2020-10-10 - Someone Needs a SLAP

Addington Park in the fall is really, if one likes small towns, a rather lovely thing. In the middle of one of the gardens is a carousel that no one in their right mind rides. Ever. Long story. Grant in bundled up in clothes that don't look like his own, or at least out of the usual fare as he sketches away; fingers a bit of a mess from smudging conte and pastels around on the page. He's trying to focus. It's not his forte in the slightest, but the effort is there.

Already the city has started to draw out the hay bales and autumnal decorations to decorate with. Pumpkins and even straw men making an appearance as the harvest arboreal drapery comes down on the early fall afternoon with that sweet smell only autumn brings.

Alexander walks down one of the concrete paths. He eyes a decorative pumpkin patch warily; last year, one of those things sprouted a headless horseman, and this year isn't looking great, so far. He's dressed as his usual, shabby self, hands deep in the pockets of his worn green army coat, and head ducked down. He notices Grant, and changes his trajectory to cross where the younger man is sitting. "Heard your place burned down," he says, by way of hello. "You got somewhere to stay?"

Grant looks up taking a moment to identify who is approaching him and signs the <<hullo>> . The drawing pauses and he nods, resigned, "Yeah it sucks, but I've been staying at 7 Oak," like it's a resort with its own name. "Since Sparrow doesn't actually have 400 children there was a room to rent. So, ya know, so long as the dispensary stands it's just a rebuild process. Figure out ... like identity?" Not the word he wants exactly but the one he has on hand for now. Looking around it is determined there's enough room on the bench that he looks up. "Stay a bit. How's you? Isabella?"

Alexander signs back his own hello, and then drops into the seat next to Grant at the invitation. "How are Miss Jones and her brother?" he asks and signs at the same time, even as his eyes sweep the area suspiciously. "Identity?" A curious look back at Grant. "I'm...alive. I had a Dream. I was back in high school. The vice principle tried to eat the Prom Court." His voice shades dry. "It was almost as bad as the real thing. Mostly reminded me that I was a wreck in high school. Isabella's good. What are you drawing?" Nosily, he leans to take a peek.

Grant seems to be drawing the carousel with a sort of stylization almost reminiscent of the mustang logo or a Rolls hood emblem. This is an exercise in colour application and movement apparently. "She's... tweakin a little. Could be better but she's advised me from writing that Revisionist and asking them for favors. Said things can always be worse. I just... I don't like watching her and Vyv struggle with this. I'm tired for them."

Frowning he looks to Alexander signing the rest out with a little anger and a little emphasis, <<It's hard enough to tell what is real and what is bullshit more days than I like. I don't like the world falling sideways. it's not right and it should be right again.>> Looking to Alexander he pauses going back to working on zen and futility. <<You know?>>

"Carousel. Why were you at prom? I thought that's in early summer?" Let's skip teh court getting eaten part for a moment and focus on trying to understand time correctly for orientation. "We lose anyone? See, this is why I avoid school gatherings."

Alexander nods, slowly. "For what it's worth, I don't think the Revisionist means any harm. She was watching soap operas or something, apparently, when she made the previous revisions. She just thought it'd be exciting, I think. Not that it would actually hurt people. She doesn't seem malicious. Just," a shake of his head, "weird. But I understand." He switches to sign, his own hands moving slowly and far more clumsy than Grant's. <<It's terrible when you remember the world differently from other people. Hard to understand, and hard to trust yourself to be right when everyone else says you're wrong.>>

He clears his throat. "I don't think Dreams care much about corporal time. And I don't think so. I haven't heard it." Then a laugh, short and sharp, but with real humor. "Me too."

There is an ease to the tension in his shoulders when Alexander finds a more elegant way to put the 'problem'. <<Are we still crazy when we know we're right but everyone agrees we're not? Then what else were we right about? All the anchor points moved. Not right man.>> There is a sigh and greens and blues starting to blend in a swoosh of simulated motion on page. The grin warms just a bit, "I had to avoid prom. I wanted to go, but... lights." as if this makes sense. "So you had to go back...the music any good at least?" thee are important questions to know! "Oh!um, something happened! Good... I think! Vyv got me to organize a thing. For that harvest festival. We're going to do sidewalk art this end of the park. I think that garden party is happening again on the other half but they said we can have the carousel end."

