2020-02-06 - Let the Right One In

Alexander does wake up, eventually. And although there are a couple of other occasions where his dreams turn dark and subsequentially other residents on the floor start to have a VERY BAD NIGHT, it only takes a gentle touch and some soft words to soothe him back into quietness. And when he wakes, it is with a groan. He's mostly coherent, although he fades in and out. Right now, he's picking his way through some terrible hospital food, sitting up with a bandaged head (mostly bandaged in the back), and a bandaged arm. He's already grousing about the food, the bed, the nurses, and everything else. Mutter mutter.

She spent most of the night awake, and by his side - while Alexander Clayton is unconscious, Isabella Reede has not left this room. She has kept vigil over his volatile state, touching his brow and cleaning up the sweat-laden toils of his evening, intense and focused eyes on the door and ears pricked in case the disturbances start back up again. Thankfully, the evening passes without any further incident.

When her lover is finally awake, and harassed by nurses with some piss-poor breakfast, she drags her tired body out the seat she has spent the night in, folds the blanket provided to her neatly, and tells him that she's going to go get him a decent cup of coffee at least. Her head still feels like an overripe melon about to burst, but a few of the aspirin she had pestered the nurses to bring for his concussion does the trick, and after a quick kiss and despite any protests, she would not be deterred, saying something about how she needs coffee, too, and there's great cups to be had just down the street.

She's still in her errand, whenever August arrives, but it's clear that she's there - even if the man didn't know her well enough to be certain that she would have stayed, there are signs of her occupation on the seat next to the bed, with the folded blanket and a familiar satchel - she had only brought her wallet for that coffee run.

August is getting a lot better about this whole 'load up on Xanax and go to the hospital' thing, which is to say he doesn't need to spend an hour working himself up to it anymore. An improvment over the first time he had in several years, and in a moment of morbid amusement, he reflects it was for the same person, too.

He still needs a second in the parking lot, staring up at the structure. "Get in there," he says to himself, under his breath. And then he gets out of his car and does that.

He's in a black, suede jacket and what looks to be a dark green, close-fit sweater under that. Denim jeans and heavy hiking boots, his usual for this time of year. He has to pause a second outside of Alexander's room, nausea threatening as that head injury prods at him. He reminds himself that Alexander is fine, there are good doctors here so it's fine. (It's not fine, but this is how August gets to the point where it is, by willing it into being.) Finally, he walks in. His eyes flick to the satchel--ah ha, she's here--then to Alexander. He dredges up some 'hospitals suck' humor. "Room service as good as it always is?" he asks with a wane smile.

To be fair, Alexander isn't VERY injured. The crack across the back of the skull is the worst of it, and while Alexander would argue that is quite enough, it's not like he's mangled. He smiles when he sees August come in, although there's more than a hint of worry in his dark eyes. "August. Are you okay?" It might seem funny, coming from the guy in the hospital bed, but he knows August's issues. "Can I help?" He reaches up to tap his temple - then winces, because all of his head hurts. Other than the head, only one forearm is bandaged, and that doesn't seem to be much that worries him.

"Am I okay?" August sounds borderline exasperated. "I'm not the one in the hospital. God, you're incredible." He rubs at his eyes, comes in the rest of the way. "Yeah, I'm fine. Mostly." He squints when Alexander winces. "I assume it's just a concussion? Not," he gestures, indicating the broad scope of possibilities when it comes to head injuries, some of which he is personally familiar with, many of which involve things like neurosurgeons and neurosurgery.

"I'm not the one with panic attacks about being in hospitals," Alexander says with a faint smile. He sits up a little more. "And yeah. Took a chair to the back of the head. And a beer bottle shard to the arm, but that's pretty minor. Fucking Pourhouse," he mutters, reaching up to rubs his head. "It'll be fine. Sit down? It's good to see you." He checks towards the door to make sure Isabella isn't coming back, since they haven't talked about how he got in here in the first place, before saying, "I may have tried to get in a fight with a good portion of the bar."

August's smile is a little more genuine this time. "I gotta work on it somehow. But you could stand to stop being the reason I do, you know." He settles into one of the spare chairs, arches an eyebrow. "A chair? That's practically attempted homicide." He frowns; it's not that he doesn't know Alexander can fly off the handle, it's just that he's come to expect it's under rather specific circumstances. "Did something happen?" He glances at Isabella's satchel involuntarily, telegraphing a bit of his assumptions.

When Isabella returns, she's got an eggcrate with two cups of steaming coffee, and a warm paper bag full of - well, some manner of egg-and-lettuce wrap because someone told her she looked like she gained ten pounds (she's not over that by the way), and a couple of butter croissants. Her eyes look somewhat bloodshot, but she seems to be in relatively good, or at the very least determined, spirits. Her steps carry with them those usual brisk, businesslike strides, and she's still clad in the clothing that she has been wearing yesterday, but she looks warm enough - cheeks are flushed from the cold, and her wavy hair is tousled from the wind outside, left in a wild, dark-brown storm around her face. Her emerald irises, however, are bright and alert.

"You won't believe the line at-- " Her rant fades, espying a visitor in the room. "August! How did I know you'd be one of the first people to come?" And yes, that is despite of the Xanax. She moves over to set the eggcrate and coffees on the side table.

"Well, yeah. They were trying to kill me, in a haphazard, drunken sort of way," Alexander says, not sounding terribly upset or surprised about this, although that might just be the concussion talking. "And yes. Something happened. I went to interview someone. Didn't go well. I think someone tried to get me to kill him, and then someone threw a bottle at my head and...matters progressed." He shrugs, wearily. When Isabella enters, his smile is sleepy but genuine. "Isabella. Hello." And then he reaches out for the coffee. Grabby grabby miiiiiiine.

August's frown only deepens to hear that someone tried to get Alexander to kill the person he was there to interview. "Tried to get you to? Like--" But then Isabella arrives, and his expression relaxes some, even if she looks worn out herself. He smiles, a little wry that, as expected, she'd gone out to get them something real which would not doubt be frowned on by the first nurse to come in here. "I'm not gonna not visit my friends in the hospital," he says, tone dry. He glances at Alexander, waiting to see if he'll confirm if someone was trying to force him, or, if it was more of Their bullshit.

She plucks one of the cups - straight black and ground with hazelnuts, the scent of it filling the air. "Do you want anything, August? I can run out real quick," Isabella offers, before handing what she's got over to Alexander and his grabby hands. "Hello, darling, how are you feeling?" Concern gentles the otherwise smoky edges of her contralto, dropping a soft, but brief kiss on his dark half-curls. She reaches out to take her coffee, and then steps over so she could curl a one-armed hug over August's taller, broader frame. But otherwise, she doesn't interject in the continuing conversation. She eases into the chair she vacated to take a nursing sip of her coffee.

"Grumpy and my head hurts," Alexander says, with a frown. As if this should be perfectly obvious. But he smiles at the kiss on his bandaged head, and takes his coffee. He sniffs it appreciatively. "Thanks." A glance back to August, and he shrugs. "I think. When I went down, people started attacking themselves, throwing themselves out windows and...I saw someone. And I really wanted to murder that guy. He's a fucking asshole." He rubs at his face with his free hand. "They're all fucking assholes." His irritation pulses out; he's not intentionally leaking, but it's happening anyway, just not with any focused intent.

August leans in to hug Isabella back. "No, it's fine--I'll get myself something in a bit. You look like what you need is rest, not to be running a coffee errand for me." He sighs, settles in the chair and leans his long legs out, crossing them at the ankle. The frown returns as he listens to Alexander's description, shifts to puzzlement as he feels...that. He gives the gentlest push back, just so Alexander can feel the resistance. "You're ah...projecting a little, there," he says. His eyes narrow. "You want me to, ah," he flicks his fingers between the two of them. "Check you out? Make sure nothing weird's happened?"

She hasn't heard the whole story, but with the words and the pieces he had shown her deep in his subconscious, coupled with the Gazette article, she can put things together, and read between the lines. Judging by her expression, the more the investigator describes the incident, the angrier she becomes. Isabella frowns over the rim of her cup, the delicate vein on the side of her throat standing out. "I take it the interview with that piece-of-shit Whitehouse didn't go well?" she remarks; both men can easily see it, how her jaw sets and remembered fury brightens the dangerous evergreen depths of her eyes, because she can remember the chart and the terror that nearly consumed her when she attempted to feed Alexander's twisting body some manner of calm.

August's offer gives her pause. "It's Alexander's decision, but it's a little volatile in there at the moment," she offers. "He's evolved from where he was, aggravated by his head injury."

"I'm not projecting," Alexander snaps, that irritation spiking. Then he stops, frowns. "Shit. I am projecting." He groans and nurses his coffee. "Sorry. Still..." A wave of his hand as Isabella volunteers the information. "Think I broke something loose in my head. But no, I'd rather you didn't." He shakes his head at Isabella. "It did not. I think he's seen Alice. I think...I think she was the one who made things go crazy at the end. But if so, then she also was trying to encourage me to murder her father. Which," he frowns, "I'm not entirely un-okay with that."

August weathers the outburst easily enough. "It's alright. Makes sense if you got clocked over the head you're heaving trouble with it. Half the reason I don't want to go to a hospital is I'd hate to see what happens to me if I'm half out of it on pain meds." He pulls a face at the refusal, but nods at Isabella and Alexander. Tilts his head, then eyeing Alexander in a contemplative way. "Mmm. Yeah. You definitely look different."

