2020-02-08 - Alexander: the Chaddening

It's miserable outside, which should make Alexander more pleased to be in a reasonably warm hotel room. But he's not. Instead, he's trying to do a crossword puzzle while sitting up in the bed, and swearing under his breath because it's hard to THINK. The television is silent in the room, and although it's a double, the other bed is empty at this particular point in time.

Enter the Dragon...er the druggie. well, look, of all people to come and visit Grant Baxter might be the least likely (and welcome) to do so, but here he is. He knocks on the door and has a holder with two cups of coffee, and a small white box. "Heeeey there's the birthday boy." He's got his heavy army coat on and a few layers. While there's no collar on to hide it a light line seems to orbit his neck unevenly. The smile is tired but genuine but that happens when your head exists in its own world.

Alexander looks up, and his eyes widen in surprise, then narrow in what can only be called suspicion. "Baxter," he says, warily. "Hello. It's not my birthday. I don't think it's my birthday. Is it my birthday?" His eyes aren't quite focusing correctly, and it's entirely possible his brain isn't quite focusing correctly, either. Still, after a moment, he waves the book towards one of the visitor's chairs. "Why are you here?" Tact isn't his strong suit at the best of times, and this is definitely not that.

Grant lets that easy, slightly sedated grin warm, "Nah. Was a bit ago from what Isabella said." Holding his hands out and setting the coffee down he congratulates, "See you remembered a thing! Real proud of you, cuz." because that's not going to set Alexander off, but anger is great for healing right? Undaunted by the bulwark from the human porcupine he hands him the box, head tilted to the side.

"I'm here cause your'e here. Or maybe you hallucinate me. I hallucinated myself once. It was suuuuuper weird. Kicked my own ass in Smash Brothers though." Brown eyes fall to the box and back up to Alexander with a slight, non-committal gesture, "Heard you were here and thought, ya know, that's like a total bummer so I was going to bring you better food aaaaand a friend of mine might have yelled...a lot about how it was insufficient so there's some scones and stuff in here toooooo make your day suck less and do better."

"I remember lots of things," Alexander mutters, rubbing at his bandages as he watches Grant approach. "And don't call me 'cuz'. My name is Alexander and we're only barely cousins. Not even kissing cousins. Cousins to the fourth or fifth or seventh degree, something like that, but if you try to kiss me I will fry your brain like an egg inside your skull." There's no tonal variation in the rambling rant, and he doesn't really sound angry, either. More puzzled than anything, especially as Grant offers the box. Which he takes. And stares at.

"My hallucinations rarely include you." He opens the box, takes a tentative sniff, and a fleeting, if confused, smile flickers across his face. "I...thank you. This is very kind. It makes my day better. But why? We don't know each other."

Grant takes his turn to look a little confused, "Rarely? SO I do make an appearance? Neat." He takes one of the coffees and sits down watching Alexander investigate the Vyv box which means food that's probably yelled at to rise properly before it dares show its face in public. He wraps both hands around the cup and blinks at his billiontyth degree removed cousin when it's clarified 'no kissing' and tilts his head, "So not how I got the name ''Crotchbiter''. We cool." That's likely not helping. At all.

Looking up he considers looking around a bit unfocused instead of staying on one fixed anything. "I, um... I don't have a lot of family. Not in like, this fucking town ya know?" He sips his coffee and lifts a hand, "Having problems and then having more problems sucks. Both combined I thought ya know, that blows monkey chunks so I'm taking care of my people." There's a pause and a shrug not taking it personally, "Even if they don't like being my people. Ain't how my dad raised me."

"I can't entirely rule out that I'm not hallucinating this conversation," Alexander points out, "so I'm hedging my bets for now." He takes one of the scones, and then takes another from the box and offers it to Grant. "Here. Eat this." He takes a bite of his own, and one eyebrow rises. "I don't think you can be an adult human being and be so bad at kissing that you get the nickname 'Crotchbiter' from it," he points out. "And you shouldn't let people call you that. It's rude. And it's not your name."

At the rest of the explanation, he just stares at the younger man for a long moment. A really long moment. So long that one might be forgiven for wondering if he just fell asleep sitting up with his eyes open, like a shark. Then he smiles. "You're a good kid," he admits, quietly. "Thanks."

