2020-10-01 - So What Did I Miss?

The little cabin that Bennie and Easton rented looks very much like Bennie's place. Fitting considering Easton barely moved in before he went missing. There are rows of throw pillows on the couch, boxes of fabric stacked in various places and it smells like vanilla sugar. Easton might normally have things to say about this but has spent most of his time since his return showering, cleaning up and sleeping. He is currently on the couch, with his leg off lounging in a pair of shorts and very thread-bare Marines tee-shirt. He has a newspaper in his hands that he is scouring with a furrowed brow. Gunner is resting his head on Easton's stomach, content to just be by him, even if Easton won't let him up on the couch with him. The pillows have been banished to two stacks nearby, as if keeping watch to make sure Easton doesn't go anywhere. There is no one else about even though there were plenty of people staying over after the hubbub of last night.

Alexander did not stay over, although he would have promised to check in before slinking away with Isabella. And now, that promise has arrived! And so has Alexander. He's standing outside the cabin door, with what appears to be a grocery bag tucked in one arm. He's still dressed like Alexander, and he knocks sharply on the door a couple of times before stepping back where he can be clearly seen on the other side of the peephole. For good measure, he calls out, "Easton? Bennie?"

"Come in!" Easton calls from the couch, because he has no intention of getting up right now. His leg stump is bandaged, his prosthesis is a hot mess from his time away and Geoff mangling it and he still hates crutches with a fiery passion. He has to crane his neck around to see who comes in the door. He's managed to shave down the beard to a rough stubble, it was apparently not salvageable, likewise his hair has been buzzed to something akin to a high and tight. It's not terribly fashionable but it's better than the ratty mop that was on his head last night.

Alexander opens the door a little tentatively, and pokes his head in, checking for guns and or nakedness, before slipping the rest of the way inside. "Easton." For just a brief instance, there's a bright grin that holds an edge of relief, like part of him didn't expect the man to still be there when he came by today. "Hey. I brought snacks. Highly processed, not remotely healthy, and near indistinguishable from any living thing one might have had to kill or cook for themselves." A pause. "And soda." Then he sidles inside, his smile encompassing Gunner, and closes the door behind him. The trimmed hair and beard is given a look. "How are you feeling?"

There is a surprising lack of both guns and nakedness but Easton's only been back less than twenty-four hours give him time. "Alexander" Easton's face tries to suppress a grin as he adds, "Yer lucky I'm down a leg otherwise I would crush you with a hug." He folds up the newspaper and sits up on the couch. He looks at the crutches and lets out a small grunt before getting up on them to crutch over to the kitchen. "That sounds wonderful." Processed food that is. And soda sounds great too, with a little Jack in it. "I'm good." The answer comes automatically. But at least he has the sense to think about it after for a second and then nod, "Still adjusting." As if confirming that he's not not good, but it's a hell of a lot to take in. "How are you? How's everything here? I .. Fuck. I missed so much."

Alexander chuckles. "I'm glad enough to see you that I might, actually, do my best to allow the hug. Just warn me first." He's also limping, slightly, as he follows Easton to the kitchen and sets the bag down. "Figured things you don't kill yourself might have been in short supply." He pulls out a liter bottle of soda, then bags of processed snacks. "Adjusting is normal. It'll take time. Especially with how fucked things are in Dreams." His head bobs at the mention of missing a lot. "Yeah. You have. Stuff has happened. You want the massive infodump, or something more gradual?" Another long pause. "I'm really glad you're back. I thought you were dead," he admits, quietly.

The relief at having people around again is still sinking in. Easton doesn't go for a hug but he does reach out to grip Alexander's shoulder for a minute and give it a squeeze. Almost like he's testing if Alexander's fresh, or rather real. "Yea, I didn't come across a single ho-ho tree, it was very disappointing." He pulls a chocolate cake like treat out of the box and takes an appreciative bite. "Probably slow..? I mean I left..." And he tries to pinpoint when. But it became so important to remember the details about people that events started to get blurry. "I guess I didn't leave. I got Lost." And the fact that he was assumed dead is a given to him, he nods and says, "Well, for once I listened. I didn't die."

Alexander doesn't pull away when Easton reaches out. He goes tense and still, but then he reaches out to briefly grip Easton's arm with his own hand, squeezing then releasing. "Assholes. The temerity of making an evil fantasy world, and then not putting any pastry-bearing flora in it. Torture is torture, but that's just petty." A flicker of his smile widening, then fading. "Slow it is. First: no one's died. So. That's good. Including you. Even better. The town still exists, things are still fucked, but your friends are still alive." Good news first, right? "And I'm very glad you decided to be obedient to that directive."

