2020-04-24 - The Elephant in the Pool

So, the pools were honestly the deciding factor for Joe, when it came to Bayside. It's really never warm enough to swim in the ocean, in the northern Pacific, rarely warm enough outside even in summer for an outdoor pool, and god only knows what lives in the lake and ponds of the area.

But he's in the pool of his own building almost religiously, nearly every day, clad in some variant of short-sleeve rashguard and boardshorts - never shirtless. Swimming laps or, when he's finished, more or less floating. In fact, at the moment, he seems to be floating sitting suspended in the deep end, looking at something wrapped in a waterproof case - a tablet or reader. Looking lazy and utterly content. Maybe this is as close as he can get to being weightless, again.

Dante picked Bayside because it was the only place in town that rented short-term and furnished and was also not a hole. But the place's luxuries certainly grew on him, especially the amenities like the gym and yes, the pool. He's been on a more strict physical regime lately, which means watching what he eats more closely, and yes, making use of said amenities more frequently.

He was an infrequent swimmer before, but it's become part of his routine. Which is why he enters, in flip flops and a dark blue terrycloth robe. He moves around the deck to one of the tables that ring the edge to set down a duffel bag and to shrug out of said robe. It's immediately apparent that he's one of those 'work out for aesthetic reasons' sorts of person as truly functional, work-gotten muscle doesn't tend to look quite so symmetrical and flattering. He walks over to the edge, in swim shorts, pauses, takes in who the other swimmer is, then slowly wades into the water. "Going to be swimming laps in a moment. Afraid I'm going to make a few waves," he says, his tone friendly enough. And oh so very English.

Joe looks up, at that, blinking. He offers a polite little smile, American friendliness. "Oh, that's fine," he says. "Plenty of room, won't bother me none." Dark gold curls plastered to the curve of his skull, no reading glasses on. Then he sets the reader on the edge of the pool, slips out of whatever it was he was floating on - some sort of sling chair that's submerged when it's being used - and moves over. There aren't formal lanes, but he drifts into a further corner, rather than his former position right in the middle of the deep end.

Dante ducks under the water and pushes his hair back. It looked straight a moment ago, but the edges start to curl once they're wet. He rolls his shoulders back, then upnods at Joe. "I didn't realize you lived in the building. I'm surprised we haven't run into one another before now."

His grin is crooked, rueful, at that. "I have a boat down on the docks, I tend to spend a lot of time there, sleep aboard a lot. An' even when I am around, I keep strange hours. I'm in 303." The blue gaze is level, guileless - as friendly as his expression.

"I'm a floor above," says Dante. "I can keep strange hours m'self when I'm on a good writing sprint. But I've been keeping myself to day job hours lately." He starts to swim a bit, but he's clearly just warming up and stretching out rather than preparing to do laps in earnest.

The blond nods. "I spent most of my life risin' before dawn for one reason or another. I should be ashamed to say that I've spent a lot of my retirement sleepin' in, but it's the truth." The grin turned sheepish. "You got more discipline than I do. Minute I was self-employed, as it were, my schedule went straight to hell."

"No one has ever accused me of a lack of discipline. I blame a traditional English upbringing. By that I mean a conservative father, Eton, and Oxford." Dante doesn't say that to brag. In fact, he sounds almost mildly embarrassed. At least about the Eton part. He starts to stroke to the other end, but it's not a massive pool. Plus the sound does carry.

There's an actual dimple making its appearance, at that confession. "I 'magine not," he says, voice mild as milk. "Feel like I had the 'merican version of that father." Tone fond, at least, rather than angry or disgusted. But he's snagging the reader again, letting Dante swim.

And that discipline is on display as Dante starts to swim in earnest. His form isn't perfect, but he's clearly worked at it and isn't just splashing about. He's not a speed demon either, but there is a certain grace to the way he moves. After several laps, he stops and rests on the edge of the pool, glancing down towards Joseph. "What brings you to town? Every one of us not from here comes with some kind of story."

He looks over again, the smile gone. Considers a moment, before answering. "The glib answer," Joe replies, more slowly, "Is that the wind blew me here - 'cause I sailed here from Savannah, Georgia, on the east coast. The ....more accurate answer, I guess you'd say, is that whatever you want to call it - the Light, the Art, the Shine, the Song - brought me." A light he no longer seems to possess - he speaks of it with the confidence of someone who has a little experience with it, but nearly all signs of the thing itself are gone. Faded, save for the last shimmering dregs.

