2020-07-20 - Silver Scrapes

(TXT to Abitha) August : hey. how you holding up.

(TXT to August) Abitha : Complicated question.

(TXT to August) Abitha : I'm trying to decide which Barbara Gordon I am.

(TXT to Abitha) August : admittedly. listen, if you're feeling up to a brief chat somewhere, I've got something to give you. and if you want to unload about the bullshit we can do that too. set some shit on fire, shoot some stuff, whatever.

(TXT to Abitha) August : as in batgirl? the one who became...oracle. right?

(TXT to August) Abitha : Yes. Do I want to go vigilante or am I the crippled victim. Either end of the story of it is the bad guys getting shit on, but the middle is sort of a why would you do that storyline.

(TXT to August) Abitha : Can I send you an address?

(TXT to Abitha) August : I dunno I'd call the girl in the wheelchair a crippled victim. didn't she wind up with dick grayson, aka the hottest guy in any comic book? and she was a computer genius and basically had eyes on everything. she made a new life.

(TXT to Abitha) August : yeah, sure.

(TXT to August) Abitha : That's kinda what I'm saying. My eyes are open now. Also, ehh, I could argue some parts of that. (Address on Bayside included.)

(TXT to Abitha) August : don't even think about claiming dick grayson isn't the finest man in a comic book, you'll be wrong.

(TXT to Abitha) August : gotcha. am I mailing this or swinging on by.

(TXT to Abitha) August : (not offended if it's the former, I've been there.)

(TXT to August) Abitha : You're fine. You're welcome over.

(TXT to Abitha) August : gotcha. be there in a spell.

August had, of course, gotten the same address Sparrow had when she'd come to visit and drop things off. The little Bayside cottage was just as finely kempt with its white siding, picket fence, and vine trellis entryway. Heck, August may even know the landscaper who did it. Abitha didn't of course, since she was just renting it for the short-term. When he would knock or ring the doorbell, there was that traditional pause, ruffled curtain... and a brief wave of that known unknown feeling of a mind reaching to see if there were other minds nearby. August would absolutely pass that test, so the door opens, Abitha opening it wide enough without the need for further inspection, expecting what she saw. She was wearing something a bit outside the normal, as her colors were usually neon game gear or traditional fashion, so today it was a pale blue hoodie with a taunting looking, storm-cloud tummied Carebear topping a pair of black jeans. Sparrow'd hit the jackpot on that one. Abitha even had make-up on today, though just the simple fresh face look so she didn't just look dead for company.

The inside was dated and clean, just as one would expect, and Abitha would step aside to admit August with a gentle and resignedly wispy, "Hey."

August's mind responds to the query easily; the sound of a river, the wind in the trees. His black Outback arrives after a slightly longer pause than might be expected if he was coming from the office, which is explained by a waxed paper bag from Pâtissier Vydal. He's also got a box in one hand, flat and plain brown, about six inches square, tied off with twine. He's dressed in dark gray cargo shorts, a dark red, slub tee, and black deck shoes. The leading edge of a dark tattoo is just visible above his left knee, but that's all the ink that's visible.

He gives her a small, tired smile in comiseration, offers the bag. "Sounded like a pastry kind of situation."

Abitha takes the bag with a rueful look that is just as easily swung upward into grateful. She raises an eyebrow at the sticker, then grins. She moves to take it to a coffee table in the front, Victorian-decorated sitting area, waving August in. August's lighter wear would make it evident she had the AC on a bit higher than might be needed, but Abitha's penchant for longer clothes os the easy answer.

"Normally, I'd be all 'Oh how nice' and secretly like 'That's so much sugar.'" There's a pause in her speech as she looks at the bag, then flicks the top of it with her finger, "Right now? You're a fucking prophet." Again that rueful grin back at August. "Thank you."

She does spot the other box, though, brows furrowing in curiosity as she raises her chin toward it, a silent question, mid sit on the couch, her fingers occupied with opening and inspecting the contents of the pastry bag.

August grunts a small laugh, bobs his eyebrows. "Sugar and butter and chocolate fix a whole lot of things." He makes no attempt to hide that he's glancing around the house as Abitha escorts him in. He assumes it has to be a rental of some sort, because there's no way the person he knows lives here in anything remotely resembling a regular fashion, nor intends to. The cooler interior is a welcome relief from outside; it was a hard morning of appointments, and he's still cooling down.

