2020-05-10 - good for something

A nice, warm Sunday afternoon, ahhh! The air near the park smells like cut grass, and the distant hum of a motor chomping on that grass accounts for it, nearly drowned out by the carousel music tinkling in the distance. There's all kinds of stuff down here, park-adjacent, so Isabella and Alexander might have any one of a dozen reasons for being out and about, even if it's just to get some fresh freaking air on a day that's not thick with rainfall.

Wherever it is they've been so far, they've had themselves a little shadow. Alexander is oblivious - which is weird, considering he has just cause to be hyper-alert right now - but Isabella eventually kens to the fact that the girl on the park bench across from wherever they are right now is the same girl that was a dozen steps behind them an hour ago, the same girl that lingered outside a shop window while they were inside said shop, the same girl that she's seen around town a few times now, come to think of it. Her hair is mussed into a ponytail, her clothes are shapeless and nondescript (jeans, t-shirt, sneakers), and there's an easily overlooked quality to her in general, just one of those people that melts into the background. Even as brightly as she shines.

Just now, she's standing up from her bench and crossing the sidewalk purposefully, heading in their direction.

Some truths exist, and of these, the larger one is that while Isabella was out of town, Alexander pretty much existed on canned soup and take out. It's not that Isabella cooks. It's not that ALEXANDER cooks. It's just that unless there's someone around to remind him to be human and eat once in a while, he tends to get lost in his own little world, and that world rarely includes regular meals involving multiple food groups. So now that she's back, he's sheepishly suggested that they go and do a little strolling - and maybe some grocery shopping along the way. So he's got a bag full of things, and is paying attention to that more than anything else as they walk. "Eggplants. I can cook with eggplants. Sometimes."

A marine archaeologists' conference had taken her out of the good, green (and wet) state of Washington for close to two weeks - in truth Isabella's just arrived back to town around twenty-four hours ago and has done her best to catch up on everything else that she has missed. While there had been a rather worrisome voicemail left in her smartphone from fellow field researcher, August Roen, about a certain Heaven's Gate-adjacent user, the young woman has had no cause to believe that she would actually run into the woman in question.

Until today.

She's always been alert, especially these days - dressed in a runner's hoodie, black leggings, running shoes with a sports belt and a water bottle hanging off of it, there are plans to meet Alexander in the park for a walk and grocery shopping, and when she finds him, there's a beaming smile, trotting over in his direction so she could do a small leap and throw her arms around him, kissing him in front of sea and sky, before taking his hand and off they go. Spring means that Summer is almost here, and nothing makes her happier than the prospect of being in the water again - she's in a good mood! But before she can sexually harass him further...

"Well, you can make really good lasagna out of those," she observes regarding the eggplants. "Except that I was brutally denied the last time and...." A pause. "Alexander?" Her voice is hesitant when she realizes that they're being followed. "...why is that woman following us?"

"Look, the lasagna wasn't my fault." Even though Alexander's flailing was what knocked it down. "The plants tried to eat us. Which, I suppose, means it's only fair to eat them in return." He gives the eggplant a thoughtful look. You'll get yours. Oh yes. You'll get yours. But his plotting revenge on the plant kingdom is interrupted by the change in Isabella's tone as she says his name. He looks up, blinking. There's a moment of surprise when she asks that last question, and he moves to place himself between Isabella and the approaching Megan. "I can hazard a guess," he mutters to Isabella. "Just be cautious, and keep your defenses up."

She definitely does not expect this kind of tension at a question for which she expected a noncommittal answer. Dark brows furrow as Alexander moves. "Okay," Isabella allows, slowly. "What's your guess?" She has never met Megan Keene, though she's certainly heard of her plenty enough, just not the very important point that she happens to be stalking Alexander. She just got back yesterday!

Still, there's definitely something up when the taller man plants himself between her and the approaching actress. There's the face. She's making the face. "What's going on?" she whispers at him.

When Alexander moves to put himself in between her and Isabella, Megan stops and tilts her head aside, the body language equivalent of 'really?' in the dull look that she lifts to him. She stuffs her hands in her pockets and crosses the last of the distance, stopping a conversational yard or so from the pair of them. To inform them, "If I wanted to hurt you, you'd be hurt by now."