And Dante, while he is no bright beacon, does have it in a moderate amount. "The curse, some might say," He says as he kicks his legs out behind him, stretching his leg muscles. "I came here looking for spooky stories and got far more than I bargained for." He smiles a bit toothily. "And found m'self staying a lot longer than I intended. But that's in part the people I've met."

In repose, without humor, his features have the somber patience of an old daguerrotype - made more so by the way water's still got his hair slicked back. "'s the way of it, isn't it?" Joe's voice is very gentle. "And what you thought you came for is only a shell, a husk of meaning from which the purpose breaks only when it is fulfilled, if at all," he quotes.

"Oh I don't know if it's Eliot bleak," drawls Dante with a touch of a grin. "I've made my first real connections since my divorce in my time here. Sure, it came with the price of completely rewriting my world view, but when it comes down to it, I'd rather know than not. But then, I'm a horror writer. I'm rather accustomed to peering into dark corners and seeing what might be looking back."

"Yeah, it is," he confirms, though without any particular heat. "'pendin' on which corners you go lookin' into. But the place is not without rewards, I admit," Back to floating at his ease - leaning back a little in whatever it is that's holding him up. "Bet you didn't expect to find out some of it was real."

"Some? I didn't think any of it was real. I saw and heard about things I couldn't explain while researching my previous nonfiction books, sure. But it was all very minor, like I saw an apparition out of the corner of my eye. Not.." Dante moves a hand and disturbs the water. "...I get pulled into extremely realistic other worlds for unknownreasons and my memory gets rewritten or my files disappear if I try and document it."

Now there's a flicker of humor again. "I was a scientist by training," Joe observes, with that hint of bemusement. "An engineer, matter of fact. You c'n imagine about how well all of this went over with me, when it started happening." Not that Dante needs to - the scars are there, writ large, unconcealed by the rashguard he's wearing.

"I suppose I was primed to be more accepting of the truth of things, as that's been my entire career. But it's still been a difficult transition." Dante kicks back and floats on his back, stretching limbs out. "I never thought I'd want to be in a town like this. Not long-term." Not a scar on him anywhere. Nope. Hell, not even patches of discolouration. But then, he's a man who keeps himself immaculate at nearly all times.

"But you wrote fiction, right? I mean, you weren't out there as a formal paranormal investigator, lookin' for Bigfoot or somethin' like?" Joe's tone is lazily curious. "Where'd you imagine yourself bein', then?" The sailor's got all those signs of wear - scars and calluses, lines and weathering.

"Oh I've written several volumes of nonfiction. My Dark Heart series. That's why I came here in the first place. My research seemed to point to this region as a source of stories. But when I got here, everyone told me to leave town and not look into it." Dante backstrokes lazily. "Obviously, I didn't listen. And then other things started to happen." He strokes a few more times, flips around at the end of the pool, cuts under the water and then surfaces. He stands in the shallow end and paws hair out of his face. "Mhmm, somewhere larger? I've always been a big city boy. I've tastes that a small town pub isn't that great at supplying. And I've absolutely nowhere to buy clothes."

Joseph frankly grins at that. "I got a lot of that when I first showed up here, too. Traveller, beware, all that kinna thing," he allows. "I was too damn tired to fight the Pacific swell any further that winter, though, for anythin' short of Cthulhu risin' from the deep. Not to mention that berthin' in Seattle for a winter'd've been murder on the budget. You ever go up to Seattle?"

"Occasionally, yes. For necessary wardrobe replenishment." Dante's a pretty notable clothes horse, leaning towards the flashy, but always stylish and impeccably tailored. A tailored Taylor. "I've set up camp in small places before. And my hometown in the UK is quite small. But for the most part those were temporary stops. I've already been here far longer than I ever imagined."

"Well, for a writer, have laptop, will travel," Joe muses. "So I guess you c'n set up shop anywhere, really. Where you from? An' how long've you been here?"

"Cornwall," though for those who know their UK accents, Dante doesn't sound it at all. But he did say he went to Eton, which would mean he would have been around a lot of posh Downton Abbey-ish accents from a young age. "But I left when I was quite young." And then he does the mental math for how long he's been around. "Eight months? I came here in midsummer of last year." He hauls himself up out of the water and sits on the edge. He's quiet for a moment, but when he speaks again, he's moving beyond polite smalltalk to say rather bluntly, "You know Cris is my boyfriend, yes?"

"I was about to say, your accent doesn't sound Cornish - but then, Etonian-Oxbridge is likely to mask anything more local," Joe's voice is lazy. "I know class is much more a determining factor in speech patterns in the UK than it is here." His own accent's a remnant of something that's nearly extinct, that coastal drawl, light and sighing.

