2019-11-10 - Midnight Updates

Despite the late hour and the closeness of their relationship, Isabella is not rude. Given the hour - close to midnight, really - she fires off a quick text to Alexander to let him know she was stopping by his house before actually arriving.

The cherry-red Jeep parks at the curb and when she gets out, there's a curious glance at where the mailbox used to be, absently wondering just what the hell happened to it, before her quick, businesslike strides take up the narrow walk leading to the front porch. Water pours down the heavens in heavy sheets, soaking into her hair and the leather of her black jacket, a staple in her closet that's seen many places, and has accompanied her on multiple excursions. Green eyes occasionally flash, illuminated by the forks of lightning that split the skies - this may be Elm, and it might be late and storming, but she seems undaunted by the location's reputation or the weather, bulling forward with that familiar, restless tenacity.

There's a rapping of her knuckles against his door, droplets of water pebbling her skin, clinging to her jaw and cheeks and leaving them dewy; she looks less like a drowned rat and more like someone well inured with one of her two elements whenever Alexander lets her in his abode.

Alexander's response is a quick affirmative, and when she arrives, there's a light on in the windows. Not in the living room, though - Alexander is keeping that dark so that Isolde and Luigi can sleep in relative peace. He meets her at the door in his evening wear: an oversized t-shirt and gray sweat pants. He's learned the hard way that sleeping in the nude is not a great idea in Gray Harbor. At least, not when you tend to get lost as easily as he does.

He opens the door before she can even knock, and smiles warmly. His voice is pitched low as he waves her inside. "Let's go to the bedroom," he suggests, even as he reaches for her jacket, to help her out of it. The house doesn't have a coat closet, but he can hang it on the back of the door just as well. He gives her a look over, appreciative and worried all at once.

When she steps in, she turns around so he can easily slip the jacket off her shoulders. Lips part to speak, but he pre-empts her by suggesting the bedroom and that halts whatever words she's attempting to convey to him in favor of a long look. And, despite herself, a tilt of a small but mischievous smile up the corner of her mouth.

"You work quickly," she teases - she knows that isn't what he meant but when has that ever stopped her? Her shadow crosses the threshold of his abode and she lets him close the door behind her, lightning flashing outside and easily glimpsed before it is sealed away by wood.

"Sorry for intruding so late, I didn't think this could wait. I know you're anxious about..." Isabella glances towards the darkened state of his living room and gives him a quick nod. She does, however, do the courteous thing - she removes her boots and leaves it by the door, before she follows him within. Curious eyes once again find the sealed room in his house and the new locks that catch tines and slashes of light from the nearby windows. But she remains silent until they reach his bedroom, in order not to wake Isolde and Luigi.

Alexander opens the door to his bedroom, and makes a playfully melodramatic little gesture to invite her inside. His smile takes on a mischievous quality. "I have to keep up with you," he teases back. He closes the door behind them and waves her to the small bed. Which is, currently, taken over by Blue Bell, who has stretched herself out over a good portion of it, taking up way more space than anyone would think a cat that size could. Her head is lifted, and she blinks beautiful blue eyes slowly at Isabella. Miaow is a sleepy, rusty sort of sound.

"You're never intruding, Isabella," Alexander chides, gently. He crosses to the bed and gently pushes the cat out of the way to make room for both of them before sitting down.

I have to keep up with you.

"We talked about this," Isabella murmurs, her good-humor becoming more visible. "I'm always willing to wait for you." She waggles her eyebrows playfully at that.

Levity fades once they reach his bedroom, an appreciative glance at his pricey music set-up and his noise-cancellation headphones. Blue Bell gets a scritch, an appreciative once-over given to the cat and how absolutely gorgeous she is with that white hair, subtle markings and crisp, blue eyes that reminds her a bit of Anne's. The mattress depresses under her weight as she takes up the space next to him, but now that they're alone, she can't help herself. Her mouth finds his, the scent of the burgeoning storm heavy on her clothes and skin.

"I was at the Paranormal Society meeting tonight, I wanted to support Minerva," she tells him quietly once she breaks away. "But it was interrupted. An escapee from the Asylum broke in and demanded that Minerva send him back, because it wasn't safe in the outside world and that we were all in danger." Her green eyes lift to meet Alexander's. "He mentioned Alice. I figured you ought to know right away."

