2020-11-30 - Murderbro Coffee Hour

(TXT to Cecil) Alexander : Cecil. Hello. Are you alive?

(TXT to Alexander) Cecil : I seem to be. What's up?

(TXT to Cecil) Alexander : I'm glad. Sorry for not reaching out before. I was sort of stoned? Waffletacos seemed very important.

(TXT to Alexander) Cecil : I'm intrigued by waffletacos. How are you feeling now?

(TXT to Cecil) Alexander : Sober. That's probably better. Would you like to get coffee?

(TXT to Cecil) Alexander : I will explain waffletacos, but I sort of want to see your face when I do.

(TXT to Alexander) Cecil : Sure, I could have coffee. I have something for you, and I can bring it to you.

(TXT to Cecil) Alexander : ??

(TXT to Cecil) Alexander : Autopsy photos?

(TXT to Alexander) Cecil : Nothing that exciting. Where should we meet?

(TXT to Cecil) Alexander : Expresso Yourself? They have good muffins.

(TXT to Alexander) Cecil : I'll be there in a tick.

Espresso Yourself is normally busy - a fair number of the good workers of Gray Harbor look a little bleary, but that might just be holiday stress. Alexander has staked out a table towards the back, where he can keep an eye on the door. He looks a little like someone hit him with a large stick; his nose has been broken, and is now purple and swollen like a potato, and the bruising goes all the way up to his forehead. Two of his fingers on one seem to be broken and splinted, as well, so he's holding his coffee in his other hand, while he peers at a newspaper thoughtfully. Holiday music is playing on the intercom, although the kitschy Christmas decorations have not YET come out to play. Alexander is wearing an oversized flannel shirt and jeans.

Cecil steps in wearing his London Fog coat over his work clothes, and he's got a parcel wrapped in brown paper tucked under one arm. He winces as he spies Alexander, and he approaches his table. "What happened to you?" he says. "Do I want to know?" His features are pinched with sympathy. He takes a seat opposite Alexander and sets the parcel on the table in front of him. It's flat and rectangular, like a book. "I saw this and thought of you. It's a little early for the holiday, but so be it."

"I'm fine," Alexander says in response to the first question, then immediately to the second, "You don't. Want to know, I mean." Still, despite this, his smile is warm and welcoming (despite the potato nose) as Cecil moves to sit down. He gives the parcel a curious look, but his question is answered before he could even ask it. And when Cecil explains, Alexander looks rather like someone hit him with a large stick again, this time by surprise. He just blinks a few times at Cecil. "You, uh. You got me a gift? For the holidays?" Panic flickers behind his eyes. "I haven't gotten you anything. I haven't done any holiday shopping. At all. I didn't mean to leave you out. I'm sorry. I just haven't gotten anything. Or I would have brought it. If I'd known." His fingers twitch like they'd like to start nervous tapping on the table, but the broken fingers stop that pretty handily.

Cecil holds up a hand to reassurea s he says, "It's still early in the holidays, and you don't have to get me anything. Please, don't get stressed on my account." He's a calm counterpoint to Alexander, all ease and warmth. "Do you need help opening it?" he asks with a glance to the broken fingers. "Goodness, I wish I'd known you were hurt. I would have visited you or something. I can't blame you for getting a bit stoned, all things considered."

"Oh." Alexander pauses. "I'll try." There's a shy smile. "Thank you. It's very nice of you." He reaches out for the package with his good hand. "I think I can manage." He braces the book against the edge of the table with his bad hand, and gets to opening it. The way he moves, he's no stranger to being down a finger or two for periods. He shakes his head at the last. "I...no. I didn't take any drugs. The dispensary downtown blew up. A lot of people, uh, sort of got stoned from it? For a week or so. You didn't feel anything?" He's one of those NEAT package openers, and carefully pries the paper open with a minimal of tearing.

"I wasn't in the area," Cecil says. "But that does sound on-brand for this town. Though, to be honest, when I get stoned, I just get mellow, so maybe I was affected and didn't realize it." Cecil is a man of infinite patience, and he watches Alexander take his own sweet time without seeming ruffled by it. In the meantime, he orders a lavender tea latte. The packaging paper eventually reveals a picture book about death masks sorted by era, with little biographies about each mask, such as who they were and how they died. "It saw it and couldn't resist," Cecil says.

"You seem like someone who would get mellow," Alexander admits, with a smile. "That, or inventive. Like...waffletacos. Which are a sort of munchie monstrosity I and another stoned guy came up with. Booze-soaked instant waffles filled with ice cream, battered, fried, and dipped in chocolate." A pause. "They were walking heart attacks, Cecil. If we hadn't come to our senses, we would have actually killed people from carb and sugar overloads." He looks down as the wrapper comes loose, and his eyebrows rise. "...death masks?" He turns the book around so he can peek in at a few pages. "This is fascinating. Amazing. I will enjoy reading this. Thank you!" He grins with delight, and looks up. "Where did you go?"