He takes a seat in a nearby chair, sets the flat box on the coffee table. "A little something I had which I was trying to decide what to do with. Realized this morning what that was." He nods at it, inviting her to open it at her leisure.

Inside the bag is a variety of things: a couple apple croissants, a kouign-amann, a cream puff (with what appears to be chocolate ganache glaze), and a truly gorgeous looking cannelé.

Abitha looks genuinely surprised and happy when she goes through it, grabbing out the kouign-amann first and grabbing a bite. This of course leads to a complication as she has to explain in response to August's look-about, her tone muffled around the fatty cake and chewing, "Mother rented me an AirBnB 'til I get my shit together." More chew, swallow. Her chipmunk cheeked augmentation means August doesn't get that weird tone about familial relation. "Well, originally a week, then she pushed it out to two. But that's the max I can take. Sparrow offered for me to take one of the rooms at her place." She shrugs, brows droop to a thoughtful look, communicating she thought she was babbling. She shakes her head and re-centers.

The cryptic description about the package has her moving to the floor, dropping into seiza in front of the coffee table. She sets the pastry aside with that delicate brushing of fingers together and then gently rubs palms on the sides of her legs. She peers up at August suspiciously as she lifts the lid open.

August makes a small sound of understanding, nods. "That explains the ah," he glances around, gestures, "decor." He smiles, wry; he's not trying to be judgmental, but they both know neither of them would live like this, not in one million years.

There's some plain white tissue paper lining the bottom of the box; sitting on top of it is the crown from the Glimmer pageant, the one Abitha had wanted and which August had out-stubborned her for. He'd woken up from the Dream with a couple of head injuries that could have easily ended his life and a ragged circle of silver shards surrounding him.

It's been put back together, almost perfect...but not quite. There's a seam in the metal here and there which could be mistaken for natural variation, but which the practiced eye will know is anything but. A couple of the gems are cloudy and flawed. Scars; reminders of how the crown was smashed to pieces, and stayed that way in a small cheesecloth bag in the bottom of a drawer.

Until this morning. Now it's in this box, on her coffee table, gleaming, a little different than such a thing would be if it were from their world.

"Yeah, Mother-" there it was, that impersonally inflected title-like declaration, "-is a little older and she likes things... particular." As she delicately pulls back the gently crinkling tissue paper, there's a moment where Abitha has to stop and just stare, making sense of the object. There's the faintest twitch of her brow where curiosity tips over into confusion. A crown? Who would get her a crown? She's not some princess type, where glitz, glam, and popularity mattered.

Then, it starts to click into place. The pageant, the fight. Sure, Abitha and August didn't have the deepest connection beyond the weird. But they'd learned things about eachother from that dark dream, and banded together on more than one occasion to overcome truly horrific circumstances. August had saved her life multiple times, and she'd go full Sith in defense of him at the drop of the hat.

She knew instantly what he was conveying by reconstructing the crown, and he could probably tell. Her green eyes snap up, growing glassy and full as her hands fly to cover her mouth and nose. Fuck, she'd done enough crying already, but her eyes crinkling at the edges and the absolute lake of tears that swelled and started to run was happening anyways. August got to be the second in a week. Abitha was going to need a hitlist for this.

She could rebuild. She could become something just as beautiful, just different. And that was ok. Scars made a person who they were. Scars defined your experience and views. Scars taught and reminded you of valuable lessons. And August was giving her a flawless one on gift-giving. This crown also said there were things she had in this town that weren't charcoal, that existed because she made a connection with other people. All was not lost. Pick up what you have and keep going.

Abitha, of course, currently could not do that. She did not have that right now. All she could do was stare at him and cry. She was so, so grateful, and all she managed was to shake once, maybe a few more times, in tiny sobs, rather than being able to thank him.

August's mouth twitches in a rueful acknowledgment of the 'Mother as titular NPC' phrasing. He doesn't have that relationship with his parents, but he knows it well, has seen it in many others. "Yeah, they can get that way. But hey, a roof over your head, right? And Sparrow's place should work pretty well in the mean time." Or, well, he assumes so. They're in a similar peer group, which isn't something that can be said for the neighbors around here.

