2020-05-23 - Shaggy and Velma

The day after the casino's opening is a day for self-care, if not just because the newly-minted Dr. Isabella Reede had staggered home to an empty bed, and while she vaguely remembers firing a text to Alexander wondering where he was (possibly in one of his insomnia-induced walks again), it didn't take long until her cheek hit the pillows of the (unforgivably, adorably) small bed for her to drift off into much-needed sleep. The morning after has inevitably paved the way to a blistering hangover, which means that she remains on the mattress, unaware of her alarm going off, and missing the hours in which she usually goes on her morning run. Spring is dovetailing quickly towards the summer, but given the waters are still cold, and the weather largely rainy, she is once again denied her ocean, and its familiar, dangerous comforts.

She does manage to crawl out of bed eventually, wandering towards the kitchen half-dressed; underwear and a large, comfortable sweater that nearly reaches her knees. It's absolutely hideous - one of Alexander's, clearly, her hair a dark chocolate storm of waves and tangles that have spilled on her shoulders and back. There are fuzzy slippers on her feet, and they shuffle across the floor, hands blindly attempting to look for the things she needs to resuscitate her into a state more alive than she presently is. A groan leaves her, now and then. Headache, check, aching muscles, check, all reminding her of her wilder days in college when drinking until dawn is a life skill that she was determined to learn.

"Miaow?" Blue Bell inquires, somewhere by her feet.

"Yes, princess, it was a very late night," she grouses softly.

"Miaow."

"Oh my god, I know. Stop yelling at me."

"She's not yelling at you," Alexander points out, with a weary sort of amusement. He's in the kitchen, and hey look, there's a mug of coffee being poured for her, and he's sliced up some cheese to put on crackers to help with settling her stomach. It's on a small plate beside the mug. And the capper? A bottle of headache pills right next to both those things. Alexander is leaning against the counter, watching her shuffle forward with amusement. "Someone had an entertaining evening, I can see." And Alexander must have as well, for certain values of 'entertaining': aside from his usual exhaustion, his face is peppered with small cuts and a few deeper gouges, all of which have been patted with antiseptic and cleaned already.

"It sounds llke she's yelling at me," Isabella grouses, lifting a hand to rub her eyes in an attempt to banish the cloud of sleep clotting them. "I don't know what it is about hangovers that seems to amplify sound to unbearable pitches. Not you, though. Never you, your voice is lovely." The scent of coffee catches up to her, perking her up with the sheer promise of caffeine alone; and even better, caffeine she doesn't have to prepare herself. She lowers her fingers so as she can glimpse the plate he's preparing for her, her expression softening. "Oh, god," she groans, her hand pressing to her heart as she approaches. "I love you more than life, Alexander Clayton, please tell me that's for m-- "

The closer she gets, the more awake she becomes, the clearer his injuries become, and she halts from expressing her adoration, alarm settling in instead. "Your face!" she exclaims, reaching for him, lift fingers moving to the sides of said face. "Is this why you weren't home last night? What happened?"

"You're probably the only person in all of the Harbor who would call my voice 'lovely', much less when you're hungover," Alexander says, although he is trying to speak quietly rather than aggravate her headache. "It's yours," he starts to say, and then she gets alarmed, and he blinks a couple of times, before leaning into the hands framing his face. "It's fine, Isabella. I'm okay. Just a little shattered glass. We got caught in a Dream. Afterwards, I needed to get some things treated, and I didn't want to mess up your enjoyable evening, so I just handled it. Sorry that I didn't make the opening, but I hear it went well?" The lilt of his voice makes it clear that he's not really THAT sorry - parties and Alexanders do not mix.

"I've heard you sing, I'm not that far off the mark," Isabella replies, though this is absent considering she's still inspecting his face and the state of it, her thumbs rolling gently against his cheekbones and frowning as she takes in all the cuts and miscellaneous injuries. None are terrible, from what she could see, but the news that he had been ensnared by a Dream again tightens her sleepy expression. For a while, she says nothing, just watching his eyes, his handsome but haggard profile before she leans in to press her lips against his forehead, the bridge of his nose, and then his mouth. All done briefly, and lightly.

