2020-08-15 - Un-Likely Interactions

(TXT to Alexander) Abitha : Hey, this is Mac.

(TXT to Alexander) Abitha : (There’s a fair bit of TypingNotTypingTyping)

(TXT to Abitha) Alexander : Ms. Machinae. Hello. This is Alexander Clayton.

(TXT to Alexander) Abitha : Oh god, no. Mac. Just Mac.

(TXT to Abitha) Alexander : That's not a name. It's a hamburger.

(TXT to Alexander) Abitha : Ok, that’s insulting and reductive, but also: https://nameberry.com/babyname/Mac

(TXT to Abitha) Alexander : (...)

(TXT to Alexander) Abitha : Which probably doesn’t help my case, since it’s an Irish boy’s name, but it’s still a name.

(TXT to Abitha) Alexander : It's not YOUR name, though. ::frowny face emoji:: It's just a truncated version of your last name. Like you cut off the legs of your personal identity.

(TXT to Alexander) Abitha : (TypingNotTypingTyping)

(TXT to Alexander) Abitha : I mean, I consider taking a moniker that’s representative of what I came from, but is wholly my own decision therefore represents what I would think is my personal identity.

(TXT to Alexander) Abitha : We’re off on a tangent.

(TXT to Alexander) Abitha : Do you wanna meet up and talk about crime?

(TXT to Abitha) Alexander : Yes.

(TXT to Alexander) Abitha : Book store?

(TXT to Abitha) Alexander : I could do that. There are tables upstairs, I recall.

(TXT to Alexander) Abitha : That was my thought. Got time now? Well... I'm walking from the station.

(TXT to Abitha) Alexander : Yes. I'll meet you there.

Abitha stops in front of the bookstore, having taken a good bit of time to walk from the precinct to the bookstore. She had paused, looking up at the sign, head tilted to consider the name of the place. She had been reasonably certain the store had been named Likely Stories, at least not that ling ago. She ordered books from them reasonably often, but realized she hadn't in awhile. What was up with the stores in town rebranding suddenly?

She had dressed in sort of business casual today, since Ruiz had said there wasn't a dress code, but that just meant you had to take a shot in the dark to look professional in a work environment. At least that's what all the anxiety driven google searches had told her. Her blazer was removed, folded over her courier bag which her thumb was tucked into the strap of.

Alexander also makes his way to the bookstore, and blinks up at it. He'd known the proprietor had left town, of course, but he clearly Disapproves of the senseless need to change perfectly good names that seems to be going about town, lately. He narrows his eyes at the sign - he's got his eye on you - and then walks in. He looks scruffy and aggressively casual, as always. His t-shirt is an old, faded purple one that probably had some sort of stencil on it at some point, but now just has a couple of white flakes here and there. His jeans are equally faded, and the stompy black workboots are carefully cleaned at the mat at the entrance. His right arm is a mass of dark bruises contained in a sling, and he moves towards the tables, looking around until he notes Abitha. "Hello. Are you well?"

“Hello, I am.” Abitha answers politely, moving to take a seat pretty much at the same time, lifting and depositing her bag on the table with a sound more solid than one would think. “Are you?” Normally, this would be a breezy pleasantry, but her voice was solidly more inquisitive, and her eyes were on that slung arm.

The mystery of the heavy bag is easily solved as she opens it and pulls out a sleek, powerful little laptop that glows lightly with green LED’s as she powers it on. She asks the question on both their minds, “What’s with all the business’s renaming?”