He waits for her to recognize it, glances away when she starts to cry. It's less an avoidance of emotion, more giving her a little privacy in her reaction. He leans forward, elbows on his knees. "This might have already occurred to you, but, you took one for the rest of us." His eyebrows go up. "Until what happened to you, a lot of us would've done the same. Told those guys they'd mistaken us for the Krispy Kreme thinking we'd give them freebies, and to get the fuck out. And it woulda been us, with our livelihoods burning down while we watched." He risks a brief glance at her. "I'm not saying that to make you feel better. I'm just saying, you caught a bullet for the entire rest of the business owners in this town. And we're aware."

He shifts his attention a little closer, to the crown. "So, look," he says. "One of my sisters, she does remodeling. Mostly restoration of older houses, but she's done all kinds over the years. She knows a lot of contractors. If you find a suitable spot around here price wise, and it just needs some fixing up? Let me know, we can see about getting you help sorting it out on the cheap."

There's a fair bit of silence for a long moment as Abitha just stares and listens, those frenzied little nods made to confirm she understood what he was saying. Behind her hands, deep, steadying breaths can be heard, her eyes sinking shut as she attempts to calm her heart rate. Finally the hands unclamp from her face and she gently wipes aside the welled tears. Her color was a bit streaked now, but damn, that eyeliner Sparrow dropped off stayed in place, so at least she had some dignity. Lips purse with a final breath and she drops tear-moistened hands to rub dry on her thighs. A final nod.

"Thank you." she gets out, voice thick and hoarse again, much healed from the screaming and smoke, bit now back to croopy depth from a good cry. She sniffles and looks down at the crown, the edges of her lips crooking up just a bit. "Really. I don't have much else. Just thank you. I'm... I dunno, I've been giving it thought. Part of me wasn't like... Ready to try to get up from the ashes. Maybe the Control Pad stays there. I think that comic shop would fit the bill, maybe I'll keep the name and just remodel, depending on their branding or whatnot." Another deep breath, her eyes returning to August, "And I need to watch the video. Like I know what I'm gonna see, but I still haven't. I need to talk to your friend, too. The interim chief?"

August waits until Abitha's had a chance to smear-clean her face before meeting her eyes again. "Using the old comics place isn't a bad idea. Known location, might not take much work. The name even fits, no need for a new sign."

Mention of the video makes him wince and rub the back of his neck. "Yeah. It's okay, though, if you never do watch it." He pauses for emphasis, continues, "There's no shame in not wanting to revisit it. You can make a copy, give it to the cops." To de la Vega, whom she's just mentioned, and he nods. "Yeah. I'll let him know you need to talk. Am I guessing you don't want to go to the precinct? Since..." He lets it go unsaid, but 'that asshole is no doubt lurking there, waiting' couldn't be more clear.

He looks aside. "He's not going to play ball with them. Not that I thought he would before, but definitely not now." Not after what that did to Joe. "So he's safe to talk to. Not sure about the others, but him, you can trust."

"Yeah, you and Sparrow agree on him, so I will." Abitha says, and though she was looking at August, there's a long pause, like she were picking her words, and trying not to make it an immediate 'but', regardless of how it turns out. "But... I'll go meet him somewhere. The less people that know I'm here, the better I'll feel for now."

"And honestly? I feel like I have to. There's a lot of me that's wrapped up in that place, and I want to confirm for myself who the fucker was that did it." So she'll feel justified to turn him into into a fried pork chop. Or at least burn his house down in retaliation. She looks a little guilty about this as her attention is drawn back to August from the brief moment of introspection, as if it was rude when he'd been so supportive. But this just means she can offer, "If anyone needs help... Like, I'm not a healer, and I'm no good with guns or fighting... But you know what I'm capable of. I'm not like some action hero, and I'm not trying to like leap straight into danger... Just offering... And like..." This is where her face takes on a slightly consternated look both from her inability to find convincing words, but also a realization, her hand lifting to jerk a thumb toward a brand new looking LED lit laptop, probably standing out a little odd in the current decor, sat on an old reading desk in the corner, "Little town like this? Has anyone tried tracking these assholes digitally?"

August straightens up. "Do we," he says, amused by that qualification, yet but quite enough to smile. "And, yeah. Definitely not here. I'll let him know." He tilts his head, considering. "I've got some private spots at my shop, if you want. It's not central in town, so you're less likely to be casually seen." A brief lift of his eyebrows to put that out there with no expectation of an answer just now.

He surveys her, considering her reasons for wanting to watch the video, stated and unstated. His gaze slides away for a moment, suggesting he's guessed at her real motivations. No censure is forthcoming, though. He knows full well what he'd be doing if it had been Eleanor in Joe's place. He's not quite enough of a hypocrite to judge a desire for righteous vengeance.