At the scritch, Blue Bell leans her head into Isabella's fingers, then rises to her feet. Hope Isabella wanted a cat in her lap, because that's what she's getting. One with a princess-level sense of entitlement, purring sedately as she maneuvers her way onto her thighs.

And Alexander is no help, since he just gives the animal a fond look and draws his hand down her spine, while he listens. "That's...unusual, to be certain. I wonder why he would think that Minerva could send him back? And how did he mention Alice? In what context, I mean."

She lets her; Blue Bell is warm, and soft, and a cat's purring is a comforting thing. Isabella's hand finds that pristine white fur, stroking carefully over her ears. The warm pass of Alexander's hand down her back earns him a smile.

"My guess?" The young woman tilts her head back to look at his cracked ceiling, expression contemplative, turning over the encounter in her mind. She gives him plenty of crap about his memoriae regis, but in many ways, she does it too, turning over the switches and gauges and examining what she has experienced from every angle now that she's actually stopped moving enough to think. "Because Minerva's a psychologist and he wasn't in his right mind. He was scared, Alexander."

After a moment's pause, having collected her thoughts enough, she lowers her head to look at him square in the face. "He said that he didn't want to leave the Asylum but that he had been forced to, by Alice and another woman named Megan, and that they made him open the door, and so many. As in, other doors, and that so many are out, now. That they stop him from hurting himself and that he's safe there. He said that-- no. His name was Steve, and...do you know Rusty Caldwell? He seemed to know him."

Alexander's eyes widen. "Wait. Megan?" He frowns. "That's...not good. Not if it's the Megan I'm thinking of, anyway. Shit. I knew I shouldn't have let that linger so long." He rises to his feet and starts to pace, frowning. "I don't normally disagree with freeing those in bondage, but what I remember of touching...what might have been Alice in Violet's house? It wasn't good. It was not at all good. A deep, dark hatred. More than I'd think a human could come up with, although we are capable of quite a lot." He pauses. "But if she's teamed up with the actress? That's not good at all. I'll have to reach out to Duncan and Madeline."

He nods, thoughtfully. "Not very well, but he took one of my classes on research. I probably still have his e-mail rattling around here. Hm."

She watches him pace, but Isabella remains on the bed, quietly stroking Blue Bell's fur. There's a quiet cooing when the animal continues to purr on her lap, before lowering her face to close her eyes and nuzzle the softness she finds there. It's calming, to have her nearby, fingers drifting towards the scruff against her throat to feel it vibrate against her fingertips.

There's a frown at Alexander's wide eyes and the frenetic vibe twisting around him as he paces. "Who's Megan?" she asks slowly, with an unspoken question in the undercurrents of her tone: Should I be concerned that you know her? "And why Duncan and Madeline?" All she knows about them is that they're actors looking for other actors in Gray Harbor, and that they tried to kill him with marbles, but not the context as to why. There's a story that needs filling in.

Regarding Rusty, she nods with a sigh. "Steve, the person who crashed the meeting...Rusty was the only person he recognized through his....fever. I don't know much about him, other than the fact that he's an Internet occultist and that he knew about me because of my brother's disappearance."

Alexander makes a low, thoughtful noise. "There was a theatre troupe that came through, doing a Shakespeare in the Park sort of thing. They were," a long pause, "they were agents of the Shadows. They went around to ambush a number of us one on one, trying to convince us to...hurt other people, in order to turn the Shadows away from ourselves. When that didn't work, they forced us all into a Dream and said that either we could choose someone to sacrifice to the Shadows, or we could all die." His smile is thin. "A couple of them put forward my name as a suitable sacrifice, but...in the end, we fought. And we won. But Megan escaped. I've been trying to track her down, and Duncan and Madeline used to be part of the troupe," which means they used to work for the Dark Men, "but are now out for, well, revenge, if I'm honest. We agreed to work together to try and find the last member of the troupe, but I haven't...followed through as I should have." The rest is viewed with a thoughtful frown as he continues to pace.

"...wait..." Many of what he tells her is familiar, and Isabella rubs her face with one hand; her other remains on Blue Bell's fur. "I think you did tell me this before, but....very early on, so after everything...yes. I remember, now." She can picture his face, then, when he tells her that others in the group had tried to sacrifice him to the Shadows and her lips press in a tight and furious line. Not just the fact that there had been others who thought the method was perfectly acceptable to give into Their demands, but that particular subject remains an open wound. Because she's had to do the same - had let Isidore do the same.

