2019-11-09 - Tea and History

It's not a long trip. Nowhere within Gray Harbor qualifies as a long trip. Even with the brief stop to drop off that second drink to Hyacinth on the way (Diana finds herself Keeper of the Caffeine on the drive), and the inevitable minute or three of chat before Vyv emerges again, it's ten minutes at most before the vintage Jaguar convertible is once more ensconced in Bayside's parking garage and its owner is leading the way from the elevator to his apartment door.

"Make yourself comfortable," he says as he steps in, holding the door for her. "Shall I put on some tea, or are you suitably caffeinated for the time being?" Not for the first time, her sweater catches his eye. It continues to be... unfortunate. But not enough to bar her entry, at least not while their interests otherwise align. "Though I suppose if you are, there's always the herbals."

For Diana's part, she seems content to be the Caffeine-Keeper, and doesn't even sneak a drink on the way. So polite! She also seems content to wait, not at all fidgeting or otherwise seeming impatient. As they pull into the carpark, she looks about her at the parking garage, and Bayside apartment building, itself. This may in fact be her first time seeing it, given as she's not a local. When they get to his place, she can't help but look around, seeming suitably impressed, and then takes a seat as offered. She eschews the couch, instead settling herself in whatever single-person seat there may be, before answering, "Actually, I would love some tea-- herbal sounds especially good, and might let me sleep tonight." She smiles. "You have a lovely home. And... thank you."

There are other chairs to choose from -- an Eames lounge chair and ottoman, unsurprising given the mid-century-modern lean of a good deal of the decor, and some less immediately-identifiable but similarly well-designed pieces as well.

"Tea, then," Vyv says, and strolls into his kitchen. Also unsurprisingly, it's as sleek as the rest, and arranged with thought toward efficiency as well as appearance; the movements it takes to get things going are few and fluid, and once the kettle's on he heads around the counter that divides it from the dining and living areas to join her. "And thank you. There were some-- issues in the building a bit ago, had several people declaring their intention to move out, but really? I just got things how I want them, the issues can be the ones to move on, thank you." He's poured what remains of his coffee into a proper mug, taking a sip as he pauses to glance out the balcony doors toward the ocean before turning back to her.

The Eames lounge chair is most definitely what Diana picks, and she looks pleased by its comfort when she settles into it. She even closes her eyes for a brief moment. Her eyes reopen in time to watch him in the kitchen, and she then tilts her head at the mention of the issues. "What sort of issues, if you don't mind my asking?" She follows his gaze to the ocean, and smiles softly, seeming to only notice the view for the first time.

It is a very comfortable chair. And from the positioning, it's possible Diana might get the suspicion it's where Vyv's most generally inclined to sit: it has the best combined views of both the scenery and the fireplace, and the small table beside it would be very handy for a mug or perhaps a book. There's no immediately visible television.

Vyv glances briefly at her (or the chair, either way), then settles himself down on the couch, which also has a convenient spot for a mug to be set beside it, and takes advantage of that. Despite being now in his own house, he still sheds neither jacket nor tie -- doesn't even loosen it. Like he actually finds it comfortable or something! "Well. Some of it was the murders, which ties into the whole banishing situation," he says, "but the proximate one was..." His brow furrows. "Mn. I don't know what they were, exactly. Creatures. Skinny misshapen things, ears that probably pick up satellite, teeth that would make an orthodontist start giddily upgrading this year's vacation plans. They were in the vents, making all the lights in the lobby explode." A slight shake of his head, and he lifts the mug for another sip. "It was inconvenient."

With an arched brow, Diana says, "That does sound awfully inconvenient. The issues have moved on, then?" She gives a polite smile, and then adds, "...and you mentioned the murders, and banishing. That of course is why I'm here. I mean, not here in Gray Harbor, but here in your place." She smirks, faintly. "I have so many questions, but I should honestly just let you talk." And so she does!

"Well, I've not seen or heard anything more from them since, so if they've not moved on, and if Mr. Thorne didn't get in exterminators from one side or the other of things as I believe I said he should... they've at least become more acceptable neighbours, I suppose." Vyv considers that a moment, and shakes his head again. "Living here is very strange, sometimes," he mutters, chasing it with another drink of the coffee. Might be more helpful if it were doctored, all in all.