Alexander takes a seat across from her, landing with little grace, although he's careful not to scrape the chair and disturb others. He doesn't miss the direction of her gaze. "I'm okay. Just got Lost," he mutters, and the capital letter is clear in the emphasis on the word. "It happens." He looks at the laptop with interest. "I don't know," he admits. "This place must have gotten sold after the Weber fellow left town. But people are just wrong about the Pourhouse. It's P-o-u-r, not P-o-o-r. That's the pun, and it doesn't make any sense if it's just POORHOUSE." His mouth closes with a click of teeth before he can get over-agitated; after the text conversation, it's not hard to see that Alexander has issues with names. He clears his throat, and looks apologetically away, his fingers fiddling with the side of the table. "Anyway. Crime. Have you heard anything more about your shop? I don't...expect any arrests, if I'm honest. But if I can help, I will."

Seemed reductive was going to be the word of the day, but Abitha was all right letting it Alexander didn't want to talk about it. Her hands do go near her head and make a splaying motion outward lol or some pantomime of mind explosion, "Dude, I know!" She shakes her head, "I'm friends with the owner, and she's all about conspiracy theories, but says her husband insists it's always been that way." She makes a back and forth wave, dismissive like it was a bad smell, "But I'm staying out of it. Seems like a weird prank."

As to the last bit, she was finishing pulling things up on her laptop. "I have done a deep-dive into finding stuff out about Liu, the cop that was at my shop. Javier..." Ruiz had told her to call him that, and she was stubbornly sticking to it, "...seemed to know..." Click, click, a shot of the guy who was there the night of the fire, "...this guy. Seemed to piss him off, but he didn't seem to want to give me details." More clicks, more bringing up of files in a dedicated folder marked 'Assholes', which seemed her approximation of some sort of string-linked conspiracy board. "Wilkinson confirmed, in a way, the second guy at my shop was Hallisey. I haven't done much to look into him, but I want to dedicate some time to it. And I have a friend who knows forensic accounting that I've given some of the dark web info to, he should be getting back to me about what he turns up. Hopefully."

"Her husband is wrong." Alexander is very firm about this. "But...its weird that it's even a thing. Gray Harbor is always weird. But usually this sort of wide-spread manipulation of perception and memory doesn't take place unless it's something about the Veil. I don't know what a dive bar would have to do with the Veil." Grump, grump. But talk of corrupt cops and crime is a reliable way to perk him right back up, so he quiets down and leans forward to look at what she shows him. "Hallisey is a rookie cop. I don't know much about him. Or Liu - other than he has gambling debts, and is beholding to a criminal organization that's trying to take over the underworld here in the Harbor." He gives Abitha a thoughtful look. "Indelicate question, but must be asked. Were you making protection payments to anyone, or aiding in illegal activities for any sort of organization through your shop?"

“No!” comes the immediate, and vehement denial, “I didn’t even know that was a thing around here? Like that’s some 20’s TV show bullshit.” Or at least, that’s what Abitha had thought before now. She sits back in her chair a moment, crossing her arms. “I didn’t even know we were a town big enough for organized crime.” Also truth, whether Alexander has to find some way to confirm it or not.

She brings some more stuff up on her screen, the web page to the court filings she had found, “And I didn’t find much about actual debts, but I did see a charge from Liu back around when he worked for LAPD, placing bets on dog-fighting, that then got swept under the rug.”

Alexander's eyebrows go up. "Nowhere is too small for organized crime. Meth production is very popular in rural areas, for example, and we're a port town with a failing monoindustry. Lot of people looking for work, and not too picky about what--" he stops, and clears his throat. "Sorry. You probably don't care. Just, yes. There's organized crime here. It's not the sort that's super glamorous, but you seem to have been, uh, collateral damage in a small, unpleasant gang war." He examines the screen. "Most debts would be cash, so wouldn't leave electronic traces. You mentioned something about a dark web? And yeah. I think Liu's been receiving some level of assistance on small offenses for...favors in return. Several cops do the same." He rubs at the knuckles of his bruised hand. "I understand that a gaming system was involved? It resurfaced with additional harassment at another establishment."

Abitha is quick to bring up the things about the dark web under her Liu research file, pointing to the transactions, "I found these when I was looking, 'craigsotherlist'. Used for a lot of gambling stuff and black market trades. Probably one of the Silk Road fragments after that was broken up."

