2019-11-28 - I love the smell of commerce in the morning.

It's a warmish autumn day, and currently in between drizzles, so it's the perfect time to come out and wander down the strip mall in search of holiday deals. The utter madness of Black Friday has passed (to everyone's great relief), but there are still some sales and special offers on display, and the sidewalk is crowded with locals checking out window displays. Alexander, for once, is no different than any of the others - although he does stand out by virtue of his scruffiness, and the big, oversized army jacket - as he stands in front of a small, eclectic shop and frowns at the interior, his brow furrowed and his shoulders hunched.

Clarissa always looks like she stepped out of a salon or a glamorous party or a glamorous party at a salon and today is no different with her fancy red jacket that has a skirt fuller than most dresses and her prim black umbrella currently rolled up and tucked under one arm. Even though it's overcast she's still wearing her sunglasses so everyone knows how cool she is. She's taking in the shops and has several bags hanging from one arm as she passes by that eclectic little shop and slows her pace when she recognizes him, "Doing some holiday shopping, Mister Clayton?" She asks politely.

Alexander twitches a little when he is addressed; he was concentrating so hard on whatever he was staring at that he didn't even notice her approaching. He spins on his heels to stare at her, and then to blink. After a moment, there's something sort of like a smile. "Hello, Missus Robbins. I hope you had a good Thanksgiving?" A glance back at the shop, and the expression crumbles a bit into that frown. "I...yes. I think so. But I don't know what to get." A look back at her, and the bags she's carrying. "Are you shopping for the holidays?"

"Not yet. I tend to do my holiday shopping a little closer to the holidays. I love the crowds," Clarissa gives him a smile, "And yes my Thanksgiving was quite delightful after a bit of a rough start. Did you go home for dinner or have friends over...?" There's a bit of a dubious tone to her voice. He's not homeless, is he? That might explain some things.

"You love the crowds?" Alexander tilts his head to one side. "I...don't know if that's sarcasm or not," he admits. "Why do you love them? Most people don't." His hands find the big pockets in his jacket, and he hides them in there. "Isabella and I ate dinner with my parents. I'm glad you had a nice holiday, though." Another of those little ghost smiles, like it's not really sure if it wants to live on his face or not.

Clarissa studies him for a moment, really trying to get the whole Isabella thing. She's been perplexed by this pairing since she saw them at the bar that one night, "With your parents? Sounds like a serious relationship," she sounds surprised and doesn't really bother to hide it. "I do, in fact, enjoy crowds. It's the one time of year this place reminds me of New York. Except the store selection is still terrible and New York is a million times better than this place, but I take what I can get."

Alexander stiffens at the surprise. "Her father is out of town. I thought it would be nice. To offer. And I guess it is. I'm not...laughing about it, anyway?" A flicker of puzzlement before he shrugs. "Anyway. It went well. I think. So you don't have to give me that look, like you think I kidnapped her, or something." There's a defensive frown, that lightens only as she talks further. "I'm sorry that you miss your home. Do you go to Seattle often? It's not New York, but there are crowds."

Clarissa shakes her head head, setting down some of the heavier bags, "No, I don't like driving that far. I went out to Portland with--a friend--" she catches herself and guards her tone a moment, "But that was hardly the same sort of thing. The pizza there was better than here, however. And I didn't mean to imply that I thought you'd forced her into it. One doesn't usually agree to meet the parents if you aren't serious about the relationship and you seem...well, opposites attract as they say," she lends a bright tone to that completely backhanded compliment.

Alexander catches that quick hesitation and restatement, and his eyebrows go up for a moment. That ghost of a smile widens and strengthens into something real, for a moment. "I hope you had fun." And he's even only SORT of teasing. He's silent through the rest of her response, something flickering his eyes. "Because Isabella is amazing, and I'm me, you mean. Yeah. It surprises me, too." He shrugs. "I'm sure she'll come to her senses eventually, but to be fair, it's hard to find someone else who speaks Ancient Greek and Latin in a town this size."