"The casino opening went well, save for an elevator full of cutthroat trout that managed to flip their way back into the ocean," she tells him. "Who's we? And while it's sweet of you to let me go and enjoy myself, I don't care what I'm doing at the time, if you've been touched by any of this, call me. You told me once that you'd rather be there for me than not, the same applies to you. Was it bad?"

Alexander leans into the kisses, his eyes closing as he returns the one on his mouth. His hands come up to stroke her back. A reassurance, although it's hard to say who it's for. "You're biased," he accused her, gently, regarding the quality of his singing voice. "Thorne, Lilith, and I. It was bad enough," he admits, slowly. "And afterwards, if I'm honest, I just didn't want to talk about anything for a while. So I walked for a bit. But truly, it's nothing to worry yourself over, Isabella. Just the town being an asshole at us." One corner of his mouth turns up. "It does that a lot."

He presses his body lightly into hers, so that he can reach past her, and pick up the coffee mug. He carefully brings it back, to offer to her - but not before taking a playful sip of it, himself. "So, tell me about the fish. That sounds very wet and floppy. Did people scream?"

"That doesn't necessarily invalidate my opinion," Isabella returns, a brief smile pressed on his return kiss - distractions are what they are when he reaches for her. Arms curl loosely around his shoulders as broader hands creep up her spine, strafing over the sleek line of it and soothing away the knots present there. But all amusement dies when he hints at what happened. "Was it the House or something else?" Hints of frustration there, but not without heat - didn't she tell Lilith not to get anywhere near Oak? But the lack of real ire there is mollified by the fact that it would be hypocritical now. She is the last person to chastise anyone for diving into a chasm without a parachute despite all warning. "And I know, but really, I'm going to worry about you anyway, so if there's anything that's concerning you, or bothering you, I'm here if you need to talk about it." She runs her fingers gently through his midnight curls. "Okay?"

She reaches up to the offered coffee, taking a grateful sip. "Well, more like exclamations of disgust. Itzhak got the worst of it," she tells him. "Ronnie wasn't happy, you know how he gets when the town's being the town in the middle of one of his endeavors." After another sip or two, or three, she offers the mug back to Alexander - willing, even in the hour of her greatest need, to share what she has with him. "I saw Erin - apparently she got engaged when we weren't looking." She lowers her voice. "To Andi's ex-husband."

"Mm. Well, maybe not," Alexander concedes, although there's a sheepish sort of smile beneath it. He'd never admit it out loud, but it's clear he enjoys the praise of his singing voice, deserved or not. "It was the House," he admits. "I don't want to talk in detail about it. I know how Thorne would prefer none of us knew anything about...well, about anything about him, if we're honest. But I do try to honor that where I can without him dying." A pause. "It wasn't particularly physical, this time. The glass was incidental."

His expression softens. "I'm glad that he got to have the Casino opening, though, even if there were unexpected fish. And did you enjoy it? If Itzhak was there, I imagine it was a fun time." He accepts the offered mug, cooties and all, takes a sip, then hands it back to her. "The mechanic? Huh." A long pause. "Well, that's a bit unexpected, but if they're happy, then I hardly have any reason to judge."

Once Alexander confirms it's about the house, Isabella nods. "You needn't explain," she confirms, quietly. "I know how Byron feels about the house and...his childhood." His father, and to some extent, his mother. Not that the man has ever confided in her about those aspects of his life, but this is a picture cobbled together from her shared experiences with him - their childhood together and word from Alexander and Lilith both. She cares deeply enough about Byron Thorne not to tread carelessly in those waters unless specifically invited. Meeting his eyes, she posits, quietly, "I'll check on him and Lil later, he said he wanted to talk to me anyway. Are you alright? The lack of physical injuries isn't exactly all that reassuring." It's the emotional and psychological wounds that cut the deepest.

She cradles the mug when it's passed back to her, taking another drink. "I did - Lilith wants another girl's night there, and it was wonderful to see Erin. Eleanor was there, too, with August. I extended our congratulations, we haven't seen her in a while. She blushed." She grins at him cheekily, ever prideful of her innate ability to make anyone show color. "And it was...Itzhak did yell at August, though. Presumably because of...well." Her expression turns sheepish. "You know why. But yeah, honestly, I can't begrudge Erin's happiness - she's been through plenty, and I trust that Jack wasn't having an easy time of it either after Andi was killed. They went to your birthday party together, I'm glad that they can bolster one another up. Though...with so many weddings coming up, this is your chance to inevitably become everyone's favorite uncle. I say start hammering out generous babysitting rates immediately."

