2020-09-24 - The collection.

It would be nice to say that Alexander is smart enough to put that damned thing away and never touch it again when he finds it in the mailbox. He certainly isn't happy to see it, and he is pretty bright. But...he's also very curious. Terribly curious. Besides, he knows that Isabella has one, and there's no way he's not going where she goes. So here he is, probably WITH Isabella, having found themselves at the Park, looking at those balloons. His leg aches just looking at them. "So. This is gonna end badly," he tells Isabella with a smile. Like that's just a fun thing about living in beautiful Washington state.

All the doom.

Lilith got home from the hospital with Byron very late the night before and she's in bed most of the day. But at some point, there's a golden ticket on the nightstand when the woman stirs to drink coffee, then a ticket on the man's nightstand too, "... babe? Why are those out?"

They kind of figure out something is maybe about to go amiss, but they aren't really expecting it so soon. Lilith is in little house-shoe Ugg slippers, some yoga pants, and a braless crop t-shirt from bed, probably not the best adventuring or visiting gear, but look, invitations like this do what they do and she's recovering from severe onset-tetanus, clothes was never going to be a REAL thing today. Her sentiment after orienting is a bit drab, though.

"... at least there's balloons."

This is fine. Itzhak finds himself standing in front of the old oak tree, holding the invitation via pressing it to his chest with the edge of his hand. "Ah fuck," he mutters. He glances around, looking at everybody in turn. "Anyway wanna back out, better leave now." He looks at Alexander in particular, eyebrows up. Then he sighs through his teeth and turns back to the tree and sings to it. "If this is paradise - I wish I had a lawnmower..."

Isabella stands close to Alexander, still frowning at the golden ticket in her hand. "Huh," is all she says - as if that explains everything, including the change of date. Still, nothing about the Veil surprises her anymore other than the fact that it is as malleable as water - things change at the drop of a hat. Though at the sight of those balloons? She nudges Alexander by the elbow. "I don't think those colors are a coincidence," she tells him softly. Her arm is still in a sling - it's probably a bad idea to go when she's less than intact, but nothing is going to stop her from going through that door. And just in case, her standard issue Washburn Exploration Pack is strapped to her shoulder.

Lilith's remark about the balloons puts an indescribable expression on her features. "Yeah, about that..."

She's about to explain, but Itzhak tears a hole in the fabric of space-time and she steps through.

Most of the Veil and Dream items were once stored away in Lilith's magical box, the one which she got at Christmas... which seemed to have lost its charm. Not that Byron would've known that. However, the ticket isn't stashed away for safe keeping there and instead, they are resting on the nightstand at his side of the bed, ominously. Whether he recalls what was printed on it before is of no importance, though he remembers it being a not-a-prize when they'd received it. Now?

"And here I was thinking I could make a little green on the side, placing this on Ebay as a Collector's Item." Obviously, he wasn't really planning on doing that, but he kinda wished he did now! Though... despite money exchanging hands, he has this sinking feeling that the ticket would find its way back here.

Now... they were at Addington Park for some reason. Still dressed in what he'd worn to the hospital-- his business attire sans suit jacket, he wasn't prepared for any adventure. Not that this was any different than the norm. "Balloons? Have you seen IT? That's the last thing we'd want to see." Oh look, there's so many familiar faces around.

Rekani had found that ticket tucked into the wiper of his car when he'd come down to get into it. He'd opened it, looked around, wondered who was messing with him. He shoved it in his fanny pack and went on with his day. When he's wandering through the park on a little walk, the little vapor trail of his pen following his progression, he just seems confused when he sees everyone gathered, but wanders over regardless, "Sup ya'll?" A fist is held out for Itzhak to pound, the other holding a bag of Nutter Butters. He digs one out to crunch into, asking the stunningly obvious question. "This summa that weird shit?"

It's fine, he offers snacks to everyone.

Alexander returns Itzhak's look with a raised eyebrow, and the slightest shake of his head. He leans to bump Isabella on her good side. "I think you're right. But at least we might get some answers about all of...this." He has his oversized jacket on, to cover the knife at the small of his back, and a few small items - flashlight, matches, tiny first aid kit - in case of disaster. It might not HELP, but it makes him feel better. He lifts a hand in a wave at Byron and Lilith. There's extra amusement as he takes in the three: Itzhak, Byron, and Lilith. "Field trip, I guess." And then there's Rekani. He blinks in surprise, but gives the man a pleased nod. "Hey. This is definitely weird shit. Good to see you."