Clarissa has the audacity to look embarrassed, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, "I'm sure you have a number of strengths," it's the sort of empty phrase someone might reach out and pat a shoulder while saying but she at least doesn't do that. Instead she looks to change the subject, "Have you learned anything else about that little mystery room? I've been looking through some of our older files just in case it might help."

The problem with promising to give money to the bell-ringers on the way out is that they tend to remember you. Thus, Patrick is exiting a store with a long sigh, immediately assaulted by the bell-ringer with her stupid Santa hat, complete with a garland wound around it. Now, he has to shift the bag of whatever he's just bought from a shop that sells gadgety stuff, rummaging around to collect his wallet. His impatience with this whole transaction is palpable, made worse when the bell-ringer is like, "Thank you, sir, God bless you."

And that's when he walks right into a conversation about mystery rooms. Suffice it to say, he sloooooows the trek to his car, hooks a hard left, and makes no effort to pretend he didn't hear that and have his interest piqued. The most he'll do, in the name of courtesy, is loiter about two yards from the pair: a polite distance for an impolite activity.

"No, you're not," Alexander responds, blandly. But it's the only needling he does at that part of the conversation, because she changes the subject to MYSTERIES and that's Alexander's catnip. "I...yes. I examined that cameo you found. I believe I know more, but," an awkward sort of shrug, "I need to find proof that other people will understand. I think, whoever that girl is, Charles Blackwood killed her." Yep, that last sentence gets some weird looks from people passing by - but they're mostly locals, so they just roll their eyes at Alexander, and give Clarissa a pitying sort of 'better you than me' glance.

And then there's a Patrick, and while Alexander barely seemed to notice the rolling eyes from the others, his shoulders hunch as he notes Patrick slowing nearby. "Addington," he says, with a frown. "I hope you had a good Thanksgiving."

At least he's not blaming nazi alien Jesuses. Clarissa frowns as well, though at what Alexander says about her being murdered, "Really? I thought you said it was an acc--" and then there's Patrick and somehow she's standing straighter and looks more professional since there's another rich person around to show off for, "Mister Addington," she gives him a pleasant smile of greeting, "Looking forward to staging the New Years Party at the Addington House. It is an exquisite location that will be perfect for the theme. You're coming, right?" That's to Patrick, though after a second her gaze slides to Alexander as if to say that yes, he too is invited (to pay for a ticket).

"Clayton." Patrick returns it pleasantly, dusts off an easy smile that chases away his irritation with the bell-ringer - jingle jingle jingle, she goes on in the background - and leaves him neutrally pleasant. "I did, thank you. No one died, so I'm putting it in the win column. You? Chasing murder suspects?" He includes Clarissa in the question, though that does mean there's a tiny bit of skepticism in his voice: she's chasing murder suspects too??? "Hello, Missus Robbins. How are you?" Handshake? He offers one, anyway, since he's already had to liberate his hand to pay the bell-ringer, rabble. As for the party, "I wouldn't miss it."

Alexander gives an awkward sort of shrug to Clarissa about the 'accident', but doesn't elaborate further. He's still watching Patrick with a wary sort of expression. "No. I ate with my family. I'm glad you had a good one." It sounds like someone has forced him to memorize polite phrases, and now has a gun to his temple unless he says them correctly. At Clarissa's sort-of invitation, he nods, slowly. "Isabella plans to go, and I'll go with her. Don't worry," his smile briefly revives, "I'll let her dress me."

Clarissa does look relieved to hear that Isabella is going to help Alexander with his costume. She accepts the handshake from Patrick and is all polite smiles now. Better smiles than that Santa bell ringer. People should be giving Clarissa their money instead, "Murder suspects? Well, I suppose someone in this town has to pick up the slack where the police department are involved, but no, Mister Clayton is looking into some hazy aspects of one of the families in Gray Harbor and the historical society is happy to help him sort through our archives."

"Ah, good. No murder suspects coming to the party, then?" Patrick flicks a glance between the two, and is so studious in maintaining a perfectly neutral expression that it's becomes obvious that he is cracking up on the inside. Hence the sudden need to clear his throat when he reclaims his hand from Clarissa, folding it tidily back around the little bag of whatever. Then Clarissa says that thing about 'one of the families in Gray Harbor,' and the laugh that he wasn't going to share comes out as an amused exhale through his nose. "At least say, for once, that it's not my family?" he asks so hopefully of the pair of them.

