2019-12-23 - Snow Before Dawn

The heavy snowfall that blanketed the town in a thick white sheet may have been a beautiful seasonal hindrance to most (though not everyone will admire the snow for its beauty), that doesn't mean that the most dedicated and disciplined of people will break their routine all because of a little (it's really a lot) snow. It's 6:30am, a little later than Byron tends to go out jogging, especially during the warmer months, but the morning was dark as it is.

Dressed in the layers of the season, he dons a hoodie and sweat pants, on top of a sweater shirt beneath and one of a moisture wicking fabric beneath even that. The top of his head and ears are protected against the windchill by a thick beanie, while similarly thick black gloves warm his hands. Hidden beneath the band of his hat are a pair of Bluetooth earbuds with his phone, stored away in his hoodie's pocket.

He's running at a normal, yet careful pace along Bayside Road, his breath coming out in a thick cloud before him. It's the start of his morning, after the exercises he tends to do to warm up beforehand, but despite the cold, which he actually enjoys somewhat, and the drudgery of running in snow, just the spectacle of a white Gray Harbor was enough to get him out of bed early this morning.

It would be nice if Alexander could say that he was a dedicated acolyte of exercise, but he really isn't. He works out, and walks pretty much everywhere in the city, so he's in surprisingly good shape for a man about to hit forty, but under most circumstances, he would not be out this early, especially in the thick snow that has blanketed the town.

But...he is. Because he has absolutely terrible insomnia, and it's in full force. He was driven out of the house around four in the morning by nightmares and restlessness, and is trudging his way along Bayside Road, a bit more IN the road than he usually likes, but the drifts are just too much of a pain to try and wade through, so he's hoping that no one else is chancing the road in their car.

He's approaching from the opposite direction from Byron, his eyes turned towards the sea. But when he hears the crunching of running feet on snow, his attention swings around, and he goes hunched and wary until he can identify the figure. "...Thorne? What in god's name are you doing out here?" His breath plumes with the words.

By this point and until they can get the roads clear of snow, there's very little vehicle presence, except for the occasional taxis, or at the least the ones more equipped to handled this much snow and ice. Then you do see the all-terrain vehicles and those are the ones to look out for. They probably drive like maniacs in this snow. While it's not unheard of to see people walking in town, Bayside is a very long stretch of road. And a few have called in sick due to weather, so rather than walking to Downtown, they've taken a Snow Day.

Very much the way figures looked like dark shadows in the fog during the Masquerade just a couple of months prior, seeing the lone person in the middle of the road has a similar eerie quality about it. The flurries help with this effect. Unlike during the Masquerade, the town wasn't warped into something dark and Dream-like... for the most part, Byron would like to forget what happened in the forest! So he's not actively trying to avoid the figure in the road, but he doesn't immediately stop when his name is spoken. Most likely because he doesn't hear it. There's some classic rock blaring in his ears right now. He does, eventually, recognize Alexander when he's right about to run pass him. That makes him stop, at least, and remove his earpiece; giving him this time to control his breathing. Perhaps, he catches a bit of the question that follows, because he responds with, "What does it look like I'm doing?" But he'll answer that, "Doesn't matter if it's rain or snow, your body still need exercise." Looking the other man over, seeing that he's not out here on a morning jog himself, it's his turn to ask questions, "I can ask the same about you."

Alexander doesn't seem to expect Byron to stop at the greeting, especially when he gets close enough to see the earpieces in the other man's ears. Instead, he just bobs his head in a curt nod, and prepares to walk on without pestering him further, his shoulders hunched and hands finding the warm pockets of his coat. When Byron does end up stopping, Alexander skids a little in the snow as he abruptly does likewise, and turns towards him. "You have what brochures tell me is a beautiful, climate controlled gym with an indoor pool," he points out, his voice a little gravelly from breathing in the cold air. "On a morning like this, it's gotta seem like a good alternative to freezing in the snow." His lips twitch. "Unless you looking out for rogue snowball fights?"

The return remark makes him frown. It's not angry, just distracted and perhaps a little confused. "I'm not sure. No. Not right. I couldn't sleep. I've lost some time - there's a span of time I can't remember well - and it bothers me. I couldn't stop thinking about it, so I decided to go for a walk." He pulls out his phone and checks the time. "Huh. Couple of hours ago."

"I might have a beautiful, climate controlled gym," Byron says, this rather amused grin on his lips as he says this, "But that's never stopped me from venturing out to breathe in that fresh, crisp morning air." He then gives their snow surroundings a slowly panning observation, "Even if after a while, with how much icy cold air you're breathing it, it burns your nostrils and your throat after a while, but sometimes it's worth it." Returning back to look on Alexander, he finishes with, "And this is the best time of day to run. In this weather. Hardly a soul to be seen."

If that was the end of their conversation, this brief interlude, he would have put that earpiece back in and continued on, perhaps down to the beach. However, the confusion in the other man's voice is what keeps him still, that earbud still in gloved hand. Licking at his cold lips, he considers, "And you're sure that you didn't go out drinking? I mean, after what happened yesterday at the creek... I wouldn't blame anyone."