Itzhak holds out his other hand but it's not a fist as is correct pounding procedure; his hand is half-open, relaxed, but also, when Rekani pounds, stiff as a board. "Weird shit it is, bruddah. You ready to rock and roll? ...there goes Isabella." He smirks a little at Alexander, like, ah, what can you do. "Thorne, Lilka?" Then he's going through the SUPER KICK ASS ARCHWAY he's made. Yeah, who's the gantzeh makher? On the other side, however, is Balloon Carnival and Itzhak had a bad experience with being a balloon. "Uh," he says to the treasure chest, which is CLEARLY a mimic. "Here ya go pal." He kind of wrists the golden paper at it.

Lilith looks relieved to see Alexander and Isabella, but a little confused to see Rekani and Itzhak. All the same, Itzhak seems to know where to be going, so fuck it, she follows, plus Isabella is already charging in. She's a bit slow and ginger about it, though, her body hurts pretty badly all over from being locked up all through her musculature for however long, it's like a walking all over bruise.

Reaching for one of Byron's hands to hold fast to, she lets him carry the tickets, then murmurs, "... wait. You're making IT jokes about balloons and bring me cheesy hospital balloons to set me up?" Then they're pitched into tumble which sends her quickly up on her knees with scramble to look around after orienting, sheer paranoia. After a moment of survey from her knees, though, she seems pretty happy she doesn't have to put the ticket in a mimic box... but her expression is dubious as hell about a circus scene, "... pay the box, baby. Try to keep your fingers."

Alexander limps after Isabella. He doesn't even bother to try and say 'wait', just grins a little grin to himself and hurries to catch up. "Nice door," he adds, to Itzhak, as he passes through. He staggers on the other side, turning greenish, but at least they didn't fall into a horrifying (for him) group pile on the other side. "...my kingdom for a needle," he murmurs at the sea of balloons. He, too, hands his ticket over to the chest, staring at it for any sign of lunging or eating of people.

She takes an offered Nutter Butter from Rekani with a quick grin and a small wave with her free hand, though she tucks it in her pocket for later, because she's done this enough times to remember the nausea that often assails her once passing by. She keeps a grip on Alexander's hand when she passes through, more for him than her - she is also familiar with how he doesn't like losing her in transit; it's somewhat worse now after her stint in Dark Man Prison.

Isabella sighs when she sees the circus tent beckoning at them. "Yeah, sounds about right. We saw this thing the last time Alexander, Itzhak, August and I were here," she tells the rest. "While we were investigating the strange memory phenomenon that's blanketed the city. Haven't made any headway on that since - unless you count these." She gestures to her arm, and Alexander's healing leg. "But maybe we will today. Hopefully. I think?" She pushes through the flap of the tent, and there's a frown when she sees the mimic. "Thing's got teeth, so be careful." She hands the golden ticket she's got very gingerly at the treasure chest - as in, her fingers are pinching the very far end of the corner of the piece of golden shine she's got in her hand.

Byron mostly remembers who all was there when he got his ticket to begin with, so he's not surprised to see some faces, but curious when others show up, no matter how familiar. "These balloons aren't obnoxiously shiny with images on them that would delight the hearts of any six year old girl." Rainbows. Unicorns. Glitter. He might stand around and make light of things, but this is Byron Thorne. He's always a little put on edge when strange things happen.

Feeling Lilith's hand reaching for his, he simply watches as Itzhak tears a politely sized and shaped hole within the Veil to allow them access through. "That wasn't necessary." Yes, he's reluctant to have to cross over again, "But thanks." Turning to Lilith as they meander through, the world seems to shift and it feels like they are floating. It's disorienting really, but just the sight of the carnival tent and then the voice asking for their ticket, it almost triggers something within him and if Lilith's hand was still on his, his grip tightens now. Breathing in deeply, he eyes the ticket taker, handing over said tickets.

