, leaning a hip against the racks of plants. "And, he might have--but, it's always worth asking again. Never know what new information's bubbled up."

He ducks his head, sighs and nods in agreement. "Yeah. Couldn't be helped, but..." He hitches a shoulder in a non-judgmental fashion. She and the others had done what they could, as soon as they could. "It is what it is. So. I'll ask around. Alexander, or," he arches an eyebrow, "de la Vega, if you've got any kind of understanding with him. If you mention it's something...weird, something not-normal, he might be willing to listen." Licking his lips, he adds, "Probably a lot worse than what went down on the bridge," he says, voice low.

She addresses the Ring issue first. There's a grim nod at his pragmatic assessment. "That's what I'm afraid of," she tells him softly. "On top of the fact that Mags has a child, and if she doesn't get it back for the Powers-That-Be...."

The archaeologist lets out a breath. "Nothing for it but to do the best we can with what we've got, like last time."

The Captain. Isabella frowns slightly, her brows stitching in the middle once again. "He and I are friendly and he wanted to talk to me after I got back to Seattle," she tells August slowly. "But I haven't managed to connect with him. Not that I could blame him - there might be pressure from the DA's office to get something on the Kruger murders? Apparently it might be connected with the casino being built." She wrinkles her nose faintly. "Detectives Morgan and Quintanilla stopped by my place to ask about it because I was volunteering for the environmentalist group that the plaintiff in the case hired to consult."

August grunts, rolls his eyes about the casino. "Yet another reason for it to not get built. Whole thing is bad fucking news." He reaches out to toy with a toad lily, expression thoughtful. "You're right though, he's probably being hounded to solve those cases. Still--if you get a chance, talk to him about it, see if any of them sound...related. Maybe it's too much to hope finding it's that cut and dried." Also, what happens if a cop on a murder case finds it after a murder? August decides to not think about that.

He stills at the mention of Mags and her child. "Shit, that's right. People have to take its place." He rubs at his eyes. "Do we know if there's a, timeline on this? Aside from, 'right now, damnit'?"

"I have a friend and possible neighbor - he was looking into it anyway - who has deep roots with the region's Quinault community," Isabella tells August. "He benefits financially from casinos being built on the reservations since every member of the Nation gets a cut but even he's against it. He's got a better insider view of the ins-and-outs of it than I do. More bad than good, he said - something about crime, alcoholism and divorce rates rising. I know the Chairwoman of the Historical Society's determined to hound the Mayor for the rest of his life if he allows it, which he...already did, really." There's another displeased twist to her mouth. "Alexander's interested in it." Because of course he is. "I just wish the PD would actually pay him for his consultations. He's better than most of the detectives they have in headquarters."

It isn't a lover's bias and that's clearly evident on her face. She's seen him work, has heard him explain conclusions and theories.

A rant that she's tabling, thankfully, at the moment. His quiet curse has her nodding grimly. "I don't think they're in any immediate danger, otherwise Mags would be pressing it," she reassures quietly. "So we have time. It's just that I don't know how much of that we have, so we shouldn't chance it."

"Simple fact is, a big fucking thing floating in the harbor like that's going to fuck up the ecosystem," August says, tone flat. "And that'll fuck up fishing, clamming, the whole nine yards. Problem is, people backing ecologically inconsiderate building don't care about that. They just want casino money." He nods his staid approval for her friend also being against it, rolls his eyes about the mayor. "Wouldn't surprise me if there was a kickback involved, there."

He smiles at the complaint, because he feels much the same about Eleanor, and can only be glad that, unlike Alexander, she hasn't gotten too involved with the GHPD. Not yet, anyways.

A sigh of relief that there's not a strict time limit bearing down on them. "That's something, at least. But--yeah, we need to find it sooner rather than later, if only because the longer it's out there, the more damage it's causing." He pauses, tilts his head. "Was Mags not effected by it? She didn't want to run off with it like the others?"

There's a faint and grateful smile from Isabella at August's blunt observations about the ecological impact of the entire project, and no small degree of commiseration at someone who doesn't just understand, but is actually academically qualified to opine on the subject. "The environmental aspect was the reason why I got involved in the first place, I wanted to help stop it. I honestly thought I was just assisting with the civil case, and then those Friday the 13th murders happened and the Krugers got offed professionally." She purses her lips in thought. "Part of me wants to take a look at the water around that area, or see if there's anything special about the site." Any excuse to go diving really, and August's experienced eye could probably detect it with the way she grins. "And if I just happen to come across evidence, well...."

But all levity fades there, and he asks a very astute question. "When I was affected it was because pictures of the thing were in my phone. Mags only looked at it, she didn't touch it and I don't think she was affected - I didn't hear anything about it if she did. Either that or she's somehow immune." There's a contemplative noise. "Might be why she and Kevin were sent after it? I'm not sure, but it's an interesting possibility. Thanks, August. As usual, you give me something new to think about."

She reaches out to touch one of the lilies with a faint smile. "They really are beautiful, you do such amazing work out here," she says softly. Turning to look at the botanist, her smile broadens. "Shall we carry Erin's lilies out? We can talk about other things for a while on the way. We've got a bit of a plan, just gotta see if it nets anything."

"Well that'll be a very convenient happenstance and a nice bonus on top of a day of diving," August says with an agreeable nod. It's entirely possible in another life he'd have been a prime recruit for the Monkey Wrench Gang.

He runs a hand through his hair. "Pictures on your phone. But she wasn't..." He nods. "Could be she has some sort of natural immunity, yeah--her and 'Kevin'." He says the name in a way which plainly indicates he has no idea who this is. "If we know they're immune they should be the ones potentially coming into contact with it. I'll let you know what I find out, and you can pass it along."

With a wry smile, he says, "Got to earn my keep somehow," and takes up two of the potted lilies, leaving the third for Isabella. "After you," he says, nodding towards the door.