2020-08-02 - Recollections

August's room isn't too hard to get access to, particularly since someone gave him his phone and he's been able to get people allowed in. His texts aren't exactly typical, so they must have him on the good stuff.

There's a plain vase of Japanese iris on the table next to his bed, and an intricately made plush silkmoth sitting on the bed with him. He has his reading glasses on and is swiping another ill-advised text to someone. His left arm is in a sling and the left shoulder is bandaged. He's a bit pale and not his usual, robust looking self. "Don't you disparage John Wick, it's an amazing movie," he mutters as he swipes.

"Not gonna argue, but put Keanu in anything nowadays, its pretty much great or a meme." Guess at any sort of combination or drug-addled state or a small woman who usually was pretty quiet on her feet, and you have the recipe that led to Abitha's overhearing of the comment. She had just leaned against the door frame and was looking in, taking stock of his health. The soft flats she was wearing probably helped. She was wearing a faded grey tee that fit her slim frame, a well-worn image of a Bulbasaur on the front, with a thin white hoodie over it, with some skinny jeans. It was a marked improvement of her hand-me down wardrobe. Maybe she'd gone shopping for herself finally. She pads further into the room, hands in the pockets of her hoodie, using her feet to coax out and slide a roller-stool across the room as she walks closer, eventually depositing herself bedside.

"Heard you had a rough night," she says straight-faced, her normal, even if it was a joke. There's a slight squint, and that slight bloom of a reaching mind, the tiniest feeling of a power, the type dwarfed by his own, wondering how bad off he truly was.

August startles at the sound of Abitha's voice, jerking in place and wincing as his shoulder reminds him that sudden movement is bad, it's just bad! It's bad. Even the meds can't quite hold back the reaction it garners: the heart monitor chirps, and the already cracked paint and drywall on the wall behind him spiderwebs out a little further.

He wrestles himself back under control, sagging a bit. "Shit. Sorry. I fucking...hate being in here." He smiles, wipes tears from his eyes. "it wasn't one of my best."

Well, the strong reaction at least gives Abitha pause. Before all the rest of the bit, she still ends up sitting bedside, just after a healthy reminder she shouldn't sneak up on people that were significantly more powerful than her.

"Well, good, cause I think your best might have blown out the wall." Abitha murmurs hesitantly, then has the presence of mind to apologize, "Sorry, shouldn't have lurked." There's a brief look around as he phone comes out. She hopes August doesn't mind that she's using the internet to double check which values were normal and which weren't. She had concerns. "Anything I can do to help?" she asks, trying not to sound too distracted.

August glances over his (right) shoulder, eyeing the damage. "Yeah...some poor contractor's gonna get the blame for that." He sighs, settles back on the bed. For all that he's trying to tear the room apart, his numbers are good; BP's a little high, but given his condition that's expected. Good resting pulse, tolerable oxygen saturation.

He's about to say no, because who just had their life ripped out from under them? August might not be in great shape but he's been in this hole before and knows the way out. But something occurs to him. "Maybe. Though, less me, more...my friends." He grimaces, shifts on the bed. "We were at the church because there were these statues, and we could hear them." He taps his heart so she'll know he doesn't mean conventional hearing. "And the guy that did this, he was waiting for us."

Looking a little relieved from her comparison, Abitha leaves her phone out, holding it in both hands and propping her elbows on her knees as she turns her attention to him, her pose and hospital beds meaning she was looking up.

"If they're as bad off as you, there's nothing I can do about it." She could scan, but she'd never tried healing before, and she likely wasn't great at it. She squints though. "The statues called you? Things can do that?" More thought, processing, "Like he set a trap for people like us specifically, or specific people that are like us?"

"Oh, no, I don't," August shakes his head. "I don't mean to heal." He huffs a voiceless laugh. "Fastest way to get Them breathing down your neck is to heal, I wouldn't ask you to do that to someone when I can myself." Does he mean even while in the hospital? Since it's him, probably.

"I mean--yeah. A trap." He shuts his eyes a second, makes a low sound. "Sometimes it's like that. You'll hear, or feel, something pulling you. Calling you, with the Art. And this guy, he was there. Like...he was waiting for us. Not sure if it was people like us, or, us, but..." He opens his eyes again, looks at Abitha for a quiet moment. 'But given the current situation, what seems more likely' his expression asks.

Given that information, some people like August, Erin, even Atli, start to make a little more sense to her. It wasn't the first time she'd heard it, but it was at least a confirmation from a reliable source. Abitha didn't really mean for her lips to pull outward into a grimace, but well, there it was. Dammit, she wasn't going to feel bad for that demonic woman. She shakes her head briefly, then refocuses.