"Yeah, bro, sure? I'unno..." Half-hearted shrug to Itzhak, but following the crowd, because peer pressure just made floating along easy. Having had a cumulative total of two unpleasant plane-shifting transitions, Rekani seems wholly unprepared for the wave of unpleasant nausea, but, tank that he was, at least he doesn't puke. He does look down at his bag of Nutter Butters as if they betrayed him however. Must be a bad bag. He rolls them up and shoves them back into his fanny pack, because he should obviously double check later. He eyes the chest, then pulls his ticket out, taking a second confused look at it. "Yo, creepy." Again with the obvious understatements. He watches the others slip their tickets in, and goes to follow, though ready to just mentally shove the ticket into the taker if there was any danger of getting the clamps.

Alexander just stares at the mimic, somewhat fascinated by the huge fleshy tongue and the row of teeth. Hey, he never played D&D, so the whole thing is quite novel. His fingers twitch. He wants to poke it. But when it says rude, he clears his throat and looks away, shuffling with his head down like a kid caught about to shoplift.

Isabella's expression flattens, before she takes a look around the inside of the tent. "Did your boss call us here?" she asks the mimic. "I thought we weren't allowed to visit him until maybe fifty years from now?"

Rekani's not afraid to be rude, or at least was at some consciousness level that made this all seem way more interesting, "Yoooo, duuude." He prods the tongue of the mimic with the edge of his ticket before setting it inside, "You must be hella popular with the lady treasure chests." He adds in a raucous wink and click of his cheek.

"My kingdom for a weighted d20," Itzhak mutters. "C'mon, Thorne, you gonna complain?" Because he, himself? NEVER complains. And he's taking point, like he does, because he also never, ever learns. The tent gets eyed like a rival, and he pulls the flap open to duck inside.

"I KNEW IT!" That's Alexander, ruining the museum feel by hopping on his good leg and pointing excitedly at the menu. "It's POURHOUSE! Not POORHOUSE! Suck it, Gray Harbor!"

If anything, especially on spying the Mimic, Byron expects to see Kevin and Magnolia here. Especially Kevin, because he's a big nerd. When depositing his tickets into the things sharp-toothed wide open maw, he makes sure to not let his hand linger anywhere near it once the deed is done. Isabella is as brazen as ever, already calling out the ticket taker on what they knew about these tickets originally. "Maybe their boss has need for us no-- Damn." Yes, he recalls how Kevin and Mags were treated when tasked with their own job.

Wandering on through, Thorne carefully studies the interior of the space that they find themselves in. Seeing the familiar shapes and signs of various establishments in town, his brow arches, "I guess we'll be getting some answers here now." Though at Alexander's exclamation, he blinks, "That's one way to take the news." But in truth, he's just glad that he wasn't going crazy either with the memory of the crappy bar being the Pourhouse.

Lilith's seen that mimic chest eat so she watches carefully while Byron pitches the tickets for pay into the tongued maw. Then after pulling herself from kneeling survey of wariness with effort, she eyes the tent people are headed to. Secretly, she gets WAY more excited than she should be, but she lies for Byron's sake and pretends she's not, a little sneakier than Isabella about her need to explore the curiosities and maybe experiment with them.

She doesn't let on she's probably in a mood to touch something she shouldn't be touching, but oh, that's there. Thanks Vivisectionist.

Once in, she looks aside at Byron and breaks from his hand to immediately wander and touch the glass while looking in, "... okay, wait, where's the diner, I swear to shit it's Grizzly because Gina is grizzly."

There's a furrowed brow when Isabella examines the space, but when Alexander makes his exclamation, she shuffles over to take a look at the glass cubes. "....has he been collecting collective memories?" she wonders. "Maybe that's what we're looking at - he took them, so people have to fill in the gaps." It's just a theory and really that's just as likely as anything else that could happen in the Veil. "But I thought..." She frowns as she straightens up. "I thought the Ors can't cross over the boundary - could be the work of a minion or minions." There's a sideglance at where the Mimic was. "Not like he doesn't have any shortage of those."

Itzhak is not sneaky at all about rolling on up to the Pourhouse display. "Yeah, youse guys," he calls back to Alexander and Isabella, "it was tryin' to make us say they was wrong forever, remember?" Yeah, like any of them are going to forget, Itzil. He's about to touch the glass when Lilith gets zotted for her pains and then Itzhak just happens to decide touching the glass isn't what he really wants to do anyway so whatever.

