2019-12-05 - Bereavement

August has been relaying the news about James to relevant parties, which of course included Eleanor, and it's her house he's at right now, exhausted and hurting. He went straight to the hospital without taking a Xanax, which proved to be just as bad of an idea as he'd thought it would be, and then Maria had dropped the bomb about being pregnant. In an unfortunate turn, it was almost a good thing she'd been too distraught to talk much, because he needed to get out of the hospital so badly he'd cut his hand holding it in a fist.

So here he was, at Eleanor's post bath, with a mug of tea. She was still working at the cafe, would be for another couple of hours. August wasn't sure what he wanted to hear from Alexander: that it had been an ordinary accident, involving a deer or someone's lost dog, and at James had proven to have some previously unknown medical condition; or, that is had been more of Gray Harbor's ugly, underlying nature.

He sighs, sips from his tea, and waits. He's wearing a dark purple, UW hoodies, a black, mineral wash t-shirt, dark gray commuter pants, and hard-soled slippers. Comfort clothes.

Alexander has texted ahead, to confirm where August will be. And now he's there, knocking on the door. He also looks tired - his investigation had started that night, and very little sleep was had. But it's not as personal for him as it is for August, and so he puts his best neutral expression on (it's not very good) and waits for the door to be opened. His sweater is ugly, his jacket doesn't fit. Same as usual. But when August opens the door, he offers a brief, sad smile. "Hey. How you doing? Hope I'm not interrupting."

August eases away from the counter, opens the door and returns that sad smile. His eyes are a bit red, and he looks tired. He didn't sleep well, thanks to that trip to the hospital. "Just me moping," he admits, and nods for Alexander to come in. "Thanks for coming by, you look like you could use some sleep. Coffee? Tea? Water?" He heads for the kitchen, anticipating a response to that request, but maybe he also just feels more comfortable standing in there than sitting on the couch.

"Grieving isn't moping," Alexander points out, slouching his way inside. He's never been here, so he looks around with frank interest, like he's casing the place, or cataloguing every possible way someone could be murdered inside. "Some water would be nice. Thank you." He follows August towards the kitchen, scratching at his beard. "How are you holding up, August? I mean. Really." He could just reach out and tell, but it feels rude, so he just stares at August with a low and soulful gaze, instead.

"Yeah, I guess it's not." August is reluctant to allow Alexander this point, but he does. It's been a while since he's had to grieve someone he knew reasonably well, and he'd forgotten the sorts of reminders it came with. Older grief liked to pile in, remind him it was out there too.

He pulls down a glass, fills it from the filtered pitcher in the fridge and slides it over. It takes him a second to answer. "Not that great," he admits, and rubs at his eyes. "James was a...a good guy, and Maria's pregnant, and they loved each other and now...it's just gone. Just like that." He runs a hand through his hair, clears his throat. "Kind of went through a lot of that in college. With HIV. So. It's rough. I might talk to that doctor about a Xanax scrip, might need one again." He arches an eyebrow. "You?"

"Pregnant?" Alexander's eyes widen, then close for a moment. "Son of a bitch. God, August. That's terrible." He grimaces, and reaches for the water, downing a few swallows. A shrug at the question. "I'm okay. Just up late. I went out to the impound yard to look at the car." And by look he means 'read', but that clearly can go unsaid. He studies the glass rather than anything else. "And this morning I met with the new ME, gave him a head's up on what's going on." He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. "It was Peregrine."

August swallows when Alexander says he went to the ME. There's a faint rattling sound, dishes and glasses trembling in the cabinets. He already knows the answer is 'it was foul play', but what he doesn't actually expect is for it to be that guy. The one from the wedding who sent a bunch of groomsmen after Eleanor, who put Isabella in that contraption. Who's now left Maria a single mother and their child without a father.

A jangling >>crunch<< sounds from the two cabinets closest to August, and he takes a step back from the counter top, breathing hard. The 18 year old who'd shipped off to Bosnia would have already fired off a text to Itzhak. He can't do that kind of thing, but God, how he wants to.