Alexander takes a deep breath of that air, as if to agree with Byron, and adds, with a chuckle, "I suppose that is one thing in Gray Harbor that one doesn't get in LA, as easily. And--I'll admit, it's gorgeous out here." He gestures back towards some of the undeveloped land. "I saw a family of deer out there, looking for forage in the snow. I don't mind admitting that they looked rather confused about all the white stuff wrecking their plans." A flash of a smile, quickly gone.

At the suggestion, there's a shake of his head. "No. I don't...drink, much. I think I've had more alcohol in the last six months than in the ten years before that," he admits, a rueful lilt to his voice. "We went to the Asylum. Or," his brow furrows, "I think we did? I remember we went to the morgue, and we saw...a corpse. And it led us..." he trails off, his expression going blank.

"True. True." Byron says, looking once more at this Winter Wonderland of their own. "I mean, don't get me wrong, California's got some wonderful forests and mountains to trek through even if driving anywhere is usually a pain in the ass. But this is our small town." He says this almost proudly, despite Gray Harbor's dismal economy and... other issues. "Though if I've gotta be honest, you see flagging small towns like this all over this good U.S. of A. So despite, you know... Gray Harbor isn't all that special." This is said in good humor at least.

The rest of the conversation, however, despite the man's admission to not really being a drinker, something that Thorne already knew from most of his drink offerings being turned down, that's not what holds his interest. It's the mention of the Aslyum that does. There's a curious lift of his brow, those too dark eyes staring out at Alexander, but without his usual intensity. "So you all did it then. And you actually found the place. Interesting." Or... supposedly they did, Alexander seems confused by that too. "Was Vivian with you?" He knows that she was involved in that nonsense, so he had to ask. "A corpse led you-- Dr. Marshall?" He knows about that much from what Vivian had told him. "Who was there? I know it was supposed to be Marshall, you, Bella and Roen, I think."

Alexander is startled out of his attempt to put together his scattered memory, and smiles, briefly. "Yeah. After college, I took a sort of walkabout, you might say, through Oregon and northern California. And you're right. Aside from the occasional breaks in reality and the subsequent massively inflated rates of violence, disappearances, and suicides...it's very much like any other town of its type. Of course, many would argue that's a pretty large exception." He studies Byron, head cocked to one side. "You actually like this place?"

He stomps the ground a bit to keep blood moving to his feet; his thermal pants have snow clinging to them up to about mid thigh, indicating that he must have been wading through drifts further out. "I don't think she was. I'm pretty sure she was invited, but maybe she thought better of it? Javi--Captain De la Vega was there." A pause, his gaze going confused again. "Um. We didn't get hurt. I'm pretty sure about that. But I don't remember what happened after we went into the morgue. Apparently I took notes, at one point, but without context, they're not...um, very useful. Sorry."

The pair of them are really just milling around, out in the snow, at the side of the road, so Byron will usher them further out of the road. Since he's not actively in motion, the exertion of exercise isn't making his body heat rise, so his gloved hands eventually are tucked into his pockets for now, dropping that one earbud into its depths. To the question on whether he actually likes this place or not, he does't answer it immediately, though there's thoughtful look in his eyes to go with that mild smile on his lips. "No." That's how he'll start, his gaze meeting with Alexander's, before he gradually turns his attention to stare off into the snowy white distance, "Though it has its good memories too."

So Vivian wasn't present. That's good, Byron supposes, though she was adamant, for whatever reason, to remain in Gray Harbor to... help? Learn more? He was never sure, but that was her plan when they were still together. He just figured he factored into that plan at the time, which is why she was determined to remain. "de la Vega was there too?" He nods, perhaps somewhat relieved that they didn't get hurt. Isabella was with them. "Where was this morgue? Is that one way to reach the Asylum? And... can I take a look at your notes? Not that it's will help any, since I wasn't there."

Alexander follows off to the side of the road, kicking out some of the drift so that he can stand without sinking. But then, as if seized by a moment of whimsy, he bends and scoops up a hunk of snow in his gloves and starts working it into a large ball, his movements restless. There's a nod, at Byron's answer. "I knew you were smart," he says, voice dry. He follows the gaze. "It's...it exercises its own peculiar fascination. I don't think it's entirely whatever it is that seems to call people, certain people, to be here, or to stay here when sense would dictate fleeing. Even if it weren't for that, I'm not sure I could leave. But I don't think I'd say I like it here." He smoothes out the ball, bit by bit. "You've seemed to invest a lot in it, though. With the Masquerade, and things."

At the question, he grins. "The hospital. It's just the morgue in the hospital. And...maybe? I don't know. I think we went somewhere, but...the fact that I don't remember a damned thing is the best proof I have that we were at the Asylum. Everyone else who's been there has seemed to have the same problem. Even former staff. It bothers me." He shivers from something that isn't the cold, before nodding. The ball is tossed aside to land on the snow, while he reaches into his inner pocket and brings out a notebook. He turns to the right page, and offers it over. It says: //Construct and actuality, what distiguishes the two in the Veil? Is a perfect copy of a person indistinguishable from the person? Voice says real and construct not mutually exclusive. Soul <- -> Veil connection?

Alexander grimaces his apology. "I assume there was some sort of conversation that made that make more sense. I don't remember it."

