2020-02-18 - The Inside Scoop

Only a few days after Valentine's day, and Everett isn't expecting visitors. Or customers either, really. When not prowling the city, looking to cause trouble, or save it from the same. Thus, he sits at the back, hopefully tucked out-of-the-way where his size, his appearance won't intimidate those customers that might do come in from fleeing. A table to himself, he sits to face the front doors, his smart phone in his hand. While he leans back, lackadaisical, long legs stretched out well past the chair opposite of him, there's an occasional sign of life, a roll of his thumb to move the output on the phone he's reading.

Someone taught the animal to read, cute.

Also at his table, a single cup of coffee. Torn yellow fake sugar packets have been piled at one side of his saucer, an individual sized mini creamer near to the empty packets. Likewise, Everett's not alone. There's a man in the back, wearing an apron, sitting on the edge of a stainless steel counter with his feet up on another counter, equally interested in his own cellular service.

To be fair with the weather how it is there probably aren't a lot of people coming in to get ice cream. Beth pushes the door to Sweet Retreat open and when she comes in she immediately starts brushing snow out of her hair. Her glasses are taken off as they almost immediately fog over as she moves from the icy outside to the warm interior of the ice cream shop. Her navy swing coat is opened and the glasses rubbed on a crisp white blouse before placed back on her face.

She doesn't go to the counter. It isn't like Everett is hard to miss. Once she spots him she starts in his direction. "Hi." She says when she stops in front of him. Then she asks, "Do you remember me?"

Two pairs of eyes look up inquisitively when the door opens. The pair belonging to the man in the back hood before he slides off the counter and starts to head for the doors separating the front area from the kitchen where some hot, mostly greasy finger-foods can be prepared. And while he tracks Beth's path, skipping his gaze ahead to Everett, the cook rolls his eyes, shakes his head, and makes his way back to his perch, muttering something about a bordello under his breath with a disapproving tone.

Everett's eyes, too, follow the only person that they've had that didn't look like they were sleeping under the building, under the boardwalk. There isn't movement from the inimitable shopkeep, not until it seeks clear Beth's coming right for him. Brows lift, he stops slouching and hugs his phone to his board chest while his other hand combs thick fingers through his hair, trying to get errand strands over his shoulders. "Uh," begins the ape. Always a good start. "Hey, yeah. From that thing with the thing," he pantomimes clawing at his own chest. "That's hard to forget. It's a rough kisser." The chair opposite of him pushes back with a nudge from his foot under the table.

"Good to know." Beth says matter-of-fact when Everett informs her that it is a rough kisser. "It's been following me since that day." She crosses her arms over her chest, her head turning slightly as if she expects to see it over her shoulder. "You had a recording of it. You played it at Minerva Kosimar's meeting. So you've seen it more than once as well. Haven't you?" Her head tilts slightly as she watches him. Despite his size she doesn't seem intimidated. Maybe it's because they are inside a ice cream shop and who could be intimidated inside that? Or maybe it's because she's seen something far more intimidating.

"Me too," Everett offers, since the offer wasn't accepted the first time he adds words to it the second time, "You wanna sit down, Blue eyes? Coffee, or sumthing?" Speaking of, he pulls his phone from his chest to glance down at it, then lays it down next to his coffee cup, leaning forward and interlacing his fingers, "'Had' is a good word. I dunno what happened to it; I was gunna give a copy of it to a music friend of mine, see if she could make a dance beat out of it." His fingers unlace long enough for him to twirl his right hand in the air, dismissively. "Oh well."

"But. I wouldn't exactly say seen, exactly. I was there once when it was. That's how I got the recording. And how I knew the sound it made. So when I heard it again, it's why I needed to get in that home." He pauses, cants his head and sizes her up. "You're out to hunt it down this time? What made you stop running?"

"It's still following you?" Beth asks when he says me too. At the invitation to sit down she pulls a chair out across from Everett and sits down. "No, thank you." She says to the offer of coffee. "That would have been a bad idea, probably." Her hands are folded into her lap primly. When he asks her why she's not running anymore she shrugs a shoulder. "I can't get away from it. It comes to my place and fucks it up. Threatens to tear other people's hearts out. Scares the shit out of me and makes me run out of my house. I can't sleep. I'm scared I'll wake up to it tearing my heart out of my chest."

He nods, softly, a couple quick bobs of his head, an acknowledgement more to her lack of refreshment; or additional heat. "Yeah. Well. Sorta," he says a little unsteady. He rolls his eyes upwards, tilting his head from side to side with the passing of each word. "Not so much anymore," his gaze turns to Beth pointedly. The right corner of his mouth pulling with a soft smile, "I suspect it has more on its tiny mind then just making me hear music, or whispering the little romantic nothing. It hasn't in a few days now. I was beginning to wonder if it went home, something happened, or what."

Everett listens to her fear, then hmms. "Well? You need sleep. Do you know anyone that shines like you do? Someone you trust that can watch over you while you sleep. Maybe take some pills if you have trouble getting there." Everett offers a shrug of his right shoulder and shakes his head, "I haven't been having that kind of trouble." Pondering aloud, Everett looks sideways, "Maybe a trip somewhere out of town too; see how far its reach is?" Then he levels a sausage thick finger to her, "You know, the worst part is, some of this COULD just be all in your head," implying, of course...

Beth watches Everett carefully as he describes his own recent encounters with the overly ardent paranormal stalker. When he makes his suggestion she laughs out loud. "Dude, I didn't come here for advice on sleep. Also it's not my head considering it broke out one of my fucking windows and burnt the door to my office down." She may be slightly offended by him suggesting it is in her head. Just a touch. "And I don't think the other people who have seen it think it's just a figment of my imagination. I came here to exchange information but I guess we just did." She stands up from the table and says tersely, "Have a nice night."

"I didn't say it was ALL in your head," the large man reiterates, "I didn't even say it was a figment of your imagination, since I was there. It's in me." He pauses and picks up his coffee, giving her time to reflect on those words, if she's of a mind to. A soft inhalation of air after his sip before he brings his eyes up to her. "That's what you said. You also didn't tell me why you're here. Or who you are, or your name." Lowering his coffee cup back to the saucer, he showcases his free hand around the place, "but you clearly know me. Know where I can be found. I suppose I could make some allowances on account that you aren't yourself."

"You know where to find me next time you want a chat. Bring your manners."

Beth gives Everett an incredulous look before she points out, "Because you asked. And I literally just sat down." She listens to him, and that incredulous look is soon accompanied by a little shake of her head. "Oh right. Because you own a business and this is a small town. I would have been just as easy to find." She gives Everett a little thumbs up, "Trust me . I won't be back. And maybe if you want people to be polite you should try being a little less condescending." That last bit said she turns to walk out the door.