2019-12-11 - Tis The Season

It's been a rough few days for August. Fortunately--and maybe a little weirdly--Eleanor received some oddly soothing bath bombs from the Christmas parade, one of which they shared after the near-disaster which was August almost pulling the funeral home down around them. Now that has him feeling a bit more stable, a bit more settled. No less exhausted, but, less like the world is attempting to crush him under its bootheels.

He's brought some things he cooked (saffron rice pilaf with carmelized shallots, mushrooms, and carrots, sourdough bread, and some elk chili), because he can't recall if Isabella is capable of it and he knows Alexander is, well, 'still trying to learn', let's call it. He's also hoping he's caught Alexander there as well, because if that's what he saw when he read the flower, did Alexander see the same thing? Something else? Clearly 'Peregrine' is a skilled mind Artist, as well as clever, and August is getting increasingly concerned that his only goal is to inflict as much damage as he can before they all fall on him and tear him apart.

He's in his black leather jacket, red silk scarf, denim jeans, and brown suede boots. Under the jacket is a black and white flannel over a gray waffle Henley. He knocks, box tucked under one arm, listens to find out if he's interrupting another failed threesome.

She should be in bed rest, especially after that surprisingly violent excursion in the Veil. If nothing else, Isabella actually felt like she was dying when she attended the charity Jell-O event, but thanks to Lilith's intervention, she wiped away two of her biggest injuries. Now, she feels less like she's going to die, and more like she's only half-dead.

But that doesn't mean that she hasn't tried to be in a seasonal mood - she had spent the earlier part of the day hobbling to every acquaintance's house or business to deliver small packages, electing to get her deliveries out of the way before anything else happened. Now she's on the couch, attempting to...

...knit...?

She's repeatedly stabbed herself with her knitting needles; her bandages are gone and replaced, instead, by festive band-aids around her fingers. She is wearing the Christmas sweater August has seen on her during the parade, though sans her snowflake earrings and her reindeer antlers. What is on her lap is the length of a blue and black misshapen scarf, because she's a beginner at this and oh god why is she putting herself through this. Why did she even think this was a good idea, making a present instead of buying it?! She is literally on the verge of giving up, but she's invested so many hours on this that she literally can't stop. Leaving it unfinished would drive her crazy.

...and when someone announces himself at the door, there's a bit of flailing panic before she shoves all of the yarn and needles under a dilapidated pillow. She straightens up as she wanders to the door, still moving slowly, opening it. "...August! Hi!" Always enthusiastic, her smile banishes traces of her frustration as she steps aside. "Alexander's not here, I saw him in Likely Stories a couple of hours ago, though. Do you need any help with...?" Hands come up in an offerance to relieve him of some of his burden. "Something smells amazing." Definitely not capable of it. The last time she tried to make vegetables, she nearly made herself homeless.

August's nose wrinkles when he feels Isabella's remaining injuries, but they're minor, in the overall. Still, he shakes his head, pats the box. "No, I'm good, just gonna set this in the fridge, you can reheat it when you want. Some elk chili, sourdough, and saffron pilaf. Little something to eat, in case you and Alexander don't feel like eating out all the time." He looks tired, but in the 'slowly recovering from overextending myself' kind of way. Better, than before the funeral, if worse in other ways.

He comes in, frowns faintly about Alexander being out as he moves to the kitchen. "Did he get a chance to read that flower you found? Because," he begins pulling tupperware containers out of the box, also a few pomegranates and some carrots, "there was a delivery of some of those flowers to the funeral."

"You're a godsend, August," Isabella says appreciatively as she takes a slow, aching seat back into the couch and folds her arms loosely over her torso as she sinks there. "That would be great, I pretty much constantly live on takeout, never really learned the finer points - even though I do enjoy food and I love to eat." When she remembers to do so. Concerned eyes find his frame as he ducks into the kitchen. "You look tired, everything okay?"

She straightens whenever he returns to the living room and scoots over to make room for him on the cushions. Surprise flickers over her expression. "He told you about that?" she wonders. "I...I'm not sure." She looks down at her fingers with a frown. "After what happened at my parents' house, I don't think I have the stomach to read anything ever again. He would rather he take the burden." She grimaces faintly, remembering the fight that August had walked in the tail-end of. "So he said he would take a look at it, but I don't know if he has. He hasn't said anything to me."

