2019-12-16 - Drunk Punching

Staring at his phone for the umpteenth time trying to will himself to text Bennie or call her or do something while relatively sober as opposed to the late night blackout drunk texts they've exchange, Easton sighs and scrolls back to A.

They've already discussed the desire to punch one another. In a good way. Or at least in a mutually agreed upon way. And Easton could really use some punching, in every sense. The bar closes early in the off season and it's not like Easton sleeps much at night anyway so he's out on the deck of the bar waiting for Alexander. A big fire is roaring in one of the fire pits, keeping him warm. He's wrapped in a thick hoodie with a bottle of beer in his hand.

Alexander can be heard before he's seen. Not just the crunch and clatter of his boots on the rocky shoreline, and then thumping on the deck, but Alexander is humming something vaguely Christmassy like as he approaches, veering out towards the deck as he sees the fire. He's dressed as Alexanders are usually dressed, which is to say, badly. He looks tired and skittish, so pretty normal. "Hey," he calls out towards the shape wrapped in the thick hoodie. "Easton. It was good to hear from you. Been an elf again, lately?" His smile flickers to life, just the briefest show of teeth in the firelight as he comes up to stand along side the other man.

The who's down in who-ville are actually singing! Well he's not exactly the Grinch but Easton is in absolutely 0 mood for holidays of any sort right now. He won't even play Christmas music in the bar. He lets his head thump back against the Adirondack style chair in near silent aggravation. But then Alexander is calling out and asking about being an elf and he can only shake his head and grin despite himself. "Oh go feed someone's soul to your pet demon." Which reminds Easton that he should probably check in on Dante, make sure he's doing okay after that, though thankfully it was much less horrific than past Dreams.

He stands up and says, "Can I grab you a beer or something else to drink?" There is a small outdoor bar with locked coolers that Easton walks towards to retrieve some necessay libations.

"In an amusing coincidence, Mr. Carver gave me a box that he claims was constructed with human souls," Alexander says, dryly. "I begin to wonder if the universe is trying to tell me something." He edges over towards the firepit, sticks his hands out to warm them. He is wearing gloves, at least, but they're thin leather things that look more suited for breaking into somewhere than actually keeping him warm. "A beer would be great, thanks." He gives Easton as close a study as he can manage in the dark as the man stands up. "Should I ask how things are going, or just assume that 'bad' covers most of it?"

"That's a ... fucked up coincidence?" Easton is also amused though as he laughs a little despite himself. He smirks and says, "Yes. Leave Gray Harbor." as to what the universe is trying to tell him. It's light hearted though, they both know they aren't going anywhere. Easton pulls out a bottle of local micro-brew for Alexander and another for himself. He tosses the empty in a bin and then shrugs and says, "Yea. Pretty much. Just kicked one of my friends out of my bar for being a douche. I have far too many people in town knowing who I slept with. And now it's fucking Christmas. So yea.. let's go with 'bad'" He takes a sip and lets that bit of self-pity pass before asking, "How are you doing? How's Iz?"

"See? That's sensible and helpful advice, Easton. Which means, of course, that I will never do it." Alexander grins back at him, light-hearted despite the bitter ring of truth to the words. He takes the beer when it's offered, pops it open, and takes a swig that's more substantial than his usual 'I will nurse this all night' sip. "Have people been giving you a hard time about it?" he asks, which pretty much means that he also knows who Easton slept with. Oops. "And...um. Better than you, I guess. Isabella," just a hint of emphasis on the full name damnit, "is almost finished with her thesis. Once the draft's done, she's going to have to go back to England for a few weeks. She also is sort of being stalked by a guy who murders hope. Hope, and people. I tried to kill him, ended up covered in cobras instead. But other than that, things are okay?"