Alexander gives a quiet sigh at the talk of murder suspects, his brow furrowing with irritation. "In any gathering of the wealthy, I'm sure there's at least one perpetrator of a violent felony, and probably more, but none that I'm currently holding in active suspicion," he says. He looks past the other two towards the Santa bell ringer. "And I've never seriously investigated the Addingtons, only had them come up as interesting figures on the periphery of other investigations, so no, it's not yours." A flick of his eyes back to Patrick. "I understand Isabella set you on fire."

Clarissa gives Alexander a critical look, though it's brief, at that wealthy violent felony thing considering the questions he used to ask her! "I can't imagine what would cause someone to want to look into the Addingtons, you're such a fine, upstanding--" she pauses and blinks between the two men, "I'm sorry, fire?"

Like he's tacking this on, "Yet." Patrick lifts an index finger and taps the air in front of him, sticking that three-letter-word in after Alexander's comment about never seriously investigating the Addingtons. But he delves no deeper into the subject, since his attention rests amusedly on Clarissa during her unfinished comment about said family. His head dips low, leaning forward, hanging on the end of that sentence... only to have it never come. Alas! "It was Halloween," he's quick to clarify about the fire. Like that explains everything. Oh, except, "And it was only my pants."

Alexander meets the critical look with a bland one of his own. Although it cracks into openly derisive laughter at the characterization of the Addingtons as a fine, upstanding, whatever family. "Really?" he says, to Clarissa. With Patrick standing right there, of course. Which he doesn't seem to mind, just shooting the man a look, and adding, "Is that permission? Because I do have questions." And then he laughs again, about the pants being set on fire.

There are reasons beyond Alexander's terrible fashion sense that he's not invited to fancy parties. Or...any parties.

Clarissa gives Alexander a disapproving frown, but decides to ignore the laughter and instead says pleasantly to Patrick, "I find Halloween to be the worst of the holidays. The decorations are lovely, but it gives too many people free reign to be their worst selves and often behind a mask. And then there's the candle fire hazard, as you've just explained you're well acquainted with. It's like everyone thinks if you put it in a pumpkin it's safe and can't start a larger fire." She gives a shake of her head.

There's a helpless-looking shrug from Patrick at Alexander's abrupt laughter, his head tipped toward Clarissa as if to imply that this is all on her; he never said the Addingtons were a fine, upstanding anything. "Oh, I'm sure you do." Have questions, he means. "Best be careful what you ask, though. Some of the skeletons in this particular closet still have their teeth." His click together audibly, staying that way to create a socially correct smile to answer Clarissa's comments on Halloween. "In defense of - Isabella, is it?" He knows her name; this shit must run in his family. "I don't think she was trying to light my pants on fire, but you know how it is when people get excited." Le sigh.

Alexander actually looks sheepish at the disapproving frown from Clarissa, and ducks his head, mumbling, "Sorry," to her, with another shrug. He does add, "Halloween is my least favorite holiday," as if in solidarity with her. His head comes back up at the click of Patrick's teeth, though, and his frown returns. The urge to snap back something unfortunate at him is written all over his face, but with another look at Clarissa, he manages to keep his mouth shut, although there's a grinding of his teeth that is actually audible.

Sure, Patrick will bite. (Er, not literally. That probably needs to be specified.) "And why is that, Clayton? Is it the costumes or the candy or the..." He pauses, searching for a nice bit of alliteration to finish off his guessing. "...conviviality?" Even he has to 'enh' on that, not his best showing. "Or more in tune with what Miz Robbins was saying, about all the unattended candles?" It's not that he cares, but listening to Alexander's teeth grind is at least more satisfying (for Patrick) than listening to the goddamn bell-ringer.

