2020-01-08 - Mysteries Outstanding

(TXT to Alexander) Byron : Clayton, how are both you and Isabella doing? That was a nasty tear in your back.

(TXT to Byron) Alexander : Thorne. Hello. We're all right. It looks like the wound on Isabella's arm is healing well. My back will be fine. Thank you for your concern. Are you okay?

(TXT to Alexander) Byron : I'm still a bit under the weather, but I've been managing.

(TXT to Alexander) Byron : Interesting news about Carver.

(TXT to Byron) Alexander : Still cold? It seems to cling. And yes. He found out some information about Peregrine before he left. He was interesting.

(TXT to Alexander) Byron : I've yet to not be cold since that incident. He actually found information on Peregrine? At least he's decided to be helpful for once.

(TXT to Byron) Alexander : It does wear off, eventually. I think it depends on how badly you were wounded during the 'game'. I'm better now, but just had a bit of frostbite. And he was helpful a couple of times. I'm sorry you two didn't get along.

(TXT to Alexander) Byron : We didn't get along because he wasn't willing to do anything in his power to protect Lilith.

(TXT to Alexander) Byron : What did he find, by chance?

(TXT to Byron) Alexander : That's true. That he wasn't. And his research suggests that our 'Peregrine' or, more likely, one of his predecessors might have been the inspiration for Dr. Faustus. I'm sure you're familiar. Apparently a cult that worships either the Shadows or a particular one.

(TXT to Alexander) Byron : And you trust his word on this?

(TXT to Alexander) Byron : I ask because I know what a bullshitter looks like.

(TXT to Byron) Alexander : On this, yes. There's no motive for him to lie, and he didn't strike me as the type to try and derail something as a 'fuck you' to a near-stranger on the way out.

(TXT to Alexander) Byron : I will have to disagree there.

(TXT to Alexander) Byron : With what he'd given you, however. Now what do we do?

(TXT to Alexander) Byron : I can't say that I have any experience dealing with... beings of that nature.

(TXT to Byron) Alexander : I can look into this cult and the lily connection a bit more, see if there's something that might suggest a weakness that we can exploit. We know we CAN injure him, though, and it does hurt. It's just...difficult, with his abilities.

(TXT to Alexander) Byron : Hurt him for how long? Didn't de la Vega killed the guy? I mean, apparently not, but he shot him.

(TXT to Byron) Alexander : Although I'm familiar with cults, I've never dealt with anyone knowingly worshiping one of Them. I don't know how that changes the equation. And he seems solitary. An isolated worshiper. No evidence, thus far, of devoted followers.

(TXT to Byron) Alexander : Javier got him in the shoulder. It wasn't ever fatal.

(TXT to Alexander) Byron : And you all believe that he's old enough for people to write stories about? That's what Isabella said about that other lady who we keep seeing.

(TXT to Byron) Alexander : Not necessarily. Carver's research suggests a sort of succession - possibly a mentor/student relationship. He probably is older than he looks, and depending on how much time he spends over there, might be much older, but I'm not assuming he IS the inspiration for Faustus.

(TXT to Byron) Alexander : Still. It's a place to start. If it's a religious or pseudo-religious devotion, such people are often beholden to their mythology. It empowers them. But also constrains.

(TXT to Alexander) Byron : Either way, let me know if you find anything. (. . .) I have no experience with cults.

(TXT to Alexander) Byron : There was something else, which I should have given to you yesterday, but it slipped my mind.

(TXT to Byron) Alexander : I will. Oh? Do you need me to come by and pick it up?

(TXT to Alexander) Byron : If it's not a problem. Otherwise, I can drop it off at your place.

(TXT to Byron) Alexander : It's not a problem. I'm out on an errand. It's not a particularly long walk. I'll be there in about half an hour?

(TXT to Alexander) Byron : I'll let security know.

