2020-02-18 - Winter Veggies

It's quiet at 13 Elm Street. Isabella isn't staying here at the moment, and Bennie is asleep in the bedroom, with the door securely locked. Alexander is sitting in the living room, staring blankly at a TV currently turned off. His cat is in his lap, purring, and the bird is on his shoulder near his neck, chuckling and kissing him. He doesn't seem to really notice any of it, although his hand quietly pets the white cat. On the coffee table, there are books from the library and print outs of various sorts from the internet, piled high, marked with highlighters. The living room light is on, and that's the only mundane hint that anyone is home.

August arrives, pausing at the light on and internal silence. Not that Alexander is the sort who's to be found moving about with a fervor, but given Isabella's subdued behavior, he can assume something is going on. What remains to be seen, so he's here to aggressively apply a box of vegetables (plus some frozen dove and elk) and a friendly ear.

He knocks on the door, three quick raps, and waits.

Alexander jumps at the three raps, and the animals scatter, Blue Bell digging her claws into his thighs in a way that makes him curse loud enough that it's vaguely audible on the other side of the door. Luigi's shriek of alarm is more piercing, and he launches himself to fly around the room before diving back into his cage with every bit of indignation that a small bird can muster. Alexander rubs at his thigh, briefly checks to make sure the cat didn't pierce anything reproductive, then rises and goes to the door.

He's bruised front and back of his head, blue and purple radiating out from a gash over one eyebrow, while older, fading bruises slide around from the back of his head. He's wearing an oversized sweater and tattered jeans when he opens the door, and his eyes are tired and red. Still, he smiles to see August, eyebrows going up at the box. "You know I can afford groceries, right?" But it's amused, if weary, not defensive, and he steps back to wave August in. "Come on in?"

August winces at the sounds within, winding up an apology for when the door opens. But the sight of all those injuries makes him hesitate and blanch, and he works on swallowing that reaction down before saying, "Ah, Christ, Alexander." He's crestfallen and unhappy at what he finds despite having braced himself. And he knows, without bothering to ask, Alexander won't want any of it healed.

It takes him a moment to respond to the question. He even dredges up a wry smile for it. "You don't want the garbage in the store." He pats the box. "Peas, leeks, radishes, onions, garlic, and a selection of greens. Also some dove." He steps in, casts a small mental wave of apology at Luigi before he realizes what he's doing and makes himself stop. "Sorry for startling your bird."

"Hey. I look better than I did last time you saw me," Alexander says, with a little shrug. He closes the door behind August, offers to take the box from him. "And you know, you would probably hate to know what I regularly ate before I met you. Like, the injuries would pale in comparison." There's a hesitation. "Dove? Like, the pretty white birds dove?" Now he looks less like he wants to take the box. Luigi turns his back to August, flicks his tail from side to side. Alexander shakes his head. "It's alright. It's less that he's startled, and more that he doesn't like most people. Strangers."

"I am not the man to talk to about having looked worse," August reminds Alexander, smile going from wry to rueful. He sets the box down on the kitchen counter regardless. "Not those kind, but related. Eurasian collared. They're an invasive species, so we're encouraged to hunt them year-round, that was the native doves don't get forced out. It's totally fine if that's not your style, though; I can take those home and we'll have them on the barbecue later."

He moves out the kitchen, leans against the counter and considers Luigi. "Well my guard geese hate everyone, so I know better than to force the issue." Another small smile, this one genuine, but the bird giving him its backside.

He's quiet a spell, surveying bird and man by turns. Then, "How'd it happen? If, you know...you wanna say."

Alexander moves to the box once it's put down, and he starts taking things out of it so that he can put them in the fridge. His hands shake a little when they're not wrapped around something, but his movements are precise and the veggies end up being aggressively organized in the fridge. Like Alexander has read something about 'where is the optimum place to put each of these items' and is following it with rigid obedience. "No, it's fine. Cows are also cute, and I'm not turning down hamburgers." A faint, crooked smile at him over the fridge door. "And Luigi warms up to people eventually. He likes Isolde. And...Isolde," Alexander admits, with a sheepish chuckle. "She worked hard at it."