"Right." Easton agrees that sensible and helpful advice is obviously not going to be followed by either of them. He gives a soft laugh at Alexander's question. "I don't care if people give me shit about it. Bennie doesn't deserve people knowing that, neither does he." He glances at Alexander with a suspicious look of wondering how many details he knows, considering Bennie went to stay with him, he expects most. He just ignores the stressing of the full name at this point, there is no changing either of them. "She .. wait... what? She goes one week without comin' in for after close drinks and I miss this?!"

He's leading Alexander down towards the beach, because this night is not just about drinking some beers. "Did she contact the police? Or are you doing something dumb like keeping them out of it to handle it privately?"

There's another swig from the bottle, and Alexander shrugs at the suspicious look. "I hope you guys find a way to...figure this out, Easton. I really do. I don't know what that way is, but none of you - none of you," a stern look over the top of the bottle, "deserve suffering and pain. Maybe a couple of better decision-making models," he does allow. He shakes his head at the last. "I don't think the police can help. Javier knows, but--" a frown, "this man is, I think, in league with Them. If you read the paper - those transplant patients who died? That was him. And he's better at," he reaches up and taps the edge of the bottle with his temple, "than I am." Which, very clearly, bothers Alexander a lot.

Either way, he gives a sharp little smile. "So. When you suggested we punch things, I admit I'm kinda in the right space for that, right now."

I hope you guys find a way to figure this out

Easton looks at Alexander with a momentary sad, hopeless look in his eyes before his usual resolve takes back over and he nods, "Me too." And then he's moving past that topic, if he can. Because that doesn't put him in the punching mood, that puts him in the sad, crawling into a bottle mood.

"Oh. Of fucking course he is." Easton grumbles. Because why couldn't it just be a run of the mill murderous stalker. He shakes his head and offers, "If I can help in anyway, let me know."

Taking another drink of the beer and pulling off his hoodie to reveal just a long sleeve thermal shirt underneath Easton starts warming up. "Good. Because I need to hit something and a bag just doesn't hit back hard enough."

Maybe Alexander is learning tact or delicacy, because he just nods and lets that be moved on from. He finishes off his bottle in several long drinks, then slips off his overlarge Army surplus jacket and starts warming up as well, taking his gloves off. "I will. I have learned my lesson about going it alone, and I suspect will have to endure a lecture from August about not bringing along anyone else." He makes a disgruntled noise about that, shoulders hunching in anticipation.

"Are there rules? For this? I assume we're not biting or going for the eyes or anything," Alexander asks, with a flicker of a smile. "Although I guess if you really want to vent, we can just beat the everloving hell out of each other that way."

Easton says, "I had a good talk with Roen about that. I'm less likely to go off and try anything alone than you might think." He is more than happy to ask people to help or be backup, so long as they are people he trusts and ideally people he knows can handle themselves in terrible situations.

"Rules?" Easton asks as he tries to stretch out his legs. "If you hit me in the nuts I'm going to break your nose and then choke you the fuck out. But yea, preferably no biting." Preferably? There are apparently less rules for beach friends punch club than there are for fight club. But most of that stuff is covered in the fact that these two men actually like one another. It's amazing what kind of rules that makes unnecessary.

Easton takes up a stance and raises his fists.

"When you're ready. Hit me."

"August is good for those sorts of talks," Alexander admits, with a smile. "And I'm...not as good about not going off alone. Not when I'm angry. I'm told this indicates that I am not trusting my friends enough to invest in those relationships, and thus I will inevitably end up alone." A shrug.

There's a low, surprised laugh at the response. "I'll keep that in mind. Breathing through a broken nose fucking sucks." He takes up a stance - it's a better, or at least more polished stance than the last time they tried this; either he's less drunk (definitely true) or he's been getting some sort of instruction somewhere. His face goes blank as he makes some quick, experimental jabs towards Easton's body; they're easy to counter.

