2020-10-22 - 70s Exorcism BBQ and Bonfire

Vic is wearing jeans, boots, a faded Triumph band tee, and a light canvas jacket. Once the grill and fire get going, the latter will probably not be needed. She is currently setting up a charcoal chimney, getting it loaded up to use as a grill starter when people arrive to eat. Her hair is back in a loose ponytail, which looks like she assembled it after a shower because her blonde strands are curling. She has an open beer nearby on the folding table as she works at stuffing newspaper into the bottom of the charcoal filled canister. She clearly splurged on the grill, it's one of those red Kamado ones.

She's hooked her iPhone up to a couple bluetooth speakers on the table, and classic rock is playing. She sings along with Renegade by Styx as she fiddles with a box of matches.

Resident Danish bloke wanders in with a couple of sixpacks of Carlsberg and a wary expression; he knows who got to help clear the inside of this 1970s nightmare out and on some level he probably suspects that he's about to get drafted into pulling up weeds next. Something is different about him though; he's added a dark purple scarf to his usual black streetwear. While hardly a subject worthy of a Gazette headline, it's usual at least for Ravn Abildgaard.

He's a quiet guy. Maybe that's how he manages to stand there and just watch Vic singing for a few moments before he strategically coughs. Sneaking up on people is rude. "Heard there was a beer-shaped hole in reality here. Brought some beers to fill it."

Vic grins as her bartending (Sith) apprentice appears with beer to offer up as part of the sacrifice to the ghosts of the 70s. She blinks though, as she catches sight of the scarf, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Did you get laid?" she asks, bluntly. It's the only reasonable explanation that pops into her head for him wearing something that isn't devoid of color. She tips her chin towards the cooler for the depositing of the brews. "You a burger or dog man?" she asks the Dane.

She strikes a match and gets the paper lit. The match is shaken out and the chimney set in the bottom of the grill to give it time to get the coals started up.

Ravn blinks and puts the bag of sixpacks down by the table. "Did I what? Where did that come from? Hot dog, I think. I haven't tried what passes for a hot dog in this country yet so prepare to get lectured on how it's absolutely not up to the standards of the country that invented the things." He looks around for a chair that looks like it might not be going on the fire just yet and flops down on it.

"You're wearing something that isn't black. I figured some huge life-altering change occurred to cause that kind of deviation from your norm," Vic quips with a wry smile. "If it wasn't getting laid, what was it?" She takes the six pack from the bag and sets the bottles into the cooler filled with ice. A brow arches at the rest of his words.

"Wait, the All-American baseball staple was created by the Danish? Are you sure about that?" Because to an American that has to sound like blasphermy.

"The wiener was. In spite of the name. Just like what you call a Danish is actually from Vienna, only they stopped making the things there sometime in the 18th century." Ravn cants his head and looks up at Vic with an amused look. Then he reaches up to touch the scarf of purpleness with a gloved fingertip. "Believe it or not, a friend actually suggested to me that I wear some damn colour because I apparently dress to get all the wrong attention. So, fixing that. One scarf at a time. No, I'm keeping the gloves."

Vic chuckles. "Well, a little color suits you. Now you look more like a fashion model than the Angel of Death come to stalk us all." She throws Ravn a wink at that. "You want one of the ones you brought to drink? Otherwise I have Molson Golden, Rolling Rock, and Dos Equis."

"Well first rule of American hot dogs, they need to be Sahlens. Second rule, they need to be charcoal grilled."

"Didn't go to the other side of the planet to drink Danish beer," Ravn murmurs good-naturedly. "Hit me up with one of the others and show me how to ruin a wiener American style. Can I get a rain check on fashion model though? All I bloody well want is to not attract attention. If that means buying a white t-shirt next or something, fine, I'll do it. At least I have shelf space now, it was more of an issue when I lived in a backpack and everything had to match. So, how is your war against mustard, emerald, and shag going?"

Vic pulls a Molson out of the cooler and hands it over to him. It's Canadian, and not as weak as American beers. "Well warn me before you show up in a white tee. I might die of shock otherwise," she notes with a grin.

"I got the carpet pulled out of the three front rooms. The dining, and living, and den furniture are all broken up here in the pile for burning and the wallpaper is down too. Haven't tackled the bedrooms, bath, or kitchen yet. Worried I'll find terrible things in those places." In Gray Harbor? Maybe quite literally.

Who knows how long he's been standing there, but there's a surly looking Mexican cop kind of lurking around the side of Vic's house. He half looks like he wants to snag a hot dog and drag it off with him, and half like he wants to simply flee with his six pack of beer. Shoulders hunched under his jacket, dark eyes flicked between the two blondes, he eventually seems to decide on a cautious approach, and prowls in with a taut smile. "Hola," is his mumbled greeting to the pair. Followed by a thump of his offering being set down. "Heard you were having a barbecue," he tells Vic, like he's doing her a favour.

"Probably going to find a cabal of ninja gangster guinea pigs have a secret gambling den in the walk-in closet." Ravn is clearly thinking along the same lines. He uncaps the beer and then looks up at the arrival of the (acting, he's learned this by now, acting) chief of police. With a small smile the Dane murmurs, "Evening, captain. How's life?"

Vic's head snaps up when Ruiz announces himself, and she honestly looks shocked to see him. Their last text conversation did not go so well. She recovers quickly though, brow arching. "Barbeque and 70s exorcism. Found out the house hasn't been lived in since then, blah blah triple murder blah blah. Which explains why I got it so cheap, and why it looks like my grandmother's Tupperware collection vomited color all over the interior." She tips her head towards the cooler for his contribution. "Burger or dog?" she asks.

The coals get dumped into the grill and the lid shut so it can finish coming up to temperature. "Ninja Gangster guinea pigs might be amusing at least. I'm more worried about literal skeletons in the closets." She notes to Ravn in a light tone of amusement.

The squeaky wheel of the hand cart he drags behind him announces the arrival of Seth, a keg of beer sitting on the cart. "So, how is the 'House from Hell', Stone?"

Dressed for the party, Seth is in a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt that has the armholes opened up a bit for ease of movement. His eyes fall over Ruiz for a moment, casting the Cheif a quick glance before looking towards Ravn, "Oh, hey Darth, you're here already? Good, give me a hand with this thing, it weighs a ton."

"Burger," replies Javier after a moment's contemplation of the grill, squinting slightly into the smoke rising from it. He sniffs, and jams his hands into the pockets of his jacket before glancing across to Seth's arrival. Recognition flickers across his face, though the look he gives the other man couldn't quite be termed friendly. Not that de la Vega is ever friendly. "Bien suficiente," he tells Ravn. And he's just enough of an asshole to let Seth struggle with that beer keg for a good twenty seconds, before ambling on over to help him out with it. "On three," he instructs, "And we'll set it down over there, yeah?"

Ravn gets up as well to give a hand, nodding at the captain. "Looks like we're not going to go down from thirst at least. I did think about bringing a casserole but then I figured that it might be a little early in my Sith apprenticeship to strike down my master and rule the galaxy."