He blinks, refocuses on the two of them. "Wait, you were talking to Walter Whitehouse?" He groans, tips his head back. "Fuck's sake, Alexander, bring someone with you next time. Like, de la Vega, or one of the patrol officers--someone. Hell--Joey Kelly, come to it. At least then Walter and his dumbshit buddies will think twice about coming at you."

His eyes narrow, though, at the revelation Alice might have been involved, might have caused the mass breakout they've caught wind of. "You were saying someone killed Violet. Maybe that's why. She'd finally had enough. They killed her sister, and she decided it was going to all stop." And like Alexander, he can't entirely blame her for reacting that way.

She's angry, but she's trying to think through the white noise; lips nearly peel back to bare her teeth at the mention of Walter Whitehouse, and how Alexander might have been jumped. She had spent a restless hour staring down the corridor where one of his assailants is being monitored for his coma, thoughts of placing a pillow over his face dancing in her tired mind, aggravated and inspired there by the helpless, wretched feeling that comes and goes after that disastrous experiment with Yule. It's with some effort that Isabella pushes those thoughts away, to focus on what Alexander and August are saying.

"If you were being compelled in some fashion to murder someone, and you were physically attacked afterwards, the confluence of events could have pushed you forward," she says, her eyes falling on Alexander, and then August. "Though if that's true...if Alice did turn her efforts towards your attackers when you fell, why would she inspire you to kill her father, and then turn around and protect you. If she wanted you to do it, and take the fall for it, why would she bother?" Another more worrisome possibility assails her tired mind then, and she lifts her fingers to rub her eyelids. "...unless she intends to try and use you for something else."

The last is a quiet mutter, she takes another sip of her coffee. "You said you think he saw Alice, recently? What did he say that made you think that?"

August watches the nurses poke and prod at Alexander, steers clear of them with a sullen expression. He takes a deep breath, lets it out. Despite his claims that he's fine, it's hard to miss the subtle strain being in the hospital produces.

He focuses on Isabella, then, since that's more neutral territory for the moment. He folds his arms, contemplates his boots a few seconds. Then, "It could be she doesn't actually want him hurt. Not...explicitly." He keeps his voice low, aware there are nurses, and speaks a little more obliquely. "I don't mean she's concerned about his welfare," he flicks Alexander an apologetic glance for that, "just that she's not out to see him go down for it either. Maybe she can't come at Walter for some reason." His eyes narrow, and he bites his lip. "It's just...the young woman I--" He hesitates, cutting a look at the nurses, "--ah, read about, in that book, she didn't seem malicious, or hateful. She was genuinely grieving for her sister, furious about being abused. I don't mean she's not dangerous, just that she's not necessarily...evil."

In recent weeks, Byron's been hustling to call in favors, ask for favors and have strings pulled for various reasons. More than likely, he has a big project that he's working on, something which requires a lot of negotiation and investment support among other things. It's Sunday, however, which should be a day of reprieve. That doesn't stop him from going through with his Sunday rituals, namely the early morning run and the exercise routine which follows. Then comes a shower and a change into his day-to-day business attire, putting his best face forward when sharing breakfast with his mother in her apartment. He has to let her know, no keep her reminded at just how successful her son had become.

It's the fact that today is Sunday that actually pulls Byron out to Addington Memorial to pay Alexander and Isabella a visit. While he probably has a few things that needs to be taken care of or dealt with later in the day, perhaps, for now, his morning was free. Having asked Lilith if she wanted to come join, learning that she'd received the same voice mail message from Bella, he drives her to the hospital with a mixture of coffee and hot chocolate on hand.

Still wearing his suit and tie getup, when he swings the door open for Lilith's entry, Byron looks as if he were heading into the office on a Monday. Except he looks to be in good spirits. It seems that Alexander's attention is taken by one of the nurses in the room, so setting the tray of hot beverages down and removing his leather gloves to tuck into his coat pocket, he offers up in greeting, "Roen." Before stepping in close to give Isabella a comforting hug, "Bella, everything okay?"

When Byron got up, exercised, and went to breakfast on his Sunday routine, Lilith laid in bed with the excuse that she was up late between work and running over to do some last minute box and trash removal from the trailer. And the caulking, she ran back to do that late because she wanted the tub to be completely dry before she did it. But in truth, all that hustling late came from knowing she wasn't going to be able to sleep well. Cleaning out her old room the day before had been more of a trial than she let on, but she finally crashed and is out like a light until she's poked awake by notification chimes on her phone.

Eventually, Byron gets her up and around with the hospital visit, though, which conveniently rouses her much more than him letting her know in bed he's going to his mother's. She might have to go if she's awake or something. But she's up for Bella and co. while carrying a box of doughnuts and other pastries with the suited man on drink carrying duty.

Wearing a fitted and belted sweater dress in vivid indigo with tall black heeled knee boots, hair in a twist that looks charming despite the half-ass effort hair day, she blinks at August once inside. Then she looks at the box of pastries like she's going to offer him one while Byron checks on Isabella and Lil waits her turn for hug. But suddenly, she seems to think better of it, "... if I give you one of these, is it going to come right back up with nerve spew?" She knows the root of it, of course, but isn't impacted with the same anxiety variation when it comes to broken bodies en masse."

"I don't think so either," Isabella replies to August quietly, watching the nurses fuss over Alexander, and her lover suffering through their attention in a visibly uncomfortable manner, with that same, eagle-eyed look, her more protective nature surfacing on the lines of her face. "Alexander told me that he can't guarantee that Alice isn't an agent now, because of what he managed to find the last time he read Violet's house - I suppose things could have changed between now and then, but I'm leaning towards the fact that she...well. I don't know if she actually needs our help, but what Alexander wants most of all is to be assured that she's alright. He promised Violet that much. The Asylum, all of it, it could come and go, but that's not his priority. Alice is. Not that it changes my feelings on the matter in wishing I could press Walter Whitehouse's face down on an active sand grinder."

She would say more, perhaps about Alexander's present state, but with new faces emerging from the doorway, her expression brightens. "Ronnie, Lil," she says, rising from her chair. Alexander looks hurt, but not that hurt - by all accounting, there's bandages on his forearm, and around his head. She clearly looks like she could use some sleep, her eyes are bloodshot but she seems to have regained both her shine and mobility, when she reaches up to hug Byron when he offers it. "For the time being, it's good to see you." She gives him a squeeze, and when Lilith makes that comment, she laughs. "I'm fine, now, I promise," she says, and gives her a hug anyway, careful of the box. "Bar brawl at the Pourhouse, like I explained. It was rough going there, for a little bit, but he'll heal. Alexander's almost as hard to kill as Javier."

August makes no comment on Alice's agency (or lack thereof) beyond a low, thoughtful sound; he's not aware of the larger story there, not really, so he'll have to await further explanation from Alexander, if it's to be forthcoming. It might not be, in which case, he'll settle for guilting him about doing things solo and almost getting killed. What's sauce for the goose, and all that. "I'm willing to give people the benefit of the doubt when it comes to that place. But like it's said, when someone shows you who they really are, believe them the first time." He raises his eyebrows briefly to see if Isabella reads him.

He smiles and raises a hand at Byron and Lilith. They're a welcome distraction, really, from the reality of Being In a Hospital. "Hey," he says, then eyes the box of pastries. "Ah...better hold off. I might snag one from you if my stomach settles." A big if; he's more likely to just get something on his way back home, in hopes of being able to nibble at it in a couple of hours.

Alexander mutters and grumps at the poor nurses while they're just trying to do my job. Which, to the relief of everyone involved, is soon finished and the nurse glares at him before leaving, shaking her head and muttering about calling his mother as she slips out of the room. To which the investigator groans. The arrival of Byron and Lilith is met with a smile. "Hello, you two." When Byron gives Isabella that comforting hug, a spark of humor flares in his eyes. "I'm the one in the hospital bed, and she gets the hug? I see how it is. It's good to see you both." He doesn't argue with Isabella's summary of the situation at all.

Instead, his attention turns back to August. "No, I agree. But I have touched an Alice who was filled with a darkness that was greater than anything I've ever touched before. In a remnant of a Dream Violet was in. I don't know which of the Alices are real. Maybe both of them. And relationships with family are often," a hesitation, "fraught, particularly in that situation. Walter seems to blame Violet for Alice having been committed. Said she...raised demons up. I know that's not true, but I have some research to do to get to the bottom of the actual incident. I thought she was committed for attempting suicide."

Once Alexander is freed from being harassed by his nurse, the corner of Byron's lips quirk into a faint smirk at what the investigator jokes, "Isabella's here being all worried about you. Of course she gets the hug." And to that he adds, "So you got into a fight with Walter Whitehouse? At the Pourhouse?" There's more than just a hint of amusement in his tone finding the whole idea entertaining. "Brought coffee and hot chocolate if you're interested. I just had breakfast, so it's all yours."

Rather than finding a place to sit, he lingers near the bed, his hands hanging low, clasped together before him. "I take it that didn't go well?" Yes, it's another joke. "So you just inquired about his daughters and he completely lost it? I mean," His eyes seek out Alexander's now, filled with curiosity, "There was nothing strange about the encounter at all? It was a normal reaction from a grieving father?"