"People could have brought him these things," Alexander agrees, "maybe without even knowing that it was--holy shit!" Alexander yelps when Lilith is zapped by an arc of electricity. "Lilith, are you okay?" A quick look at Isabella. "Don't touch anything," he tells her, although there's an air of inevitability about it; she's GOING to touch something.

This way, he just gets to tell her I told you so. His own hands go into his pockets to restrain his own (perfectly logical) urge to poke things.

At first, Rekani is ought to squint and rub at his eyes, the light change a little jarring, but as he looks around, he breaks back into a dopey grin. He wanders around the space, looking here and there, noticing the little replicas of Gray Harbor landmarks, looking endlessly entertained, "Oh man, it's like those little Christmas towns! Only they got the names all weird." Because if there was going to be anyone in Gray Harbor who wouldn't have noticed a difference, it was likely Rekani.

Despite their just returning home from the hospital not long ago because Lilith needed a shot or two, Byron doesn't make a grab for her wrist when she releases her hold on his hand to do Lilith things. Perhaps, he doesn't expect her to touch anything, though he probably should have. So when he takes notice that she's right about to touch the smooth glass of one of the displays, he instinctively gets ready to call out her name. Alas, it is too late. He can just feel it in the air, the electric jolt.

Hurrying over to her side, looking more concern than stern, he checks in on her, "Lil, you alright?" Then Alexander warns about not touching the glass or anything. "Come on, let's just get this over with." If Isabella is speaking in truth to all of this, Thorne is distracted right now.

Lilith forgets all about who's right about the goddamn diner because the second her hand really gets the touch in as her eyes do the search, she's yanking it back and stumbling into Byron behind her with a yelp like a puppy who's been popped for misbehaving. Then she nurses her hand and twitches some, not just with residual from the zap, but because she KIND OF looks like she wants to try and break the glass on principle now, nevermind it's not glass.

She refrains, though. After swallowing down lamely, she says, "... yeah, don't touch the glass."

"Them's the actual names," Itzhak tells Rekani, whether it will help or not. "Yannow, like I ain't a Russian spy." He isn't?! ...and here's who seems likely to be the author of Itzhak's new career as Very Normal, Not A Spy, American Mechanic. He turns to her with a sour look--but puts one useless hand to his chest and bows her a little soloist's bow. "Shalom aleichem. Maybe you wanna tell us why you're doing all this revising."

I am the Revisionist.

The look on Isabella's face is indescribable. Slowly, quietly, she retrieves her wallet, opens it up, takes a twenty dollar bill from its confines, and slowly hands it to Alexander. Someone just won a bet.

"Hello. Isabella Reede. Why-- " Itzhak beats her to it though. There's a curious squint at the bag over the latest Ist's features.

"Are you wearing a bag on your head or is that your head?" Lilith blurts at the Revisionist because she's dying to know what's under there suddenly after the introduction, rubbing her zapped hand with her good one. Then after clearing her throat, she looks around with mild confusion, "I thought the ticket was for the Collector... and we were going to see a collection of..." Working her bottom lip between her teeth, she looks at the others, then at Byron before it really sinks in what the introduction means.

"Oh. Revisionist." Then she starts to kind of look pissed, "Did you write that I killed Byron?"

"Nawww," Rekani denies the reality of Itzhak's statement, though the new entrance cuts off any further actual words. The large DJ looking over, asking his own question, which was probably entirely unhelpful, "Yo, are you related to Marshmello?" Rekani calls over, but otherwise, it was probably wiser to let the adults talk. His mouth kind of just moves on its own sometimes, a comment made a little quieter, "Cause I fuckin' love his jams..." Meanwhile, his hand cheats toward his fanny back, pulling out a bag of Trolli gummy worms.

Alexander grins, and takes the twenty. He waggles it at Isabella for JUST a moment, then tucks it away into his pocket. Aside from that, though, his eyes remain on the Revisionist, staring at the peculiar headcovering. Itzhak and Lilith have asked the questions on his mind, so he's just staring right now.

"Of course there's a Revisionist." Byron murmurs under his breath, because why not. This is another thing which he shouldn't be surprised about. He's met with a few of these -ists and -ors and how differently the all looked was somewhat fascinating. I mean with all the miniature shops that they've passed through, the businessman figured this whole thing had to do with that whole mess. That includes the nasty rumors that have been plaguing them as of late regarding a vicious murder.