"Have you met him before? You've gotten these pulls before? Was he related to all the crime stuff?" It was a barrage of questions, she sits back after, realization on her face she was firing a bunch of things at him and he was probably not in a great state. "Uh, sorry, I mean... Who do you want me to talk to slash check on?" There's a moment longer, then a smaller question, even if she did seem slightly frustrated. She had all this energy and will to help in the wake of her situation, and didn't like feeling listless or powerless, "Can you... show me? Like I did to Javier? Would that be easier?"

August responds to the grimace with a small smile. "Yeah, it's kind of a bitch," he murmurs. "But it is what it is. Fact that I can keep people from dying, well...if the trade off is They get to show me their idea of a good time, I'll take it."

He shakes his head about the guy. "No, didn't recognize him. And...I'm assuming he was, because once we showed up, he went for his gun. And he was like us--he had the Art. So, who sits around in a fucking church with a knife and a gun, except someone going hunting?"

He considers the question, then nods. "Yeah, if you're comfortable with that, I can. Show you."

There's a look for Abitha like she doesn't quite believe the trade off was worth it, but she shuts here eyes and shakes he head a little, resigned to the fact August can make his own decisions. "A knife and a gun? Someone that likes it personal. Else they'd use something longer range." Some video game logic was just as true to real life. She talks while pushing up the sleeves to her hoodie. There's hesitation clearly, but also determination.

"If I can let him root around in my brain, I can try this a little gentler with a friend..." She mutters, probably referring to a not-so-subtle touch from her earlier 'interview'. She puts her green-nailed hand on the bed nearer his free one. Looking up at him, then letting her eyes close and chin lower as he can likely feel her reaching into her mind and opening up. "Ready when you are."

August makes a face somewhere between annoyance and apology to hear that's how it went with Ruiz. Well, he can't be surprised; August knows full well Ruiz is like that. And now Abitha does too. In any other instance he might be inclined to indicate that Ruiz is new to all of this, and so lacking in anything remotely close to finesse. But Abitha's suffered a staggering loss, and spoke to Ruiz at August's suggestion. She doesn't need August making excuses for him.

So he nods his understanding, and his eyes go unfocused, gaze resting somewhere just past her shoulder. No need for touch with him; after a few seconds she hears the sound of a river rushing through a forest, of the wind in the trees, of dust blown over rocky barrens. She's still right there in the hospital, but a mindscape spreads out before her: a forest of aspen and fir, with a broad river snaking through the trees, emptying out from a lake formed in the caldera of a volcano crater. The sky overhead is dark and filled with stars, until she begins to hear August speak.

<<There were these statues.>>

The sky flares to life with a memory overlaid with the haze of Glimmer. He doesn't go to Espresso Yourself like he would have; he drives to St. Mary's. Something in the church is singing, calling, drawing. Itzhak and Lyric and Ravn are there as well. So is that bartender who can't mix drinks.

Through the link opened, August can feel palpable relief from Abitha. Still in the hospital, her hand withdraws from the side of the bed. She pulls her hood up before letting her fingers drops back to her phone. She hunches with head down as she watches the events unfold, the lowering of real time sensory input used for concentration on details. She was fiercely quick-minded, and flitted around with a mental impression like a datasprite apparition with bright, unblinking green eyes.

There's brief curiosity to the Lyric/Ravn combo, as shed seen them shopping together earlier. Gossip level, dismissed just as quickly. She didn't know the other two but absorbed the information August included about them.

<<Show me. Do they come from the Veil? What are they made of? Is there significance to their shapes?>>

Always so many questions with her.

August's emotions express uncertainty if Lyric and this guy are a thing or if he's decided to take him under her wing. Itzhak tries to start shit with Lyric about the new guy, August intervenes. They all go inside.

There's the priest giving a lecture, some nuns, and some people listening. The statues loom around them, gleaming with Glimmer, the Song, the Art. They're fairly standard, medieval-looking pieces of Christian work, all hewn from stone. Auust is plainly of the opinion they wouldn't be worth the time to look at if not for the Art swirling around them. <<No idea if they're from the Veil. The tour placcard said something about Germany.>>

The reason August remembers so little about them becomes readily apparent: he's noticed a man. A man with something in a pocket, something he's taking out: a gun.

The next part happens quickly. Ravn drops to the floor to hide. Itzhak tries to tackle the guy but misses. The not-a-mixologist bartender gets up in he man's face, he shoots her. August breaks the gun, Lyric sends it flying. The guy makes a bee-line for August, pulling out a knife and stabbing him in the left shoulder.

Things grind to a halt. There's a brief bit of information given to lyric: a medical image of a human skeleton, like from an X-ray, with a series of orthopaedic implants. There's some in the spine, but the majority are all on the left: left femur, left ribcage...left shoulder.

