2019-11-14 - F*ck Off & Come Back with Cannoli

The beach has a few picnic tables, and there's not exactly a lot of competition for them, considering that the wind coming off the ocean is unpleasantly chill and wet. Even the seagulls seem listless, huddling on rocks and pier posts with their feathers all fluffed up, their ragged squawks conveying a boundless irritation at the world around them. Alexander texted a location they might meet - it's got a nice view, at least. He's sitting at the picnic table, a small canvas bag by his feet. He's brought his contribution to the tea party - a small white pastry box from Vyv's place, with an assortment of little tea cakes. He's dressed in a dark, long-sleeved shirt, and dark slacks. Even with sturdy black sneakers. It makes him look more respectable than he usually does, but still as if he is up to absolutely no good.

It's not long after the hour mark that Sutton arrives at the beach carrying two thermal water bottles, the kind that are insulated for cold or hot drinks. She's bundled up in a thick knit sweater in a deep green, one that brings out the flesh of olive green in her haze eyes. The cowl neck is slouchy, her jeans are old and distressed, probably not that warm. She carries a blanket rolled up under her arm. "Mr. Clayton. I see you've got excellent taste in sweets." Sutton's smile is friendly as she takes those last few strides to join him at the picnic table, thumping down the aluminum bottles. "Purple is chai with cream & honey. Black is a strong black tea with honey, no cream." She unfurls the blanket and takes a seat on the bench, her shoes a pair of ankle boots. "I love this coastline."

"I can't claim that," Alexander admits. "I told the counter person we were having tea, and they chose the selection." He doesn't rise, although his eyes do skim the beachline when she draws near, a hyperawareness that verges on the paranoid. Seeing nothing untoward, he focuses back on her. His head makes a puzzled sort of tilt, then looks out at the ocean. "Really? Why. It has a sort of rugged beauty. But pictures tell me there are more beautiful views. And softer sands." A wry glance toward the rock-strewn beach. "I'd have thought Aruba or Jamaica might appeal more. If we were talking beaches." A pause. "Hello. By the way."

"I can assure you it doesn't matter what's in the box if it's from Vydal's kitchens," Sutton sits with her back to the table, turned slightly to Alexander, on the same bench. She flips the blanket across her legs, to keep any ocean breeze from penetrating the rips in her jeans, and rests an elbow on the tabletop. "I was born in Washington, love." She nods toward the sea. "There are easier places to enjoy, fewer rocks and cliffs, warmer, crystalline waters. Not everyone likes it easy." She smiles and turns her face to the water again, a light breeze shifting pale blonde locks across her cheek. "Or particularly pretty. I prefer honesty and a hint of the wild." She thinks a few beats then says, "That isn't to say I'd refuse a trip to either of those places. Variety." She finally turns her gaze back to the man. "Hello, pet. Are you well? Bella?"

Alexander chuckles. "Aren't those places just as honest and wild, in their way? Just from different perspectives?" He doesn't argue it too hard, though; he's never been to any of them. He opens the box for them, and reaches for the black thermos. Popping it open and taking a sniff, he makes an appreciative noise, and says, "This smells great." His head tilts slightly at the 'pet', like a confused dog. "I'm okay. Isabella," a slight emphasis on the full and proper name, "is okay. She was attacked over Halloween, but has recovered. Working on her thesis, now. I think she's aiming to get it done soonish." He smiles, proud of her work. "What about you?"

Sutton mms. "Full of tourists and classically beautiful. I reserve judgment until I've been and had the local liquor, some classic dishes." She nods to the darker water. "I like a quiet vista if I'm living by it. Not that I'd ever get into that water. Too damn cold. I don't begrudge someone else their joy." She reaches for the purple thermal bottle, and undoes the top, which doubles as a cup, then unscrews the inner lid, and pours some tea from that one, sweet, milky chai. The other cup can be used for chai or the other tea as Alexander prefers. "The black is a Japanese leaf a friend gifted to me after her trip this past summer. I can't remember the name, but it's really good, to my taste. I like it strong."

"Oh, was she? I'm sorry to hear that. I'm glad she's doing better and getting along in her work. That's rough, having a project hanging over you." Sutton sips her tea. Still hot, just spicy enough. Perhaps could use a little more honey, but she also likes things very sweet. "I'm working through some things, but aside from a very strange dream and waking up face down in a grilled cheese sandwich, last night was... fine." Could it be that Sutton isn't really aware that the dream was a Dream? The enunciation of Isabella's full name gives her absolutely no pause. "My road rash is healing up very well, which is good. These things do tend toward infection." By way of explanation, she adds, "Little motorcycle incident."