The reciprocal squeeze gets a small tight nod from Easton of understanding. "Seriously, the dicks. They even killed my dinosaur." Uhm. What? Easton doesn't elaborate on the death of Clint Eastwood, may he rest in peace, as if Alexander has any idea what he's referencing. "And not a single cupcake or.." He finishes off the sugary treat that normally he wouldn't think twice about but now tastes like the most amazing thing. ".. one of those." He breathes out a sigh of relief at the first part, it's an important question and one he really wasn't sure if he was up for asking yet. He nods along at the rest of the slow warm up. "Yea, I figured that." About the town still being screwed up, he did end up back here after all. He crutches over to the coffee maker to pour himself another cup and then bang around making another pot. "What about Itz? He wasn't there last night.. he's usually there." At least he's not dead so Easton can ask the question, even if he's still worried at the answer. So worried he forgets about full names.

Alexander's head tilts. "...dinosaur? Where were you, in your Dream?" Then he frowns, holds up a hand. "Wait. If you don't wanna talk about it, you don't have to. Sorry. Just curious." There's a smile. "And I remember I was in a cult one time that didn't allow processed food or sugar. When I left, I immediately went out and got a cupcake. It was the best thing ever. Itzhak," and yes, there's a slight emphasis on the full name, "is fine. Uh. Isolde and Rebecca left town, which was sad, but probably best for them. But he's okay. I'm sure he'll be wanting to say hi as soon as he can."

The concept that Alexander doesn't know what he's talking about by dinosaur confuses Easton. He narrows his eyes and says, "Clint." Like that answers anything. But then he thinks more about it and asks, "Wait.. maybe.." His timeline is all messed up from spending that much time in the veil. Trying to keep track of when he bonded with his familiar is hard. "My velociraptor buddy. He saved my ass.." When? He's not sure. A lot. But he's having trouble verbalizing the story because it feels like things keep shifting in his head. He grins at the story about the cult, because that feels so normal compared to what he's going through, even if the parallels are there. "Itzhak." Easton even smiles at being corrected, but then something catches and he looks pained for a minute, and he has to stop to reach out. Like for a moment he wasn't sure Bennie was still upstairs resting peacefully. He manages to relax when he can feel her presence but the weak queasy smile he gives Alexander gives him away for a moment and he has to turn back to the coffee machine.

"Velociraptor buddy?" Alexander blinks a couple of times, opens his mouth to ask about five million more questions, then abruptly shuts it again. Instead of pestering, he clears his throat and says, "Well. It seems like death doesn't quite work the same way over there. I mean. For Veil creatures. So maybe he'll come back." His expressive features reflect worry when Easton looks queasy, and he feels that brush of power as the other man reaches out for Bennie, but he doesn't comment on it, either. He does say, "Um. People might remember things differently than you remember. It doesn't mean you're still in a Dream. There's a Revisionist around, and she changes people's memories of things."

"Right." Easton 'confirms' Alexander's question about his dinosaur, which was in no way a velociraptor but all of Easton's paleontology knowledge comes from Jurassic Park so blame Hollywood. He supplies "Eastwood?" As if specifying the last name of the dinosaur will make that any clearer. The news about death working differently over there causes Easton to start saying something like "I-" but then he thinks better of it. There's plenty of time to get to that later. The new pot is started and Easton hobbles back to a stool so he can get off his foot. "Okay.." He tries to take in what Alexander is saying about memories. "Like /The/ Vivisectionist?" He asks, in terms of what a Revisionist is. "But with memories?" As opposed to veil flus and bird soups.

"Eastwood?" Alexander looks blankly at Easton. Then makes an 'oh' expression. "Clint. Clint Eastwood. That's a good name for a dinosaur." He clearly doesn't quiiiite get it, but you know, he's willing to roll with it. He follows Easton back to seating, and takes a stool for himself. "And yeah. The Vivisectionist, the Exorcist, the Archivist, and the Revisionist. Apparently they work for, um, The Doctor, The Collector, and The Director. Who also seem to be the source of our abilities. Like, the Doctor is the source of healing stuff. The Collector is the source of physical stuff. The Director of the mental stuff."

"I know right?" Easton is not even a little ashamed to brag on that name. "He liked it." Yes, he had a pet dinosaur that helped him stay alive in the veil, that was his 'normal' and even now it's hard to reconcile how odd that is. Easton's eyes go slightly wider at the naming of all the titles. "Well shit what about the butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker?" Because after a while it does start to sound a bit like the rhyme. "We met the Doctor..." Easton remembers that much, but was Alexander there? Maybe. "My uncle, he's The Psychiatrist?" Present tense. Oops. Not that Easton's likely to mourn much for crazy uncle Monty. He leans back in the chair pulling his mug of coffee close.

Alexander grins. "I'm glad he liked it. And, thus far, there have been no butchers or bakers. And...yes, that would make sense. For your uncle to have been the Psychiatrist." He doesn't dwell on the tense issue. "And we met the Doctor. He scared the shit out of all of us," he points out, voice dry. His hands come to rest loosely on his thighs. "That's mostly a background issue. I just didn't want you to think something was wrong if someone started claiming things you know aren't true. Things /are/ wrong. But it's a normal, Gray Harbor sort of wrong."