"Miss Keene," Alexander says, tonelessly, to Megan. "Maybe. But here we are, nonetheless." He glances to Isabella. "Megan Keene. Used to be an actress. And sacrificed people to Them." His gaze twitches back to Megan. "What's your affiliation, these days, exactly? Offering people memories, I hear. Is that why you've been following me?" He looks around. Lots of people around. That makes him more tense, rather than less, and his grip tightens on his grocery bag for a moment.

She knows the moment Alexander identifies her, considering she's never seen the woman before - now she can put a face to the name. "I remember," Isabella assures the investigator; the moniker is enough. Sliding her hands in the pockets of her hoodie, there's a glance to the oblivious crowd, though her attention snaps back to the gathering at the idea that Alexander is being stalked. There's a slow swinging of her gold-shot eyes towards Megan, tension slowly braiding over her shoulders.

"Why are you following him?" Because that is her first concern at the moment. "Did Alice ask you?"

And sacrificed people to Them.

"Or got other people to do the sacrificing for us." Megan looks squarely at Alexander to deliver that line, then nods as if to to confirm his guess about her affiliation - yep, sure, that's what she's up to. She lets them ask their back-to-back questions before noting, "I'm following both of you." The question about Alice makes her brows pull together for a second, her eyes sliding left and then right and then back to Isabella. "No. Why? Did she ask you?"

"Yes," Alexander says, simply, in return to that square look. His shoulders hunch, his head ducks a little as he stares at her. Nobody likes to be reminded of the time when a bunch of people tried to make them a human sacrifice. "You're following a lot of people. What is this about?" He doesn't answer the question about Alice. Instead, he reaches out with his spirit abilities, trying to get a sense of her strength and abilities in turn. He's not particularly polite about it.

"Why, though? The following." Isabella, too, does not answer the question regarding Alice - just enough to confirm or dismiss a few threads of speculation that have been floating around for months now, though she's unable to keep from glancing at Alexander when Megan returns fire. "What do you want?" None of her tension is abated, but her curiosity and confusion worm their way out of the tangle visibly.

She's not particularly polite about turning Alexander's probing right back around on him. True, it's not like whatever Alexander was doing was actually going to cause Megan any physical pain, but her head turns and her eyes fix on him, narrowing, and he gets the feeling of a million tiny pinpricks jabbing him all over all at once. Poke. Poke. Pokepokepokepoke poke poke poke JAB - "Are you done now?" And all the little jabs of all the little needles stop.

Even as the last of the imaginary syringes quits harassing Alexander, she shifts the stuff of her hands in her pocket, swinging her center of gravity so her focus settles back on Isabella. "To give you back your memories of that place. The asylum. The facility. Whatever you call it. That's all that I want."

"Ow, ow, ow, FUCKING OW QUIT IT!" Alexander didn't mean to shout. But he does. And heads turn. Eyes roll when they note who it is and that no one is touching him. Crazy Claytons gonna Clayton, seems to be the general opinion among the masses, and Alexander's mouth clicks shut, his shoulders hunching with sudden awareness. "I'm done," he spits out, but at least he does it /quietly/. He takes a deep breath. "And if we agree, you'll damage our abilities. Do you even know if they'll come back? How did you learn how to do this? What the fuck are you playing at?"

It's Alexander's distress that finally gets her to move. Her hands come out of her pockets to rest on him when he hunches over. "What-- !" There's a brief wide-eyed window of simmering panic, before Isabella whirls towards Megan, every intent to get her to stop on her features until the investigator manages to offer some word that he's fine. Her pulse tics rapidly at the side of her throat, adrenaline dumping buckets of it into her system.

Her jaw clenches tight at the hinges. "Why do you want us to remember?" she asks. "Everyone else said just forget it. To stop thinking about it. Even the place wants us to forget it. You're the only one we've encountered who actually wants us to, so I have to ask."

Neither sympathy for Alexander nor concern for the interest he's roused manage to inhabit Megan. What does give her pause, what has her sliding one foot backward and frowning at him confusedly are the words that follow his deep breath. "Damage your abilities," she repeats with dull doubtfulness. "Even if I could do that, why would I bother?" She lowers her voice and leans toward him as if sharing some conspiracy here, making up for the backward slide of her foot with the pitch onto her toes. "You're not exactly playing on my level, kids." So her baffled expression lingers beneath the raised brows, the curious purse and part of her lips, she's waiting for him to clarify.

