2019-11-12 - Just Like Old Times

Being a professional, you find time to work no matter what the crises. With Gohl and the flu out of the way, this gave Byron the time to throw himself into the overseeing of this festival, for good and bad. From what he's heard, there was much good to come of it. However, with the kidnapping of Isabella and Lilith being stuck in a dream for the entirety of the event, juggling work and the very fact that some of the closest people to you are in danger was quite the trial. Now everything was back to normal. For the most part. Lilith was back, Isabella was... healing, he could only hope.

This visit was a way for Byron to return to the normalcy of his usual everyday life.

Byron had brought a box of pastries from Vydal's shop and the morning paper, like he always did. The aroma of newly brewed coffee filled the room and Mary Thorne was observing the bay through those opened French doors from where she is seated at a seating nook near the balcony. She was quietly doing her crosswords there as her son prepared brunch for them both.

Setting some of the pastries out on a plate, he goes to fill a couple of mugs in the kitchen. "Did you enjoy yourself at the Masquerade?" He doesn't look at her when he asks this, keeping himself busy with his task at hand. The plate and the mugs are then placed onto a tray. "Admmittedly, I was getting a little worried when the heavy fog rolled in." Only then does he stop to pause and look over his shoulder at Mary. "From what I've heard, things turned out as well as I'd hoped. Speaking of, I was hoping that you would've found the time to participate in some of the activities held over the course of the week."

"The fog was dreadful." Mary says with much disdain in her tone. "But it was entertaining over all." Her pencil is still as she ponders the answer to 49 Down. Disguised, as a threat. Six letters. The pencil then begins to move in a graceful, lazy manner as she writes:

V
E
I
L
E
D

He began slicing up several apples, the sound of the knife tapping against the cutting board is mere background noise to their quaint conversation. It was only weeks ago that mother and son were at each other's throats. As Mary had expected then, nothing would change. Neither of them were willing to bring the incident up.

"Thanksgiving is coming up. While I have my doubts, I thought I'd ask anyway: Did you have any plans?" Byron continues with this mundane banter.

"I had an invitation to dinner that I'm considering." She'll pause here, her gaze lifted, not to seek out her son, but to view the dreary day outside. "Unless you were planning a meal."

Wiping his hands with a towel, the sleeves of his buttoned down shirt rolled up to the elbows, he's dressed business casually with his tie sans jacket. Though in truth, the suit jacket was removed and neatly folded to drape over the back of a kitchen chair. He enjoyed showing up at his mother's place in professional dress. It was just another reminder for her that her son was successful. All without any of her doing.

Another reminder is still hanging there on her guest room door, something clearly visible from his position in the kitchen. Her old Grizzly Den waitress uniform. Content that she hadn't stashed it away or worse, gotten rid of it entirely, he carries the tray of goodies over towards the sitting area. On a better day, he'd have them eating outside on the balcony, but as this is Gray Harbor, those days are few and far between. It was dark and stormy out.

"An invitation to dinner?" Dark and dangerous eyes flicker in Mary's direction as she sets a cup of coffee and an empty plate before her. There's a smile on his lips when he says this, but she knows best not to trust his smiles.

"Oh just an old friend." Mrs. Thorne says, already reaching for her cup of coffee and leaving her puzzle abandoned for now. "I could ask if you'd like to come for dinner as well." This is quickly followed by a question, her tone sounding surprised and curious all the same. "Did you find what you were looking for? The last I saw you, you were desparately looking for something." It's only then tht she looks on her son, "I hope that it was worth it."

Just the way in which she spoke those last words and the eye contact made, gives Byron the impression that she knows something. Perhaps about Gohl or even what he'd done to Olivia Marchan-- No one knew that.

"Who is it?" He asks, heading back towards the kitchen to clean up some before he sat down to eat, his hand closing the empty patisserie box, before he brushes fingertips over the features of a mask, that of a white rabbit that rests there on the counter, it's blank face staring up at him. His mother had a fondness for bunnies and rabbits. Not that he'd allowed her to transfer any of her old keepsakes from the old house to her apartment. But when a woman in a rabbit mask was brought up, he knew immediately who that was.

Reaching for a few napkins, he returns to settle down in a chair beside her.

"And yes, I did find something." He relays as he takes up a slice of mille-feuille, setting it down onto his plate. No response given on whether it was worth it or not. At this point, Thorne's not certain about that.

Something which his mother said has him reaching for his home after the visit, while he's walking out towards the elevator.

(TXT to Olivia) Byron: Olivia, do you have time to talk?
(TXT to Byron) Olivia: For you, Byron? Always.

He had to call her, even if he knew that it still wouldn't prove to him whether it was Marchand he was talking to or... it's crazy to say, but the House.

"How are you doing?" As much as he may try to sound concerned, there's just this hint of animosity that may be sensed, perhaps its the way Byron's jaw tightens when he speaks to her.

"I'm doing better. Thank you for asking." There's a moment of pause on Olivia's end. "I miss you. I wish that we could start over."

"I heard that you invited my mother over to your place for Thanksgiving Dinner." He avoids responding to her final comment, moving the conversation along.

"Do you object?"

"We might have plans for Thanksgiving." Byron says with his phone to his ear, while the other hand cluthes onto the white rabbit mask. "I do want to speak to you, however. Check in on you. See how you're doing with my own eyes."

"You know that you're always welcome here." Marchand's tone comes out light, almost happy. Before Byron has the chance to say anything, she quickly adds in, "How is Alexander Clayton? It was sweet of him to come visit me with your mother that one time." She then adds, her voice growing darker, "The last time he came, he didn't even say 'Hi'. I was hurt. So hurt."

There's a moment of pause on Byron's side, before he asks, "I could bring him over if you like. Though I'd rather no--"

That's when he's interrupted, "You don't need to. It was rude of them to show up the way they did. I just wanted to let Alexander know... But I'd love to see you again."

"I'll tell him." Byron says, standing before the elevator after having pressed the up arrow key button. "I gotta go, Olivia. We'll meet soon."

The following day:

(TXT to Byron) Alexander: Thorne.
(TXT to Alexander) Byron: Yes, Clayton?
(TXT to Byron) Alexander: I wanted to see how Ms. Winslow and you were doing. Are you well?
(TXT to Alexander) Byron: Lilith called Erin to my place last night. After we both left the hospital. She's doing fine.
(TXT to Alexander) Byron: We're both doing fine.
(TXT to Byron) Alexander: Erin is kind. I'm glad you're both well. ::smiley face::
(TXT to Byron) Alexander: Any sign of anyone following or watching you?
(TXT to Alexander) Byron: Erin's doing remarkably with her healing powers as of late. She's more confident in using them.
(TXT to Alexander) Byron: And no. I still have security following me for the time being.
(TXT to Byron) Alexander: Confidence is good. As long as she doesn't use them too much.
(TXT to Byron) Alexander: Good. What are you thinking as far as next steps with that?
(TXT to Alexander) Byron: Pay them a visit. I've already exchanged messages with Marchand. She said that she's doing fine.
(TXT to Byron) Alexander: By yourself? Unwise.
(TXT to Alexander) Byron: She asked about you, you know.
(TXT to Byron) Alexander: (...)
(TXT to Byron) Alexander: Did she? Why?
(TXT to Alexander) Byron: She said that you didn't stay long enough the last time to say hi. And that she was hurt.
(TXT to Byron) Alexander: Well, that's. That's a thing. Maybe I should pay a longer visit.
(TXT to Alexander) Byron: Anyway, I'm not going to stop you if you want to come with. I think they'd like to have words with you too.
(TXT to Byron) Alexander: Yes. I will come with you.