Then, she slow blinks, the sort of deliberate expressions that shows her processing fully of the information provided. Her eyes turn on Alexander, "So I was asked about a PS4, but no one could tell me where or when he bought it. There's a system involved? Does someone have it?" Because if there was one person in town that was the utmost authority on gaming systems, Alexander was looking at her. This time she leaves the question invoices of, 'No one thought to ask me?'

"Fascinating. I'm not...as current on cybercrime as I should be, and I don't have much familiarity with the dark web, myself. But it would make sense to have something like that around, these days." Alexander examines the transactions. "Could be how the other org got his hooks into him," he mutters, then glances over to her. "There does seem to be a physical system involved," he admits. "Another establishment was harassed by people looking for it. I think it's still in their custody - it's been physically examined, and nothing untoward has been found, but if you think you could examine the memory for any hidden data, I could reach out and see if they still have it? If the police have confiscated it, it may be...difficult. You'd probably have to go through Javier, since what little slack I'm given doesn't really extend to accessing logged evidence."

He sits back. "Although. That does bring me to another indelicate question, Ms. Ma--...miss." He seems to be compromising on the name issue by just not using one. "Attracting the attention of these people is dangerous. Continuing to investigate may involve, uh, retaliation from them. Are you sure you wish to pursue the matter?"

"Oh? Whose shop?" Abitha asks, opening up her general stream-of-consciousness notepad and entering stuff, ready to take down the business name if he gave it to her. "And I mean, if the cops have it, I'm sure I can request it." Another note made, as if it was that simple. The slip up on her name and still resulting in a pronoun gets a frustrated squint in return.

This was one of those times Abitha almost felt like risking Their attention just to prove her point was warranted, because a flashy show of letting electricity crawl over her fingers would really drive home the idea. She doesn't though, she resorts to words, laced with a cold sort of anger, "They burned down my home, with everything in it I built for myself, everything that represents me as the adult I grew into. Mac." Her green eyes stare intensely across at Alexander, unwavering, "I fucking hope they come at me again, 'cause I will go full fucking Sith on them. And then I'll burn down their homes."

"Lilith Winslow. Pawn shop on Elm," Alexander says, after a moment of thought. There's a skeptical flicker on his face at just being able to request it, but he doesn't say anything about it. Maybe because of the squint, which makes him duck his head and stare at the table with sudden fascination, but not apologize. He peeks back up as she starts to talk again, watching with fixed attention. "All right. May I request that you don't? Burn down their homes. Or go...Sith. There are several different organizations involved in this mess, and pretty much all of them except maybe the cops will murder you and not feel any regret over that if you get in their way. So. What do you want as an end goal? Are you looking to see people in jail, divert enough of their money that you can rebuild, or get an hour alone with them in a dark room, or something else?" The faintest of smiles appears. "I don't think we can manage to get a sincere apology. But if that's what you want, we can try."

The weirdest thing about that question was that it actually makes Abitha come up short. There’s a moment of open eyed blankness when she stares across at Alexander that says it. No one so far had asked her either. ’What did she want?’ She... didn’t know? “I...” she begins, mouth open, then clapping shut. She sits back, brows lowering slightly, mouth pursing to the right as she thinks about it, eyes searching the middle distance, “Well... Once we prove who did it, there’s no question of how it happened, and insurance will pay me fully for the loss. So... money isn’t really it... And like... I... I don’t want to really murder anyone.” Which in the halting, slow way the words came out, seemed like an admission she’d come to realize even as she said it. She looks back to Alexander, “Is it weird to say like... I don’t know? I just want justice?” She heaves a sigh and crosses her arms, an expression that almost seems huffy, “Like, I’ll know it when I see it, that kinda thing?”