Lilith must have thought Bar Brawl was code for something strange that happened in or near a bar, not that Alexander and his politeness she sees were in an actual bar brawl with fisticuffs and rogue chairs. But after looking at Alexander and his bandaging with a tilt of her head while listening to the others talk, she breathes out an 'oh' and catches on a few degrees. After nodding at August and putting the squeeze on Isabella, she does wander to find a chair and plucks a donut from the box to eat in a napkin to keep glaze from flaking on her sweater skirted lap. The rest of the pastries she puts on a table for the taking at whatever point by whomever.

"I'm waiting for the day I get popped by a drunk while hustling overdue loans on mill payday in there. But I think that may be a wee bit different than what must have happened in there with Mister Manners, here. Was the man drunk or is it just... Whitehouse affairs? And were you swinging back or just letting him hit you because he's old?" Look, Alexander is pretty polite, she hasn't seen him fisticuff actual people outside of Strange, so it seems like a valid inquiry. At least she's not ribbing him for getting beat up by an old guy at the bar, though.

August's significant look to her earns from Isabella a quiet nod. "Yeah," she murmurs in a contemplative fashion. "I know."

With Alexander released, and the banter between her lover and childhood friend, green-gold eyes rove to him in an angle over her shoulder. "I think that's Byron's way of saying he finds me prettier than you," she quips, and there's a longing look at the pastry box and its butter croissants. She manages to refrain, and fishes out her omelette thing wrapped in a lettuce leaves, nibbling on the top; not that she has had much of an appetite, but she forces herself to eat. She also looks through the box to find something slathered in chocolate for Alexander.

"He was just following up on what he said he was going to do the last time we visited Byron's penthouse," she addresses to both newcomers. "That he needed to talk to Violet's father. It went poorly - Alexander felt that someone was trying to compel him to kill Mister Whitehouse, but he didn't...obviously, or he wouldn't have said what he did to the Gazette. And then people attacked him, then someone compelled his attackers to hurt themselves. He thinks it's Alice." It's not usually her style to field answers for Alexander, but she's angry and the man is hurting and concussed, and she flashes him an apologetic look from where she stands, but she is doing what she can to make his life somewhat easier at the moment, even if it's to fill in the blanks of their friends' questions.

She finds a napkin and offers the chocolate croissant on a napkin to Alexander since he barely touched his (terrible) first breakfast.

August grunts, nods at Alexander. "If you need help with looking into that, please ask. I know you're always on about how Violet asked you, and it's your burden," he waves a hand dismissively, "but you don't have to go it alone. And you shouldn't." He says this as gently as he can manage, given the pressure of where he is. So, not very, but he tries.

He looks askance at Lilith and Byron, but decides to let Alexander and Isabella clear that up. A small smile for Alexander's complaint about Byron hugging Isabella. "Come on, you know he's just being courteous to your preferences in that regard. Fake guilt trips don't work on this crowd, Clayton."

"Well, he has eyes," Alexander points out to the idea of Byron finding Isabella prettier than Alexander. He looks intrigued by the offer of coffee and hot chocolate, but already has a fresh coffee cup in his hand, so he shakes his head for now. Isabella is given a look at the summarizing of the situation, the barest hint of a frown there at someone speaking for him.

He takes a sip of his coffee, then glances back to Lilith and Byron, adding, "Walter wasn't grieving. He hated Violet. I believe his reaction to her death was to say, 'good'." He takes a deep breath, and realizes that he has to unknot his free hand from the fist it instinctively formed. "And no, I didn't hit him. I was leaving. But I really, really wanted to...hurt him. Kill him. Watch his eyes pop and leak vitreous humor down his face as his brain fried." He admits this dispassionately, at least on the surface. "It was so unfair that she was dead and that waste of space drunk was alive." Another deep breath. "It was a bad thought, so I was leaving. But a couple of," his mouth twists, "schoolmates of mine decided to start something, and the rest of the bar decided to throw in, as well." Yeah, he fought the whole damned bar - briefly. "I got stabbed and hit with a chair, went down. Then everyone got crazy. I'm pretty sure it wasn't me."

It's Isabella who pipes up first, drawing Byron to settle his gaze on her. That's just the information that he was either hoping to hear or expected to. His attention slowly returns to Alexander once the man give the full story of what had occurred. From their discussion before, he knew that Whitehouse had no care for his children, or so he assumed, so his own mention of the 'grieving father' was mere sarcasm on Thorne's part. Not that he'll come out and correct Alexander's own correction of him.

Hearing the spite that Clayton spews just thinking of Walter Whitehouse gets no real reaction from Byron. He just waits patiently for Alexander to finish, listening to the gory details of what the other man wanted to do to his friend's father. "You believe that Alice started the riot then, since you wouldn't attack her father? Did you get a sense of her presence? Look for her?" He'll assume so, but he asks anyway.

"So... did you find what you were looking for from Whitehouse? Seems that he gave you a bit of info. Whether you can use it or not." He shrugs to that. There may be other questions or things on his mind, but he's also considering everything that was said thus far. "What do you plan to do next?"

Lilith is not put off from her donut while listening to the pair of Isabella and Alexander making explanation, not even when he starts talking about eye fluids leaking. That part actually makes her nod a little with serious understanding of commiseration when it comes to creative violent urges or the desire to spill someone's blood and bile, and she's probably come up with some innovative ideas in her own head over the years concerning certain people. Then she gets a second donut to eat where Isabella and August and Byron are refraining, apparently intent on fueling her hummingbird metabolism with sugar for the rest of the day.

She briefly gets up with leaning to retrieve her coffee for a drink, but she doesn't seem to have anything else to ask or say for the time being. Byron seems to have already asked what she was wondering given the way she looks at him, then the others semi-expectantly and curiously.

The chocolate croissant is situated next to Alexander, if he wants it, and at the look, the smile she flashes him is a sheepish one. She knows, but sometimes the urge to help makes her meddlesome.

Isabella listens to the rest, taking a bite out of her egg and lettuce wrap, a sympathetic glance towards August when the investigator glosses over his offer for help. It's a familiar song and dance, to her, but today, at least, she doesn't have the alertness to insist. Instead, her attention falls on the way Alexander's battered knuckles curl tightly at the memory of Walter's callous disregard for Violet, and while his tone and confession is a dispassionate one, her eyes flicker there, shadows passing over them - remembering the rage, yes, but the conflict too. He wanted to, but didn't, also. Mention of the schoolmates has her focus wandering back to the door and where Chad Whatsisbody is lying in a coma.

There's also a bit of awe and a shot of potent and blistering attraction that she honestly can't help when the man confesses to fighting the entire bar that prompts the archaeologist to stare at him on the bed, before she looks away quickly and buries her expression with a determined sip of her coffee.

"And he hated Violet because she...summoned demons?" That, in the end, is the part that doesn't quite fit to her, at least. Dysfunctional families are common in Gray Harbor, if nothing else she knows she made out like a bandit as far as the parental lottery was concerned, but summoning demons? "I knew the Whitehouses were suspected as witches..." She remembers the black and white photograph with her ancestor. "...did he mean that literally?"

August rolls his eyes at Alexander; he's used to this sort of 'yeah sure I will (won't), between Itzhak and Ignacio. There is no doubt a whole lot of guilt tripping on this front headed Alexander's way. But he doesn't have time to dwell on that, as the highly detailed description Alexander gives of how he felt makes August distinctly uncomfortable. He focuses on his jacket for a spell, until that part of the topic has passed, then says, "I suspect those guys jumping you was a moment of frustration," he says, voice low. "You held her off, and she lashed out, maybe regretted it the second she had." His mouth wrinkles in a rueful manner; much good that did Alexander.

He glances at Isabella, shrugs. "Could be a lot of things. Them, Their agents, some sort of Veil creature." He waves a hand. This is life in Gray Harbor, that the list of potential 'demons' is long. "Might have just been trying out their Art, nothing more than that."

There's a smile for Isabella when she puts that chocolate croissant down next to him. Grateful, and a smile for Byron and Lilith too for having brought the treats. "I don't know why he hated Violet. I suspect it was because he's a bitter and hateful man, and all of that has to go somewhere. But he says there was a boy, a 'Matty' - probably Matthew - Watkins. I think something happened, and the boy disappeared. He said it was demons but," he sighs, "we all know that it's more likely to have been that they got lost, and the boy...didn't come back. And Violet was a strong reader. She might have had a connection."

To Byron, he says, "I'll investigate the Watkins incident. I'll try to find Alice. I'll try to figure out what is going on here." A hesitation, and a nod, to August. "I think there may be more to it than that, August, but I'm sure that Alice is a deeply conflicted young woman. One who has experienced a lot. I'd like to find her before she can do any more harm, and maybe give her help." He reaches for the croissant, takes a nibble. "It's very good."

"People have different ideas of what summoning a demon is." Byron is quick to add when its brought up, "Look at D&D. Parents and conservatives used to think that it was akin to satanism or the occult." He'll then add in a more dismissive tone, "My parents," Probably his father, "Thought it was childish and a waste time and I'm pretty sure it's something other than that though I can't say whether I believe Violet would be the type to play. I kinda think she would." He doesn't come out and say that he used to, himself. But some already know that about his past.