Alexander grimaces at the question and looks away, bracing himself. But he's almost incapable of not answering a direct question, even when he suspects the answer will get him laughed at, so he says, "The costumes. And the masks. It's difficult to tell people from one another, or that they're the same people that they were, and it...concerns me." He seems to rewind the sentence and review it, before giving it a nod. Yes, that almost sounds sane. "Christmas, all you have to watch out for are Santa Claus and the elves. And only Santa wears a beard."

"Missus," Clarissa corrects automatically, "I'm sure Miss Reede didn't intend to light your pants on fire, she's usually very reserved from what I've seen of her. Has there been any news about the casino that you've heard? I haven't heard anything about the law suit moving forward or being thrown out of any of those lawyer terms," she waves a hand like who can be bothered to know lawyer terms? "I enjoy Christmas more due to the festive holiday spirit and the excuse to go shopping," she toes some of the bags around her feet that she set down earlier, "Not that I need much of an excuse."

"I'm sure she didn't," Patrick agrees in a tone that assures he assumes the exact opposite to be true. "And you seem to have done more shopping already today than I try to do all year. Gifts or just killing time?" There's a mumble tacked on to Alexander's comments about what you have to fear for Christmas: "And those god damned Elves on Shelves." He is NOT a fan! But he's a fan of local gossip, clearly, so he veers back around to the matter of the Casino with a quick shake of his head. "I'm not exactly in a place to have heard anything, except what the paper said. Arrested security guards?" He looks straight at Alexander, expecting details, sir.

"She didn't." Whatever Alexander might feel about Patrick, he's at least quick to defend Isabella. "It was an accident. I understand things were unusual." It's a nice word, 'unusual'; it covers a multitude of Gray Harbor conditions. At the mention of the casino, he clears his throat, and looks away from them both. "I believe the investigation is making some progress, and the arrests may be related to that. I haven't heard anything specific about the charges, though. I don't know anything about the lawsuit." He does, however, have a quick shudder at the thought of Elves on Shelves, in a moment of solidarity with Patrick. "Why do they even do that to children? Those things are creepy."

"Oh, why can't it be both?" Clarissa asks Patrick with a smile, "I rarely like to wait on purchasing things I like. Life is so short after all." Especially around here. "And I think the Elves on Shelves are rather adorable, especially when people offer little sweaters and vests for them. It's a nice imaginative twist to get children to behave for the month. Not that I have any direct experience with that, but I imagine it's a nice incentive."

Blatantly repeating himself, same tone and everything, Patrick answers, "I'm sure she didn't." He makes an agreeable little 'mhm' noise about the unusualness of the... er... all the things. "For example, elves on shelves. One of the volunteers at the house brought one in. Suffice it to say, the thing has run amok in a house full of..." The dot-dot-dot allows them fill in the blanks, he leaves it open-ended. Now then, he blinks incredulously at Alexander to ask, "You really don't know anything, or you're just not sharing anything? I won't press either way, but the former strains credibility." FYI.

Alexander blinks at Clarissa. He looks mildly baffled by the idea of just going out and...purchasing something you want. There are probably budgeting spreadsheets back at his home that have every single penny accounted for. Or maybe it's the idea of Elves on Shelves as 'adorable'. "It's teaching children to expect and consent to the loss of their privacy for the duration of their lives, at the whims of an unresponsive and unaccountable authority." He points at Patrick's abbreviated tale of elves amok. "Also that. Gray Harbor is not a good place to imbue inanimate objects with overly focused purpose. They get uppity about it, and then you have to smash them." His hand finds his pocket again, shrugging under the incredulous look. "I'm not a police officer. It isn't as if anyone sends me updates to their investigative progress," he mutters. "And what I do know, no, I'm not casually sharing."

"Yes, it's wonderful to learn that lesson so young," Clarissa nods to Alexander with a smile. He nailed it! Though the rest of the talk about inanimate objects just gets an increasingly blank look, "...I..." she actually can't think of a way to save that. Is he talking about puppets coming alive? "...see you've seen some of the movies released on Halloween. But I don't think that telling children their toys might come alive and be evil is any better of a lesson than the one you seem to disapprove of. What do you think, Mister Addington?"