"I should have--" Alexander bites off the words before he can complete the sentence, but they still hang there in the air, somehow, unsaid but still easily heard: done something." His arms tighten on her, briefly. "But yeah. I definitely think you should. He needs to talk to friends, even if it's not about anything. Just having friends helps to ground you. Remind you that you're alive and that's good." A faint smile. "And good for Itzhak. He's a man of sense and intelligence. You and August have plenty of the latter, at least." He says nothing about the former.

Her last quip makes him chuckle. "Nobody wants me watching their kids, Isabella. Even if it's not that I'm broken, it's far too easy for me to get--caught up in Dreams or whatever. Those aren't fun for a kid." He kisses her forehead. "But you're right. People should take happiness where they can get it. I'm glad she has some; she deserves it. And Jack seemed like a good man, the few times I've talked to him. He's very adamant about not wanting to know about the weird."

Sympathy fills her eyes at the bitten-off statement, her fingers absently stroking the back of his neck - all she can do, when they need at least one hand free to pass the mug back and forth. "I know," Isabella tells him softly. She understands it, the guilt of it - the reflection of inaction and the past regrets associated with them. "I won't say that there's nothing you could have done, because I don't know that. You've been fighting this since you were eleven, I'm not in any position to speculate what you were capable of even then. I'm sorry that it hurts...I wish I knew what to do to counter it." Tell me what I can do for you, it's in her eyes at least, the lessons from the last Winter are those that she has learned well, at least, when it came to the state of the heart that belongs to the one she loves so deeply.

She offers him another sip of his mug, unwilling to have him relinquish his grip on her, before taking up another. "Do you think it's always a proximity thing?" she wonders, curiously. "Dragging other people in a Dream, I mean." The way she asks the question is indicative of doubt, but they know so little about them that it's understandable.

Lashes shutter at his kiss, and she leans against him then, her cheek finding the curve of his shoulder, somewhere underneath his jaw. "I think that helps," she tells him. "After the Summer, I know Erin is unhesitating in her involvement, but I think she needs the anchor, too." There's a pause, before she turns her head to nuzzle absently at his cheek. "Oddly enough I didn't see Kate Kennedy there, didn't she help broker the casino deal?"

"I don't think there's anything anyone can do," Alexander says, quietly. "What's done is done." He leans into the touch of her fingers, even as he takes the mug, takes a sip, passes it back. "I just have to try to do better." A pause. "Not that Byron needs...he's a grown man, not a six year old. But he's a good kid. I just want him to have the life he should be able to have, and not let this town fuck it up for him."

"Sometimes I think it is. Some of the dreams have clearly grabbed whoever happened to be in an area. Some are more targeted. It's hard to work out any sort of universal logic. Maybe there are different ones of Them, and they all have their own preferences." He grimaces. "And maybe Miss Kennedy decided she didn't want to be there. Either because she had work, or," he clears his throat, "well, I assume Easton was there? Perhaps she considered discretion to be the better part of valor." A wan sort of smile, then.

"You are doing better," Isabella reminds, sunkissed fingers delicately tracing the side of his face, and the rugged contours present there, watching him with velvet-soft eyes - there is concern, yes, but there's no pity and the words uttered are devoid of mollification. Objectively, he is. Her smile turns up, faintly and ruefully. "Though I acknowledge that self-betterment is a continuous and lifelong process, I'm not suggesting at all that you should stop. Rome wasn't built in a day." There is a pause, and adds, because she can't help herself: "It actually started out as a small town in 753 BC and finished at the end of 300 CE, so it really took over a thousand years for the city we know as Rome to be built, and even longer than that if we're talking about the empire, but my point is, it's a continuous process but that doesn't mean you shouldn't acknowledge the small triumphs as they come." She presses a kiss on his mouth. "Byron's not helpless, either - if anything, he's succeeding in ways we all thought he would."

