2020-03-28 - What Dreams May Come

Alexander would have received the call sometime in the mid-evening of Isabella's 28th birthday that she has, somehow, landed herself in the hospital.

The doctors are somewhat baffled, how she managed to break her ribs once again without any signs of trauma from the outside; from their diagnosis, it looked as if her body had tried to implode from the chest and upwards. Had it actually happened, she would have been dead - but it is a curious medical mystery in which a few of them couldn't help but chat about for a few hours. All of these details have been recorded diligently in her chart, resting by the foot of her bed by the time he arrives at the recovery room.

Isabella is awake, if not somewhat groggy, her dark hair a mess and tangled around her face. Green-and-gold eyes are fixed at the window, hazy from all the painkillers and expression having taken on the dreamy cast that one could easily associate while swimming in the good drugs. Her fingers are on the painkiller button, but at the very least she doesn't seem to be in any pain.

Alexander arrives as promptly as he can, considering he has to walk, and as soon as the nurses will allow him to, he's at the door, knocking three times -short and sharp - before just walking in. "Isabella?" His underslept features are drawn with concern, and his arms are full. There's a vase (shaped like a reproduction of a Grecian urn) filled with flowers, and there's also a wrapped present. The rapping is heavy paper that's been aged to look like parchment, tied with a simple linen ribbon. He smiles when he sees her. "You look stoned," he tells her, tactless but fond. "How are you feeling?"

She knows it's Alexander just by his knock - three sharp raps, though normally he would repeat them until the door opens. But since her door is already opened, there's no need for the second round. Glassy eyes turn to her lover when he moves through the door, smiling ruefully. "You really do love me," Isabella tells him, her words slurring a little bit. "All these presents, you didn't have to carry them all the way here, it's so miserable out..." Her head tilts, as if it's too heavy to keep it aloft, sinking further into the pillows. The smile becomes all the more fond when she sees the vase and how it looks like a Grecian urn.

"They're beautiful," she tells him. "So are you, though." The drugs must be inspiring her to ham it up, before her arms open, lips pursing in an exaggerated fashion. "Now hug me and kiss me, you fool."

Stoned? More than a little bit.

"I do. Yes," Alexander says, solemnly. He smiles to see her glassy smile, and moves to put down the presents, then give her that (careful) hug and kiss she's asked for. After the kiss, he murmurs, "We really do have to stop meeting like this." He stands up, and walks over to the end of her bed to nosily poke around in her medical record. His eyebrows go up. "Did you fight a healer?"

"We do, but if wishes were horses, beggars would eat them." Probably not how she intended the words to come out, but she's got enough drugs in her system to make even that sharp mind miss a thing or two. Isabella's mouth is warm, but chapped when she returns his kiss, before she settles further into her pillows, watching him poke at her medical records. "Of a sort, but it was self-defense. It was their fault, pulling me and the others in the FCN manufacturing floor. Said something about making soup - never wanted to make the soup, just to figure it out. They've been..."

Nausea starts to turn her green at the gills at remembrance. She fumbles for the button of her painkillers and jabs it repeatedly, because it's red, and if it's especially a red button, she will push it spastically. "...grinding up people like us and other Veil creatures to make it. The soup. Oh god, I think I'm going to be sick." She presses the button repeatedly again.

"The FCN manufacturing floor? How'd you end up there?" And look, Alexander even manages to make that sound like an interested but not judgmental query, rather than a OH GOD I TOLD YOU NOT TO MESS WITH SOMEONE CALLED THE VIVISECTIONIST. He's learning, he is. He does look up when she starts jabbing the painkiller button, though, and move to gently put his hand between her jabber and the shiny red button. "Hey. Give each dose time to work before deciding you need another, okay?"

What she says, though, makes him grimace. "That...makes a lot of sense. Considering what Carver said about making that box. You gotta get the properties from somewhere, I guess."

"It hurts," Isabella tells him petulantly. "And it's not working fast enough." She must be in in serious pain, because she would normally refuse to turn to pain medication no matter how terrible the injury. Today it's not the case, but his quiet chastisement earns him another one of those half-dreamy smiles. "You're so good to me," she coos, sinking further into the pillows. There's no resistance when his hand finds the clicker in hers.

