2020-06-21 - So You Were Right. I won't Tell if You Won't.

There is a knock at the door.
It's back.

Alexander is in his office, poring over the internet. Hunched down and intent, he wouldn't hear the knock - except that when it comes, the conure in his cage immediately starts to shriek with indignation. Alexander reaches out to touch its mind by instinct, and then stands to go the door. He's dressed like he went out today: a button down shirt and semi-pressed slacks, although he's kicked off his shoes and is walking around in socks. He opens the door and looks out, his brow furrowing. "Grant Baxter." A pause. "Hello."

Grant stands with that wandering casualness that might be latent energy or just being prepared to amscray, or maybe he was wandering around Elm and got lost. Again. He's dressed in his usual fare of slacker gear. Pointing up with the hand that's not wrapped in the soft cast he informs, "Bright out." as in it's not something in the middle of the night. He checked this time. the Hullo pulls a smile and relaxes the tension a bit "Hey. You, uhhhh, got a few?"

Alexander's eyes drift to the hand that's raised, then to the other hand. Which is in a cast. His eyebrows rise, and he steps back and opens the door. "It is bright out. Yes. What happened?" He waves Grant towards the couch, which is currently occupied by a sleepy white cat. "Would you like something to drink? I have water." For all that he still seems a little bewildered that Grant is here, there's no hostility in Alexander's tone or offer.

Grant blinks and turns halfway around at the torso to look behind him and back. Good fingers circle the cast and he says in all earnest intent to be helpful. "Well.. the... Earth turns man. It's a day cycle now. It's day now. We're just facing the sun. It's all good. I checked." In case. He wanders in, pausing to wipe his feet, and then follows with a grin to the cat. Instead of sitting on the couch he crouches in front of it to let the cat sniff his hand, or take the good one off, or whatever it needs to do to give permission for head scritches.

"I, uh, wanted to say thank you for the other night. The advice?" Taking a deep breath he looks up calm with a nod, "Vyv and I talked and shit got sorted out. which I probably would have avoided if you didn't say go, ya know, do the thing. So." He pauses to see if there's an y other non-sequitur but related words to this thought to come out. Nope. "Thanks. Also was wondering if you knew where to by a second hand used stove or find one someone ain't using that won't smelt easily." There's a pause and his bandaged hand tries to hold up one finger but they're sort of bandages together in a bunch. "Unrelated."

Alexander turns, and checks outside the windows. "Seems to be that way, most of the time," he says, agreeably. He's not weirded out by the need to clarify that basic information - it's Gray Harbor, after all, and look, it never hurts to make sure. He smiles, though, just a little as he adds, "Thanks. For coming in the daytime. You're welcome whenever, but daytime is nice." Blue Bell sniffs the offered hand with the solemn dignity of the princess she is, and then head butts his fingers, imperiously.

There's a blink and pause at the next words. "You're welcome." Another long pause. "Vydal is your lover?" He turns and gives Grant in all his Grantness a long, thoughtful look. "Huh. Wouldn't have seen that one coming." Then he goes to make water, assuming that no answer means 'yes please'. He returns with the glass in time to see Grant hold up his finger. "Yeah. There are a few junkyards I use when I need new parts for things like that. What does the stove need? A new heating element, or a connector, or...?" He eyes the bandages. "What happened?" he asks, again, this time with extra wariness.

Grant sort of seems relived, in a reversal of roles, not to be treated as weird at arm's length for the manner in answering these questions. Sometimes info comes out of order. Everyone's got their process. There's noises and he looks up to watch Alexander to get all the things in the gaps of info he might miss. He's distractable but contextual agreement he's got on lockdown.

At the boggle and the look Grant looks up, then behind him, and back blinking. "Yeah it's..." weird. He furrows his brow and bites the inside of his cheek curiously. "We kinda bonded over art, and... how people kinda ignore the now for fabricated bullshit. I know, eeeh," his hand wobbles in the soft cast, "he can be a little intense, but, like, people who care about things usually are." Like the two in this room right now. Helpfully he adds, "If you read between the bitching he is really passionate about finding ways to bring joy into the world and making people see things differently. But with food. it's neat. We're figuring things out." Fun facts he's a bit proud of in all honesty.

When the glass comes back he takes it and the question makes him slow to total hesitation to answer it. Ina sheepish and apologetic tone he answers, "It needs the...stove part of the stove." One eye squints with a lip bite. "If it helps the hand is unrelated?" The hopeful inflection stuck on the end of that sustenance.