Lilith is direct with her question, asking about the rather unnerving bag that the woman uses for a head. Byron, however, just studies the Revisionist, before giving the entire room another visual sweep.

Itzhak closes his eyes and shoves the heel of his hand at the bridge of his nose, like a guy who's got a headache. "I heard you! I--" then the Revisionist is walking off and Itzhak mutters something vile in Yiddish and follows along. He glances over his shoulder to make sure everybody else is following too. "C'mon guys. Stick together."

Alexander follows, definitely. He sticks close to Isabella, but tries to keep an eye on the rest of the group as well. Fully expecting something to leap out of the walls and try and devour them. Or for the walls to try and devour them. He's flexible, really. The new position of the Revisionist's face makes him blinks. "Who's the Source? We appreciate being allowed to see your...work, but it's actually pretty inconvenient and disturbing for us who have to live your new reality." He clearly doesn't expect this to matter, but he says it anyway. His eyes twitch back and forth as those lights go on and offer, not quite flinching with each one.

Lilith is about to go on a rant on that smiley face sent her way with an answering-non-answer from the Revisionist for the time being, her brows knitting down even more with sullen rage over it all. She's about to murder half the town and maybe Byron on accident and it's SMILING about it. But after figuring this isn't the time to get in a yell match (or fight) with what exactly the Revisionist IS and ruin the tour, she sets her jaw and follows more warily with a little less internal excitement about her curiosities.

Besides, there's things to look at now on the way and she looks and... doesn't touch a damn thing now. Electricity conditioning from the get-go probably helps with that.

She quietly flanks Alexander, taking in the details of the tour with that quiet, but intense way she does. For once, Isabella isn't asking any questions - she's letting the others do it. Besides, the investigator is already asking what she would have - there's no need to reiterate it. She does stop at the series of pictures to take a good look at the frames within, but otherwise she follows with the rest. "How is it amazing?" she finally asks, turning her green-gold eyes to the Revisionist. "Sorry, was never good at art interpretation. It's a little more subjective a study than I'm used to."

Passing through this 'art' of Revisionist History, Byron is seeking out any hint of the Berenstein Bears. Out of everything, that's something that had bothered him. That and his murder. When no answer is given to Lilith's question about that particular murder, his dark eyes glance over the catch the odd smile on the back of the woman's sack head. Alexander's already asked about the Source, so no need to bombard her with questions.

After a brief disappointed look, Rekani trades glances with a few of the others, offers a large shrug, and follows along, munching his gummi snacks and looking around at the exhibits. To him, this all seemed really normal... like some sort of pop art exhibition in Seattle. Except the monkey without a tail, that gets a weird squinted side-eye.

Itzhak's eyes trail over each of these displays of the Revisionist's work, his scowl deepening. For the life of him he can't remember if Curious George ever had a tail or not. He'd just read the book for the sixtieth time to his niece over Facetime and he can't freakin' remember. "Next you're gonna tell me Paganini didn't really sell his soul to the devil."

Alexander immediately ducks his head. "I'm sorry," he says, shuffling his feet and looking deeply abashed. "The Source. Of course. I apologize for getting it wrong. It's not good to get people's names wrong." He stops when he sees the security badge on its pedestal. He blinks. "Wait. Baxter Memorial Hospital? What is this? Was there something named after a Baxter in Gray Harbor?"

Itzhak's eyes go unfocused when the Revisionist asks him if can't he feel the Source, or the Collector, or whatever we're calling it today. Hey everything else got renamed, how does the Collector like it, huh? As he always does to focus his attention, he hums under his breath, I can feel it comin' in the air tonight, oh Lord... Then he shivers, goosebumps popping up along his long wiry arms, the curly hair on the back of his neck standing up.

Rekani just trades a glance with Itzhak, a brow lifted, the look clearly reading, 'Is dis bitch cray cray?' but his mouth working... Because he was chewing... But after swallowing, "I mean, uh... Maybe? Which dude we talkin about?" It's probably just as poor an attempt as every other time he forgotten something and had to ask the obvious question.

It's the badge of Dolores Cunningham that causes Isabella to stop in her tracks, frowning at it and the brief squint of the name of the hospital. "What the hell?" she whispers quietly; not to mention the picture looks distressingly familiar. Suddenly, the enmity the Exorcist displays towards Margaret Addington might have more layers than initially suspected. She makes a note of the name, before she straightens up and glances over towards Alexander.