After being alerted by security downstairs that his visitor had arrived, Byron already had an idea of just how long it would take Alexander to cross through those gates and move on to Building A. He knows just how long it usually takes someone to make the full journey to the rooftops now that penthouse access was granted. By the time he hears the warning ding of the elevator before its doors open, Byron is at his surveillance console right by the door. He was already expecting a guest, but he views the brief moment that Alexander exits the elevator before reaching his own front door just a few steps away.

It's the late afternoon and Byron had already changed out of his business attire, if he'd worn them at all. He's dressed in a few layers, with the heaviest and thickets sweater that he has in his possession, worn as his outer most layer. Thick gloves are worn on his hands, but he's done away with the winter cap, leaving his dark styled locks in full view. The door swings open and he gestures for Alexander to enter. "Tea or coffee?" No use asking whether he'd like alcohol. "Or water. That's another option. I also have one of those fruit fusion type things, you know, with the fruits sitting in water to lend it their flavor?" All the while, he'll watch the other man's posture, the way he moves after his back was practically flayed.

"I didn't get a chance to mention this before but I was on Sycamore recently and I happened to come across a rather interesting crime scene."

Alexander is also wearing layers, which are spattered with damp from the wet, cold sludge which defines the Gray Harbor version of deep winter. It might be that which makes him move so carefully from the elevator to the door. But the unusual straight angle of his spine suggests that trying to protect his back is part of it.

When he's allowed in, he studies Byron with dark, wary eyes before coming inside. "Coffee would be great. Thanks, Thorne." He considers the room. "How is Lilith? Did you see a doctor? I mean, one who knows what's going on."

He avoids Byron's eyes, at least until he mentions the crime scene. Then, not even embarrassment can stop him from turning (with a wince) to regard him. "Oh? What sort of crime?"

After catching the signs of a man not fully healed from a terrible and uncomfortable wound, Byron doesn't let his gaze linger on Alexander or his back any longer and proceeds to the kitchen to brew up some coffee. Reaching for a mug in an overhead cabinet, he offers, "Mocha, Caramel. Irish Creme, French Vanilla?" All fancier fare that most would expect. "Lilith is Lilith. Seems like she made a full recovery, Thank God. And no, with Lilith's own recovery, I was hoping that this would go away as well. If it lingers for another few days, I might consider."

Turning to lean the small of his back against the kitchen counter now. "This should be right up your alley," Your Crime Alley... "A murder at the Broadleaf Apartments under new management." Is that a hint of a smile on his lips? Perhaps, he's just happy that it wasn't a murder at his own apartments. "I wasn't allowed into the building, of course, but... there was that I could see whenever it neared the window. This wasn't your typical mundane murder."

Alexander blinks. There's silence for a long moment, before the smile flickers to life and he says with amusement, "Those are types of ice cream, not coffee. But, uh, mocha? Please." Then a nod. "I'm glad she's recovered. That was a nasty one. The snow, I mean." He prowls stiff-backed around the apartment, pausing to study where Isabella had been sitting.

There's a sidelong look towards Byron. "Not typical? In what way?" He doesn't miss the hint of a smile, and despite his ragged, sleepless demeanor, one eyebrow rises in silent curiosity about the hint of pleasure there.

Once his guest's order is placed, Byron turns back to the espresso machine to fulfill the request. "It's really a wonder that we were all in Downtown at the same time. I don't know if that triggers these events-- all the stars aligning, or if any of us stayed home that day that it wouldn't have happened at all. Something I think about from time to time." He continues on as he puts the finishing touches on the beverage and you can hear that hiss of steam. "Lilith's at the shop currently. I feel safer knowing that she's got an angry shop cat guarding the place when I can't be there."

When the drink is delivered it's mocha flavored with a beautiful milky froth. "For one," He says about this non-typical crime scene, "There was a shadowy form that could be seen through the window from the outside. Obviously, the cops weren't going to let anyone just walk on through." His hands tuck into his pockets for a brief moment. Most likely, he'll be withdrawing them after what he says next, "It was like an shadowy animal, I think. Anyway, I happen to have collected a sample from it." After failing to do so with the goblins at his Apartments the last time.