Alexander hesitates. Then signs back, <<Probably still a little crazy. But not wrong. It was nice to have other people who see the same things in the world that I do. You have to hold to that, sometimes. And remember that other people can't remember. They don't realize what they do to us.>> His gaze rests on the page, a hesitant smile on his lips. "Proms are awful. This one was better than my real one, and it had trees eating people." A shake of his head. "Don't even remember the music. It probably sucked." Then he looks back up to Grant, and the smile blossoms. "That sounds great. This town could use a little more beauty, for sure."

Grant pulls his cheeks in and focuses on the page with a look that is some how one tone from a sea of static. Focus has its own feel and when someone's head is full of chaos finding that groove is a special thing as Alexander knows. There is a glance back as he works in blue and greens. "So she tried to help and just fucked shit up trying to beat back the doldrums?" Squinting faintly he murmurs, "Glad I asked Sparrow before asking to change up shit. " Looking up he wonders, "Howdo you learn so much?"

Alexander shrugs, looking uncomfortable. "She suggested that she has to change things, sometimes, or else something...happens. I don't know what. I don't even know if it's true. But I guess she figures if she has to change shit, she might as well give people dramatic lives. I think it's safe to ask her, especially if you explain something isn't a good fit. But whatever replaces it will also be weird, and you should be polite."

He blinks at the last. "I...never feel I know enough." A soft laugh, although it's more sad. "Not enough to protect anyone, or figure out what the hell is wrong with this town. Just bits and pieces. And just because I'm a nosy motherfucker."

Grant stops drawing to focus there and listen. There's a wan smile with a bit of a chuckle, "You sound like my dad when you say it like that. That's" he pauses and shakes his head, "That's not a bad thing." The smile warms with a genuine fondness for either. "I don't now there's a cure for this town other than BE a different town. I mean..." Taking a deep breath he pauses trying to take in the details with a sympathetic look surfacing the more he thinks about this Revisionist situation. "So what you're saying is I'll have better luck talking to them than Vyv?" Not that Vyv can't be formal but he does lean on emphatic.

"Your dad seems like a smart man, so thanks." Alexander flashes a quick little smile in Grant's direction. "And...maybe there is. I don't know that this place was always like this, through history. If it was different once, then it can be different again. Things change, right? But I'm learning that just poking at things without...understanding what I'm doing? It ends badly. People get hurt. I don't want to hurt people."

He thinks about the question. "I don't think berating or demanding will work. So if you're better at not doing that than Vydal, then...yeah."

There's a pause with a modest but admitting smile filled with pride, "He's the mench's mench. He's... pretty great." He considers the carousel and listens to Alexander, the wind, the carousel. He pauses as a ghost of a thought passes on his expression, head tilts and he looks back to Alexander, "Question I had was how many of us have to get hurt before it's happy? Seems from the family meeting it's really got it out for us but... why?" The comment about Vyv quelling the haunted expression faintly

"I don't think it's ever done," Alexander says, plainly. "It eats our suffering. The thing about eating is...no matter how big the meal, how tasty the meal, how filling the meal? You always get hungry again. And again." He looks towards the carousel. "But I don't know that the world has it out for Baxters, or that the Shadows do. The Addingtons do. And Baxters seem to have a sort of power. A morbid sort of power, admittedly. It's like, apparently, when we die, we can take some of the abilities out of the world. I don't know why. But it's why Margaret Addington hates us, and tries to make sure we can't...do that."

Grant takes some time to process this and hrmmms looking not exactly thrilled to hear they delete reality when they die, "Soooo then she doesn't want us dead and you'd think she'd set us up pretty good instead of, ya know...whatever?" Totally forgetting about the charcoal on his hands he itches at his nose smudging it "That's a bit fucked up. Like that ...sawmill dream thing that we all had. Never-" He pauses and sighs thoughtfully trying to suss it out, "Never really goes away but makes me wonder what the relation of them us and the sawmill and the veil all are? Why we shut it off? SHOULD we?"