"Right." Easton remembers the Doctor now. The ridiculous power levels and how little all of their combined efforts mattered in comparison. The thought that he could have easily been picked off by something like that when he was on his own causes him to shake his head. "At this point my heads fucked." He looks off to the side and says a little quieter, almost to himself, "I feel like I just got back from the sand." The post-deployment readjustments were similar if slightly less jarring. But it was good practice for him, he knows at least some of the things he's going to face in the coming weeks. "So what's a little more jacked up memories. It's Gray Harbor after all." He takes a small sip of coffee and starts to slip into a pensive stare. Breaking himself out of it he shakes his head and says, "Any good mysteries in town lately? More mundane ones."

"It's okay," Alexander says, suddenly painfully earnest. "It's okay that your head's fucked. So is mine, but you're still my friend. Bennie still loves you. A lot of people still love you. It's fine." Then he ducks his head and studies his shoes as he clears his throat. "We're just glad to have you back. Everything else can be managed." At the question, he bobs his head. "Yeah. We just had a serial killer!" He brightens, visibly. "I helped to catch him. He was sacrificing people to gods from a video game. It was pretty fun." Another sheepish twitch. "...obviously not for the people who died. I don't mean that. Just. I've never worked a serial killer case before, and it was fascinating." He moves on quickly. "And a new criminal organization is trying to move into town. That's awkward."

The earnest reassuring gets a curt, "I know." A little more forceful than he would like but he can't quite help himself. He just wants to shut that down and move on. He is thankful for the distraction of serial killers, which yes that's a little messed up. "Weird" Easton says to the motive, "I mean, weird in a perfectly not Gray Harbor way. Like a very normal kind of weird." Right? Right. And he totally understands why Alexander would be thrilled to be involved in investigating and stopping a serial killer. It's like a soldier who just wants to see combat. It's what you are training for. "What organization? What about-.." He stops himself from just saying Monaghan. And then it clicks who the guy at the bar last night was. That's Felix's cousin. "What do you mean /new/?" Is probably the safer way of asking that question.

Alexander's shoulders slump into an apologetic, defensive sort of cringe at the curtness. He stares at Easton, then looks away. "Yeah. It was weird. He was really into this video game, and so I started playing it, and it's pretty fun? Got sucked into a Dream with a couple other players at some point. But...the killer disappeared out of his cell. The official line is that he was transferred into the custody of the FBI, but I don't think he was." A weary shrug. When Easton tackles the last, his eyes stray back to him, watching him. He nods, slowly. "New. Out of towners. Led by a guy named Reyes, I think? Don't know much about him except that he used to be affiliated with the Red Scorpions. He's brutal, smart. Burned down a store, has killed some of the local criminals. Tried to take out the local crime lord, too."

Eastons jaw tightens a little as he sees his impact on Alexander but it only causes him to be slightly more annoyed. He hates this friction but can't help be stuck in the rut of it, which only causes him more frustration. The news about the killer gets a nod, "Interesting. So he might be lose in the veil? Or .. who knows?" That's not great but also not terribly unexpected, what's Gray Harbor without serial killers on possible loose. The look that Alexander gives him is met with reciprocal stony look. "Reyes." Easton repeats the name though it has no meaning to him. "Tried?" He's not exactly chatty, as if reserving the number of words he uses all at once. But local crime lord is an odd phrase and he can't really see Alexander meaning Joe Kelly by that, even with the shakeup that happened before he left. "Nothing to do with the people we paid off for Bennie, right?" That's his more pressing concern. He can check in with Joey later.

"Who knows is probably our best bet," Alexander says. "Maybe he's been taken away to whatever replacement for the Asylum exists. Or is likely to exist. I hope so, anyway. He was a powerful mover, killed people who stood out." His fingers fidget nervously against each other. "Tried." A pause. "At the casino. It didn't quite work." He frowns. "I got shot. Not seriously. But the gunmen..." a quick clearing of his throat, "they died. So did one of the guys on the other side. And no, it doesn't seem to have been. I did...see one of those, recently. In a Dream. It looked like her, anyway. But she wasn't causing a problem."

A shrug is offered at 'who knows' in agreement but he arches an eyebrow at the talk of a replacement Asylum. And especially that Alexander is rooting for it to exist. He doesn't say anything about it, but nods that having a place to put dangerous gifted individuals is probably not the worst. The talk of the casino looks like it might spin Easton's head around. Right. The casino. It opened and then he was gone and ... wow, he needs to call Byron. He focuses though and asks, "You okay?" At the part about getting shot, not that he wasn't just shot last night. But still. "Okay" The fact that Easton is relieved by the fact that this doesn't threaten to blowback on Bennie or them is clearly written on his face. "I'm glad you're all okay." It's the most he seems to be able to reciprocate in terms of Alexander's earlier reassurance. Like he's worried about saying more along those lines and what that would open up.

