2020-02-28 - Welcome to the Family

Alexander has not had a great last couple of weeks, so the idea of going out into the world and getting food and having to talk to strangers, or watch the townies whisper and avoid him, just doesn't sound all that appealing right now. So he orders a pizza. He doesn't even think much about which pizza place he uses, but it's Pizza Kitchen he calls, and gets a large meat lovers with a side of cheese bread. While he waits, he's sitting on his couch in a pair of stay-at-home sweats, with a fluffy white cat on his lap as he plays an old Nintendo system with the single-minded focus of someone who is trying not to think of most anything else in his life. There are books and print outs of various things - mostly local history - spread out on the coffee table, but he's not looking at it now.

Tor was actually doing prep work when the order comes in to Pizza Kitchen. When he sees the address, he convinces his cousin to switch duties. Well, not really too much convincing considering it's gross outside. The pizza arrives in good time, held by the scruffy Lockhart. He looks pale, with bags under his eyes, but also a little tweaked - like there might be something pharmeceutical keeping him going. There's a ding-dong at the door.

When the knock on the door comes, Alexander looks up from his play and dies as Mario falls off a cliff and into lava. In his cage, Luigi whistles the little death motif along with the game, and Alexander gives a mock glare in that direction. "I'd like to see you do better," he tells the conure, who chuckles. The cat, protesting, is moved off of his lap so Alexander can grab the cash he'd already put out and move to the door. He checks the peephole first - this is Elm, after all, then frowns. He opens it carefully, and studies Tor. "Hey. You look terrible." Pot, meet kettle. Instead of just handing the money over and trying to take the pizza, he hesitates, then opens the door wide. "Wanna come in for a moment? I've got some beer."

It's a small town and Tor's been delivering since he was 16. He's pretty much ended up at everyone's door at one point or another. Except this time it's not a coincidence. He looks both surprised and relieved when Alexander invites him in. "Yeah. Sure man, sure." He tucks a bit of hair behind his ear and looks sheepish. "I'm gonna come clean with you. I saw your order come up and I asked to bring it 'cause I've been meaning to talk to you. If this is a bad time, I can fuck off, though." Sniff.

"That'd be a nice change," Alexander mutters under his breath at the idea that Tor might come clean with him, but there doesn't seem to be any malice behind it. Just a wary, weary sort of amusement. "It's not a bad time. But if you're here to confess about having sex on my furniture, I already know, and it isn't that big a deal." He waves him inside, but does exchange money for pizza. He's hungry. "You want a slice? And a beer?" Once Tor's come in, he closes and locks the door behind him.

Tor looks momentarily perplexed. Then he glances past Alexander, grins a bit mischeviously and says, "Right. That was here. I'd forgotten." A beat, then, "Did she tell everyone about that?" And then, "It was actually on your floor. Ah, beer yes, pizza, no. I had my on-shift pizza not long ago."

"No idea," Alexander says, about who Bennie did or did not tell. "And thank you for the clarification." It's deadpan as he waves the man to the couch. The cat eyes him with interest, coming over for a sniff. Alexander retreats to the kitchen for a minute or two before returning with a plate for himself with pizza, and a bottle of beer, the top already popped, for Tor. It's...cheap beer, but not the cheapest, at least. He offers it over. "So. Why did you want to talk? Is it related to why you look like you haven't slept, or is that just a happy pill or two?"

Tor is not a fancy bitch, so he takes the beer gratefully and sits, slightly to the edge. He lets the cat sniff his hand, but he doesn't go in for the pet unless he gets a hand-bump. "So I uh, I don't..." a breath, "...I accept the shit in this town. Kinda hard not to when you grew up here. But I don't tend to go poking at it too hard, y'know? Not like you, and some of the other people." He waves vaguely, then tips back some of the beer, staring off into the middle-distance. He sucks air between his teeth. "What does it mean when you have like...a really fucking vivid nightmare? I don't mean a Dream-Dream. But a really..." his fingers curl under, and he pats his chest. "...cold sweats nightmare?"

The hand is carefully sniffed, each finger individually, before Blue Bell deigns to rub her jaw lightly along his fingertips, then give a rusty miaow as she moves in for the leg rubs. Alexander takes a seat next to Tor on the couch, then a bite from the pizza without ceremony. He watches the younger man with a blank and reptilian sort of stare. In between bites, he says, "It pokes at me. I don't poke at it." That's his story and he's sticking to it. "And it depends on the nightmare. Some seem to have significance, even when they're not the sort that get you Lost. Others are just...vivid and horrible and very human." Another bite and he chews like his momma taught him some manners, swallowing before he says, "If it's not a nightmare that you've had before, and you can't tie it to anything in your life, it might be significant. WHat did you dream?"