Oooh, Patrick's eyes widen when Alexander gets to the part about smashing them; clearly, this was not a method for coping with the creature that had occurred to him yet. "Not I just have to catch the thing," he can be heard to mutter, trailing into a contemplative hmmm. But before he goes off on an elf-hunting spree, he has to squint uncertainly at Mr. Clayton over there - a squint that dissipates only after the tacked-on comment, like that's what he was waiting for. "What's that? We're talking about teaching lessons to children?" He smiles uncertainly at Clarissa, like... did he pick up the thread of the conversation correctly? "Because I really have no opinion on the matter, unless the lesson is that they quietly go somewhere else." He makes batting-away gestures with a flick of his fingers - run-along, imaginary children, Patrick doesn't like you.

Alexander eyes Clarissa. "I...don't think that's the right lesson for children to be learning." But then, look at him. What does he know? "And sometimes their toys do come alive, and are evil. Warning them about that saves a lot of heartache when your teddy bear tries to rip out your innards and replace them with stuffing." It sounds like the voice of experience - or craziness - talking. Probably the latter, because he offers to Patrick, "If you need help in tracking down wayward, rampaging Elves on Shelves, my rates are reasonable."

Clarissa gives Alexander the look he's probably accustomed to. One that is first confused, then widens to an ooooookkaaaaaaaaaay and then gets a little uncomfortable. She reaches down to pick up her bags and turns her attention instead to Patrick so she doesn't have to address any of that weirdness, "Not a fan of children, Mister Addington? It depends on the child for me. I like the idea of them, but less so the sticky hands." Considering everything she has is designer, it's just not a good mixture. "But I should get going. There are a few more stores I want to hit before heading home to change all the decorations from Thanksgiving to Christmas. It was nice seeing you both," Patrick gets a warm smile. Alexander gets...a less warm, fleeting smile and avoided eye contact as she turns to go.

"Personally, mine seemed more bent on swapping eyes with me." Patrick shares this after Alexander's teddy bear warnings, smiling like this twisted memory may even be a fond one for him, awww. He brightens at the offer of help, and was likely about to seize on it when Clarissa makes leaving noises. "Always a pleasure, Miz...sus Robbins. Good luck." He'll wait till she's gone out of earshot to ask, "So. Did she kill him or not?"

Alexander sort of shrinks in on himself at the look Clarissa gives him, but there's a stubborn edge to it, his jaw setting mulishly. It doesn't stop him from saying, "Enjoy your shopping, Missus Robbins." He even tries to meet the fleeting smile with a warmer one of his own, but it withers on the vine at the lack of eye contact. He sighs, glances back towards Patrick. "There are upsides to glass eyes, I guess, except for the not being able to see part." Then there's an involuntary sound of amusement at the question. "Probably not. Not definitely ruled out, but I wouldn't wager my money on it, if bets were being taken."

Patrick is not often surprised, but Alexander's answer does the job. Up go his brows, and he looks in the direction that the accused disappeared with squinting (real, not glass) eyes. "I'm disappointed. If she had killed her husband and was off spending his money - well, that's an interesting story. If he died of his own accord? That's just sad." He sniffs away that disappointment he mentioned, bummer. "At least she seems to have gotten over it. Good for her."

"Considering how many interesting murders there tend to be in Gray Harbor, the more novel narrative is not being guilty of it," Alexander suggests, quietly. "But, yes. It is sad." He stares at Patrick for a long moment before asking, abruptly, "How is Thomas faring?"

There's a 'fair point' suggested in the way Patrick extends his upturned palm toward Alexander, reiterated by the brief duck of his head. And then he's being stared at, and he waits it out - though, honestly, by the end? He starts winding his index finger through the air, speed-it-up, then ah-hahs at the question. "Segues are difficult, I understand," he allows pleasantly, then quickly replaces his polite smile with one tinged by sadness. "He's not well. Gone. Lost. Whatever you want to call it. He's checked out." Temple-tap. "Just sad." Like the death of Clarissa's husband, see how he brought it back around?