She furrows her brows; as always, his opinions on such matters are those she listens to. "I should probably try and look into that some more - as I told Anne before, if we can figure out people are being brought in, there might be a way to push them back out. Wishful thinking, maybe, but we won't know unless we try. As for Kate..." She thinks. "Well, Easton was there, but so was Bennie. She looked absolutely smashing, by the way - some glittery silver thing with a neckline that goes down to her navel." Definitely not the archaeologist's style, who often prefers more modest cuts. "In retrospect, it's probably a good thing that she didn't attend."

"I suppose," Alexander says, his brow furrowing as if he'd like to disagree, but can't quite marshall an argument that he feels would be compelling. He turns his head to nuzzle her fingers, instead, and smiles. "And have I told you lately how sexy it is when you talk history? If you weren't clearly overwhelmed from your night on the town, I'd be tempted to drag you off and ask you to tell me more about the founding of Rome." It's light and teasing, but also a bit deflecting, like he doesn't want to delve into his own self-improvement.

"And I know he's not," Alexander says, softly. "At least, my head knows. The rest of me is soft and a little crazy." He leans forward so that he can gently bonk his forehead into his own. "Head is hard, though." A low chuckle. "You should. It would be useful; anything that we can learn about how people are really chosen for being lost." There's a pause. "You should know. I've agreed to take Kelly and his girl, Nicole, over to try and meet the Exorcist. He had some questions he wanted to ask her about ghosts. Dunno if they'll make an appointment for me, but I'm gonna see."

"You're trying to change the subject," Isabella murmurs, because she knows him, her hand turning and her fingers opening in a loose splay when cheek and mouth find the inside of her palm, cradling the side of his face. "But no, not lately, and thankfully, I'll never be tired of hearing it and I know very well that you have your ways of chasing headaches away faster. I certainly can't do it myself." She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, setting aside the cup of coffee, halfway drained, to wrap her arms around his neck again. She'll let it slide, for now - as far as she knows, he's not in any danger; there's no need to stomp all over his boundaries like she normally does when she's desperate. That, and she's in no state to make a really good showing of it.

"I don't know about that, save for your heart, there's nothing soft about you." Said affectionately, but also dryly, remembering the time she broke her ribs landing on him. "And I happen to like a little crazy." She laughs at the forehead bump, turning her face and nuzzling the line of his jaw gently, teasing the bristles there with the warmth and softness of her. "I have an idea, but I have to get in touch with the right someone. I'm still catching up on the things I missed though, this week, certainly. August and I are trying to figure out what to tackle in our next exploration run. The church, I think. That's what Anne suggested before her hiatus."

She pauses at the last, before she lifts her eyes to look at him. "Do you want me to help with that?" she wonders. "I know how to use the other side's mailroom. I don't have to come with you if you don't want, but the least I can do is help you set an appointment."

Alexander grins without shame when she catches him out, and his eyes glitter a bit in their depths at her dry observation. "You're saying I'm mad, bad, and dangerous to know, then?" He nuzzles her back, his lips warmed from the coffee they've been sharing as they graze her skin. "Just don't go exploring - or over there at all, if you can help it - until you're back in shape." He reaches out and DOINK pokes her forehead, to make it clear what he means about back in shape.

"And, no, it's fine. I think I can manage this - the Exorcist is, for all her iracsibility, actually one of the more approachable of them. And I should verify that I can. If I can't, then I'll reach out to you. Although..." he hums to himself. "You know, you might consider asking Byron to help you talk to the Archivist. Maybe he knows something about what the fuck our two escapees have been up to, and what they've done to you. Maybe with a couple of the other Bad Decision Brigade."

Isabella's green-and-gold eyes glitter with mirth she doesn't bother to repress, though lashes are low and heavy at their close proximity; it does absolutely nothing but highlight her more wicked and feline expressions, turning her face and giving him the room when he returns the gesture, and laughs softly when he tickles her with his scruff, squirming in his grip. "I am saying you're mad, bad and dangerous to know, and you know what? I'm definitely into it." The gentle poke at her forehead earns him a long-suffering look. "Alright, alright," she grumbles. "I've been monitoring it - I think it's improving. See?" It's been a few days, and while there seems to be some visible improvement, it's a slow and gradual process.

She furrows her brows, thinking back to the Archivist. "I'll bring it up with Byron when I finally talk to him," she tells him. "Like I said, he needs to have a conversation with me, and it's not a bad idea - I think I'll bring Hyacinth, I think she wants to ask the Archivist about Thomas." She chews softly on her bottom lip, as if reminded. "Maybe bringing her might shed some light about the House also." On the other side.