Grant admits, 'Not always, but sometimes." Far from perfect. He gives Alexander a bit of a nod and turns, fighting for a bit of focus, but interest on the story, "It's actually not an insult. It's my warrior name. We were attacked by this Laddie McBaddie that hunting this really cool dude down that was just chillin and minding his own business and it was a stand off and I was like the size of a shoe. So I Squirrel Girl'd em." This gets the sage nod he's passively proud of. Lifting the cup he clarifies (for scientific accuracy), "Also I am told I am very good at this skill and enforced by at least three people as definitely more than adequate on my Yelp review but I respect your wishes to be left out of the study." This is that very official tone that also suggests he could take anything as a compliment.

Alexander stares blankly for a moment. "Baxter. I have a concussion. You are going to have to speak words that make sense. Or at least which make the right kind of nonsense to be absorbed by my traumatic brain injury. What is a Squirrel Girl, and why are you doing it to bad guys?" Alexander: the only horrible nerd who never read a comic book and knows only what he can osmose from Marvel Cinematic Universe posters and commercials. He takes another bite of the scone, but coughs on it when Grant brings up a Yelp review for his kissing. He hastily manages to swallow the bite without choking enough to bring the nurses running, and lets out a rusty laugh. "Well. Good. I'm glad that you're getting at least three stars for your kissing reviews."

Grant slowly grins and takes the scone. "Thanks." There's that little bit of pride in being a wreck, but a functional one! Where to start? OH it's Storytime with Bax hour. With a captive hostag- er, audience! Man if this goes anything like Hanukkah...

"So a very long time ago in the 90's" Oh, yeah, t's gonna be like that. "There was this hero named Doreen Green who could talk to squirrels and lo' all of the other super heroes thought that was hella lame. She was like yo, they're my lil fuzzy buddies. They got feelings asswipe." He pauses and says, "She didn't actually call them that. Because Comics Code." He is clarifying to help, see? You asked for this Alexander.

"So like a long time later Thanos- The big purple guy with the golden glove heavyweight trophy on his hand?- shows up with his stones in a knot and was like I'm all powerful, yadda yadda yadda, and aaaaaaaall these heroes are just getting destroyed trying to go up against him like Captain, Itzhak, Bexiliciousness," which is a hell of a thing to call Rebecca, but here we are, "and this other dude who were all big and scary and shit. But there's this stand off where no one can do anything to help. Well!"

Here's apparently where it gets good because the knee comes up and he's hugging it, coffee cup and scone making little circles in the air as he speaks. "So no one's able to do anything cause everyone's all big and bad but not big and bad enough. So in comes Squirrel Girl aaaaaand Thanos ignores her." A finger goes up for pause, "In the comic, not the Other Side." Specificity goes far. "And so she sends a legion of squirrels up this dude's pant leg to bit the crap outta him. Since we were in the woods and I was the size of a snowball and could literally do squat and was treated like scenery?" He shrugs and surmises, "I ran up the hunter's pantleg and-" He bites his scone and blinks at Alexander. "'S how I got the name." Longer pause and winces curiously, "Then she fastball specialed me into a huge ass tree. I was out for a while man."

Alexander ...listens. His eyes are having trouble focusing on Grant, and the way this story wobbles between fiction and un-real real things is probably not at all good for a man suffering from bouts of head-trauma related confusion, but despite the way he prickles at the Baxter, Alexander is aware that, in the end, Grant is a good-hearted kid, and probably doesn't deserve to be snapped at. Or electrocuted. So however tempting it is, he listens quietly, eating his scone during story time. "You...fought Thanos? And you bit Thanos in the junk?" He contemplates this for a moment. "It's not the worst strategy I've ever heard of. Although slamming into a tree isn't great. I'm glad you're not dead."

Grant nibbles on his food and blinks as if trying to discern this for himself. Did he fight Thanos? ! He's really not the best person to ask here. "I don't.. think I did. Yet. The example? She totally did. I fought this armored hunter who was not too different. Sort of. She walked away and I was thrown into a tree."

He focuses on the important part of that with a small nod, "Yeah. Me too. I was dead twice last week. Kinda a bummer, but haunting people's not been too bad." He considers this for a long time and wonders to Alexander, "You ever meet a ghost before? I mean if there are ghosts are our bodies really just kinda weighing us down and holding us back?"

"The only time I really met a ghost, he cut my throat open. He was my great grandfather." Alexander says it all pretty tonelessly; that's just a thing that happened. "And there's a little girl who might have been killed by her father, but the details are still a little muddy. I've only really sort of met her, though. Not like met met. Definitely not throat-cutting met...but the week is still young." He smiles a bit bleakly. "And no, I think we want our bodies. Ghosts don't seem tremendously happy. You should hold on to your body. It grounds you. That's not a bad thing."

