2020-02-19 - If We Could Only Annihilate Them With Sex Lasers

The Surprise isn't docked all that far from Two If By Sea; its gleaming white lines could be glimpsed in the easternmost portion of the establishment's deck. A ten minute walk at most, if that, which made their last call tradition so easy for her during the summer. Isabella didn't even have to drive, and managed to get herself home even without his offers to walk her home in the darker hours. The winters had been different, having spent most of it at 13 Elm.

The living room area is neat when Easton arrives, save for the bag that contains all of her research and clothes and belongings she had retrieved from Alexander's residence, stuffed in a bulging duffel on top of the coffee table. There's no surprise on the young woman's features at finding him in her threshold, because no matter how potent his own trickster's facade is, Easton Marshall was a man of his word - he said he was going to check in, so he does.

She looks terrible, though most of it can be passed over; her hair is pulled in a disheveled twist, her eyes swollen and bloodshot. She had barely eaten the last four days and the weight loss is starting to show, the hollows of her cheeks more pronounced. She moves as if she aches, because she does, but her pride keeps her gestures quick and businesslike and despite bleeding from wounds more significant than any physical injury, the way she meets his gaze is still as bold and sharp as ever, green irises and their gold flecks near incandescently in the faint light of her living space.

The electric fireplace is turned on, its low hum rolling over the room. "You didn't have to come," she tells him again, her voice raw and hoarse - perhaps from crying, or from drinking, or both. The two large, empty bottles of scotch still sitting on her counter are indicative enough that she's probably done her best to find some sustenance in poison within the last forty-eight hours.

The walk from the bar doesn't take long, and it gives Easton time to smoke a cigarette in the cool evening air. He makes his way out onto the boat and knocks before entering. The state of the boat is taken in with a cool glance about, particularly the empty scotch bottles. He doesn't hesitate or spend much time on it.

The look that he gives her is quick as well. He doesn't dwell on it, just glances over her and nods, as if that is about what he expected. "Of course I did." He answers in response to her telling him he didn't have to come. And he brought provisions! Well, he brought a bag that smells an awful lot like the bar and a case of beer. It's not scotch, but he's trying to be good. Kind of.

He sets the bag of food down and then takes a seat on the nearest available surface and opens the first beer, maybe just a touch too quickly. Yes, he's here to check in on Isabella. But his rules state that he's not allowed to drink alone and he really needs a drink.

The food smells enticing - on any other day, Isabella would groan because she knows on some level that Easton would be bringing her potatoes and they have had this discussion a few times. But there's a flicker of a wan smile, and a typical her-quip, "At least any loaded tots you decided to bring me'll do me more good than harm this week," she says, easing into the seat next to him on the pull-out couch. She pushes the duffel over; it lands on the floor with a heavy thump.

There's another bottle of scotch near her, and she doesn't even pour herself a drink properly. She removes the cap and takes a swig directly from the bottle, and no, she doesn't offer Easton any. Just because he's here to check on her doesn't mean she's about to make her condition as a precipitous excuse to get him to backslide from all of his progress. She may be a failure in what actually counts, but she is, at least, still determined to be a good friend.

Of course I did.

"How are you?" she asks, because she's unable to help herself. She examines his handsome profile from where she sits. "How's Project Easton 2.0 working out?"

The food does in fact include a big ol' thing of loaded tater tots and some wings for a healthy balanced diet, at least those have carrots and celery? But Easton ignores the food and instead closes his eyes as he takes a few gulps of beer. He shakes his head and sighs when she asks about him, "I'm okay, but I wasn't just killed by my boyfriend right before defending my doctorate. How are you doing?" He looks tired, back to his un-sleeping self but otherwise reasonably healthy.

The smell of the scotch alone is enough to make him put the beer to his lips and close his eyes. "Easton 2.0 is .. I don't know. I'm worried about Bennie. I'm worried about De La Vega and Rosencratz. I'm worried about you. About.." He breathes out a hard sigh and then as if realizing something he sets down the beer. He throws an arm around her and pulls her into a slightly too strong side-hug. He holds her there for a second and says, "Ok. Now we can continue." and releases her to re-pick up his beer.

She's about to ask. He sees it in her eyes, flickering there - what about Bennie, and Javier and Itzhak, because Easton simply can't mention them in that way without questions. But it must be his face, and everything that he brought her. Attempting in his own way to take care of those he cared about even while he struggled with his own problems. It was common in their shared circle, this tendency to be, and some part of her is even ashamed that he finds the necessity to do so with her. But today, she is grateful.

Isabella attempts to show this; words aren't her best arena - at least, not with those that touch on the emotional. Fingers fish out a tot and pushes it to her mouth. It takes her a while to chew, and swallow.