Alexander grins against her skin, and lightly bites before letting her squirm free. "You like to live dangerously. It's a concerning trait, Dr. Reede."

He takes a couple of steps back to lean against the kitchen counter. "Mm," he says, a bit noncommittal as he scans her. "Maybe. But be careful, all right? Actually careful. Not Isabella-careful. Which isn't careful at all." There's a nod. "And that's not a bad idea. We still have to do that. Maybe after we go to the Asylum. We might find something that gives us an idea of what to look for." He glances away at the mention of Thomas, his expression going a bit pinched and guilty. "I just wanted to help him. Sometimes I wonder if we shouldn't have let the Asylum take him, though. Maybe they could have done something that didn't...break him. I think he tried to be a good man. In his way."

"Unfair," she murmurs at the little bite - except that how he's pulling away. "What, no. No. Come back here," Isabella laughs, the balls of her feet tilting her into him, because she doesn't let go and he ends up d r a a a a g g i n g her towards the counter at his wake. It's like having a Jack Russel terrier grab her human by the ankle, if she could reach him around the neck.

There is no such thing as Isabella-careful. She is self-aware enough to know it, and she looks briefly flabbergasted at him. "Is that a real word? A new oxymoron?" she teases, though now that the conversation is easing further towards things that need to happen, she tilts her head back, eyes trained to the ceiling as she thinks. "I think one thing at a time, if we start thinking of ways to tackle everything all at once, our heads might actually explode," she observes dryly. "It might mean re-circling towards our efforts into seeing if Patrick will allow us access to the Addington House for investigations - I mean, there's really only two things Margaret could be talking about when she mentions the House, right?" Her current residence, and the family's old residence. She's trying not to overthink that too much.

The pinched, guilty look draws her face closer to press her mouth softly on his cheek. "From what Joe told us, the Vivisectionist was involved in its operations, doing gods-know-what to the patients there," she reminds gently. "I refuse to believe relinquishing anyone to her custody or even easy access would be good for anyone. She was an amoral murderess who ground up people like us to create toys." And I'm glad I killed her, words she doesn't say, but are clearly in her eyes. Her jaw works, in an attempt to loosen the sudden tension there, before she sighs. "Don't drive yourself crazy over the things you think you should have done," she opines quietly. "You did your best, Alexander, with what you were given. If people weren't so stingy about giving and sharing, maybe things would've turned out differently, but they didn't...that is not any fault of yours."

"Oh, he said he's fine with it. Patrick." Alexander grins at her quip. "I mean, he's not FINE with it, and I'm pretty sure he's already written up the condolences for if the House eats us. But he said we could." He clears his throat, delicately. "I...have you heard from Anne? At all? I'd suggest inviting her, but it feels like she got very badly shaken. I thought she'd recover, but maybe--well. Either way."

His cheek shifts under her lips as he grimaces at the mention of the Vivisectionist. "I'm sorry that you had to kill her, Isabella, but I don't...I'm not sorry that she's dead, and I think the world is better off without her." His expression softens further as she reassures him. "...thank you. I know that's mostly true. But it helps to hear it, sometimes." He slumps against the counter. "Especially in that case. Everyone lost so much, such...valuable things to them." He shakes his head. "Sometimes I go back and think that it wasn't worth it, because Thomas was lost either way. I know that's not true. I think I do. But I still feel it, sometimes."

"He did?" Isabella blinks, before she groans softly and she reaches down in an attempt to tickle his ribs. "You could have told me." There's a laugh, which fades when Alexander asks about Anne. "She left me a message a while back and told me that she wants to talk about it, but she needs time. I haven't heard from her since." She hesitates, before continuing, "I didn't want to push her too hard, I...I do want to know what happened, but at the same time I don't want to pry her open if she's not ready. If it's bad enough to dissuade her from something she was clearly so passionate about." But the look of her is clearly conflicted there, her earlier light expression twisting into worried knots.

Trust her lover to say out loud the things she cannot - the things most people can't, really, and she turns her eyes sideways. "I know," she tells him quietly. "I'm not, either. I did what I had to and even...even if Lilith or me hadn't been in any direct danger, I might've, still." She isn't sure how to feel about that, that she can decide so easily who lives or dies when the necessity asserts itself, but she pushes all of that down, looking up to meet his eyes.