There's the bright flash of a smile from Alexander at the mention of the cat. "How is the angry shop cat, by the by? Settling in well? Does it have a name?" He accepts the coffee with a murmur of thanks, blowing gently at the foamy top.

The rest, he listens to with that focused, reptilian interest of his, dark eyes unblinking. "Fascinating. Was the shadowy figure alive, or dead? Did it try to attack you?" When Byron says that he got a sample, Alexander makes a brief, eager sound, his gaze dropping to Byron's hands in their pockets. If he was a dog, he'd be begging, but since he's not, he just paces restlessly, sips his coffee, and stares.

"The cat's name is Smog." Byron states, an absent glance is given the Christmas tree that's still in the room. All of the decorations have been removed and it looks to be bound tightly for easier transportation. The removal just hasn't been done yet. "It has gray, somewhat lamb-like fur. I named it after the pollution its fur reminds me of, Lilith thinks of it as Tolkien's dragon and I try not to tell her that she's wrong too often."

Moving towards the bookcase now, there's this small container sitting on one of the shelves there. "I don't think it's really an angry cat. It just /looks/ like an angry cat. That resting bitch face 24/7." Returning back to where Alexander is pacing like a caged animal, he simply hands him the container. Inside, there's a stick, the tool which Byron used to collect the sample with. He just tossed them all together into the container some time afterwards. The sample itself is similar to rubber cement clinging onto that branch. "It didn't attack me. I was one of the bystanders outside. There was something going on in there, however. Flashes of red light. Obviously one of the cops or EMTs shines brightly. It was hurt during the altercation and I, kind of, put this sense of fear and panic into the thing. That might've helped to chase it off."

His chin lifts towards the sample, "Two different substances were seeping out of it on it's escape. I found them gathered at the base of the streetlamp that it crouched on before darting away. There was that and something else, but unfortunately the something else wasn't as easily collected. It burned through the snow, but it didn't seem so corrosive as to do any damage to the ground beneath the snow once it melted its way through."

Alexander's expression softens. "He sounds like a lovely kitty. I'm glad he has a good home. He probably is, too. And Smog is a...unique name." He grins. "You and Lilith seem to do well. I'm glad."

His eyes light up at the container, and he takes it without hesitation, immediately examining the stick inside. "Fascinating. Some sort of Veil creature? But was it the perpetrator or a witness to what happened? And why would it be on this side?" He glances up, even as he moves to stow the container in his jacket, with a pained sound as the fabric pulls over his back. "This is lovely. Thank you, Byron." Murder is a great gift! "You didn't want to look into it, yourself? " Like it's hard to imagine anyone coming across a weird crime and not wanting to look into it.

"Veil creature. Dream creature, I'm not sure." Byron confesses as he's still trying to figure out what the difference is in both. "What makes the cast of Gilligan's Island any different from say... the goblin's in my lobby. Or this creature. Or the mechanical minotaur which started out as a falling start that trashed my car?" Drawing in a deep mildly-frustrated breath, he states, "In all instances, our injuries come with us back into our world. In some instances, that's the only change while in others, there are tell-tale signs that something happened there outside of the norm. Evidence, so to speak."

At his odd delight that Alexander takes when he's given a crime scene present, one of Byron's brows quirk up, but he's looking as if he's trying not to judge, even if he smiles faintly when he says, "Lovely is not the word I'd use in this situation." Okay, trying not to judge too harshly. "And what am I supposed to do with it? I'm not an investigator, part of the GHPD or otherwise. Nor am I a scientist that might take interest in weird findings-- unless there's something profitable that can come of that substance, but, it's not as if I have ways to produce more." That said, he murmurs "Even if some scientific minds might want to try."

