2019-11-19 - Interrogating A Key Witness

The bar is empty, having closed over an hour ago. There are a few windows open to the night air and one of the TVs is still on, playing college football highlights on some Sportscenter-esque show. There are only a few lights on and Easton sits at a table under one of those lights. A handkerchief sits in the center of the table, folded. Also on the table are two glasses, one empty, one full and a bottle of tequila. It seems that Easton is taking up Ruiz's drink of choice for the night as there's not a scotch in sight.

Ruiz is running a bit late, on account of being called in to assist with a domestic dispute twenty minutes before he was due to leave work. He shoulders his way in, looking a touch harried and still dressed for the office; dark, off-the-rack suit and white shirt, blue and grey pinstriped tie. He spots Easton fairly easily, being the only occupant of the empty bar, and angles over. "Perdón por llegar tarde. I hope you weren't waiting long?" He slides into the seat opposite where the other man's standing, with a soft thump as his holstered gun brushes against the chair. Of course he's armed.

The Spanish gets a slow, blearly blink as Easton's mind slowly catches up to pick out words that sound like things like sorry and late. He shakes his head and says, "Nah, no worries. I had to clean up and this way I didn't have to kick out any stragglers. I don't exactly want an audience for this little ... whatever the hell you call it." He pours Ruiz a glass as he talks and adds off handedly, "Not sure how you drink this straight. This is definitely not my drink." But it hasn't stopped him from trying apparently as he sounds like he's probably more than two or three glasses into it.

The glass is snagged almost as soon as it's filled, and lifted to his mouth for a sip, and a little rumble of pleasure. "It's an acquired taste," he confides once he's swallowed, then sips again. "Mm, so tell me more about what you need done. Is this it?" He releases his glass, and hovers his fingertips over the folded handkerchief without quite touching it. His eyes tick up, landing on Easton's questioningly.

It is, it's just impressive that it's one of the few liquors that Easton hasn't acquired a taste for in all of his consumption. He takes another sip and can't help still suck in breath around his teeth. He's nothing if not determined. "Right. So fucked up back story time." Easton deadpans the intro as he sets down the glass and nods that 'it' is in fact what he summoned Ruiz here for. "My uncle Monty used to work at the Asylum that we all think exists inside the veil, on the other side. A place where they locked up people like us, or maybe dangerous versions of people like us, like Gohl."

Even saying the name outloud still causes Easton's face to get a sour and angry look flashing across it. He takes up the glass for another sip, this time not wincing. "Anyway, he's dead, my uncle. Though his corpse was still kicking around the veil last I checked, like some rotting bizarro version of him. Anyway, some chick who claims to have interned over there shows up the other day and drops off this key which apparently belonged to him. She swiped it, goodness knows why and then decided to track me down to give it to me. Again, why?" He tries to keep it brief but there is a bunch to cover, "And that brings us to here. I'd love to know what the fuck it is, and if this is just the start of the next tidal wave of shit for us."

Ruiz quirks a brow slightly when story time is mentioned, but settles in with his drink to listen. He still seems to avoid touching the handkerchief, though it helps that he's got a glass full of tequila that ain't gonna drink itself. "It does exist," he feels the need to interject quietly, when the Asylum's mentioned. Then is silent to let Easton finish speaking.

When he comes back around to the key itself, the cop's gaze tracks away from the man seated opposite him, and back to the key between them on the table. Well, what he assumes is the key, inside that bit of folded cloth. His glass is lingered at his mouth, then a little more of the amber liquid downed, and swallowed, and he gives a sharp sniff before setting the thing aside. "Well, shall we take a look?"

"Right. I think I've been there? It's, complicated." He's not sure how some very specific things work, like did he really talk to the rotting corpse of his dead Uncle or was that just a Dream? He shrugs and says, "Yea, I forgot a bunch of you ended up there at one point?" It's all so surreal and feels so strange to try and nail down the details since everyone only knows small bits of the truth and even then sometimes questions it.

Shall we take a look?

Easton nods and unfolds the handkerchief though he's careful not to touch the key. He's not sure he could explain exactly why that is but he's been reluctant to ever since she placed it down on the bar. He shakes his head and says, "I really have a hard time imagining it's going to be anything pleasant." Another sip of tequila, again with a wince after and he admits, "But I'm not exactly keen on dear ol' departed Uncle Monty."