Alexander listens to all of this with a solemn expression. An almost hungry one: data is required to update his mental lexicon of the world, and he's eager to acquire it. But, at the end, he does nod. "I'm glad. That you two bonded. It's nice to have someone who understands a bit of the things most people don't." The faintest of smiles, and a glance towards the bedroom, even though Isabella is currently out.

Now, the stove information is received with a bit more skepticism. He hesitates, then signs, You need a new stove? Those are expensive. A pause. Let me take a look at it? Maybe there's a component that can be fixed that we can get. Then a glance at the hand. What happened? he asks, for the third time, and it's just got this patient repetition that comes through even in sign, like he can happily ask that question FOREVER until he gets an answer he considers sufficient.

Grant tries his best to start and stop and start to describe what happened. Sighing he gets out his phone and shows Alexander his text thread (from a safe place) and starting with the picture of what was a stove top that needed cleaning to a pot melted down into slag. The worried look is priceless as he voices in ultimate understatement, "I think it needs a burner..." And the rest of the range and who knows what else. The offer to look at it is more hopeful at least. "I walked. I don't have a car but it's not.... I live just down teh street at the park. Um, trailers, not swings." The other one. Specificity counts for a lot.

"Jesus Christ," Alexander says, looking at the picture of the stovetop. "How did you even--" a pause. "Never mind. It's obviously possible. But, yeah. A burner at least. You okay?" A glance back to Grant, and he signs the question after he says it, adding, you breathe any of it in? Feel dizzy, sick, anything? He stands up, although keeps an eye on Grant for his answer, and switches back to voice. "I walk everywhere. The trailer park is fine. I go down there sometimes." He doesn't mention that it's usually to harass criminals.

Grant should be surprised he's never had his door rattled but it's probably for the best. He watches, worrying his lip with his teeth as Alexander has the same reaction printed on the screen: How. With a deep breath and a fall of his shoulders he laments tiredly, "Fuuuuck if I know, c- man." There. saved. He's ... working on that. "Like... it's Gray Harbor. This shit just happens."

There is a pause and his wrapped hand wobbles kinda. "Well I was there when it happened and had to put the fires out." plural. "Get the windows open and stuff." Pausing he adds "I had a bandanna over my face." Which is as effective as saying 'I didn't look directly at it so it wasn't real.' His hand signs, "Was feeling pretty shitty. Sparrow hooked me up. Doing better. Just weird headache but I'm not coughing up blood or anything. That I am aware of."

Solidarity in walking. He might chalk that up to a Baxter thing too. His sister might slap him with a book for it. Signing with a speech impediment he answers, "Hand got hurt being pulled into a black hole with the Spaceman. We went past time. Did you know forever and instant are the same as right now? But them the book spat us out and tried to eat the world and all of time so Lyric, Vyv? BOOM! book. Pieces. Caught it. 23 stitches. Feels like bad."

There's the flash of a smile on Alexander's lined and oddly intense features. "To hold infinity in the palm of your hand, and eternity in an hour," is all he says in response to the explanation. "I imagine that would hurt. If you need someone to look at it, let me know." He eyes the hand, warily, then adds, in sign, And don't breathe shit in like that. A bandanna doesn't help very much. He no longer needs a jacket - in fact, a jacket is contra-indicated for the humidity. But he grabs his old green one anyway, donning it more like armor than clothing, then opens the door. "Lead on, Mister Baxter." But the formality has something that might actually be teasing in it.

Grant wobbles his head in agreement and said "Well my paint masks were in the other room. I worked with what I had." He tried. There's a wry, easy grin signing, "Thank you Detective." Which as far as his pigeon signing goes is the same as PI really. "Trust me you work wit enough spraypaint you figure it out." There's a pause and he offers, "Yeah Vyv tried to take a bash at it and it didn't mend like my arm did when we were fighting off the city rebellion. It doesn't feel like it's infected tho? So maybe it worked. Maybe... maybe I dunno."

The walk down the street is not glorious but it's humble and familiar even if it's run down. Grant never needed fancy to feel better, just real. Something about urban chic and broken concrete sings to the graffiti artist that spends most of his summer with chalk refacing (thanyouverymuch) public property between the broken cracks. All the usual places are there. He, however, heads to Greg's trailer he cohabitates where the windows are still propped open. The door is not locked and the place looks about as orderly as one would expect. That's not to say it's a sty. Daisy does what Daisy can so at least there's nothing growing funny.