Another glance toward the windows, and he sighs. Irritated sigh. Seems very natural. "Yes, well. Where to begin." His lips purse faintly, and then he leans back a bit against the couch, both hands wrapping around the mug for the moment as he looks to her again. "A good long while back, early 1900s, there was a murderer in this area. William Gohl. Billy the Ghoul, they called him. Said to have killed well over a hundred people. He was convicted, imprisoned, and died, apparently, in an asylum." His brow furrows. "Possibly the one today's visitor wanted to return to. Hm. In any case. Billy was the ghost in question." He pauses there for another sip, and to watch her.

"I would agree with that sentiment, even though I have yet to see a lot of the strangeness of this place for myself, as of yet. I'd complain, but then I'm sure I'd get it in force, and I'd have no one to blame but myself." Diana smiles faintly. Then he begins to tell The Tale, and she settles in to listen to him talk, nodding her head at the bits she knows, and watching intently during bits she doesn't. "What sort of trouble was Billy causing? Mayhem and murder, I'm guessing?"

"As a ghost, or when he was alive?" Vyv inquires, one brow and the opposite corner of his mouth both quirking up slightly. Another sip, and he sets the mug down. "Not terribly long after I'd moved here, we found ourselves evacuated for-- a gas leak, I believe it was, downtown, where the patisserie is located. And we ended up in a strange mirror of reality, where there was a box of bones, beneath graffiti that read 'Billy Lives'. The bones... wanted to be buried. So we took them with us, and despite being told nothing could be brought back from that side of things -- well, they came back with us. For-- various reasons, we attempted to destroy them rather than bury them. Things went very," he considers, "annoyingly. Too many people deciding they know better than others when none of us, frankly, knew anything much."

"Regardless." He pushes some of that annoyance aside, though it appears to just make room for some more. "The upshot is that people began dying. Addingtons, mainly. The occasional person with Baxter blood. They're the founding families around here. My closest friend's father and my assistant's sister were both among those killed, which was most vexing. And inconvenient. So yes. Murder, certainly; mayhem, perhaps, I suppose how one looks at it."

"Both," Diana says with some amusement of her own. "...though especially the former." She pauses, then asks delicately, "What happened when you tried to destroy them?" Another pause, and she adds, "And I'm sorry to hear about the loss of-- your friend's father, and your assistant's sister. That must've been rough." She frowns gently. "What happened next?" she prompts, after tilting her head to the side.

"It was," Vyv confirms, tapping a finger absently against the mug. "I had to do-- hospitals, and comforting, and get my assistant moved to another apartment, and she needed time off. Weeks, it ended up." A vague gesture, leaving the mug alone, "As I say: inconvenient and vexing. And I don't much like someone messing with my people. Living or not."

"At any rate..." He trails off a moment; the irritation goes nowhere, and there's another of those sighs. "We originally attempted to arrange cremation. Someone else decided to instead pick them up and try to investigate them. So initially, nothing happened when we tried to destroy them. I'm told that later, when some were burnt, it had an effect on Alexander Clayton, who is, if I recall correctly, a descendant of Ghol. Bloodlines did seem to be rather important in all this, really. Felt as though he were being burnt himself, I believe."

He shifts position slightly, getting more comfortable; he seems to have perfected lounging without slouching, somehow. "Well before that, however, people began to die. A woman -- an Addington -- in an apartment a few floors down, first. After her funeral, Erin Addington's parents, in a car crash. Quite a few others, as already mentioned and not, obviously. No evidence of the murderer at the scenes. Eventually it was discovered that he was possessing Thomas Addington, committing these murders through him, using his... abilities. Margaret Addington," he tilts his head, still regarding Diana, adding aside, "his sister, family matriarch, self-elected Queen of Gray Harbor, sinless and blameless knower of all that is correct," before continuing, "was aware of this. They claimed to intend to send him off to that asylum to stop it, but apparently it was terribly important they first finish off their Netflix queue." That iced acid that laced his comments to Rusty earlier in the evening? Yes, it's making a reprise.

There is, of course, more to the story yet. But he pauses there to reclaim his mug for another sip. "Quite understandable, I'm sure." It's some impressively deadpan venom for someone it may not be entirely impossible to imagine prioritizing similarly.