"Mister Whitehouse know about..." He shakes his head slowly, trying to pick out a word to use here, "how special his daughters were?" He's talking about the Light. Their talents. More so, whether Walter Whitehouse had the gift. Once Lilith gets up to gather up her morning fuel, Byron trails behind her when she resettles down, taking a stance beside her chair. "If he was witness to anything," Which might make mean he has the gift, "He could've seen any number of things. Then something comes to mind, "Does this mean that Alice is here in Gray Harbor? If she could try and affect you and the others the way she did?"

Lilith wipes her fingers on her napkin after polishing off the second donut during the span of time she's seated there listening and pensive, taking everything in with bits and pieces to try and put together into a whole for consideration. Then while keeping her quiet and absently self-entertaining, she balls the paper up and aims to toss it at the trash can like a net-sinking superstar (this time) with a look up and over her shoulder at Byron where he's come to stand.

Reaching up and over her shoulder for one of Byron's hands to hold in rest and idle squeezing at her shoulder, Lilith looks at Alexander for a few beats afterwards and advises, "If she's conflicted as you say..." No doubts here, because Whitehouses, "You'll have to convince her to let her help you with a plan, not just offer help because you want to help." She pauses, "It might be, though, if you feel like there's a dark Alice and a light Alice, so to speak, she'll have to help herself. I... had to kill a shadow version of myself when I was lost and giving up hope. It was hard."

Lilith pauses more thickly, hand pulsing on Byron's, clarifying, "Probably not the same. But it made me think of that, fractured selves. Do you have a plan to help her, at all?"

Alexander's smile is returned brightly, but briefly, before Isabella sinks into the chair nearest his bed, and reaches out for the aspirin bottle on the table. She counts out three of the extra-strength pills before popping them in her mouth and washing them down with a gulp of coffee. The rest of her breakfast is set aside. "I'm the last person in the world to insist on resting in a hospital bed without doing any research," she quips. "But..what do you intend to do about...?" She taps her finger against her temple, concern flitting over her face, presently lingering over the state of his walls and how weakened and cracked they looked the night before.

She doesn't say anything else about the Watkins investigation, because this is his task and his promise to keep, but she shakes her head at the last. "We'll try to find Alice." Her stubborn insistence is there. "Especially when we don't know whether she tried to drive you to take out her father, I know we don't really know on what side of the line she stands on, but we should probably assume that she's dangerous, since she could be working with one of the actors also, no matter what her intentions." And last night wasn't pretty. The words are unsaid, but her expression is tight with remembrance.

Lilith's words are ones that draw a contemplative noise out of her. "Or it could just be a shadow or something masquerading as Alice," she says quietly. "But I think what's hampering any formulation of a plan to assist her is the fact that we know very little about her present situation other than the fact that she had a terrible time at the Asylum and that she recently lost her sister, and that something could have been after both twins while they were in there together. Hopefully research will put together at the very least a coherent picture before any approach is made."

"Oh, it probably isn't that simple," August agrees easily. "Just, it could be. It's not always a super complicated conspiracy." He almost smiles, there. Well, Eleanor is a conspiracy theorist, after all. "...even if around here that's more common than not." He flicks a glance at Isabella, snorts. "Hopefully..." he drawls, eyes on Alexader again.

A nod of agreement for Lilith. "Since she's got the mind Art, I can see her having trouble with conflicting motivations a lot more than if she didn't. Especially if that place is eating a hole inside her memories like it did to us." His nose wrinkles. "Especially if she's been in there more than once."

He considers Byron's question, glances at Alexander. "Did he? Have any Glimmer, that you saw?"

"I think he knows something, yes," Alexander says, then shrugs. "I don't know if he stands out or not, if he can conceptualize what his children can do in any other way than angels and demons, but yeah. I think he knows something. And as far as I know, Alice was committed to the Asylum at eighteen, and never left until she escaped. If there were any in between times, Violet didn't mention them, and I think she would have."

Lilith's mention of a plan has him frowning. "...not much of one, no. Insufficient data, Lilith. Everything I know is third or fourth hand, or based on reading objects - and what you get from those are the high emotions, not really a coherent narrative. The only thing that tells me that maybe she WANTS some sort of help is that the story in those three books was put there by someone. It was constructed, planted. A trail of bread crumbs. So," he chuckles, "I'm following it. And I'll see where it goes." He takes another bite of the chocolate croissant. "As for my painfully expanded abilities? I'll just get them under control again. There's always an adjustment period," he says, as if he's not half-terrified of what's going on in his head.

He sighs. "So that's where I'm at. Just an idiot stumbling around."

If anyone's likely to be let into a patient's room without explicit consent of the patient in question, it's going to be the police captain. The guy is still in uniform from a shift at the precinct; black jacket with GRAY HARBOR POLICE across the back, and those pips at his collar that tend to magically let him into places. One of the nurses is even flirting with him as she tells him which room Alexander's in. He flashes her a smile in return, all dimples and your haircut looks good, and then prowls off in that direction. Knocks once before letting himself in.

Byron shares a fond smile with Lilith, feeling her hand placed upon his only idly watching her toss her trash into a nearby bin. While there was no shift in his stance, the way that he watched the scene play out, even if happened so suddenly may have shown subtle hints that he was prepared to pick up the discarded paper ball if she had missed. He's just glad that there's no need for that now.

Not having really known the Whitehouses outside of their crazy status in town, Byron has nothing to add about Alice or any one of their state of mind. Though his mind sobers when Lilith brings up her own experience with her shadow self. However when it's Isabella who brings up these shadowy pretenders, his gaze darts over to her quickly. They'd discussed something along those lines recently. "If I hear anything about Alice, I'll let you know, Clayton." But as he'd neither seen nor felt any sense of Alice Whitehouse around, more than likely, he's not banking on that happening. The Watkins thing, well, that was a long time ago and it's something he barely knows anything about.

Then something August says gains his full attention now, "Art." He repeats the word, "That's weird, I found myself in some, government, financial building. On the other side. Wasn't paying attention, but they mentioned Artist and," He's about to say musician, but instead he murmurs, "Maestros, I think. You're one of the only people who I know that calls our gifts Art." August is who came to mind when he'd first overheard that word used while he was standing in line there.

There's a quirk of his brow when Alexander mentions these painfully expanded abilities, his eyes narrow slowly when he studies the other man, "Expanded in what way?" If he were about to ask more, the knock at the door distracts him briefly. Usually, if it were one of the medical staff, they would just waltz on in, but no, it's the Police Captain. Byron gives the man this curious look now, perhaps wanting to ask him a question as well, just as he greets, "Captain."

Lilith knows well about adjusting and containing all the power inside herself, and she battled with it quietly here fairly recently, as shared over coffee with Isabella. So she shares another commiserating look with Alexander, then shakes her head a little bit to sum up after listening a spell longer, "Honestly, we're fumbling idiots reaching blind into a lot of anything in this place. We just know we want the results and will try to find a way, so generally, we do." Then the brunette puts on a little smile for the wounded guy with her backhanded pep talking there for a few.

After draining the rest of her coffee, this time Lilith makes the pass over to Byron to either walk over and throw away or toss himself. Playing basketball trash can with all her trash would make her seem like a heathen, seems. That or she's challenging him to sink it. It's hard to tell because she makes the pass off of cup while looking at the Captain walking in, presenting greeting with some Miami Spanglish, "Hey there, el Capitán. Qué tal? Keeping up out there in Murdersville?"

Lilith blinks, though, with some delay and looks between August and Byron for a few beats, "If people are talking about him with code words and Itzhak is a fiddler, does that make him the Maestro as a dynamic duo?" She pauses, "I need a code word now." Mostly, she seems confused, but she also seems to want a code title too. Also it's something to focus on while Alexander greets the new arrival, "When'd that happen? Recently?"

"I think anyone who knows about the Asylum is in the know to some degree," Isabella speaks up, finishing the rest of her coffee and slipping it inside of the trash, before tucking her feet up on her chair and shifting in her seat. She's suddenly restless, tapping her fingers on her knee as she thinks - how she manages to still do so while she's tired is a skill on its own; her gaze is an absent one, fixed on the nearby window, though she's still clearly listening to the conversation.

Her hand reaches out when Alexander mentions an adjustment period, or stumbling around like an idiot, brushing lightly on his nearest set of knuckles. "We'll figure it out," she tells him with a quick and encouraging grin. "Not like any one of us knows what we're doing half the time when it comes to things like this, like Lilith says. Plenty of stumbling is required to gain some footing." Especially in the muck.

Eyes find Lilith at her remarks about her shadow self, but Byron's significant look on her direction has her meeting it briefly, before she turns away so she could fuss over something in her satchel, if not just to give herself an excuse to look away from everyone else. She produces her smartphone instead, to check on her messages, frowning faintly when she realizes that someone had texted her the evening before. She dismisses it, for now. The question regarding Alexander's expanded abilities has her looking over at him, but unlike earlier, when she was so willing to fill in the blanks on the Whitehouse issue, she remains quiet - and concerned - on this one.

With the police captain walking in, there's a smile in his direction. "Javier," she greets. "Coffee and breakfast?" She gestures to the box and coffees near where she's seated.

"That's hardly 'idiot stumbling around' territory," August says, his expression sour. It shifts to sympathy for the adjustment period; Alexander was there, after all, for August's last breakthrough. Not a moment he cares to focus on, so he doesn't. He's too busy with all this not bolting out of the death trap of a building they're all in. And anyways, Lilith and Isabella have it covered.