Byron watches Alexander's movements carefully when the man leans forward to scoop up some snow to pat into a neat snowball. Ever since he knew the guy, he'd noted the fidgety behavior. Even as a child, or looking back on things during that one particular flashba-- He blinks, his mind having drifted, as he returns to the conversation. Biting onto his chilled bottom lip, he says, still wearing this slightly amused grin, "I've got some obligations here. At least for a while longer." He could very well be talking about his mother, though he could mean other things. "Otherwise, I'd be out of here. Work out of L.A. or even New York, you know."

Those all too cautious eyes was also ensuring that the snowball that Alexander was creating wasn't going to be lobbed at him, though his gaze is constantly shifting, so sometimes it's hard to tell what he's focusing on, even if he is making quiet observations from out of the corner of his eyes. The notepad now presented to him, those dark eyes first lift to view Alexander once more, before he takes a few steps closer to get a better look at what's been written.

Strangely, what is written, while it may not have anything to do with Alexander's experience at the Asylum, gives Byron this feeling of uneasiness. "A Construct?" Gaze flickering over at Clayton, "When we went to the other side to get the Lover's Jewel back," He slowly shakes his head, still not believing what they'd all seen, "There was uh... a memorial for someone or something that looked like me. Pictures, presents. Everything. Gotta say, that was unnerving, so it has me wondering if you've run into anything like that at the Asylum."

"See? Smart," Alexander says, with a firm nod. He scoops up another double handful of snow, and starts working it into another ball. He doesn't seem, by body language or focus, to have any intent to throw it at Byron, although an amused glance in that direction suggests that the thought has occurred to him, at least once. But he lets the man read in peace, until he starts to speak again.

When he does, those dark eyes settle on Byron with interest. "Ah. The, um, Tour Guide. Yeah, Isabella mentioned it. I'm sorry; that sounds incredibly disturbing." He seems to mean it, too; but then, Alexander has had to kill the constructs of his Dreams wearing his face enough that it's less amusing than it might otherwise be. "And maybe we did. I had to have some reason to start thinking about it. I know I've considered it before - ever since the funeral. Gohl's...spirit, or ghost, or whatever, passed to the 'beyond', and in doing so, he shut a door somewhere. And our abilities were affected. I've wondered if that means that, if you assume that there is a spiritual realm, if the Veil and that realm are connected in some regard."

His pocket buzzes. He frowns, and tosses the new snowball aside. It hits a slope and rolls down it, picking up more snow until it comes to a halt at Byron's feet. Alexander fetches his phone, reads the text message, and engages in a brief conversation regarding it. "The local Medical Examiner is looking into the rabies outbreak at the hospital. It's proving an interesting mystery."

Tour Guide. That's an odd thing to create and then have modeled after him. "I mean, at first, it almost looked like a memorial meant for me. And," Byron dismissively shrugs, "It was almost difficult to tell that it wasn't me." With that perfect, winning smile plastered on his lips...

"How can there not be a spiritual realm? Ghosts exist, even if I would've had my doubts before." Which was strange, that Byron was never affected by ghosts during his time growing up in the town! "Are we talking the things we witness in Dreams?" He tries to think back on if he's ever ran into a doppleganger. "The closest thing that I've come to that would be that earworm, and despite the build, the clothes, the demeanor-- aside from it trying to bite into me, I'd say that it looked nothing like me." That's because he made quick work of it, rather than let it tear out a chunk of him, so that it could finish with the transformation.

His eyes peer over at the notepad once more to see if there was anything else written down, when he notices the snowball rolling over to him, giving him this urge to stomp on it. Instead, he lets it crash up and against his shoe, before his attention drifts to Alexander reaching for his phone. "Does he know about Peregrine's involvement in all of this?" He asks. Byron knows of the M.E. and the man's family, since he used to hang out at the trailer park as a child with Lilith. "Especially the how James Carmichael was infected with Rabies and the fact that no one took notice of it before his organs were handed out to those in need."

Returning to the Asylum, however, he asks, "Have you spoken to Isabella about this already?" He'll assume that they did, figuring the returned home together after their trip. "Or Marshall or any of the others? Maybe they have more to their recollection that you can all piece together in fragmented parts."

Alexander's notebook is clean, neat, and well-organized. There doesn't seem to be anything else regarding the Asylum on the page he's looking at. If he flips through a couple of others, there's notes about what are probably various things, but aside from shopping lists and occasional mentions of appointments or fragments of research, they're written in Latin. "But is a ghost the actual person?" Alexander frowns. "That's the heart of it. Is a ghost actually a remnant of the original being? Or is it a construct made up from all the left-over bits and pieces and psychic impressions that person has made during their life, animated by a force we don't understand for a purpose we're not quite sure of?" He tucks his phone away again. "And if the construct is convincing enough, does it matter?" A bob of his head. "And, yeah. I've met things that look like me in Dreams. Things that look like most of the people I know. But they're not...they look like someone, and they may superficially act like something, but they're definitely not that person."

"And yeah, Yule knows about Peregrine. But Carmichael wasn't infected with rabies. That one of the things he was just updating me on. Carmichael wasn't, but the organs were definitely the source of the disease in the patients, but they hadn't had abilities used on them directly. But, at the same time, the incubation rate was vastly accelerated. It's very intriguing. I've suggested he look at the transplant teams."