A certain tension eases along Alexander's shoulders, only in that moment drawing attention to the fact that it was there, and the smile he gives her is a little bit warmer, a little bit more human than what he's been able to muster until now. "No. That's not weird." The fingers on his good hand drum a steady rhythm on the tabletop that he doesn't even seem to notice. "You feel violated. Something was done to you that wasn't right, or fair. Wanting justice is normal. Not knowing what that looks like is also normal. My recommendation, if you want, is that we gather the evidence that we can to identify the party responsible, and direct it towards a trustworthy officer to make the arrest. Detective Wilkerson might qualify. I don't know for sure, but she hasn't...come up in my observations as someone to be concerned about. I can't guarantee a conviction. But if the evidence is good, solid, then if there are," he clears his throat, "irregularities in how the case is handled, that can be publicized. If you want."

Was there a way to feel relieved and yet frustrated at being told everything about what you were feeling was normal? Because that was the mixed bag Abitha seemed to be feeling, her own posture shifting, as if slightly agitated, even if she breathed a little easier. She nods along with his suggestions about how they go about gathering evidence and contingencies, “I’m pretty obsessive about backups, so don’t worry about data loss on my end. One too many cleared PlayStation memory cards, yaknow?” A halting joke, “Speaking of that, I guess I should go ask Lilith if I can take a look at that system.” She pauses, thinking.

“My problem is I don’t always know what to look for, or what I should be doing, like... I know how to use the web to dig up stuff on people, or dig through computers, but like... say I wanted to compare GPS on cop cars versus what they’re supposed to be doing, who should I be comparing notes with?”

To be fair, frustration is often involved when having a conversation with Alexander, and he watches her agitation with a remote interest, like he's taking notes somewhere in his brain. "Good. Data backups are important." At her question, though, his eyes widen. "You can do that? I have access to police radios, so I generally know where they're supposed to be dispatched, if I'm listening. We could arrange a schedule to listen and compare. If you want. It'd be best done in real time, although I could record the dispatch chatter and timestamp it, and you could correlate it with GPS records, if you can get them. And...I have another name and organization that might benefit from in depth web research. If you want."

“Well yeah, I’ve got access to it now.” Eureka moment, Abitha’s head nodding and tilting slightly, as she remembers a key bit of information Alexander was probably missing, “Javier hired me on as a data analyst for the duration of the case. Probably because whoever they’ve got working for them is a GoogleSearchHero.” She was typing into her general notes section again about possibilities and comparison, “Do you keep your own records? ‘Cause my first thought would be finding out where Liu and Halliday went after confronting me, and where they were the night of the fire. They had to meet with people sometime, and maybe we can find out if they’re working out of a particular location or something, or at least find out points they were doing things that weren’t actually part of their jobs.”

She pauses to look at Alexander, hands on the keyboard, ready to type whatever he suggested she look into. She had time, after all.

"He did?" For a moment, Alexander looks -- completely stricken. His expression wilts. Then he clears his throat and moves on. "That will be handy, for certain. I don't typically keep transcripts of police chatter - I don't have a set up to do it automatically, and my radio is an old one. No digital hookup." It sounds apologetic. "Maybe I can rig something up going forward, although it won't help with past records. I'm sorry. But that's an excellent idea, and one of us can probably sneak a look at a duty roster to figure out when would be a good time to watch them. Halliday is, to my understanding, currently in custody. But Liu is still out and about."

At the pause, he offers, "Red Scorpion. Reyes. Probably focusing on British Columbia, Seattle, and points in between. I don't have a first name, yet. I have a physical description, but I don't know if that'll be helpful in this particular sort of endeavor." He watches the computer with interest, and admits, "I'm usually asking people in person."

For her part, Abitha doesn’t really know what to do about that strange shift of expression, her brow briefly quirked in inquiry, looking confused. The face remains the same sort of skeptical questioning all through the talk of his radio then, because old analog gear deserved to be in a museum, and she, for one, welcomed their digital overlords, “If you need help with that, just text me. You know I’m really good with electronics. If it’s even got an aux port of any kind, we can find a way to record and digitize.” Because even if she’s working for the cops, an interesting build was always a welcome challenge.

