2020-10-01 - Pour One Out for Ol' Henry

The sun's getting low in the sky, and the Boardwalk is lighting up in response, providing some quaint ambience to the dregs of the tourists who decided to take their trip in early fall and not summer. With the Marsquerade coming up, some vendors are already getting in on the action; carnival-themed prizes and 'lantern' type or candelaria lights brighten the Boardwalk, and autumnesque foods and drinks like mulled cider, caramel apples, and pumpkin scones are on offer.

August is waiting for Eleanor's shift at the coffee shop to be done, so has taken himself on a walk. He's pensive in the wake of Easton's return and the killer's capture. October's here, which means it's time to get the garden set up in Addington Park and make the December stock order. He has a lot on his mind.

"August," calls a voice from behind him. Niall looks every inch a citizen of the PNW, despite the Kiwi accent and the very obvious Pacific Islander heritage. That means plaid, denim and an Army surplus jacket plus wool beanie. But it works for him. He's carrying a reusable bag over one shoulder that has some vegetables sticking out of it. "How are ya, mate?"

August half-turns; he's in an older, black pea coat of heavy wool, denim jeans, and heavy hikers, so it was definitely a work day for him. He smiles, tilts his chin up in a greetnig. "Hey, Niall. How you doing." His smile falters, because at least for the two of them that question has a specific undertone. 'Since we found Henry's head on a stick in the woods and Nakamura babbling.'

"Ah yeah, yeah, well, I'm...not sleeping, if I'm being honest." Niall scratches the back of his neck. Despite the weight of those words, he grins, eyes wrinkling. But there's obvious pain in his eyes. "Having to relive the whole thing for the cops wasn't really a treat. Honestly I only agreed to be one of the sweepers instead of at base camp because I really thought our grid wouldn't turn anything up. Same reason I asked for you and Cecil and..." he snaps, "...Renata as well. All people I thought really didn't need to see something like that. This town is tricksy, hmmm?"

August makes a low sound and nods, sympathetic. "Yeah. It sure likes to stick it in and break it off, doesn't it?" A small, sad smile for Niall's consideration, even if it didn't pan out. "Thanks, though. For thinking of that. I appreciate it, even if..." Even if he's having nightmares about Markale, again. They'll pass. They always do.

He nods towards the small stand selling mulled cider and caramel apples. "Cider?" The solution to insomnia is always alcohol. Right? Right.

"Sure," says Niall. "This bag is actually mostly liquor with a few vegetables to try and make m'self feel better." He hefts the bag he's carrying. "So that was already in my evening plans." He looks out over the boardwalk and then down to the beach. "I don't know if I'll ever look at this place or the woods the same way again. But again, that's what the town does, ay?"

"That's what it does," August murmurs. He coughs in wry amusement at the vegetables which are serving as an alcohol offset for Niall's conscience. "This is some hand-made alcohol," he assures Niall. "Better quality sleep, maybe." Okay, probably not. But you never know.

The woman running the cider stand is part of a family who own an orchard out towards Hoquaim. They sell at all the boardwalks along the slough plain and harbor, so August knows them quite well. It's a modest income supplement; most of their apples go to farmer's markets and stores in the region.

"Heya there Roen," she says as they come up to the booth. She's a spare woman, probably in her fifties, with crow's feet at her eyes, short black hair going gray, and tawny skin. "Two ciders?"

"Good to see ya Meg. Two." He drops a ten on the booth, which Meg scoops up and drops into the till. She sets to drawing their cider with casual efficiency.

"This town is fucking terrible," says Niall before they're within earshot of the cider-slinger. "But it's impossible to leave. Which is part of what makes it terrible. Hi!" and then he's grinning at the cidery proprietor. "Smells great. Autumn in a glass." It's like a switch, and he's suddenly the park interpreter instead of the guy dealing with the trauma of seeing his friend and coworker's body parts on two separate occasions.

As she's handing off the compostable, heavy, double-walled cups, Meg says, "Thank you, we're here all fall, plenty more where this come from if it your tongue likes it as much as your nose."

"It will," August assures Niall, and takes up the two cups, offering one to him. "Thanks Meg."

"You too, Roen. Looking forward to the garden."