Vic looks over as Seth brings in a whole keg and her smile gets broad. "You are my new favorite. Seriously. You want a burger, dog, or I can go find you a damned steak for bringing a keg, as long as it's not Budweiser." She puts a hot dog into the prep pan for Ravn and a burger for Ruiz. "It's not Bud, right?" she asks over her shoulder, looking hopeful.

The grill lid is lifted and the first food offerings put in for grilling. "When one of you manly men is free. There's lighter fluid and matches near the fire pit. Someone start the blaze going for me? Just don't set yourselves on fire in the process." She plucks up her beer and sips from it, nearly snorting it at Ravn's comment. "Wise choice, my apprentice. You have much left to learn of the arts of cocktail mixing."

"Budweiser? Fuck no, Gray, you know me better than that." Seth says as he maneuvers the keg with the help of Ruiz and Ravn. "What we have here is Live Oak Hefeweizen. I wouldn't touch Bud or Coors or any of that overproduced domestic crap. I'd rather die of thirst. I'll take a burger, you can get me a steak some other time."

Setting the keg down, he gives a polite nod to Ruiz before turning to Ravn, "It's never too early, Darth. That is what being a Sith is all about. You just have to make sure your master isn't ready for it, but I will let you in on a little secret." Seth leans over, puts a hand to his mouth and does a stage whisper, "She is always ready."

Once the keg's set down, Javier brushes his hands off on his jeans, and briefly tugs off his ballcap to scruff his knuckles through close-cropped hair. "German wheat beer, yeah?" he replies to Seth. The stuff he brought is a common Mexican variety called Tecate, found at border shops and a few Seattle chains. He cocks a brow slightly at the banter between the other two men, then reluctantly meanders off to get Vic's fire started for her. If she gets a little flash of his teeth on his way by, well, surely she deserves it for that little jab of hers. "Where are the fucking matches?" he wants to know, after a cursory search doesn't seem to turn them up.

Ravn makes the ixnay on the unsgay face at Seth. "This is not the time for a 'that's what she said' joke. Trust me if you want to live." He should know, he's seen what Vic does to yachters with a questionable sense of humour. "German wheat beer's pretty good though. Used to drive down across the border to pick up a few crates of Franziskanerbräu every once in a while. It's a cheap brand but surprisingly good. Shopping across the border is custom free so of course there's all kind of malls on the German side."

He wanders back to his chair and flops down on it decoratively. "I'm getting all nostalgic. Haven't actually done something like a barbecue for quite some time."

"Damn straight I'm always ready," Vic mutters in response to Seth, as she adds another burger and a dog for herself onto the hot grill. She grins at the fact the keg is legit and not some basic swill. "Then you remain my favorite for the moment, Seth," she declares as she pokes at the cooking meats with a grill fork.

Ruiz gets a flash of teeth in return as he passes, two circling predators as always, vying for position in the awkward social landscape of an overgrown backyard. She plucks the matchbox up from the table and throws it his way when he asks for them. "Heads up! Ravn make sure El Capitan doesn't scorch off his eyebrows lighting the bonfire."

"That's what she said," Seth grins to Ravn, pointing to Vic. "Right out of her lips to God's ears." Seth goes about making himself busy tapping the keg and getting the golden amber liquid flowing. He pulls a red Solo cup out from the bag in his hand, filling it and making his way over to Vic to offer her the first glass, it is her party after all.

Seth glances over to Ruiz, giving the Cheif of Police a nod. "Yeah, I thought about bringing some Irish red, but figured that would be a little stereotypical, so I went with German. How are you, Chief now is it? It's been a while. If you need help lighting that thing, let me know. "

Ravn raises his gloved hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. You can make the joke and live. You are a braver man than I, Gunga Monaghan."

He crosses one long leg over the other and looks comfortable, laid back even; far more so than he ever seemed at the bar. "Nice night, though. Barbecue season lasts longer here than it does at home. Couldn't sit outside there in late October unless everyone wore a parka. It's kind of nice."

Next up on the classic rock rotation is Jimi Hendrix and All Along the Watchtower. Vic accepts the cup of beer and sips it, tossing her empty bottle into, of all things, a recycling bin. Hey! She can be a terrible person and still recycle! She smacks her lips. "Acting Chief," she corrects with a smirk. "Though I'm not sure there's much difference, if they're going this slow to get a permanent one in."

She snorts at Ravn. "Maybe you're just acclimating. Us Pacific Northwest natives just need a little flame nearby to be out in the dead of winter."

"No difference. You do the job, you get the title." Seth says with a shrug of his shoulder as he moves over to get himself his own glass of beer. "Nothing 'acting' about it. He is chief until he isn't chief anymore. Isn't that right, Chief?" He fills a second Solo cup and carries it over towards Ruiz, offering the cup out to him,

Seth shifts his eyes over to Ravn, "I thought we already established that Darth, but you better not be comparing me to a Gungan man. We might have to see how those self-defense classes are working for you."

Ravn makes a face at Seth; the face of a very tired school teacher. "That's Gunga Din. As in, the poem by Rudyard Kipling." He sips his beer and looks at his hands. "We haven't actually gotten to actual self defence yet. Kelly is making me walk his dog. Which is a lot harder than it sounds given the dog is a bloody big mastiff that definitely doesn't feel like walking, and I almost have to drag the damn animal around the park. On the up side, Kelly's an interesting guy. I can see why his students admire him, he's got some pretty great ideas about raising poor kids up."

The box of matches is caught neatly, and one's slid out, the end struck and lit with a quick flick of the cop's wrist. The grill's lit, the match given double duty to light his cigarette, and he turns to regard the redhead steadily. Then the offered cup. Then the redhead again. And he grins, slow, with that feral little gleam in his dark eyes. Like a cat that's caught a whiff of something it might like to eat in the long grass. "Like the lady says," he murmurs, holding his hand out for the beer. "I'm not the Chief. That'd be Thatchery." Who's now dead. "And whoever the Mayor winds up appointing."

Vic barks out a laugh at the news of Ravn walking Joey's dog, and how it's going. "You realize what the dog walking is teaching you to do, right? If you want that dog to walk with you, for you, you need to make him see you as a superior. As his boss. An alpha. One of the best ways to avoid a fight is to not look like a ripe target, give off the vibe that you are capable of protecting yourself. You have to do that to lead a dog, Ravn."

She looks over at the lack of sides to go with their meal and sighs. "Monaghan, come here and mind the grill. I need to dive over to the Safeway and gets some chips and macaroni salad and shit. Man cannot live on meat and beer alone." Pause. "Well he can, but he'll get clogged arteries. There's foil for one of the pans to put my hot dog in to keep it warm when it's done." She passes over tongs and grill fork to Seth, and digs her keys out of the front pocket of her jeans. "Back in 20, tops, unless something eats me at the store. In which case, send the cavalry to save me Javier." She points to her eyes, then to Ruiz with two fingers, before she heads around the side of the house to the driveway and into her truck.