Tor deigns it safe to pet the cat seeing as leg rubs were offered. But he doesn't press his luck. He knows the way of the feline. He looks for a moment like he's not actually going to describe it. His jaw tightens. "Just this...terrible..horrible exhaustion. And this crushing sensation. Like being ground into nothingness." He scratches his forehead. "Haven't been able to get a good night's sleep since."

Alexander doesn't visibly twitch, but his eyes widen for a perceptive watcher. He takes a moment, not answering immediately. Instead, he eats more of his pizza, then sets it aside and grabs a paper towel that he'd stuck under the plate, wiping his fingers and his mouth. "Did you have any other sensory input? Smells, sights, sounds, anything like that?"

"Sensory...?" Tor thinks about that, fingers linking together, shoulders rolled forward. "Like...drowning. Like being ground into nothingness." He stares off and shivers involuntarily. "Like I wasn't gonna wake up. That I was just going to be gone."

Alexander nods, slowly. "I see." He looks down at his hands, then sighs. "I had that dream, too. Or one very like it. So have other people. It was on the 11th, wasn't it?" He grimaces. "A rude question: what do you know about your family tree?"

"Wait...what? But how does that work when it wasn't...like, a thing?" Tor looks perplexed and a bit concerned. "My family tree? Uh, we've been here a long time? Mom's side is all Scandanavian. Hence my name. But we're not big family history buffs or anything like that. Why?"

"Evidence would suggest that somewhere in your past, your family had a Baxter ancestor," Alexander says, with a heavy sort of sight. "I don't know where or when, but you're probably a direct descendant of that Baxter. Um," he hesitates, and stares out at the TV for a moment. "So am I. The Baxters are in some way bound up in why this town is so fucking broken. The blood connection linked us to the same dream, I think."

Tor is quiet as he takes that in. He doesn't deny it, doesn't try to say it isn't true. What he does do is take a rather long pull of that cheap beer. "Fucking great," he mutters.

"Yup," Alexander responds, a touch morosely. "Welcome to the fucked up family. I don't know where you are on the family tree, but we've got a lot of murderers and at least one witch-burning preacher to choose from." He reaches for another slice. "But I don't think it's all the Baxter's faults. Weird shit going on. But you should be careful - Baxters tend to end badly. Like getting their bones ground to nothing."

Tor moves from sitting on the edge of the couch to slouching rather limply back against Alexander's couch. He knows enough of the town lore to have an idea of what being a Baxter means. "What was that? Did we like..." he shivers a little, "...feel someone dying or something?"

Alexander hesitates. "I'm...not quite sure, yet. I think it might have been the destruction of a body. Not sure if alive or dead," he admits. "There's been some reference to Baxters being able to," he shakes his head, "take the light with them when they die. The destruction of our bodies may be meant to counteract that. But I don't know how, or if there are other benefits involved." He sighs. "There's a lot I don't know." A crooked smile. "I'm reasonably certain I'd like to keep the human sacrifice to a minimum, though."

"Are you saying...we're like, predisposed..." Tor waggles a hand between them. "...to turn into ghosts when we die?" He poses that question very gently. He wasn't lying when he said he was new to the whole digging into the darkness of the town business. He has an innate sense about things, but not really the vocabulary to talk about it. Because his family doesn't. Probably because they're Baxters?

Alexander opens his mouth, then closes it. "I don't know. I don't...think so? I've only seen one Baxter ghost, and although he was powerful, I'm not sure he got that way without help. I think," another long pause for eating pizza. And thinking. When the slice of pizza is done, he's still thinking. Eventually, though, he does say, "I think 'the light' means our abilities. And maybe not just our abilities, but maybe this whole...thing. Maybe when we pass on, if we do it in a specific way, we take something back with us. Maybe if our body is destroyed in another way, we leave all of that behind for other people to use."

Tor shivers involuntarily. He sips from the beer but it's already empty. He looks, well, haunted. "That's...great," he mutters. "Now I just want to get really fucking high and maybe fuck a stranger. To try and not think about all of this." He looks over at Alexander and looks a tad sheepish. "Sorry, man. I asked. You're just telling me the truth."

Alexander eyes the beer with sympathy. "Need another?" He shrugs at the coping mechanism. "Who am I to judge? Forgetting about it is probably the best route, if you can. If you can't...well, you might look into your connection with the family. The Baxters, I mean. If you can get a name, then I or Isabella can probably tell you where you fall in the family tree." He smiles slightly, shakes his head. "Don't worry about it. You haven't punched me, so this is going well."