Isabella's question doesn't fall on deaf ears, but Megan holds up an index finger at her while she tips a nod toward Alexander, this first.

Alexander juggles his bag a bit so that he can reach out a hand to Isabella, to reassure her. He's fine! Just jabbed with a bunch of imaginary needles, the big baby. His eyes stay on Megan, though, watching her with narrowed focus. He doesn't lean back when she leans forward, although his muscles tense visibly. "Someone took you up on your bargain. Joseph. His...what makes him stand out is changed, or weakened, or damaged. Something. You /did/ something to him."

She's attempting to put together the pieces the best she can between stalker and stalkee, the voicemail left on her phone, and her past investigations. It's difficult to be put on the spot, and the gears in Isabella's brain grinds them the best it can. Finally, however, she reaches out to that outstretched hand, clutching Alexander's fingers and giving them a squeeze. "It might not have been her, really, Alexander," she points out quietly, stressing the word subtly. Or rather, maybe the power to do so wasn't Megan's, or hadn't come from Megan.

The penny drops, and Megan's questioningly parted lips shift into the shape of the sound she exhales. "Oohhhhhhh. Faded." There's no malice, no arrogance, just the dawning comprehension. "You mean, he's still faded." With a shake of her head, she points out, "I warned him. He just needs to..." She pauses, sighing, stuffing her hands down deeper into her pockets and looking through the pair of them, a thousand-yard-stare searching for inspiration. "...figure it out. Some people get better over time and some people..."

Once more, she trails off, dark eyes aimed at the cracks in the sidewalk, pinned there while she concludes quietly, "Some people have a mission. I have a mission." She settles her attention on Isabella, answering the question she delayed a moment ago. "That's why I want you to remember. I want everyone to remember. That's why I'm not faded - because I know what I have to do, and I'm doing it." Beat. "Trying to, anyway."

Alexander rubs at his forehead. "How does he get UNfaded, Miss Keene? Is there anything that can be done other than wait it out?" He glances over at Isabella, then back to Megan. "And you want us to chance that, as well? To remember a visit to a place that may have only lasted a few minutes? What is it about the Asylum that you particularly want us to remember?" Paper crackles as his grip tightens with momentary frustration.

Some people do get better over time, but never the same. Isabella knows that well; she can still feel the holes where her twin used to reside psychically in the seat of her soul. Her fingers tighten slightly in Alexander's grip, before they slip away. She takes a step forward.

"I'll do it," she offers. "I'll let you make me remember. But only if you tell us what your mission is."

Megan shrugs. How does he get UNfaded? "I don't know. Wait it out? Figure out what's important to him and do something about it? All I did was give him back his memories. If he can't figure out what to do with himself from there, maybe he deserves to stay faded." Compassion clearly isn't part of her mission. Her own frustration is subdued, paired with an annoyed little sniff after his follow-up questions. "I get it, you don't trust me, and you're afraid of winding up like your faded friend. That's fair. But I'm not trying to sell you a fucking timeshare, here. This is a really simple offer. Either you want your memories back, or you don't."

Which is an awesome time for Isabella's inability to say no to kick in. 😃

Megan doesn't smile, exactly, but she does brighten in a way that's hard to pinpoint. She's not the same kind of faded poor Joseph is, but the air around her... the aura, if you're that kinda hippie... warms to this perceived acquiescence. "I told you my mission. To make people remember. To shine a light on that place, rip it out of the shadows, make it so it can never hide again."

"ISABELLA." It's not a shout, this time, but there's a helpless frustration and exasperation in Alexander's voice. "This is a /bad deal/. This woman has been working with Them." His eyes narrow at Megan. "And no. I don't trust you. You can't say you give a fuck about the people that place tortures; you didn't have any trouble with it when you were on the torturer's side. You licked the Shadows' boots for years, and now you want to shine a light on all of this? Why. What changed your mind?" And because he doesn't learn, he reaches out with his mind to try and read her truth.