He licks his lips. "It's you, so I know I need to say this--please don't try to intercept her alone, if...when, it comes to that." And then Ruiz is coming in, hopefully to back August up on the 'Alexander stop leaping in front of every runaway train you can find, it's old' front. He gives Ruiz an up-nod; he's looking like he could stand to find a window to crawl out of, but has managed to glue himself to this chair so he won't fly out the door when it opens.

The word 'Maestro' is catches his attention, and he focuses on Byron. "Maestro," he echoes. "I...had some beings call me that, once. In a Dream. They were," he gestures vaguely, "robots. Automatons. Sounded like that's what they called us." The other term he just shrugs about. "Can't remember where I heard that one--it makes a little more sense than 'Gift', maybe. How's that one go, 'Inside you there's an artist you don't know about'? Seems to fit for what we have."

"Come in," Alexander says, at the knock on the door. It sounds a little irritated, if only because he feels it's probably ANOTHER nurse come to poke or prod at him in some terrible way. Seeing that it's the police captain, instead, brings a brief smile to his face. "Javier. How are you?" His head and arm are bandaged, but other than that, he looks okay. As okay as Alexander ever looks in the hospital.

The smile turns to Byron, and he nods. "I'd appreciate it, Thorne. She's been seen by a couple of people, here and there." The talk of 'Art' and 'Gifts', though, that makes him frown and look away; it's clearly not a conception of his abilities that he easily embraces. "Artist and Maestro. Odd." A shake of his head to Byron. "I'm not sure, yet. But it's...wider. I've got some of my former range back, for one, and I can affect more people." Unfortunately, he knows that because the patients have had horrible nightmares. Oops.

He takes Isabella's hand when she reaches for his knuckles and lifts it to his mouth to give it a brief kiss. "It'll pass. Adjustment period," he agrees. August gets a wordless noise of - acknowledgement - when he tells Alexander not to try and intercept Alice alone. Isabella's heard this one before; it's the passive aggressive 'I don't want to argue so I'm just gonna make a sound and hope you think I'm agreeing'.

Ruiz clearly wasn't expecting this many people loitering in here, and his brows both come up fractionally as he takes in the crowd. He's brought what looks like takeout, and smells like pancakes, eggs and bacon. It's not homemade food, but it's probably the best he could manage, given he's been on shift all day. "Thorne," the taller man is greeted first, food container slid onto the table beside Alexander's bed. Isabella gets a small smile that creases the corners of his eyes, and Lilith's the recipient of a peculiar little wink.

"Better than you," he informs Alexander with a flash of amusement, dark eyes raking over the other man, assessing his injuries. Oh, and there's August too, hiding over there in the way of six foot plus men. "Afternoon, Roen," he offers with a tick of his gaze that way. Then back to Alexander. "What the fuck did you do this time?"

Byron makes no comment regarding this fumbling idiot thing. Maybe it doesn't relate to him in his mind! Instead, he looks down at the empty cup that is handed to him. It's an automatic response for him to make the short trek to the bin and toss the thing, which is what he does next, before rejoining Lilith at her seat, thinking very little of it. At least she didn't attempt throwing it again. No, at least, she didn't toss it and missed, even if he would've had to have made the same trek. Whatever.

When Lilith greets the Captain, Byron senses something off, his attention turning in full towards her for a moment though he says nothing. Whatever it is, it's all in his mind. "Just the other day really. Was drawn in when I was sitting behind my desk. These things," These Dreams, "Are becoming a huge pain in the ass. I had to call my associate back, the call having been cut when I was gone."

However, when it seems that August has some knowledge of it or, maybe, had experienced something similar, Byron just has to laugh, "I don't really see myself as an Artist. Gifted," There's that suited shrug again, "It's something." Though this serious cast comes over his eyes, brow furrowed. "Automatons. See, I found myself in some administrative office. Felt like the DMV where there were several lines leading to who knows what the Veil," That's what he always assumed, "Wanted you to pay them back for false claims. It wasn't City Hall, I don't think." And he's been to Veil City Hall far too many times, "But then again, it could be one of the Departments. Anyway, things happened and we were attacked by some mechanical monsters before we destroyed a few of them and made our escape." He looks as if he might have something more to say,

However, when he's told that Alexander has some of his range back, he blinks. "How? Was this Alice's doing?" Was he jealous?

"A DMV on the other side is probably hell or something like it." Lilith murmurs in comment there between while Byron is explaining in brief, looking between him and August with a vaguely thoughtful expression. Then she pulls in a breath of air and reaches back up to replace the former's hand at her shoulder to clasp and squeeze and pet with her own with subtle after-the-fact gratitude that he's standing there. Her brows lift, though, when she looks back to Alexander, then she lapses visibly into consideration because honestly, she doesn't range out with her powers beyond what she can see... well, rarely ever, but then, her powers are different. She's not even sure what her range is, which visibly sets her into a tick of pensive frown right afterwards.

Probably not a thing to test, though, given how her abilities work. She might be considering it, though, given the expression on her face because Lilith likes to know how things work on principle. Either way, she's quiet and listening now and probably not doing it any time soon.

August's sour face and his entreaty puts a certain look of resignation on Isabella's features because this song and dance is familiar, also. "It's fine, August," she says lightly, casually. "I'll just inject a tracking device right on his ass when he's unconscious. Tag him like a dolphin." She winks at Alexander sidelong, indicative that she's probably just joking. Maybe? Hopefully.

The trickster's facade drops suddenly, and briefly, when Alexander takes her hand and brushes a kiss on her knuckles, and while there's no smile, she squeezes his fingers and grips them tightly - the only outward sign that last night's trials have not left the most conscious parts of her brain, traveling back to the cracked walls and the sheer terror associated with the prospect of being locked up and tortured. Worried about him is an understatement, and as usual, she isn't quite certain how to handle it and defaults to her two most familiar modes - humor and anger. Her thumb absently traces one of his knuckles in a circle, her gaze lifting to look over at the captain, her free hand fishing for a coffee to hand to him once he's put his own burden down - the scent of pancakes hits her like a sledgehammer and she stares at the box mournfully. Damn you guys, she's trying to be good!

"It wasn't his fault," she tells Ruiz, quick as ever to leap to Alexander's defense - it also happens to be true. "He asked that piece-of-shit Whitehouse some questions about his missing girls and tried to leave before all of that escalated. They attacked him first." The delicate vein on the side of her throat throbs again, standing out like a line under where Isidore's jealous pendant gleams, fury brightening her green-and-gold gaze as her blood pressure rockets through the roof when reminded again of what happened. It isn't just the fact that Alexander was the victim, this time, but the fact that she detests bullies of all kinds is just the icing on the cake.

She makes a face at Byron's detailing of the latest Dream. "I was just telling Alexander the other day that maybe I ought to start looking into that," she murmurs. "See if there's a way to control the ingress and egress in a Dream now that all of this is escalating rapidly. It....I think it can be done." And almost as if anticipating what others might say to that, especially after the explosion, she adds, "Not right this moment. But sooner rather than later. It was on my list, anyway."

August responds to Alexander's passive aggressive sound with a look Itzhak calls 'that face', as in 'Roen's gonna make that face at me'. It promises any argument will be met with a lot of 'uh huh' and 'well you're certainly entitled to your wrong opinions', should it come to that.

"Hey," August says to Ruiz, trying very hard not to smell the food he's brought. He swallows against his stomach's response, keeps his attention on Byron. Except for a snort when Ruiz asks what Alexander did this time, that gets a coughed laugh out of him.

The description of a Veil DMV has him blinking. "Well that definitely sounds like some bullshit. Everyone get out okay?" And like Byron, he's curious about the range. "How far are we talking here--like before, to the edge of town?"

"I'm fine," Alexander mutters in response to Ruiz's reply, but whatever irritation there might be in the denial is gone when there's eggs and BACON involved. "Thanks," he says, with a flash of a smile. Although that goes into a frown at the curt question. He reaches for the container, opening it up to get at the bacon. "I got into a fight with the Pourhouse. That's all." With, not in. "They're all assholes, anyway, and they started it." He's very mature.

As he munches bacon, he listens to Byron's recitation. "...huh. That minotaur was a machine too, wasn't it? I wonder if there are themes personal to people, other than the obvious. And I don't know. I was unconscious." A shrug. "I'd probably blame the massive head trauma first, though." A flicker of a smile at Lilith. "Everything over there is hell. It's just which variety you get, yeah?"

Just an exasperated grunt at Isabella's claim; he doesn't argue, because if he had the money, everyone in this room would have at least one tracking device on them already. But he does what he can with what he has. "As long as you don't try to put a collar with a bell on me." Around this time, his phone goes off, and he reaches for it, checking on the text, and firing a few off in return. It's got him distracted for just a moment or two, but judging by his smile, it's not a bad one.

They're not careful, they're going to have a pair of grouchy old men making faces at Alexander. Thankfully, Ruiz is sufficiently distracted by the commotion outside the window, and drops whatever he was going to say on the subject of Alexander, the hypothetical tracking device in his ass, and how very right Roen is. Which is just as well, because then he'd never hear the fucking end of it.

"Anyone else hear that?" Not that he's thinking about Alexander with a collar and a bell on. Not at all. He eases away from the man's bed and stalks toward the window, nudging the curtain aside to peer out.

