2019-12-09 - About a Bake Sale

Sutton is right behind Carver. "Tell me you have your cigarettes." She doesn't carry any, as she's been off them again since right around late July/early August. She stands a few yards down from the door to the gym, far enough away to have a quiet smoke in the cold (assuming someone out here who has some — Carver). The blonde is wearing a thick knit sweater, the gray dark enough to approach black (https://i.pinimg.com/564x/90/5f/93/905f93269888883268a08544edf5552a.jpg), white snowflake on the front bright. She ruffles her hand through her shoulder-length blonde hair, flipping it to a side-part. It's warm enough out here to stand around smoking without needing gloves and a heavy coat, thankfully.

Leading the way out, Carver's head drops from the short glance he threw up somewhere behind him at a voice that definitely was not Sutton's, patting down his jacket, realising that no, there are no smokes there, but soon finding the wayward packet somewhere within his absolutely monstrous waistcoat, pulling off to one side of the doorway lest anyone fumble into the back of the two of them.

"I'm like a boyscout." He beams, offering the pack over, as well as his dented and tarnished lighter. "Apart from the 'dying in the forest if left alone for an hour' thing." Is that distraction and diversion? That sounds like distraction and diversion.

Jacob pushes out the door shortly after the other two do. He's in his doctor's lab jacket, collared shirt, tie, dark trousers, decent shoes. Except the jacket's lightly splattered with jello, mostly on his back. He grumbles to himself slightly, brushing the back of his head, where the gelatin had initially made contact with him.

The doctor turns around, looking for Sutton, having left the gym at least partially because he'd spotted her, intending to ask her a couple questions about something that she'd texted him about. And then he spots her and Carver, taking a step towards their direction. "Did either of you get hit with that stuff?" He's not overly specific, considering what just went down in there, but in his mind, he's asking about the jello.

Sutton pushes the sleeves of her sweater up to her elbows, not that they stay there, really. The slouchy material slides back down as soon s she drops her hands. "How many times would you say you've died after being left alone in the woods for an hour?" The blonde runs her fingers through her hair again, then reaches out to take the pack, tapping out a cigarette. She tucks it between her red-stained lips, then flicks the lighter open and spins the wheel. The flint sparks twice before it catches, and then she's handing them back, gaze flicking to Jacob as the physician makes his way out of the gym not far from them. "Thanks, love," she murmurs to Carver.

"Nope, fled just in time, I think." She says, after taking a couple of drags deep enough to really catch the paper. Smoking. Not a great look on a paramedic working for the GHPD, but what are you gonna do? She turns her head to blow smoke upward and away from the men. "I drank a bunch of it, though. Mm. Alistair, Dr. Jacob ...something. It's a W isn't it?" From the shots in the back, obviously. Not the ring. "How are you on this fine autumn evening, Doc?" This is what happens when you save people into your phone by nicknames only.

"Twice." Carver mutters under his breath, taking back the cigarettes with a little click of his tongue and a half-hearted wink to light up one of his own before doing the smart thing and offering out the pack to the man joining them. The man that clearly, clearly looks like a Doctor.

Fuck it, it takes all types.

"I don't think I'd know if I was with this waistcoat to be completely bloody honest with you, mate." It's true. If there's red or green jello on the damn thing, nobody is ever going to spot it. Because that's all the man could mean. Jello. "Nice to meet you, Dr. Jacob Something." At least he offers out a hand after the pack and the introduction, easy smile written all over his face. "Alistair Carver."

Jacob doesn't seem overly bothered by the smoking, even in the circumstances of who in particular is smoking. He's not a nag. And surely she knows better. What's the point in haranguing someone about something they already know they should or shouldn't be doing?

He declines the offer of the pack, but takes Carver's hand, giving it a firm squeeze and a subsequent shake before letting go, a polite smile on his face in return for the one given. "Nice to meet you." And then back to Sutton. "Winters. Or Jacob. Either or. And I think I ran into the 'yelly one' at Addington Memorial that you mentioned.. or at least overheard him." He shrugs.

"I was doing good up until I got hit with jello. I put a few bids down but some jackass kept outbidding me on the nice artificial tree. We'll see if I end up getting that to put in the office."