Then there's a blink. "Which 'it'? There's a lot of 'it's in my life, August."

August folds his arms, watches Alexander organize the fridge contents. "I won't judge anyone for not wanting to eat something for any kind of reason. It's important to be comfortable with what you eat." He makes a low sound. "Isolde could probably tame anything. I don't think she's a good example."

He scratches at his beard. "Well, that's a fair point. I've had gnomes, and Itzhak and I almost drowned thanks to a Tarot deck. So, you know, whichever it you wanna say. I mean, if it'll help." He doesn't launch into a spiel about whether or not it'll help. That's for Alexander to decide.

"I'll eat pretty much everything," Alexander points out. "Most of the time, it doesn't much matter. I'll even eat Isabella's--" he stops there, his face goes drawn and grim and he turns back to the organizing for several long, silent minutes. He finishes, closes the door, says tonelessly, "I didn't offer you something to drink. Would you like something? I can make coffee. I've got whiskey and tequila, too." Bereft of chores, his hands hang limp at his sides and he just stares blankly at August.

"Gnomes. Yeah. The pee gnomes. A couple of them got into the hospital to try and assassinate Vincenzo for great justice." A frown. "Tarot is dangerous, August. You should know that." A breath out. "It won't help. But--just had some bad Dreams." The emphasis obvious. "I killed Isabella. In one. It was actually her, but I didn't believe it was, and when she got back, she was bruises all over. I, I, I," his teeth click shut and he turns away to get two glasses. "What did you want to drink?"

August groans about the gnomes coming after Enzo. "I guess I'm not surprised, we kind of made a mess." A handwave about the Tarot deck. "We weren't, you know, using one, we got pulled into a Dream where we were forced to flip cards." He might be about to go on, but then--

You can almost hear the record scratch as Alexander gets to describing how the Dream was bad. "Oh, Jesus Christ, Alexander." He leans a little, a suggestion that if this were anyone else, there would at a minimum be a hand on a shoulder. But it's Alexander, so August stays put. He ducks his head, runs a hand over his face. "That's some pretty next level bullshit," he says, voice low. Then he focuses on Alexander again. "Coffee," he says, since there will be prep involved, which might help.

"Something about killing a baby gnome and turning their forest into shit-tasting trees? They seem pretty angry." It's a bland observation. "And one of them wants Vincenzo to help repopulate the species. You should probably apologize to him." He avoids the topic of the bad Dream for now, instead exchanging the glasses for mugs (one is Isabella's; it's clear by the pithy saying on the mug - none of Alexander's have any sort of humor, and most of them are the 'free swag' variety with some random organizational name on it) and then starting to ready the French press. The beans are probably Isabella's too: they're actually GOOD, instead of the cheapest the grocery store has to offer that isn't actually instant.

"Are you okay? Is Itzhak? I understand Javier is...mildly evil. At the moment."

"Not sure about what happened to the trees. We haven't actually seen them yet, so we don't know if it was the graft or that thing the other day or," August waves a hand, "something else entirely. They couldn't eat the Veil trees where we found them, so unless the Veil trees where I did the graft and the Veil trees where we found them are entirely different, it might be something else." He sighs heavily; it would be like the Veil to have that kind of odd peculiarity. "Either way, the Elder said to gather some folks and he'd tell us where to go." He shrugs about that agreement--what can they do, save fix it, even if it's not their problem--arches an eyebrow. "Apologize to who? Enzo killed one of them. Niall and I got the Elder to agree to heal him instead of letting him bleed out. The baby died when we were trying to get the one that attacked Enzo off of him."

He rubs the back of his neck. "We're...well. I won't call it fine. It's not fine." Damaging a bunch of peoples' hearing on purpose isn't fine. "Itzhak said something fucked up de la Vega, sort of like with Gohl but...different. So that's all a mess. Not totally sure what to do about it. But, you know. We survived."