He closes his eyes. "What are we doing about this guy? Because Alexander, if he lays ones finger on Eleanor, there will not be enough of him left to fill a bucket."

Alexander winces as the dishware trembles in the cabinets. But instead of flinching back or flipping out, he moves closer even as things go crunch, and reaches out, to try and put a hand on the other man's shoulder, and squeeze it, gently. "We're going to find him. And we're going to kill him. I was thinking that I might create a geographical search pattern to try and find sightings of him - finding out where he's staying if we can triangulate from where he's most often seen. He seems to favor distinctive dress; it might get us a lead, at least."

August opens his eyes, more than a little surprised when Alexander actually reaches out to touch him. It forces his mind out of the vortex it was rapidly whirling into. He takes a few deep breathes, shudders. He murmurs a thank you, has a drink of tea. His hand's shaking a little. He needs to mend all the dishes.

It's not...good, that they're going to kill Peregrine. And August knows, instinctively, it won't even be satisfying. But if it keeps everyone else safe, it'll be a start. Maybe even enough. "Okay. Whatever help you need with that from me, you have it." He looks to one side, thinking. "I know people with the mind power can find the owner of something. But that's an ability he has, probably to a decent degree, so I'm sure he's been careful about that. But people with the matter power can find something missing. Has he taken anything? From the car, from the..." The body, he can't quite bring himself to say. James' body.

"I don't know. That's one of the things I've asked the ME to look for - if it was tampered with," Alexander says, forthrightly. He squeezes again, gently, before retreating from the touch. "And we'll need a few days to do a decent search; I'll have to draw up a plan. It's complicated by the fact that I'm sure he has the moving gift in enough strength to go Over There, so actually pinning him down could be," he breathes out, "difficult. Especially if he's a servant of the Shadows. He might have a Dream of his own as a base, or something like that. But we will find him, and we will stop him."

August nods, watching Alexander withdraw his hand, looks down at the counter. Now he's sure, he didn't want it to be this. He wanted it to be random happenstance, bad luck, just life in all its capricious glory. Not calculated pain and suffering. Life's unpredictability he could accept. It hurt but he didn't feel a need to rail against it. Intentional ugliness was another beast; the only way to deal with it was to rip it out at the root, and that could hurt those undertaking the task as much as it helped anyone else.

No, he hadn't wanted to need to kill someone. But he was damned well going to.

"A construct as his base," August echoes, looking thoughtful. "I guess it stands to reason they might do that. Create stabilized ones for...continual use." He's thinking of the book, and the mote of darkness surrounded by light. Could that have been one such Dream?

He grimaces, drinks his tea. "Which means if we do come after him, he might be able to just yank us into it. I wonder if that's not the point--piss us off, get us chasing him, lure us into a Dream where we're all his."

"Might be. I'm not going to rule it out. That's what the actors did," Alexander says, starting to prowl in the empty spaces around August, like he might somehow be able to keep the older man safe by his restless patrol. "They attacked us individually, first, scared and threatened. Then drew us to their play performance, and yanked us all into a Dream set up how they liked it." His eyes go flat. "In the end, it didn't help them." Then he looks away. "But. August. You don't have to. I mean, I know that it's hard for you, to hurt people. And he'll do what he can to use it against you, I think. So if you don't want to, that's okay."

"Actors," August echoes; he's vaguely familiar with that, but only in passing. He nods, though, folds his arms and leans against the counter.

"Oh, I want to," he says, bitter and unhappy. "At least this time. But..." He looks out over Eleanor's home, his second sanctuary in the town proper. He's quiet a time. Then, "I know he'll use it against me. Joke's on him, though--They've given me a few lessons in that already. And I know what it takes, to get me to do that kind of thing." A lot, is what it takes. A whole lot.

He shakes his head. "No, I'm not sitting this out. If nothing else, so I can keep the rest of you in one piece. If someone else has to take it on themselves to deal with him," because August is simultaneously the best and worst person to do that, "least I can do is keep you all alive."