"I'm...sorry to hear that," Alexander says, after another of those uncomfortably long staring sessions, swirly finger be DAMNED. The sentiment, however carefully given, does seem to be sincere, though. He ducks his head and stares at the scuffed toes of his boots for a bit. "And yes. It's very sad." His head comes up, and he goes back to staring at the window of the eclectic little shop he's standing in front of - it has a variety of little gift things, mostly overpriced. "What do people want to receive as gifts, if they have a lot of money? Assuming that you do not have a lot of money." A pause. "I realize that might strain your imaginative capacity."

"What answer were you expecting?" No, for reals. That's a legitimate question, not just a patented 'Patrick Addington Being An Asshole and Asking Questions to Which He Already Knows the Answers [tm]' kinda question. He cocks his head briefly to receive the response and everything. It also means he doesn't rush to provide his gift-giving expertise, since he's sorta waiting on the reply here.

And, for what it's worth, Alexander actually takes the time to think about it, before eventually saying, "That one, I suppose. I try not to expect anything good to happen. It makes the occasions where I'm wrong more of a pleasant surprised." He gives a doll in the window a frown it doesn't deserve, creepy eyes aside. "It wasn't what I wanted to happen. I'm sorry."

That doll does not appreciate the scowl, Mister Clayton, and bears its fake porcelain teeth at Alexander in response. For just, like, the barest of seconds - just a brief, feral leer, then it's right back to being perfectly normal. Either Patrick didn't see it or is very good at pretending he didn't, since he presses on like that never happened at all. "That's reassuring." That it isn't what Alexander wanted to happen. "Though. I have to be honest. I'm still not sure what you all expected to happen." He takes a quick breath, smiles through it, and concludes, "But I wasn't here, so." He shrugs expansively.

Alexander bares his teeth right back at the doll. Fuck you, homunculus. Of course, a parent passing with her child sees that and not the provocation of the doll, and quickly walks far far around Alexander, pulling the kid close. He sighs, runs his hand through his hair. "We did ask for help in resolving the issue. Or understanding it. Stick people in a dark room with a big stick, and it's hard to complain when their flailing breaks something important. Could have just turned on the damned light."

There's another moment before he adds, "Sorry you got called back. Elsewhere is better to be."

"Asked for help from...? Margaret the Inscrutable?" Patrick delights himself with that nickname, obviously, though he does say it a little quieter, his eyes unconsciously following the mom-person like she specifically is about to go rat him out to Aunt Marge. The follow-up apology earns a more honest smile, with an exhale through his nose that would have been a laugh if he'd put just a bit more oomph behind it. "Indeed. But at least I know my way around, and all my dear old friends are still here, to welcome me home. Speaking of which. Why is your friend Isabella going on spelunking expeditions on the other side with Anne Washburn? Is she suicidal?"

"Inscrutable? On the contrary, I think the pointed contempt and withering disdain comes through quite clearly," Alexander mutters, although not without a twinge of his own black humor. He turns back to Patrick at the last questions, one eyebrow rising. "No. Not that I've noticed. Friends of hers have asked her to help them with an errand on the other side. I'm not sure why Miss Washburn is involved, except that they seem to have hit it off, and she's curious? Why do you care?"

Blithely, Patrick comments, "I can see why you and Erin get along so well." Cuz Alexander Clayton and Erin Addington make perfect BFFs. He shows Alexander his teeth - not the way the scary doll did. It's more like a smile. But it's equally fake.

"That is the question, isn't it." Why does he care? Oh well. He neglects to answer it, unless his next comments speak to the reason for his caring: "That place is dangerous. You know as well as I do, Clayton. Whatever it is they're after, they ought to just leave it there. Otherwise, it's just going to end in tears."

"I don't know what you mean." It's not a clever rejoinder. Alexander seems earnestly confused by the comparison. He narrows his eyes at the fake smile, countering it with a very real frown. "And yes. It's very dangerous. And I wish they wouldn't. But they will, and they're adults, so the best I can do is try to support them and keep them alive, rather than fight with them about it, and have them do it without telling me. And I don't think leaving it there is an option. In this case. Something about getting added to a collection if they don't get it. Not a great outcome."