She remembers being told that they fought, too, and won and there's a grim and determined nod, because that's the course of action she would have taken, and probably would have never even hesitated. She sets the cat down, finally, on the bed and rises so she could cross over the floor to look him right in the eye. Her hand reaches up to touch his face. "Why are they out for revenge?" she asks quietly. "I know nothing about them, or Doctor Hailey Stevenson, save for the fact that Doctor Marshall mentored her in some way, or benefited from his generosity."

Alexander makes a soft sound of amusement. "Isabella, even I find those two to be unique and unusual. But I think it had something to do with killing a friend of theirs. Feeding him to Veil creatures." He sighs. "Which is certainly worth getting upset over. I'm just a little concerned about how far they are willing to go for that revenge. Or," his expression hardens, "I was. If Megan is working with anyone to cause harm, then she clearly didn't learn the right lesson. And I am less worried about her fate."

"They tried to kill you with marbles, Alexander," Isabella reminds him, her hand lowering. "Though I suppose they are in theatre and it could all just be a giant production. That and if they used to be agents of Them, I trust they would be unusual. I suppose we ought to be worried that more of them are starting to show up or are becoming active again."

Taking note of the hardened expression on his face, she eases away from him, drumming her fingers against her hip, her hand tugging on the pendant around her neck and feeling its chilly teeth rip into her flesh. Taking up the edge of his bed, she continues. "What was she like? Megan. And if you wanted to track her down, maybe you ought to talk to Rusty. The last person who ever saw her that we know of was Steve, and Steve rejected everyone who tried to help him in that meeting, but he would talk to Rusty."

Alexander laughs. "Yes. It was, at least, creative and interesting. I do like them." In case evidence was ever needed that Alexander Clayton's mind doesn't always work the same way as most.

At the question, he shrugs. "I would have to ask those two. My interaction with her was limited to her briefly tormenting me with my many emotional instabilities and then the fight. She came across as...disaffected, I suppose? Like she was bored or distant." A pause. "It's possible that she's a survivor of Heavens Gate. Or that her mother was one of the suicides." He shakes his head. "But I never found much on her."

"I wonder if she would remember you," Isabella says, her expression tightening with concern there - in the end, much like everyone else, she has her priorities.

Her hand finds Blue Bell's fur again, though when Alexander brings up an unfamiliar term, green-gold eyes lift to find his face. She already looks skeptical, even as she ventures, delicately, "Heaven's Gate?"

"Oh, I hope so." It's very flatly stated, and Alexander's eyes are almost dead black, a spark of something dark and furious in there for a moment. He's not a man who holds grudges, usually, but it's clear that he considers himself to have unresolved business with the actor. Then he shakes it off, and gives her an almost comically surprised look. "I...you don't..." a pause, as he thinks, and then laughs, "Of course. You would have been five or six in '97, right? It was a cult. Rather famous for the fact that in nineteen ninety-seven, the vast majority of its members committed suicide together. Made a lot of headlines at the time, particularly since the mythology of the cult was rather," he sighs, "entertaining from a certain point of view, and the cult members made money by doing web design and things like that, at a time when those were very emergent fields."

The dead-midnight shade of Alexander's stare is one that surprises her the more they talk about Megan because it isn't like him to hold a grudge, a certain twinge of uneasiness curdling in her stomach that Isabella attempts to ignore - or acknowledge as covertly as she can while shoving it down with a fist. She keeps quietly stroking Blue Bell's fur.

It isn't often that she remembers the difference between their ages - or at least, she does know that it exists but considering the fact that they could connect intellectually and emotionally as equals, she's rarely ever faced by it until things like this come up. And she makes such a face, because another cult. "Maybe the troupe itself is a cult," she says, blandly. "A cult that worships Shakespeare. For all anyone knows, he could be one of Them, I mean, nobody has ever agreed as to who he actually was."

Fingers dance lightly between the cat's ears. "Anyway, that's all I've got - with that, anyway. I heard from Andy that it's an open secret in the Res that Joshua Foster peddles drugs, though I don't know what kind, and that the Lover's Jewel might be in underwater caves in the Veil version of Gray Pond. Anne Washburn and I are going to see if we can find an alternate route that won't necessitate me bringing equipment over and diving into body-infested waters, but if we're going to be braving the wild in search of one, I asked August to come along." The best outdoorsman out of their circle of friends and mutual acquaintances. "I know you're hesitant with getting too involved in it, but I was wondering if you wanted to come. Either way, I think I'll have to take you up on it after all, talking to Alistair Carver about the Jewel."