Pursing her lips together, Diana gives a nod to the talk of how difficult it all was. She's quiet when he trails off, letting him gather his thoughts rather than attempting to prompt him further. Instead, she has a small sip of her tea, watching him over the rim of the mug. The bit about Thomas Addington definitely gets raised brows, which don't lower until after his deadpan venom. She pauses, and then asks, "It seems as though the Addingtons in particular were targeted. I wonder if the Ghols and the Addingtons had some kind of ... feud, back in the day." She tilts her head, and then ventures, "I'm going to guess she'd told no one that she knew how the murders were being committed? And what was the purported delay, really? I'm going to assume-slash-hope the Netflix bit isn't literally what people were told, but you never can tell." She pauses, frowning, and asks, "Do you think she was protecting him, perhaps? Hoping to stop the murders herself before anyone found out about her brother's involvement, or he had to be sent to the asylum?"

"Presuming I have all of it correct, and I didn't receive invitations to all the goings on, mind, the Ghols were a branch of the Baxters, or had Baxter blood, in any case." Vyv glances fleetingly toward the kitchen, but the kettle is not yet announcing readiness. "I believe so does Alexander, and so does my assistant, Rebecca. And Kelly. Her sister. I have the impression that everyone attacked was related to one or the other family -- and that the two families essentially founded this town. There's, mm. Bad blood." A flicker of an upward twitch at one corner of his mouth; it's not quite a joke, not intentionally, but the wordplay is right there, after all. "Apparently someone by the name of Baxter killed some Addingtons in the park 90 or so years ago. The park's named after them for it; the high school's named after one of them too. Hyacinth -- Addington --" in case she's unaware, "'s personal assistant is a Baxter, and when this began, she had co-workers asking wasn't she worried. Ninety years! And all we knew at that point was that an Addington had been murdered."

He lifts the mug again and finishes off what little remains in it, keeping it in his hands afterward. "She'd not told anyone, no. Nor had he. And I was not actually at the visit in question," is he slightly annoyed at not being kept in that loop? Possibly. But it's tricky to determine where one 'slightly annoyed' turns into another. "But Hya tells me Thomas had been somehow holding Gohl back for-- fifty years? until these events. And that they did, in fact, say they intended to finish watching their shows and then send him off to the asylum. They'd decided sending him there was the only way to solve it. They weren't particularly interested in any other potential solutions, or in help."

His fingers tap once against the mug again, and he considers Diana. "So we continued trying to find solutions without them. Eventually, it came down to a sort of exorcism, which... did break the connection, but didn't quite go according to plan. We were all--" This is considered a moment. "For the next week or two, we all felt it. Easy to anger," that must've been quite a change, "very difficult to restrain it, the urge to go straight to murder for every slightest irritant. And the desire to rest. And it didn't end until we gave Gohl a funeral. Buried what remained of the bones, along with... sacrifices. Making up for those missing." This, he does not like. At all. "When it was done, he was gone. As far as we're aware. And everyone with... particular strength in their more unusual abilities found they weren't quite as strong as before. They could still do whatever they could do before, mind, just... not at the same range, anymore. Not just those of us involved, but everyone in town, to my knowledge."

Diana only has one question, at first, with a concerned look on her face. "...sacrifices?" And then there's a long pause before she holds up a finger and adds with some measure of amusement, "Also, I'm sorry, but I just have to know what show, and if it's Game of Thrones, I swear." She shakes her head, tsking. She purses her lips then, and asks more seriously, "...is Thomas still in the asylum?"

"I believe it was Netflix, so probably not Game of Thrones. You might need to ask Hyacinth for further detail there," Vyv replies, the upward twist at one corner of his mouth subtle and not at all reflected in the tone. "Thomas never went to the asylum. It was, I suppose, not necessary after the funeral. He was comatose for a while, after the exorcism, but seemed... well enough, I'd say, at the funeral. And yes. Sacrifices."

He pauses, there, a glance toward the balcony doors, and after a moment, back to her. "We were informed that to make it work, it would be necessary to bury things with the remaining bones. Things of value to us, things it would... hurt, to lose. Mementos of people we cared about, is what I feel it boiled down to in the end. Perhaps of events, in some cases? But physical objects we'd feel the loss of in our lives." It's quiet, calm, but there's a thread of cold anger through it. "I said it was extortion then, and I've not changed my mind. If you want me to stop taking from you, give to me." His fingers tap once firmly, irritably, against his leg. "But it appears to have worked. It simply took more than we were even aware would be taken." He rises, heading toward the kitchen; it's not until he's taken several steps that the whistle of the kettle becomes audible.