There's also a strange feeling in the air, but after a moment's rumination, she dismisses it. It could be nothing, because everything here is weird.

"... Hey. Isn't that the Exorcist we went to see with the Beetlejuice throat cut?" Lilith says while wandering up to look more closely at the writing on the black and white photograph. Her head tilts some while surveying. Then she looks aside at Isabella and Alexander, since one IS a Baxter and the other has mentioned a thing or two about them. She knocks her hand back through her hair and shifts on her slippered feet, brows knit in pensive fashion now from the things she's seeing, instead of a sullen fury she's containing.

"How did the Exorcist get her throat cut?"

THERE. It was Berenstein Bears! Byron even pauses briefly to get a closer look to make sure. "See. Because Berenstain or whatever they think it is now is pretty lame in print." He says this to Lilith, before hurrying along. It seems that everyone's attention is drawn to the display for Baxter Memorial because anything Baxter was an odd sight to see in Gray Harbor. "It sure looks like her." He says to Lilith's inquiry about the Exorcist, a crease forming at his brow, "Was she never always the Exorcist?" Can people be plucked out of their normal lives to be put to work in places like this?

Isabella glances at the woman at the mention of the second Source, and third Source. "Are there only three of them?" she wonders. "Or are there more?"

She follows, because she's about to unveil the exciting part, and she can't help but be curious as to what that is, or means, precisely. Her steps quicken, though she remains by Alexander's form and shadow.

"Third," Itzhak says softly, coming back from wherever his Song took him. "Third, and you gotta change things every now and then."

It's probably not helpful with Rekani sidles up near Alexander for that over-obvious stage whisper, "Woh, man, she knows your name?" The gummi worms are offered sideways, that little bag tip that asks if the jumpy man wanted any. Rekani, for his part, looks perplexed for a moment, eyes drawn out to the middle distance, in the direction of that weird feeling, still holding the bag. Then he seems to shakes his head, shake the weird feeling off, and continue off to follow the tour.

Alexander gives a helpless shrug to Rekani. "I've never met her before. But she probably knows all our names." No, he's not making any attempt to whisper back. In fact, he's a bit tense about this upcoming Best Part of the tour. "Um. Can you change anything, or are there certain things you shouldn't? Or couldn't? And do you have to change so many things at once all the time, or is this special?"

"Your work here? This affects the whole world then? Not just areas where the Veil is thin?" Byron asks, drawing his gaze to look on the bag-headed woman once again, "Aside from other thin areas, I always expected that our issues and odd circumstances were more of an isolated case." His curiosity is further piqued when they bring up how many sources there are. "Who was the first?" This question is geared towards Alexander, since apparently, he would know.

"Three Sources, huh." Lilith sighs when it's not outed how the Exorcist got her slash, then murmurs pensively, absently slipping one of her hands over with somewhat unwitting motion to hook a pinky finger around Byron's index finger while they stand and walk near each other to the EXCITING part. Honestly, the brunette would be lying if she said she didn't want to move on, so she doesn't say anything. Then again, the general dread of how things tend to be 'exciting' on this side is certainly there too.

Byron also must be kind of thinking about what's nagging her about recognizing the Exorcist too, because she shoots him a direct look.

"The Source she's talking about is the Collector - so he'd be the first, at least in this context," Isabella tells Byron quietly. "The second is one we've already met, so probably the Doctor. And the Third, I've never met but I've heard of, but the Dire-- " Said while the Revisionist supplies the information. "Right, that."

There's a glance towards the computer, and the expression on her face is very clear; someone hasn't learned her lesson. But since the party is moving, there's no room to tarry and she follows.

Alexander watches who and what she points to, and his expression grows thoughtful as he recalls their only encounter with an -or. "The Doctor is the Source of healing abilities, the Collector of psychokinetic abilities, and the Director of mental abilities?" he offers, speculatively. He also absently reaches out and blocks the text from Isabella's sight by just putting a hand in front of her face. "Remember it's no fun to be illiterate," he murmurs to her.

The archaeologist finds a hand on her face. She turns it to look (blindly) at Alexander. There could be a little bit of a pout, but at least he's there to save her from herself this time.