The blonde mhms lightly at twice from Carver. Even if it's a mutter, she's standing right next to him and clearly heard it, just as she was meant to. She brushes the tip of her thumb just under her lower lip, as if to check for lipstick smearing. She takes another short drag on the cigarette, tip glowing orange just briefly. She smirks a little bit when he brings up the 'yelly one'. Her lips press together briefly at the mention of the vociferous Dr. Nathan Bowman. To her credit, Sutton neither glances down at Carver's waistcoat nor does she comment on how correct he is about the patterning.

"You got outbid on a fake tree." That's very nearly deadpan, very nearly. Not quite. Is she judging? Maybe a little, at least until she realizes he says he was bidding for the office. She smiles then. "What else did you bid on? There was an interesting spread of stuff. I'm hoping to send the pizza strip tease to a friend."

"There was a tree?" Bask ye all in the awe-inspiring nature of Carver's awareness. Or his ability to lie. Sometimes it's hard to tell between the two, especially when he's covering part of his face with a post-shake hand to adjust how the cigarette sits at the corner of his mouth, hanging dangerously loose from his bottom lip between drags. "I just saw the carriage ride, knew Thorne must have bid on it, and figured I'd either piss him off by gifting it, or be stomped into the floor by the bourgeoisie, as is my place."

He takes a little pause after that, and a moment to think for himself. "Shit. I'm gonna feel like a right prick if I outbid someone who actually wanted it."

Jacob makes a slight noncommittal gesture of ambivalence. "I mean, my heart's not exactly set on that particlar tree. It looked pretty nice in the box, anyways. But it's for the kids, you know? I put in for a copy of Guacamelee 2 collector's edition, don't think anyone else did.." He rattles off the name of the video game in the manner of someone well acquainted with them might, but not bothering to explain what a Guacamelee is. "..and the mortician, I believe, sort of hassled me into bidding on the makeover that she was offering. I don't think I need it, even if she doesn't like my beard." He squints back towards the door, as if his gaze would somehow land upon Beth, presumably still inside the gym. "Can be a Christmas gift for someone, I suppose. Charity and all."

The doctor turns back towards Sutton. "Think I missed the strip tease, but that's not exactly my sort of thing. Speaking of charity, though. This is where you said the bake sale is going to be, yes? Seems like a bit of an odd choice of venue. I was thinking about making up a few trays of brownies." Mention of Byron makes him pause for a moment. "Guy who owns the Bayside? Suit looks like it's permanently attached? That'd make sense if he was to bid on it. He can probably buy his own carriage, I imagine."

There's a sweep of her hazel-eyed gaze over Carver's face when she turns to ash the cigarette onto an unobtrusive portion of sidewalk, her nails painted a cheerful fuchsia from a night out with the girls. Sutton's mouth twitches at the mention of Byron, but she says nothing about it. She's thinking something for sure. She presses her lips together briefly, tucks the cigarette into her mouth.

"You're... you bid on a makeover from a mortician." Sutton saw that on the list of items, but. "I hope she uses fresh products." Is the paramedic creeped out by bodies? She shouldn't be, since she's transported quite a few of them. Maybe she's just ribbing the poor doctor into thinking about corpse cooties. "Your beard's lovely. She should only get a vote if it's going to be between her..." She takes a drag of the cigarette. Exhales with the word, "hands." A smile follows that, soft and she mms. "Yeah, bake sale's here. The Kelly's are big on community and sweets!" Sure. Sweets. Her lips twitch again. "You should. Some people don't like sweet frost, some do."

"Considering what Byron charges in rent times three buildings? He can absolutely afford it, even with all the added security since the murders."

Ah. The Bake sale. Yes. That would have Carver very, very carefully closing his ears. Rolling his eyes, sure, but also closing his ears. And it's not that he steps away from the conversation, per say. It's more that he gives the two a modicum of space once he's let loose a little "That'd be the guy." and a click of the tongue towards Jacob.

This is not a topic for him. The bake sale thing. Anything he hears? That makes him complicit, and he's already complicit in so much you guys.