Her arms reach for him when he slumps, in an attempt to gather up his broader frame within them. "It's alright," she murmurs. "The human heart is messy, it's easier to be more objective when you're divorced from all of it, but when you're right in the middle of it, it's difficult to look over the hedge." She smoothes his hair back with her fingers. "Feelings don't have to be rational for them to feel real to someone. I've been trying to...be more...empathetic in that regard. Sometimes it's hard, but...the lessons we came away with were so hard-won, I feel like I wouldn't be doing our struggles justice if I didn't acknowledge that, even a little."

Alexander doesn't try to stop her from tickling, but he does squirm helplessly when her fingers find his ribs through his t-shirt. "Augh! Evil woman, unhand me!" There's chuckling and then? Revenge as he counterstrikes with his own tickle offensive. "So don't talk about Veil shit," he suggests. "Take her out for lunch or to the Historical Society or something, and just...see how she's doing, maybe? I don't think we should try to change her mind, necessarily. But even if she never wants to touch things again, she should still have friends. She seemed kind of lonely, to me." A pause. "And let's face it, Patrick should not be anyone's main social contact."

Pot? The kettle called to remark on your beautiful onyx shade. Alexander seems oblivious to this. He doesn't seem shocked or unhappy about her confession; he just nods, simply. "She was killing people. A lot of people. Torturing people. Such people should not exist. And if they must, then they should be in jail - but I don't think the Veil has any sort of...laws? Justice? So you have to make it for yourself." To the last, he only smiles. "Feelings are hard. A simple truth, and yet also one of the most difficult to really let yourself belief."

"Never!" Isabella declares gamely as she laughs, before a small shriek escapes her when he counters. The suggestion, though, earns him a blink, before she reaches up to actually palm her face. "I'm an idiot," she mutters. "It's like work absolutely obliterated any ability on my part to be an actual person." She presses her lips on his cheek again, with an exaggerated smack. "You're a brilliant, beautiful, sexy man. And touche about that point regarding Patrick. I'll see if I can get together with her soon."

His remarks about law in the Veil draws a resigned expression on her features. "We already have to contend with something called the Asylum," she begins, slowly. "I'm not sure if I'm ready for anything that constitutes a Veil prison." He can practically see it, horrific visions of some dark facility espousing nothing but hours of torture and torment; bodies stretched out on the racks, bars rattling under the weight of some of the worst monsters conjured by the human imagination, and patrolled by wardens who are just as beastly. Despite herself, a shiver passes down her spine.

...still, maybe, better than talking about feelings, but she is trying and so she smiles. "They are. At least we can try and connect through them, with words, even without..." She touches her temple lightly with her fingers. "Even if I'm less equipped, than most." She gives him a squeeze. "I'll let you know how Anne's doing when I see her, okay? And speaking of Addington House, I was thinking of taking another tour, there, during the town's anniversary."

"You are many things, Isabella Reede, but never an idiot. Just focused," Alexander says, a smile playing over his lips. "Brilliant, impetuous, fierce, focused." He chuckles at the exaggerated smack on the cheek. "And I'm glad. Do let me know how she's doing. I know she was in the hospital a while go. She and Patrick both, although she seemed to take the worst of it." He grimaces. "Gray Harbor doesn't give up on people, even when they'd really like it to."

"I think I would like to see it," Alexander murmurs regarding a Veil prison. His expression is thoughtful, rather than dismayed. "Do they even acknowledge a 'crime'? The Exorcist punished Margaret for breaking souls, but she had to do that on her own, I think. I don't know that there was an authority, or a law that says people shouldn't. I think people just...shouldn't."

There's a thoughtful sound. "A tour could be interesting. It'll probably be pretty popular, with the anniversary, but if you want an escort, I'm happy to be one."

"The first letter of my name stands for the same one for idiot," Isabella groans, not just to be contrary but because she's mortified that she had to be reminded how to be a proper friend. And every complimentary word he gives her is punctuated by a kiss on that same cheek. Mwah. Mwah. "And I suppose there's something to be said about tenacity, but I'm not sure I'm all that in favor of this town sharing the same stubbornness we all seem to. Also is this the point in our daily conversation when I tell you how absurdly biased you are? Because you are. Biased. So biased."