It isn't compulsion per se, but there's a seed in Isabella's mind that pushes her towards the pinnacle in these risky situations where there's always a need to know. The only thing that is stopping her from outright taking Meghan's hand and telling her to do it is Alexander's not-quite-yell. To her credit, there's an open wince on the brunette's expressive face, especially when she's reminded just where the woman's old allegiances had fallen...and then turning away completely when she senses that sudden whipping of power crackling in the air between the two mentalists. "Alexander, what are you- !"

Didn't he just say engaging with the woman was a bad idea?!

Megan clamps down the corners of her mind that Alexander is trying to peek into. What he gets is no glimpse of her truth, but a dizzy memory - dizzy because he was there, has his own memories of this moment, but now he gets to see them and feel them and know them from her perspective. A year ago, almost to the day, and lightning arcs across a courtyard, connects to the heart of a dark-haired young woman - << POLLY! >> - who crumples to the ground, dead, tiny sparks of electricity making her corpse jolt a few times before she's still. "That was for the FUCKING seagull, bitch." The words come back to his ears so many months later, and so does an agonizing wash of grief and pain. It's the gut-punch sorrow of lost family, of raw anger and disbelief but more than that... for this moment, Alexander knows what it feels like to lose not just his sister but his entire family, his home, his safety, his tether to reality.

"No one is innocent."

Alexander grunts as the grief and pain wash over him, followed on their heels by a deep well of guilt and self-loathing. He takes a step back, involuntarily, and sucks in a sharp breath, but he doesn't show much reaction beyond that. "Some people are," he says, quietly. "Not me. Not you. But some people are." Ignore the wetness of his eyes as he runs a hand through his already disheveled hair. "I don't...Isabella, this is your choice. I don't think you should. But I won't stop you, if it's what you want. You know that."

She doesn't know what exactly transpired - her own forays in Alexander's skillset are rudimentary at best, but the tears in his eyes tighten her jaw at the hinges. "I don't know if I actually want to," Isabella grouses, before pressing her lips on his cheek. But her talents have been worked over anyway, and if Alice does intend to wrangle Alexander into doing something about the Asylum...

But she does ease away from the investigator after that, and turns towards Meghan. She extends her hand towards the woman, meeting her eyes.

The dull, flat way that Megan looks at Alexander conveys neither pleasure nor pity. She didn't enjoy that, but she'll do it again, so Alexander better just stay in his lane. Her eyes peel away from him when Isabella offers her hand, and - for a second - it seems she's just going to leave that hand there, unanswered, like she can't figure out WTF to do with the appendange. But, with a slow breath, she unstuffs her own hand from her pocket, warily folding her fingers around Isabella's palm, fingertips like icicles but the rest of her hand pocket-warm. Answering Isabella's eyes, she says seriously, "I can't undo this once it's done. And I have no compunctions about leaving you a fucking vegetable if anyone tries to take advantage of my preoccupation."

By 'anyone' she obviously means 'Alexander.'

"Are you ready?"

"I said it was her choice, Keene. I meant it. I'm not going to do anything to you," Alexander says, his voice as flat as Megan's look in his direction. He does move closer to Isabella, though, and slips an arm around her waist if she permits it, to provide sort of multiple varieties. That he HATES this is clear in every movement, and every line of his face, but he doesn't say any more about it.

The tension between Megan and Alexander is thick enough to cut with a knife and some part of her is genuinely worried that this will all end in fisticuffs. But Isabella remains stalwart even in the face of the investigator's displeasure, though she does flash him an apologetic look where she stands, and there's some relief present when he comes closer and bands that arm around her waist. Goosebumps riddle her skin when those icicle-fingertips brush over her palm; this close, he'd feel the tremor down her spine.

"I'm not," she tells her, honestly. "Ready. But hit me anyway."

Burning or no burning, Alexander watches. Quietly, even his breath held, as if the slightest movement might provoke Megan to touch something in Isabella's mind that she shouldn't. He doesn't breathe again until it's open, and then he tightens his grip on Isabella. "Are you okay?" is his first, hushed, question to her. Then, to Megan, "How did you /do/ that? It was so bright. How?"