"Is that gonna help? Knowing where I am in the tree? Shee-yit," Tor sets the empty bottle down and nods to the offer. "I'm not sure that knowing more is actually gonna be a good thing in this situation. I was definitely better off not knowng before." A beat, "I mean, the dream made it impossible to ignore, but before that."

There's a moment of thought, then Alexander shakes his head. "Probably not. Depends on how you define 'help'? It won't stop any Baxter-related dreams, and I don't think there's a 'less hated' branch. So. Um. It'd mostly just be on if you want to know. I would, but I'm crazy, so I don't pretend that anyone else should follow my example." He peers at the younger man. "You okay?"

Tor's leg rattles, likely startling the cat. He rubs his eyes and then pushes fingers back through his hair. "How many of us are there in town? I mean, my uncle looked like he slept fine so I'm guessing it's probably connected to Glimmer. So it's not like...everyone with Baxter blood. Otherwise there'd be an insomnia epidemic." He exhales. "Nnngh. It's just one more thing, you know?"

Alexander shrugs. "I don't know," he admits. "You'll notice not a lot of people want to bear the name. I only know...four or five, including myself. Six, now." He nods with a grim sort of amusement in Tor's direction, while Blue Bell skitters away from the rattling leg, although she only moves about a foot or two, then sits primly and watches Tor with deep disapproval.

"I mean, I always knew my family was into some bad shit." No real secret that the Lockharts have been in with the criminal element for at least a generation - likely more. "But I didn't think it was...supernatural bad shit, y'know?" Tor's too busy fretting to notice he's startled the poor cat.

Alexander winces, and looks away. "I don't know that it's all bad shit. Supernaturally speaking. Someone certainly wants us to think that about the Baxters. But is it true? Or the whole truth?" He grimaces. "I don't know, Lockhart. I wouldn't let this change your opinion of your family, whatever that happens to be. It's just some DNA."

"DNA that gives me soul-crushing nightmares," says Tor. Whatever was helping him get tweaked up earlier seems to have given way to just general fatigue. He rubs his face again. "Chicken and egg, huh? Is the family into bad shit because we're bad at the core, or are we attracting Them and they make us do bad shit and it taints the whole family?"

"Bone crushing," Alexander corrects, absently. Then he stops, thinks about it, "Although I guess it did feel like the soul was going, too. How weird, to think that there might be such thing as a soul and that it might be destroyed." He frowns at Tor's fatigue. "You look tired. I'm sorry. It's probably not the news you wanted to hear. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Naw, man. It's just another thing, y'know?" There might be a little bit of machismo coming into play. Tor runs with criminals. Vulnerability isn't something he shows very often. He unfolds himself off the couch. "I should go. Help close up the shop. Enjoy your food."

Alexander stands. "It's always one other thing." He clears his throat. "Look. If there's anything else you wanna know...if I can answer things, I will. Or if you just need to freak out at someone for a while." He offers an offhand shrug. "I mean. I know what it's like to have something awful in your head and not feel comfortable talking to anyone about it. You know I won't think you're crazy. And if you want, I'll encourage some of the others to reach out to you? Baxter-blooded, I mean. If you don't want, that's fine."

Tor sweeps hair behind his ear, which seems to be a gesture he does when he's not quite comfortable. "Let me uh, think about it, okay? I haven't really slept well lately and I'm probably not in the best state for making any kinda call like that." Because if he had to answer right now? He'd probably be inclined to say 'hell no.'

"Offer's an open one, Lockhart," Alexander says, easily. He makes his way towards the door, preparing to let the other man out. "You take care out there, all right? And try to get some sleep. Everything seems worse when you're underslept," says the guy who only gets a full eight hours when he's been hospitalized and forced to take morphine.

"Yeah, I think I'll go home and get really baked. Maybe get some rest. Been a bit..." Tor doesn't want to say 'scared.' "...was worried it was going to happen again. But the one thing that this conversation did," he waggles a finger between them even as he heads for the door, "...is that I know it's not likely it'll happen again as soon as I relax or something."

Alexander nods. "Should be fine for a bit. Look at it this way - you only had one dream like this in how many years? Odds are good that you'll have some time before the next." Alexander is bad at reassurances, but he does try to smile; it sits strange on his mouth. "Try to stay out of trouble, huh?"

"Mhmm, that's hard. But I'll try and stay out of supernatural trouble at least?" Tor's mouth tugs up in a fleeting smile of his own. "Later, man." He scoops up the insulated bag he left by the door. "Next time...order one of the deluxe pizzas. Quality of the toppings is way better." And then he's tugging open the door.