"I'm not even angry that he tried," she tells him quietly. "It was necessary, to get out of the Dream. I'm more angry at myself that I lost." Typical, competitive Isabella - but she clarifies when she continues, "I knew since the Fall any eventuality in that end would go poorly, if he was ever forced to hurt me, even out of necessity. It's why we stayed apart during the business with Gohl. I knew, even then. That was the one thing I could never let happen." She glances down at the bottle. "I failed, E. All my bravado and bluster, all that confidence that I could, and I still..."

Her fingers grip the bottle's neck a little tighter. "I always choke when it matters." A weak laugh leaves her lips. "This time quite literally."

Easton knows that she wants to ask, and feels bad for even bringing it up but it's all weighing on him, hence the urgent drinking. He's sticking with the beer though at least, so that's good. Because as much as Easton's here to support Isabella, it's not like he's desperate to be alone or murder-sitting Ruiz right now.

"You didn't fail Iz. You got put in a no fuckin' win situation, and surprise, no one wins." He doesn't know exactly the circumstances but he knows that this was a button for Alexander that he always feared they would push. He bumps her shoulder and says, "I know you wanted to protect him from that. But it happened. You just can't let it beat you. Or him." He pulls at a tot, disinterested but also realizing that he too should eat something rather than just keep drinking.

She pushes the tots closer to Easton, though she also casts a wary eye on his beer intake. Isabella smiles faintly, unable to help it even in her present condition. "You're a good guy, E," she tells him softly.

His words, though, has her drawing her eyes down to the bottle in her hand, rolling it between her palms. "Everyone says that my brother disappeared. That's the story the entire town knows. He didn't." She takes a swig of her scotch. "He wandered through the Door on his own, he couldn't help himself. He always wanted to know - more and more, always. When I started to feel him fade, I went to go get him. It went poorly." She swallows. "Before They took me, he found me." She closes her eyes at that. "He took my place, because he wanted me to live. I went to save him, E. Instead, he saved me."

She takes another hard swallow of her scotch. "When I came back, the first time I was pulled into all of this, I was determined to do it because I wanted to keep my mother safe. Because this town eats Baxters, and I don't know why - I wanted to figure it out, because she wouldn't leave, no matter how much I begged, or pleaded or..." And he knows what happened with that. "Now this. What good is all my foresight when I can't prevent anything? Isn't the purpose of knowing to do something about it?" The last said bitterly.

"Ever since the summer, I've been..." She grits her teeth. "It's not in me to give up. I don't know how. But what's the point of fighting if you never win?"

That lingers, before she lowers her head, sideswept bangs shadowing her eyes. "I'm sorry," she murmurs. "I'm just...I'm tired."

The tots are pushed back towards Isabella with look out of the corner of his eye, one that happens to catch her glance at the beer. He gives a little headshake, that no, he is not going to be talking about that right now, nor is he going to not be drinking. "So people say.." is all he can muster to the talk of him being a good guy.

When the topic of her brother comes up though his eyebrows raise and he gets quiet, keeping to just his beer for now. "Oh fuck." It's quiet for him, but still louder than conversational tones. "Iz. I'm sorry. I know..." He gives a half shrug of his shoulder and then repeats, "I know."

"Iz, I don't know. But I do know that sometimes it's enough to just fight. Because fuck them. Even if we go down swinging. Even if we lose it all. It's the right thing to do. But if you need to get out? Or at least get a break? Do that."

I know.

"You do." Isabella isn't without a considerable amount of brainpower at her disposal; with how attached Easton was to his best friend/lover's ghost, she could read between the lines. A ghost, after all, doesn't come to be without dying, and she knows some things about them, now, that she can take a very good guess as to how he died.

She's able to laugh a little, but it isn't derisive - that earlier bitter tone is gone and she skewers him mercilessly with that incandescent grin, eyes suspiciously bright. "Better to die on our feet, than live on our knees?" She nudges his shoulder and takes another swig of her scotch. "You really are a marine. And I say that with the most profound affection I'm capable of at the moment."

Her eyes fall on her smartphone on the coffeetable, blessedly silent today - his was the only text she answered. "He sent me a text yesterday," she tells him. "'I still love you.' It doesn't seem fair that it feels like getting skewered between the ribs every time he says it, when mine just hits a wall." Morose eyes stare at her bottle. "Not even a hitch in his step after I said the words. After I repeated them. He couldn't get away from me fast enough." The last words are hollow, and absent, her eyes finding the fireplace. "Maybe that's why I fail. I'm incapable of...reaching."

She breathes, and scrubs her face with one hand, turning her focus back on Easton. "Tell me about Itzhak and Javier? Why are you worried?" She knows why he's worried about Bennie.

Easton just nods. He looks at her for a moment about to clarify that it's not the same thing. But the loss and the guilt and the pain of losing someone you love, and actually being there to witness it, it's close enough that he decides to let it be.

Her poking fun at him with that grin, causes his own smile to finally break out, his dimples creasing deeply into his cheek when answers, loudly, "Oorah!" in cliche Marine fashion. He laughs and says, "If you're ever looking for someone to tell you when it's time to quit? Ask someone else." He means it not as a point of pride interestingly enough, but in the vein of self-awareness.