"It just means you're not used to it." Easton carries the conversation into the fight. He blocks the jabs and counters with some punches of his own. Or at least tries to. But moving in the sand is hard for his foot as it is. He knew that going in but it's already turning out to be more of a struggle to do anything reasonable with his feet than he thought. He adds, "You haven't had people you could trust before. So trust me when I say, you won't end up alone." Maybe Easton's still talking about Alexander in that last statement, maybe it's just a little bit of reinforcing the positive to himself. Either way he should have paid more attention to the fighting than the talking.

"I guess," Alexander says, looking uncomfortable. He grunts at the blocks, and fades back a moment, watching how Easton moves in the sand. "And I will try. To trust. But you know, the issue isn't that I can't...trust you, Easton. Or any of you. It's that you might not be able to trust me. You might not want to." And apparently, he can angst and fight at the same time, because he notices when Easton's guard and attention drop, for just a moment. He takes a step in during that one distracted moment and bats aside the attempted counter punch, following up with a two-punch set of body blows that are not love taps, then a solid kick at his good leg for good measure, before he fades back again to the edge of his reach.

The body blows cause a grunting sound in Easton's throat as he gets rocked harder than he expected and he definitely doesn't see the kick coming as he gets laid out flat on his back by it. He groans again and then rolls to get up to his feet, shaking off the sand as much as possible. "Yea well, sorry to say but I do trust you. And while that too might just be my amazing life decision skills at work, you're stuck with me." He wipes more of the sand off his face with the back of his hand before coming back into the fight, trying to be more aware of his footwork. He combos nicely but most of it easily blocked. He hasn't started swinging too hard yet, worried he's going to throw himself off balance if he throws too hard.

Alexander waits for him to get up, settling back into a defensive posture. "I can't say I'm unhappy. About being stuck. Even if it is because of your stellar decision making," he quips back, with a slight little smile. He blocks most of the initial attack, but a couple of light hits get in on his torso, and he hisses in pain as the other man's knuckles connect home. He crouches a little lower, trying to protect his torso as he returns the punches - but, of course, going lower just means putting himself more firmly in Easton's strike zone. Even so, Alexander says, "C'mon, Easton. You gotta stretch yourself. Promise I won't laugh if you fall on your face." A grin, a very punchable grin, flashes out for a moment.

Moving through the sand takes far more concentration that he would like, making him think even more about his footwork than he already is. Easton grins when his stellar decision making is brought up. "And I used to be responsible for keeping 50 Marines alive in combat situations. Scary, isn't it?" And it was. Absolutely terrifying for him, but now he's just in charge of one (former) Marine and it doesn't seem to be going as well. He grunts this time not with pain but satisfaction as he lands a few punches, keeping the pressure up as he moves Alexander around. The comment about Alexander not laughing at him, causes him to take at least one real full swing at the man's head. If he's going to pop it out there and taunt him, Easton'll punch it. The blow lands on his shoulder instead though as Alexander wisely ducks back.

"It does. Sound terrifying." Alexander's voice holds his physical effort, now, his breath pluming in the firelight. "Not because it's you. But because that sort of responsibility is just generally terrifying. I get nervous about a cat and a bird." Alexander slides his feet in the damp sand, trying to keep a firm foundation even as Easton pushes him to change his footing. The punch comes in, and his grin shuts off as he feels the power behind it. He rolls that shoulder, grunts.

Then he's moving again, coming close to throw a quick feint to Easton's face, followed close behind with a solid blow at his kidney.

"Hilarious." Easton knows what he means but still takes it as a crack about his judgement. The more serious part just gets a "yup" of acknowledgement because in all seriousness it's far scarier than most of what Gray Harbor has thrown at him so far to have that kind of responsibility on your very young shoulders. But then Alexander is hitting back and Easton keeps forgetting to drop his elbows, which did him in on fight night as well. He coughs and sputters a little bit at the kidney blow but follows with a solid three hit combo of low-low-high ending with a hook at Alexander's cheek.