"Either way, in all honesty? I don't know if this creature was the perpetrator or a witness. And I wasn't close enough to gauge what was going on in the apartment itself. But whoever was in there believed they were attacked and lashed out. I /think/ it was a Mender, a Healer. From how they made the creature bleed out. That said," Byron decides to add with a very brief pause, "The creature was," There's an idle lick at his lips as he considers what to say next, "Sad. I guess could be a good word. Mournful. However, I only felt that after I'd gotten into its mind to scare it off." Letting out a deep exhale, he shakes his head, looking a touch annoyed, "It looked like it was crying, alright. I couldn't tell if it was due to pain, the fear I'd forced upon it or anything else. I don't know what the difference between the two substances are, but I /think/ this thicker substance is what it... cried out? Those are its tears?" He then hurriedly adds in, "Which means that other thing that melted the snow is what it was bleeding out."

"I think Dream creatures are...created. Within the dream they inhabit. While Veil ones live in the Veil. But I don't know for sure. It's speculation. It would be easier if we knew how Dreams were created, really." Alexander thinks about that, his gaze going abstract. He shakes himself out of it. "But I don't know how we would discover that. Unless Peregrine or someone else with deep knowledge of the Shadows decided to just chat with us for a while about all our questions. That seems," his smile is thin, "unlikely." He nods, symipathetic with Byron's frustration. "There's a lot of blank spaces in our knowledge of the Veil and Dreams. But things like this," he pats the pocket with the container, "might help fill in one or two."

He turns sheepish at Byron's quirk of brows and smile, and looks away, studying his own boot with interest. "You've no doubt noticed that I don't have many hobbies, Byron. I make the most of the ones I do." A shrug. "Anyway. I appreciate the head's up. You want me to keep you in the loop if I find anything interesting? Or is this a case where you'd rather not know?" A glance back to him and a smile. "It's okay. Either way. But I feel like you're more curious than you give yourself credit for, sometimes."

At the additional information, he nods. "It might not be responsible. Either for the murders, or maybe if it committed them, it might not...it's hard to say what something like that understands of humanity and their fraility. If you're used to severed feet with eyes, or women with cut throats who are still alive, then maybe you don't always understand that if you break someone's neck, they're going to go away and not come back, if they're human."

Talking about whether the likes of Peregrine would let them in on what knowledge he has of the Dreams or the Veil in regards to Dream creatures and things of that nature, Byron looks thoughtful, this time both brows lift, "I'm sure there's a Department to make an appointment with that covers exactly that. And it will come at a cost of sorts to gain that information or... be added to a really long wait list." These two are very familiar with how some of the Veil bureaucracy works at the very least.

His eyes taking notice of that pocket which Alexander now pats, he asks, "Do you believe that this is something that the ME will be able to look into? Seeing as it's a bodily fluid from one of those creatures? Not that I expect the ME to be well-versed in the anatomy and biology of Dream or Veil creatures. However, since they're doing some sort of experiment that deals with the strange," his shoulders lift, "Who knows."

He then adds in to something else that Alexander brings up, "If it were a mundane death, or murder," He quickly tacks on that part, "Then it is usually not any of my business. I'm not the police, I don't have the authority to go after mundane criminals and sometimes, it's probably best that I don't know." There's this edge when he speaks this, perhaps hinting at the dangers of knowing too much due to a particular crime boss in town. "For things like this? I'm handing it off to you because, it's out of my expertise. If you do find something useful, then sure, I'd like to know. We're all piecing things together still when it comes to the weird thing that happen here."

His gaze once more falls upon Alexander, though he doesn't seem as if he's intent on scrutinizing the other, just that Alexander is standing where his gaze seems to have drifted off at that moment. Though there is a hardening of his eyes at some point. "I'm sure there are beings in the Veil who want to hurt us. Like the Dolorphage." He'd not forgotten the word. "So I wouldn't discount it entirely that this thing wanted to do that person harm."

It might look as if Byron had more to add or inquire about, but he's either biding his time or deciding against it completely now.

Alexander grimaces. "I'd almost rather take my chances with the fucking snakes again," he says, with a shake of his head. "I don't like bureaucracies. Even in the regular world. The only improvement Over There is that they're aware they're insane." He takes another sip of his coffee. "And I'm wary of the cost. Especially since we barely understand what to ask, or what something should cost. It's hard to even begin to bargain when you don't know the value of what you have or what you want with the other party." He stops, then chuckles. "Although I expect that to be your area more than mine."