The psychic conflagration seeps into her skin, leaps into veins already burning with adrenaline...and ignites it. Isabella's head tilt backwards, a gasp parting her lips. She is unaware of her own aura transforming into a searing, blazing corona - but she can see Megan's do the same. How she manages to keep standing is a testament enough to her will, when she digs her heels on the ground. But it does make her sway right into the protective arm that the investigator provides her. Her brain tickles, cradling static.

She takes several deep breaths; her heart is pounding so loudly as the flood of memories spill into her beleaguered mind like paint. A hand comes up to grasp the front of Alexander's shirt, to help him steady her. She nods, not trusting herself to speak at the moment - but at least, she doesn't seem to be in any pain. Still recovering from the throes of it, she doesn't notice how faded she has become - not visually. But she can feel it, and it tastes...

...well. Familiar.

"I remember," she finally tells him, hoarsely. Lifting her eyes to Megan, her expression shifts from awed to befuddled. Thank you? "...for what?" she wonders, genuinely confused - forgive her, she's still somewhat addled.

Megan shakes her head at how, and there's honest - or, well, seemingly honest; she was an actress, after all - regret when she tells Alexander, "Painstakingly. It's not... all that different from making people remember things that never happened. You just have to - " She looks around for a moment, at the various and sundry normal people walking around, doing normal people things while these three get weird in the park. " - put things back in the right order. It's easier now." Again, she doesn't smile, exactly, but there is that faint brightening from her direction in general paired to the nod that she dips at Isabella's hoarse pronouncement. "Now that more people remember."

Having already taken one backward step, she goes ahead and takes another. As for why she's thanking Isabella, with a dry laugh, "For not being a coward." She sweeps Isabella's new dimness with a glance, the movement of her eyes outlining the shape of the other woman, and her brows draw with something not entirely unlike sympathy. "Good luck."

Alexander makes a noise. It's low and thoughtful. He lifts his hand to Isabella's hair, caressing it before placing a kiss on the top of her head. "How are you feeling? Are you hurt?" Which isn't to say he's not listening to Megan's words, but he's taking care of his priorities. Eventually, though, he does look back her way. "Alice says that she remembers everything. Did you do that for her, or did she learn it herself?"

"I'm a little woozy," Isabella confesses to Alexander quietly - the sharp clarity of her green-and-gold eyes look somewhat hazy, but they're recovering their lost color by increments. It can't be said, however, of her shine. "It's a lot...the details...and the clock." She remembers the clock, and the other words that she doesn't remember seeing before - but does now. Lashes kiss her cheeks at the press of his mouth on her hair and despite of what just happened, she can't help but smile up when her eyes open back up. "I'm alright." It isn't hyperbole - she does mean it.

To Megan and her dry laugh, she can't help but watch her with a new, quiet sort of assessment. There's open conflict on her features, but the expression that she opts, in the end, is one of self-deprecation and resignation towards herself and her own...quirks. "Yeah," she admits. Not being a coward. "Honestly, that's all I'm good for, these days."

"That's better than being good for nothing at all." Those are likely to be Megan's parting words, said to Isabella with a real 'keep your chin up' quality. At the tail-end of them, she hooks an accusing brow at Alexander - speaking of good for nothing at all! - and laughs a darkly entertained chuckle at the questions he's lobbing her way.

Barring someone physically restraining her or Alexander trying to psychic things at her, she'll be strolling off down the sidewalk, hunched in on herself, ignored and overlooked by the parkgoers.

Third time's the charm? But no, Alexander may be irritating and irritated, and good for nothing at all, but he doesn't try to poke her a third time. He just watches her go, before murmuring to Isabella, "You know that's not true. And you don't ever have to do anything like /that/ to be good for something." He tries to speak evenly, but anger, frustration, and even sadness is seething visibly under the surface. He lets his arm fall away. "You should lay down. Let's go home." He doesn't look at her as he turns away.

She knows he's displeased; threads of guilt wind over her features briefly. "I didn't do it because of that," Isabella tells him with a sigh and a stubborn look - she was being glib. "If people really are going to be pursuing issues surrounding the Asylum, I just didn't think it'd be a good idea to do it blind. And my talents...you know they're not intact, and I hardly use." It might as well be me. With him turning away though, she scrubs the side of her face, and moves to follow.