Her attention lifts again to regard the botanist, her expression turning visibly sour. "J.J.'s funeral? What...why?" After a moment, she gives him a more serious look. "Did you read those flowers? You're capable." It's not a question; she can detect enough of other people's abilities that she can parse what they can or can't do just by looking at them.

"Someone's gotta keep you all fed," August says, only half-faking the accompanying grumpy tone. His eyes meet hers briefly, refocus on his task. "Yeah, he told me about that. That's ah," a small smile, "how I knew you'd be here." He clears his throat, folds his arms and leans against the kitchen counter.

"After Alexander told me about the one he," there's no missing that emphasis, "left you, when I saw those I figured it had to be related. And after all, he was the one who tried to kill them in the first place."

A notable pause, then, "Yeah, I gave one a read." He looks at her directly. "It was fucking awful. They were being grown outside of some...hospital, of some kind, but it was like they'd soaked up all the pain and misery. He was hoping one of us, would read one, I think. So if Alexander read one, we should talk to him, see if we can't piece together where this place is. It wasn't Addington Memorial, for sure. And it looked...older, you know? A lot older, like 1920s or even turn of the century."

He tilts his head. "What happened at your parents' place?" It's a wary question, the kind that invites a 'fuck off' if she needs to give one.

A contemplative look falls over her expression as Isabella takes in what August says, drumming her fingers lightly on her elbow. When she speaks, it's absent, but her fellow field researcher would know that she's turning over this latest piece of information in her head. "August," she begins, slowly. "When you were at the wedding, you were invited as a friend of the groom, right? And you were the one who brought up the null spaces the last time all three of us talked, if I recall correctly and suddenly Byron finds out that my houseboat became one. You think maybe he knew you would be there at the funeral?" Her expression grows all the more worried there.

"Maybe Alexander's right," she murmurs. "Maybe he is circling back to the wedding..."

She turns her attention back to the botanist. "Addington Memorial's the only major hospital in this area. You think they were plucked somewhere outside of Gray Harbor? And you said that our ranges are still the same outside of the city limits after that trip to Portland?"

Mention of her parents' place has her lowering her eyes again, chewing on her bottom lip. When she speaks up, it's quiet. "My father's coming back for Christmas," she confesses after a long pause. "And nobody...I went to get the place ready. My mother's blood was still all over the bathroom, where she was killed. Alexander offered...he wanted to spare me from it, but I didn't think...I didn't think it was right to send him in there, when she was my mother, and I didn't really...I haven't done anything for my father on that issue. He prevented me, you know? From seeing her in the state she was in, when he found her. So when I cleaned it up..." Her jaw sets. "I never had the ability to read, before. When I was growing up with my twin, I was the mover, and he was the reader. It was a bit of a shock." Her smile lifts upwards, higher and somewhat rueful. "Alexander was angry with me that I didn't just let him."

August shifts for a moment. "Yeah, though..." He rubs the back of his neck. "Well, okay, as creepy and horrible as this sounds, maybe he came to your boat, read something sitting out, overheard our conversation, and took my 'suggestion'." He grimaces about that. "And we all made a show of ourselves at the wedding, so it was an easy guess some of us would be at the funeral. Couldn't be hard for him to get hold of the list of participants; he's a mind user, if he's strong enough he could just order someone to tell him. And if nothing else, we'd hear about the flowers at the funeral, which would still be a cause for concern."

He scratches his beard, drums his fingers on his upper arm. "Definitely from outside Gray Harbor," he says, under his breath. "I'd have to sit down with maybe Ignacio or Alexander and have them go over the visuals with me, see if we could sort out where."

He sighs about Isabella's mother, and what reading her death had no doubt felt like. "Christ, Isabella I'm sorry. That had to be pretty awful." He grunts about Alexander being upset, rolls his eyes. "Yeah he'd rather be the one getting beat to snot all the time. He can take a number and get in line."

At August's theory, Isabella rubs her cheek with her fingers, though her thoughtful manner remains. "Maybe he did. I can't even..." She exhales a quiet breath. "I mean, at this point, anything is possible. I know he was definitely snooping." She wrinkles her nose. "What I don't understand is, if that was the aim, why he would make it so obvious. He left the flower by my pictures in the bedroom, August. By the one of me, my brother and Byron. So if he was doing this to collect information on the people present in the wedding, wouldn't he...not want to give anyone any warning? That's what I would do. I don't believe in fighting fair."

She nods in agreement, about going through his memories of what he saw.