"It was a strange one." Byron will say about the Dream, "But then I can say that about all Dreams. Once we escaped through this hatch, we saw a giant eye staring at us through the darkness." There's a pause, before he murmurs the question, "Can you see?" There's a slow shake of his head, "That's what I heard once the eye opened to stare down at us. I heard it again when I went to sleep that night." He doesn't expect any of them to have any clue about this.

"Yeah, we all got out. We escaped." He'll start, before turning to Alexander with a thoughtful look, "I don't think that this one was my--" A pause as he licks his lips, "The mechanical Minotaur wasn't mine either. I'm not even sure that was a Dream, but that we were openly attacked by that thing doing physical damage to objects, hell the restaurant in our own reality." Then he's cut off. Something's got his attention and it seems that Ruiz heard it too.

Seeing Ruiz make his way towards the curtain, Byron follows suit as he attempts to make contact with whatever it is outside-- if anything exists at all. There's no panic or real concern on his part when he says, "I think... It might be a bird or something of that nature."

With the curtain aside, they can all hear the bright sound clearly, and see the blurry, white shape which is its source. It's roughly seagull sized, or there-abouts, and pecking at the window as if requesting it be opened. Tink! TINK!

Lilith hears it, the noise, just like everyone else, and when Byron says it's a bird, well, Lilith isn't into birds lately. Generally birds are assholes in and out of reality for her the past year. She turns to eye the glass dubiously after Ruiz pulls back the curtain to look at the shape, then clicks her tongue a few times, "What a dumb bird. What's it trying to do, suicide on the glass or eat bugs or... good gracious, stop." The noise seems to irrationally irritate her in some way. When she's up, she takes a few steps to lean and tap back at the glass with her fingertip and nail, "Go away. Shoo, bird. Go shit acid elsewhere."

Then, helpfully, she wonders of the room, "Want me to set it on fire?" She sounds a little hopeful in that offhanded way.

"A collar with a bell on?" And just like that, her smile is back, teeth toying with the razor's edge of mischief. Isabella's lips part, and she's about to say something there...

But the commotion from the window distracts her, and the young woman turns her head in that direction, her smile fading to make room for befuddlement. She hears it loud and clear, and from what she can detect, it's probably a bird - but one trying to get in?

"Don't open the window," she says, pushing herself off her seat. This is Alexander's room, and after what happened at the Pourhouse, she is done entertaining anything that might try to hurt, break, wound or otherwise cause him distress, even if it is just some germ-filled feather-bag seagull or pigeon just trying to find shelter in the cold. She wants the man to recover, preferably in peace, but since the thing is seems to be so insistent in getting in....well, this is still a hospital. "I think the next room is empty, the patient was just discharged a couple of hours ago, I'll see if I can shoo it out that way."

She squeezes her lover's hand once, before she turns to start moving out into the hall and towards the adjacent room, to find the nearest window closest to Alexander's room from that side.

August squints when the curtain opens, eyes the shape on the other side. "Flying sea rat," he mutters. "Don't open the window, somene just fed it from this room."

He nods at Byron, not because he recognizes any of that ('mechanical minotaur?' he mouths), but because he's thinking it over. "I wonder sometimes if they're not...connected. Not all of them, but some of them."

The shape freezes when Lilith taps back. It starts to tap again, but this is more deliberate. There's a pattern. ...and to those that remember their Morse Code, it quickly resolves into a word.

.. ... .. -.. --- .-. . pause .. ... .. -.. --- .-. . pause .. ... .. -.. --- .-. .

Alexander tenses, especially when Isabella starts heading over to the other room. "Isabella, don't..." He gives the window a suspicious look, and there's a quick, sidelong look to Ruiz. "I saw a raven. The other day. It spoke." As if he's just reminded of that. But either way...his eyes narrow as he hears the taps and his mind resolves them into meaning without even thinking about it. "Isabella! Don't open that window." And now he's starting to roll out of bed to catch her.

De la Vega may be many things, but he is not, in fact, an idiot. And thus, has no intention of opening the damn window to let that bird in. He will, however, stop to listen once he figures out that there's a pattern. Fingertip to the back of his hand as he watches, mouth moving while he ruminates on it, and then, "Dore.. Isidore." His dark eyes tick from August, to Alexander, to Isabella. And remain there steadily. Questioningly. And then she starts off to open another window, and he reaches for her arm, accompanied by a bark of his voice that goes off like a gunshot, "Don't."

The shape on the other side of the window stills when Ruiz shouts. It starts tapping a new series.

--. .-. .- -. - pause --. .-. .- -. - pause --. .-. .- -. -

After seeing what's sitting there at the window, Byron's ready to turn his back on it. It was a bird like he thought. "Why would anyone feed those things? This isn't the boardwalk." This is followed by a rolling of his eyes. Catching sight of August's silent question, he nods slowly, "Yeah, a mechanical Minotaur made up of all the pieces of /my car/" His voice rises a touch, adding emphasis to this, "And various other cars parked there, as well as parts from the motorcycles belonging to an MC."

The tapping continues, but strangely these tap-taps make a bit of sense to him. He knows some Morse Code, like your typical SOS and whatever he may have learned in school but quickly forgotten. So when these things come easier for him, this understanding. It takes him time to silently put the random letters together in his mind. Ruiz speaks the name out just as he's sorted each letter. "Isi--" His eyes widen, body tense. They shouldn't have said the name out loud.

Seeing the others take to action, his arms spread and he even tells Lilith, "Lil? Stay away from the window. Don't let that thing in." The letters then suddenly change and once more he's reading them silently in his mind. On realizing what this next name is, he swerves back to the window, reaching one of those extended arms to help move Lilith if she hasn't done so already, all the while glaring at that bird-like creature on the other side of the window. In fact, his other arm moves to draw the curtain shut, threatning it with a, "Don't you dare try to talk to her." Nevermind that he can still hear the tapping.

Lilith really keeps tapping back at first, because seriously, go away bird. She's not spooked, necessarily, just a good amount of irritated and wary enough to be distracted out of the fascinating idea there's a sudden pattern to the taps to try and figure out. The woman also doesn't know morse code beyond knowing there's a long and a short! Initially, with Byron's speaking to her to get away from the window, she does start to back up and pulls her hand from the glass, but she's slow about it while trying to listen.

But then Byron tugging to get her the rest of a good safe distance about coincides shortly after the Captain is off to grab a hold of Isabella and Alexander shifting around. Because of that, she looks around with mild confusion, especially when Byron starts to talk back at the window, noticing the tone in his voice change. She's much more compliant and not trying to puzzle out the taps now, sticking in against him with prompting, "Is it saying something? Who is it trying to talk to? What's it saying? Do you speak bird or do you know..."

Then she looks at the room, "Pretty sure I can set it on fire."

You know. In case they forgot. So hopeful. And mildly clueless.

D-O-R-E

It's all she manages to catch, but it's enough. Isabella pauses in her tracks, and whirls around to stare at the window and they could almost see it, how the world fades away; the dawning realization on other people's faces, too, slip to white noise because all she focuses on is the tap-tap-tapping at the window, with one half of her brother's name. It's as if she doesn't hear Alexander's voice, or Ruiz's, when every single part of her starts to fall into the familiar chasm that lingers within herself. Her face is absolutely stunned, as if someone had just reared back and cracked her across the face.

She suddenly spins around on her feet, and she tries to rush out of the room, to find a way to get to the thing that's tapping on the glass. She would have shot out of Alexander's room like a rocket if the police captain hadn't managed to grab her. He grips her wrist tight, but she fights. She digs on her heels, and attempts to wrench her arm away from him, a frustrated cry bubbling from the back of her throat. Green and gold eyes are wide, and distant, and desperate, fixed on Ruiz - through him, as if she doesn't see him.

You did this to me.

"No!" The struggle is real, she is attempting to pry herself away from Ruiz in a frantic bid to get to the door. "No! Javier, let me go! Let me go!" And it's tapping again. Another word. Another name. It doesn't deter her any, but her eyes fix on Alexander. And then, she's attempting to get away from the bigger, stronger captain again.

"Don't let her go," Alexander snaps at Ruiz, and hits the ground with his feet, the hem of his gown fluttering. No one wants to look at his ass, but they're going to get a flash of it anyway as he makes his way over to Isabella and Ruiz to try and reach out to bracket her face in his hands. "Isabella. No. It's just fucking with you. Look, it's--" a bewildered look towards the window. "Who's Grant? Not the Baxter kid, surely?"

Either way, he reaches out and tries to grab the seagull with his mind, intending to try and trace whatever asshole mind is controlling it. Instead, there's a flash of confusion, and then that concussion kicks in, and he staggers in place, a sudden bout of dizziness hitting him. He releases Isabella, and staggers towards the restroom to hit his knees in front of the toilet and throw up, as the world decides to start rocking around him.

The captain's got a pretty damned good grip on him. Which he well ought to, given the rigours of his job, and the sorts of people he deals with. For a moment, it looks like he's going to haul Isabella in by her arm like a sack of potatoes, and knock some sense into her. The impulse slides through his eyes; there and gone again, and then Alexander's hissing demands at him, and clambering over with his gown half hanging open. And really, he'd be wrong if he figured nobody wanted to look at that. He does, however, keep hold of the brunette's arm. At least until her boyfriend manages to calm her the hell down. "No fucking clue," he murmurs, regarding Grant. He knows the guy, surely, but that makes no sense whatsoever.