There's a soft snort at hearing the bit about Netflix, and Diana gently shakes her head. She nods to the bit about Thomas, almost distractedly, and then focuses on Vyv again to hear what he has to say about the sacrifices. She tilts her head to the side, her expression sympathetic. "I'm sorry for whatever it is that you lost. Your sacrifice, I mean... extortion, or no." She pauses there, leaning back into her seat, and then nods to herself, frowning. "And no sign of Billy since then, I'm assuming?"

"Thank you." What it was is, apparently, not information Vyv is inclined to volunteer, but the sympathy is accepted, at any rate. "Thus far... no. No signs of which I'm aware. We don't know whether the side-effects are permanent, or how far they reach, or whether, if they could be reversed, it would affect the banishment as well... but as I say, it does appear to have worked. Aside from the semi-voluntary sacrifices, it's also cost some people considerably more, as Margaret Addington does not appreciate being gainsaid. Particularly, I suspect, when the alternative plan succeeds." Surely he'd take it much better in her position. "Cream, sugar, lemon? What do you take?" he inquires, moving the kettle off the heat and going about the preparation of the tea.

There's a nod to the thanks, and Diana mercifully doesn't press, nor look particularly inclined to at a later point. Instead, she listens. "And when you say the side-effects, do you mean the side-effects on people's abilities, or the sacrifices? ...and just what did Margaret Addington do after the fact, if you're willing to share that?" She pauses at the question about her tea, giving a sly smile. "Sugar, please. Enough to drown a stallion, if you're willing to indulge me."

"The abilities," Vyv replies, "...the range issue. And she appears to have more or less disowned the family members who were involved in finding the solution." Has Diana been here long enough to have a feeling for how wealthy and important the Addingtons are in this town, and what all that might imply? Vyv may be a relatively recent transplant to the place, but set the supernatural issues aside and that family lives in a world he knows. And he's not at all pleased with the situation, despite that it surely can't directly affect him, can it?

Tea is prepared, with a faintly amused glance her way at the requested indulgence. "There are simpler and more efficient means of equucide, you realise."But when he brings the small tray over, there's a rather well-filled sugar bowl along with the pair of mugs. Also, a small plate of macarons.

Diana addresses the very serious issue of equicide first: "Of course, but it's the journey, not the destination, hm?" She arches a brow, playfully challenging, and then accepts her coffee with a smile. "Thank you." The macarons are eyed longingly, and she does reach out for one before saying, "Who knew cornering you would get me free confections from the patisserie owner himself?" A smile, and she begins scooping far too much sugar into her tea. "That said, I'm sorry for the Addingtons who were 'more or less' disowned. That's terrible, especially as an answer to 'came up with a better solution than locking someone away in a mysterious Asylum forever.' I'll have to keep that in mind." She purses her lips, and then takes a testing nibble at the edge of her macaron, which prompts a larger bite and a pleased smile. "Mmf," she says simply.

"Remind me to ask some very specific questions should you ever invite me on a cruise," Vyv tosses back, and he settles back into his chosen seat before picking up one of the mugs for his own. "And yes. She's quite off my Christmas card list."

It's a very nice herbal tea, and there's hints of various sleep-promoting plants in there, all coming together in a pleasant blend. And in Diana's case, a metric crapton of sugar. The chef eyes the adulteration with slightly less judgement than if she were actually drowning a horse in sucrose -- well, theoretically, who knows how much he cares about horses -- but the appreciation of the macarons helps to offset it in a manner not dissimilar to how her knowledge of hauntings and research ability offset her taste in apparel. Which is to say, not entirely. But it helps.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I not include the bill?" he actually flicks a glance at the tray as though checking for it, deadpan, then takes a sip; the 'mmf' gets a ghost of a smile behind the mug. "Experimental for spring. Orange blossom, rose, champagne. Thoughts?" Beyond 'mmf', presumably, though he'll take that for a start.