"I think it was a Dream. I was just...stepping out of the library and suddenly these things were asking me to wear a suit and some gloves and a mask. This giant scorpion monster told me to stand next to him and hack up things down the conveyor belt. Lilith was there too, August, Byron...Vyv...even Javier. Some other girl I don't know. But there were these really cute puff balls and kittens with tentacles that were being processed and they begged Lilith to help them escape so she did and that's when the alarms sounded and guard dogs and lizard guys came out. They tried to Jurassic Park me, Alexander." The last said soberly. "This lizard thing jumped at me with his frills up and going 'SKREEEE' and I ducked under the conveyor belt..."

Her lashes slip closed. "That's when they told us. That if we didn't want to work, we'd be thrown into the grinder, too. That they've ground up enough of us that nobody's going to care if they put in more. There was a fight and the Vivisectionist decided she was going to have to do it herself. She started on Lilith, first. There was..." Her eyes open back up, her tongue passing over her cracked lips. "...there was so much blood. Oh god, Alexander, I thought she killed her."

Alexander takes the seat beside her bed, gently working the clicker away from her hand for the moment, and then taking her hand in both of his own as she talks. He listen with that flat expression he gets when he's concentrating, although there are flickers of distress when she mentions who she saw, and then what happened to Lilith. "Jesus," he breathes. "Was she admitted here, as well? I'm surprised I didn't see Byron's car in the parking lot, if so." It's a small town, and the Wraith stands out. Then he smiles. "I'm guessing you jumped in to help?"

"I don't know...I think August...I think August took care of her, and then Byron carried her out." Her hand taken, he'd find it cold, having absorbed the chill of the recovery room, but with both hands clasping hers, her own curls tight into his. There's a smile, that expression holding, as if they're talking about more pleasant things than this. Her other hand reaches up to touch the side of his face, light knuckles brushing over his cheek. "You look tired, darling, are you okay...?"

She shakes her head slowly. "The moment the fight started, I wanted to get us out, somehow. Off the floor. I was looking for a way, but when she showed up..." Shadows flicker past her eyes. "Lil went down almost immediately, before she even knew what was happening, and then the Vivisectionist turned to me and said that she hates it when people balk. She hated that I didn't sign up for one of her experiments and tried to kill me, too. She said there was no way out. I didn't...I didn't help, Alexander. I wanted to, I didn't intend to engage, but..."

Her expression twists; there's no regret in it, but worry. "I killed her, Alexander. She died, and the factory collapsed, we freed the prisoners and that was that. If...if August is right, that every little thing we do in the Veil changes the Veil, I don't know...I don't know what's going to happen now." Her grip in his hand tightens. "But I had to. I thought she killed Lil, she was feeding people to her grinders and she was going to kill me and probably the others too to keep us there. I had to. I had to."

"Me?" Alexander looks genuinely surprised at the query, then smiles. "I'm in much better shape than you, Isabella. Don't worry about me." He reaches out with his other hand to stroke her cheek for a moment, then quiets to listen.

When she's done, his answer is quiet, but blunt. "Isabella. If things over there have an impact here, then it sounds like destroying a factory that was literally grinding up people and living creatures into consumer products can only have a positive change to the philosophical underpinnings of local society." He gives her a frown. "You try to blame yourself for not saving everyone or not being able to predict the madness. You shouldn't. It has its own internal logic, in some ways, but it's not something we can easily understand or intervene in."

She turns her face when he strokes her cheek, closing her eyes - but the smile remains. There's a brief kiss on the center of his palm, before it's Isabella's turn to listen.

When he finishes, her glassy green stare finds his darker own hovering to the side and slightly above her. "...more the latter than the former," she admits quietly, the words leaving her so softly it's as if she has found herself in a confessional, and Alexander her priest. She's not without a sense of realism - there's no way anyone could save everyone, but being able use her foresight is a skill that she has been desperately trying to hone since she fell into this almost a year ago. "I hope you're right. I think..." She takes a breath. "I think the facility's done, at least. Fake Company Name, Incorporated is done. I'm not sure, though, but we can test that easily by trying to send an e-mail."

"You've caught things the rest of us have missed a dozen or more times," Alexander reminds her, gently. "But this shit is insane. And I say that as someone with more than a few screws loose up here, as it is. You can't always predict it. We all get blindsided. I just don't," a thoughtful pause, "I hurt when I see you judging yourself harshly for not being to do something that no one can be expected to do. That's all."

To the rest, he says, bluntly, "Good. The last thing we need is someone - on either side - performing experiments on us like we're lab rats. We can send an email pretty easily to check up on it, but if you guys burnt the place to the ground? Then good."