Alexander uses the other cup for the strong black tea, pouring a generous helping, and wrapping his hands around the warmth of the cup, before taking a sip. "I don't usually like tea. But this is good. Bitter, but not without depth." He takes another swallow, before bobbing his head. "Giant germs. You saved us with cleaning supplies. I remember." There's the briefest glimpse of a sunny, boyish sort of smile. "And something about all the liquor being gone." The expression mutes almost immediately. "I think she likes the pressure, honestly. I gather she's competing with a colleague. She enjoys that." A pause. "You wiped out on your bike?"

Sutton looks over her cup at Alexander when he comments on the tea, then stills for a couple of beats when he mentions the cleaning supplies. Her cup lowers by degrees and she sighs out a breath. "This town. Honestly." Yeah, sounds like from her very faintly exasperated tone that she hasn't quite sussed out the difference between too many brownies before bedtime and Dreamland. "That was messed up. I was pretty upset about the bourbon." She can't help but quirk a little smile in response to Alexander's grin. "God. Yeah, I did. I had this incomprehensible craving for a pumpkin spice latte. I don't even like coffee, but I woke up and needed one. The streets were wet, I wasn't wearing full leathers, so of course I dumped it right on the turnoff to the boardwalk."

"That'll make her work stronger, the competition. That's good. Make sure she eats and hydrates. Those things are a marathon. I can't tell you how many times we picked up strung out U Wash PhD students who just needed a rally pack, meal, and a solid twelve hour nap."

There's a low chuckle from Alexander, deep and almost sheepish, like he's afraid to be caught laughing. "This town. Yeah. And the bourbon was a tragedy. But it was Dream bourbon, so you probably didn't want to drink it, anyway. It'd make you sprout wings from your nose or something." A pause. "Did you get the soup packets? I've got them in my medicine cabinet, but I have real concerns about trying anything from a 'Vivisectionist'."

He listens to the account of the accident, and winces. "That sounds painful. Rainy season and bikes don't really...go together." He reaches for one of the tea cakes and eats it. A murmured sound of agreement. "She thrives on it. But she's good about taking care of herself, too. And we keep distracting her," he adds, dryly.

Sutton mms around a mouthful of tea and nods. "You're not fucking joking." Ah, there's the Harry Sutton most people are more acquainted with. Ever polished. "A couple of boxes. I do have serious doubts about them, so I'm going to take one to a friend and feed it to him." Her brows go up. "See what happens." Like her own little fun experiment. She's such as asshole sometimes. "The thing is, I love that kind of soup. It's absolute salty trash but it's so good on a cold morning."

"It wasn't the rain so much as the asshole who tried to kill me. I had to dump it to keep from totally wrecking it. Always better to control your fall if you can." She shakes her head slightly. "If I see that fuck again, I'm gonna tire iron is headlights." She probably means his car's headlights. Once the first of the sweets has been consumed, she leans over to have a look in the box, selecting something fancy from within. "The My Little Pony PJs were a treat for me."

Alexander gives her a skeptical look. "Well. You are a medical professional. I suppose your friend is in good hands." He takes another sip of tea, hesitates, then asks, "Are you sure he's your friend? And not, perhaps, someone you want to see dead? Just asking."

A wince at the mention of having to ditch the bike to avoid a car. "Better than colliding, for certain." That laughter returns, surprised but more free, at the mention of the PJs. "If you meet Isabella, I'd advise you to pretend you saw nothing." A pause. "But I guess I know what to get her for Christmas."

Sutton grins a bit wider around a bite of tea cake. That's good stuff. She doesn't speak until she's swallowed. "Mm, yes, well, friend may be overstating it, but he has a plethora of medical conditions and seems to survive on mescaline and 100 proof hard liquor. I figure if anyone's going to pull through that, it'll be him. If it's an issue, there's always the portable defib." Surely she's joking. Maybe she's joking.

Doesn't really sound like she's joking. "We have a date with Lily and Erin, the four of us soon. I guarantee you she's going to think it's cute. At least you know which one she likes now." That smile ticks wider. "Perhaps a spa day with an hour long hand massage. Academics can wind themselves tightly."