Easton looks hopeful when he hears about the text, but then it fades quickly when she describes the scene a bit more. He shakes his head and says, "You don't know tho Iz. He's a guy. We can put up fronts with the best of 'em. Especially if the numbnuts things he's doing it for your own good. You're not failing. You just chose a difficult guy to love." He stops and says, "Not that you chose, or that A to the J C isn't a good dude.." Yes, A to the J C, but only to Isabella and only because it might help make her laugh right now to give Alexander such a blatantly offensive (to him) nickname.

With his first beer downed and a second one opened Easton scowls and shakes his head, "Javier got mind jumped by some .. Peregrine? And he beat the shit out of Itzhak, who is still mooning over him, but at least has him locked up at his place for now?" He shakes his head and says, "Far too much like Gohl for my liking. And goodness does De La Vega need a fuckin' break. Itz too."

"I plunge headfirst into trouble without even blinking. I kick down doors whenever I think I'm going nowhere. I dive into dozens of feet underwater, in some of the most unpredictable terrain in this world, digging up lost secrets for a living," Isabella enumerates for him blandly. "I stay away from skirts and dresses usually because my career often necessitates working in areas where women are kidnapped and used at a regular basis, and I don't want to make it easy for any bastard who decides to take his life in his hands to try. I carry a gun, and I've been taught how to use it since I could handle the weight, and could understand what the safety was for. What about me screams I want to be safe and protected, exactly? You'd think someone as brilliant as Alexander would get it."

She pauses, though, and angles a look at him, brows raising. "...did you just say 'numbnuts'?" She's unable to help it, the visible showing of that flaring grin, that grows more prominent when he butchers the investigator's name in that way. "He might actually vomit if he ever heard you call him that, by the way."

There's a blink. "What, really?" she murmurs. "Javier told me that he linked up with Peregrine before, but not what they talked about. You think that's how he managed to home into him? Some kind of psychic imprinting?" Her expression softens. "God, they're just getting started, too. Itzhak and Javier." She scrubs her face. "Maybe we should all just bail out of town until winter's over. It's not a bad idea, yeah? I hear Cancun's nice this time of year."

"I know you do. And it's great." Easton grins, genuinely meaning that he admires and appreciates her willingness to just hurl herself into situations. "But it's not about you. It's about him. And him wanting to protect you is I'm gonna bet more about him not having someone to ever fuckin' protect him. He was a fuckin' little kid." Easton stops talking and takes a breath either to stop himself from getting more fired up about it or actually emotional. "So I'm guessing, that it's about wanting to spare people what he went through. Even if it's a little misguided sometimes."

He laughs when she asks about the nicknames and he agrees, "Oh he wouldn't talk to me for weeks if I called him that to his face." And he wouldn't because as much as Easton loves nicknames, he gets Alexander's side on that one.

"Yea, something about being trapped in a dream and having his memory fucked with? I don't know details. But I agree... Cancun is gorgeous right now." Wow that sounds tempting. Bennie and him on a beach, fruity drinks with umbrellas, sun, sand, nothing out to torture and kill them. He stares off into space for a while, obviously imagining this. Maybe Bennie in a bikini specifically, but the whole thing really.

"You think it's great because you're the same way, and we're both pretty narcissistic on that end," Isabella tells him, though there's no apology in the words. Her grin remains, ebullient and razored enough to cut through the half-light of her living room, but it fades gradually when he provides his own outlook there. There's a glance at her bottle of scotch. "You'd think he'd know that, too. There's no sparing anybody - not even just in this town. It's just...life." She gestures to the side in a frustrated manner, though she does sneak a glance sideways over at him when his emotions rise to the fore.

"...his parents did the best they could," she tells Easton softly. "He loves them, and they love him. He just..." She hesitates. "He doesn't trust anyone, even himself. Can't bring himself to, for good reason." The hollow tone is back, but filaments of anger make themselves known in her expression - and Alexander isn't really the cause.

You can't kill a memory.

At Easton's faraway stare though, she stares at him for just a moment before she suddenly laughs. She reaches out with a hand, and actually pushes him sideways a little. "Do it," she tells him. "Seriously. Once this detoxing thing is over and when you're a little further along with what you talked to me about. Grab your girl and get some sun, think about nothing but each other and being together. And when you both come back, blistering everyone's skin and blinding their eyes at all the post-coital-afterglow you've accumulated, you can stick it to Them and see how they like it." She tilts her head back. "God, that would be amazing if we could chase them away with Sex Lasers."

"God, Bennie and I would annihilate the shit out of them if sex lasers were a thing." Yes, he may have just said to Bennie that he doesn't brag about their sex life, but seriously, it merits it here. He is also laughing by the time he gets to the end of that ridiculous and great sentence.