Alexander considers that, and nods. Sorry, he signs. I know you're an adult. I shouldn't act like you aren't. It's a very serious apology, coming from a man who, perhaps, gets more than his fair share of being treated like he's not all there, himself. He slouches along beside Grant, his eyes scanning the horizon anytime Grant's hands aren't moving, watching for anything out of the ordinary. As they get closer to the trailer park, the looks directed at Alexander get less neutral and more suspicious/outright unfriendly. Although he seems to ignore this, or at least not react to it.

There's a twitch of his eyebrows when the trailer proves to not be locked, and a more noticeable one when they step inside. Alexander's place has the neatness that speaks to a certain obsessiveness of nature, so the clutter is stared at. His fingers twitch with the urge to start picking things up and putting them away. But he doesn't give in, instead moving towards the kitchen and the stove. "Wow," he says, after a moment, deadpan.

Grant arches an eyebrow and shrugs, "If you didn't care you wouldn't say something so... I mean, I appreciate it." His posture does shift with the apology more relaxed. There's at lest one person Grant doesn't look at but does jovially give the middle finger to as he plods along with that bite my ass, cockmunch smile. He can snark back, he just doesn't dedicate his lifestyle to it.

Looking around he closes the tap to stop the drip and holds his hands up like, whelp. "Yeah I'm good with carpentry. Just don't have like a background in appliances soooo Kinda just wasn't interested in blowing up or somethin trying to use it again." It's an electric range and enough that Grant tries to express "It feels...wrong." No he really doesn't have a better word for it.

"No, that makes sense," Alexander says, approvingly, as he moves in to examine the melted burner. "Appliances can be nasty. I'll take a look." He hums to himself as he tugs and pokes at things, muttering about what's probably salvagable, and what is, in his quiet words, 'burnt to fuck'. He takes apart the burner as well as he can with the...melted bits, and reaches out to stroke the parts he can't move. His eyes unfocus, and...well, things /repair/. They're only small repairs, just enough to let him pull the element free. He makes another couple of small repairs, only those things that absolutely would have to be replaced with a brand new part otherwise, and then stacks a small set of things off to the side. It takes a while, probably twenty minutes or so of his quiet muttering and shutting out the rest of the world.

Then he steps back and goes to the sink to wash all the soot, grease, and other things off his hands. "I think I have what's too expensive to replace fixed. And we can head down to the junkyard to get replacements for the element and some other things. Won't be pretty, but," he shrugs, "should heat up again. At the very least it won't explode on you. My word on that." A faint smile. "It's not too badly off."

Grant opens the fridge and pulls out a Dr. Pepper holding the first one out to Alexander. Hey, he can't cook for a damn (or receiving Vyv and the Health Dept.'s consent to try) but his hospitality is in tact. "Yeah, I know I'm born to luck. Trust me I feel blessed as fuck to survive that. It was scary as hell, dude." Okay his hearing's not always great.

He does open himself a soda and hops up to plant his ass on the counter to watch asking as they go, "That connected to the iginition switch?...This connected to something interior or..." He knows parts. He also knows he doesn't know stoves and is picking up what he can as he can. What he's never done is make metal repuddle and pull away from another surface.

Correction.

He's never done that on purpose for a constructive end.

Oops.

The news that they can salvage it? It's almost better really. "Sweet! I've always wanted to build an appliance. That is super funky. Sooo did we want to do that today or///? I mean I get you might have plans."

Alexander starts the first time Grant questions the purpose of a part, or a connection, his shoulders going defensive as he gives the younger man a sidelong look. But when he realizes that Grant isn't mocking him, he starts to explain each piece as best he can - most of his knowledge is from reading instruction manuals, although combined with his natural (or supernatural) ability to sense the wrong in things and put it, ever so slightly, right, it seems to serve well enough. He has to correct himself a couple of times after thinking about the situation, but soon has explained every part he knows, where it goes, and what it does. He adds, "I have some manuals. Different models, but for stuff like this, the components are mostly the same purpose. I do most my own repairs at home," he says, with the quiet pride of a man who has turned that into a point of strength rather than just an admission of poverty.

This time, when he smiles, it reaches his eyes and warms his face. "We can do it today, if you want. I don't have any particular plans. If you want."