"They peed on him, August. They peed on him a lot." Alexander's lips twitch. "I'm not saying you did anything wrong. But, just, a 'sorry man that's fucked up' might not go amiss. I think he was about at his limits by the time we got him out of the hospital. Luckily, they evacuated, so it wasn't hard for him to check himself out." People escaping from the hospital is becoming a TREND. He sighs and rubs at his non bruised temple. "Yeah. Man in a bowler hat. Probably Peregrine. Don't know what the fuck he did to him. Hopefully it will wear off if I or someone else can't snap him out of it."

"And, yeah. We survived." Alexander looks away, staring instead at the French press.

August rolls his eyes at Alexander, laughs a little, bitter and sad. "That's not an apology, Alexander, it's just sympathy. But I was planning on checking on him." Probably via text, because August's not going near the hospital any time soon. Not after last time. "So I'll make sure to. Don't want to find out they...infested him, or something."

It shouldn't surprise August when Alexander says 'Peregrine', and yet, it does. There's a brief groan as the counter August is leaning against strains under a flash of anger. He sets his jaw, forces himself to stop. He might not think of himself as willing to kill people, but Peregrine is trying his damnedest to prove August wrong. "We have got, to deal with that guy," he says, and shudders.

No response to the comment about survival for several seconds. But finally, August says, "I'm sorry. About--what happened, with Isabella. In that Dream." He sniffs. "I'm not gonna bore you with 'you're a good person' and 'don't blame yourself'. I know it...well, especially right now, with what's rattling around inside you? That doesn't really matter." He takes to studying the floor. "It can be hard, to get people to understand what it's like to learn, or be, reminded, of something really ugly about yourself."

Alexander continues to not look at August, but shrugs. "I just think he would like it. Whatever it is. And I don't think he's infested. Just pee-burned." His lips thin. "I think you should just burn it all down. The forest, the gnomes, everything. Everything over there is horror and pain. Better to kill it all." There's no particular heat to this desire; it's just stated as a factual observation.

There's the briefest of nods when August says Peregrine needs to be dealt with. "I'm sorry. I wish I had been strong enough to deal with him before. If I had, he wouldn't be hurting anyone." He mechanically operates the French press as it finishes its work, and pours out two mugs, scrupulously and meticulously even. "Do you take anything? Cream. Sugar. Whatever."

A shudder runs through him as August comes back to Isabella and the Dream. "Yes," is all he says. It's quiet, and sad, and has a heavy weight to it, like it's hard to even say.

August shakes his head. "Don't blame yourself for not being strong enough. You couldn't have known. I'm just glad you're alright. That I'm happy to say isn't your fault, and I don't want to hear about how it is. No need for cream or sugar, black's good."

He nods about the confirmation. "Look. I know you're going to need to time to go through it. Process it. But--she's going away for her defense soon. You should think real hard before you leave it in a rough place between you two for that amount of time." But that seems all he has to say on that topic, because he moves on to Enzo.

"I will," he assures Alexander, regarding Enzo. He bobs his eyebrows at the suggestion it all be burned. "Well, to that end--regardless of anything else, we need to deal with these trees, or we'll have crazy gnomes for the next however long. Also if it was me who fucked it up, well, I double-extra need to fix it. So," a tilt of his head, "interested?"

Alexander opens his mouth, then shuts it when August says he doesn't want to hear it. He picks up the mugs, giving August the one that clearly belongs to Isabella. He leans back against the counter, not really saying much, just staring at his own black coffee, like it might have something useful to contribute to the conversation. Hey, it's Gray Harbor, and you never know when it MIGHT. In this case, the liquid keeps its dark secrets. "It'd be better if she left. If she gets far enough away from here, maybe she'll forget about...about everything. That would be best."

At the question, he shakes his head. "I can't. I can't. I just..." his shoulders hunch. "I just can't, right now. I'm sorry. But it's probably better. Take someone who doesn't fuck everything up, and you'll probably come out with fewer losses."