Alexander might have been wary about the invitation, but he does (eventually) decide to arrive. Or maybe it wasn't wariness that made him fashionably late, but rather...a wheelbarrow. It's an old, battered thing, but the wheel's been recently replaced, and it's filled with...gardening implements. Clippers, a small hoe, a bag of compost, little bags of various seasonal seeds. Everything someone needs for a starter garden. He wheels it around just in time to see Vic get into her truck and drive away. There's a long pause while Alexander thinks about this. He parks the wheelbarrow next to the driveway, then wanders back to see who else is here. He's dressed casually, just jeans and a really ugly sweater.

Passing over the beer to Ruiz, Seth grins, the feral glances and back and forth not seeing to bother him at all. "Yeah, well, if you say so Chief. I mean, who else would he give it to, really? I'm sure a good word could be put in for you, should you wish."

Seth winks to Ruiz, offering the cop a smile before he takes his leave and moves over to take his position at the grill, Seth nods to Vic as she heads out, saying with a devilish grin, "RIght, keep a weiner warm for you. Got it."

Looking to Ravn, the redheaded enforecer shrugs a shoulder as he flips a burger on the grill. "Ok, well, we were riffing on Star Wars, so I just assumed Gungan. So, who is Ginga Din? I am not exactly a great purveyor of Kipling. Who wants cheese?"

"Joey Kelly's dog doesn't need me to be an alpha. He just needs me to carry him, the lazy bastard." Ravn notes even if Vic is already out of earshot. The gym coach's mastiff is a lot of things but scary isn't one. Immobile. Dead weight. Lazy as all hell. But definitely not scary, not even to a guy who usually isn't all that comfortable around big dogs. Hey, maybe somebody else needs to know that that dog is, uh, really good practise if you're into the cross-fit kind of training where people literally drag weights around forest paths in order to improve their cardio-vascular stamina, or whatever it is they think they're doing. Either way, drag that dog if you need to drag something, it's ninety pounds of lazy mastiff.

The Dane glances over his shoulder at the movement there and catches sight of Alexander and the wheelbarrow. "Hey, Clayton. Good to see you. You met Monaghan yet?"

Did he leave out the chance to lecture on the finer points of poetry of the British Raj? Yes. Yes, he did, and it was probably intentional because really, why spoil a good last barbecue of the year on boring people to tears.

Out front there's the sound of a motorcycle engine. Neither the full throated roar of an unmuffled Harley or nor the hornet whine of one of the Japanese racers, it's a ridiculous tractor rattle. Which makes sense for something created by Soviet engineering. It shuts down, and in moments, there's a tall blond coming around the side of Vic's house.

Joe's in peacoat and jeans, over a t-shirt that reads "On the 8th Day, God Created Sailors and the Devil said 'Oh, Shit'". He's got grocery bags draped over his arm, full of soda and chips and other snacks. His hair's in a windblown disarray, as if he'd ridden over with his helmet off. "Hey, y'all," he greets the assemblage, smiling broadly enough that the scar on his lip pulls it a bit out of shape.

Alexander offers a smile to Ravn; a smile that goes briefly wider when he notices Ruiz there...then pretty much dies at seeing Seth. But he just nods at the greeting and question from Ravn, and says, "We've met. Hello." He slouches his way over towards the three, looking around with that open, rude curiosity that is his habit. He practically jumps out of his skin when Joseph's motorcycle pulls up, and he retreats closer to the others to stare at the noise until Joe arrives. Then he relaxes, and there's another smile. "Hey." A look around, again. "Are we really burning furniture?"

Flipping the burgers to make sure they don't end up burring, Seth whistles softly to himself before Ravn mentions Alexander. The redheaded enforcer pulls his eyes away from the cooking meat for a moment to glance over at the new arrivals, and smiles. "Oh, yeah, we've met, Darth. How's it going, Alexander? Keeping out of trouble? You better believe we are! Hell, if I had my way we would torch this whole place and start Vic over from scratch, but I was vetoed on that idea." The bouncer nods his head in the direction of the keg, "Beer is over there help yourself, food is cooking..do you want a burger or a hot dog? Same goes to you, new guy...what do you want?"

"Howdy, neighbour." Ravn nods at the definitely not a Russian spy, and then looks back at the fire. "I guess Vic really hates the 1970s. I can see where she's coming from --- I saw her place before she got started on renovating. I did suggest she leave it all as it was and call it retro. Give it another twenty years and she could have flipped the whole houseas one giant antique. New guy is Joe Cavanaugh -- he's pretty much next me on the pier. Also, he's not actually a Russian spy. That's another of those freaky memory edits we talked about."

He's spreading out what he's brought - bottles of soda, disposable drink cups, chips. And the makings of smores, including some metal toasting forks. Like this is a camp out in earnest. Joe looks up with a chagrined expression at the mention of the memory edits. "Yeah, hey, Ravn, Clayton," he says, ruefully. His accent's southeast Georgia, long and slow and utterly unlike the local one. "What he said. I lived in Russia a few years, but....yeah. I'll have a burger, if you don't mind." He gives Ruiz a funny, twinkling little grin.

Seth's given a little salute with the beer, and Javier takes a swig of it before going over to tend to the barbecue and make sure it's heating up properly. No, much to Vic's likely chagrin, he hasn't singed his eyebrows off.

That done, he wanders off a short way to enjoy his smoke and his drink, half an eye on the enforcer as he goes. "Alexander," is greeted with something approximating an actual smile, wobbly as it is, along with a quizzical look when burning furniture's mentioned. Then it clears a moment later. "Oh. Well, yeah. But it's old, shitty furniture, so it doesn't count." Joe's arrival causes that smile to melt into something even fonder, dark eyes tracking the blond's approach through a haze of cigarette smoke.

"There's no one named Darth, here," Alexander mutters, not quite under his breath, "that's not even a real name. That's a nickname." But the grumbling is no sharper for Seth, at least, than it is for anyone else who uses one of the dreaded nicknames in his presence. He thinks about Seth's question for a moment, then says, simply, "No. You? And a burger, please." A glance at Ravn. "Joseph." He emphasizes the full form of the name. "He was an astronaut. Which is at least as interesting as being a spy. I wonder what it'd be like to be assigned to spy on weird shit in Gray Harbor. You'd either never find anything, or be fired immediately for taking too many drugs on the job." Eyes flicking back to the fire, then the house, then back to the fire as he talks.

He brightens again at the smile, wobbly though it might be, from Ruiz. "Old, shitty furniture can be interesting. Sometimes people stick things into bits and pieces of it. I found a will taped under a desk at the jumbleshop, once."

"I'm well aware that Darth is a nickname, I'm the one that started to call him that," Seth says as he motions to Ravn with his beer. "Vic calls him her sith apprentice, so I call him Darth. It makes sense. Hell, I'm about to start calling Vic Palpatine, just for the giggles of it." The enforcer grins and takes a swig from his beer as he tosses another burger onto the BBQ, the meat sizzling as it touches the hot surface. "OH!" Seth says as he comprehends. "You just don't like ANY nicknames. I got it."

Seth moves his eyes over to Joseph, nodding and tossing on another burger before he takes a hot dog off and wraps it in foil for Vic. "Pleasure, Joe. Seth, Seth Monaghan. Shame to hear your not a spy. That could be a good person to know."