"But...yeah. I'll take it to Yule. See if he's at all interested in giving it a look. I think he will be. He's," there's a fond smile, "keen. Especially for someone who came to all of this late. I don't remember him standing out as a kid." He paces back around towards Byron, nods. "No. That's fine. You shouldn't get involved in any of that shit. Hell, I shouldn't," he admits with a little shrug - then a wince of pain. "I shouldn't. It's not like I ever really help with anything. I just...get in the way. Really."

But as Byron goes on, he shakes off his own melancholy in favor of watching the younger man. "Yeah. It's entirely possible it's an enemy. I don't rule it out. I just try not to assume until there's evidence. You miss things." He continues to stare. Then he makes a noise. "Out with it. If you have something to say. It's fine, whatever it is."

This mention of insanity, reminds Byron of one other thing he'd forgotten about. "So everyone else who you'd spoken to regarding, whatever you all did which may or may not have to do with the asylum, no one remembers much at all?" There's a point where he clears his throat, then draws in another slow and deep breath as he works on regulating his breathing even if the chill that still clings to him nearly forces him to hyperventilate. "I recall seeing a cryptic post on Friendzone a while back. Thought it had to do with the uh.. Asylum, but I wasn't completely sure. Don't know if you wanted to look into that or anything. I mean, it could be nothing. It could be a trap."

Especially for someone who came to all of this late.

Byron knows of Yule Duchanness, but with their age difference, is was more of a passing thing. If anything, he's slightly better acquainted with some of the guy's siblings. "Are you sure that he's new to it all instead of having forgotten about it when he went off to school? The way I did?" That seems to be Byron's thing. Question everything with slight distrust.

However, Alexander's giving him the go-ahead to ask his question gets a sharp shrug from the Entrepreneur, "If Isabella finds out that I'm prying, she'll kill me." A pause, "Or try." Obviously, his thoughts had returned back to that Dream that Alexander dragged them into. He doesn't dig too deep. Or that's how he sees it when he asks this question. There's no inquiries about Alexander's role in it all. orwhat he had to do for Zachary Instead, he merely inquires, "What happened to that man, the Reverend, in the end?"

"No," Alexander says, with a grimace. "Not much at all. It's...it's slippery." There's a burst of frustration from him, and he reaches up and taps the heel of his free hand sharply against his temple, like that might jar something loose. "And judging by what other people, who were there longer, have said? Trying to force those memories risks hurting us further. So I've been reluctant to try, unless there's reason. Somehow, some of us ended up with books. They belonged to an inmate. Violet's sister. I've been trying to put together what happened to her." He frowns. "But people have been difficult about it."

Then he smiles. "But that's not your problem. I'll put it together." About Yule, he says, with a shake of his head. "We didn't...talk much. In school. But I don't remember him standing out. Patrick did. But he was an Addington. I avoided." His tone is dry. His eyes sharpen. "It's my story, Thorne. If I say it's fine, it's fine. If parts of my past try to kill someone, then they probably get to ask a couple of questions." A shrug. Even so, the question clearly pains Alexander. He turns away, nursing the rest of the coffee as he walks over to stare out at the magnificent view.

Slowly, he says, "I don't know. Not for sure. There...was only so much I could take. In the end. I burned down the compound, and I...people had a lot of anger. That I had been suppressing, diverting, forcing them to deny. I stopped." A pause. "No. I gave them my anger, on top of their own. There was a riot, a fire. I don't know what happened in the end. Who survived, if the police came, if Zachary..." He breathes out. "I don't know. Most of the time, I wish he was dead and that I knew that absolutely."

After hearing what Alexander says about the consequences of remembering, Byron comes to some conclusion, "So it could be a trap like I said? Trying to gather people and have them remember their time there? " He is quick to say, "If that's what the post actually meant. It's hard to tell and it seems as if people are too afraid to open up about it and for good reason."