She makes a quiet noise when he confesses that he would like to see a Veil prison, because "Of course you would say that," she murmurs, the look of her fondly exasperated, but there's a faint smile for him regardless. And when reminded that the Exorcist took the option away from Margaret to have children, she grimaces visibly. "I think our takeaway from that story should be that the denizens of the Veil are not above settling their grievances in painful and permanent ways," she tells him simply. "But I don't think there are laws but the ones they make up - dangerous, I think, given the lack of checks and balances, if they are declared and executed arbitrarily."

His offerance to be an escort has her flashing him a brilliant smile. "I wouldn't have it any other way," she tells him, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him soundly. "Should I make it official? Alexander Clayton, will you Scooby Doo with me and investigate a haunted house where the bad guys are probably actual ghosts who aren't wearing masks and we'll probably be on our own without any assistance from famous celebrities in the 1970s?"

Alexander reaches out and bops Isabella gently on the forehead. "Hey. That's my girlfriend you're talking about. Be civil. And maybe I am biased, but I'm okay with that." He smiles, and it only grows wider at her fond exasperation. "They're all very dangerous," he agrees, with a shrug. "But that's just something we have to figure out how to deal with. I will say," he breathes out a huff of air. "I don't like feeling helpless, and I've felt a lot like that, lately. Especially with Alice. There are very few people who can make me feel that way, when it comes to my abilities, but she does it." His jaw sets. "I have to get stronger. Or more refined. Something."

But the arms and the kiss chase away the darker turn of his expression, and he kisses her with enthusiasm. "We'll see. If work doesn't interfere, I will be happy to be the Shaggy to your Velma." Of course he considers Velma the more attractive of the two Scooby women.

Isabella's expression gentles at that - nobody likes feeling helpless, but for some reason, out of all of her acquaintances and relations, it is Alexander who feels it more acutely. It's either he does, or he is the only one she is close to who exhibits this same freedom of expressing it. After he bops her gently on the forehead, she squeezes her arms around him then, her expression a sympathetic one. "If she was tweaked, plucked and experimented on while she was in the Asylum to get that way, it isn't your fault that she grew stronger in the face of that trauma, and honestly, considering what you've already been through - if that's what it takes to be stronger? I wouldn't want you subjected to that." She presses another kiss on his lips. "Maybe it's not the size of the power, but how you use it, Alexander." She hopes so, anyway. "I'd elect for finesse, definitely."

He'd feel her smile under his enthusiastic mouth; it doesn't take much to kindle her hunger - she doesn't care if it's still the early morning, and she's done nothing but flavor her tongue with coffee. "You know, I never considered Shaggy sexy before but now that you're putting it that way..." Mischief plays over her features when she tangles her fingers freely in his dark curls. "I think you could convince me with a little positive reinforcement."

Alexander grunts. "It's not...it's not necessarily that. It's not that she's more powerful than me, exactly. It's that she is, and she's willing to use it to hurt people I care about. Or just people in general. And I don't know that I can stop her. I'm afraid to try." Then he takes a deep breath, and smiles between kisses. "But I'll figure it out. In the mean time, I would be delighted to work on my persuasive skills. And if I can make you say 'Jenkies', well. That's all the better, isn't it?"

He grins and waggles his brows at her in a parody of a come-hither leer.

I'm afraid to try.

"You say that because you're out of the moment," Isabella points out to Alexander quietly. "There's no urgent situation happening in front of you, no adrenaline getting your blood up." Her eyes flicker, remembering the Dream that afforded her that first glimpse of Zachary, the memory that she couldn't kill, no matter how much she wishes the death to be permanent. How Byron managed to pull him out of his fugue, and how he launched himself at the angel with his face in defense of her while the preacher watched. "If there's anything I don't doubt about you, other than the fact that you love me, it's your ability to fight when things truly come down the wire." Said with not just confidence, and trust, but conviction also, based on multiple deadly experiences when she's had to witness him fight, or be there for him in the aftermath. She knows this, and has to believe it, deep within the well of her marrow.

But at his grin, and the wiggling of his brows, she laughs, pressing another kiss into him. "You meant now, right? Because I missed my morning run, and I could use the exercise."