But that question has him raising a brow, the blue stare going a little cooler. "I do know," he acknowledges, languidly.

"By circumstance and by design," says Dante of his accent. He kicks his foot through the water and arches his brow. "Just thought I'd address the elephant in the room, is all. Don't worry, I'm not about to go jealous lover on you. We're fairly open with one another."

"Of course," Joe agrees, presumably of the accent. Inclines that curly head in acquiescence. "I didn't figure you for the type," he admits. "'specially in public." Expression still mild, patient.

"'Especially not in public?'" says Dante with a bit of a particularly English sing-song on those words. "Well, that's an interesting way to put it." He's smiling, and friendly enough, but there is something a bit tight about it. "Look, I only mention it so you know that you don't have to go round pretending you two haven't got a thing on side. I'm well-aware. This town's too small to be dodging eggshells."

"Exactly," Joe says, imperturbable. "Did half a year abroad in England, I know a public scene is still pretty much anathema." Gone a little sphinxish, himself, behind the lazy good nature. A cock of his head, and he adds, "What I have with him.....not generally somethin' for public consumption, as it were."

"Ah, well, I chalk that up to you not knowing me. Have you seen m'suits? I've a pink one with a sheen to it. Quite smart. Not the straightest." And Dante doesn't mean the seams, which, naturally, are impeccable. "Small towns, you're quite right. But the bigger cities are a far sight better than they were now then when I was in my twenties. And I've mostly been in big cities or Stateside the last decade or so." He head-wobbles and grins a bit sharkily, "And Eton's always been a bit of a homoerotic hotbed, let's be perfectly honest." And then, there's the nature of his relationship with Cris. "Neither is ours, on most days."

That little furrow between his brows, like he's not quite following. "I meant more in general, in terms of emotional temperature. Not just ....bein' out of the closet." Then he raises his brows. "I imagine so. Boys' schools generally are." An inclination of his head again, for that last. "You're still his publically acknowledged lover," he points out, a little dry. "I'm not."

"That's what I meant as well," says Dante, that grin making an appearance again. He can look quite charming and proper, but there are moments of toothy grins that hints at something a bit more intense. "Do you want to be?" he asks, eyebrows raising.

And what does Cris see in this one, in turn? Reserved enough, in his way, behind the friendliness. "No, not really," he says, easily. "He has you and Sparrow for that." It doesn't seem to bother him, by his demeanor.

"And I'd imagine that my dear Cristobal isn't the only one you take to your bed, either," says Dante with a note to his words that's a bit hard to read. "Look. I didn't bring all of this up to cause issues. We're bloody neighbours. It's a small town. I prefer this sort of thing to be out in the air. Cards on the table."

"No, he's not," Joe allows, still in that lazy drawl. "Makes sense to me." Still regarding Dante with faint puzzlement, as if there's some undercurrent there he isn't reading. A little patient, perhaps, as if trusting whatever it is to reveal itself.

"I will admit that this multiple partners business is new to me. As a former serial monogamist," says Dante, "But I'm seeing someone else as well, and I don't consider myself a jealous man. Though that is something that can sneak up and surprise you despite all of one's intellectualizing."

There's that grave look in his face again, and his gaze is momentarily fixed on some vague middle distance. "That's .....mostly how I've done things in my life. Non-monogamous," As if he hadn't really contemplated the pattern, from here. "It does take more negotiating, more effort...."

"A bloody lot of effort," says Dante with an exhaled laugh. "A string of lovers is one thing. Just shagging. Anonymous or booty calls or what have you. But emotional investment with more than one person at a time is taxing in a way I didn't quite expect it to be." He wobbles his head. "And rewarding as well. But I'm still shit at it, if I'm being honest."

"Why do you say that - that you're bad at it?" Joe wonders, focussing on him again. "I mean, are all the people you're involved with happy? Are you happy? Everyone bein' honest with each other?"

"I don't know." Dante says, and quite honestly. He pulls his feet up out of the water and sets them on the edge of the pool. "I'm involved with two. I'm not sure how people handle more than that." He sighs. "How do you balance your attention? How do you not demand too much of them? What do you do if it feels like they might want more than you can give? And that's further complicated if your lovers have lovers. Which is the case with me. And how do you keep your hand out of the cookie jar when you're technically allowed?"