"That...sounds...unwise," Alexander says, very slowly. One can almost see the mental note being made in his head: do not piss off the paramedic. "But, uh. Good luck. I guess. With that." He takes another hasty bite of tea cake. He knows these are safe, after all. He bought them. He brightens, though, at the mention of the girls' night out. "I think she'll enjoy that. And so will Lilith and Erin. I gather you have all had your," a pause, "various stressors. Going on."

"I figure I'll play it by ear." Sutton decides, regarding the packet-of-soups issue. Sure, a love note from Viv is a little unsettling, but what the hey. "With his cardiac issues, though, I would probably be careful about the sodium..." She thinks about that for a while, then shrugs one shoulder. Eh. Sutton finishes off her first half-cup of tea and turns her gaze to Alexander. "Yes, it's been an adventure. I had dinner with Erin the other night. She's a lovely girl, if a little confused about her self-worth. Her fucking grandmother." It's a good thing Sutton doesn't know where Margaret Addington lives.

"Erin is very kind." Alexander frowns. "I had...trouble, accepting that at first. And I'm still a little wary of her, although she doesn't deserve it. It's still a bit weird for an Addington want to talk to me, much less be friends." He drums his fingers along the plastic cup. "I wish she were happier, though. She deserves to be. And Margaret Addington is," he frowns, "not a woman I like. At all. We could have avoided so much unpleasantness if she'd just talked to us like we were people."

"After what I've heard about Marge," Sutton shakes her head, pouring a little more tea into her mug, the anise spice particularly strong in this blend. "I'm not saying I'd shoot her up with the wrong medication, but I might be a little slow on a resus." Resuscitation. "Slow code is plausible deniability." Yeah, maybe don't piss off this paramedic. "Erin has shown me nothing but kindness. I choose to trust that until such time as she shows me otherwise. I realize that a luxury it is to be able to do that, particularly in a small town where old opinions run deep."

There's a silent of a few heartbeats, while Sutton looks out at the surf breaking a little choppy today. It looks like there's a pretty wide rip on the coastline. "Your eulogy was... you're a thinking man, Alexander. I'm glad this town has you around to give a fuck what happens to it."

Alexander looks uncomfortable, although it's hard to say whether its the prospect of Sutton's being slow on a resuscitation, or the compliments for the eulogy. He frowns and looks past her to that breaking surf. The silence stretches for a while, before he says, "I just feel like that if we're going to do so something, we should do it right. And it was sort of my fault - I'm one of the ones who was most opposed to letting Thomas be sent to the Asylum. If we had," he pauses, "I don't know exactly what would have happened, but none of us would have been influenced by Gohl. A lot of people would be less...hurt. Than they are. Now. So. It would have been bad to put everyone through that, and then fuck it up."

"We can only ever work with the information we have on hand at the time we're forced to act to reduce the hurt and pain of those we love." Sutton says this quietly, voice soft but words loud enough to carry to her seat mate. They are also said with absolute surety. "Looking back is easy, but it can really only teach us how to avoid the same mistakes again." Sutton sips her tea. "Personally, I prefer the novelty of new and exciting mistakes." She finishes off the little tea cake and says, "That was delightful, thank you for bringing them along, love."

Alexander snorts. "I know. What's done is done. But I'm still not sure that I learned anything from it. We basically threw things at the metaphysical wall, and a couple of them stuck. Yay us, but why did it work? What exactly did we do? What were our other options?" His face twists with a deep frustration and he puts the cup down to run his hands through his hair. "It's vexing, Harry. I hate feeling like I'm just waving a stick around, hoping to hit the right thing at the right time." And then he takes a deep breath, and looks bashful. "Sorry. Not your problem. Nothing you can do about it." A hint of a smile. "I'm glad you liked them."

"Alistair Carver is a good choice when it comes to ... the weird shit." The Weird Shit is how she's been referring to anything to do with the Veil and Dreaming. "I don't know a lot about this, but he seems fairly sure that none of you were possessed. More... haunted." She falls quiet for a couple of beats. "Speaking as someone who's haunted by a pouty fucking ghost, I can tell you none of it's easy, and I can only imagine if mine presented with the rage —" She presses her lips together briefly, then shakes her head. "They're persistent little fucks."