At the last question, though, he hesitates. He looks away from Bryon, and down, kicking a bit of the snow. "I...haven't. No. I didn't...what if I'm the only person who doesn't remember anything? I don't think I'd like that. I will. Ask about it. I just...I wanted to go for a walk." In the middle of the night. Rather than think about it.

"Gohl's spirit seemed like it would've been the actual William Gohl in personality, but I can't be too sure. Not that I ever met the guy in life," Byron makes clear to say, "But... the dark sense of humor and what have you, could just be a mere shadow of who he really was." Considering this now, he openly wonders, "Why would you be discussing ghosts at the Asylum? Was Gohl brought up?" That's the only thing that he can think of.

Byron assumed that there was no disease in the organs at the time they were chosen to be distributed out, "Of course, the hospital would have run tests to ensure that the organs were suitable, so... I don't know how it could've slipped under the radar unless they were infected after the tests were run. Obviously, this isn't your normal infection being spread, especially if it was set in motion by Peregrine."

Watching as Alexander kicks up some snow, Thorne's brow furrows at the other man's frustration. He understands some of that frustration, however, especially with this need to think and reflect on what may or may not have happened. "You didn't all leave the place together then? The morgue?" Taking in a cold, throat drying breath, he quickly says, his eyes shifting to view a lone car struggling to drive past them off to the side, "It almost sounds like a Dream than a trip to the Veil, but from what we've heard, things that happen in the Asylum are complicated." He removes his hands from his pocket, having one gloved hand tug at his layered sleeve to view the watch at his wrist. It's not a Rolex or anything fancy and more of a digital sports watch. He could have easily just checked his phone, but this was more done out of habit. "A bit early to inquire with them now. But it'll be a good idea to know whether you're all on the same page or not." The sleeve is smoothed back out, because it's freakin' cold. "I'd be interested to see what you've all got to see about the visit. If it did happen, someone must've known something. If it were a Dream... that's still a talking point."

"None of the old depositions or news articles were very helpful when it came to getting a clear picture of who he was, as a living man," Alexander says, with a shrug. "His personality didn't seem that far off from what I might expect for someone of that demographic and time period - but is that just the construct fitting its projection to the idea that I already had, or...?" He stops, laughs sharply. "But that way goes around and around into an abyss of second guesses."

To the comment about the organs, he says, "Or the person who was signing off on them was either complicit or fooled. You or I could make someone believe test results said something specific, provided we knew the right vocabulary. It wouldn't hold up for records, though, which means we'd probably have already seen a news article on it. Someone who was complicit and willing to falsify the tests would be better. Could be a lab tech, a nurse, a doctor - it's hard to say."

Alexander hesitates, shakes his head. "No, we left at the same time, but I think we were pretty shaken up. We didn't stop to talk, much." A crooked smile. "Or maybe that was just me. Whatever did happen over there, I think it scared me. I had that after-panic-attack feeling." His eyes follow the motions of Byron's hand, and he smiles, faintly. "I'm surprised you're interested. You never seemed overly curious about the place, before."

Obviously, Byron Thorne had never forced someone to sign or do anything using his abilities. Who would do something like that?? Byron just nods, "And it would take some work to weed out everyone who works at the hospital... who would have access to that information." He says, turning to look back on Alexander. "If that's a possibility, then it's definitely not something to be handled by one person alone." Especially in light with what they know about the consequences of using their powers. "The test results themselves would filed away, but rather than having anything physical to touch, it would all be mere data, so it's not like we can go to the source and get a reading on that." He's trying to think further on this. "If there's anything that I can do to help, just let me know. I want to put a stop to Peregrine as much as anyone."

To something Alexander says, Thorne gives him this considerate look. "Why wouldn't I have an interest in it? Vivian stumbled upon this whole Asylum thing and she had little to no knowledge of just what this town had in store for everyone. Obviously, I wasn't comfortable with her handling this on her own-- Without me being there to protect her, I mean. That was up to Marshall to decide. So I've always had some interest even if it meant trying to keep Vivian away from it all."

Alexander blinks, studying Byron with interest. There's a sudden, bright grin from the man as Byron thinks about the puzzle. "We'll turn you into an investigator yet, Thorne," he says, voice light and teasing. "More seriously, good thoughts, all. I'm trying to let Yule handle the hospital side of things - I don't have any authority or access to any of that, and the patience of the police is, uh, variable at the best of times. But, yeah. We'll get him. Once the snow clears out, and holiday obligations have been cleared, we should check out that house again. He probably won't still be there," and here Alexander's gaze slips away, conscious of that being his fault, "but we might find something to give us a lead. I've been asking around, and there've been a couple of sightings of him, but not enough for a full geographic profile. If any of your tenants mention someone like him, let me know? Or, if you wanted to join the canvassing - August's been asking around, too."

To the rest, he gives a shrug. "You just seem to try and keep yourself distant from most of the craziness, unless it has a direct impact on you." A pause. "I don't fault that. It's the smart thing to do. And I know you'll get involved if anything puts your friends in danger. But you don't seem...attracted to the weird, like some of us are." Another, sheepish pause. "I could be reading you wrong, though. You're hard. To read. Without actually reading. Which I've tried not to."

His gaze moves away, towards the largely pristine snowpack, and he smiles. "Have you and Lilith made snowmen, yet?"