Cecil smiles broadly. Alexander's reaction is his reward, and he's well-pleased. "I was browsing a book store near the harbor and it was there. The only copy, too. I first encountered the idea of death masks in my twenties, and I find them fascinating. That and Victorian death photography." He takes his latte when it's delivered and settles back with it cupped in his hands. "The waffletaco sounds trully terrifying. You know, I think maybe I was affected, because I have been super calm lately. I just thought it was the lack of people actively trying to kill me."

Alexander bobs his head, and strokes the cover of the book with his good fingers. "I've heard of them, but I don't know much about them. Victorian death photography is very interesting, though. Some of the collectors online that I deal with, on occasion, have collections. It's...interesting. Photography was this new technology, and I can actually entirely understand why you'd use this near-miraculous technology to preserve a picture of a recently deceased person for what, at the time, must have seemed like eternity." He smiles. "Records are good. They help you remember." Then, there's a chuckle. "Well. We can fix that, I'm sure. If you're bored."

Cecil laughs softly and shakes his head. "No, we don't need to fix anything. I'm enjoying my lack of actively being assaulted. It's a nice life. It involves hanging out with cats." He takes a sip of his latte, then says, "I have an interest in photography, so Victorian death photography is of particular interest. The idea of getting to preserve a loved one like that. These days we just take pictures of everything all the time, but back then, someone practically had to die before you'd get a picture taken."

"Hanging out with cats is fun. I should introduce you to Blue Bell. She likes people who will pet and worship her," Alexander says, deadpan. "You could come over one day. If you want. I have a conure, too, but he won't like you. It's not personal." He reaches for his coffee, putting the book carefully down outside of spill range before doing so. "It's a kind of immortality. Especially if it was something that wasn't like what existed before. It's like how people reacted to television in those first days. Or movies. Movie theatres used to be these amazing things. They were /events/ to go to."

Cecil says, "I won't take it personally. Conures are... well, they are what they are. I'd like to meet the cat, though. You could come over sometime and meet my Esmerelda and Theodore. They're very friendly when they're not ripping through the house leaving destruction in their wake." He nods agreeably to Alexander and says, "It's kind of a pity there aren't many entertaining events where you dress your best. I would probably never go to those events, but it would be nice if they existed."

Alexander grins. "Yes. And he was, uh, a rescue, I guess you could say? I took him from a client instead of being paid. He was not being treated well. So he doesn't really trust people." He tilts his head to one side. "You like dressing up? Most people around here don't. You should meet Byron. Or hang out with him. He wears a lot of suits." There's a thoughtful look. "Maybe there will be a holiday party at the Casino. It's sort of fancy, so would probably be...a dress up event. If it existed. I should ask."

"I wouldn't say I like dressing up," Cecil says, "but I think once in awhile it could be fun. Like I would dress up for a party at the Casino." He sips his latte and sighs with contentment. Not having constant attempts on his life really looks good on him. "Score me an invite to that party if it turns out there is one. I could stand to get out more. I haven't been to the pub in ages."

Alexander laughs, softly. "You're more likely to get an invite than I am. You're a respected local law enforcement official. I'm the creepy guy with the sketchy history. And, if you listen to rumors, an incredibly robust drug habit." He grins, takes a sip of his drink. "But I'll ask Byron if he's planning. Or maybe Taylor. He owns Sitka, the restaurant there. It's pretty fancy. He might be planning something. But in the meantime, you should definitely get out." He brightens. "Easton came back. He's back at the Two If By Sea."

Cecil points out, "You know people, though. Just about everyone I know knows you." He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. "I don't know Easton," he says, "but you seem pretty happy about his return, so I'll call it a win. I should pop in sometime. I've fallen into a routine. It's a good routine, I'm enjoying it, but it doesn't get me out much. It's why I'm glad you invited me out today."

"It's a small town," Alexander says, with a shrug. "Give it a decade or so, and you'll know everybody too. And they'll know you. And talk about you. Constantly." His voice is very dry. "And yes, Easton is a good person. Former marine. He's loud, but good. You should meet him." He bobs his head. "Routines are comforting. And I'm sorry I haven't done it sooner. I got distracted, with some things. But it's good to see you. And you should get out more."

"Let's commit to going to coffee semi-regularly," Cecil says. "It'll get us both out of the house. I don't want you to think I'm languishing, though. I have a good friend and we hang out a lot. We have a lot of common interests. He's into nature, and I'm an entomologist. There are a lot of interesting bugs out there, and it's rare to find someone who wants to talk about them." He considers Alexander. "So tell me what you've been up to besides waffletacos and getting hurt."