"Well if it was my graft, we're already taking at least one person who fucks everything up, so what's one more?" August asks, tone light, and sips from his coffee. He lets that sit between them, then continues, "We're not going for a while. I'll ask you again when the time gets closer, you can decide if you still feel like telling me no."

He swirls his coffee. "That's not true," he says. "I feel I'm empowered to say that, as a friend of hers. It's not better for people here. And it's not better for her, when you've got no way of knowing if she won't stumble across some other place like this, only then be deprived of what she knows to help her deal with it." He looks at a distant point on the wall. "They're out there, Alexander--those other spots. And some of them are ugly. Forgetting what we know here doesn't help. It makes it worse."

Alexander snorts. "You didn't fuck everything up. You just didn't use proper experimental procedure, it sounds like. You need a greenhouse or something built over there. And maybe start with something smaller. Like, if a daisy becomes carnivorous and wants to murder us all, we can probably handle it. Trees are more of a problem." For a moment, animation flashes in his eyes, but it dies just as quickly, voice going back to the quiet monotone as he adds, "I don't think I'll change my mind. But I hope you can work it out."

He takes a couple of sips of his coffee, hissing slightly because it really hasn't cooled down much at all, yet. "She was going to forgive me, you know. She woke up, and she wanted to hug me. To touch me. To see if I was hurt. I killed her. I hurt her, and she wanted--" his teeth click shut again, and he closes his eyes, close to crying until he can take a few deep, ragged breaths. "I can't help her, August. I shouldn't even be near her. Not. Not right now. Maybe later."

"Well, given how marking the trees to note our path went? I think building a greenhouse is definitely out of the question. Every tree wound up with a chalk mark." August shrugs helplessly. "So. The only other idea I had was some cross pollination, but honestly, I don't know that we can say trees are worse. What if I cross-pollinate a flower and it makes a few billion of itself?" He looks curious about the possibility, shakes his head to set it aside. He nods at that. "I hear you. We'll let you know how it goes."

One of the benefits of the matter Art: hot food can still be taken piping hot. Of Isabella, August says, "Not right now," in gentle agreement. "You need space, you need a second. Catch your breath, get your head straight again. But I recommend against deciding 'never' as well. This is a bad time to decide anything. Concentrate on recovering. You've got big holes torn in you that you need to stitch up, or at least let scab over. So take that time. Don't be in a hurry."

Something like humor flickers to life in Alexander's eyes. "Now you wanna try it," he accuses, gently. "And I don't know that it's impossible. But I think 'building' might not mean the same thing over there that it does here. Things echo - at least, things that happen here echo over there. The entire realm appears psychomorphic to some degree. If you were marking trees, then some part of you was probably anxious about getting lost. So you became lost. Or, at least, I think that might have something to do with it."

He pauses. "Before Valentine's Day. Isabella," the name cracks in his throat and he does his best to ignore that, "and Anne and I went over at Gohl's grave. Anne thinks she opened a door to a Dream, instead. We were trapped in a monument to the Lost. It went on forever. Have you ever really seen forever, August? I mean, actual infinity? It hurts. It hurts to look at." He shakes his head. "Not relevant. But the more we tried to deny that we were lost, the worst we got. The duller we got. I felt myself become...ordinary. But not the good kind. Colorless and wasted and dull." He blows on the surface and takes a sip. "It was terrible. But when we admitted we were lost, we got better."

His brow furrows. "The easy answer is that it was just random torment; a hijacking of sorts of our regularly scheduled broadcast. But I wonder if it was trying to tell us something."

"I do, but depending on if these 'bad trees' are my fault, I'm not inclined to." August gives Alexander a saucy, 'so there' look. "I was thinking it was something along those lines--or, well, we were marking specific trees, but the trees just, decided to propagate that mark." He says this like trees 'deciding' something is a legitimate thing which could happen.