She looks over again finally. "I know exactly what you mean. It's all like flailing around in the dark, not even knowing if there's a light switch to find." She laughs softly, "You know, it's not and it is my problem. No matter if what you did was the perfect thing, you lot did something. You did something. Do better next time, if you can, but never give up questioning. The moment you think you know everything, someone pulls the rug out. And then you're in a strange little town where Dreams are real things that can hurt you, ghosts exist and are mad about whom you're dating, and suddenly the question of whether or not there's a monster under the bed is once again open for debate." She gestures with her cup. "I feel like I'm nine again and fighting off a fear of the dark. My liver can't fucking take much more of this."

Alexander nods, slowly. "I've talked with him. He's an interesting man. I think I like him? I don't think he likes me, though. Or, at least, he has strong opinions about someone I call a friend." A crooked little smile. "But he's interesting. I'd like to talk with him again." His head tilts to one side. "And...a ghost objects to who you're dating? That seems petty to be concerned about. Once you're dead. But then, I would have thought that murder would be, too." There's a soft chuckle. "I've been dealing with the monsters since I was eight years old. But until this summer, I'd never seen a ghost. Weird, huh? I didn't disbelieve in them, but I figured I just didn't have...whatever it was that was needed to see them."

The rest of her words get a crooked, sad little smile. "And there is a monster under your bed, Harry. You just learn to live with knowing its there, and that it wants to eat you while you're screaming."

At his comments on Alistair, Sutton smiles again. "He's an acquired taste, and he can be a little abrasive, and he's one of the most kind-hearted people I've ever known." If Sutton knew half the crap Carver had said to her dead brother, she might have a more rounded opinion of the man. "I don't think I need ask to whom his opinion refers, and that's very much an interpersonal issue. Oil and water, you might say." She doesn't elaborate much beyond that, choosing instead to brush her fingertips over her opposite wrist under the hem of her sweater. "I hadn't seen a ghost 'till I moved here, so I don't know if it's weird you hadn't until recently. Have things here... ramped up? I mean, have they always been a little strange for those who live here?"

There's a hesitation before she says, "I don't think all monsters want to take a bite of you." And another pause. "If they do, falling asleep in the home of a man who dances with them regularly might be something I need to take a beat to reconsider." She's reconsidering all kinds of things this week.

"I don't mind abrasive." Just look at Alexander. Even without certain names on his list of friends, he's clearly not a guy who cares overmuch about the niceties. He frowns. "Yes. I think. Things have gotten more intense. I've been getting lost since I was a small child. But usually it was," a pause, "once or twice a month. And always alone. Since the spring, I've been lost more times than I have in the decade before that, and more times with other people than ever in my life. People, people who stand out, are being drawn here, I feel. And I don't know why. That concerns me. A lot. I feel like we've been assigned parts in some production where no one will tell us our cues or let us look at a script. I don't like it."

He just makes a noise about the other, and shifts uneasily on his seat. Another cup of tea is poured, and drunk just as fast.

"When I first came here?" Sutton sips her tea. "I couldn't see these things. I couldn't remember these things. They just..." she holds up a hand and drags it along the outline of the shoreline, "Flowed off. Kind of like water. Then I started hanging out with Alistair, and more and more weird things happened. I started seeing Javi. More things... I started to feel unsettled all the time. I started to feel like I was being watched."

"I started to remember things that weren't right, and it happened again and again, and every time something new and weird happened, I remembered bits fo what had happened before, until one day I looked up and saw my brother just fucking standing in my apartment yelling at me." She puts her cup down. "I thought I was losing it, full on coming up on thirty crazy-cakes. The only reason I didn't is because Alistair... finally answered me and stopped trying to protect me from what was clearly coming for me anyway. I still don't understand how ghost bullets can perforate a body then disappear, and leave all the damage behind, or how..." She trails off, her cheeks a little flushed, maybe from the cold, maybe from a surge of emotion.

She clears her throat at last, after a long pause. "I don't remember choosing this place. I just got a call accepting my application. One I don't remember even writing. There was vodka, but you'd think I'd remember something. You say that happens a lot?"

"That's what it's like for normal people," Alexander says, slowly. "I think. From what I can tell. They'll never believe anything's happening, even if it happens to them, they'll usually forget or rationalize it as something else. Or they just crack." He stares out at the ocean. "I don't know if you were developing...whatever this is? That makes us stand out? Sometimes people do. I don't know why. But sometimes your mind, I think, tries to protect you. Even if you stand out."