Without missing a beat, Diana says, "Don't forget to ask some very specific questions if I ever invite you on a cruise." She's ever so helpful. She smiles, particularly about the Christmas card list, and then nibbles more at her macaron before nodding in approval. "I love it. Particularly the orange, honestly. It has a ... good mouthfeel? I'm not great at words for these sorts of things, but it definitely does say 'spring' if nothing else. But it all blends together very well." She pauses, then adds, "I don't know that I've thanked you yet for the information, and the hospitality, so: thank you."

"Mn. Ye-es," Vyv replies to the instant reminder. "Should you ever invite me on a cruise, remind me to ask some very specific questions." Sip.

Whether or not she's using 'mouthfeel' in the way he would, the response is noted, tucked away somewhere, and that faint smile gains a level of existence, along with a little nod that pauses long enough to double as an inclination of the head. Acknowledgement. "I think they're about correct," he says, reaching over to pick one up himself, and eyeing it. "Won't be in the shop until, mm... late February, at a guess. There's still all of Winter, after all. But... the thought occurred." He takes a small bite, and looks faintly satisfied. Yes, these might do.

"You're welcome. One can hardly make much headway in research if no one will speak to one, after all. And I'm quite interested in what your research turns up. About the ghosts, the Veil, the-- shine, all of that," he says, gesturing vaguely with the rest of the macaron on the final clause, then polishing it off.

Diana can only just barely keep from smiling at the 'mn' and what follows, and she nods to the correction, losing her battle against the smile at that point. "Late February, and I'm tasting them now? I clearly need to corner you more often." She nods to what he has to say about research, expression growing more serious. "Well, I can tell you that your story helped me in that regard. Quite a bit, actually. I felt ... something, around when Billy was laid to rest, that I've never felt elsewhere. Might've been related, anyway. This place-- Gray Harbor-- it's the largest open thin point in the United States, and perhaps even globally. Which, I'm probably telling you what you already know, but it's, well, fascinating. I know that doesn't make it any easier to live here, but it's a data point, if nothing else."

"Underrated benefits of failing to entirely displease one's neighbourhood pātissier." Vyv settles back with the tea, posture still admirable but a tad more actively relaxed. Still elegant, of course. So he won't need to turn in his badge or anything.

And then she's mentioning 'feeling something', and he nods. "That, I think, might well be the side-effect I mentioned. It felt a bit as if..." A head tilt, lips pursing slightly. "Things... tightened. Closed in. Or that's how I remember it. I can't swear that's not influenced by being aware of things that were different afterward." He pauses briefly, then adds, "A few of us are taking a trip to Portland in a week or so to see whether things have changed that far out." There's a much smaller thin point there, as she surely knows.

"Oh, only entirely displeasing makes me lose the benefit, hm? Clearly I either have at least partially displeased you, or-- and this is what I'm hoping-- I've got room to grow." Diana dramatically stretches to emphasize her point. She smiles, then, at least until more pressing matters come up. "Please do let me know how that goes. Any data is good data, if you ask me." She frowns thoughtfully, then pauses before asking, "As someone not used to exercising abilities in different places-- will the expected ranges of your various powers be the same, even where the thin point is so much smaller in comparison?"

"It could be both," Vyv points out, with another faint smile. "I'd recommend aiming for the minimum of displeasure if one hopes to curry ideal early-adopter experimental pastry access. Possibly even-- I hesitate to say a maximum of pleasure, but perhaps of general pleasingness." There is not even a little bit of innuendo there. There could so easily be! And yet.

He nods to her request for an update afterward, but the question... that gives him pause. "I'm... not sure," he says, brow furrowing, and actually looks unsettled for a moment before he either shakes it off or tucks it away out of sight. "I can't seem to clearly remember. This place has always seemed to have more potency and reach, even now, but... beyond that, I know things were easier there than elsewhere, but when I try to pin it down..." Oh, that's irritating. The Veil does seem to have its ways of keeping its secrets. He doesn't have to like it.

"Well, you would recommend that, given you're the beneficiary of the pleasing behavior!" Diana says with amusement. There doesn't seem to be any innuendo on her part... just good old-fashioned skepticism. She leans forward when his brows furrow, and by the end, she's frowning as well. "I know someone from this town who moved far away, to a point in the US that's not one of the thinner areas. Things that happened to them here, they seemed to forget, to the point that they sought psychiatric treatment for what little they could remember. When they returned here, to this massive thin point-- the memories returned, mostly in full. Do you think it's related?"