"Darth is me, apparently. It's a bit of a joke between Seth and Vic, I don't mind it. Heaven knows I've been called less flattering things than the Sith Apprentice of Bartending." Ravn flashes a small, lopsided grin before getting up from his chair. "But speaking of, the shift at the Twofer tonight falls to me. I usually go for the quiet morning shifts when nothing much happens, but a guy can't win the lottery every time. When Vic gets back, tell her I'll have that true blue genuine American baseball game hot dog some other time."

He pulls his wind breaker up and glances at the men around the fire. "Don't burn off anyone's eyebrows. Something. Have a good one, all right?" Then he wanders off on foot, heading in the general direction of the Bay and the Two if By Sea. Somebody's not a party animal, and probably did this on purpose.

"Darth is a title," Joe says, mildly. "Whatever Sith version of his name'd be the nickname. Why do nicknames bug you so?" His tone is curious, rather than censorious. Then he's nodding. "I was an astronaut," he confirms, "'bout sixteen years. I lived in Russia 'cause I was ops director for NASA in Star City, which is the center of Russia's space program. An' since we still don't have a vehicle capable of manned launch....we still hitchin' rides with them." He sounds awfully redneck for someone with that past career, but...

The mention of that last name has Joe looking faintly sharp, for a moment. There's a glance flickered between Javier and Seth, lingering longer on the former. "Nah. My clearances were revoked years ago." He's headed for the keg to pour some for himself, then drifting towards Ruiz.

Ravn gets a murmured farewell from el jefe as he announces his departure, gaze trailing the violinist before tracking back to Seth in an absent fashion. Like he's keeping tabs on the man during lulls in conversation. If that's got anything at all to do with Joe having arrived, and the hackles that seem to have come up in sheer protectiveness, well.

"Oye, cómo estuvo tu día?" he greets the sailor finally, low-voiced, head turned briefly to exhale smoke away from the other man. Alexander just gets a chuckle in response. "Tell that to Vic. She seems personally offended by it."

"I don't like any nicknames," Alexander confirms. He waves to Ravn when he leaves, and despite everything, the idea of a Sith Apprentice of Bartending makes him smile. "Don't die," he tells the Dane's back. There might be approval there of the foot travel, or he might just be watching the guy to make sure no one jumps him until he's out of sight. Rabid PETA members, maybe. His attention returns to Joseph at that question, and he actually turns a little red, toeing the ground with one workboot. "You'll think it's stupid," he warns, quietly. Then says, so fast that the words would run together if it weren't for his precise diction, "Names are identities. Identities are protection. Nicknames twist identities. They make you into something you're not, and if you don't know who you are, then you're vulnerable, and soon you might not be you at all. So someone needs to keep the real name. Protect it. Even if it's not you that protects it, someone needs to. So that you're safe." A pause to breathe. "I know how it sounds. I know." He clears his throat, hastily, and says, "Anything I can help out with?"

If Seth smoked, this would be the part where he stared at Alexander with his mouth agape, the cigarette dangling from it by whatever magic holds a burning cigarette in an open mouth. He just stares at the man for a minute before the slow shake of his head snaps him out of the stupor. "Holy. Shit." the enforcer says, reaching to take up his beer in one hand as he flips a burger with the tongs in the other. "I can't believe I followed the logic on that, but I'm even more surprised that it came out of your mouth. You are certainly...unique, Alex." Beat. "Sorry, AlexANDER. You want to help, you can start slicing onions, tomatoes, and all the other fixings. Burgers will be done soon."

Seth casts a glance over towards Ruiz and Joe, mirroring the cop's interest in reverse. "You should see the inside of the house. Looks like the Brady's had an orgy with the Partridge Family, and it was the result. Shad, shag everywhere...well at least until we started to rip it out. So you were an Astronaut? That's pretty cool. Can't say I have met many that have ventured into space. Or were you one of those that never made it up?"

He ends up standing just a hair too close to Ruiz, as if the look in his eyes didn't give him away, as it stands. By Joe's body language, it's Javier that's the source of warmth and light here, not the fire. "Bueno hasta ahora. Y tu?" Even his tone has changed.

Then he's listening to Alexander for a moment, thoughtfully. "I don't agree. Nicknames are part of an identity, and identities are multifaceted. A nickname that fits may be more real, more true, than the legal name on paper. I'm actually Thomas, if you want to be strict. But I'm Joseph, I'm Joe, to Itzhak I'm Yossil, I was Torch and Gumball and Major and Tom and Tommy. In Russia, I was Iosif and all its associated nicknames, and believe me, Russians love nicknames. They're all me, past and present - they all fit. None of 'em made me anything but what I was already. Look, you known me nearly a year already, and you didn't know my first name was Thomas. So....does that mean that what you did know was less me?"

He pauses, takes a sip. "It don't keep you safe. I mean, hell, in all the stories, true names are things of enormous power, so people went by nicknames or epithets, they weren't for public use." Then he shrugs, and looks to Seth. "Nah, I was the real deal. Three launches. Technically, you're not an astronaut 'til you made it fifty miles straight up. 'fore then, you're considered an astronaut candidate."

There's the sound of Vic's truck pulling back into the drive. Clearly nothing ate her at the Safeway. She can be heard talking to Ravn a few moments before she rounds the back of the house again, staring at the wheelbarrow as she goes, arms loaded with grocery bags of various sides. Macaroni salad, potato salad, chips, dips, pretzels, a veggie platter and a fruit salad even! She drops the bags on the table and starts setting the containers out with serving spoons. "Clayton! Cavanaugh! Glad you could make it! Who lost a wheelbarrow on the side of my house?" She grabs her beer and goes over to throw an old table leg on the bonfire. How she managed to get someone to light the bonfire AND tend the grill at her party is anyone's guess.

Alexander isn't really surprised at Seth's reaction, or Joseph's either, although his whole face and neck turn a dark and mottled red. He doesn't argue with either of them, just sort of shrinks in on himself like he'd just prefer to pull all his limbs into the oversized, ugly sweater and just be a turtle with a knitting obsession. Joseph's question isn't answered. He ducks his head and slinks over to the cutting board, grabbing the knife. Knives, he understands, and he easily starts cutting onions. Frighteningly easily, if one's inclined to think that about a man with a knife - his cuts are rapid, strong, and unhesitating, but he doesn't hold the knife like a chef, but more like a knife fighter who just happens to be cutting vegetables at the moment.

He doesn't say anything at all until Vic calls out his name. "It's not lost," he says, not looking up from the cutting. "Brought it for you. For the yard. There's some fertilizer in there, too. And some seeds. Didn't know what you wanted. Flowers? Herbs? Veggies? Little of everything."

Seth reaches down next to his beer and grabs a tinfoil wrapped hot dog, "Here, Vic. One warm weenie as requested." The redhead tosses the wrapper hot dog over towards Vic gently before moving to pull some of the done burgers off the grill and onto a plate. "How many of these things should I be cooking? All of them, or by order only?"

Alexander's reaction doesn't seem to surprise or offend Joe. He simply looks philosophical, but then, he's had similar reactions from the younger man, before. Then Vic's reappearing, and he lifts his beer cup to her in greeting. "Hey, you," he says. "Yeah, you get the Viet Cong cleared outta here, throw down some Agent Orange, you could have a real nice space back here." He scratches at his jaw with his other hand - there's something of the beginnings of a beard growing in, though not it's just kind of a brass-colored scruff. Still carefully groomed, so he doesn't look like an utter reprobate.