Regarding what happened in her family home, she gives a quiet nod. "I never...really had any context, of what happens to a reader when they do that." She turns her hand over her knee to inspect her palm. "I mean, I knew. But I didn't understand the costs. He tried to reassure me that he was acclimated enough that he could keep going, that he always bounces back, but I don't necessarily like the idea of him putting himself in the position to suffer that way. And it's not really...." She sighs. "He thinks that if he isn't useful, no one would want to be around him ever again and part of the reason why he was angry was because he felt rejected, which wasn't what I intended in the least...I just didn't want to burden him with that. I can see where he gets it from, this town never accepted him and part of that problem, he brought on himself. But it's frustrating because it's as if he doesn't trust us when we say we love him, or like him, or that he's our friend, or that we don't necessarily like seeing him throw himself in front of the train to look after us. That's not...I don't think you can or should define your self worth in that way."

"That's the thing--he obviously wants us to come after him. We won't do that if he's not out there where we can get him, or at least if we don't think he is. So, he's baiting us. Prodding at us. Keeping our attention. The real mystery is why. Is he strong enough to take on six of us? Does he have some kind of trap?" August shrugs, though; he doesn't have answers to these questions. Only more questions.

He looks away, makes a face. "Yeah it can be a real nasty affair." He's thinking of Hyacinth Addington and de la Vega and that book; of himself in Bosnia; of Alexander and that murder weapon. "Look, I know you think you won't ever want to do it again. But you might. Just remember to be careful what you opt to use it on." He arches an eyebrow. "Some things are worse ideas than others."

He smiles, bittersweet, on the topic of Alexander and his particular issue in this regard. "The thing is, that part where it feels like he doesn't trust us? It's almost for sure because of some of the shit he's been through. People he trusted and loved who turned out to deserve neither. And now he has to always be on the alert, always has to be ready for us to turn out to be like they were. Sure, we probably won't, and I'm sure he does trust us, and believes us when we say those things." He shifts, licks his lips. "But there's belief, and then there's those parts way down deep inside you that make decisions without thinking. That act without consulting anyone." He lets out a long, slow breath. "And when those really deep parts of yourself get hurt, they don't rely on pesky shit like logic and rational thought. They just see a threat to your survival, and they act." His smile turns a little less pained. "For what it's worth, I think he knows you love him. It's just he's not always clear on the best ways to love you back."

"I don't know how helpful that all is in the level I'm in," Isabella says quietly. "I didn't really see memories, just emotions attached to what happened in the bathroom." And that was enough. The pain was insignificant compared to the fear, the regret...the sheer longing for her children that left the archaeologist writhing on the floor where she died, screaming at the grief and guilt all of that had pushed out of her. "Maybe, in an emergency. But I don't...no. It's not for me, August." As always, whenever she decides, it takes an army to veer her into another course. Only when absolutely necessary. "I'm not...a frequent user anyway. I barely use. The only reason why I was invited by the Erinyes to come play is because I was forced to act as a battery for what happened in the wedding."

There's a glance away from August, there, her jaw tightening at the words: People he trusted and loved who turned out to deserve neither. Zachary's existence rises from the back of her mind, bitter jealousy roiling with everything else that comes whenever she's forced to reassess that part of Alexander's past; bright, brilliant, gentle, but ultimately empty and wrong, and the idea of Alexander breaking himself upon the altar of that...anger, unbridled and fueled by the sheer, blistering intensity of her lashes out like an unforgiving whip, cracking in the air.

It's just he's not always clear on the best ways to love you back.

"...he can start by trying to love himself a little more," she says, doing her best to let go of it all and unwind the brewing tension within her. "Recognize that in spite of his stubbornness that he's changing. Has changed, from what and who he was before. There's only so much all of us can do from the outside, you know? I know especially in his case, it's easier said than done. But I think he needs to cut himself some fucking slack."

Gently, August says, "I can't claim to not understand why you'd be reluctant to use it," and chases that with a wry expression. "Just know, no one thinks you're useless if you choose not to, it can't. Not even those of us who do make lighthouses out of ourselves. Just, certain people," whose names start with 'Al' and end in 'exander', "have a very different view on that, and would be happy if we never used the power."

He ducks his head, weathers the reaction with a wince. "Well, as someone who's working on convincing a few people to do that...sympathies. It can be a tough thing to help someone through. Just, remember, he's not doing this to hurt you. That doesn't mean it's not, and you should tell him when it does--he's just acting out of fear. Fear of losing us, of finding out we don't actually care about him, of us 'discovering' he's a horrible person and had us all duped." He raises his eyebrows, shakes his head. "That said, if he goes off and does something stupid? He's getting yelled at."