He can see her type all the things he says, word for word, guessing at the spelling correctly, (Thanks, Ghost Rider), and opening another window. She drags a Google maps over to Europe, types in British Columbia, and is promptly redirected to Canada. There’s a small, enlightened, “Oh.” <s>and she totally plays it off like a champ</s> and no one is fooled.

Alexander can't throw stones, because while she may not have a firm grasp of British Columbia, he looks baffled at the idea of an 'aux port', and says, slowly, "I don't remember. I'll have to check and see." Read: find the instruction diagrams and see if anything is helpfully labeled with that title. "But a digital record would be useful. I'll text you." He watches without judgement as she corrects, and hums. "It should be fairly easy to find digital records of the existence of the Red Scorpions. They're a major criminal organization, despite the somewhat juvenile name. But if this fellow is expanding to the South, then he has to have communication pathways with his existing contacts in the North. Arranging supply pipelines, etc. I know he or his people arranged a weapons buy - point man on that was, um, Daryl du Bois. He's local. The sellers were probably out of Seattle or Portland - my money's on Seattle. If you could, somehow, tap into their communications or financial arrangements..."

Again, more note taking, Abitha’s speedy 100wpm making text scrawl quickly in her scrap paper like section, then dragged all together and highlighted for priorities, immediate thoughts like ‘social media, image search’ and the logical ways she could begin trying to ID people. “Sounds like the perfect time to go phishing. Maybe I can clone one of their emails or accounts and do it that way,” she mutters aloud as she finishes typing stuff up. She saves it, looks to Alexander, “Other stuff I probably can’t write down... August getting attacked, the statues in the church? How much weird is involved with this? Should I be worried about reading objects or strange calls?”

Some blonde that seemed to be browsing the YA section had glanced a time or two in Abitha’s direction, seeming to be curious about something, but having the politeness not to stare.

Alexander considers the question seriously. "I don't think this is primarily weird. But some of the people involved, that I've seen, have abilities - so I can't guarantee they won't have the ability to push back on that level. But so far, that I've seen, they haven't been dragging people Over There or breaking their minds." There's a grimace. "They're smart. Professional criminals. But still more on the normal side than," a gesture to his sling-bound arm, "other things." He notices the glance towards Abitha, and frowns at the woman, before looking back. "Friend of yours?"

Abitha takes all this information with a solemn nod, now in the process of powering her computer down and about to put it away. She takes a glance over her shoulder, in which time, full recognition can be seen on the woman’s face. Abitha, however turns back to Alexander with a neutral expression. “Never seen her before in my life.” Absolute truth. The laptop is slid into her courier bag and she sits back in her seat, still holding the strap to it. “Anything else?” Which was a weird and awkward thing to say, being she asked him to be here, but Abitha was pretty awkward sometimes too.

Alexander frowns at the woman and her recognition, eyes narrowing slightly. He's not necessarily expecting someone to try and jump the store owner in a book store, but he's not not expecting it, either. He shakes his head. "I think that's all for the moment, for me. Would you like me to walk you to your car?" Still eyeing the woman like she might pull a knife.

There's a small snort as Abitha was pushing her chair back, her face a mix of wry and amusement, "My car? I don't drive." Another look is paid over her shoulder as she gathers the context of the offer and finds it just a amusing, "What? You think Becky over there is gonna try and off me?" Again, a small snort in skeptical amusement is issued by the gamer.

Of course, the second look meant the blonde actually had worked up the nerve to start approaching, though her body language was the sort of awkward creep one might expect of such an interaction.

"Abitha?" comes the quiet inquiry made by the Barbie-like blonde.