Then he's ambling over to retrieve a burger, load the plate up with chips, and doctor the former with mustard. "Up to the boss lady," he says, around a mouthful.

Vic listens to Alexander's list and is tempted to tack on 'a gardener' to the end of it, but she doesn't She just grins. "That's kind of you, neighbor." She'll likely be hiring Roen to put it all to use. "If you know any good rituals for exorcising the ghosts of 70s decor from an interior, you let me know. I want to try and get the place livable before Thanksgiving. My dad is talking about coming down here for it."

She takes her hotdog from Seth with a smirk and pops it into a bun before she puts ketchup, mustard, and dill relish on it. "Put a burger on for me next, go by order, once I finish this one I'll man the grill again, thanks for that, by the way. I have s'mores stuff in the kitchen once we get to regular wood on the bonfire."

Joe gets a chuckle and a shoulder bump as he comes over to the table. "Yeah I am worried we might find Jimmy Hoffa buried back here or something. I was telling the guys earlier, I found out there was a triple murder in the house in the 70s, thus why it wasn't sold til I came along."

The bag of pretzels is liberated from Vic's arms as she passes by the cop, and the sound of it being torn open isn't quite obliterated by the burble of conversation that concerns nicknames and spaceflight. Alexander and his sharp knife are watched with interest; perhaps even admiration. A slight creasing at the corners of his eyes that might be a smile, if the investigator happens to look his way.

Then he's ambling over to fetch himself that burger he's been promised, with an expectant look thrown Seth's way. Nothing particularly impolite, simply.. surly. Because that's his way. He shoves a couple of pretzels into his mouth, crunches on them noisily.

Alexander shrugs at Vic, but he can't hide the pleased look that flickers across his features, easing some of the tension there. "Gardening is relaxing." He moves on to the tomatoes, cutting them carefully to preserve the shape, although it hardly slows him down at all. Fixin's are placed in neat, precise little piles as they're done, and once he's finished enough for five or six, he cleans the knife and the station, then steps around to get his burger, coming to stand behind Ruiz, like they're kids lining up at school. That creasing of the corner's of the cop's eyes is met with a brief, tentative sort of smile, before Alexander looks back to Joseph and Vic. "You could carve out a space in the wild brush, make something like a little grotto for relaxing." A glance back at the house at the mention of Vic's father. He doesn't even try to conceal a certain skepticism. "...I'll come by with some tools in a few days. If you want," he tells her, solemnly.

"No sweat, Grey," Seth says with a nod to Vic as she takes the hot dog as he slips another burger onto the flame. "I've maned a grill once or twice, besides it saved me from having to do any of the heavy lifting so far." The grillmaster starts to dish out the burgers to those that wanted one, the first going onto a plate that is passed over to Ruiz, "Chief. Enjoy." Another plate is passed to Joe, and still another slid in front of Alexander before the large bouncer makes a plate for himself.

Vic chomps into her hot dog, the snap of a Sahlen satisfying in a way a regular hot dog just isn't. She swallows down a mouthful, gesturing with her food at the back door. "Don't go promising things, Clayton, until you actually see the horror of the interior. I wouldn't inflict it on the unwary. Unless the unwary are Seth or Ravn." She totally inflicted it on those two.

She adds macaroni salad to her plate, and a spork, before she finds a lawnchair near the bonfire, shrugging out of her jacket and hanging it over the back, to gnosh on her meal.

There's one of those impish little smiles on Joe's face, as he listens. "Hell, I c'n help you," he says. "I'm retired, I ain't up to much on a given day, really. Jus' lemme know when you intend to work on it. I know about basic home repair stuff. Sounds like you might wanna call a priest in, have him do a blessing." He bumps Javier with a shoulder, companionably - gives the cop another of those looks, wordless but communicative.

Then he's telling Alexander and Seth, "Y'all do good work. Thanks for doin' the cookin'."

Javier's on his phone when Seth tips that parting comment toward him, along with a plate. And sure, he could point out again that he's not the Chief. Or he could simply give the redhead a look that'd incinerate a small rodent as he accepts the burger, and say absolutely nothing at all. Stepping off to the side so as not to be in Alexander's way, he sets down the bag of pretzels once he's dumped a handful onto his plate, and takes a large bite out of his burger. Once he's chewed and swallowed, he hitches his chin toward Joe nearby in agreement. "He got my shower installed, didn't fuck up my plumbing. Pretty handy with his uh. Hands." He pauses awkwardly, seems uncertain where to look, then opts to take another bite. Of his burger. That seems safe enough. Yep.

Alexander takes his burger with a quiet, "Thanks," to Seth - and doesn't even check it blatantly for any poisons. He loads it up with various fixin's, and then moves to take a seat on the ground near the fire, at a sort of deliberate distance from the others, watching them. A flicker of a smile to Vic. "The murders in my house were in the 90s. Couldn't sell or rent the place till I bought it. I'm not bad at fixing things up." He takes a bite of his burger, then, after swallowing, acknowledges, "Cavanaugh's probably better, though. I wouldn't install a shower without YouTube." The innuendo, unintentional though might be, seems to sail blissfully over his head.

"Don't remind me, Vic," Seth says as he steps away from the grill, wiping his hands down with a paper towel. "I still say we just need to torch the place and start over with the insurance money." He pauses, looking over towards Ruiz, "Just a figure of speech, I assure you. Maybe." Seth shifts his eyes over to Joe, giving a nod of thanks for the compliment and is just about to take a bite of his own burger when his cell rings and he answers.

"Monaghan.... Hey cous.... Sure. Be there in a bit."

Seth hits the off button on the phone and sighs, finishing off the beer in his Solo cup and tossing it into the recycle bin, "Sorry, Grey. I'm going to have to take the burger to go. Just got called into work. Save me a chair or something to burn later."

Vic is mid sip of her beer from the solo cup when Javier says THAT. She nearly inhales it, coughing and choking before wiping her mouth off on the back of her forearm. "Phrasing," she croaks out. Awkward indeed. She sets her plate and cup on one of the nearby tree stumps and plucks up what looks to be the top of a cheap, wooden, 70s era coffee table from the pile of debris. It comes complete with no spill side rails, as if those were safer for kids than all the extra edges and corners they added to it, and chucks it into the flames. Seriously, what were they smoking back then to think this stuff looked chic? She grins over her shoulder at Joe and Alexander. "Sure thing, you two. I pay in beer though, just so you know."

She watches Seth take the call and grunts. The look on his face tells her everything she needs to know. "Load some sides on that plate and wrap it in foil to keep for the drive. I'll bring you buy some leftovers tomorrow." Since he's down the street.

Joe gets that sphinxish little smile at Javier's comment. "I'm damn good with my hands," he says, with sunny assurance...and no little arrogance. "And, well, if I can install a toilet in space, I can for sure do it on earth in gravity. And I've never fucked up his plumbing," he adds, with teasing emphasis.