Jacob shrugs his slightly muscled shoulders beneath his lab coat. "It wasn't about the makeover, at that point. Felt like an insult.. guess I was baited? Hmm. Shit. Oh well. Not like she's getting the money anyways. I try to make it a habit to avoid giving the morticians more business." He used that line inside as well, but it's a good enough line to repeat. Unless you give them more business.

The compliment on his beard makes him blush slightly, raising his hand to stroke through it. "Ah, thanks. I'm pretty fond of it. My.." His eyes flutter for just a moment as he searches for the right word, and then opts to change the subject instead so as to not derail the conversation towards that particular subject.

"It's not exactly going to be the sort of affair with kids around, is it? Bake sales usually are, but this place doesn't quite seem so kid friendly. I.. was kind of intending upon doing up a batch of special brownies as well. Would I get yelled at if I kept it discrete?"

The subject of murders gives the doctor pause. "Really. Maybe I should have asked around town before I signed the lease. I didn't exactly ask, given the look of the place and the rent." His hand moves from his beard to run through the hair on the side of his head. "It'd be just my kind of luck to end up renting a place that someone got chopped to bits in. Not that I haven't seen a body before, just.. you know?"

Sutton mhms. "That's pretty much the entire function of my job." Well, holding them together and keeping them alive until she can dump people in the ER doc's hands so it's his or her problem. She sees a lot of the Addington Memorial ER staff. She's watching Jacob when he starts and abandons that sentence. She glances away and takes a drag of her smoke, sucking it down, bit by little bit, gloriously depositing all that nicotine into her bloodstream.

"Mm-mm. Nope. Adults only. As you can probably understand, from the locale and clientele there's a lot of adult language." And apparently pastries. At this Bake Sale. You know. At a fighting gym. Unfortunately for Jacob, the food-themed event of the evening probably lends even more credence to the idea that it's actually a baking Bake Sale, and with Carver excusing himself from complicity, the doc has no one to disabuse him of this notion. "Oh, absolutely not. Special brownies all the way. Seriously, those would be so popular. Especially at this place." She jerks a thumb over her shoulder at the building.

"I think you're good. They're supposed to disclose that stuff, right?"

"That would be amazing." Carver's voice only pips up at the mention of brownies. Which, you know, wouldn't be all that weird what with the whole fact that there are people having a conversation here. Except... then there's the slide over to talk about renting places and bodies and corpses and chopping to bits.

Which he doesn't respond to at all. Like a sudden pit of silence.

It's probably because he's too busy smoking. Yeah. That'd be it. Absolutely. Hell, he's already dragged his down past the lackluster effort Sutton's putting in. "Depends on the owners or realty, I guess. I don't think there's legal precedent in Washington."

Nope, okay, shoulda kept silent.

Jacob tilts his head in a concilliatory manner towards Sutton. "A few live ones once in a while, I hope."

"Okay, so bake sale with no kids. Seems like it's doable, then. Two batches of brownies it is. I'll make sure that they're in a separate container, don't want to repeat that mistake from pre-med. Ugh." He shakes his head slightly. "Yeah, as long as they're all properly labelled and everything, it should be fine though. And I can ask for a bunch more for those, so hopefully that'll raise some decent money."

"Disclose it.. probably? I was really distracted when signing the paperwork with opening the clinic. All I really remember is, 504, the street address, and that's about it. And the rent. Hard to forget that part." He shrugs once again towards Carver, and says, "No idea, myself." And then he does in his best McCoy from Star Trek: TOS voice: "Damn it, Jim, I'm a doctor, not a lawyer." And then he clears his throat. "Sorry. Force of habit."

Sutton glances over her shoulder at Carver, just as she finishes up with her cigarette. She reaches over to smash it out against the brick wall beside her, then tucks the butt into her pocket to dispose of it elsewhere. "A few lives, yeah." She's quiet for a beat until the mistake from pre-med filters through her ears. She laughs. "I bet." That might be a story she asks for some other time. "You're a full on nerd. I should have guessed from the ... guacamole." She has no idea what he said earlier, but she is into food, so that definitely stuck.