August is assembling the letters at about the same pace as Ruiz; he's not entirely familiar with the name, but seeing Ruiz's reaction followed by Alexander's and Isabella's, lets him make an educated guess. "No, don't go fucking near it." He gets out of his chair and turns to listen as it starts the new phrase. That name has him glancing at Lilith and setting his teeth, but at least Byron pulls her away. "Not sure we want to do that," he says of Lilith setting it on fire, "the hospital's fire systems might do something weird. Maybe just kill it?"

He assumes Alexander is going to do that, or something like that, but what Alexander does...is run to the bathroom to throw up. August moves to go with him and make sure he doesn't slip and fall or anything.

The closing of the curtains doesn't illicit a change; Isabella's voice rising does, however. The pace is more frenetic now, excited almost.

...- .. ...- .. .- -. pause ...- .. ...- .. .- -. pause ...- .. ...- .. .- -.

A lengthy pause. Then a different pattern:

...- .. --- .-.. . - pause ...- .. --- .-.. . -

They're almost hard to tell apart at first, save to Byron and Alexander. Eventually, though, even those simply translating the Morse Code by hand can pick them out.

Byron knows exactly what name the bird was tapping out now and while he doesn't come out and utter the name aloud, others do. He won't correct them or show any indication that he knows what that's all about. Instead, he keeps to this protective stance over Lilith, being the barrier between her and the window, after shooting over this long look her way once the name Grant is mentioned. "No one go near the window." He orders, though most would agree to this. And right now the curtain is completely drawn closed even if that annoying tapping can still rattles through the room.

Then there's silence.

"I don't think burning this place down is the way to go." He starts, though in order to get out of these Dreams you have go to thro-- His thoughts are cut short when the tapping starts up again. This next set of morse code heightens his tension, but with the names that came prior, despite what the thing is trying to tell him, he's in no way moving anywhere near that window. In fact, he doesn't say a damn thing, his lips forming this tight, tense line even if his body language might indicate that he'd love to strangle that thing and twist its neck. Shaking his head slowly, he speaks to the thing once more, "You don't say her name either."

Then the maddening tapping stops, giving him time to breathe. "Right now, all it's doing is pissing us off." He tells the group as a whole, turning to them. While his eyes are on Lilith briefly, they scan over the others soon after, "I don't know if we gotta put a stop to this or if it will just shut the fuck up and go away."

The tapping begins again, starting with the exact same letter as last time, which starts to rile him up again, but it's different. It's a different name. "If we do try to rid ourselves of the damn bird, make sure that it doesn't get inside if we fail."

Lilith pushes her tongue against her teeth as the name Grant is brought up, then does a double take between Byron and the window, rigid and stiff in response to Isabella's sudden lash out response. She's still confused, as she doesn't have the context to suspect Isidore is a bird, or if it's talking about the particular thorn that isn't a Thorne in her own life. But she hates the idea that she's being screwed with, she dislikes how vehemently Byron is reacting to what she can't understand, even if he is his brand of cool and composed about it. Alexander is in puking, the Captain is still holding Isabella and...

You know what? Fuck this bird. Maybe bird. Probably bird? Either way, fuck it.

August's advice sounds absolutely swell and at least she doesn't blow out the window trying to set the thing on fire with her brand of solution. But there is a nasty power flare about her person as she leans around Byron to glower at the window and nip this all in the bud with violence. Lilith is not a healer, mender, artist, gifty anything if you ask her. She is a breaker, first and foremost.

So. She breaks. And Lilith breaks hard.

She's still fighting Javier; the tapping on the glass continues and more names roll through the glass - but it doesn't change the fact that someone out there knows. It's just a bird, she even had this discussion with Alexander once, about influencing animals. If she could just get her hands on it, she could--

Isabella's wide eyes find Alexander's dark ones when his hands cradle her face. "He keeps calling me." Her voice is almost pleading, and nobody in this room can't be faulted for being reminded of the time she was ensnared by the Lover's Jewel, when her mind is fixed unerringly on one thing. And then with what happened with the Shadows in the recent experiment, she's not fully recovered from it - the bird's tapping outside of the window is only ensuring that very fresh wound doesn't close. "I have to know, I have to-- "

More names. And with Alexander attempting to fix the problem and failing, his own lash of power tickles her senses and it finally snaps her out of her desperation. She stares off after him as he staggers to the restroom to pay homage to the porcelain god within it and recalibrating where her priorities ought to be at the moment - meanwhile Lilith is right on point and just gets rid of it. "Shit." It's rare that she curses but today is just one of those days. "He shouldn't be out of bed. I won't...I promise, just let me go to him." The last to Javier, and whenever the man releases her, she moves so she could assist Alexander, flashing a grateful look at August when she sees him there, her hands coming down and rubbing his back soothingly so he gets it all out. There's guilt, there - enough that she doesn't even check out what's revealed by the hospital gown's open back - but her touch is gentle, and whenever he's done, she'll try to support him back up.

"I'm sorry," she tells him quietly. "Let's get you back to bed, okay?"

"Fucking...not-bird," Alexander mutters in the bathroom. "It's not a real bird. It's," and then he has to throw up again. Sorry coffee and bacon. When August and Isabella come over, he hastily tries to stand up and rinse out his mouth after flushing the commode. He's gone shockingly pale, and his eyes aren't focusing correctly anymore. You're supposed to avoid strong mental effort with a major concussion! Ooops.

Which all means he is surprisingly easy to steer back to the bed, and collapses back on it. "Good job," he mutters towards Lilith and her breaking, but the rest is just a few odd mumbles before he slips back into unconsciousness.

As Lilith's power wraps up the bird and tears at it, her vision wavers and goes dark, only to be flooded by eye-searing brightness. The feeling of needle-sharp talons sinking into Lilith's skin jolts her vision to clarity. She's lying prone on a salt pan, a huge, bone-white crow with orange-brown eyes and an orange beak gripping her head with its feet. Black tar oozes from its talons and eyes. It caws, once; the sound is thunderous in her ears, and resolves into a name. Two names.

"Grant."

"Hank."

The bird looks down at her. A drop of that black ooze slides off its beak and lands in her eye; it's searing cold, chilling the eye, blinding it. She can still see with the other eye, though, giving her a nice view when that beak stabs down to--

They feel something happen to Lilith when she breaks the bird; some sort of responding retaliation that slashes at her. It's there and gone in a second. It shrieks in pain and misery as it comes apart at the seams. They hear those names, over and over, and other names too--loved ones dead and gone, failed, lost--until it's truly torn asunder.

Just like that, it's over. She's slain the crow outside the window. It falls to the slushy snow outside in a heap of bone white feathers and black tar. The snow hisses where the tar lands, melting.

Something August hears in that litany of names makes him move to the window and throw back the curtain. He opens the glass, stares down at the smoking hole in the slush. "Didn't know who he was fucking with," he mutters.

With Alexander back in bed, Isabella tucks him in quietly, expression absolutely conflicted. She is attempting to ignore the window, now, until Lilith kills it. With his blankets back up, her fingers drift over his tousled dark hair and leans in to press her lips delicately of the bandage that binds his head. It's only after she's seen to him that she turns her head towards the window, expression twisted with the vestiges of grief, and guilt, and longing, too.

But at least she returns to her seat by the bed, and will continue to stay with Alexander - possibly through his recovery, until she's able to bring him home. She doesn't feel comfortable leaving him alone for long periods of time, not after what happened to the patients and while his mental powers are in flux. But she is quiet, watching his face as he sleeps - at least, she's not looking at the window, though part of her really wants to see.

The captain's annoyingly resilient to Isabella's attempts to shake him off. Once he's sure she isn't going to go off and let that creature inside, or do something else inadvisable, he releases her. And grimaces a little when Alexander stumbles off to the bathroom to throw up, after that failed attempt at wielding his Gift. He doesn't even bother admonishing the man. "I've got to get back to the precinct," he mumbles, perhaps to Byron, while Lilith's busy dealing with the bird. It probably speaks to how inured he is to this shit, that he barely bats an eye at the whole thing. Then with a final, backwards glance toward Alexander and Isabella, and a nod of farewell to August, he turns and trudges back out.

The commotion between Ruiz, Isabella and Alexander is mostly ignored, though Byron try to catch Isabella's gaze as she struggles, just so that she sees that rather stern shake of his head. "No, Izzy." It's that brief moment, an opportunity granted when he's distracted that Lilith takes action to get around him and focus all of her rage and anger on the unseen creature behind the curtain. His torso twisting, he reaches a hand to snatch her back so that he's blocking her view once more, "Lilith!" His voice comes out stern, even though he mentioned shutting the thing up, Lilith was the last person he wanted to take on the task.

It's too late to stop her, the deed was done and the window was broken. Shattered. Spinning around so that his back is to her, in the case that the bird wasn't dead, that's when he sees a vision of... something reaching out to her, possibly even moving through her in some way. There's no checking if the bird was dead or not. He'll let the others handle the bird, with both of his hands placed on her shoulders, dark intense eyes stare into her own, "Are you okay? What was that?" Even as he asks these questions he's focusing his mind on Lilith's, scanning her emotions, trying to see if he can pick up any sense of something else that may be in there.