The departing Seth gets a little wave in salute, before he takes a swallow of beer. Vic's comment about payment gets a positively wolfish leer. "I'm sure we c'n work somethin' out. There are better currencies than beer, after all." Whereupon he waggles his brows.

Watching Vic choke on her beer pretty much made it all worth it, far as Javier's concerned. He washes down his mouthful of burger with the last of his beer, chortles, and pushes off to go get a refill on the drink. The coffee table is watched as it's fed to the flames, and his gaze lingers on Seth when he catches a snippet of phone conversation. Paranoid? Perhaps with good reason. He works his jaw, goes for that refill, minds his own business as the guy takes his leave.

"Need to talk to you about a job, when you have a few minutes, Alexander," he announces, apropos of nothing.

Ever seen a bloodhound given a scent? Transposing that entire reaction into a human body and face gets you the closest to the way Alexander instantly changes when Seth says cous to the phone. He's not subtle about the way his head snaps around, and it clearly takes real, emotional effort not to bounce up from the grass and get shot for being a nosy motherfucker in record time. He even makes a sound in the back of his throat like a dog having to stay when it doesn't want to. But stay he does, albeit fidgety and tense, and he even tries to refocus on the rest of the conversation. "Beer's fine. Doesn't have to be anything." He watches the sputtering and choking and banter with a twitchy sort of interest. Like he's studying a new species of animal.

He's raising the burger to his mouth again when Ruiz throws that in his direction. The burger stops about a half inch from his mouth, and he peers at Ruiz over it. "Um. Sure. Whatever you want," he says, simply, and then finishes taking his bite.

Vic double-takes at Joe's comments because that almost sounded like...flirting? With her? Blink. She cracks a sly grin though, trying to cover up a faint blush by poking at the flames with an old tire iron to settle the wood properly. "Yeah, sure, I'm sure you bring lots of things to the bargaining table, Cavanaugh." She clears her throat and moves to take over Grillmaster duties from Seth. "Seconds anyone?" She gets her own burger dressed up same as she did her hot dog. Javier's chortle gets him a middle finger salute.

"Well don't tell me that, Clayton. I'll be abusing your good nature if you do," she points out, trying to imply she's a terrible person who would let him work for her for free. "Though the argument could be made that you're saving the world from terrible decorators of the past."

Nodding to Vic, Seth does just that. He put a burger with all the fixings with some chips and potato salad on a plate and wraps it up. "Thanks, Grey. Catch you tomorrow. Let me know when you want to tear the carpet out of the rest of the place and I'll drag Darth over. He's handy like that."

To the rest, he lifts a hand in a wave, "Catch ya later, gents." as he heads down the side yard.

Now it's Joe's turn to amble over and get himself a second helping. "Only few things, but those things are enormous," he tells her, perfectly deadpan, as he reloads his plate. Then he's eyeing Alexander's reaction, and notes, wryly, "You got no kind of a pokerface. You over there like a spaniel that's just scented a whole nest of quail."

Then he nods after the departing Seth. "So. That's kin to the legendary Felix and his bag of tricks, huh?" His tone is rueful.

Alexander and his veritable slavering after the redhead are watched with glib amusement for a few moments by the cop, as he resettles in place beside Joe. Just in time to catch the blush from Vic, and the rejoinder about.. enormous things? "You want me to man the grill while you two sneak off around back?" he asks Vic, tipping his beer back for a swig, followed up by a swipe of inked knuckles. To Alexander, he notes, "Got a potential contractor I'd like you to sniff out for me. Seems squeaky clean, but sometimes those are the ones you've got to watch out for, yeah?"

Alexander gives Vic a blank sort of look. Not like he doesn't understand the implication, more like he doesn't have any real conception that things should be different than that. After a moment, he gives a tentative sort of shrug. "It's true? I don't mind." A touch of humor surfaces. "Erasing the seventies does seem like a good cause, anyway. Is there Naugahyde involved? That shit doesn't burn well. Pretty sure they invented it to withstand the nuclear holocaust." Another shrug, this time more awkward, to Joseph, and he can't stop himself from looking out to where Seth ambled off. "Yeah." It seems to be an all-purpose answer to both questions. It's only Ruiz's words that can bring him back to the here and now, and not mentally following Seth. (Literally.)

He looks back at the cop, raises an eyebrow, but says, "Sure. Send me the name and any info you have on them."

Vic waggles the tongs at Joe, "You're just downright saucy tonight, aren't you, flyboy?" she quips, glancing past him towards Ruiz to see if this is going to get her truck blown up later or something. "She makes a noncommittal sound at the question about Seth. "Cousins, I think. Bounces at the Firefly. Nepotism I tell you. Me having to sling drinks at the Twofer and he gets to toss people out on their asses. No fair."

Then Javier is making things more embarrassing and she rolls her eyes heavenward as if to ask the good Lord above for some help down here. Alexander to the rescue with home rehab questions. "I took all the fabric and shit off the frames. That went to the dump, along with the carpeting and wallpaper." She shudders at just how awful it all was.

Joe snorts at that, blue eyes bright. "C'mon, baby, vouch for me," he says to Javier. "I bring enormous things to the table, right?" He even elbows the cop, gently....and then, for just an instant, he gets a comically startled look. He's observing the byplay with Ruiz and Alexander, amused.

Then he retorts to Vic, "I sure am sassy." A last hipbump for Javier, and he's moving away to get the smores stuff that he brought, including toasting forks for the marshmallows. He tears open the bag and loads up the fork, before hitching a chair close enough he can hold the marshmallows over the heat of the fire.

Vouch for him? "I vouch that he's a mouthy fucking son of a bitch," Javier offers up unhesitatingly, then promptly takes a giant bite of hamburger, preventing him from having to comment on enormous things. Whatever prompted that startled look, it's almost certainly his fault, though. Given the look on his face, and the way his fingertips trail away from the blond's side, before he reaches for his beer again.

"You got it," he tells Alexander, digging out his phone to make a note, perhaps, of the fact he needs to follow up with the other man. To Vic, he remarks without glancing up, "So you're a homeowner now, huh? How's it feel?"

Alexander smiles briefly at Vic. "I'm sure Easton will let you toss people out on their ass if they really deserve it," he says. "Or if he thinks it's funny. And he thinks a lot of things are funny, so your odds are pretty damned good, I'd say." He watches the interplay between Joseph and Ruiz with open interest, head cocking slightly to the side at the startled look, then the barest hint at a smile at the banter, as if it's just taken this long to penetrate that they're teasing each other. A simple nod to Ruiz, before turning his attention back to Vic at the question, apparently curious himself.

Vic shakes her head at Joe's sassiness and chuckles, taking a bite out of her burger between tending to the grill. "You are trouble all wrapped up in a pretty package, Cavanaugh," she mutters. She looks between Javier and Joe, suspecting unspoken things happening there, before she snorts at Ruiz. "It feels fucking expensive it how it feels," she admits. "I got the house for next to nothing but making it a place I can be in more than an hour without feeling like dude in the Shining? That's gonna cost me all my tips." She gets tips? With her attitude?

"But I guess it feels ok other than that. I've been on the move for a few years, living in hotels and that trailer, so having a solid place to go to is new."