She brushes her hands against her sweater in case she spilled any ash, then leans over to brush a fleck of jello off of Jacob's shoulder. It's been bothering her. "I'll see you then, doc?" She thumbs over her shoulder. "I have to get this one home and undress him before that waistcoat burns through my retinas." As if Carver can't remove his own festive clothing. She really feels it needs to be done ASAP. "Merry Christmas, love. Do be safe. This is the shit side of town." She steps back, and turns to Carver, "You about ready, pet? Hope was eyeballing the box I dropped earlier, and I'd like to unpack my photos before she has a wee on the lid." She's sweet sometimes, the cat, a vengeful little shit others. Hopefully Sutton's talking about a cat and not someone's incontinent child.

"Text you later, doc. Maybe coffee at the shop. I've been thinking about... we'll talk later?" She averts that subject with a simple shake of her head.

Carver refuses to finish his cigarette. Seriously, it's been hovering around 'Okay that must be about finished' for as long as he can remember. Which isn't actually that long, he was mostly distracted by scuffing his shoes until he realized that that meant looking down at his damn waistcoat. That means his response to Jacob's little Star Trek reference is an ill-timed "Oh God why."

"Uh, not at you, Doc. Apparently I'm leaving no-" He blinks at Sutton. Glances at the Doc. Blinks at Sutton. "Wait, you've moved another box in already?"

Jacob nods back at Sutton, several times. "Little bit. I don't think anyone gets their ehm-dee without being something of a nerd."

He glances at Sutton as she leans close, then follows her hand as she flicks the jello off of him. "Yeah, I'll be there. I've got to get out of this costume myself." Not really much of a costume, but he had come over straight after seeing a patient at the clinic. He shrugs out of the jacket, causing a few smaller bits of gelatin from his back to fall to the ground without him seeming to notice.

Jacob looks back towards Carver and considers the waistcoat. "Eh, it's not that bad. It's Christmas, y'know? We all stand out in our own different ways. Some people use a technicolor dreamcoat." One more shrug for the road as he turns towards his car, the jet black Maserati in the parking lot which probably stands out considering the neighborhood. Calling back to Sutton, he says, "Sure. I'm around. Usually. See you at the thing, either way." And then climbs in, jamming a button as the engine roars to life. The line about Hope makes him assume that she was talking about a cat. Sounded like it was a cat. Kind of a weird name for a cat? Maybe I should get a cat. And then he pulls out of the lot, gunning the engine towards home.

"Don't fret, Alistair," Sutton says quite dryly. "There are still roughly twenty boxes you can help carry down Bayside." As if that's why he's said something about her boxes moving in. She eyes the Brit briefly. "I took the photos out of the bedroom corridor." Which probably means she'll shortly be pounding holes in Carver's house's walls. When, if ever, Bennie's hangover abates.

The paramedic glances over at the car Jacob's approaching with raised eyebrows. "That's a hot car." She's already trying to figure out how to get a ride in it. Whatever you do, do not let her drive it. Dooon't. She doesn't have many points left on her license. Sutton watches the car pull smoothly onto the road, gears shift, and off it goes!

"Hm." She turns back to Carver. "Would you like me to finish that off for you?"

"I found this in a drawer." Carver's lips thin out as he makes a distinctly saddened face at the good Doctor. "I didn't bring it with me when I moved in. It was just... there. Either someone" A glance aside at Sutton "Put it there when I wasn't looking, or the elves are getting rambunctious."

Which with this town as it is? It's honestly a pretty fair conclusion. "Pleasure meeting you, Doc! You have a-" He speaks a little slow. A little late. It's as Jacob's turning to get in to the car. "Fucking nice car holy shit." His arm loops around Sutton's, hooking and trying his best to pull her gaze away from the departing vehicle because if she looks too long, she'll be thinking far, far too hard about what she's going to say to get a ride in it, and that means he's going to have to guide her every step on the way hope and quite frankly who has that level of time.

And as they make their own way out, the guy's voice suddenly going "Wait, how many boxes?" as he pulls the cigarette well out of her reach...

A small, darkened shadow follows them from the vantage point of the guttering above. Which might seem ominous up until the point there's a soft mew.