Alexander studies August for a long moment, then nods, slowly. "All right. If that's what you want to do." He presses his lips together. "I'm sorry, August. I met Peregrine after the thing with Isabella, and I didn't kill him. I should have. If I had, then your friend would still be alive." He stops pacing to lean against a counter and take a drink of his water before setting it aside, and letting his fingers wander across the texture of his jacket. "I won't make that mistake again."

August shakes his head. "No, it's alright, you..." He stops, shrugs. "Well. I can't judge you for that. I wouldn't have been able to. Might've been able to break some bones and call de la Vega, I guess. I don't think I could have killed him. So don't apologize for that--besides, you saw how he soaked up your lightning. Either he got that using Isabella, or he's like you, which means lightning's not going to work much on him." He frowns. "Do you carry a handgun? I was thinking of getting one, after that craziness with those Middle Management guys."

Alexander shakes his head. "I don't like guns. I don't know how to use them, and I don't like how they complicate combat situations. People think they're badasses when they have guns, and don't back down when they should. They're harder to manipulate in the way you need to for getting them to disarm, and once a bullet leaves a gun, it can't be controlled." A pause, and a rusty laugh. "At least, not by me." He reaches under his jacket, at the small of his back. "Luckily, it's gotten colder." He pulls a knife that clearly wasn't meant for cutting steak from the sheath he hides under the baggy sweater and jacket. "I prefer this."

August blinks, looking a little surprised. "I mean, I could control a bullet--well, I could try. I'm not like Itzhak, not nearly that strong with matter." He laughs, shakes his head. "Can barely get water out of my clothes, can't imagine trying to alter a bullet's trajectory. Maybe it's worth learning how to do, though."

He tilts his head, considering the knife. He should have thought of that, chides himself for not doing so. He hunts, after all, he's quite familiar with knives. But... "I dont know that I could ever get, nimble enough, for a knife." His mouth flattens. "Kind of a shame, I have plenty for all kinds of things. Guns, though, I'm already pretty handy with one."

He glances up at the cabinet in front of him, sighs. "Sorry baby," he murmurs under his breath, and sets a hand on the cabinet door. He tries to never use the Art in Eleanor's house, but he's not letting her come home to a few dozen shattered plates. His eyes slide shut, and a raucous clinking begins with a jolt, then slowly falls silent, the reverse of the sound of the plates breaking. August opens the door, peers inside, nods and shuts it.

Alexander shrugs. "These days, I mostly use the lightning. Probably more than I should, but some of the things in Dreams don't go down as well to conventional weapons." He puts the knife away, and sighs. "And everyone needs to use what's best for them, if you have to use anything at all. I'd rather none of you did." Another thing to be angry at the Dark Men about, and he grimaces to himself as August puts the dishes back together. He doesn't make any noises about not overusing it - no one wants their lover to come home to a mess, after all. "Other than...all of this, August, how have you been? Any more tree problems, or anything like that?"

"Honestly, I think I'd prefer the lightning--the fire doesn't go out after I've lit it or tossed it." One corner of August's mouth turns in a rueful half-smile. "I'd rather we didn't have to either. But that's not the world we live in, at the end of the day."

He picks up his tea again, breathes in the smell of it. It's reassuring, in a way. As sore as his heart is, from so many things, maybe they can at least obtain some measure of justice for Maria and James. "No, haven't heard from them in a couple of days. I'm wondering if there's a seasonal aspect--the rush of people out getting their trees might've stirred them up, but now they'll lie low. I'll give those...arms, Erin brought me a read in a couple of days here." After the funeral. That's going to be rough, he needs his mind clear to do a reading.

"How about you?" He sips from his tea, raises his eyebrows. "This all aside, I mean."