Alexander smiles as the charcoal smudges on Grant's nose. He doesn't make any moves to point at it, but he does say, "You got some on you." Then he leans back into the bench, and tilts his head up to look at the autumn sky. "Margaret and Thomas--and I guess all of the Addingtons, through the generations -- would feed our bodies to the sawmill over there. And it would shatter our souls so we can't move on to...wherever. So we couldn't ever take the light. That's why you won't find a single Baxter buried in this fucking town. As to the rest?" He sighs. "I don't know. There's a ghost of a Baxter over there, a guy named Lindon. He says that he knows how to fix everything. Just take away all the abilities at once, I think? He thinks it needs to be done. But he's crazy, and as a living preacher, burned a whole group of women alive. So, you know, fuck him."

Grant goes slightly cross-eyed and itches the smudge only to make it worse and now adding a bit of green with the blue. Helping. Having no poker face, however, Grant's face shifts into a mask of horror looking at Alexander. "Oh FUCK that!" Way to keep it calm and classy. Picking his phone up there's a small bit of panic with a tiny whining sound of a thought whirring up. He kicks off a text to Vyv:

Space Library Auxiliary Protocol officially engaged for retirement plan. We're getting a SLAP.

His phone lowers and he looks around trying to figure out, "What... why...and whaaaa??" His voice goes up and he signs with some emphasis as he talks, "Officially? I'm so tilted right now. What's with our ancestors killin people. Like... use your words. Holy shit."

Alexander is a nosy bastard. He leans over and, if Grant doesn't shield his screen, openly eavesdrops on the text. "I imagine that there were words involved, although I suspect the were mostly 'die you filthy monster' or something of the kind." A sharp, humorless smile at that. "And I don't know. Not really. I feel like a lot goes back to the original circumstances of the Baxters and the Addingtons in Gray Harbor, but it's very difficult to find any documents or evidence from the time. And even the fucking Archivist doesn't give a straight answer about it." He sighs, and shrugs. "So, we endure. Dum spiro spero, right?"

Grant doesn't hide his phone though there does look like there might be pics scrolled past that are maybe best scrolled past but otherwise leave a conversation that left off with cheeky comments and a warning DO. NOT. RIDE. the Carousel. And little hearts in that do not officially exist in public record. He sighs. And in retort to the Dum spiro spero he says apologetically, "I don't think the Veil is going to send us cartoon dragons to save us. But... maybe. You think the original Baxters fought the weird stuff and there was like lumberjacks and cowboys pew pew bang bang or like we showed up and the Addingtons were like 'No, mah toypunt' and our ancestors... maybe reacted a bit... poorly?"

"Honestly?" Alexander shakes his head. "I imagine both groups were complete, selfish assholes in the beginning, and have created a conflict based largely on who is the bigger asshole at any given time." He grimaces. "It's up to us, broken and weird as we might be, to try not to repeat their mistakes." His voice drops to a mutter. "Which would be easier if we knew exactly what those were, other than 'don't shatter people's souls'." Then he looks up, and smiles. "But don't worry about it, okay? Or try. You have a surprisingly affectionate friend in Vydal, and an art event to plan. Don't let the weird shit rule your life. You end up like me if you do." He rises to his feet. "I like your drawing," he says, and signs at the same time. "Don't die." And then he turns to walk away.

Grant is super not thrilled about this bu , hey, if all it takes is not killing anyone he is all over that right now. The assurance brings a small, easy smile back to him, "Well if having my house go up taught me anything it's what I can afford to lose and what I can't. Funny enough my soul is still on the list and it's spoken for." Pausing he wobbles his head and squints, "Ya know I might take that copy of the family tree and see what my dad can't come up with too. Maybe there's a way to find out more. If nothing else I know Aidan wants to figure out how he fits into it but... yeah. Seriously, Thanks for being honest." The wry smile warms back into the rest of his mood, "I'll bring it bu\y when it's done. Won't die. Promise, and... Don't die either. Adventure's not over. Glad your leg's better."