She doesn't tell him that he's not crazy, because on some level he is, but in the grand scheme, that hardly matters to her. "You know," Isabella murmurs. "The distance between insanity and genius is measured only by success." Her appreciative smile turns up at the corners, however, when he reminds her of past breakthoughs, though she remains silent about it, just watching him quietly with those soft, glassy eyes where she lies, while he strokes her cheek. He hurts when it happens, when she does it, but some part of her knows that he knows why that is, also.

"I'm just hoping that they don't think to replace the Vivisectionist with someone worse...though she seems connected to the Collector in some fashion based on the correspondence Enzo shared with me. At least the Veil isn't all bad." A pause, and a brilliant smile flashes at him, humor evident on her tired features. "...we did get to see Enzo teach an entire civilization how to make babies."

"I'm not going to say 'how could it be worse', because I don't want to encourage anyone," Alexander says dryly, "but it's a little hard to surpass someone who has apparently dissected people alive enough that she gained a title for it. An identity. I'm willing to take the risk." And then she has to remind him of Enzo's proud achievement, and he can't help but grin, and grin, and GRIN. "I've never wanted to record the Veil so badly in my life."

"Oh, god, I wanted to record it so badly for posterity," Isabella laughs, and groans when the act of doing so hurts. "I wanted to immortalize it somewhere forever, I thought I was going to lose it when Enzo made the acorns touch." Her mind drifts back to the book. "We'll need to take a look at that book once we're better, it looks like some of the family artifacts Hyacinth and I looked at, the last time we were in the Society's building together." Fingers lift to trace Alexander's broad grin lightly. "You're adorable."

Her eyes wander past him, though, to look at the wrapped present that looks covered in parchment paper. "What is that?"

Alexander chuckles, his expression lighting up to see her laughter, although it shades to sympathy when she groans with pain. He squeezes her hand. "It was a delightful moment. Although it does make me wonder if young Thomas created the gnomes. And if so, how? By writing the book and making the puppets?" A pause. "It might be looking into." He softens when she trails her fingers on his mouth.

As her attention shifts, so does his. He looks over at it, and coughs. "Birthday present." A grimace. "I meant to give it to you at a better time and place. But Gray Harbor. Sorry."

"...it's my birthday?" Isabella's groggy remark is a genuine one, confusion on her features before it melts away into another dreamy smile. "I knew that, I promise. It's just that things tend to get in the way when a blonde bombshell monster with a heaving bosom decides to eviscerate you with her mind, and the world collapses on you when she dies." Her expression sobers then. "I wonder if it's the same for other domains," she murmurs to him quietly. "As in, if we had to kill the Archivist if the Hall of Records would collapse, also."

Did young Thomas create the gnomes? "I know that they were quite the explorers when they were young," she tells Alexander quietly. "Margaret and Thomas. They explored the other side together, like how Sid and I used to. Except...they actually mapped out their efforts. I'll show you the map they made, once I'm out of here. Hyacinth poked into the map's memory, it's...it was viewed through Margaret's eyes, so the map was hers, somewhere in Thomas' belongings. Either she missed it or she wanted us to have it. It's...it's very curious."

She lifts her head to press her lips lightly on his cheek. "Thank you for remembering it's my birthday," she tells him. "I love you so much, Alexander."

"It's around your birthday," Alexander says, a little ruefully. "And at least you can't say birthdays in this town are boring." He thinks about it, and nods. "That would make sense. Although I don't think killing the Archivist would bring down all of City Hall. I don't the impression that all of it is his. It'd probably destroy his room and his books, though." A pause. "Let's not do that. But there's probably someone who is...over the whole City Hall thing. A Veil...Mayor? Or something?"

The thought of exploring and mapping brings a crooked smile to his features. "Sometimes the Veil seems so fucking murderous. And then little kids go exploring through it. It's odd. I wonder if our expectations shape the experience we have."

He leans in for the kiss so she doesn't have to move as much. "I love you, too. It's not...anything fancy. It's really more of an invitation. Than anything. But a sincere one."

"No, definitely not," Isabella tells him with a smile. "You know me well enough to know that even if I had the option, I wouldn't opt for a quiet life." After a contemplative pause, with hooded eyes, she nods. "I think just the Hall of Records, as you said. But I would rather not do that, yes. I think Hyacinth would like to see it and make some inquiries, so I suppose we'll see what we can do for her on that end." She eases her head back into her pillows. "It wouldn't surprise me, if there was one. God, I wonder what he's even like."

That same smile eases into a grin at Alexander's dry observance. "If Hyacinth will allow me to take the map to you, you can read it yourself, if you would like. Or dive into me and look at the memory, yourself."