Ruiz watches as the handkerchief's unfolded, dark eyes tracking the pattern in the cloth and the movement of the other man's fingers and- there, the bright bit of metal inside. Innocuous, really. He drains his glass to half, cracks his knuckles, and reaches toward the thing to slide it over with a soft scrape as it contacts the tabletop. "This might take a couple of tries. But I'll see what I can do. With the caveat that.. well, there are more skilled readers than myself in this town." But Easton already knew that, didn't he? "Is there anything I should try to focus on?" He looks back up with the question, fingertip still resting on the key.

Easton feels a little foolish with the 'dramatic' reveal of a plain old treasure chest looking brass key. It's nothing special and he's probably making too big a deal out of this, but it's a little late for those thoughts now. He nods and says, "Take your time. We got all night, and more bottles." At least he has all night and more bottles.

There are more skilled readers

Easton glances at him and admits conspiratorially, if a little drunkenly, "I know. But I was worried Clayton might get a bit obsessed with it. And I'm not in any place to ask Thorne for a favor. And I already had to ask Magnolia Jones to poke around my head for an all clear. I figure for a couple glasses of Patron I can get the budget version of a read at least." By the end he's grinning, it's not the actual reason he asked Ruiz but anything approaching the truth would be far too mushy amongst Marines. At least until that bottle gets drained a little more, then all bets are off and it's confessions of love and trust and friendship until one or both blacks out.

Mention of Alexander gains a slight nod. Byron, though? A soft snort. And he's just arrogant enough to confide, "Thorne's skilled. But I'm better." It's not baseless, really, though he certainly doesn't seem to mind taking a bit of a dig at the guy. And then, "Budget version? Fuck off, Marshall." The fact that it makes him grin, though.. he's not actually upset.

"All right. Let's do this." The key is scooped up and scissored between his index and middle fingers. And after another sharp sniff, he settles into his chair to focus on the thing. Power curls in almost invisible traceries of filament-fine light that seem to follow the pattern of his ink along that arm. Like a gathering storm, the scent of ozone on the air, and his dark eyes glaze over slightly.

Easton laughs as Ruiz knocks Thorne, not because of anything against Byron it's just a different kind of dick measuring than he's used to. Possibly the first time he's ever heard anyone brag about their gifts. Being told to fuck off just makes him laugh harder and flip off Ruiz with his free hand as he takes another sip, getting better and better and letting it wash down his throat smoothly.

Watching him hold the key, Easton narrows his eyes as if he's going to see what the trick is to this. He's barely capable of shouting in someone's head let alone reading objects but he's still curious. He shakes his head a bit as he can actually swear that he smells a change in the air.

The older man is still, and silent for a long while. Seconds, minutes perhaps. There's the sound of his breathing and the chatter of the television behind him; his eyes are focused on the key between his fingers, and yet not. Distant, like he's seeing something else entirely.

At length, a shuddering breath that makes his shoulders jerk, and he nearly fumbles the key before catching and closing it in his fist. His heart racing, he swallows, rubs at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. Then tries, with some difficulty, to refocus on Easton across from him; his eyes are still glazed over and distant, and there's a faint trickle of blood seeping out of one ear. Which is wiped away quickly before he speaks, "Doctor Marshall. The key was his for a long, long time, though wasn't his originally. It opened his office door at the Facility, I think? There are other rooms, too, though.. I don't recognise any of them." He cogitates on this a moment or two longer, then sets the key down on the table between them with a soft clack.

Easton waits patiently. He doesn't interrupt or ask questions, just watches and occasionally takes a sip of the tequila in front of him. It's fascinating to watch. He's seen people heal or hurt others. He obviously knows what it's like first hand to move things, or find things now, thanks to Isabella. But this is new. He is content to observe quietly.

He looks a little less certain as Ruiz tries to come out of it though. A flash of concern pulls at his face as he's not sure if this is normal or not when Ruiz gives him a thousand yard stare with blood coming out of his ear. He doesn't ask or mention it though, and then Ruiz is talking.

"Okay." He processes that information and then says, "At least it's not a chest full of dead babies or something." He wasn't actually expecting that but definitely something more fucked up than his office key. He reaches out to pick up the key now and take a closer look. "Might come in handy if we do ever need to make our way in or around there though."

Judging by the fact that Ruiz isn't freaking the fuck out, this is probably what passes for normal with him. He dabs at his ear again, blinks a couple more times as if to try to clear his vision. "No dead babies. That I saw." His gaze is drawn to the television, then back to Easton. "What, are you thinking of heading over there? Why?"