"It wasn't meant to be funny," Alexander says, with a frown. "Oh." And then there's three nasty hits coming at him and he has other things to worry about than his issues with sarcasm. He deflects the first, and at least blunts the second, but that hook comes in tight, and lands hard, rocking his head to the side with force. "Sonofabitch." He staggers back, shaking his head to try and clear it of all the little birdies that are suddenly flying around in the Christmas night. He comes back, fast, but a bit sloppy, trying to distract the other man with a flurry of punches that leave him more open for counter that he seems to realize.

The crack against Alexander's face is felt all the way through his arm and Easton can't help but smile a little. Not because he's getting to hurt someone, but damn does it feel good to be in a fight. One that he can feel good about. The return volley of punches are blocked, Easton finally remembers to drop his elbows and raise his fists at the right moments. His footwork is even improving as he gets down into the wetter sand, it's firmer and helps him take the right steps to throw two jabs with his left to maneuver Alexander to duck slightly to the right where he brings up a hard uppercut. It's not a friendly punch.

It can't be said Alexander isn't concentrating on the fight; if a wake-up call had been needed, that ringer to the cheek would have done it. He makes himself the smallest possible target, and jabs and moves, trying to take advantage of Easton's struggle with the sand. But the man's found his footing, and Alexander doesn't realize that until he dodges right to avoid those two punches, and walks right into that uppercut. His teeth come together with a click, his head head rocking up and back as he staggers back, then down, landing on his ass. "Fuck!" There's a groan from the investigator, and it takes him a moment or two to stagger back to his feet.

He spits off to the side, bloody from where he bit his cheek, then grins. He might be getting the crap beaten out of it, but there's almost a reassurance to it. He comes back, but more cautious, now. Too cautious; his punches are a bit hesitant, and don't have any chance of breaking through the other man's guard.

Easton's breathing hard by this point, clouds of ragged breath escaping his lips. He winces a little as Alexander goes down, knowing that was solid contact. It's not that it didn't feel good, it felt fantastic but still. He nods as the other man gets back up and readies himself again. And while Easton has landed a few hits, it's not like he hasn't also been knocked down as well. But then something changes in the hits.

"Are you trying to punch me like a kindergartner? If you're going to hit me. Fucking hit me."

The light punches seem to anger Easton who starts punching back, going now more for the body than before but with fast, hard combo shots that are relentless, ending with him thrusting a knee up to the man's side.

"I'm not...fucking...holding back," Alexander wheezes in return, his head still ringing from that uppercut. He brings his arms up, but the blows are fast and furious, and several get through to land punishing hits to his ribs and torso. Each one lets out a 'whumph' of air from Alexander's lungs and he staggers back, and probably would have end up on one knee, if Easton's own knee didn't come up and slam into him. Alexander groans and staggers out of reach for a moment, gasping several painful breaths, sucking in the cold air as if it might numb him.

It doesn't. But he's nothing if not stubborn, so his eyes narrow, and he comes back in hard and direct, basically bodychecking Easton, then trying to use the sudden closeness to slam his fist into his stomach.

Easton presses his advantage in the rush of feeling those punches connect. He comes at Alexander hard and is met with a bodycheck and punch to the gut that sends him sprawling into the sand. He coughs and rolls in the sand for a few moments before getting to his knees, shaking? Yup. Shaking with laughter as he climbs back to his feet and tries to brush off more sand.

"Alright. I think I need another drink. You ready for some whiskey or do want to keep pummeling each other?"

He's breathing hard, and probably has a new collection of bruises on his body but he's grinning from ear to ear.

"Easton, are you--oh. You're laughing." Alexander peers at Easton as he doubles over and rests his hands on his knees. "Okay. Must be okay. Did not hit you hard enough to cause a concussion." He also takes the time out to spit out a little more blood and grimace at the taste. "Whiskey. Yes. That sounds much better than you hitting me in the head again." Despite that, he's chuckling a little as he straightens up. There's going to be some rather spectacular bruises on his face and his ribs, but he has to admit, "That felt...good? Not in the pleasure sense. But a release of tension." He laughs. "But you make me feel old; I used to be faster than that."