"I think it was sort of run like that," Alexander says, in regards to the troupe being run as a cult. "I get the 'survivor' vibes off of Duncan and Madeline pretty hard," he admits, and who better to recognize that but him? "And Keene, their leader, was a powerful Mentalist. I remember some of the illusions for the performance, before they drug us over to the Other Side, and they were," he pauses, "impressive. Especially considering he was affecting an entire theatre. With help, I assume." A shrug.

"But former cult survivors, especially people who lost parents so young, would probably be easy recruits for any organization," Alexander admits. He grimaces at the information regarding Foster. "...well, that's interesting. And makes me wonder, again, why Monaghan isn't resisting the casino. He doesn't need a drug distribution network that isn't under his control just off shore." A pause. "Unless he's worked out a profit sharing deal with the guy. I'm going to go over there." His decision is abrupt. "If I can see any hint of drug production or distribution in the casino, it might give the cops due cause to push harder."

There's a hum when she talks about the Lover's Jewel, and he runs his hands through his hair. "Carver got back to me about that, actually. In the middle of all the nonsense. I owe him a favor, and apparently he burped a pumpkin. But he was only able to say that the Collector gets obsessed with things from our side of the world, and brings them over - but once he does, they tend to change. So, it's possible that your Jewel was originally worked here, and has its unfortunate effects just because he had it first. Or it. I'm not sure on gender." To the offer, though, he shakes his head. "Oh no. I don't want any contact with that thing, Isabella. If it's over in the Veil, I'd say leave it there, myself. One taste of myself as murderous is quite enough for one year."

"So if Keene's a powerful reader, what does Megan do?" Isabella wonders, though she furrows her brows at the mention of impressive illusions as a smokescreen for a trap. And the range of it. "Definitely with help - though I can't help but wonder if we're presently affected by what happened after the funeral whether they would be, also. The people who work for Them, not that it neutralizes whatever advantage they have with such an alliance, but I think it's something to keep in mind, at least."

He has personal experience with cults, so she listens attentively to his opinions there, fingers drawing absent circles on Blue Bell's fur, restless and always moving even while she's sitting down. But when the topic shifts over to Foster and the Casino, slender shoulders lift in a shrug. "Crime is definitely not my expertise," she reminds him with a laugh. "Andy went back to his old stomping grounds as a civilian and did it as a favor to me, so when I heard that from him, I was honestly surprised because I didn't think anyone with as much money as Foster did would have to resort to those maneuvers, but for all I know, the drug enterprise might be the reason why he's liquid enough to work in the industry." Though when he suddenly makes the decision, she frowns at him visibly, strain tangling over the line of her shoulders. She tries to relax, and fails miserably. "At least take back up, a capable civilian." In case they find anything - it'd still be admissible even if obtained without a warrant. Either way, she doesn't look happy about it.

The fact that Alexander has heard back from Carver, or that he already went ahead and asked, draws a hint of surprise again over her features, which shifts into something else entirely when he mentions that a person burped a pumpkin. "Apparently he tends to add people in his Collection, also, if he's interested in them enough and not just as a punishment like we've been led to believe before." She doesn't press the expedition. "Anyway, if it were up to me, it would stay there, but Magnolia and Kevin have to return it to the Collector or else. I don't know how they were tagged for the job, precisely, but they have to retrieve it for him otherwise they'll end up like the last two people who borrowed it. The least I can do is help them get to it, so we're going to see if there's a way in those caves, and then I'll pass it on to the Adventurers Guild. I already might have to ask Vivian for a prescription before I even attempt this."

Alexander slips back to the bed, sitting down beside Isabella and sliding an arm around her. "She's also a reader," he admits, with a moment of reluctance. His body goes tense, then relaxes by conscious effort. "She's very strong." His voice is toneless.

"Casinos are often good covers for illegal activities. Money laundering, drugs, prostitution, and so forth. Partially because they're not considered 'respectable' businesses, so the people willing to get into them are often, well, willing to exploit that reputation." He leans and kisses one of her cheeks. He does not, however, make any promises about taking anyone with him.