"Some of the weirdness does seem to be following the seasons, this year." Alexander frowns. "Or maybe it does that every year, and I just never noticed because I didn't get pulled into things with other people until this year. My own...Dreams," Alexander shrugs, not really liking the term when applied to his own bits of horror, "are focused in other directions, usually." The question makes him frown. "I'm okay. All of my fr--of the people I like are hurting and I don't know how to help them. At least two, and possibly four or more humans on the wrong side are out there, and I don't know where or what they're doing. But other than all of that? I'm okay." A wan sort of smile. "Thanks for asking."

August catches the hitch at 'Dreams', snorts an agreement. "A couple of mine have been real winners." He responds to the rest with a smile that's a mix of sympathy and apology. "Well I'm happy to help with any of that if I can." The smile grows a bit more sincere at the thanks, fades as August starts thinking. A problem with him: he's always thinking.

"Something we have to keep in mind about our raptor-friend." He drums his fingers on the counter. "He's like you, and me--he has the mind power. And he's seen our faces. Which means, he can barge on in any old time he wants, from anywhere, if he's at least as strong as me, and it stands to reason he is." He licks his lips. "Not that it'll be easy for him to do, but he can still try it. So we all need to keep an eye out."

He stills, eyes focused on a distant point. "What if...the wedding was just to flush us all out." He looks at Alexander. "James and Maria had the Art. Not like you or me, really faint. Barely at all, I never felt either of them use it. But it was there. And what if he just used them knowing the rest of us would come out of the woodwork?"

Alexander makes a thoughtful noise. "Maybe. But I don't know. He didn't actually seem prepared for us, at the wedding. It wasn't as if it was...for us. Although he did enjoy the show, and I think he likes having an audience. One that participates." His voice is bitter. "He's dramatic. Which may be one of our only advantages. He likes to talk, he likes to interact." He stalks back around the kitchen. "But I don't think he knew about us in any specific detail before we showed up. Isabella was interesting to him. I think the wedding is about...hope and its destruction. Twisting joy into pain. I think, if anything, he's going to go after events where he can ruin people's joy. I don't think he's specifically picking fights with us - although I feel like a part of him will be...happy, if we kill him."

August watches Alexander while he talks, like he's at a lecture whose contents will for sure be on the final exam. He looks down into his mug, which is about empty. "Sure sounds like he works for Them," he says after a moment. "And, maybe he just can't help it. Some folks really have to drive that car off the cliff to find out what's going to happen when it lands on the bottom." He sounds wry amused as he says this. Is he thinking of people they know? ...yes, he definitely is.

After a second, he murmurs, "That won't make it any easier, I imagine," around the last drink of his tea. "But so be it. We can't let him run around killing people."

"No," Alexander says, grim and sad. "We really can't. I just wish--" he breaks off, frustration twisting his face for a moment. "But. If wishes were fishes, we'd walk on the sea. Right?" A shake of his head. "I'll keep you informed of what the ME says, August. I'm sorry, about Carmichael. If there's anything else I can do to help his family, let me know. I...need to go catch a murderous Elf on the Shelf, now, so I should go. But," a faint smile, "take care of yourself, okay? And don't die. And don't try to take Peregrine alone, even if you run into him."

August shakes his head. "It's okay," he says, of that unvoiced wish. "Please don't blame yourself. You can't be expected to know everything."

He nods, arches an amused eyebrow about the elf. "Okay. Be careful, yeah? If our last elves were any indication..." He bobs his eyebrows, moves to see Alexander to the door, sighs. "I won't take him on solo. As much as I'd like to, I can't be sure I'd be able to kill him." Not that he lacks the skill or strength, but the will, well, that's another thing. He clears his throat. "I'm wondering how the funeral will go, so maybe keep an eye on your texts, okay? Just in case."

"I will. Just be careful - if he's looking to hurt people," Alexander hesitates. "You have a lot of people who care about you. Don't let him bait you into anything." And, with that, and another of those faint smiles, he slinks through the open door, and out into the cold air, hunching down in his jacket against the sudden chill. "Don't die, August." And then he's gone.