"My father was a police detective." Byron states the obvious, with no animosity of sorts in regards to Stephen Thorne. It's merely stated as fact, "So you learn to pick up a few things here and there along the way." There's a very brief pause here, his lips upturned into something akin to a smile, "I'm sure he'll be disappointed that I never followed in his footsteps." This is possibly something that Byron had uttered in Alexander's presence at least once before, but it's a tidbit that he sometimes tosses out to random people when conversation ever turns to his family life, his father especially. It's spoken out of amusement, especially for those who know little to nothing about his past. It's all part of this game that he plays to hide that fact.

"As long as Duchannes knows the consequences of overuse." He makes sure to add, though he's sure that the likes of Alexander would've told the other man by now. He knows enough that the M.E. shines, though not as brightly as many others, but what he's not clear about is what... aspect of power the man has as part of his arsenal.

"I have other obligations." Byron states when the fact that, yes, he's not the run off to investigate everything sort. "I don't really have the liberty to do so. But you're right. I'm not nearly as inquisitive about those things as you or Isabella are." Perhaps, that's the reason why he's never lived up to his potential with his own powers. Or now that's a reason that comes to mind. "Frankly, a lot of it is none of my business."

The discussion turning to something more light-hearted, Byron shakes his head, a faint smile forming. "No. Not yet anyway. How about you? I hear there's a contest, but I've never considered myself a snowman architect of any sort. No matter how much Isabella and I competed in things of that nature when we were blessed with snow during winter. It's something we might consider doing. I mean... we are hosting, of sorts, a snowball festival." His eyes turn to Alexander when he says this, "Maybe you'll decide to participate in the chaotic, ruthless fun."

He then says something that he meant to say a while back and would have done so earlier if Alexander were one of his clients or professional business acquaintances. "So, I got the gift that you had sent over. Looks nice beneath our decorated tree." A pause, "Thanks." He then goes on, "I always find it odd when people consider me to be difficult to shop for. I'm not overly picky and there are things gifts that no one can be disappointed in, I think. Usually that involves food or drink."

After another brief pause, Byron states, "Seeing that you know Yule Duchannes, how well do you know Noelle?"

Alexander falls silent at the mention of Stephan Thorne, his expression complicated with the little flickers of various emotions, none settling for long enough to really express itself. His head turns, looking out for the town. "You would have made a good cop," he says, after a moment. It's definitely meant to be a compliment, from the tone. "But I'd be lying if I said you'd have a chance to do the things you can do now, if you'd gone in that direction. And people probably puke on you or try to beat you to death a lot less often." That's rueful; Alexander may have some wistful desire towards law enforcement, but it's not an idealized view of the profession.

"And I don't think Yule uses his abilities that often. Although he's got some very exciting ideas," Alexander admits, with a sudden grin. "We're going to try them out, although we have to go Over There for the next phase. Which is not exactly safe, but...if it works, it would at least make investigations here in Gray Harbor a little more accurate where crimes involving abilities are concerned." And he's earnestly excited about that, it's clear. "And, fair enough. Not everyone' is as compulsively nosy as I am."

The faint smile about that admission blooms into something stronger. "Oh, I quite like making snowmen. And snow castles. I can't say I've done it much - we get a snow like this, what, every few years or so at best? But that's probably why I enjoy it so much. If it happened every winter, it'd just be the same old thing." His eyebrows go up. "A snowball festival. I feel like you mean a 'giant snowball fight'. And sure. That sounds like a good time."

Then there's a blink, when the gift basket is mentioned. Alexander clears his throat, looks away. "You're welcome. And I do find you difficult to shop for. Sorry. But I'm not very good at it, at all. And you're very," he pauses, "you have the ability to get yourself whatever you would like, and you're not casual about sharing your preferences for various things. I had to ask Isabella about things you might actually like." He shrugs. "Which is fine. You're not required to display your likes and dislikes, and we don't talk all that much. I'm glad the gift works."

And then he moves on, quickly, looking a little embarrassed. "Not at all. Someone apparently won me a scooter tour and dinner with her? It didn't say who. I've tried to reach out to her, but I think the holidays are pretty busy right now. She seems interesting, what little I've heard Yule mention. And it's always nice to meet new people."

This talk of police officers and law enforcement brings out a broader smile on Byron's lips, "In this day and age, if I were a police officer, I'd gain the same sort of trust as I do now," As a businessman. "Perhaps a tiny smidge more than that. People like to bitch about both." There's as much trust for the law and there is for suited business types apparently.

That said now, something does grab his interest. There's this spark within his eyes for a few seconds as he looks to Alexander, before his gaze drifts once more. "Now you've got me curious. At least a little." He turns back to regard the other man with his attention again. "What exactly did he come up with?" There is genuine curiosity in his eyes now. Perhaps he's excited about this new finding or endeavor as well.

"You're not wrong that this snowball festival is, indeed, a giant snowball fight. It's not every year that we get this much snow to play with so we may as well make the best of it." His gaze then lowers to view the snow at his feet, hands in pockets once more. "I've nothing against making snowmen or anything. I'm just saying that it's not my general expertise."