And then he laughs at the look on her face. "Mr. Carver leads an interesting life," is all he has to say to that. "Unfortunate. Well, I'm glad you're helping them, to be sure. Just...be careful? You know what it feels like to be enthralled by the damned thing, so you should be able to spot it in others. But probably not in yourself." A pause. "What would the prescription be for?"

With him close again and his arm around her, there's no escaping the feel of it; tension tightening up sinew under skin and muscle when he drapes that limb, Isabella unable to look at him for a moment and busily glaring daggers at the wall in hopes to spare him from whatever unhappiness is knotting within her. But she is a woman of her word, and they made a deal early on and one that she is desperately trying to keep in spite of every urge to do otherwise.

The kiss on her cheek doesn't mollify her at all, because she noticed that he doesn't make any promises either way. Eventually, however, she relents. Her head tilts sideways to nestle against the curve of his shoulder, and even further to press her mouth against his shirt. She raises it, finally, so she could look at him in the eye.

"Yeah. There's probably a lot of those." Megan, Peregrine. Her brother, somewhere within Their clutches. And she doesn't even know what Alice actually does. "But you're strong, too." The last said quietly. "And getting stronger." Her hand moves, to thread her fingers into one of his. "My money's on you, always."

She sighs. "I'm still not convinced I ought to go," she says. "Like I said, I'm only there to find an alternate route so none of them would do anything foolhardy and try to swim in it, and I might just leave the actual retrieval to the others because I'm not confident in my ability to function in that kind of journey." Something more unreadable in its volatility slips over her expression. "Whatever she recommends. The last time I was in my house, I thought I was ready so I tried to go through the Door that was in Sid's room. I thought if I could just take a step, then maybe..." She glances down at their intertwined hands. "I don't panic often, because I know how crucial it is not to. But I can't help it, in that place. At the same time, I can't...I won't...allow myself to be like this forever."

Alexander notices her tension, but he doesn't speak of it. Just remains a warm and solid presence, caressing her side and dropping small kisses in her hair. "Mm, I like the idea of you betting on me, Isabella. Feels all warm and fuzzy." Although it's teasing, there's a strain of sincerity, there, too.

He considers the rest for a long time. "When you went over at your house...were you alone? Being alone makes things harder. I'm not saying whether you should or should not go. I'd prefer you have nothing to do with the damned ring, if I'm honest. But it sounds like your expertise is valuable, and I know you hate backing down from a challenge." He squeezes her, lightly. "But you have crossed over before without panicking, Isabella. You've been to the Other City Hall on several occasions. You had friends with you, though. People who had your back. And it was probably less...memory-laden than your brother's room. If you want to start working on the fear, maybe that's a good place to start?"

"I'm not opposed to gambling," Isabella murmurs, laughter evident in her tone nevermind that she doesn't do this outright. "Sometimes gambling can be fun." Lashes fall against her cheeks as he nuzzles her hair.

Was she alone?

"I was," she says after a long pause. "I didn't want..." I didn't want anyone seeing me like that, is what she means to say, but the rest of the words cram into the back of her throat, stubbornly refusing to find her tongue. "Sid was protective of the things that belonged to him." Even the excuse sounds lame, nevermind how truthful it is, but she uses it as such, unable to help but try and hide her shame. "And I've been lucky that whenever I crossed over, I was always indoors. I'm fine so long as I see boundaries, definition. But once they fall away and I see it stretch on endlessly...." Reminding her as to how big it is - how it could swallow her up, just like last time. Tension knots down her spine. "It's stupid. It is. I know it is. But I can't help it." Looking up to watch his eyes, her smile returns. "In retrospect, I guess brute-forcing it wasn't the way to go. I've never been the most patient, especially with myself. You asked me before not to go alone, it definitely serves me right that I didn't listen."

Alexander doesn't call her on the lame excuse. He does reach over with his other hand and start petting the half-asleep cat, who makes a murfle sort of sound before settling back down on Isabella's lap, her purr a warm and constant thing. "It's not stupid," he says, quietly. "You have reasons to fear, Isabella. And fear is," a long pause, "we're afraid of things because we recognize that they can hurt us. In a lot of ways, your reaction is one of the most rational of everyone's. For a lot of people, the Veil's threats remain mostly theoretical, especially if we recognize a division between Dreams and the Veil. But you know more, so you're more afraid."

