2020-05-15 - what kind of tots

Life in this town just never quits. One night, you're having cocktails with what may or may not have been the actual ghost of an actual serial killer...

...and the very next evening, an escaped mental patient with a history of feeding people to monsters scoots onto a stool at the end of the bar, largely ignored by the other patrons. But that comes with being an easily overlooked person, dark hair, dark eyes, unremarkable t-shirt and jeans, mid-twenties - generic, average human female. Even those with the same spark that she has - and hers is a bright one - seem to pay her little mind. So she'll just be down here, fiddling with the cocktail napkin that somebody left on the bar a moment ago, waiting for the attention of Easton Marshall to shift her way.

Being distracted is a good way to get killed. But as much as Easton would like to think that he hasn't been dulled by the comfort of everyday life, he is no where near the sharp readiness that combat demands. Nope, he's lost in his thoughts from last night as he zombies his way through serving drinks at the bar. He's more concerned about the errant spirit of a serial killer than a dark haired failed actress with questionable intentions. And so it takes him a while to even notice Megan, and it's not until he's standing in front of her raising his chin and asking, "What can I get- ... you" The you stressed as he realizes who he's asking.

His eyes close briefly, and something like a growling sigh rumbles through his throat but dies in his closed mouth.

The hits just keeeep coming.

There's a dull smile to answer the stressed pronoun there, and - after flattening her palm over the crumpled napkin so she stops fussing with it - Megan asks with a touch of irony, "Has my reputation finally preceded me?" But she doesn't really wait for an answer, just presses on with the next (and considerably more relevant) question on her agenda: "Are you Easton Marshall?" Mind, the fact that she already knows the answer is written all over her body language. The question is a formality, a tic-box on a list.

There is the briefest flare of glimmer as Easton checks all of the guns, their safeties and if they are loaded with his abilities. There are multiple guns under the counter, and it's good to have a fresh inventory. But he doesn't make a move to pull any of them to his hand, he's already done enough quick draw work in the last 24 hours. For now he just nods and says, "Yup. And you're Megan ... something." No he hasn't bothered to remember her last name. He's terrible at names and she doesn't have a drink for him to associate with her. His tone is neutral if tense when he asks, "What do you want? I'm guessing you're not here for the tots."

Megan... something seems confused more than anything by the talk of tots, turning slightly on her seat to cast a glance around the bar, one that finally works its way back to Easton beneath uncertainly drawn brows. "Like... small children or crispy potato clouds?" No, never mind. She shakes her head hurriedly, like that question doesn't need to be answered after all. "If you know who I am, then you probably know what I want, but okay. I'll play, I guess."

She breathes in deeply, collecting herself, and delivers the one important line in this play. "I want to know if you want your memories back."

Easton quirks a brow at her, wondering just how far disconnected from reality this lady is if she's unsure which 'tots' he's referencing. Do people often offer her small children? Is.. is that a thing? He really hopes that's not a thing. Easton says, "I don't know what you want at all lady, so I think it's best if you use small words and walk me through it." At the offer Easton looks at her skeptical, "Memories of what? The asylum?" They are the only memories that he knows are missing, but hey if something is missing chances are you might not know. It's a valid question. But he's assuming that's the case considering what Joe told him of his encounter.

"So I got a few questions. First, what's the cost. Second, what's in it for you?"

She's not threatening, so he's not on edge. This is just a conversation, a screwed up one, but still.

The meta would just like to remind everyone that - even if Megan does sometimes get offered small children as sacrifice - it would hardly be the weirdest thing to have happened in this bar. Even in the last twenty-four hours!

But Megan is over the tot situation. She's looking at Easton and his 'small words' with her head tipped into a 'really?' slant, one that eases into a nod readily at his guess about the Asylum. "It's really fighting the dumb act when you cut right to informed questions," she tells him as a quiet aside, like this is her professional opinion.

Easton has two questions. Megan has two answers. "First, it will probably leave you feeling faded. It takes a lot of light to chase away that many shadows. Most people seem to get better, though. Over time or..." She takes a breath, dithering on phrasing. "Or they figure out what matters to them, what makes them brighten again. That's what's in it for me. I have to try." So saying, she smiles wanly at Easton and waits for the return volley.

Oblivious to what Megan may or may not be offered, Easton is just offering his no-nonsense gruffness. He wasn't playing when asking her to break it down Barney style, he isn't sure what she means by a lot of light chasing away shadows. "I appreciate you assuming it's an act." Easton might be direct, but it doesn't mean he understands much of this.