At the time, growing up, Byron didn't take notice of everyone around him glowing brightly either. For some, it was hard to ignore, but it was difficult for him to understand why their light shone so brightly. Not until he got older anyway and had a better understanding that there was something different about him that had nothing to do with his fathers own super powers. That's what he called it back then. So he understand where Alexander is coming from here.

However, the difference between both men is made more clear to Byron now. While Alexander Clayton might be more open about his dark past, despite how uncomfortable it makes him IF this trauma also threatened to hurt another, Byron would still be adamant against it. To a degree. "So what we witnessed there at the end? The torches, the rebellion? That's what happened in reality too then?" He decides to say, "I saw him burned, his skull bashed in a single fleeting instant. So I'd like to think that he did get what was coming to him. And whatever this is is something else."

"It could be." Alexander admits. He doesn't turn around, but does finish off his coffee, then starts playing with the cup. "But I suspect it's just...people trying to figure out what happened to them. A single night of forgetfulness? It hurts, Thorne. I don't, I don't like not being able to remember what I've done or what has happened to me, ever, even when they're unpleasant things. But a night is something that I can accept, reluctantly. If the cost might be greater than the reward. But if I had been there for weeks? Months? I'd probably break myself into pieces, desperate to know what happened to me there. To remember." He runs his free hand through his hair. "I can't condemn someone for wanting to find that." A pause. "But it can't hurt to keep an eye on that sort of group."

There's a pause, and he nods. "To some degree. Yeah. Fire. Fury." He winces at the vision Byron conveys, guilt twisting his features, visible in the reflection of the glass. "And yes. That wasn't Zachary. It wasn't even a perfect model of him. It looked like him. It talked like him, for the most part. But it wasn't him." He chuckles, then, although it's sad. "Even if it took me a while to come to terms with that. Sorry for getting weird."

Byron only knows the bare minimal of what this group of people that Alexander adventured with may be suffering after having, perhaps, gone to the Facility. So it's difficult for him to gauge just how severe these penalties are. "Do you even know what the punishment is? These people who might flock to this call, they were probably there for years. With that memory gap. Do you think that there's a chance that they'll be punished as well?" He then remembers something, "You know of that woman who used to work at the Asylum right? Would she condone a meeting like this for those wanting to remember?"

This news that the Zachary who they ran into wasn't really him, has Byron nodding slowly. "Is that because he's dead and this was just a sick manifestation of him?" Letting out a heavy breath now, he brings up, "Magnolia saw an imperfect version of her father as well," Alexander only knows part of this story, having been there when they dug something up from beneath the dog house on Elm. "For her, I think, her Dream father might be doing her real father's bidding. Maybe. Yours though? And this was the first time that you'd dreamt of that exact moment?" He believes he'd heard something said after the fact. Hell, there's even a doppleganger of Byron. Or was.. before it melted like candle wax. So these copies of individuals does bring up some concern.

"Someone else says that it feels like trying to regain those memories is corrosive. And Doctor Stevenson is," Alexander frowns, "not well, I think. When she tries to remember. I don't think she has the right to condone or not, but I doubt she would want to participate in such a thing." He finally turns away from the window, and makes his careful way past Byron, to the kitchen, to wash the mug and put it away, if he can find out where it goes. For the moment, he just sort of stands there, scanning the cabinets with it hanging in his fingers.

"If he were still alive, Byron, he'd be about my age. Not what we saw. That's how I remember him. I don't think the Dream...whatever it was meant to do, I don't think it was meant to fool me that it was real. Just to remind me and hurt me." He shrugs. "As the Dreams do." Curiosity flickers, as it always does, at the mention of Magnolia's situation. "How would that even happen? A person commanding a Dream figment? I've wondered if such a thing is possible since the actors. They may have created those bowmen in the castle. Remember them? I've wondered how. If it might be possible to take control of Dreams."