He tenses when she says she can't fight. "I'll take your word on the guns, but you sure as hell know how to fight." He follows her gaze to the computer, looks thoughtful. "Probably not," he admits. Back to her. "And you've even got a full name and workplace for one of them."

Abitha's mind was already churning in that way, August could likely see, the gamer's eyes zipping back and forth in Z's and X's, the sort of high mental process that would wrap around three different ideas and follow them in a weaving tapestry of interconnected braiding. Name and police officer. Government database. Police have GPS on their cars. Personal finance tear-down. Credit check. She tenses, getting halfway up from her kneel, face turned toward her computer, then seems to stop and sink back as her eyes lock on August again.

"Sorry, uh, got distracted." she admits sheepishly, then sinks her head in a posture that seems thankful, "Yeah, um... If that's ok, I'd like that. Do... do you have any other names or things I can start to look into?" her brows were lowering back into concentration, looking at the coffee table, then up at him again, "I feel like I wanna be prepared. Like... if I know more, maybe he'll let me help more? Does that sound weird?" Then a thought seems to occur to her and here eyes do that back and forth tracking again, "Wait, news... That thing at the casino? Was that them? Did some of them end up dead?" Now she was up and on her feet, going to retrieve the laptop and unhook its power supply to come back to the sitting area.

August holds up a hand, even manages a soft laugh. "It's okay. I know how it feels, to need to be doing something in the face of shit like this. And hey, good news--you can." He considers her question, pulls a face. "Not weird, it's the best way to convince him. And, he...might. I'll be honest, he'll be loathe to pull in other people. Not that you're not involved, but he'll balk at involving you more." A heavy sigh. "But, he could really use the help." August clears his throat. "If nothing else? Talk to Alexander Clayton. He won't be as reluctant to work with you, I suspect."

He licks his lips when she asks about the casino. "Yeah," he says, voice low. "Between you and me? It was. I mean, I don't know that, except, someone suggested to me it was, and given what I do know about what happened there..." A small lift of one shoulder. "Seems pretty straight forward, given the givens."

Abitha listens to the reassurances and assertions from August carefully for a few, but the mention of Clayton gets a brief lowering of an eyebrow, lifting of a cheek, as if there was some sort of doubt about the man. "I mean, I don't know him," it's sort of the truth, and sort of a joke at the same time, given the man's usual greeting. "But like... If this is some sort of collective crime effort or something, I'm gonna take my cues from movies and say a casino is like A+ a place where some stuff is going to be involved, cash available and whatnot." There's a shrug added on this, of course, as that's just assumptions and grasping.

"Some of Sparrow's friends are involved, too, so that's why it seems that way to me. I met the gym owner once, I think that's who she was talking about." Oh, she'd been introduced by name, but it was the sort of neurotic inspection of friend's friends that led her to that information. "But... Hmm..." Lips flatten and draw out aside in calculation before looking back to August, "You know the other two a little better than I do. Should I just meet them both at once or individually?"

August snorts a laugh at the logic of a casino being crime-involved. Well, it's probably true; the movie cliche came from somewhere. "Kelly?" He grunts, folds his hands. "Yeah. Definitely involved. But...meet with Clayton and de la Vega separately. I'm not sure how much de la Vega tolerates Alexander's involvement in these kinds of things, and this..." He looks to one side, rubs at an eye. "This has gotten pretty ugly." 'Ugly' might be a stand in for another word, for example, 'personal'. "So if you meet with them separately there's less chance of them disagreeing on something with you as an innocent bystander."

Abitha nods, seeming open about taking August's advice for this one. Unable to really resist the draw, she adjust her computer and pulls the tie out of her hair, letting her bun out and hair falling free. Then, she finally reaches back into the box and hefts the crown out. She delicately places it on her head, because for now, this was her castle and she could do whatever the fuck she wanted. She settles back into her chair and looks thoughtful, browline scrunching as the question finally seems to have worked through past the other actually pressing concerns.

"Wait, how do you actually have this?" Emerald irises flit to August in interest, "Can you actually bring stuff back from there?"

August sits back in his chair, smiles to see Abitha put on the crown. Let the Queen conquer, etc. It's also good to see her focusing on productive things. Moving, if not forward, forwardish.