"I should always be a beneficiary of pleasing behaviour," Vyv retorts, "if for no other reason than being pleased by what people ought to be doing in the first place." A sip of the tea, an arched eyebrow; there's still a hint of amusement, but that doesn't mean he doesn't likely also mean it on some level. It's only after that drink that the ghost of the smile returns, and he adds, "And in any case I believe we've established I'm not the sole beneficiary. Arguably even the beneficent."

The question of memory and moving away from spots like this, he does a better job of suppressing any unsettlement with than before, but having seen it, it's easy to imagine it might be there. He does need to think for a moment before replying, "I think it might be, yes. Perhaps not quite the same thing, though, not quite. There are things that... slipped my mind, between visits to what I now know are thin spots. Just little details; none of my visits were... dramatic. But I recall them here. But this, not quite." And he only now realises that, now that it's come up. What else might not be there? "It's possible it's simply the 'mostly' there, I suppose."

"I suppose you might have valid points," Diana muses, "...if I were to listen to silly little things like 'reason' or 'logic.'" She smiles in amusement over her mug, then takes a sip of the tea, nodding approvingly just after. "Very well, though. You are clearly the beneficent. The tea proves it." There's a frown at his answer, as the idea seems to trouble her as well. "I'll have to count myself lucky yet again that I've mostly only traveled from thin point to thin point since I caught on that there was something 'more.' I can only imagine the distress at losing moments of my life, but knowing they'd been there, somewhere, now out of reach." Her frown deepens as she no doubt pictures this, and then she gently gives her head a shake. "...at any rate. I wanted to thank you for helping answer so many of my questions."

"All my points are valid points. The sooner one learns this, the better." It goes right along with the other assertions, right in that liminal space between dry humour and not actually a joke, hard to pin to one side or the other and at least as easily both. Vyv does look quietly pleased by the approval of the tea, even if it HAS been cruelly and excessively pushed toward becoming a tea-flavoured syrup (which thought may well be filed away for pastry use).

A nod; he may not have lost the moments in question entirely, and he may be loath to show it in more than subtle glimpses, but the distress is there nonetheless. He is not, likely, used to feeling less than sovereign in his own mind, and missing facts might be worse even than unruly emotions. Still, when she thanks him again, there's a smile -- very small, as much a crinkle at the corner of his eyes as anything else, but seemingly genuine. "You're welcome," is as well. "It really is difficult, sometimes, trying to learn about any of this. Many of us have questions, but not as many have answers, and finding who does... and if they'll tell you..."

He shakes his head a bit, then studies her. ...that sweater is still there. That's unfortunate. But the less directly visible attributes seem decidedly less so. "Would you be interested in trying to share what we learn semi-regularly? Not necessarily tea every third Wednesday..." Although possibly not necessarily not.

"I'll keep that in mind," Diana says with amusement at his 'valid points' claim. She definitely seems to be enjoying her tea-flavored syrup, and in fact takes a few moments to savor it before casting him a sympathetic look. She doesn't comment on the distress-- probably thinking he won't take well to it. But she definitely sees it. "People being willing to tell you-- that's generally the rub, as it were." She smiles back to him, hers full and open, and then tilts her head as he studies her, looking curious but content to wait and see what happens rather than ask. She perks up at his question, and it gets an immediate nod of her head. "Definitely," she says warmly. "We'll want to compare notes, so we know we're coming at things with the same base information. I love the idea." Well, that was easy.

Vyv gives her a small nod, more an inclination of the head than anything else. "See that you do." He does a good line in quietly imperious, but that one's probably shifting more toward the humour side of the scale, nonetheless.

Lack of comment there is probably the better part of valour; best indeed to move on to the request, and her reply gets another slight smile, one that further brightens his eyes. Not just pleased this time, but perhaps even a little bit excited as well. "Good. Then that's decided. And I'll be sure to let you know what we discover in Portland. Now... that one," he points to another of the macarons, very pale purple with a dark purple filling and a small viola flower sparkling with fine sugar clinging to the top, "is violet cassis and vanilla. Do let me know what you think."