There's the flicker of a smile. "I'm glad that you had someone like Mister Carver with you when things really started happening. It's terrifying either way, but it's...harder. If everyone is telling you that it isn't real." He pours more tea. It's tasty! "And the bullets...that wasn't ghosts. Exactly. It's like," he frowns and puts one hand out, palm facing the table. Then lays his other hand on top of it. "Two dimensions. Two realities. Sometimes we slip over to the other one. The Veil. Or a Dream. We can take what we're carrying with us, so we don't show up naked, right? But anything we pick up there - voluntarily or not - it won't come back with us. Just what it's done to our bodies. Now, a really strong psychokinetic can, um, do something about that. They can bring things back. But that's the only exception I've really seen."

"And things like that have been happening more often, yeah. I don't know what's bringing us here. Or why."

"For a while it did. For a while I just rationalized everything." Sutton nods. "That makes sense. Otherwise everyone would be going crazy. As far as the..." Whatever it's called. "Erin's healing, for instance. I wouldn't believe it if she hadn't used it on me." Sutton says nothing about any abilities of her own, just that she can see ghosts, at the very least, which wouldn't have been something she'd have admitted to even two months ago.

When Alexander begins to explain the Veil, in a much less succinct way than Easton did, she listens, her eyes narrowing slightly as she considers this concept. She's quiet for a long while, watching the tea in her mug lose all of its steam to the cooling of the autumn air. "... I really hope the little love notes we got after the Safeway trip aren't an indication that it's some kind of creepy experiment on us all." It would really be a downer if all of their sundry fantastical abilities were a prop for a crappy psychological experiment run by a sociopath.

Alexander snorts. "Thinks about how often you get calls in this little town, Harry. Everyone is going crazy. I suspect there's a constant level of psychological pressure on pretty much everyone, at all times. That level of maintenance of reality, of rationalizing, or forgetting - it has to leave a mark on one's psyche. And even without that, with the suicide, murder, and disappearance rates here - do you ever think about how many people in this town have lost at least one loved one to violence? Or just had them," he gestures, "disappear. That might be even worse. If you ask me - and keep in mind that I am actually psychic - this entire town is filled with the walking wounded." And yet, there's something about it that excites him, animates him. It's a terrible mystery, but it's still an interesting one.

To the last, he says, "I wouldn't drink that stuff. I really wouldn't. I'm not going to destroy it, because...because well, if I did, then I'd never know what it did. But I think I'm just going to keep it so I can stare at it."

"I'm used to the call volume in Seattle, and this is still slower, even with... I mean the murder rate is pretty high. I've never transported this many corpses." Ambulance service here seems to double as a crime-scene tech van, headed to the morgue for the Coroner, really. She coughs when Alexander mentions the suicide rate. She sips her tea, finishing off that cup. "The murder rate is off the chart. Disappearances ... yeah. Yeah, I can see how that would be worse. Which turns up the volume. Not knowing..." Not knowing. God. "Not knowing is the worst."

"I guess I'd be out of a job if this place wasn't so steeped in trauma. Kinda makes me feel like a vulture for loving the action of my job, but at least... I guess at least I get a chance to help people." At the turn back to the soup packets, she nods. She nods, but in the back of her mind, she knows. She knows that she's going to keep them around, and one night she's going to be hella hung over, and one of those packets is going to end up in a mug and she's just going to sit on Alistair's deck and drink it, probably remembering halfway down the contents where it came from. All that isn't articulated in her subconscious, but there's definitely a little tingle.

"Do you just have a collection of weird objects you stare at at night when you can't sleep?"

Alexander's gaze slides sideways when she coughs at the suicide rate, looking at a particularly interesting rock instead of her for a moment. He clears his throat. "Yeah. I've been lucky, in that. Not a lot of dead or disappeared in my history. But I know people who have had disappearances and it's...hollowing." His gaze returns to her. "I have case files. Research. Um. A lot of it is...I imagine people would think it was weird. Autopsy and crime scene photos, reports. All of that." He shrugs, and his shoulders hunch, clearly bracing for her to recoil or make an expression of disdain. "It helps, though. Put things in order."