"Mac!" Abitha had absolutely not expected to hear a voice behind her, and her startled reaction for some reason was to blurt her name out on correction. Her head snaps toward the woman, eyes wide in momentary panic.

"Yeah! Machinae! Oh my gosh, it's been like forever!" The blonde goes on, absolutely genuine about her recognition and greeting of the little gamer.

"She's staring at you," Alexander mutters, with the kind of suspicion that only someone with paranoid tendencies can muster based on a few idle glances. Still, he rises to his own feet and prepares to depart himself, bobbing his head at the information that she doesn't drive. He looks vaguely approving. And then the blonde approaches, and his eyebrows go up. "She knows your name," he solemnly tells the woman who swore she'd never seen her in her life. He probably should excuse himself so the two old friends (?) can catch up. But instead, he stares with interest.

Abitha takes in Alexander's statement with the same wide eyed, almost frozen expression given the blonde, who, assessing social cues because she wasn't socially impaired like the two Gray Harborites, goes on, "It's Justine!" Of course it was. "Miller? Gosh, the last time I saw you was that meet in Hoquiam!" Abitha looks on in confusion and terror, no recollection clear in her eyes.

That boundless, bubbly enthusiasm of course turns its ugly gaze on Alexander next, "Catching up with good ol' Mister 'A'? Gosh, I miss your classes! How have you been?"

"My name is Alexander Clayton. I don't remember a Justine Miller in any of my classes," Alexander says, visibly recoiling from the bubbly cheer and looking like he's expecting this to turn into teasing at any moment. "I think you've mistaken me. For someone else." A glance at Abitha, and he goes tense when he sees the confusion on her face. "I think we should go. We might be Lost. We should go." He doesn't reach out and try to touch her, but his good hand twitches like he's thinking about it.

“Well, yeah, that’s why we called you Mister ‘A’.” The cheerful blond looks like she was trying to keep a smile up, though it was quite clear after two very awkward responses to her socialization that it was getting hard to do. Abitha was good on agreeing with Alexander though, “Yeah, lady, I think you’ve got it confused or something.” Justine, bless her little heart, holds the smile for just a few more moments, eyes confusedly going back and forth between the two before finally dropping it, starting to look annoyed and huffy,

“Well fine, you don’t have to be so rude.” She turns on her stylishly selected heels, golden waves whirling art-like behind her and stalks off in frustration, a muttering made under her breath, “You look like you’ve gone Amish anyways...”

Abitha, for her part, hearing the jab, breaks into a wide-mouthed look of pure offense, the type of look that usually proceeds an ‘Oh Heeeeell No!’ and four snaps in a Z formation. She looks to Alexander, though, instead of going to snatch that bitch.

“What the actual fuck was that?”

"I don't know that woman," Alexander confesses to Abitha as she stalks away, his eyes wide. "I really don't. I don't know who she is, or why she would call me...that." He shakes his head at the look. "I don't know. We might be Lost. Maybe this isn't the real world." He takes a deep, shaky breath. "It'll be okay. Just...just play along until they turn into things and try to kill you. It'll be okay." Even odds whether he's talking about her or himself, at this point. "I should...walk you. Where you're going. In case."

Abitha stares after the poor (actual) former cheerleader, her ire dying as he suggests this could be a dream instead. One arm is folded over the other, curled fingers brought to her lips as she considers this, her eyes now searching for anything or of place.

"I dunno, I've always kinda felt a shift..." She mutters, Alexander given brief attention as she draws a conclusion. "Well, except that first time... With the elves." Where she left him for dead. Her eyes go back to the book shelves for a moment, then sink closed. Her brow scrunches, lips taking a determined press... Before she opens them again.

"I can't hear Sir Tenebrae, I think we're on our side." Because that was a logical statement.