The rest of this talk about the gift given him or how difficult he is to gift is smiles at and nodded to, but he doesn't really say anything more, but to add another, "Thanks." yet again. It's this whole discussion surrounding Yule, more so his sister, that he seems more interested in. "This is a pretty crappy time of year to go out on a scooter tour. Unless you're just asking for danger and mayhem in the snow." Chin lifted, his eyes casually stare out at a speck of something somewhere down the road. It's difficult to tell in this flurry sometimes. "Which, you, personally, might be into. But... that's quite a mystery you've got on your hands." And it's such an odd thing for someone to randomly bring up that particular Duchannes.

"I think you'd garner a fair amount of trust whatever your profession, Thorne." It's a simple observation from Alexander, and he shrugs. "You always seemed fairly well liked, from what I remember."

Then he chuckles. "Ah, curiosity. It awakens." He stamps his feet in the snow. "It's something like luminol. Except that instead of detecting left over trace amounts of blood, he wants it to detect whether an ability was used on an object or place. Or body, I suppose." He sighs. "It's apparently quite challenging to develop, but I'm excited about his progress."

A soft laugh. "No one has an expertise in snowmen, Byron. It's just a fun thing you do, then knock over before it gets all melty and sad. Trying to get all artistic about it just makes it too stressful, if you ask me." He flashes a grin. "And presumably, Noelle knows how to drive the scooter well enough, I'm sure we'll be fine." He tilts his head back and lets the tiny flakes of snow fall into his face, blinking as they melt on his lashes and in his eyebrows. "It's probably Gina Castro, the diner lady. She told me she was going to bid on something in my name at the auction. Didn't say what, though." A frown. "This isn't really her style, though - it would be something more openly humiliating than 'scooter ride and dinner'." There's no rancor in the observation. Either way, his head tilts down and he considers Byron. "Why are you asking? Did you run into her? Did she run into you? Hopefully not with the scooter."

Byron tilts his head back with a laugh, this wide grin clearly plastered across his features, "Well, I wasn't talking about me, personally, just the profession I've chosen. But... that's nice to know."

"Luminol for... power usage? And it's something that can be developed, the way we create well, chemicals and the sort like luminol to begin with?" Thorne asks to make sure that they are on the same page, "Where exactly would you be headed to, on The Other Side, to see if this is even possible? A Veil lab?" If it sounds like he's making a joke of that, he probably is, because that smile returns and there's a hint of laughter in his tone. There's some seriousness that returns to his voice now, "Has he described this process that he's working on to you? I'm just trying to get a feel on whether it's something related to our powers or if it's something combined with actual chemical substances in our own world and how they might," There's a shake of his his head as he tries to wrap his mind around this, "How they might work and together to get results. Color me intrigued, either way."

That all-too serious expression becomes even more serious now, "So you're telling me that you're a snowman bully. And go around murdering snowmen before they just naturally return to the earth at their own pace? What if their creator wanted them to stick around for longer, before you going destroying their hard work?" A brief pause, before he says with more emphasis, "What if the snowman, itself, wanted to LIVE." Despite the firm sincerity in his words, he just has to laugh once it's all said and done. "But you're right. It is a stress reliever. Very much like this snowball fight."

Now onto the auction. "Gina Castro?" There's a tilt of his head, the grin still lingers, "I guess you've never actually seen Noelle Duchannes zooming around town on that Vespa of hers." For as quickly as a Vespa can go, "I'd say that this would be right up Gina's alley." There's something entertaining about all of this now and Thorne's shoulders lift into a shrug, "Something I heard, that's all. I mean, I was there during the auctions, after all. Spent... quite a sum of money for tickets to the Great Gatsby New Years Eve event, which I already had tickets to, but I'll most likely give them away. It was more for donating to charity and... the horse carriage ride. Which I really could have gotten at a much cheaper price." But he doesn't seem to mind overpaying.

Alexander stares at Byron, fixedly, his expression utterly blank. It goes on uncomfortably long, before the older man's smile appears, and he laughs, softly, himself. "Don't let it go to your head, Thorne," he says, lightly, in return.

There's a bob of his head. "Theoretically. It's still more a theory than anything else, but it's got potential. Not for mass production or anything," he says, with another chuckle, "I can't imagine that would be a thing. But it might help nail down when agents of Them are harming people. And right now, we're just going to find a sort of safe place to conduct an experiment or two. I don't know of any labs over there, although I suppose the," he grimaces, "Vivisectionist must have one. Still. Don't want to work with her. But I'll let you know if anything interesting comes of it."

There's an earnest expression of shock and guilt on Alexander's face as Byron goes on so seriously about the harm done to innocent snowmen. "No, I mean, I don't, not other people's snowmen. Just mine. I wouldn't ruin someone else's--" he blinks. "You're...teasing me. Oh." He rubs the back of his neck with a gloved hand. "I think, if the snowman wants to live that badly, then it needs to fight back. Or learn to talk, or something."

"Hm." Alexander turns thoughtful as the mystery of the auction is explored. "I haven't poked very hard into it - I figure if someone wanted me to know, then they'd tell me, and it's not like anything you get through a charity auction is going to hurt you. But I should probably at least ask her." Then he considers Byron, with a smile of his own. "But then you'd miss out on the public relations value. Hard to put a price on being seen by all as a charitable and generous soul, when you're looking to make a business grow." It's light, teasing in turn.