"Isabella mentioned that the asylum doors might have been left open? Who knows what got let out. And frankly I'm still concerned about people being trapped there against their wills." Easton answers when asked why he might head over there. He shakes his head and says, "I feel like whatever my uncle was up to, it couldn't have been good. He didn't have a noble bone in his body."

Ruiz stares at Easton when he reveals his master plan, and the motivation behind it. "Haven't we had enough fucked up murderous ghost bullshit to last a lifetime? Why would you want to go looking for more, Marshall?" He doesn't seem surprised, just vaguely annoyed if ultimately resigned to it. "You're probably going to need someone like Rosencrantz to get in there, though. And I think I should reiterate.. that I saw a couple of other rooms. One of them.." He shakes his head, brows furrowing. "You know you're asking for trouble with this."

The crack about murder ghost bullshit actually gets a warning look from Easton, not quite a scowl but certainly on the way. He answers tersely, "Yes, I have had more than enough, thanks. But that doesn't mean I can just say fuck 'em if there's people trapped over there." At the comment about Rosencrantz, he half-shrugs, "Maybe. I can open doors, but if he's got experience getting back I could use a couple a pointers." The rest of this glass of tequila is drained and he sighs, "Well besides hiding like a god damn pussy and pretending my shit stain uncle wasn't fucking locking people up in the veil, I don't really see a lot of options Gunny." Easton's language always runs blue, but the more he's around other Marines the more it degrades.

Oddly enough, the more florid Easton's language gets, the more the ex-Marine in his company seems to relax. He can handle guys who swear like sailors, because he was one of them. Still probably is, under that brittle, laconic mask he wears. "You're not going to go alone, are you?" He tosses back what's left of his own tequila, and scrubs inked fingers through his short hair. "At least promise me you'll bring some fucking backup."

"No. I'm not going alone. I'm bringing Geoff at the very fuckin' least for some recon. And then depending on if it looks like we need more or what, I'll decide on a team from there." Yes a team. Yes it's a mission in his mind. Easton is not that far divorced from his time in the Marines to have shaken off those habits just yet. He nods and says, "So yes, I promise I will bring backup and I won't make a move until I know more about what I'm facing." Because who the hell even knows what other secrets this asylum holds, or what kind of people. "Ideally I can swipe some files for Dr. Glass to read and make an assessment. There's a good chance at least some of those people should be locked up somewhere. And Isabella just told me this whole thing might be for naught anyway..." His head is spinning a bit with all of what this means and what he should do and what can of worms it might open.

So he pours them another round.

"Geoff?" A brow quirks slightly. Ruiz doesn't really know the guy, but the look on his face suggests he's dubious. "Well, you change your mind and decide you want me along, let me know." Is he a little hurt at not being tapped for the mission? Maybe. Probably. He waits for his glass to be refilled, then knocks back a third of it in one swallow. "All right. You need anything else from me? Or was that it?"

"Turner." Easton supplies a last name, not that he expects Ruiz to know him, Geoff purposefully tries to stay off the radar of cops. Easton lifts his hands off the table in a 'what?' gesture when Ruiz offers his help, "What the fuck happened to having enough damn ghost serial killer shit already? Yes. Of course I'm tapping your ass for this if you'll quit bitching." He smirks and takes a big gulp of his own, still wincing at it not sitting right. The last question gets a look from Easton, a flat, maybe I'm about to say something look where he tries to decide.

"We should go shooting some time. Again. Soon." It's obviously not what he almost said, but does let slip, "I need.." with a sense of frustration that doesn't quite line up with just wanting to blow off some more steam with Ruiz and a bag full of guns, but he just trails off instead of finishing that thought.

Turner. Geoff Turner. Seems to ring a bell, by the squinty look in his eyes. Whatever bits and pieces he might be able to dredge up about the guy, though, he doesn't mention. Instead, "Well, if you're going to do something fucking stupid, you might as well bring me along. Since we both know I'm the better shot by far." He downs the rest of his drink, and flashes Easton a shit-eating grin, dimples and all. As to the last, "Yeah. Yeah, sure, we can go shooting some time." His dark eyes flick over the other man's face like he's trying to get a sense for what's going on. Sure, he could pull it out of him, but what's the fun in that? His voice drops to a scratchy-soft murmur, "You need?"