"The elves were weird," Alexander agreed, and the look he gives her doesn't bear any ill will, or even judgement, for getting while the getting was good. He watches her warily, although not quietly; he's pacing around the table in restless, jerky movements, glaring suspiciously at patrons. A couple of them give him cheerful waves, and there's even a call of, "My man, Mister 'A'!" from a couple of teenage boys, which he recoils from, and retreats out of sight behind a shelf. "Sir Tenebrae?" comes the halting question from behind the shelf. "Who is that? Name means 'shadow'. Shadows aren't good things."

No time like the present, Abitha makes a motion with her fingers to call Alexander after her, and starts making for the exit, "It's my squitten." Even if she was trying to act brave, Alexander would likely note her eyes were quick to look down every aisle as they passed, alert to danger, and the fingers of her right hand, likely her dominant, were curled in like a tiger paw, her typical way to hurl lightning. Her left was holding her bag and blazer combo back and against her making sure she wouldn't trip on them or clap at her legs if she needed to run. "They were at the Factory. Were you at the factory? I don't think you were at the factory. It's hard to remember, I got brained by one of the guards." Her speech was a little quick, a little nervous. She descends the stairs toward the shop proper and the exit, still talking and looking about warily as she went, "Ever since then, I could hear him every time I Dreamed."

"Squitten?" Alexander is all about Operation Get The Hell Out Of Dodge, and so he follows along quickly, looking twitchy every time someone so much as turns in his direction. "What's a squitten? And no. I wasn't. Isabella was, if you mean the factory Over There. She told me a little about it. They were making things out of Veil creatures..." He instinctively falls into a bodyguarding sort of posture near Abitha, and when one friendly looking, matronly woman steps up to greet them both, looking delighted for some reason, he snaps, "Back off," and she falters back, eyes wide.

That taken care of, he reaches for the exit door, and frowns at Abitha. "...something's stalking you? Or haunting you?"

Abitha actually flinches at how forcefully Alexander growls the woman down, tossing a side eye back at him, but allowing him to open the door with a final look back at the book shop. "Half squid, half kitten." She lifts here hands to indicate something about two or three feet tall. "Also, a top hat." She thinks as she eyes some loner looking guy who was just looking at her super-judgemental like, and she cocks a brow. He suddenly looks away in fear, just leaving Abitha even more confused. "No and no? He's just there. He even tried to defend me once? It didn't go so well for him. I named him Sir Tenebrae Wigglesworth the Third... Mostly cause the first two of his kind I'd ever seen were chopped up and put through meat grinder, respectively."

Alexander just looks sullen at the side-eye. There's a reason he's not popular in town. Or wasn't popular in town, and his charming and convivial personality was definitely a part of it. He really looks like one attempted hug away from punching someone. It's something he seems to recognize, though, because once they're out of the shop, he takes a deep, calming breath, lets it out bit by bit. "...squitten. Right." A reluctant note of wistfulness creeps in. "It sounds cute. We saw a migration of tree octopodes, once. They also had tiny top hats, and were adorable. Bird-monsters tried to eat them, but we stopped them." He shrugs. "None of them stuck around, though. You're lucky." He clears his throat. "Anyway. I. I should go. This is all very weird. And if we're not Lost, then I need to...figure out...what's happening. Or hide. Um. You have my number? Let me know what you find, and if this--" a wave at the street, "gets any more fucked up. Don't die."

Oh god, and now Abitha just looks guilty when he looks sullen. There's a sigh and her head rocking back as if praying for something to actually go right. But then Alexander was saying something that actually sounded some kind of friendly again. Watching the breath, she actually almost gets it. She wasn't going to understand the true Alexander Clayton, but being away from people that seemed cheery to see you was so fucking tiring, which was why she generally avoided a public presence at cons. "That actually sounds kinda dope. But you're right. Too much what the fuck going on." The question gets a weird look, then a grin and raised eyebrow, raising her phone and wiggling it as if to say, 'I'll text.' as she starts stepping backwards, down off toward Oak. "You don't die either, Alexander Clayton."

Because that's how he referred to himself, she might as well respect it.