Grant listens, eyes working to focus on Alexander instead of floating around to everything that blinks. With his now scone-free hand he points to the line that goes 360 around his neck. That happened to me. I fell out of...this coffin dead. er. and I started... to die again. Turned into a ghost and no one... could see me but I could haunt Thewlis, the gravedigger guy." he adds, "He's my neighbor. Really cool dude." His fingers float a bit signing as he goes now that they are free. They do, in fact, start the next part of his thought without the audio track. " I..." His eyes squint and he fights for the thought looking concerned, "I found a note and froze like someone I couldn't see was telling me what to do and put a knife in my hand and made me... cut off my own head." To say it's distressing is putting it lightly but it only serves to bring the skater to a moment of stillness. He asks curiously, "They tape your head back on too, or someone bring you back?"

"That sounds horrific. I'm sorry." Alexander contemplates Grant's distress, and it seems to thaw some of his wariness. He clears his throat. "That sort of stuff happens often? To you? It's happened a fair amount to me. So. It's not you. Its Them. You're okay." An awkward sort of shrug. "Don't listen to the voices. They lie, yeah?" He looks away. "And I understand Isabella taped me up until I could get fixed. She's good, you know?"

Grant shrugs slightly, "It wasn't fun. Met a new friend out of it. Gained some perspective. Painted a skateboard as a result soooo not...too bad?" His coffee swirls and he looks at it thoughtfully for a moment when Alexander says he's okay. He shakes his head and signs... something that seems like an argument. No. "The voices get me back out of there most of the time. I had some... some theories o It. I dunno here's the place to discuss it. I think it makes them afraid." He reasons to Alexander squinting an eye, "Hospitals can be scary."

"Do you paint a lot?" Alexander asks, as if suddenly realizing that he knows pretty much nothing about Grant other than he tells stories and bit a crotch that one time. His smile is brief and crooked. "You have nicer voices than I do, I guess." He leans back in his bed, and looks up at the ceiling. "Hospitals make everyone afraid. You can feel it, I bet. I feel it. Everyone here is anticipating death and pain and loss." He shakes his head, as if trying to clear it, then groans and reaches up to place the heel of his hand against a temple. Head-shaking bad. "We can talk later, then. You can come over to my house, if you don't mind cats, birds, and the occasional Bennie."

Grant cracks a grin and it does reach his eyes in that way of hitting one of those things he can spend all damn day talking about. "Yeah I consider myself a painter. Working on a start up, ." He pauses and hesitates to add, "A, um, a company. Etsy. I'll paint anything though. Buildings, sidewalks, people. Finished a piece I needed to after Isabella and I did not go to the Andromeda system." Is he bitter? ASK HIM HOW! A deep breath suggests this might have something to do with his near meltdown in the waffle shop that time, and he might be referring to the result of that incident.

Looking up at Alexander's suggestion of what he feels has the younger dude picking his head up like a meercat and pausing not unlike a fox sniffing the wind. "I feel... confusion. A fear to have hope... a fear of hopelessness or... yeah" His head nods slowly, eyes narrowing as if to pick out the flavours of it. "It's um... It feels like people holding their breath and afraid things can't change." The grin widens and says "Man I love critters. Just can't have em where I live cause it's dangerous with my roomie's stuff all over." Because cats + narcotics would likely be bad right?! "You paint ever?"

Alexander's eyes twinkle. "I know what a startup is. I'm not that old. I even know what Etsy is." He studies Grant for a moment longer. "What's your company doing? Painting what? And I think a lot of people would have missed you if you'd gone to the Andromeda system." It's mild, perhaps not wanting to trigger another argument about the awesomeness that is space travel. He falls silent as Grant reads the place, and nods. "Yeah. All of those things." And then there's a real smile. "I like animals, too. You should meet Luigi and Blue Bell. Well. Blue Bell. Luigi doesn't like strangers. I don't paint. I've sketched a little - mostly crime scenes or suspects. And I can sew. But that's it. I'm not terribly creative. I like paintings, though."

Grant warms the smile to Alexander slouching in the chair with a slow nod. He gets it. He's picking up what the lonely souls are putting down. "Well I'm stuck and it needs a name, but I'm doing custom skateboards. I figure why not take the two things I love or, like take the thing I love and help it express... itself. it's hard to explain. But when you are out there skating you have to love your tools. Have to feel cool when you do your thing or... I dunno. If you don't love what you do and you're not feeling it you're gonna crash and wind up on your back in the flat of the bowl. " His hands go out with a bit of a flick, "And we come back to: Hospitals are a total bummer drag, man."