"Faded." Easton tries out the word. He knows the state Joe is in so it's not hard to grasp, but still there's a whole swam of vocabulary to learn. "That's what's in it for you? Figuring out how to shine again? Because no offense but you aren't exactly withering away there." He looks at her skeptically, perhaps he misunderstood what she meant?

Briefly, there's a thumbs-up from Megan - she's happy to assume it's an act - before her hands fold themselves tightly together on top of the bar. She should've kept the cocktail napkin; clearly, her hands don't like sitting idly, just based on the whiteness of her fingers in answer to the pressure put to keep them laced together like that. "Yes. Essentially," that's what's in it for her. She lifts one shoulder to a shrug at what she's not meant to take offense to and points out, "Because I'm doing what I need to do. If I stop trying, then it..." The other shoulder lifts to make it a two-shouldered shrug!

"You're related to him, aren't you? Marshall? You can thank him for all this." She's not hateful about that. Just resigned. Hence all the shrugging.

Easton notices the twitchy hands but manages to remain relaxed. She's twitchy but not in a threatening way, for now. Her statement about doing what she needs to do causes Easton nose to scrunch up. "What left you faded that you're trying to get back from?" He's not sure he's following the story here, but he knows his best bet is to get her to talk so that he can piece things together later, or help others do that more likely. But all of that calm reserve is tested when she mentions his uncle, and more specifically lays the blame for 'all this' at his feet.

"Yea. What do you mean? How is he to blame for 'all this'? The asylum in general? Or whatever game you are playing right now?"

The temple-tap that Megan does to answer that initial question means something to her, but she doesn't clarify what that might be. The question she answers is the last one, where she points out, "I'm not playing a game. Seriously, think about it. If I wanted to fuck you up?"

A tickle touches the back of Easton's mind, a tiny touch of crackling static that resolves into the thought, << I'd just fuck you up. >> Her eyes stay on his through that momentary bridging of brains, brows climbing upward questioningly, everyone on the same page now?

"I'll tell you the whole story if it'll make you feel better? But I'm not here to hurt anyone. I just have to do this."

Eastons upper lip threatens to turn into a snarl at the unwanted crackle in his brain but he manages to keep his calm. "Fine, it just feels an awful lot like a game where I don't know any of the goddamn rules, and only a fraction of the players." The threat isn't mentioned, but Easton is trying to figure just how fast he could hit her and sadly it all comes down to slower than the speed of her thoughts.

But then she's offering him something more interesting. "The whole story would be appreciated, though somehow I doubt it's a warm and fuzzy tale of joy. So, yes. Please."

He's on edge now after the little thought sparkler but he'd rather it didn't turn violent.

"Are there any warm, fuzzy stories left?" She shakes her head to answer her own question.

Now then. "After my family was murdered." Okay, it's worth noting that the story Megan tells is credible. There are a few pieces of poetic license, but the overall vibe here is that she's telling at least the version of the truth that she believes, looks straight at Easton the whole time. "I got stuck over there, in the other place. I don't know for how long, but I was trapped there. Lost. It was - " She swallows and shakes her head. "I don't know when or how Marshall found me. Just that the next lucid thought I have was of that place, that 'facility.'" Hey, she gets to use her hands to make air-quotes! Then immediately re-laces them tightly together. "Some of us, the patients there - well, let's just say that I got what I deserved when it comes to the Others." With a wry smile.

"Something must have happened, something changed or slipped or - I don't know, but some of us were able to escape. We got out of the hospital, out of the other place, but we couldn't remember anything. So Alice and I... we started trying to fix it, to remember that place without losing everything else about ourselves. It was painstaking. And painful. And it nearly destroyed us both. We had to shine everything, every spark, every glint that was in us onto the shadows in our minds, to find all the paths that they destroyed so we could rebuild them." She pauses, breathing shakily at memories that obviously bring pain, looking through Easton for a moment with a distant gloss over her eyes. "I thought it was over for me, that I would just continue to fade until I stopped existing at all." Her eyes refocus. "Which really pissed me off, to be honest. Mostly out of revenge, I started trying to find the others that had escaped and help them get their memories back, too."

Long story short, "That's when I started coming back to myself. As long as I keep trying. So it doesn't matter to me if you say yes or no. I can't make you - mm, I mean. I could make you." Teeth flash in a smile tinged with apology but also homegirl might be a little egotistical about her powers. "But that's more trouble than it's worth."

"None that I know." Easton agrees that happy stories are in short supply at the very least.