August groans. "No pressure."

"None," Meg says on a grin. August steers the two of them towards the pier. Speaking of the park interpreter, "You wintering up in north at a post, or down here?"

"Here. I'm management," says Niall with mock-pride. "Which means I'm king of the skeleton crew throughout the winter. Gone are the days when I'd frig off somewhere else for the winter or go teach skiing or something. Or go home." He means New Zealand. "Fun with adulthood, hmm? Though that's literally the only trapping I have. Don't own a house. Even the jeep I drive is owned by the park service."

August arches an eyebrow, surprised to hear about the lack of a house. "Really? You could get one of those little A-frames that they rent over on..." He narrows his eyes, frowns. "Sycamore." He nods, then holds up a hand. "Don't get me wrong, the park accommodations for rangers staying over aren't the worst, and free, which isn't beatable. I wintered on a post for a decade. Just," he half-shrugs, "it's nice, to have a place to come home to."

"Oh, I rent one of said A-frames," says Niall with a lift of eyebrows. "Predictably. But I'm not a homeowner. I did want my own space after ages staying in company-provided housing. Logging sites, ski hills, tour companies. I did what most Aussies and Kiwis do but for like..." he lifts a shoulder, "...fifteen years? Twenty? Real failure to launch scenario, me."

"Oh, you mean--well, hell," August scoffs, "I only just bought a place four years ago." He dismisses the 'failure to launch' with rolled eyes. "Owning a house is overrated. Rentals are home too. Hell, my parents, they've never owned a house. By the time they could afford it they were ready to retire, didn't have the energy to think about maintaining their own place." He shrugs about that. "First member of my family to own a place was the older of my sisters, and I was still living in the woods, hugging trees."

He picks a spot along the pier to stop and look out at the sunset on the water. "On the other hand," he says, his eyes moving to the beach, "since this is the kind of place that'll kill you, renting's not the worst idea."

Niall chuckles and shakes his head. "Mhmm. Yeah. Don't leave your family with an albatross. Just a month or two of rent. And those A-frames are surprisingly posh for the rent cost. And the area's quite nice. I love the skylight over my bed." He moves to a spot on the boardwalk and sits down, dangling long legs over the edge. He sets his carrier bag down, and there is indeed the clank of bottles. "I was going to ask when you'd think things would get back to normal, but normal is an illusion around here, isn't it?"

August grunts about the unwanted bestowal of property which can't be sold. It's a thing he's been concerned about, off and on. He shifts and sits next to Niall, sips his cider. "Not so much that as, this is normal." He gives Niall a sidelong, apologetic glance, then continues his examination of the beach. "And those of us who've been...through things, or lived here long enough, we've got the frog and boiling pot of water effect going on." A little more cider. "We're used to it. Which isn't necessarily good, it just is what it is. Sure, we could," he nods north and east, suggesting 'away', "leave, move to Seattle, or the Bay Area." He sighs. "And forget all of it. Hank, and those other poor people...we'd just forget."

Fingering his cider, he mutters, "But fuck that--I'm not forgetting him," takes a drink.

"Damned right," says Niall. He holds up his cup to August. "To Henry Fitzgerald. A fine park ranger and human being who I wished I could have known better." He does seem to mean that, and his voice kind of trails off and gets distant towards the end. Then he sips the cider.

August holds up his cup in turn, taps it to Niall's and takes another drink. "To Hank, who I wish I'd kept in better touch with." Well, at the very least, it had spurred him to touch base with other former co-workers in the Park, especially at Hoh, which was something. This was always dicey, thanks to the Veil, but most of them remembered him to a greater or lesser extent.

"Listen, though, about having trouble sleeping." He finally stops staring at the beach. "You can feel free to text me or whatever. I wake up a lot from nightmares, so." So he's awake a lot at odd times, is the suggestion.

Niall slips a hand into his bag and comes out with a mickey of decent blend. He uncaps it and dribbles a little into the cider, then offers it towards August with a questioning upnod. Might as well give it a bit more of a kick. "I appreciate the offer. Right now I'm trying to fight through it. Which means a lot of staring out said skylight. Only rarely self-medicating. Early mornings and my 4th decade cure me of the temptation to drink too much."