Sitting up there's a spark that hits his eye when he smiles, "You make someone fall in love with their gear and what they're doing? Makes them feel invincible. Then what do they get done? Everything." He listens with his head tilting. "Yeah I'd like to meet em. I met this seahorse once. Could not take him home. My tub has hair dye in it and no friends for him." he idly wonders "You ever return to a dream you had? Recurring and stuff?"

When she arrives, she looks freshly-showered with her hair blow-dried to prevent the pervasive chill from affecting her more than necessary; whatever sleepless circles had developed around her eyes have been eradicated by a long, and deep night's sleep. Her early morning run has put that bright, sharp clarity back in her green-and-gold eyes, so whenever Isabella steps into Alexander's room in fresh clothes and a rested mind, she looks ready to conquer the world - or at least, as much of it as a pair of jeans, a winter jacket and boots could allow. Dark hair spills from her scalp in a wind-tousled torrent; a gloved hand carries in it an eggcrate with two cups of some very good coffee, and there's a gift bag clutched in the other. Her ready smile is an incandescent one, rivaling the brilliant lights of woefully unvisited Andromeda.

She's definitely not expecting the neon-haired Baxter situated in one of the visitors' chairs, but the radiance of her only seems to intensify when she sees Alexander awake, and that Grant has come to visit. "Grant! Visiting? I guess word really does spread quickly in a small town." She walks over to deposit the eggcrate on the patient's beside, before handing him his cup, and dropping a light kiss on top of his curls. "How are you feeling today, handsome?" she murmurs; and yes, she would say so, despite his haggard appearance and all of his bandages.

Alexander smiles. "Sounds like you really enjoy it. And it's a good plan. Probably could use more making people feel invincible. In general." The question makes him shake his head. "No. Not...really. Themes, sometimes? People. But not the same place or, um, plot? I guess you could say. It's not like visiting Narnia or something." A pause. "Fuck Narnia, anyway. Pack of lies."

And then there's an Isabella in the doorway, and his head wobbles just a little as he turns and focuses on her. His smile grows wider and sweeter. "Isabella. Hi. I'm fine. How are you? Did you sleep? I told them to let you sleep." Who 'them' means, he doesn't elaborate on. He does pick up the box that Grant brought and offer her a Vyv-made scone from it, though.

Grant answers Isabella, "I'm good." He pauses and the grin holds in earnest as he waves a hand to Alexander, "Oh you probably meant him. Cool." He sips his coffee for them to catch up. "I do love it. It's like the only time everything somehow makes... sense I guess and all my problems and the world's problems don't matter. It's like ... I dunno. I an let the world see things as I see them and the things I like." He looks to Isabella, "It's okay. I made more space." This apparently makes more sense in some assuring capacity to him at least.

The sweet expression on Alexander's face softens Isabella's own considerably, her cutting smile taking on a softer edge. "I'll trade you," she offers, plucking the offered scone from the box, before relieving him of it entirely, depositing his cup of coffee in his hand. She's still on a diet, but after her run and the fact that she hasn't had anything yet today, she gives herself leave to indulge in one of the mild, lemon-flavored ones that aren't too sweet, and doesn't touch the more chocolate-laden treats so he can have them all to himself. "And I slept like a corpse, I did nothing last night but chat with Bennie and watch movies with her, I didn't manage to put in a single minute of work that I intended to do." A slight befuddlement plays on the pliant line of her mouth as she regards him, dark brows lifting. "Who's 'them'?" she wonders.

Taking a nibble of her scone, she sets it aside because her smartphone is vibrating somewhere in her pockets, and she pulls it out while she's talking to Grant. "More space as in...physical space, or....our more recent adventures in the farther reaches of the known universe?" And she means this quite literally, taking a sip of her coffee as she reads her incoming texts....

...and suddenly starts choking violently on her coffee, her cheeks flushing with color and her green-and-gold eyes bugging out slightly. She shoves the device back in her pocket before anyone sees what's in it, turning away and thumping her chest with the side of a fist. "Sorry...wrong pipe." Web of lies.

"Then you should keep doing it," Alexander tells Grant, with a slow and careful nod. "There are too few joys in the world to deny yourself a harmless one." And when Isabella takes his box away and replaces it with coffee, he grants her a bright, pleased smile, although he puts the coffee to one side for the moment. "Thank you. It's good that you got some rest, and Bennie had company. I was," he frowns, "I was supposed to help her. And I haven't been able to. But I'm sure they'll let me out soon." He blinks a couple of times, then frowns as Isabella starts to cough, her question forgotten. "Are you--" and then his head tips to one side and he falls asleep. Just like that.