That's a lot of questions, and Joe hesitates a little, before answering. "I....a lot of it depends, I find," he says, haltingly, "On what a given person wants from you. It's a lot easier to please someone who just wants occasional sex than it is someone who wants true love undying. I try to give what's asked for....what will be wanted." He wipes at his forehead with a wet hand. "Not demanding too much....I don't think I've worked that out, honestly. I can be....can be pretty demanding, in some ways. I try to keep to a minimum. I....if they're asking more than you can give, all you can do is say so. It's up to them how they handle it, but honestly is nearly always the best policy. And....keeping your hand out of the cookie jar, well, I'd say....when temptation comes, think of what might come of it. Like....how would it affect the happiness you have with the people you're with? Because unless you have total carte blanche and it's agreed that no one gets to offer an opinion on who does what with whom.....will it be worth the trouble it might cause?"

"Ah, I didn't necessarily mean for you to answer all of those, sorry. Some of those I was just asking m'self," says Dante with a bit of a sheepish grin. "I've a theory that this place...this..." he vague-waves to indicate the Veil, "...causes people to indulge themselves more than they would other places. Take their pleasure and their connection where they can. Because, well, I don't know if you've noticed. But there's both a high number of bisexuals in this town, and also people who are quite all right with multiple lovers at once." There's a bit of a twinkle in his eyes.

"You ask an engineer a question, you gonna get a literal answer," A hair sardonic, that reply. "I agree with you. Basically.....this a war zone, in its own weird way. And that has a way of warping morals and conventions, and only sharpening certain drives. I don't know if you've ever been in mortal danger, but let me tell you, it's the most powerful aphrodisiac there is."

"Mortal danger, yes, certainly. But also I suppose, a kinship in being some of the only people in the bloody world who know the truth about this whole business." Dante dips a hand into the water, then slaps the surface. He pulls it out and flicks his hand, sending droplets across the pool water. "In another place, Cris and I would've been a quick fuck, or maybe a booty call. But in this place..."

Joe, for his part, lolls in the water, face barely out of it, for now. "There is that, too. It's a conspiracy in and of itself - us bandin' together against Them. Cohesive pressure. We bind together, don't we? 'cause we have to. Even if we don't realize we're doin' it."

"And fuck a lot," drawls Dante, "Apparently. Though I've come to realize my black book is extraordinarily short by this town's standards. Clearly not trying hard enough." He stands up and goes for his towel to drape it around his shoulders and sit on the pool lounger. He's been out long enough to start getting a bit of a chill.

"Like I said....danger'll get anyone's motor runnin'. If you got two, isn't that enough? I mean, for whatever value of 'enough' is actually enough." Joe shrugs, as best he can, from where he lolls in the water. "The sexual constellations are pretty damn complex in this town..."

"A minefield of overlapping Venn diagrams," says Dante with a soft huff. "Everyone's got another, or several others, with their own complexities and complications. Their own rules and various levels of emotional investment. I've never seen anything like it." He towels himself off and slips the robe back on, fastening the belt at his waist. "It's come to the point that if you want a random, no-strings shag, you're better off taking a road trip."

Joseph laughs at that, a low, throaty chortle. "Amen to that," he says. "I went from seven years of chastity to....well, enough overlapping Venn diagrams for me, anyhow. Though road trips are generally good for that anyhow, aren't they?" Expression gone musing, before he shakes his head at himself.

"Although potentially dangerous. As a road-trip induced shag is technically what torpedoed my marriage." Dante says that wryly, with self-awareness but also a tinge of sadness. And then, "Seven years? Bloody hell. I don't think I've managed seven weeks."

"I get that a lot," Rueful, that look. "I lost my fiancee to a car accident. Spent the rest of my career married to my job and didn't look up. Then I got injured, and spending two years in hospital and rehab don't do much for your dating life. Then I left Savannah and while the cliche is that a sailor has a girl in every port......I didn't."

"Circumstance-induced celibacy. I see," says Dante. "Mhmm, making up for a bit of lost time, then?" He doesn't mean that in a judging way. He poses it as a genuine question. "No better place than here, it seems. Venn Diagrams notwithstanding."

Joseph's grin curls at the edge, a little sourly. "Somethin' like that," he says. Embarrassed, too, by the flush that's appeared on cheeks and nose. Just long enough to make its presence felt, before water starts to cool it.

"No judgment, no judgment," says Dante, hands up. "For either the amount of sex, or the lack of same. That's your business." Dante stands and picks up his bag, feet sliding into flip flops. "I'll leave you to your floatation therapy, now that I'm not there to make waves."

An upnod, from where he sits. "You have a good day," he wishes, tone back to its usual mildness. Still that faintly rueful look in his eyes, though.