"I'm able to live a decade and a bit just fine without it," Isabella tells August with a hint of a smile. "As it is, I don't unless it's an emergency. This is the default, in another way." She taps her finger against her temple. "But I can get reckless, also. I don't really think people think I'm useless in that regard, anyway. Not when people tend to ask me about things as it is, not when Alexander would rather have my brain to assist him than any lighthouse, but hampered by the same - or so he says anyway." His last remark there has her grumbling. "Because he thinks he's doing everyone else a favor by assuming all the risk. At least, when it comes to the people he cares about, or even just interested in."

As always, the man gives sound advice, and she listens quietly though by the end of it, she cracks a small smile. "Trust me, that doesn't go unaddressed." There's a glance at the kitchen, wincing at the memory of her losing her head at him and how she flailed and fought him when he tried to hold her. "I've never been the sort to take anything lying down. Though I tend to fight fire with fire, which any firefighter would tell you doesn't normally work. I'm just as capable of making things worse, really. I've never exactly done this before."

She drums her fingers on her knee. "Anyway, sorry. I didn't mean to...normally I don't..." Really do this. She refrains from trying to explain, and just flashes him a grateful look. "Thanks, August. For listening. I'm really glad that you care about him, also."

After a moment, she clears her throat, and slaps her cheeks lightly with her fingers. "So, we found the gem," she tells him with a smile. "Though I'm not going to say we retrieved it without incident. But it's with the Collector now and it's out of our side. For good, powers willing."

August dips his head. "Well, you're welcome. I figure I didn't run roughshod through my 30s and have all that therapy for nothing." Another small, genuine smile, then he straightens and nods, genuinely relieved. "Good. Great, actually. One less thing to deal with." He looks thoughtful. "So our little mapping expedition was useful. Maybe we should do a few more of those."

No sooner has he said that than he's eyeing her, taking in her injuries again. "Everyone okay? No one's trying to tough it out?"

"You went into therapy?" Isabella wonders, curiosity and genuine interest in her expression. "Because of your time in the Army? You...when we were trapped in the tower together, I thought I heard..." Shells. Mortars bombarding the side of the building. She falls quiet in remembrance, watching him and remembering the strange occurrence the two of them had suffered through together, and the thing in the Tower that wouldn't stop until he paid for whatever sins constructed the horrific maze.

"I know all of your advice comes from a place of experience," she says quietly. "But I worry about you also. You take on a lot, too, August. Itzhak told me some of it - not the details, and I would never pry, but...you look tired. Not to say you're less hot and I already have a very established pattern for the intense and haggard types, but you do. I'm honestly this close in suggesting that you, Lil, Erin, Juniper and Bennie work out a rotation amongst yourselves like actual doctors to try and prevent the Erinyes from calling so soon again while we figure out whatever puzzle they're lording over us."

There's a nod. "Tobin was hurt, also, but I think he's okay. He, Byron and Lil grew up together and were close, if anything complicated happened, I'm sure Lil already saw to it or took steps."

Reminded, she lifts her eyes to meet his. "Speaking of expeditions. I was wondering if you wanted to come along for the next one. Alexander is up for it. I figured we could check out the park next. Not just because the Carousel changes its rotation every Tuesday but because it doesn't seem to change its distance no matter how far we venture away from it. I think it might be the center of Veil Gray Harbor."

August's expression closes off some at the mention of the tower and the shelling. He immediately makes a face, chiding himself, looks out over the little rental house. "Yeah, I ah...I came back kind of a mess." It has the distinct flavor of being one hell of an understatement. "But my parents and sisters refused to lose me to...what happened over there. So I kept at it and eventually, some of it stuck." He rubs his arms, thinking of the tower, of the Warden, of the shelling. He shakes his head to dispel it.

...and is more than a little caught off guard by her wording, and coughs a laugh. "Ah...thanks," he says, trying to sober. "And, I hear you. Honestly, Easton was wanting the same thing. He was thinking we should teach one another things, maybe make sure the same person isn't always asked to heal, or open a door, or even read something." To that end, it's just as well Lilith healed Tobin, because August sure got out of hand at the funeral.

Speaking of doors. "I'd be happy to," he says, smiling at the invite. "Even if it is the carousel, Alexander and I've tangled with that little bastard before. And, well, despite how dicey it got, I think it's a thing we need to get doing."