Laughing Easton agrees, "Yea, yea I'm good. You?" He makes his way towards Alexander and slaps him on the shoulder, before that turns into a bear hug with Easton literally attempting to lift him up off his feet. Because if Alexander can deal with Easton punching him, he has to also deal with Easton hugging him, unless he wants to go back to punching Easton. Clapping him again on the shoulder, Easton corrects him, "No, it felt great" He chuckles and says, "You did just fine, hell I'm going to be feeling that for a good while."

Making his way back up to the deck, a little slower than he was at the start of all this he goes inside to find a bottle of whiskey and some glasses which only takes him a minute or two to procure and reappear.

"I'm okay--" Alexander starts, before Easton slaps him on the shoulder, and his eyes widen. "I thought were stop--" And then there's a bearhug, and if Alexander were a cartoon character, you can absolutely bet that there would be comically large !!!!s over his head as he's enveloped and lifted. He makes an inarticulate sound...but, on the bright side, doesn't either scream or headbutt anyone. Progress! When he's put down, he just sort of stands there and shakes for a moment, making a little sound when he's slapped on the shoulder again. "I, I, I'm glad it was great," he says, after a moment. He knows Easton means it in a friendly manner, which helps. He takes a couple of quick breaths, then winces. "Yes. There will be bruising. And you hug like a python." But there's a flickering an uncertain smile there, as he follows Easton in, one hand going to his ribs to prod at them. He throws himself into a chair by the firepit, letting out a groan.

Somewhere in the middle of the hug Easton realizes that he probably shouldn't have done it, but oh well. He's a very tactile person to put it mildly and thought Alexander is usually spared the brunt of it, sometimes he forgets. Coming back with the whiskey and the glasses he sets them down on arm of Alexander's chair and pours before taking the bottle and his glass over to a chair of his own. He gently settles down in with some grunting and wincing before raising his glass, "To punching friends!" is given as a toast before he gulps down the whiskey hungrily. He leans his head back and closes his eyes to enjoy it's warm inner embrace, as if temporarily forgetting Alexander were there.

At least Alexander recovers from the shock quickly; he's almost starting to get used to people wanting to touch him with little warning. It's a good thing. Probably. He smiles a thanks at the whiskey, and picks up the glass, although he doesn't drink until that toast is made. "That can go two ways, you know, and I'm more on board with one of them than the other." A flicker of a grin, and he doesn't demand clarification before raising his glass and taking a swallow of the booze. A less enthusiastic one than Easton, and he wheezes a little at the feel of it burning down his throat. Once it gets down, though, it spreads a pleasing sort of warmth through him. Unlike Easton, though, he doesn't lean back or close his eyes. Instead, he stares fixedly at him, and now that the bartender's eyes are closed, his own expression reflects concern.

Laughing at the intended dual meanings Easton agrees, "It so can." With his eyes closed he breathes out a deep exhale and only reopens his eyes and sits back forward to take another sip, which is when he notices Alexander's eyes on him. He looks over first only with his eyes and then after a moment lets his head roll to the side to face him fully. He sees the look of worry and notes it but doesn't say anything about it. He just pulls out a pack of cigarettes from the retrieved hoodie's pouch and lights one up. There's a fire, there's whiskey and there's company, Easton doesn't feel the need to spoil any of that just yet.

And Alexander is just tactless enough to continue to stare worriedly at Easton even once he knows he's been made, at least for a beat or two, before he looks away, towards the ocean. Not that much of it can be seen at this moment, just the moonlight and distant boat lights. He sips at his whiskey; worry or not, the quiet companion ship works its magic on him, and he visibly relaxes into the chair, some of that fidgety tension leaving him as he watches the lights in the darkness. The silence doesn't seem to bother him; and he doesn't seem to see the need to ruin it, either.