Easton doesn't do anything like make sympathetic noises or say he's sorry when she tells her tale. It's brutal, sure, but it's not entirely unexpected. He just nods along stoically. He only looks at her harder when she mentions that she got what she deserved. "What does that mean? What did you deserve and why? And do you mean them when you say Others?" The questions come rapid fire as if he's expecting a succinct HUMINT briefing from an intelligence officer, not being told a story by a former inmate of a magical nut house.

"Was it Gohl? When we sealed him up, I know doors closed." He's still not sure exactly what that means, other than something changed with Glimmer and probably entrances and exits to the veil. "Did that enable you to escape?"

The fact that she could force herself into his head is hardly comforting, but he's at least willing to trust that she doesn't plan on doing that. So far.

"You said my uncle started all this, you meant because he found you and brought you there." And Easton can't help but wonder if that's better than being lost in the veil. He knows a little about certain people who are lost there, would it have been better to be taken in by his whackadoo uncle and the facility? Somehow he bets his uncle would say it is. "Or did you mean something else?"

There's a million more questions that he has to bite back from asking. Thankfully at least the bar is slow enough that he doesn't have to pull himself away to do something as banal as actually working.

What did she deserve and why? All Megan says about that is a simple, "I used to hurt people so the Others wouldn't hurt me." If Easton can't figure it out from there... welp! Good thing he has clever friends. It's followed by a small, subdued chuckle; "Do you mean the Others when you say them?" Her humor fades as his questions go on, and her shrug returns. "Probably," it was Gohl. "I can't tell you everything because I don't know everything. But I think - " No, she tries this a different way. "There was a graveyard there, at the Asylum, and there was a grave for William Gohl, but it was empty. That's all I know."

She takes a moment to think about the last pair of questions, the ones about Monty Marshall specifically. Slowly, "Yes. Both. He took me there, but I think - " She sucks in air, holds it, thinks another moment. "When he died, the Doctor took over." There's a sudden flash of amusement and the attachment of her eyes to Easton's. "But you don't remember the Doctor, either."

"Oh." Easton gets what she means. And he's not even holding it against her, especially if she's willing to take her lumps for it. The point about Others vs. Them gets a shrug of that's fair but then there is talk of Gohl, and he is certainly top of mind for Easton. "Yea, because some fuck knuckle decided to dig him up, and Uncle Monty helped." It's probably not the best idea to share information with Megan, who knows if she can be trusted but Easton's too frustrated by his uncle, Gohl and just about everything to keep an entirely cool head.

"The Doctor." Easton gives her a blank look and slight shake of the head, that rings no bells. "Nope."

He looks around as if checking to see if anyone is around to talk him into or out of this before he turns back to her and sighs. "Okay, but when say faded, are we talkin' just sparkles? Or am I going to be weak as a kitten in general, because I can't exactly take a sick week with ... things going on." Things. Like Gohl possibly showing back up. And Bennie needing help getting some sharks off her tail. He doesn't need Glimmer to take care of Bennie's problem, and his powers aren't much of a help against a ghost anyway, so long as he's still a compact nearly-full strength former Marine, he figures that'll be okay. Maybe.

As for fuck knuckles and robbed graves, Megan says, "I can't help you with that." It seems like there might be some honest regret there. But, again, Easton probably ought to keep grains of salt around if he's gonna chat with actresses-turned-mental-patients.

She follows his look around after a moment, turning her head this way and that to take note of all the patrons that are totally cool with them having this in-depth conversation uninterrupted. "I can see how the place would be falling apart without you," she says quietly. Back to the matter at hand, yay! She brightens - not that she was faded, per se, but there's a noticeable difference when he brings the subject back around to the purpose of her visit, warmth or light or just something. "It's just the sparkles, as you call them. But - and I'm not trying to talk you out of this. I just want people to make informed decisions." Yeah, even she has to roll her eyes at that assertion, hearing how stupid it sounds considering how much no one knows. "It's just harder than some people realize, to be - " Words. She's struggling. " - fucking - normal. It sucks."

Easton, who really should be more suspicious is taken in by both the earlier sob story and the seemingly genuine desire to screw with people who screwed with her. Revenge is a very plausible and trustworthy motive.

"Cute." Easton deems her judgement about how imperative he is to the business (he's not), but that's not what he meant either. "People keep talking about how bright people shine, I'm assuming you all look like bejewelled glitter balls." The line about informed decisions gets a derisive snort, "How considerate." Her earlier talk about needing to do this for herself and for revenge sounded much more believable.