Does Byron Thorne ever let anything go to his head? Don't answer that.

Of course, they are figuring something out to determine whether if a death or crime was committed by an agent of the Dark Men. Of course. Byron will nod to this and pipe up with, "Good idea. And yeah, keep me posted about that. As well as if you all decide to visit the Vivisectionist." Then a thought crosses his mind, "By the way, did you ever take the remainder of the soup away from Isabella? Or will you leave it in her hands?" This could be a humorous jab at Isabella's recklessness, but there's more than likely an underlying concern as to why he's brought this up at all.

Sometimes Byron makes light of things that he's joking about when someone figures it out, other times, he continues on without making any further mention on whether he truly was joshing or not. He goes on in that same fashion, when he says with a far too serious warning, "Be careful about saying things like that." This is followed by a tight pursing of his lips and a wary shake of his head, "We've already learned that anything is possible in this town. Especially... things like that."

And of course, Byron's the type to donate generously for the recognition! He will smile when Alexander brings this up, though he knows that it's a simple light jest, no matter how true. "Still, that's pretty interesting. A mystery for you to solve. That seems like an ideal present for a P.I., I'd guess. "Good luck with that, though."

In the end, however, a man like Byron Thorne has things that must be done and a run to finish. So with that in mind, he says, "I have a busy day today. Business calls that need to be done before the actual Business Holiday of the season hits. Last minute gift giving and...cleaning up after this cat that Lilith and I.. acquired. He made a real mess of Lilith's loft the day we were out at the creek." And boy, do memories of that day still haunt him. "Have you looked into that at all?' He's talking about the spikes that they both have one of. "I can't say that I have." There's probably terrible memories associated with it!

"Before I go though, as promised," And just as he says this, his eyes focus on a spot, right next to a house nearby. Whatever it is he's conjuring up, this 3D model illusion, he's chosen that space in particular for one reason or other. Either way, as he works on this, from memory (possibly very recent memory...), he'll let Alexander address the other things they've discussed.

"We are not visiting the Vivisectionist," Alexander says, flat. Even if he's quietly resigned to the fact that if Isabella insists, he will demand to tag along. "And no, I left it with her. She hasn't had any ill effects, and it's worked for her. Besides, it seems like the same company that made the soup was handing out...things at the Christmas Parade. Which is a bit odd, but Isabella showed me some coin she'd gotten, and it has the same mark. We should keep an eye on--" He turns speculative. "Actually, you have much better connections in the business community than I. Maybe that's something to look into?"

Alexander laughs at the very serious warning. "Thorne, if a snowman tries to kill me, it will only be...top twenty in the weirdest and most horrifying Dreams I've had. And I'd probably deserve it. All the smashed snowmen of years past cry out for vengeance." A smile at the mention of the 'mystery' of the auction win. "I guess it is at that. Mysteries are interesting, particularly when solved, and I could use one that isn't dead people or horror. I guess."

A shake of his head. "No, of course. I didn't mean to keep you." His eyebrows quirk up at the mention of the cat. "...have you bought him toys? A scratching post? If it's a new cat, it should be confined to a single room with toys so that it can get comfortable. Scared and bored cats are very destructive." And a shake of his head. "Not yet. I was going to wait until Isabella went out for a bit - she's finished her dissertation draft, by the way. But she doesn't like seeing me read things, so I was going to wait."

And then he falls silent, looking with interest at Byron's sudden focus. He doesn't try to distract the other man, just stands very still and thoughtful. With anyone else, he might reach out with his mind, try to feel exactly how his abilities worked, the flavor of them in his mind; he knows better than to do this to Byron, although there's a touch of wistfulness in his face.

Byron didn't pay the soup package any mind. Or, while he may have looked it over with great scrutiny, realizing that it's a Veil product, he really wanted nothing to do with it. Alexander's mentioning of Isabella's gift from Santa, however, makes him a little curious about all of that. "I knew that she received a coin, but I didn't know what it did exactly... What does it do?" He then goes on to say, "I received a pair of X-Ray glasses, the type they used to advertise for in the back of comic books a long time ago. They actually worked, unfortunately. I'm sure everyone present at the time wouldn't appreciate knowing that I was given front row seat to play audience to what they were wearing beneath their winter clothes." He then adds, "Lilith received a seemingly indestructible box. Or it seems damn sturdy after what we put it through." When he's asked to look into it, there's a lift of his brow, "I don't know how much I expect to learn about a Veil corporation, but... sure."

The light humored expression remains on Byron's face when they talk about murderous snowmen. If they only knew...

"We bought him toys. Lots of it. We /aren't/ planning on keeping him." He makes sure to say, "It was some mangy alleycat that we found at the back of the pawn shop... we kinda needed it for something. But seeing how the weather took a turn for the worst, it wouldn't do to just release it in this heavy snow." To the rest, about the spike, Alexander is given a subtle nod. "That whole mess back at the creek. That really seems more like your thing." Than Byron's thing.

However, now that he's given this moment to project, the image of a pale woman is conjured up standing at the corner of that house. Her dark hair and those dark sunglasses contrast starkly against her far too fair skin. She may very well have been watching them or was simply passing through, but Byron is constructing this image from memory, having been reminded of her and what he told Alexander after taking note of her from out of the corner of his eyes. https://imgur.com/oMoaYkS (Ignore her surroundings!)