He tilts his head at the question, nods. "Yeah." He pauses to consider her. "Maybe you can too--do you have that power? To move stuff, open a door Over there?"

Does she? Abitha seems to be asking herself as much as the look seems questioning, eyes on August, then sliding downward in introspection. "I mean, I can move stuff, but I've only really known that for a couple months. And whatever I did to that lock in the FCN factory. That was new." She retrains her gaze on August, "What do you mean about opening a door, though?"

"Some of us can move freely between here and the Other Side. The Veil, the place that causes us to be this way." August pauses there, adds, "At least, we think it does." He shrugs that aside. "People who can move things, they can open a door into it, if they're strong enough. Depending on how strong, they can also open a door back out." He lets the crazy idea of going Over There on purpose go unmentioned. This is a discussion of possibilities, not 'is it a good idea' (when it comes to Glimmer, the answer is typically 'no').

"Movers can also find things. The really strong ones can make a sort of," he holds his hands apart, like he's indicating a box, "special container that'll hold just about anything they can fit into the opening."

"I feel like that's a special kind of humor," Abitha observes in a flat, wry tone, processing what August was explaining, "That it's easier to go in than come back out." There's some more inward thoughts, that strange feeling of low pressure in certain parts of the town. The thing about finding lost things was an interesting thought, and didn't feel so far-fetched to her for some strange reason. Then there was the other thing, as she continues to ponder things. Sure, it was unrelated to the crisis at large, but not to the current conversation.

"What's up with my new best friend on the other side, though? I've never had things be the same more than once when we Dreamed." She lifts her hangs, clawing her fingers to either side of her head and making vague gestures, "I know I can feel it, like... in my head. Where I reach or think about when I'm using abilities. But I can only hear it when I'm Dreaming."

August half-smiles and raises an eyebrow goes up in a show of morbid amusement. "Right? Like some kind of roach motel, just for us."

He seems confused for a moment, like he's not sure what she's talking about. Just as he's going to ask, his expression clears. "Oh, you mean, the ah...cat thing." He can't bring himself to call it a tentacle kitten. "I was gonna ask you about him, completely forgot to. So you can hear him? Like he's calling you?"

Leaning back in her seat, Abitha puts both wrists on the top of her screen as she looks up and right, trying to recall and think of the best way to describe it, "So like... You know how when you stand with your back to a wall, you can kinda like hear slash feel that there's something there? Cause like your ears are telling you sound is kinda weird nearby. It's kinda like that? And the more I concentrate on it, the more I hear slash feel it. Only it's in my head. The same place where I can reach out to feel minds or electrical fields. Then when it's like so loud I think it'll be like an actual physical feeling, pop!" She splays her fingers demonstratively, "Squitten."

Her hands drop back to her keyboard and she starts to type and click through some things. The glow of windows opening and web pages gone through flashing here and there, underlighting her face.

August's face screws up when she calls it a squitten. No, that's not a word he's going to be using. Instead, he focuses on the description of how it shows up. He thinks that through, nods. "Sometimes I think I'm hearing something, but I thought it was just," he shrugs, "you know, whatever. Another strange thing." Which, a random being showing up like that is another strange thing. So he adds, "I mean, my mind Art, or, something, getting twitchy." And maybe it was. Abitha had plenty of that Glimmer, after all, and August had some.

He watches her at her keyboard, then says, "Best person to teach you about that stuff--movement--is Itzhak. The guy who owns Steelhead. I'm happy to as well, but, I can't do half what he can."

Green eyes flit up to August in interest on the advice, then back to her computer. He can probably tell by her attention draw and the way things flickered on her face she was taking a quick note. That and the fact she tries to sound out the name silently with get mouth, frowns, then just types Steelhead.

She turns her attention back to another widow she had opened, then... Her attention is back on August, looking surprised at first, then there is a slow draw upward of the edges of her lips, a dropping of her brow. She looked determined, eager. Her eyes briefly drop to get screen and back, as if drawing his attention to it.

"I think it's gonna be best if you get me that meeting sooner rather than later."

August blinks slowly at Abitha. It's not that he didn't know digital methods of investigation could be fast--he is marrying Eleanor, after all--but there's fast, and then there's 'while we discuss other topics, like that tentacle-cat-thing that keeps appearing'. He pulls out his phone. "Yeah?" He's already swiping out a text as he comes around to have a look at her laptop monitor.