He grimaces. "But that's a side matter. Yes. I've had many nightmares about the Church, since I left it. But I haven't Dreamed it. Maybe it was because other people were with me. Some things hurt more when it's known by others. I've...been acquiring fri--people whose company I enjoy." He sighs. "So I've been thinking. More. About whether people would...accept me. If they knew what kind of person I was. I imagine that's ripe anxiety for the Dream to play on."

Well, learning that the woman who he'd thought was their insight into the Facility was 'not well' does change things up a bit, making Byron nod. That's when he senses Alexander's searching around, visually, in his kitchen that he steps in. "You don't need to watch your own cup, you know. I have a dishwasher." And a maid! He adds in, "Here, let me."

The other man's drawing him back to memories of the acting troupe gets him curious as well, "I was wondering about that and whether the control of Dream things is just a boon because you work for Them. But if so, then they should come out with it and make that a part of their sales pitch than be assholes about it." He's talking about the actors' recruitment attempts of the people in town. "Otherwise, maybe one of the Dark Men as there to help. Some of us were still finding our footing in this whole," Glimmer, "Thing, so we may not have noticed. But, if there is a way for us to conjure up and control Dream things, that would be useful to understand."

He then has to listen to Alexander talk about how these Dreams torment them in certain ways, especially drawing others into something so deep, dark and traumatic and very personal. He's experienced that with Clayton already, on Byron's side, and it's an uncomfortable experience and something, despite the detective offering to assist in this thing regarding his childhood home, it's not something that he brings up at all. Nor does he dare bring that up, less Alexander remember that time at this moment.

Instead, he says something hypocritical, "Why would it matter? You've changed from that person and by the looks of it, your time then, in that cult, really fucked you up. Isn't that punishment enough?"

"It's better to wash it immediately. Coffee stains are a pain in the ass to get out," Alexander mutters, but doesn't hesitate to hand over the cup to Byron when he asks.

He nods to the commentary about Dreams. "That's another thing I've wondered. Is it something you have to be aligned with Them to do? A gift or support? Or is it something that we could learn to do. If we could learn to take control of these damned Dreams..." he trails off with a thin, sharp smile. "Well. that might something that helps us fight back. At least in some regard."

He does laugh, briefly. "I was always fucked up. Just happened to be in ways that matched the whole mess. But," he gives Byron an odd, thoughtful look, "it would matter. To most people. I'm pretty sure. If it doesn't to you," a long sort of pause, "I'm glad. Surprised. And a little worried. But glad, nonetheless."

Byron appreciates that Alexander cares about his coffee mugs staining even if he doesn't say it. When he finally does speak up, it's about the actors again. "If what they can do is like Dark Side Powers, I wonder if there's something extra that the rest of us can learn. The ones who had not fallen under the sway of the," Sith, "Dark Men. Again, I don't think there's books written about this, so we may need to contact someone on the other side."

There's not much more to say in regards to whether Alexander is or actually was a bad person, besides, "We've all done bad things, I'm sure. Some worse than others." And he can only imagine what a man like Zachary would have Alexander do. "Seems like Isabella knows...? And she's accepted that that's a part of you."

Seeing that Clayton was ready to clean up, Thorne senses that the man was preparing to make his departure. "Heading out?"

"That would be nice, wouldn't it?" There's a hint of wistfulness in Alexander's voice. "The idea that there's some light to mirror the dark? That we can call upon some brighter power to help us become the equal opponent of the Shadows and their followers." He shakes his head. "But I don't think there is, Byron. It's just us. I'm not even sure our abilities can be used for good, in the end. I try. Because to have them and not try seems...wrong. Broken. But it may be futile."

He shakes himself out of the melancholy, and dries his hands. "I told Isabella. I thought she deserved to know. If we were going to be together. And yes. She's been better than I have any right to expect about it." He smiles. "I should go, yes. I hope that your chill wears off soon. And if there's anything I can do...let me know." He moves towards the door, pausing only long enough to say, "Don't die, Thorne. And...thanks." Then he takes his leave.