"What did they do to convince you to keep at it?" Isabella wonders, because this is clearly new territory for her, and it is in her nature to consult with experts or those more experienced in a complicated issue. Fingers and their festive band-aids absently toy with the fabric of her jeans by her knee. Her expression twists, faintly, at the complexity otherwise underscoring a relatively simple reply.

Easton's assertions has her smiling ruefully. "He's told me that, also. I agree with him, we honestly should. It's a lot more difficult than he proposes, though. Some of us are all just starting to get to know one another and in dangerous situations, it's normal and even expected to gravitate towards people you absolutely trust. But we really should start trying to figure out how we balance it all out, especially for those who use heavily." She gives him a look at that, though he's not the only one. "I already know there's definitely no holding back Itzhak, though. All of this...to him, it's a blessing from God. And as much bellyaching Alexander makes about other people using, he certainly relies on them often enough to obtain the answers he wants or needs."

The Carousel issue gets a grin. "It should be interesting if nothing else, I don't think we've really explored the park before. Over there." She rises from the couch to the bag on the end of it, looking through it. When she finds what she needs, she steps closer to him and offers a brightly wrapped package with his name on it.

"Merry Christmas."

August scratvhes at his beard, considering that question. He laughs at some memory or another. "Honestly? Just kept in my face about it." He gives her a brief, rueful look. "I was living with my parents when I was recovering, in this apartment they had. It was them and Zelda until we both moved out for college, and Hannah was still in town for school, so." One shoulder lifts in a shrug. "Between them and the VA counseling and some private therapy, it kept me from getting real bad."

He clears his throat and looks away at that Look, feigning total ignorance and innocence. He can't disageee about Itzhak, but it makes him smile. "That's the thing--for guys like him, or me, it's...it's a chance to actually be a better us. That's why we embrace it. I get it, that not everyone feels like that about it. But," he gestures helplessly with one hand, "that's just different people having different priorities, different pasts. Some of us, we've already faced stuff that was ugly and brutal. That gives us a different view on things. Not better. But..." He bites his lip. "Different." Well, it's the nicest word he can think of.

He nods about the carousel. "Yeah. Getting a feel for the park would be a good idea." He blinks at the gift, accepts it with a small smile. "Hey, thanks. You want me to open it right now or wait until the day?"

"That sounds about right for the most stubborn heads I know," Isabella says with a laugh. "But I'm glad you pushed through it. Where would the rest of us be if you hadn't?" Her brows lift in a playful fashion towards him.

The Look intensifies when August side-eyes the corner, and while he's doing that, the young woman launches a small pillow at him. That's what his feigned ignorance gets him. After a moment of listening to the rest of it, however, she nods. "I get that, also. And I know that there are prevailing reasons why people elect to undertake the risks they do." She is literally the last person in the world to judge anyone for being reckless - she had just thrown herself in a pool, in a labyrinth, in the Veil and before that she had ingested soup sent by someone called the Vivisectionist, and all for the sake of knowing in the hopes that she could protect the others she cares about with it. "I suppose in the end we ought to trust one another more about the things that we know we can handle without losing sight of the fact that the world is lesser if we're too careless on that end, also. I don't know, August. Balance is tricky and I doubt anyone here's been able to master that as well."

Regarding the gift, she laughs. "Wait until the day, of course!" she tells him. "Christmas presents are opened on Christmas day, otherwise it would just be a present." She winks, her smile gentling further. "I'm glad you stopped by. If you're going to keep bringing food, though, do me a favor? Not fruitcake?"

August pulls a face at the question of where they'd be. He might even comment on it, but then, there's a pillow. He grunts, grabs it before it can fall to the floor. He points at her with it. "Exactly. Keeping an eye on one another isn't a bad thing. But neither is trusting one another. Balance is always difficult; if it wasn't, we'd all be balanced most of the time." He huffs a laugh. "People fall into gravity wells. It's keeping yourself between them that's harder, so of course it's the better spot to be."

He holds up a hand defensively. "Look, my family's not religious, so we kind of did things however we felt like it when I was growing up. I just try to abide by people's wishes. And there will be no fruitcake from me. Maybe a panettone, since that's not technically fruitcake, and makes a good French toast." He eases up off the counter, gestures with the gift. "I'll probably drop things off for you and Alexander in a few days, just have to get them put together. Tell him to message me when he's back, we should talk about that hospital I saw."