Grant loves new information seems. Technically information, how things work together. Where Alexander loves playing social Rube Goldberg Device, Grant seems to be fixated on how things move, and what causes other things to happen, and generally how it works together. Where Alexander might try to find the catalyst and motive of the mousetrap? Well Grant would probably just want to find the beginning to ride it all the way down.

Both eyebrows go up and he holds up a finger and wades down the skinny hallway of the double wide to the room on that end. It's Greg's place so he gets the big big one at the other end. That's fair when you live pretty rent free. Coming back he has a book in hand he's thumbing through. He signs, cradling it with his bad arm, "Space motor manual." And as sure as he said so it's a manual about hyperdrives and rocket repair. "I borrowed it from that intergalactic library Isabella and I went to. In case I wind up on Serris Prime and they're like it's a human, just eat it. I can be like woah Xagog, I can fix that. I have a use I'm not food. And then maybe earn my way seeing cool new places around the universe."

This is his post-grad plan.

"Space motor manual?" Alexander echoes, his tone curious. A curiosity that only deepens into a visible hunger when Grant explains where it came from. He doesn't question Grant's post-grad plan. He joined a cult. Going to space is not, in his eyes, a worse option. He does point at the book, though. "Can I look at that for a moment? I will return it promptly." He licks his lips, then smiles. "I think traveling the universe and seeing all there is to offer would be a worthy way to spend one's life. Although your family and friends would miss you if you stayed gone."

Grant smiles so pleased to have the damn thing. It might not help him out on Earth, but hey, "Yeah I figure if Earth becomes non-viable? I'll have a good back up plan. Buuut" There's a grin that's trying not to be a grin, "Kiiiinda liking it around here a bit. I miss Space but... I like here. Besides, we're mid-revolution. I can't leave. Not yet. I mean..." The grin rests a lot easier than when he was in the waffle house at ground 0. "I mean... you were right about that too, sooooo. Thanks. Got me through a rough spot and ya know, things here are getting..." Words drift off as he wrinkles his nose, "uh, interesting."

"Revolution? What sort of revolution?" Alexander asks, dubiously. He studies the book a little longer, then leans back against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest to study Grant, instead. They're both given the same sort of look - intense and curious, and a little wary. As if either might decide to bite him unexpectedly. Even so, his cheeks turn visibly red. "Don't thank me," he mutters. "I don't like gratitude. I'm just happy it...worked out. Whatever you did, you did it. Not me." He looks down and away. "But if you're in a rough spot. You know where I live. And you have my number. I usually answer."

Grant bounces his heels against their shit-but-functional lower cabinet doors. "Well so on the Other Side," presumably the Veil. Everyone calls it a thing. His hands, good and bandaged, circle one another. "So like the other side I noticed like kinda...reflect not always exact but I find we're kinda connected? If that makes sense. But like I think the bad stuff is the Space Between's way of protecting itself like an ecosystem. Like, when we do really cool shit? I think sometimes it gets scared and reacts as best as it can to protect itself."

His eyes go up not with a lie but in trying to recall data. Hesitantly he stops and realizes Alexander's likely the last person to throw a stone and call him crazy and the concern is in his voice when he relays what happened on the 'Turtle'. "There was this curfew in this city a few of us got dragged to. Me, Aidan- turns out he's also a Baxter. Cool huh?- The suit dude - Thorne, uhhh Oh!! Itzhak was there. So anyways. this government prohibited self-expression like art in te city square...so naturally I painted it and helped the revolution. Turns out the City is oppressed and the City is alive Sooo came time to figure out what's going on."

Taking a deep breath he shrugs, "Half wanted to lobotomize the city, the other side wanted to kill it soooo I... might...have helped wake teh city up instead to ask Her to help people co-exist aaaaand she was a lil frightened. What we saw though was this galactic swirl she was trapped in. She's swimming in it. like worlds and cities do, and is dying. SO... we have to go liberate a giant space sea turtle and help relocate some folks. You know. So they ain't homeless." yeah totally normal shit.

Alexander nods, slowly. "Yes. The worlds are connected - an imperfect reflection, but an affinity all the same. You noticed." A pause. "Although what I end up doing usually is less 'cool' and more 'breaking the world one fuckup at a time'," he adds, bitter and soft, perhaps not really meant for Grant at all. But he shakes that off, and listens again.