August shakes his head and holds up a hand. "Thanks, but, I'm driving us home later, and then I need to cook." He bobs his eyebrows. "Huckleberry barbeque dove. Prepped 'em this morning."

He pulls up a knee and loops an arm around it, sips from his cider. "Understood. But the offer stands. I have unlimited texting, and I can't keep Ellie up at all hours--she has to be in around six some days." He sighs, then seems to start. "Oh. Speaking of, ah...this fucking town." He smiles, wry. "A guy came to see me about some seeds he got from one of Their Dreams. I was figuring to go over and try planting them. Interested?"

"Ah see, that's why I walk everywhere. And the benefit of living in a woodsy home that's still within town limits." Niall looks around and then slips his whiskey bottle back into the bag. "There is very much to speak of in this fucking town, yes. And ah, hm. Is that wise? I mean, remember what happened with the tree." There was, after all, an explosion.

"Eh, our spot's too far out to walk. I wanted animals, so." August shrugs, like it can't be helped he has half a farm and is always adding to the menagerie.

"Wise?" He actually laughs. "Oh, probably not. But living here isn't wise in the first place. And," he points at Niall, "unlike that, these came from Over There. So I won't be bringing something from here, to change over there. Just putting it back." Therefor it will be fine. His logic is flawless.

Niall arches his eyebrows. He looks dubious, but can you blame him? "It's a terrible idea," he deadpans, then adds, "...of course I'm interested. But that might just be the whiskeyed-up cider talking." He grins into his cup, then swallows a larger mouthful of the cooling liquid.

August all but cackles. "It might be a terrible idea." Who's he kidding, he knows it is. But if they don't try things, they won't know. "Which makes now the perfect time to mention it, and later, when you're sober, a good time to double-check." Because he will double-check, to make sure Niall actually wants to know. August might be reckless when it comes to sussing out the Veil's oddities, but he's no going to put anyone else at risk who doesn't feel they can take it.

"Devlin brought me the seeds, so we'd have a real paramedic." It's telling August that finds this a selling point. "And I'm sure Isabella will want to go." Another person who's not reckless at all! "So we should be in good shape." He has a bit more cider. "I'll let you know when we're ready to try it, you can see how you feel."

"I'm not drunk, mate. I've had a half a cider with a little..." Niall waggles a finger, "..dribble of whiskey. I'm a New Zealander, and hence, not a lightweight." He pauses briefly, then adds, "...one more and I'll be under the table though." He grins.

"I didn't imply you were drunk, just that the cider and your...improvments on it might be doing the talking." August smiles, raising his cup in a cheers. "You need to toughen up that liver of yours some. We'll start you slow, let the new guy, Ravn, make the drinks." He just about has the pronunciation of the Dane's name down. "Should only take a couple of months to get you up to the point where you can go a half-dozen rounds before agreeing to anything superbly dumb."

His pocket chimes, and he tugs out his phone. "Ah. Looks like it's that time." He sips a bit more cider, slowly gets up. He winces, rubs at his left leg. It'll be a night in the hot tub, probably. "I'm serious, though. If the insomnia's getting to you," he waggles said phone, "text me. I don't mind chatting."

"Ah, see, my ability to drink used to be formidable. And then I had the misfortune of getting older. And now, it's a sad state of affairs." Niall shakes his head slowly. He stays seated as August stands, long legs dangling off the boardwalk. "Thanks for the cider," he says with a salute of the drink up to the other man. "And I appreciate it. I do. I'm also talking to someone." The someone in this case, being a professional. "Seeing bad things might be more normal for cops, but it wasn't exactly in the park ranger handbook."

August looks entirely relieved to hear Niall say that. "That's good," he says. "I wasn't going to hit you over the head with the therapist stick, I feel like I don't know you quite well enough to do that. But." His mouth twitches in an almost smile. "I've been talking to one for a couple of decades, so I swear by it. And...I hope it helps."

He raises his cider to Niall, drains it. "I'll talk to Devlin and let you know about our planting expedition," he says, tossing the cup in the compost can. He turns to head back down the pier, swiping a response to Eleanor as he goes.