"That's her. The Other One That Got Away. She was right there a few seconds ago."

"I don't know," Alexander admits about the coin. "I don't think that she's used it, yet. I suppose we'll find out when she does." And then Byron mentions what he got, and there's first an incredulous look, then a bright laugh. "Thorne! Peeping on people under their clothes? I wouldn't have thought it of you." He shakes his head, mock disappointment, but adds, "Although, if it will look through other things, then it might be useful if you needed to see what was in a room, or...something."

Okay, Alexander can think of about a thousand uses for X-Ray Glasses, but he's clearly not going to talk about them to poor, innocent (as far as he knows), Byron.

To the denial of keeping the cat, Alexander can only look politely skeptical. "Mmhmm. That's what I thought about Blue Bell. I would keep her until I found her a good home. And then she decided that she would stay, and I didn't have the heart to disagree. Enjoy your new cat." He nods at the mention of the spikes. "Yeah. I'll give it a read. You probably wouldn't want to - whatever's in that is likely very nasty, and it does a number on you to have that shit in your head. If you're not used to it."

The warning's trailing off as he turns to study the image of the pale woman. "This is the one Isabella thinks inspired the Furies? Interesting. Are you still seeing her around?"

If anything, the idea that the X-Ray vision glasses actually work and the fact that he used them and saw, well, he told Alexander what he saw, is actually pretty embarrassing. At least slightly, so Byron can't help but break out into this sheepish grin, his own fair skin now flushed with a hint of color. And he's not the sort to blush very often. "If you only could've seen the things that I'd seen. Oh wait, there's a way that I can make that happen." This is almost like a teasing threat.

But he's not about to go through that trouble. And some of it was, well...

Reaching into his pocket now, he retrieve his phone. He bites down at the very fingertip portion of his gloves to pull them off just so he can use his fingerprint to unlock the damn thing. With those gloves still off, for the moment, he scrolls through his gallery, before showing the image of one of the pictures they'd taken of the beast. With his teeth still clenching on the tips of his gloves, he murmurs, "Thish izh a faysh only a mother could love." (https://imgur.com/a/Q6CPZeK)

Once Alexander's got a view of it, he's close up shop, removing the glove from his teeth. "We cleaned it up quite a bit as well. It didn't start out looking that way."

To the already image of the woman, however, there's a slow nod. "Yeah. When I said that that she was there a few seconds ago. I mean it. She was right there, at that very corner, a few seconds before I projected that image."

Alexander laughs, delighted at either the the faint blush or the teasing threat, it's hard to tell which. "If you want to relive those dire sights just to impose them on me, then I guess I admire the commitment to vengeance, Thorne." He goes quiet as Thorne reaches for his phone and watches the man unlock it, and go through the gallery. He leans in to take a look at the cat. Then grins. "My god," he admires. "That is the angriest cat I've ever seen. I expect him to bring out a switchblade and demand your cash. He does look very soft and fluffy. Does it let you touch it?" They did say stray, after all.

But then he's rocking back on his heels, all humor gone. He looks towards the corner. "I...didn't see anything. Which isn't to say that she wasn't there. But she could also be projecting an illusion of herself into your mind. Have you had any other attempts at attacks or...punishments for using your powers?"

Regarding this still unnamed cat, Byron nods, "Despite his expression, he seems friendly enough. Then again, I had to... tell it to hop into the bathtub and behave just so we could get it washed up and presentable." He does come out and say this much, "Long story short, one of my business associates is a big huge cat fan. So we found that little guy to show off. Well, Lilith chose it out of all the alley cats who live anywhere remotely near her shop. Took a few pictures to send off and rather than just releasing this one immediately, we'll probably get it vaccinated and neutered before returning it out to the wild." The wild streets of Gray Harbor.

To the other thing, Byron shakes his head. "No. Nothing so far, but that doesn't mean that any of us are letting our guards down." His eyes flicker over at Alexander, "As you should know. You're not out of the woods yet." Yes, Thorne keeps bringing that up that Alexander received an invitation too, but escaped judgment! "Anyway, get back to me about what Duchannes says about both the rabies spread and this little experiment that he's performing." A pause, "And whether or not the others have a better recollection of what happened at the Asylum, though I'll be sure to inquire the same with Isabella. See how she's holding up."

With that said, he has that earbud in his hand again, just as he casts a brief look down the street, one which is still filled with a flurry of snow. "Thanks for the update, And the present." He makes sure to add, "I'm sure I'll be seeing you around."

"Yeah, strays can be suspicious little buggers. But you guys are doing a good thing. If you do decide to get rid of it after the holidays, maybe consider taking it to an adoption center instead?" Alexander's voice softens. "They get attached, you know. It won't know what it did wrong, if you just toss it out there again."

Then he clears his throat, looks away. "Anyway. Yeah, I've been keeping an eye out, but haven't gotten any other communications. I've gotten lost a couple of times, but nothing unusually horrific. I'll keep you informed." When Byron puts the earbud back into his ear, Alexander nods, lifts a hand in a wave, before he starts to move away. It might not even be heard over the music when he says, "Merry Christmas, Byron. Don't die," before he starts walking away.