Lilith seems to know exactly what the Revisionist means after she explains the three Sources and points around for reference, visually noting which name goes with which before nodding a bit. She actually seems satisfied too, as if she's logically working out a few things that make sense or might be pertinent for future understandings, quiet for the time being. But when she sees the typewriter, that little finger on Byron's hand curls tight with snagging.

He knows immediately she wants nothing more than to try and blow it up, but she knows better after the glass zap and blowing things up on this side has... consequences a lot of the time. She pulls in a huge breath instead and carries on with noting of who the Revisionist is indicating with the next display.

Not particularly liking being pointed at, Byron's posture stiffens"Wasn't Easton's drunk uncle the Doctor at one point?" Byron could be getting his facts mixed up because he's never actually been to the Asylum nor has he met the corpse. "What was that about?" He almost forgets that Easton is still missing when he brought that tidbit up. Feeling Lilith's finger hooking onto his, he turns towards her, looking upon her with warm, yet intense eyes,.

The typewriter does draw some attention and he would almost like to read whatever is written anywhere due to nosiness, but they are moving right along.

Rekani does that silly expression of pointing to his chest when he's called out, mostly because all this talk was going clear over his head, and the talk about what was exciting for him was... foreboding? He wasn't sure. Alexander's covering of Isabella's eyes gets a weird look, but the big Latino was basically in for a penny, thus in for a pound, following in the wake of the others. "Someone's gonna have to like... fill me in on this shit, aren't they..."

There's a hint of a smile when Alexander proves himself to be top of the class again, before the Revisionist starts getting heart eyes at him and there's a slow narrowing of her eyes. Still, Isabella remains silent up until they're introduced to George, to whom she goes, "Hi, George." Straightforward and to the point. She doesn't crack any lifting jokes, or ask whether he's got any vulnerable spots.

Alexander leans in and replaces his hand with a brief kiss right between Isabella's eyes as they move on from the treacherous, seductive call of Veil computers. He looks pleased at the praise, his spine straightening out of its habitual slump for a moment. "So...when our abilities change, it's because the Sources have decided to change what they're...giving off? Or giving out?" He has FIVE MILLION QUESTIONS-- but they all still when they enter the room with George. His eyes widen, and he draws protectively close to Isabella. "...hello, George," he says, obediently. "But...what the hell IS it?"

Lilith looks at the giant captive rock monster and wanders up close to get a better look, head following the form upward with her brows knit. After a moment, she tests a little wave at George the giant Rock Monster or whatever, mostly because it's ridiculous to call it George aloud. But also she wants to see if he's actually responsive to interaction. She doesn't look like she's worried about it popping out, she's just curious. Then she backpedals back to Byron, wherever he's ended up after her wander.

Itzhak has fallen quiet, listening intently to things he can hear on several levels--the others discussing the situation, the Revisionist chirping away like a manic canary, the thrum of the Song. His hands hang at his sides as he swaggers along after the Revisionist. Coming to a halt in front of the Magneto-prison, he looks at the rock creature within, and murmurs, "How's it hangin', George," obedient just to be a smartass. This is called 'malicious compliance'. But then his eyebrows start drifting up his head and he steps closer, eyes widening. "Hey. Hey, you're...that's...this is a golem!" Which is a Hebrew word but probably nobody knows that, since it's been so worked into pop culture.

"Hiii, George," Rekani was lifting a hand to wave, as if this were some sort of Variable Substance Anonymous group meeting. He had finished the gummies at this point, crumpling up the bag. Responsible millennial that he was, he was glancing around for a trash can, but will absolutely police his trash by putting it back in his fan-... He pauses, his eyes finally sweeping from that glance and toward the golem. His head cocks aside, looking confused, then looks to Itzhak, "I mean... yeah? Was that a question?" It was as much of a question, Rekani felt, as it wasn't, this weird feeling he always knew what that thing was. He holds a hand out in a demonstrative wave toward the Revisionist as if it was all really simple and easy. Wasn't it? Rekani was maybe getting a headache.

"And all this time I thought that our powers were just evolving rather than being rewritten outright. So this is interesting news." Though when the Revisionist corrects Alexander's guess, the businessman slowly nods, though it doesn't change his mind entirely. "It does make me curious about when it's decided that things need to change." Though something about all of this has him uneasy, especially noting some of the more drastic changes made. This is what makes him look at each of the others. "I can't say that I appreciate this new story written for me. It makes life somewhat difficult." Because he's supposed to be dead!