"I am that, and you love it," Joe states, still with that blinding assurance, chin held up at that faintly defiant tint. "Seems you've forgotten what enormous things I bring to the table. I'll remind you later." He gives Javier a look sidelong, full of mischief - for a moment, the boy he was is clear in his face, despite the crows' feet and the silver in his hair. Then he drops a wink to Alexander, conspiratorial.

He bobs his head in sympathy to Vic. "I hear that. That's how I felt when I bought my house in Houston. I'd spent my adult life livin' out of a ruck, basically. Having place, having a space....it was nice." But doesn't he now? There's that apartment in Bayside.

Vic's given a sympathetic bob of eyebrows when she mentions how expensive home ownership is. Javier's about to go for another bite of his burger, when Cavanaugh proceeds to needle him further, complete with mischievous look. It's returned slantwise, tonguetip slid slow along a canine. Then that bite's taken of his food. And then another, to finish it off. No silver in his hair, though there's plenty in his beard. He leans in for a moment, one arm slung around the ex-astronaut, a few words pitched close to his ear before he prowls off.

"What're we sacrificing next?" he asks Vic, shedding his jacket with a roll of his shoulders, and tossing it atop a deck chair.

Alexander finishes off his burger mechanically, and tells Vic, sympathetically, "You live in Gray Harbor. That feeling's never gonna go away." He rises to put the plate wherever it goes. "It's nice to have a space you can control a little, though," he agrees, although his own traveling days are pretty far behind him. Joseph's wink is noticed, and blinked at, even if the younger man doesn't quite seem to understand the meaning of it. He does smile, just a little, though, in return. Once he's put things back in order he nods his agreement with Ruiz, adding, "It'd be a shame to have all of these specimens of male virility at your beck and call, and not put us to good use." Is he trying to participate in the teasing? It's hard to tell, his expression and tone are both quite serious.

Vic sets the remaining cooked meats into one of the aluminum foil pans and covers them up for any latecomers, before she grabs another glass of beer from Seth's keg and finds a spot near Joe to help with s'mores making. She snorts at him as she plops down and begins to assemble a marshmallow onto a toasting fork. "Keep it up and I'll hold you to proving all your bravado," she threatens. At his words about having a space she notes, "Says the guy living in the place with the working Jacuzzi and pool, and a sailboat if that gets too damn fancy for him" she points out with a smirk.

She watches the interplay between the cop and the sailor and then gestures to the pile of furniture pieces. "Take your pick, there's the now naked dining chairs, always a good choice for burning, or over there is...I think it was some kind of plant stand? Maybe?" Alexander's comment has her barking out a laugh as she settles her marshmallow near the flames to toast it. "Jesus, I need more female friends."

Javier slings an arm around him, and Joe pauses, brows up, listening. Whatever the cop murmurs has that bright flush coming into his face...and then he's muttering back, nodding, before Javier slinks off.

"Yeah, but I don't own it. All I own is the sailboat and that bike. I sure do love having pool access year round, though. 's why I rent there. Bein' able to swim helps a lot with pain....and it reminds me of what it was like bein' weightless." He turns the marshmallows over on the fork, seeming not in the least disposed to get up and pick more fuel for the fire. "Man's got a point," he adds, jerking a thumb at Alexander. "Got us here, might as well use us."

Take his pick? Don't mind if he do. A chair's selected at random, hoisted up and hefted into both hands. And then he watches the flames for a time, and the conversation sort of.. fades into the background while he contemplates them. It's Alexander's voice, of all things, that brings him back, and his specimens of male virility, as unexpected as that phrase was from the other man. He tosses the chair into the fire, reaches for the tire iron to prod it into place more securely, then finally turns to regard the investigator with a peculiar expression on his face.

"What, are we talking throwing you both on this fire as sacrifices to weird ass gods, or fucked up sex rituals?" He reaches up to adjust his ballcap, mouth twitching slightly. Probably he's also teasing. Probably.

Alexander chuckles at Vic's response. And now, his eyes are visibly lit with amusement as he says, "You know that the women in this town would make this just as awkward and sexual," he points out, quite seriously. "If Bennie was here, she'd already have suggested we take off our shirts. And probably demanded Cavanaugh invite us to the jacuzzi." He says it like it's just a fact of life as he wanders over to the plant stand. He picks it up, and turns it over in his hands, frowning at it. "This is ugly." That's why it's being burned, Alexander.

He moves to just within safe distance of the bonfire, waits for Ruiz to throw his, then tosses his own. His gaze slants sideways towards Ruiz. "I do know quite a few fucked up sex rituals. I didn't think that's where this was going, but if you need instructions..." The worst part is that he continues to sound completely serious.

"Are we still doing phrasing? Because, phrasing!" Vic announces at Joe's comment about using them. She accidentally sets her marshmallow on fire and blows out the flames before smushing it between a graham cracker with chocolate on it and another graham cracker. She has a mouthful of sugary goodness when Javier's comment nearly makes her choke on it. She talks through the muffled mass of marshmallowy delciousness and a hand over her face. "Are you deliberately trying to kill me?" Then Alexander is on to sex rituals. "You know what?" Ah, newcomers to town.

"I know plenty of fucked-up sex rituals," Joe manages to state with a straight face, though the blue eyes are dancing. Satisfied with the state of his marshmallow, he pulls the fork away from the fire and smushes it into a sandwich with chocolate and graham cracker. "You're right, she woulda. I c'n still do it, if y'all want. I mean, take off my shirt." Delivered in a tone of sterling innocence.

"Fuck, I don't recall you being so.." Javier stares at the blonde bartender a moment, then eventually settles on, "Pristine. Before." He drags his gaze over her slow and a little too intent, like he'll find the answer to her sudden and unexpected discomfiture, if he simply looks hard enough. Then after a belly scratch and a rumbling chuckle pitched Joe's way, he goes to toss another chair into the fire. "Pretty sure Isabella-" A grunt as it goes in. "-would not approve," he tells Alexander.

As for the shirtless bit? "Be my guest, novio," he tells Joe with a wink.

Alexander flashes a grin at Vic, as brief and bright as lightning. "I was in a sex cult in college," he says, like that's a perfectly ordinary thing. Then pauses, and amends, "Technically it was a gender-neutral brotherhood dedicated to the pursuit of the lost knowledge of spiritualism and hermetic magicks from a scholarly and rigorously experimental perspective." Another pause. "But really? We just had lots of sex in circles and things, and learned Latin and Greek. It was pretty fun." He grabs a chair and tells Joe, "If it makes you comfortable, it's fine by me." He tosses the chair a heartbeat after Ruiz, and snorts. "I didn't say I'd participate. Just instruct. I don't think she'd object to that."

He might know Isabella less well than he thinks.

"Why do I feel like there's a punchline waiting for me about all this sex ritual, shirtless, virility stuff?" Vic asks, eyes narrowing in suspicion as she looks between the three men. Javier's comment has her throwing a woodchip at him. Then Alexander goes to explain his cult background which has her blinking at him. "Goddamit, you all suck. I need real booze." She grunts and gets up to go into the house and come out with something harder to drink than beer.