Sutton isn't touching the suicide rate thing. Nope. Look, more tea! "That kind of research is only weird to the people who have the luxury of ignoring it. People like you, cops, sometimes paramedics, we take on the burden and the psychological trauma day after day to try to shield the public from it. Doesn't always work, but imagine of someone wasn't willing to look at those, to chase it down, to try to solve these cases." She isn't a cop, but she's always been cop-adjacent, and working now in a building connected to the PD, what with all the gossip of a small town, being there is basically being in on everything that happens. Sometimes literally, as she and Alexander both like to sneak into the briefings.

"If only things would fucking stay in order."

Alexander smiles, a bit crookedly. "I think that's the nicest way that I've ever heard it put. Thanks." He drains the cup again, and this time screws it back on, rather than filling it back up. Any more tea, and he will slosh. "It would be nice, for things to stay in order. At least, I tell myself it would be. More realistically, I'd probably hate it. And it might mean we're all dead. Stasis, and all of that." His expression grows thoughtful for a moment, before he shakes his head and focuses back on her. "Look." A long, terribly awkward pause. "Are you okay? I'm not asking for Javier and I'm not gonna run back and give him a status report or anything. I just figured," a pause, "if whatever it was was big enough to have him actually ask for help, it must have been pretty significant. So, are you okay? And is there anything I can do to help?"

"I didn't say it to make you feel better about it, but you're welcome." Sutton smiles right back, though. "We both know nothing's ever likely to stay where we put it. Not in this town." The blonde finishes her cup of tea, turning it upside down on the table so the last drips drain before she caps the thermos. She rests an elbow on the table, and props her chin up in her hand, looking over at Alexander as he frames his next question.

"No. Emotionally, I'm not ok. Simply put, I love a man who keeps trying to destroy himself. I thought I could hang in with that, see him through it, but I don't..." She taps her nails against her cheek, soundlessly. "It's the anniversary of my brother's death, so I'm headed out of town to Seattle for a few days. They're doing a memorial ceremony. Mum wants me home for dinner. Javi's got a lot on his plate right now." She pauses. "Someone once suggested to me that some people can... burn drugs out of the system with..." she doesn't say magic. "But maybe a little spiritual rehab or whatever it is... would go a long way to helping him." Or he'll rage out and kill you all. Her eyes shift to the side.

"Me, I'm working on it. I should probably find a good shrink."

"I know you didn't. That's what makes me feel better. Lies rarely help," Alexander says, with a shrug.

He listens, staring at her with dark eyes in a direct manner that steps right over the line to rude. It's only his expressive features that soften it a little; a wince of sympathy and understanding, the slightest of nods of agreement. "Just because you love someone, doesn't mean you have to destroy yourself trying to save them. Or following them." It's heavy, and sad. "I think it would be good to see your family. I'm going to talk to Javier." A pause. "I can't do what you're talking about, but I've detoxed people before. Even ones who didn't particularly want to be at the time. I won't...force him. I'm not sure I could, honestly. But I can offer. And it's his decision."

A faint smile. "Dr. Glass has proven surprisingly helpful for me. Once she accepted what was real, anyway."

If Sutton finds Alexander's direct and sustained staring to be problematic, there's absolutely no telling it from her demeanor. "Yeah. Sometimes lies help, but I don't like to lie to people I respect." There's an implication there, but she doesn't come out with it plainly. "Yes. I teetered really close to the edge a few times since I came here. Really very close." Closer than she'd like to admit. She looks at the table for a while before her gaze comes back up. "I don't know if he wants that. He has to want it to stop. He has a..." Kid. "He has someone who would benefit from his sobriety coming into his life. If you suggest it, be sure there's a lot of physical space between you when you do." For obvious reasons. "I know Javi seems... very steadfast and capable. He is when he's protecting someone, but he lets himself fall through the gaps." The failings in their personal relationship are a separate issue.

"... Dr. Glass? Would you mind sending me her number? If, of course, she's taking new patients. I've never been good at talk therapy, but I think I need some help."

A flicker of a smile at the implication, although Alexander doesn't address it any more than she does. Instead, he says, after she's finished and the silence has stretched for a while, "I like Javier. I don't have great taste in people, generally. That's the caveat. But I know that he's a self-destructive asshole who has real trouble sharing anything even when he wants to, desires control and trust without giving it in return, and all too often just needs to be beaten soundly about the head and shoulders until he recognizes that we're not civilians who need to be protected, and that his friends won't see having feelings as weakness." It's all said very evenly. "And I'm not afraid of him. You're right that he needs to want it for anything to work. I won't try to push that where it doesn't exist. Wouldn't work long term. But, as a friend, I'll offer the opportunity. And if he wants to have a punch out about it, well," he sighs, "that's what we'll do. I don't really get that particular male bonding ritual, and apparently some people find it arousing and I don't understand that either, but," a shrug, "it's not the weirdest thing I've ever done for a friend, I guess."