"The only thing that worries me is that the fear controls you, rather than informing you." The observation is blunt, but not unkind.

One of her hands lifts when Blue Bell returns to her lap, gravitating to her warmth; she's honestly a little surprised at how much attention she's getting from the feline, not that she's opposed to it. White fur is clinging all over her jeans, but she doesn't mind it in the least, and her fingers absently stroke that long, silky hair, watching it part at her gestures. She doesn't have a pet, she can't own one and she is definitely more of a dog person. But even Isabella would admit that even if she disliked cats, she would make an exception for the unfairly gorgeous ragdoll.

You know more, so you're more afraid.

"Well, they do say ignorance is bliss," she quips, her voice light. There's barely a reaction, however, to the blunt observation and while it does damage her pride, she continues to meet his gaze unflinchingly. It sets her teeth on edge, as if bracing herself for it, the admission that follows: "It does. Control me." Were he another person, she wouldn't say the words at all - chances are she'd rather die than tell Byron.

"But I'm trying." The last leaves her so quietly, he can barely hear it. "I am."

"I know," Alexander says, softly. "And I wish I could help. I can probably...keep you calm, if we went over there together, but I don't know if that would actually help, or just," he sighs, "make the problem worse, in the long run. It's the sort of thing I'd suggest turning to Vivian for help with, like any other trauma. If you want. But if you don't? Then we'll deal with it, however you think is best." He watches her, his expression serious. "And if you decide what's best is never going over there? Isabella, that's okay. As long as it's a decision you make, not one that is made for you."

"As far as short term solutions go, it would do in an emergency," Isabella tells him after thoughtful consideration of it, mirroring not just her willingness to get things done but the depths of the trust that she's managed to build with him over the last few months. She doesn't take lightly to being influenced, so attached to her freedom and willfulness that had it come from any other person, her protests and negative response would be furious and vehement. But she thinks of the water and how easily one could drown, and drag other people down with him or her, and that eventuality is unacceptable, too. "Long term? I don't think there's an easy fix, or even a permanent one. Just...to keep trying, and trying, until its hold on me isn't as destructive." Her eyes drop to fix somewhere in the hollow of his throat. "I know myself, and you know me well. I don't...I can't let go of anything unless I confront it. Repeatedly, if necessary. I'm..." She swallows. "I'm not ready to tell anyone else."

We, again. She smiles faintly at that, taking in his serious expression. "It's not in me to run away." She pauses, brows furrowing. "...well, no that's an exaggeration. I definitely run away, if the situation calls for it. But not forever. Eventually, I circle back. This is something I want to beat, I just don't know how yet."

Searching his face, her smile broadens. "Bravest woman you know, remember?" she says, lifting her chin, defiance stitched in her features. "I'm not about to disappoint you on top of myself."

"I won't mention it," Alexander says, quietly. Another gentle kiss. "Unless we're in a situation where mentioning it would save your life. I love you, and I'm okay with you being angry if it means you're safe." He's very certain about that, and won't try to dance around it. "And you won't disappoint me, because you are brave. And fierce. And I know you can conquer this, in the same way you conquer everything else." Then he reaches up and playfully tugs on a bit of her hair. "So don't worry about it. We have time. You have time."

I won't mention it.

Isabella's expression softens at that. "I know," she tells him quietly, but firmly, her face slipping into a more certain cast. "I trust you. You're the only one I've ever told that's still alive. I hope you know that street goes both ways."

Of course he drops a caveat and despite the visible uneasiness there, there's a resigned quality to the brunette's visage, also. "Is it strange that as frustrating as I find that, it enhances your appeal also? This...tenacious way you have about you when you have to do what's absolutely necessary." Some part of it is jesting, she keeps her tone light, but a thread of absolute seriousness underscores all of it, too, returning his kiss as gently as she's able. Her hand comes up, to brush light fingertips against the side of his cheek, nerves lit by the coarseness of his stubble. And when she pulls away, she finds his eyes, her own darkened by his subtle reflection.

"You don't quit, either," she says, delicately. "And you..."

She falls silent for a long moment. Her absent stroking of the cat stills somewhere against her fur.