"By far" Easton repeats sarcastically complete with jerking off hand motion and a roll of his eyes, though he's also grinning. But then Ruiz is looking at him as he trails off and gets all weird and vague. He gives a half shrug and shake of his head, "I don't know. I need something." He shakes his head and sucks in his lower lip as if in thought before coming up with only, "To catch a fucking break?" He sighs a little, hating how melodramatic it all sounds. He sums up, "You know what I said about one person being enough?" He sets that up and then answers, "Well, what the fuck do I know?" Not that anything has changed about the way he feels about Bennie, but just about everything else in their relationship has changed since Gohl.

The jerking off motion earns Easton a snort and a kick under the table with one of the cop's booted feet. Right in the shin of his prosthetic leg. Not hard, nothing he can't take. Then the tequila's finished off, and he drags his hands over his face with a scratchy sound of palms against scruffy beard as he rubs at it a couple of times. "Fuck, I hear you loud and clear." About needing to catch a break. His hands drop back to his lap, dark eyes regarding the other man's evenly. "What, are you thinking of.." Sleeping with someone else? Does he need to say it?

The kick to the shin just makes Easton laugh and raise his eyebrows asking implicitly if Ruiz forgot about the leg or he meant to kick carbon fiber? He points as Ruiz rubs his face with a hand, "Yea. Exactly" He nods as Ruiz trails off asking. "I need to not feel like a fucking monster. I fucked up, I get it. It's not her.." He sighs and shakes his head, "Bennie still jumps when I touch her. She flinches. I want to just fuck someone hard, up against a wall or over a table and just let go- her. I mean." He corrects himself a little late and lamely, frankly, but adds, "And it's fucking with my head." He's not worried about shocking Ruiz with that talk, of all people he's probably the easiest to have this out honestly with.

It all hits a bit closer to home than Easton likely even knows. And brings back memories, perhaps, that haven't had a chance to heal over yet. Ruiz's gaze lingers for a while on the man opposite him, then drags away to his empty glass with a slight frown. Fuck. How did that happen. "I don't think you can do what we had to do, in the service. Without being a little.." He gestures vaguely to himself to indicate fucked in the head, then toys with his glass absently. Fingertip along the rim. After another lengthy pause, "Sutton and I.." No, he's not going to talk about that. "She needed me in handcuffs, to feel safe. Not in a kinky way." He scratches at his beard. "I think she talked to Bennie about it, something about giving her a gun. One of my guns. I never did get it back." He lets that thought trail away. "And I.. I get it. Why it's fucking with your head. It fucked with mine, too."

His glass isn't empty for long as Easton automatically refills it. He nods solemnly at the part about being screwed up in the head. He knows that there's a part of him that only Ruiz or other veterans will ever get, at least fully. He looks dispassionately as Ruiz starts about him and Sutton, ready to not pass judgement for whatever is about to come out. It doesn't last. She needed me in handcuffs, to feel safe His lips twitch and then there's a slight cough and then the shaking of his chest as he tries to fight off a fit of laughing and fails. badly. He puts a hand to his face as he flat out laughs, at something he really, really shouldn't laugh at. This poor man is pouring his soul out and Easton is just laughing.

"I should have fucking known. I would love to have heard that pep talk from Sutts. Cause for damn sure Bennie didn't come up with that on her own." He finally manages to start to explain the ill-timed fit of laughter. "I could pretend it was hot for a while. I don't mind a little sexy tie-up now and then." He downs the rest of his glass and adds, "But then it just gets sad as we kept lying about why she was locking my hands up. It's not like we both didn't know."

Ruiz doesn't seem to understand, at first, what Easton finds so funny. But it probably doesn't take him long enough to put two and two together. Especially knowing Sutton as he does. There's a chuckle, finally, nose scratched with his knuckles, then a sip taken of his fresh drink. At this rate, he's going to be needing a to call an Uber to get home. "Yeah," he murmurs, smile turning a little melancholic. "We'll go shooting. When do you want to do it?"

Shooting will help. Easton tells himself. "Soon. Tomorrow after I stop regretting this tequila?" The fact that he knows he's going to regret it tomorrow has no impact on the fact that he's still drinking it. He shakes his head, still smiling over the thought of Sutton giving Bennie that talk. She did give her the handcuffs, he's pretty sure, so really why wouldn't this be a page from her playbook. He picks up the drink and looks at it for a while, before saying without looking up, "Thanks Cap..." he doesn't specify for what, but both reading the key and the commiseration is a safe assumption.

"De nada," replies the cop quietly, and lingers a moment before pushing to his feet. His phone's already coming out so he can call for a ride. "And let me know when you're ready to go. To the Asylum. I've got your back." Posturing aside, he claps the other man on the shoulder, gives it a squeeze, and then prowls for the door.