"I didn't mind normal much." Back when he had that.

And with a few more seconds thought he nods, "Alright. I'm in. Am I gonna have like some floppy seizure? Do we need privacy for this?"

If he didn't mind normal much, "Then why the third degree?" Oooohhh, the second the question leaves her, Megan figures out the answer. "Fair enough."

After Easton's few seconds, after the final answer, Megan sits up on the stool she's occupied all this time, evidently ready to just cut right to the chase. His question takes her aback, leaves her blinking at him. "No? I mean, are you prone to seizures or something?"

Easton levels a look at her, "You act like I should know what to expect when someone magically restores my memories of an insane asylum hidden in a different reality that automatically erased itself from my mind. It's a fucking valid question. But no, I don't have a history of seizures." Just because he's used to some parts of the weirdness of Gray Harbor doesn't mean he's still not frustrated at playing catch up on the millions of possible gotchas that lurk in every weird shit pile. He clenches his teeth for a moment, wondering which is going to draw more attention, whatever she does out here at the bar or taking her into the office which will certainly be assumed to be something entirely different.

He'll take his chances with the Veil protecting itself by making weird things look normal, vs. Bennie severing some of his favorite bits.

"Fine. We'll do it here."

"I told you want to expect." Megan says this calmly. Confusedly, even. Like she can't fathom what reason Easton would have to still be confused about the side effects. Like she can't fathom why someone wouldn't just take her word for it. She holds on to her confusion for a moment or two longer, head tipped askew, then shakes it off with a quick inhale. "Oh good." They'll do it here.

Easton should probably brace himself.

Yeah. Easton should definitely brace himself.

Easton is fast enough to grip the edge of the bar and lean against it before Megan reaches into this brain to scrub a dub dub. He grits his teeth as he feels the sensation creep up over his brain and then flashing into the memories. The trip to the morgue with the key that was requested and getting into the 'cabinet' that lead into the asylum. He nods, remembering this, it's familiar and coming back to it feels right.

But then something else comes back and reels slightly at the memory. A genuinely not terrible memory of his uncle Monty. It's not exactly heart warming or anything but just the fact that it wasn't outright weird or screwed up is enough. Easton remembers the awe of being a kid and finding out an adult had a genuine secret hidden room. That feeling that somehow got washed away by the waves of Gray Harbor and maybe more.

The last blast of brightness in his mind causes him to reel slightly as if drunk, which is nothing new to all the staff and customer to be honest. But now he's faded, and he opens his eyes and looks around and feels utterly lost for a moment. The awareness of every object that he had become so used to suddenly feeling gone it feels oddly empty and drafty in the bar that hasn't changed at all. He gives Megan a wary look and nod, "Okay... okay." slowly nodding at her.

"I need a drink." After a beat ... "And some tots."

He doesn't ask if she wants anything, he just grabs a glass and pours enough of a beer and takes a gulp.

"I bet." That's Megan's take on the things that Easton needs after that. She's already sliding her feet to the ground under the stool she's occupied all this while, finally unclasping her white-knuckled hands to flatten them against the edge of the bar, pushing back and up. "I - "

With her feet under her, she looks at the dimmer Easton, an Easton that remembers!, and tells him honestly, "I've never had to go that far back before. I hope - that - " It's a struggle right now, coming out in stilted, half-finished thoughts. "Just don't forget that you don't have to linger... like this." Fingers flick at the aforementioned dimmer Easton. "Some people seem to be fine if they just wait it out. But if you get tired of it? Just figure it out. You'll know when you get there."

She doesn't even have the decency to order a drink after all that, just took up a stool and never spent a dime.

The earnestness is not something Easton expects. She's been far less oblique and almost downright helpful. And when she talks about having gone that far back, he nods and says, "But thank you.." He realizes he never would have known he was missing that memory otherwise. You can't prove a negative. And then she's giving him advice that sounds, well downright helpful.

"I'm not big on waiting."

Easton doesn't seem at all bothered by her taking up a spot for free. And as she walks away he calls out, "Hey. .." There's a slight hesitation, and an ever so slight break in his half-scowl "Be careful. Yea?" Yes, she might have tortured and killed people, but from what he can tell that's not her intention now. And it's not like he hasn't willingly trusted and dealt with murderers before.

"Likewise." And then Megan is shuffling out, hands stuffed in pockets, shoulders drawn inward just a little, head ducked. People ignore her, she ignores them, it works~!