He watches Alexander as he speaks, shakes his head at the question about infinity. He's quiet a bit, tapping on his mug. "It might have been more of Their bullshit," he allows, because he feels he should acknowledge that possibility, even if he doesn't think it's the case. "But...to me that sounds more like...well." He laughs a little. "I can think of a few things. First is, you have to be lost to find something that can't be found." A small grin, since he's quoting a movie. "But also...there's a concept of admitting there are things you don't know, that you don't know. The unknown unknowns. You have to accept that those things are out there, and you'll only ever find them by running into them. You can't prepare for them. All you can do, is acknowledge that there is risk." A small pause as he puts his next thoughts together. "So maybe you had to accept that you were lost, to know you needed to find another way out. If you don't think you're lost, you won't look for a new path. You have to know where you are--that you don't know where you are--before you can know." He looks askance at Alexander to see what he thinks.

Alexander thinks about it, then shrugs. Then, slowly, shakes his head. "Everyone on the wall that I recognized - that we were allowed to recognize - they all stood out. I don't know that everyone on the wall did - there were so many names. More than have ever lived in Gray Harbor. More than ever could live in Gray Harbor." A pause. "But I wonder if they all stood out. In their way." He pauses to drink. "And I wonder if they're all the Lost. If we're all the Lost." Then he lets out a chuff of self-mocking amusement. "But I don't even know what that would mean. Lost from what? How?" A glance at August, and an amused acknowledgement, "But I always want to make things into mysteries that have definitive answers. Not much of a philosopher."

"Just because we don't know something doesn't mean it's not out there to know--just that we might never find it out. There's philosophy for you." August grins after saying that; it fades just as quickly as it's formed, into a more contemplative expression. He nods, thinking over the description of the wall.

"I think you're onto something there. That it might mean having the Art, being able to wield Glimmer, is to be a little lost, all the time. That's just how it is. So maybe the only way to not be lost, to really not be lost, is to leave it behind. Let it go, for good." His turn to look down into his coffee. "I won't lie, I'd hesitate at the idea of raising kids here. I'd be tempted to move somewhere clear of the thin point. Or, at least, only be adjacent to it." He makes a face, has some coffee.

"Could be lost from--a lot of things. Society. Ourselves. The real world. Sort of like, how some breeds of sea bird? After their first flight, they won't set foot on dry land for years. Until they're adults and ready to breed. It's just how it is for them." A small shrug. "They're lost to land. They belong to the ocean."

"Raising children in Gray Harbor should be considered de facto child abuse," Alexander says, dryly. "Or at least dangerously neglectful." The rest, though, he listens to and, after a moment, nods. "That's closer to where I'm thinking, though. If being what we are doesn't mean we're naturally lost, somehow. I can't help but tie that back to what we felt when Gohl was put to rest. He went somewhere else, didn't he? What if he wasn't lost anymore? But. In going...wherever it was. In becoming unlost, he somehow took something out of the world with him? Like. I can't, don't, believe that these thin points are the natural state of our world. They're aberrations. Statistically, and probably existentially as well. Intrusions. Or near intrusions. What if we have something inside of us that belongs somewhere else? And that's why we can break the rules."

It's all a rapid tumble, each word precise, but falling so close after the next that it's like it's a pre-recorded statement that's being played at not-quite-double time.

August makes a low sound of acknowledgement for that opinion. It's not that he agrees, but he doesn't disagree either. The murder and crime rate alone are reason not to.

He nods as Alexander speaks, turning these ideas over in his head with the ease of someone used to this manner of rapid idea assembly. "I guess then the question becomes, if other people like us pass, does the same thing happen? Or is it only certain ones? Or maybe it happens but it's a small effect, but with others the effect is big? But if only certain people, why? Gohl was a Baxter, after all, and we know how there's a history of them here, with the Addingtons. So is it just them? Or are there others who are acting as," he waves his free hand, "door stops?"

He snaps his fingers. "That might also explain the memory loss. The bit about, something in us that belongs somewhere else. When it's not close enough to whatever it belongs to, it forgets what it is. So we forget too. Or maybe, it's corrosive, like Cavanaugh was saying. Our minds just can't actually handle it, so they refuse to."