Abitha hears a gunshot, and the vision goes dark. <<She shot him. The bartender. I wound up with some of him on me.>>

There's more curiosity, mainly because Abitha, as an outsider to Gray Harbor, hadn't known squat until she moved here, and had only recently come to understand stuff that happened here could happen other places. Her mind sprite flits around those statues, cataloguing what August had absorbed in that brief time, making a note to follow up, then she's on the man's face, his gun... She roots through the timeline and looks for where the parts flew. Police may get them, may not. Origin of the weapon might be important. Knife. Knowledge of how to use it? Was he skilled? August had seen combat/might know.

Abitha's curiosity was a strong driving force, and through it was almost calming, in the way it didn't attach emotion to possibly traumatic thoughts and images. She was making August a neutral spectator to the events so he could help her analysis.

She brings him down a notch, and August relaxes, enough to let Abitha see the end result of the guy being shot. He prefaces it with a gentle warning that it's gross, maybe don't look close: Vic blows the dude's head off, so August winds up with a lot more than just his own blood all over himself. On his face, in fact, because the guy seemed to be about to whisper something into his ear...

No shock underlies this event in August's memory; he's had this happen before. There's a vague sense it was a long, long time ago, but unlike older memories it's not faded and worn. It's part of a set of recollections so strong and precise they're as fresh now as they day he received them. He keeps them aside, doesn't let her see them in detail. But she can feel them in the way the dust of the volcano caldera spins in the wind. Old pain, old brutality, the kind that tears craters in you.

He's also seen people use knives like this before. The man wasn't a stranger to how to use it. Ex-military, ex-cop, just an all-around over-achieving thug? He's not too sure on those accounts. Certainly he got lucky nailing August in his bad shoulder, the one which was damaged so long ago and is held together by titanium and plastic.

<<Thanks.>> He means being calmed. The tension of being in a hospital eases off, he relaxes a bit in the bed.

Abitha seems halting and awkward about the thanks, but unable to hide through their minds she was happy there was something she could do that helped.

The bits about his injuries in his past seem to click together, both with the things he has serve Lyric as with her not well trained scan. His warning of the head exploding was respected but... She seemed a step removed from it, it didn't seem to phase her. Or at least she found a way to mentally shunt it, like 'Oh, sweet graphics.'

<<Glad she doesn't work at the Pourhouse. Anything else you think was weird?>>

August can relate to the feeling of needing to help, on a deep and fundamental level. Of needing to do something. Of not standing aside while things happen. Abitha's happiness triggers a small resonance, a flicker of northern lights in the sky of shared agreement.

Her reaction--or lack--to the result of being at close range to someone shot in the head is another added relief. It's one thing to know how to handle these ugly things, it's another to worry you'll misstep, bring them up in too detailed a fashion to people who aren't ready. But she doesn't flinch, and it helps.

<<Hah. Yeah. If she takes your order? Keep it simple. Nothing fancy. If you ask for a Screaming Orgasm you're just going to get whiskey in a mug or something.>> He's not offended, just amused. He's already learned to not order from her.

Regret and self-chastisement color his response to the question. <<No, I passed out. The pain--mine, the bartender's, his, it was too much. Itzhak, though, he might remember more.>> A pause, then, <<Ravn.>> An image of the Dane flits through August's mind. <<This was bad for him. Maybe check on him?>>

There's a warmth that comes from the drink name, a recoiling from the idea of it, <<No thanks! Sours and ciders for me!>>

She shakes that to give what amounts to a elbow shove at the negative emotions, like they were helium balloons too close and annoying, not helpful. Or at least unneeded. It was a dismissive gesture, and one she was making on her way out the figurative door. Though August gets a brief recollection of hard rubber in the side of the face when Ravn is brought up a second time. Abitha was pulling her mind back, not wishing to make either one of them a beacon for Them longer than needed. On the outside, she lifts her head and a hand, pulling the hood back and smoothing static-lifted flyaways back behind an ear.

"Yeah, I can try." Though she'd have to find him. What did she remember? Well, she knew how to find Lyric, so she could figure it out. She pauses then, wondering, August's reactions had been pretty bad... She flips her phone and taps a couple things, waits, then sets it on the bed.

"You play Backgammon?"

The mindscape drops away, wind and river and dust giving way to the quiet hum of monitoring equipment. August nods at the comment about trying. "Thanks. I just don't want him stuck out there, wondering the fuck happened."

He tilts his head at the phone, smiles. "Yeah. A little." He's either bluffing and a shark or telling the truth and supremely bad. And since he's high as a kite on drugs it could be either.

Only one way to find out.