His lean has her lifting her hand, to gently brush over his curls and remind herself of the feel of them. "Oh? You know nothing has to be fancy for me to be happy. It's from you. I'd keep anything dead if it was from you." Her hand moves to try and ease the parchment-covered thing from the table, so she could see what's in it. "What are you inviting me to next, I wonder?"

Alexander looks around at the hospital room. "I had noticed that, yes." His voice is dry. "And I wouldn't mind going back there again. The City Hall and the Archivist are...the least terrifying things about the Veil." He pauses. Frowns as something occurs to him. "You should know. Anne doesn't ever want to go back to the other side again. She got caught in a terrible Dream. When you're feeling better, she might...she might want some company."

The parchment covered object is pretty clearly a book. A large one, coffee-table-book sized, but she can easily feel the cover, and the spine, and the indent where the pages are deeper than the cover. It's also not hard to unwrap - it only takes pulling one of the linen ribbons and the whole thing easily comes apart. And reveals - "Lost Places, Historical Treasures, and Ruins of the Pacific Northwest" Once she's opened it, Alexander says, quietly, "I thought...we could go look at some things that weren't trying to kill us, at some point."

"She asked me to give her a few days before we talk," Isabella tells Alexander quietly. "I thought that she would have...that there would be something. She didn't sound well when she left me a message." She turns her eyes to the ceiling. "It must've been bad if someone as motivated as her doesn't want to do so again. I'll look into her the moment I can." There's a reassuring look cast to him there.

She doesn't unwrap her present until she's shifted into a halfway sitting position, though her heavy body is largely buoyed by the pile of pillows by her head. There's a hint of a wince when she moves this way, but there's an eagerness to her when she carefully unties the book and wrapping. Delight overtakes her expression when she brushes her fingers over the cover. "I don't think I've ever read this one," she tells him, up until he explains what the invitation is supposed to be. Surprise filters over her face. "You....want to go on a road trip with me?"

He tends to have plenty of apprehensions leaving Gray Harbor; the invitation might seem innocuous to some, but the young archaeologist hugs the book to her chest, levying the full force of that brilliant smile at him, however marred by her groggy state. "Of course I would. I love it, it's...oh, Alexander, of course! Of course!" Had she the energy, she's liable to stuff him in her Jeep and go exploring now.

Alexander nods, briefly, at her mention of Anne. That he's worried is clear, but he also understands needing space to deal with your trauma. One of the great self-isolators is Alexander, and won't fault anyone for that particular coping mechanism.

The rest, he watches, then smiles with mingled pleasure and relief at her reaction. "It's a good book," he adds, "purely aside from the invitation. It's oriented towards the public, but the research is solid, and there are a lot of lesser known sites there." He leans forward and offers her a warm kiss. Then, "Happy birthday. It was supposed to be a dinner, and candles, and a massage, and all of that. But."

Their differences are stark there - he actually gives himself the space to deal, while Isabella by and large chooses not to deal at all until it fountains up like a geyser, and does things like clean up her mother's own crime scene and accidentally reads it. But she accepts it from others at least; being with Alexander has taught her to cope with the occasional necessity for separation.

"Why am I not surprised that you'd fact-check the book before purchasing it?" she wonders, warmly and fondly, leaning forward, her hand cupping his cheek as she returns his kiss. Soft, gentle presses that aren't completely devoid of heat - whatever she could deliver while drugged out of her mind, she gives him. "I'll have to raincheck those, I feel terrible for...this...spoiling the plan. I could use a good massage....and all of that." She waggles her eyebrows at him playfully. "But it doesn't take much to make me happy there so long as I get to spend time with you." She inclines her head at him curiously. "What else have you been up to?"

Alexander looks mostly playfully offended. "I wouldn't give you inferior books," he says, indignantly. "You're a doctor, now. You need research material you can trust." He grins, and returns kiss for kiss. "It's alright, Isabella. I mean. Let's be honest here? My attempt at a romantic dinner probably would have ended with us being chased around the building by a chef made out of cleavers, or something."

There's a chuckle from him at picturing it. "Not a great deal. I've been looking a little more into that ice spike thing from the winter - we should meet up with Byron and Lilith and talk about it, see if they found anything. Someone hired me to follow her husband and he murder-suicided." A sigh. "Gray Harbor. But it's been somewhat quiet."