Grant nods slowly and looks to Isabella informing in the matter of fact, "I captured it. It's not going anywhere for a while." it also realyl doesn't answer the question but leans towards the latter. Looking back to Alexander curiously his head tilts looking back to Isabella, "Who hit him with a truck?"

And there he is, out like a light. An expression that is both fond and exasperated overtakes Isabella's visible features for just a moment, before she reaches out. With gentle fingers, she draws up his blankets and eases his head into a more comfortable angle, pushing his hair from his brow and taking a seat on the edge of his bed. To Grant, remembered fury tightens the hinges of her jaw, eyes wandering back to the bandage wrapped around her lover's forehead, and then returning to her distant cousin.

"He was jumped at the Pourhouse - a few classmates who didn't like him decided to beat him up." Her voice pushes through clenched teeth. "They threatened to have him sent away and one of them nearly broke his skull open."

Grant blinks with concern. He looks to Alexander and back to Isabella. "Who are they so I can make sure we don't sell to em." Shifting his weight in his chair he muses, "They tried doing that with me too. A while. People not... those guys. They can't do that ya know. That's actually not how, like... there's a system." He nods making a signature gesture, "Gotta sign a thing."

"I don't know all of their names, but I know one of them's in a coma and he's also probably the one who stabbed him in the arm," Isabella replies with a displeased expression. "His name's Chad and he's somewhere down the hall. And since I obviously can't just accidentally leave a pillow on his face, I'm giving some thought in leaving terrible art all over it with a magic marker while he's unconscious."

And judging by her face, she's already decided that she's totally going to do it.

She blinks a little when the rest of his words sink in. "Wait...you mean...the place upstate?"

Grant tilts his head and arches an eyebrow. "He's a Chad?" His eyes shift over to Isabella curious like /?Are you shitting me right now?// "Sounds like a Chad. What room's he in. I'm a cut the tops off his flowers." Hard to tell if he's joking or not. He takes a drink of his coffee and gives her a little nod before pulling the cup back down. Look, order of processes is not his strong suit here. "Yeah. Upstate."

"Apparently. I couldn't believe it either," Isabella tells him with a visible frown. She also provides the room number, because it's not as if she hasn't been obsessively going back and forth over whether or not she ought to be vandalizing his face while he's comatose, so much so that his exact location has been burned in her memory. "But if you're cutting off the tops of his flowers, you can be lookout while I draw terribly all over his stupid mug."

When her distant cousin confirms it, though, she furrows her brows. "I hear people who end up there don't tend to remember it very well," she begins slowly. "Were you admitted willingly? Why were you sent there?"

Grant takes note of the number passively with a nod. Chad is so getting a visit he didn't plan on. He does finish his coffee and look for the woefully inadequate- yeah that's a paper bag they think you can put anything in to throw away. That gets set on the counter. He lets his mind wander for a moment. To somewhere... down the hall... where he can follow that silver thread to the sleeping assailant and giving them notions of being chased. it's that feeling that makes one want to run and look back but not for risk of being nabbed. He'll only let people screw with 'family' so hard and he's not letting anyone go upstate.

Then the question comes and he blinks and looks back to her casual frowning, "Ummm, like no one wnats to go to places but uhhh STPD, ADHD, just... medical issues." Points to his hearing aids. "I had a feeeeeew health conditions growing up and... ma couldn't hack it so it was that or she bailed." He laughs with an amused grin, "Man and that was before things got super weird."

She is never one to use her talents unless she absolutely has to, but if there's a thing that Isabella can't help, it's knowing - Grant's own careful application has her following the thread of power out of Alexander's room and down the hall. There's nothing disapproving on her face, however; if anything, it's the opposite, and her grin quirks faintly on the corners of her mouth. All she does is take a quiet sip of her coffee and finish her scone.

There's a sympathetic wince at his hearings aids - she noticed them, and is reminded of the long slog of not being able to hear after the monsters' foot tag game. "So being in the Asylum wasn't weird enough?" she wonders, interest flaring in those green-gold eyes. "Define 'weird' in your case?" She fishes around her satchel, and produces a magic marker in her hand, absently toying with it in a thoughtful fashion with a half-lid look.

But before she can say anything else, nurses invade to check on Alexander and they're forced to vacate his room for a while so they can do their work, and give them time to possibly get into a few shenanigans.

Grant looks up and a small smile creeps on his face, "I think what you mean is, how can Chad learn an afterschool special style life lesson." His eyes shift to the door and there's an impish grin. He answers all her questions with, "I'm enjoying being in the right family."