"I don't think it's just dying. Not just dying." Alexander scowls, staring off into space. "But...I don't know what it is. So it's probably not useful to think about it too much." He shakes his head. "I have a lot of weird theories rolling around in my head." Then he brightens at the snap of August's fingers. "Maybe. But it affects people who don't stand out more than us."

"Mmmm, yeah--probably not just death. Maybe, like you said, moving on, somehow. The way Gohl did." August is quiet a time. Then, "Maybe that's the thing about ghosts. You wind up with them here, because there's something not letting go, right? That's how the story goes. Only maybe with the Art that means, the place is changed too. Warped. Cracked open. Sending them on, like we did to Gohl, undoes that. Closes the crack."

He waves his hand about it effecting people more. "That could be a stability thing. They don't have that piece that doesn't belong, so they're not stabilized. They forget as soon as they can. Us, we've got a bit that does. Takes longer to let go." He lifts a shoulder. "More theories for you to roll around in your head."

"Maybe. Maybe. I feel like ghosts aren't real. For whatever value real has. But then, maybe they are. Maybe if something is a good enough copy of a thing, it doesn't matter if it's the real thing in a real sense or not." Alexander sighs, then frowns. "Insufficient data. I'm looking forward to you and Yule's experiments. Maybe there will be more data, and thus more than a theory. Someday." He flashes the closest thing to a real smile that the evening has pulled out of him so far. "But it's interesting to think about."

"More data," August says with a firm nod. He doesn't, however, mention the last time Alexander wanted more data, which was about memory rewriting in unwilling subjects.

"For the rest, I can relay a few things to you right now." He drains the last of his coffee, sets it aside. "First off. The soup? Doesn't work on plants. Unsure if it works on animals, I didn't want to test that. But plants are a no. Which means, the effect is much more specific than the shaping art itself is." A brief lift of his brows for that. "Second, the plants I planted in the park? Died. Just straight up. So, whatever's over there, supporting the life we see? It's not what supports plant life here. That gets to a question of, if you didn't bring food and water into the Veil, would you starve or die of dehydration?" A small shrug there; he's not entirely wanting to test that theory, but it's something to consider. "Finally, we now know that marking things isn't reliable when it comes to mapping. At least not in Firefly Forest. It's way too," he makes a gesture with his hands, "fluid. Changes too much. We might need to come up with some sort of compass instead. Something we can bring in, to tell the way."

More unknowning than specifically unwilling, really. And what they didn't know, or didn't remember, wouldn't hurt them. Right?

Maybe best not to remind Alexander about that, yeah. His head tilts to one side at the way August explains the outcome of the experiments. "Interesting. And, well, folklore suggests eating and drinking in a fae realm is a really bad idea. Maybe it's not because it keeps you there, but because it's sort of poisonous? And I bet we'd need a magnet that would focus on something other than 'north'."

"Probably. Or, just, the effects aren't predictable, so why risk it." Why indeed, except there was that time Itzhak and Isdole chugged Veil Mead like it was no big deal. Oh well.

"Yeah--something to think on, how to...make something point at something else. Like how the matter Art lets me find things." August gives that some thought, shakes his head. He sighs, gives Alexander a once over. "I should get giong. Thank you for the coffee. And the thinking." He pauses. "And...be patient with yourself. And Isabella. Don't expect something like that to heal too fast. But maybe don't make decisions based on the notion it never will."

Alexander puts his mug aside when August starts to make his goodbyes. He slides past the older man to show him to the door, but reaches out on the way and lets his fingertips brush lightly on his shoulder. It's pretty much the Alexander-equivalent of an enthusiastic hug. He smiles. "I'll try. And thanks. For the veggies. And the dead birds. And being a good friend." Then he ducks his head and slouches towards the door to open it for him. "Don't die."

August gives Alexander a grateful smile for the touch, his version of returning said hug for Alexander. He pauses at the door to pull his gloves and scarf back on. "You're welcome. Trying's all anyone can ask. And, I won't. Take care of yourself, and don't you die either." Another small smile, then he's out the door.