"That's all right. I know what I mean." And that's all that matters, so says the pat-on-the-head tone from Patrick.

He's already into shaking his head at all the things Alexander says next. No. No no no, and no. Also, "That's very mature of you. Though, I hope you're mistaken. If not fighting with someone when they're very clearly self-destructive is the best you can do? That's a sad state of affairs. But I suppose I take your point." He doesn't. That last was a lie.

"And your suggestion is...what? Lock them in a basement? Good luck with that one." Then Alexander makes a huff of dark amusement. "I don't know Miss Washburn very well, but Isabella will set more than your pants on fire if you try to stop her from doing what she plans to do." His lips press together. "Most of my -- the people I like are doing stupid things. My resources for addressing that are limited. Mostly to disapproving looks and requests to try not to get themselves killed. If you want to help, fine. I would not complain about having another actual adult around. If you just want to stand there and be smug while doing nothing at all? Then fuck you." It's said without particular heat.

Not that Patrick saw that coming, but he maybe did - or, equally likely, was already contemplating the basement method himself, 'cause he very quickly comes back with, "That depends on the basement." Let's assume he's not seriously talking about imprisoning people and that his cheeky smile afterward is what's meant to explain that he means this in jest, ahem. There's a moment after that passionless fuck-you when Patrick should just wheel around on his heel and walk off, but he decides to take a breath instead, looking into the middle distance for inspiration. "I don't mean to suggest that this is your responsibility. Only that - " Hrm.

"They went cave-diving on the other side, Clayton. How did they not think that was a stupid fucking idea? Did no one tell them? I legitimately don't understand." And it's aggravating him enough to vent to Alexander, so that's a pretty big amount of aggravation.

"I'm pretty sure Isabella would break up with me if I tried to keep her in a basement. Especially on Elm. The sewers back up every time it rains." And it rains a lot in Gray Harbor. "You can no doubt afford a higher class of basement." It's hard to tell if Alexander is joking or not; he actually looks contemplative. Then he grimaces. "Sorry. Shouldn't have said that. The 'fuck you'. Not your problem."

There's a helpless shrug, with its own air of frustration. "Of course they knew it was dangerous and ill-advised. They're not idiots. But," he takes a breath, lets it out slowly. "They felt it needed to be done anyway. Look. Isabella and Miss Washburn do know the dangers Over There, but you can't expect either of them to not...be them. And if you try, then all you're going to end up doing is making them defend their choices and double down on them. And that ends in arguments and fire. Between you and Miss Washburn, I mean. Because I doubt you care that much about Isabella unless she's actively setting you on fire."

Important distinction: "I'm pretty sure she could try to break up with you." And then Patrick's waving away the fucking apology, because really: "I'm used to it." Which would be sad if it weren't for the fact that he brings it on himself. Anyway, he listens - actively, honestly listens - to all Alexander's very good points about the women in question and their dumb ideas which are super dumb and they're dumb for having them, which ultimately just leaves him shaking his head. "I suppose that about sums up Gray Harbor, doesn't it. People who know better, still plowing on ahead with their dumb ideas," which are super dumb and they're dumb for having them. (Look, it bears repeating.)

"I do think it's worth reminding them that their ideas are dumb," and they're dumb for having them. "At every available opportunity. Instead of - how did you put it? Supporting them? That sounds too close to 'enabling them.'"

Alexander's eyes narrow at the first remark. Oh, hey, second 'fuck you' on the horizon and fast approaching, this one with some heat behind it. "Seriously? Fuck you, Patrick. I don't fucking do what you're implying, and you're a complete asshole for implying it." He doesn't yell, but every word is sharp. "As for the rest? How's your option working out for you? If it was well, you probably wouldn't be deigning to bitch at me about it." With that, he turns and stalks away, head down, hands balled into fists as he reminds himself of all the many reasons why punching an Addington is one of those dumb ideas he should not indulge in.

The Addington in question sighs - but doesn't exactly look surprised. Anyway, he probably has other people to be a prick to before the day is done. Better get cracking on that!