He reaches for his phone, and within moments, there's a text sent to Sutton with Vivian's office number. "She's still grasping the world. Like you are. That could help."

Sutton smiles a bit at Alexander's description of Javier de la Vega. Accurate. "Mm. You're right about most of that." She doesn't say what bit she thinks is incorrect, though. "Particularly beating and the feelings." She smiles a little bit more, her lips parting to flash those pretty white teeth of hers. "I didn't suggest you were afraid, but unless you have hands that are fast enough, or a the number of a very good dentist, why take the risk?" Not that she ever backs off when she starts shit with the cop.

On the subject of male bonding and arousal from violence, she clucks her tongue once and says, "It's not about the violence. It's about the power." Beat. "Sometimes it's about the violence, and even then, it's still probably about the power. You know what, it's really not something you can explain unless you've enjoyed it a time or two. Personally, I'm just bossy." Her phone chimes her generic text alert, and she glances down at her phone after sliding it out of her pocket. "That might help, yes. We'll have some common ground. Thank you for this." One step at a time. "The sex/violence line is really only fun if both parties are into it. Otherwise you're looking at a mental disorder. Not one of the fun ones."

Alexander shrugs. "If the risk is worth it, everything else heals, Harry. I've done stupider things for less reason." The barest suggestion of a smile. "Either way, it's his decision whether he wants to talk, or he wants to fight. Or, more likely, tell me to fuck off and stomp away. I'll just follow along with whatever."

The rest just makes him smile. "Thank you for the explanation." There's a hint of amusement somewhere deep in his dark eyes. "At any rate, I'm relieved that you have what seems like a decent perspective on the whole thing. Sorry if my texting you out of the blue made you feel stalked. And thank you for agreeing to meet with me; you're Bennie's friend, and you seem nice. I was concerned. And if there's anything I can do to help...you have my number."

"You're right. I've done a lot of dumb shit to help somebody else get through their shit." Sutton nods in agreement with that, absolutely. "The best way to get him to stop fucking around is to demand it. Sometime, just try it. Javier Ruiz de la Vega, do not walk away from me. Use your teacher voice." She mms. "Use your 'fuck I just got busted doing something shady act like I belong here and somebody's ass is in a sling for the interruption' voice. She assumes he has one of those. Doesn't everyone?

"I've been stalked before, love. That was mildly curious. Also had you told me the only reason you wanted to see me was Javi refusing to abide my rules again, I'd have simply told you to fuck off and come back with cannoli." That may seem random, but Sutton is exceptionally food motivated. "I'm pretty nice, yeah. I'm definitely Bennie's friend. Easy's too. Thank you for your concern, truly. It was sweet of you to come, to bring the cakes, to sit with me a while. Please do tell Bella I look forward to seeing her, and I hope the studies are going well."

There's a pause, and then she says, "I might use the number." But she doesn't say why. Something to look forward to then.

From the expression on Alexander's face, he is not entirely certain that he has either of those voices, and clearly the idea of actually using them if he does have them seems to throw him for a loop. "I...um." A pause. "So noted. Thank you for the advice."

He rises to his feet. "Ah. Thank you. Sometimes I'm not good at finding the line. But I'll remember about the cannoli, if it comes up again." He seems entirely solemn about this, like there's a mental file to be updated to include 'if told to fuck off, bring cannoli'. "I'll pass it on. Don't die, Harry." He takes up his part of the trash they've made, and turns and starts slouching away. A pause at her last words. "That's why you have it," he says, simply, and then resumes his retreat.

Sutton's expression as she watches Alexander's face suggests she's keyed in to the hesitance there. "Sure, no problem. If that fails, just fucking knock him out and handcuff him to something." Yeah, YMMV there.

"Kidding." Not kidding. "The only way to find the line is if you skip over it and someone's kind enough to let you know. No shame in that, long as you listen when they tell you so." She smiles when he says don't die. "You're sweet, Alexander. Don't you die either." She watches him go, and her brows tick up when he says the last.

"Yeah, definitely not gonna crank call you with heavy breathing."