"Mm." Kiss for kiss - they'd probably scandalize nurses if they keep canoodling how they are, but if Isabella cares, she makes a good and convincing effort not doing so; if the man doesn't care about the local priests' reactions about their living arrangements, she's not afraid of gossip circling to his mother. But he'd feel her smile against his mouth at his playful outrage. "Luckily for me that I ended up shacking up with a man who's very considerate about my intellectual health as much as everything else," she teases him, leaning back, but close enough still that their noses touch on occasion. "We could try and exhibit some genre savvy by having dates outside of the city. Maybe on some beachside cottage nobody knows about and where clothes are optional." Her playful grin returns there.

Mention of the spike returns bloodier memories from the last Christmas, and there's a flash of curiosity in her eyes there. "We should. And it's a good way to chase Byron around for what he read from his set of feathers, too, from what you mentioned. Were you able to poke into what may have happened around here Christmas of 1919 after all?" She can't seem to stop touching him, now that she's in a better position to, her hand in his, her other stroking his cheek and hair. "...wait. So does that mean that your client's dead or...the other woman is dead?"

"Intellectual health is very important," Alexander says, with complete and utter seriousness. He's careful about their closeness, staying away from the parts that almost got vivisected, but stroking her elsewhere, gentle and idle as they talk. "And Byron tried that and his very expensive car got completely trashed.

His eyes widen at her last question. "Oh. No. It looks like he coerced some homeless people into a murder-suicide pact. My client's fine." A pause. "I mean. She's upset. Obviously. But she paid." He clears his throat. "And I did get a little information, but mostly from the spike. I'll share it when we get together, so we don't have to worry about something getting lost."

Her injuries are internal, and focused on the central mass - around the chest, but at least there won't be any scars other than what is already there, the 'X' over her heart from where Sheriff Addington had shot her. "I bet he didn't drive fast enough," Isabella tells him, good humor playing over the line of her mouth, albeit only sensed considering their close proximity. There's a wave of contentedness from her when he touches her, something languid and easy and only halfway encouraged by the drugs. "You know as well as I do that escape for a date isn't just possible, but doable. Admittedly I don't think I've ever forgiven an arcade machine for outsexying me one evening."

There's a pause at the word. Coerced. "That sounds awful," she murmurs, but at the very least, his client didn't take advantage of his expertise. "No wonder you look exhausted." She strokes back his hair gently. "And yes, we should. Maybe can meet at Byron's place to do it, or ours. I mean, your house," she clarifies, sheepishly. "I'll show you the map I mentioned as soon as I'm able, also. When everything stops hurting." The dreamy smile returns. "You make it feel better, though."

"I understand he stopped for a meal. Which was probably his mistake," Alexander says, cheerfully. He kisses her again, then drops a playful brush of the lips on the tip of her nose. "And I always look exhausted, Isabella. So worry only the usual amount. It was gruesome, but I've seen worse." He leans back, glances at the clock. "Speaking of hurting and feeling better, I should let you rest, Isabella. I'll stay with you, but you should try and get some sleep." A pause. "Would you like me to sing to you?"

His kiss is one that she returns, and the token deposited on the tip of her cold nose earns him a smile. "See? We didn't make that mistake - we pretended to be rockets," Isabella tells him softly, but returning his good cheer easily. Still hugging her new book, she slowly slides back down on her bed, though she turns on her side so she can watch him seated by the side of her bed, gaze half-shuttered. She is a side-sleeper anyway, which has made cramming themselves on his small bed somewhat easier.

"Rest sounds good, staying sounds good," she replies with that same, drifting lilt. "And yes. It's been a long time since I heard you sing. Something you like?" Affection, that intense, burning adoration, fills her eyes however shadowed they are by the cast of her lashes.

Alexander laughs. "Yeah. I remember that drive. I think I can still feel my bones shake with fear," he teases. He settles in, pulling the chair closer still, until his knees brush the metal rails. "Mm. Most of the stuff I really like involves screaming. Not good for sleep, and they'll probably kick me out. But," he grins, "I'll compromise." He squeezes her hand again, then starts - it's actually 'Ghost Riders in the Sky', but he pitches it soft and slow, and it actually ends up sounding pretty decent.

There's a smile that lingers even when Isabella closes her eyes, her fingers threaded through his. She drops her face just enough to press her lips against his battered knuckles. "It'll be wonderful, whatever you choose," she tells him sleepily. It doesn't take long until she's lulled by it, letting her consciousness drift away with the strains of Ghost Riders in the Sky, and the comforting familiarity of his pleasant baritone.