When they come across the rock creature, however, his eyes narrow as he observes to see whether this thing is dangerous or not. George, huh?" He lifts his chin, giving the golem this acknowledging nod when Lilith retreats to join him, "Hey."

"Me either. I can barely leave the house without wanting to kill someone or having some weird breakdown of believing Byron is dead for a few seconds at a time." Lilith complains, even though the complaints are supposed to be in the box at the end of the tour. She's very American in that regard, she bitches to the Safeway manager a lot about things moving. Batting her lashes a few times, she eyes Itzhak and Rekani speculatively when the gift shop is mentioned, then looks back at the golem dubiously.

Then she wonders, "... are there things for us in the gift shop too?"

"I'm pretty sure we pissed the Doctor off," Alexander tells Byron, in a low voice. He also clears his throat at Byron's remark about the story. "I think a lot of us would, um, prefer to have things be the way we've remembered them. In our lives. It's not that being a school teacher is bad, exactly. But it's not really me? And Byron shouldn't be dead." When she mentions the stories on the TV, his eyes widen. "...oh. Well." A pause. "Have you considered true crime stories instead? They're very exciting. And real."

Alexander, no.

Isabella nudges Alexander's side with the point of her elbow, hissing, "Alexander, no."

Itzhak shoots the Revisionist a startled glance, then half-grins lopsidedly at her. It's not every day a guy gets heart eyes from an -ist, okay? "We've known you for a long time," he tells George. "A long, long time. Nice to see you again, buddy." He's taking kind of a racial memory tack here. He doesn't quite touch the glass, but he traces a certain Hebrew letter in the air superimposed over George. Sorry everybody, Itzhak is in love with yet another Veil creature.

Alexander oofs. "What?" He grumbles at Isabella. "I'm just saying, that if she wants to make our lives exciting, there's at least better material to be had..." Grumble grumble.

Itzhak's left sock has BB-8 on it. That's a fair trade.

Rekani was also watching the golem for a long moment, that serious and contemplative expression a bit out of place on the perpetually baked DJ. His eyes start to wander around the room, looking to the placards, looking to Itzhak, "Wait like... for real? A sock?" He looks to the others as well. No Rekani, after this entire strange tour, the fact you need to pay a sock for a golem really seemed like the bit of the story that's out of place.

Byron grimaces faintly at the Revisionist's sorrow, more out of discomfort that of feeling any true sympathy for calling her work out. The others will agree, he's sure. And they do. When Alexander tries to get the -ist interested in True Crime, however, Thorne's eyes narrow, but Isabella has things under control. What troubles him, though, is the way Itzhak sounds brainwashed. Who says things like that? A long, long time?

"So what are these... golems?" He'll ask Itzhak, since apparently he knows. Entering the gift shop, Byron would take a look around as you do, but there's really not much to see. It's quite disappointing. "This is a Pusher thing isn't it?"

Yeah, for real, apparently, because Itzhak is fumbling at the laces of his left boot with fingers that don't work. "They're protectors that Jewish wizards made thousands of years ago," he answers Byron, absently irritated with how he didn't plan for this random-boot-taking-off event. "Made 'em out of earth and brought 'em to life with a word, you ain't never heard that? Movers and shakers, Thorne!"

Technically, part of what Lilith was complaining about isn't the Revisionist's fault, but the situation root is, okay. It's at least enough logic to make her not argue back and detail more ways about how much it sucks. She doesn't realize she probably can't carry any gift back, though, and knits her brows when there's just two golems there inside. After a moment, she tells Byron, "A souvenir would probably eat me in my sleep, anyway." She sighs a little and rakes her hand back through her hair before looking at the Revisionist with a blink.

"Wait, that's it? You're not putting us in a death match to find the door or summoning unicorn hybrids to chase us out for kicks?"

Lilith is wary, fighting is a thing she just always seems to run into.

Rekani was using one foot to step on a heel, pulling a sneaker off to try to get at his sock, "I mean, real talk, I just assumed she was gonna be like, 'Now George is gonna kill you, peace out, suckas!'" Rekani shrugs, slipping a bare foot back in his Adidas... And making a face, cause that always felt gross.