Alexander shrugs. "I was angry. But it's okay." He offers a brief smile. "Not the worst thing that's ever happened. And the casino seems to be doing well. And the bar. Your bartender is dangerous. But the Danish guy is nice. Folklorist? He's nice." He eyes Easton carefully, like he's trying to decide if the other man has exceeded his informational capacity or not. "It's October, by the way. I don't know if anyone mentioned. The beginning of October."

Easton actually forgot he owned a stake in the casino, which to be fair he doesn't anymore. That reverted to the Marshall Trust when he was declared missing. But who knows how the veil is going to spin all this. Though he probably should make sure he's not declared legally dead anywhere. "Vicky?" The dangerous bartender he assumes means Vic. He asks in all seriousness, "Danish? Guy?" Thinking it's a man who provides pastries, not someone from Denmark but willing to roll with that. "Right, so I missed summer. Of course..." This is what he gets for taunting Isabella about missing the few days warm enough to actually enjoy the sun and the beach. He knew this from his earlier reading but it's still something he's trying to wrap his head around.

"Victoria Grey. Yes. She got shot, too." Alexander definitely has an emphasis on the name, and his expression flickers pained at the nickname. Pained, but also a little satisfied - it's Easton, after all, and the relentless nicknames are a reassurance that it's the same guy. "Danish guy. Abildgaard is his last name." He's very careful about that pronunciation. "He's smart. And there's a new forensic scientist." He brightens. "His name is Cecil. We're friends."

A low chuckle is all Alexander gets for his pronounced correction on Vic's name. It is definitely a missed quirk in their relationship though. At Ravn's name, Easton's eyebrows go up and he informs Alexander in all seriousness, "Yeah, that's definitely getting shortened." Not that Alexander would have any hope of Easton actually calling someone Abildgaard. The news about a new forensic scientist causes Easton to grin broadly for the first time since Alexander came in. The fact that he can tell how genuinely excited Alexander is to have someone to examine dead bodies with is very heart-warming in it's own way. "Cecil. Well good, I hope you two aren't too busy." Because, dead people. But still. Heart-warming.

Alexander heaves a sigh at the pronouncement, but there's still that pleased amusement lurking under it. "I imagine he'll correct you if he minds," he grumbles, "but he probably won't. He seems pretty easy-going. He's adapted pretty well to...uh. Gray Harbor. And everything. And we're not. I'm not." A pause. "Actually, sort of busy? The Revisionist made it so that most of the town thinks I'm a super detective. And that I snorted three jars of ashes thinking they were cocaine? So. Uh. A coked out super detective."

"You've been doing cocaine without me?! God dammit. You get lost in an alternate dimension hellscape for a few months and your friends just fuck off and get drug habits without you." See? There's an appropriate outlet for his frustration, hidden in the joke about the cocaine is the fact that he knows people's lives moved. And he's terrified to ask some very specific questions about what that means. But she's sleeping now so he can focus on this. "Or wait, you are a super detective though. Or at least a damn good one, you just stopped a serial killer." Is that /why/ he's a super detective or /because/ he is one, that's harder to say. And holy fuck would Easton love to get his hands on something stronger than a cupcake, but that will have to wait.

Alexander chuckles at the joke. "I'll invite you to the next coke party I throw," he promises, putting one hand briefly over his heart. And then? Then he actually blushes at the compliment, ducking his head again so he can contemplate those very important boots once more. "I'm pretty good," he admits, with a shrug. "Didn't stop him alone, though. People helped. Even Byron helped, and he's not...really into the investigation of crime, usually." He says that like it's a regrettable character flaw, then peeks up again. "But. That's sort of...highlights? From my perspective. If you have questions, I'll do my best to answer any of them."

"Alright, then I forgive you." Easton is easily assuaged by the promise of shared coke, grinning right along. He ignores the blushing but is glad that Alexander doesn't demure to more than 'pretty good' even as he shares credit. "Yea there's not enough money in it." Easton cracks the joke slightly at Thorne's expense. "Thanks for the highlights Clayton." He looks back at the stairs and says, "But if it's alright I think I'm going to take another hour long shower and then sack out." At least he hasn't had any trouble sleeping since he's been back. Maybe that will last? (spoiler, it won't)

"Good," Alexander says, apparently seriously, to the prospect of being forgiven. He slips off the stool and nods. "No problem. You've got my number; call me any time. Or come by. Or whatever. I've got booze waiting for you." And WHY didn't he BRING booze? A mystery for the ages. "Tell Bennie I stopped by?" And then he's making his way out; somewhere, he's picked up a slight limp.