"I really love you, Alexander." Her insides twist at the words, visceral verification that tells her that she means it at the taste of that bittersweet ache. But regardless of it, perhaps in defiance of it, a smile breaks out, flashing brilliantly in the storm-laden darkness of his bedroom - her very own streak of lightning. "Madly. Deeply."

Alexander stares at her for a moment, then starts to laugh. It's a low, amused rumble. "You probably didn't mean that to sound like you were threatening my life, Isabella. But it did rather come out that way." He grins. "And it's more that I want to be honest with you. I'll keep a secret as long as I can - but I won't watch you die if revealing it will save your life. It's just like I told Thorne - If I have to choose between pissing him off and him dying, he can just be pissed." A shrug. "It's not a hard decision, from my perspective."

That sunny grin appears again when she says she loves him. "Still terrifying. But nice."

"I mean...I could have been. You never know." Innocence, and one of such an exaggerated degree that it's a miracle that the lightning outside hasn't managed to find the top of her head to strike her dead for it, wreathes Isabella's face, even going so far as lifting her shoulders in a what can you do? gesture. "You did tell me about crimes of passion before. I'm not particularly sure if I'm above it."

It never fails to surprise her, how a decade can simply disappear from the lines around his eyes at the wake of his smile - that specific quality is hardly ever seen, but its rarity makes it worth the earning of it. Her fingers slip from his cheek to trace the shape of it, to engrave it in her long memories. "Yeah, well," she murmurs. "I don't think it's supposed to not be." Her voice pitches lower. "It scares me, too."

"Mm. Well. You are fierce. I suppose I'll have to work extra hard at keeping you pleased with me so that you don't decide to kill me off," Alexander teases back, with a grin. "You'd probably be able to hide the body pretty easily in the ocean. I'm really at your mercy, if you think about it."

He leans into the touch. "I guess it's supposed to. Love. I guess that's one of the reasons you know what it is." Something sad there, for a moment; his experiences with love have perhaps included more fear than is fun, at times. But he strokes her spine, gently. "At any rate. I appreciate you filling me in about the meeting. I don't know when I'll be able to reach out to anyone, but I'll try."

I'm really at your mercy.

"Ohhhh. Oh, no, Mister Clayton." Isabella grins, though she tries to quell it - and poorly at that, when he can see it so clearly regardless of the way she digs her front teeth into the lower curve of her mouth in a futile attempt to stop its manifestation. "The mistakes you're making tonight. I'm bad enough, you really think it's wise to give me that much power?"

She says nothing further at his lean - at least nothing for a while, until she shifts closer, gently depositing Blue Bell on the bed before winding her arms around his neck and threading her fingers into his dark half-curls. "I can always help," she reminds quietly. "But I know how much Violet means to you." And so the task is his. Her mouth brushes lightly against his own. "Just be careful, okay?"

Her head eases away, drawing two fingers down his nape. "I should let you get some sleep."

Alexander leans in and kisses both corners of that grin, his own eyes half-lidded. "I don't make very wise decisions, Miss Reede. But I think it's a fascinating experiment, to see what you might do with that much power." His eyes gleam with appreciation. Blue Bell makes a disgruntled noise at being moved, but curls up again, almost immediately, and closes her eyes. When Isabella shifts closer, both arms slip around her waist, fingers flattening against her back to hold her close to his body. "Mm. I'll be as careful as I can be." Another one of those conditional sorts of reassurances, but he seals it with another kiss, which is surely a good sign.

Right?

When she draws away, he heaves a melodramatic sigh. "I suppose you should. But I've rarely had such a lovely sight to carry me into sleep, so I suppose I won't pout too much at you."

"What you are," Isabella murmurs back, his kisses returned, and more dispensed against the shape of his mouth. "Is an enabler, but I'll do my best to mitigate any regrets you might have in making this decision." Teeth nip delicately at the bottom curve, and once he eases her closer to him, she indulges in the taste of him again and she doesn't speak for a few more moments.

Maybe she's just trying her best to ensure he has good dreams.

When she does finally draw away from him, and this is with visible, potent reluctance, she grins broadly enough to chase that usually hidden dimple out of her left cheek. "I've never seen you pout, so I can't promise that I won't tease you for it if I ever see it." He is almost forty, and she can't quite picture it. After another kiss, and another, and another, she practically has to tear herself away, laughing softly as she finally stands up and ruffles Blue Bell's fur. "Goodnight, Alexander. I'll see you this weekend."