He definitely does not call Grant crazy, and although his expression flickers through several different emotions throughout the story, not a one of them is disbelief, or mockery. "You, Aidan - I remember him, the magician - Thorne, and Itzhak." A blink. "That's an unusual grouping, although certainly versatile and effective in skill set." He makes a noncommital sound at the plight of the city (although there's a brief upward twitch of his lips at Grant's art revolution), and the decision Grant made. "That sounds like an enormous task. Assuming that it is a city that's filled with people. I'm not sure where you'd put them." A glance towards Grant's book, again. "You should try and find a star atlas for that universe. See if there's any habitable planets listed therein who aren't alive to protest new residents."

Grant takes a deep breath and nods, more thoughtful than the majority of Gray Harbor might expect from a guy that skates and doodles on the sidewalk and slings hash for a living. Deep consideration. "They can oppress their people into silence man... but I'm not their people. You can crush a people but not an idea...someone...taller than me said that."

The smile is met with some appreciating pride in what he's taken on. It is huge and, scary and the enormity doesn't seem lost. With a fondness he says in commiseration, "My people went a long time without a home cause we lost ours, man. I can't just watch while it happens to someone else, or watch someone get silenced for speaking up for themselves and... I hope... I didn't fuck shit up for a whole population of people...but how we win matters and I won't live on the bones of a lie, ya know?" Also fear. A very quiet fear and some resigned concerns.

Both eyebrows go up and he signs Smart, you! to Alexander. "Yoooou are a genius. That's... We have one!! " He hops down and with a hand on the back of the couch vaults it and runs back to his room bringing the other book out titled Astronavigation and Astropathy: A guide from Here to There. He hands that to Alexander and says "We might have the answer!"

Concern flickers across Alexander's face. "Just remember that you are not an idea. You are a person, and a person can be crushed. In fact, a person often is. Don't go over there alone if you can help it, and if cooler heads signal the retreat - listen to Thorne, if he's with you - then fall back. Live to fight another day, if we're butchering famous sayings." He smiles. "And height doesn't matter."

At the sign, Alexander clears his throat. But he doesn't deny it; he is, in fact, smart, and he knows it. And has not enough tact to be modest about it. But he looks quite interested as Grant hops away. He reaches out for the book when it's brought, reading the title with deep interest. "Fascinating. Yes, if there's a book that might be helpful, this rather looks like one." He opens the book and idly pages through. "Is your turtle-city in here?"

Grant takes a deep breath and says quietly in a slightly haunted tone, "I've died more than anyone else I've met. Also? Thorne's a dick. He's the one that said abandoned all the people it's not our problem I wanna go home, soooo no." His eyes narrow slightly before looking away.

Apparently that hurt him right in the ideals. Looking down at the edge of the furniture he says quietly, "I don't wanna die, but I do wnat living to mean something. " Jaw tightening a bit he mulls that over weirdly a little disappointed but not afraid exactly. Looking up he blinks, "Oh I hadn't even thought to look til just now so not yet. I mean now I am."

"Thorne's a survivor," Alexander says, without any particular heat. "It's valuable to listen to survivors." A smile flickers briefly to life. "You don't always have to do what they say, but you should always listen."

His expression softens a little at the emotions that cross Grant's features. "Help those people. Just don't be an idiot about it, and don't go throwing your life away because you don't know the exit strategy. Okay?" He grins, then, and hands the book back. "Here. If it's in here, you should find it. And find them a nice home, too. Somewhere they don't have to worry about things, and they can create art. Art is good."

Grant takes a deep breath and holds the book, thumbs rubbing across that cover that's older than their neighborhood. There's hope. He might be emitting slightly. He is neither trying nor really aware, but it's hopeful. Well, the guy may have absolutely no poker face, but his appreciation is genuine at least.

After considering it for a long moment (or like 3 seconds. He can't tell the difference) he looks to his (reluctant and unwilling) cousin. "Thanks. This... might help a lot of people that need a chance, man. Might make a change yet." It's a little bigger than sidewalk drawings. "Uhhhh junkyard? Lemme at least grab you lunch? I mean your'e helpin me out and when I do a lot of-" His eyes get real big like he's trying to immitate a hypnotist, "ya know I get hungry as hell. So. Yeah."

Alexander likes the feel of hope. He sort of sways in place, bathing in the emission of it. "I hope it helps," he says, simply. "Let me know how it goes?" Then he pushes himself away from the counter, and - after a moment to think about it - nods. "Yeah. With all that walking, lunch sounds good." He doesn't even argue about Grant buying; pride is what it is, and it hurts to feel like you owe someone. Best to clear debts as quickly as possible. "I get hungry too," he confides, as he walks towards the door. "Let's go."