The room dies down, the bird goes down, but in a sense, it seems to go down fighting and trying to take an eye for an eye, it seems. And look, Lilith offered to set it on fire twice before that, no one said 'no' specifically, and Byron is a little too late with his 'no don't' by the time she's decided everyone has had enough and called a spade a spade. In fact, she's flushed and lovely with her little violent quickfix and flash of power, that spark that's inside her in other ways all lit up. Secretly, breaking things is a little like a heroin hit for her, especially when she lashes out with temper instead of fine calculation, and for a split second, she's standing pride and bliss knowing what she's done.

But then... the second or two after as the crow falls outside the window, Lilith freezes and goes starkly pale in contrast, lacking color to the point of looking hollow-eyed and ashen. It doesn't even take much concentration from Byron watching her so closely and looking in besides to know she's sheer panic. She's not a crier or screamer much (unless, you know...). However, after she freezes and stares blankly with no breath at his assessing face as the others hunker down to settle or tend to other business or the window, she screams and tries desperately to get her hand up over her eye with reflex defenses and burrow into the man's chest. Something either made her think she was hurt or spooked her severely, that or she IS actually hurt, it's hard to tell with a reaction like that. And with her face burying to thankfully muffle the latter part of the scream into the dark haired guy's suit, she'll need to be pried away to see.

Because whatever it is, it's got her dangerous levels of panic and creeping, helpless rage of wanting to KILL the thing over and over again, deep down inside. She's close to hyperventilating after the noise is done, in fact. Her reflexes and all that power inside her wanting to come out, it struggles.

And unfortunately, a lot of the support monitors in the hospital go off with the more terminally ill or critical patients all at the same time, though none of them in the room know that much. Luckily, no one dies. Probably. But the vulnerable in the building while she's like this is definitely a problem given she can break them or the machines keeping them alive.

August turns from the window when he feels that surge of power, stares at Lilith screaming into Byron. "Byron stop her," he growls, mindful of Alexander and Isabella, and sends his own Art in behind Lilith's, trying to undo anything that's does, trying to fix what breaks, or at least make it less bad. It's a mad scramble, with the smell of a hospital and his own panic and that of others around him and it is, quite honestly, a lot...like...

No, no, this isn't that, this isn't that he's not there.

He can't do much more than smooth over what Lilith's done, haul back anyone tipping over the edge. The nurses and doctors have to handle the rest. And when he's done he sags against the wall, tears streaming down his face, panting. ...and then he bolts to the bathroom to throw up.

What Byron is searching for is whether a piece of the bird was attached to Lilith now or some part of her was broken, mentally, the way Isabella's mind was fucked up after being kidnapped by Peregrine in the church. But it's hard to pick out through the violently rising panic that he can immediately feel and now see and even /hear/ when she lets out that blood curdling shriek. He saw the bird claw its way into her, but what did it /do/?

Before August even has a chance to say anything, Byron switches from probing to calming. She was shaken up and violently so and though he had an urge to read her right now in an attempt to peek into her mind and witness exactly what she had, he'll have to hold that thought and do what he can to bring her comfort. Just as he falls against him, her face buried into his tailored suit covered chest, his own strong arms hold her in a tight embrace, whispering to her as he rests his chin against the top of her head, "It's over, sweetie. That bird's dead. It won't be bothering us anymore."

Oblivious to everything else going on around him, his mind set to this task at his, he continue to be that calming influence over her, both mentally and emotionally.

It's hard to say what works on Lilith first, the tight safe grip and assurances, or the powerful surge into her mind to not only try and see what's wrong or if anything stuck, but the swap to calm her. But both of those things immediately have her quiet, breathing, and still and limp as a kitten when calm and security floods her quite visibly. She even peels her face up to the sound of August throwing up, though her eyes are still screwed closed, as if she's afraid to open them while whispering, "... I don't know if it was real. I don't know if it took my eye with darkness and plucked..."

She hears August retch again like an odd focal point, she feels so very helplessly warm in Byron's arms, and gradually, she opens her eyes to blink at Byron so he can look at her clearly. She must want him to tell her she looks normal. And she does, she even feels fine mentally wiith nothing attached or hindered. Well, mostly. She's blinking one of her eyes a bit double time trying to focus it which is probably more from the head rattle than the actual eye having a problem.

Maybe the most important thing is that she can see Byron even while waiting on him to tell her she LOOKS okay. Then she kind of clues in to why August might be throwing up and calmly states with rational thought coming back to know what kind of bomb she is when she panics, "... babe? I don't think I should be in a hospital right now."

Fortunately it's all dry heaving, because August prepared himself by not eating before he came here. He'd been hoping he'd just arrive home hungry and cranky and he and Eleanor could enjoy a quiet lunch before he went back to writing.

That's not how this afternoon is going to go. He's going to crawl back to the house and lay in bed crying. Or in the bath. Whatever. There's not going to be a lot of anything but curling up in a ball for him, is the point.

When he finally stops, either because he's too exhausted or because his stomach's desensitized to it, there's the sound of the toilet, then the sick. He comes out with red eyes and his face flushed from being thoroughly scrubbed. He sees Lilith is looking a little more...herself, so asks her, "You okay?" His voice is hoarse and weak. Oh, he feels like he's 23 again and just had a panic attack.

With a hand rubbing up and down the length of her back, Byron's other arm holds Lilith firmly against him. Eventually, that comforting touch rises to brush fingers through your hair before settling in with an open palm at the back of her head, keeping her cheek buried into his chest. Leaning forward, he grazes his lips through her dark locks, murmuring, "We're safe here now. You," He didn't quite see what happened to the bird, but he can take a guess, "You destroyed it and the pain it tried to cause."

Along with those physical comforts, his mind also continues to send soothing emotions into her own, despite the tension that he's actually experiencing. Everything was alright. They could go home now.

It's at this moment that despite his own distractions, he takes notice of August and his plight. All that he got from Lilith was this high strung and intense sense of panic. But Roen was up to something, he could see it clearly. Did he sense something in Lilith too? He did call out for Byron to stop her, but she was a mess at that point, a mere few minutes ago. His eyes settle in on the other man, watching him retch and not commenting about it.

Feeling her shift within his arms, his hold tightens around her before loosening and he withdraws, giving her some space. He had so many questions, especially when she mentions the bird having plucked out her eye. Was that what it was all about? And if so, his main concern is on whether it's a long-term thing that needs to be dealt with in the long run. However, she seems to fine right now for the most part, so he'll smile his soft smile, watching her with tender eyes. "I'm staring down at you into your beautiful blues. Both of them."

In truth, he's not curious about this bird, his attention now drawn to the window. Though it's destroyed, whatever it did affected Lilith strongly-- among other things that it tried to do to get under all of their skin. "I think we're okay now, Roen. Thanks." He'll answer for her. Perhaps, by taking her cue, he tells the pair of them just as he wraps an around Lilith's shoulder, "Right about now, I think we all deserve a bit of a breather. Get some rest. Forget about this whole thing."

A passing glance will then be given to Alexander and Isabella, the two which drew them all here. "Think they're going to be alright?"

"Right. I'm... okay. Are you okay?" Lilith nods a little with the reassurance, staring up at Byron to murmur, the question asked of August too with her own words serving double duty for him. She takes to casting a look around the room and then at the other pair on the bed, then at the doorway with a hint of dubiousness as to what she might have actually caused in the hospital while lashing out-- she knows she did it, but she's not entirely sure it's anything so simple as a broken machine. She gets the sneaking suspicion/paranoia she's going to wilt patients like plants if she stays on the grounds while rattled, even though she's more or less fine while Byron holds her and exerts this calming influence, "I think they're as alright as any of us, at least. Probably safe, more importantly. For now."

Then after breathing in the man's cologne and running her hands over the front of his jacket lapels, she really pulls her face back to look as Byron gives her some breathing space, apologizing suddenly for the stupidest thing, "I got mascara on your nice shirt. I like that button up." Like it doesn't just wash out. Honestly. But at least it's something to focus on while the arm wraps around her shoulders in preparation to vacate, tacking on for August, "... I think you've done more than you intended to come here and do and deserve a breather, considering hospitals already make you feel awful." She doesn't want to really think about what he might have had to do to undo her panic response of violence. She can't see the evidence/fallout, for one, and she's a little too calm with influence to get the guilty suspects at the moment. Denial is easy.

What I want you to see is that you aren't a monster.

Byron said that recently. But deep down, in the car on the ride to more creature comforts for that breather, she knows... sometimes, she just is.

August nods at Byron, can't help but also agree with Lilith on the whole 'I shouldn't be here' front. He takes in a slow, shuddering breath, lets it out, looks at Alexander and Isabella, mercifully asleep. "Yeah," he says, voice low. "They should be."

He hesitates to answer Lilith. "Not really," he admits. "But I'll deal. It's just how it is, sometimes." Indeed, out in the halls they can hear calls of confusion over seemingly random failures, but there's no indication anyone died. So, there's that.

He nods to the rest, clears his throat. "I'm gonna...get out of here." He rubs the back of his neck, which is so tight it aches. Run, flee, escape. Leave this place, it's full of death. "Let me know if..." He glances at Alexander and Isabella. If they need anything, that look says. He turns to go, pauses in the doorway to say, "Take care you two." Then he's gone, weaving between nurses and doctors as fast as his long legs can carry him.