A few moments later she's back with bottles of whiskey, tequila, vodka, all in her arms, with more solo cups in the other. "You're all driving me to drink." Pristine she is not, but in a very, very long dry spell? Yes. "And don't think I didn't bring my salsa dress down here with me Javier de la Vega," she threatens, pointing a finger at him. He should remember she can salsa. Ojeda loved to salsa with the blonde.

"I'm pretty sure I'm the one here who does," Joe retorts, giving her another of those impish smiles. Talk about phrasing. Then he's chewing through his smore, meditatively. Alexander's reply has him nearly choking on his mouthful of beer. "How'd you end up in that? And it was fun?"

Javier's given him permission, and Joe suits action to word. Namely, he gets up, shrugs out of his peacoat, which he drapes over his chair....and then peels out of his ridiculous shirt.

Even with the faint remains of a summer tan and a last few holdout freckles on his shoulders, he's very fair. It makes the ink on his chest and shoulders all the more vivid by contrast, and there's a lot of it. A compass rose at the center of his chest, flanked by a swallow and a Russian firebird up and to either side. The left deltoid has an old-fashioned sailing ship, and the right the black and white profile of an orbiter, wound with a banner that reads 'Ad Astra Per Aspera'.

There's a lot of scarring, though. A matched pair, front and back, that can only be a bullet's entry and exit wound. Lines of stitching from small cuts. And his left lower flank has a smear of terrible burn scars that vanish into his waistband, with a seam of stitch marks in the middle, vertical. Goosebumps make their appearance at the cool of the air, and he steps closer to the fire, but seems comfortable enough.

Oh, sweet summer child, says the look Javier gives Alexander, as another piece of furniture goes onto the pile. This one, a hideous lampshade. He goes back to his beer then, reclaiming it from wherever he'd left it, and downing a long swig of the stuff. "Only if you ask real nice," he calls out to Vic's departing back, a raspy, smoke-roughened chuckle trailing after her as she goes.

Mention of salsa dresses and the appearance of tequila ought, by all rights, to have his attention. But there's Joe and all his skin to contend with all of a sudden, and it's fucking distracting. So he watches, eyes narrowed slightly as he sips at his beer and drinks in the sight, content as a fat cat in a sunbeam.

Alexander blinks back at Vic. "Why do I suck? You asked a question." He sounds a little honestly bewildered, and hurls another chair into the fire. Then Joe's asking another question, and he stops to think about it. "I took Latin my freshman year. The professor invited me to a study group, that was actually a recruitment circle. I was prime cult material - distant from home, lonely, previous cult experience, easily led. And good at Latin," he adds, as an afterthought. "It was fun. Most people didn't take it too seriously, and there were drugs and some control, but it was probably the least unhealthy of the cults I've been in." He sounds a little wistful about it, like another person might talk about their fraternity. He hurls another piece of furniture - this time a wall-mounted hat rack with duck heads for hooks - and then goes to sit down for a moment, watching Joe take off his shirt. He stares at the scars more than anything else, particularly the burns, and makes no attempt to be subtle about it.

Vic blinks at the now shirtless Joe and gives Ruiz a LOOK because surely this is HIS doing. "All right, Magic Mike, if you catch pneumonia it's not my fault." She is totally looking though, as she pours herself some whiskey. She passes cups and bottles on to the others before going to pick a sacrificial furniture piece to add to the blaze. She pokes around and comes up with a chunky table leg from the now defunct dining set. She heaves it into the fire, with a splash of sparks into the darkening air. Alexander's words shake her out of watching the bright points of orange floating in the air. "How many cults were you in?"

Still in solid shape, despite his age - no real spare flesh. And easy in his skin, without an iota of self-consciousness. He holds out his now empty cup, as if in search of whatever booze some charitable person might grant him, disinclined to leave the warmth of the fire. Javier in particular gets a knowing smile. It's really his show, isn't it?

Then he glances at Alexander. "That's what I was gonna ask," he says. "I mean, why would you be in more'n one, unless they really are that fun."

It's not like there isn't anything there that Ruiz hasn't seen many, many, many times before over the course of their decades-long relationship. But Joe's an attractive man, and he knows it. And so does the snarly, roughshod Mexican he's inexplicably drawn into his orbit. Who presently drops into the chair next to Joe, and spills some beer into that proffered cup, before bumping the other man's shoulder and settling in to drink. He too is curious to hear the answer to Vic's question; he knows Alexander was in a few, though the exact number escapes him at the moment.

Although he's been, perhaps distressingly, open with things like 'sex cult', Alexander hesitates before answering. "Three," he says, at last. He licks his lips at Joseph's last comments. "Cults don't really last. Most of them. And they don't really make anything better, they just make it so you don't have to think about the bad stuff, or anything else. You have a place, and a purpose. But, uh, the first imploded pretty quickly when the founders had a falling out. The second kicked me out because I scared them. That was the one in college. A friend and I," a glance at Ruiz, "Isolde, we got Lost. It was...bad. Real bad. Afterwards, she disappeared, and I didn't know if she was alive, or had ever been alive, and all the shit I'd forgotten about Gray Harbor started...coming back. And my abilities got stronger. Everything just fell apart." His smile is crooked. "Luckily, it was the last semester, so I was able to grab my degree, but the Brethren made it clear that I was no longer, uh, their kind of weird." He shrugs.

Vic stares at Alexander in between sneaking glances at Joe's tattoos because they are pretty cool. Ruiz gets a few looks shot at him that are more like a question of whether he is dangling this...carrot of his in front of her as punishment of some sort. Alexander's tale has her sobering, mentally if not physically. "Shit, I guess if my dad hadn't kept close watch over me after mom passed, I might have gotten mixed up in some things like that. Bad influences, trying to forget and shit." Like Felix isn't a bad influence?

Joe toasts Javier with a lift of his cup, before taking a swig. He's listening gravely to Alexander's reply. "Sounds like the military," he says finally, voice a little dry. He blows out a breath at that. "I bet it was bad. I met her once, maybe twice? She was with Rosencrantz a while, I think." Then there's a glance at Vic, but he doesn't pry further. Just eyes the bag of marshmallows as if pondering another smore.

Alexander nods to Vic. "Yeah. Cults prey on the weak and the wounded. The lost, in one way or another." A flicker of a smile as Joe speaks up. "Never been in the military, but there are probably parallels. Conformity exchanged for purpose and protection. Depending on which stage you get them at, though, they're less restrictive. They don't care how weird you are, as long as you're also their sort of weird." He grows pensive, the lines in his face going deeper, and he slowly stands up to throw more hideous furniture on the fire, lapsing into silence.

When the hour gets pretty late, Vic makes sure everyone can get home safe on their own or via an Uber call to Tor. Ruiz is just drinking beer so he should be fine to transport Joe, and Alexander just needs to trundle down the street. She just needs to stumble across the road to the Kelly house herself, but she also has to make sure the grill and the bonfire are put out before then. Everyone is packed off with leftovers, including the beer, since she still has the keg. There are promises to call people to come do home stuff in the 70s nightmare soon, before she says final goodbyes to people she might have to begrudgingly admit might be her friends.