Alexander nods. "Yes. I would like that." Another of those shy smiles. "And it's good to have friends. Especially friends who appreciate bugs." He blinks a couple of times at the request. "Um. Hmm. I have work? People have been hiring me more since the Revisionist changed the story about me. What people remember. It still...bothers me. That it's not really real? But it's closer to real than a middle school social studies teacher. And so I've had actual paying jobs. Mostly boring ones. Infidelity, background checks, things like that. But, uh, some are interesting? One client thinks that someone is hiding in the walls of their house and spying on them."

"That's excellent," Cecil says, "that you're getting work, not that someone thinks someone is hiding in the walls of their house. Though stranger things have happened. You're good at what you do. I'm glad people are starting to see and appreciate that." He smiles warmly at Alexander. Cecil isn't drop-dead gorgeous or anything like that, but when he smiles, there's just a painful sincerity to it. "How is, what was her name, Isabella? I haven't seen her in ages. I like her."

"It's nice to be reasonably solvent, while solving things," Alexander admits. He takes another sip of coffee. "And it's nice of you. To say." He turns a little red at the praise and the smile, and ducks his head. "Isabella? She's good. Busy. She's an archaeologist, and she's having to do all her work remotely. We don't really have...ruins, here, in Gray Harbor. At least, not the kind she's particularly interested in. But you should reach out to her. She might like to get coffee, too. And then you can have coffee with two people. Or both of us. At once. Kinda up to you? I don't judge your coffee-company proclivities."

"We should definitely invite her next time we have coffee," Cecil says. "Next time she's in town. It's such a terribly interesting job, don't you think? I'd love to hear her stories. Things are pretty mundane at work right now. I'm mostly investigating thefts, and the homicides are pretty cut and dried. I stand by the words that criminals are, generally, idiots. I'm glad of it. It makes for an easy workday."

"Invite her," Alexander says, with a smile. Doesn't he live with Isabella? Yes. But he's clearly trying to nudge Cecil to talk directly to her. He's not subtle. There's a nod at the rest. "Most criminals are not bright. Most crimes aren't well thought-out. Boring. Some thefts can be interesting, though...a good burglar is more interesting than a bad murderer." Then he pauses, thinks about it. "If I get an interesting case, would you like to come along? I can't...promise people won't try to kill you. But I will try very hard not to let them."

Cecil inclines his head, caught out in his shyness, and he says, "I'll give her a call." Score one for Alexander. "I'd love to come along on a case if you get an interesting one. The same offer goes to you. If I find something juicy, I'll let you know." He sighs softly, and he admits, "I take the possibility people will try to kill me as an occupational hazard. I've been working out lately so I can run away faster."

Alexander laughs, softly. Not at Cecil, exactly, but he's clearly pleased. "Then I'll invite you. I'm sure that it'll come up at some point. It's Gray Harbor, so something, uh, interesting comes along fairly regularly." His eyes twinkle, which is particularly weird, considering the heavy bruising around them. "And I would like that. The cases you get are more interesting than the ones I get. Usually." He perks up at the mention of exercise. "Do you know Ravn? He's also trying to learn some self defense. You two might be able to exchange tips with each other. Running away, and self defense go together well."

"We've met," Cecil says. "He seems rather nice. I suppose a little self-defense wouldn't hurt, either. The chief tells me I'd better run, though, and not stick around for trouble. He's showing his concern, in his way." He smiles a little. "So I said I would run. When it's possible, of course. It's not always possible, and I suppose that's where the self-defense comes in. I've spent some time at the range, but I haven't actually purchased my own gun."

Alexander gives a rueful sort of nod. "Running is a better idea, unless you feel confident in fighting. But most standard self defense is just about helping to give you the space to run away." He reaches out and touches the book, again, his smile turning fond. Then it shuts off at the mention of the gun. "Don't," he says, quietly. "Don't use a gun unless you're really, very confident in your ability to hit what you're aiming for and kill someone with it. I'd say don't use it even then. Guns make people stupid, more often than not."

Cecil shakes his head and says, "I'm not confident at all. That's why I haven't been able to bring myself to get one. When I'm at the range, I don't feel powerful pulling the trigger. I feel the weight of a responsibility I'm not sure I'm cut out for. I don't want to take a life. But I put in my time at the range just in case I have to."

Alexander looks pleased. "At least that's the right frame of mind to go into it with. I think. Guns aren't automatically bad. But they're...difficult. I don't like them. Other people do, though." He shrugs. "Easton and," a hesitation, "the Interim Chief will probably happily talk your ears off about them, if you ask. So I like to think of myself as a counterbalancing perspective." He flashes a grin.

Cecil grins and says, "Years in Texas couldn't turn me into a gun nut, so I feel pretty good about where I stand. They're a useful tool, but they're dangerous." He inclines his head to Alexander. "I appreciate your counterbalance. Given how much time I spend around cops, it can be refreshing to meet a like mind."

Alexander shrugs. "I admit, I was wondering how you managed it without being forcefully inducted into gun culture - with the double threat of cops and Texans. But I thought it might be rude to ask." He smiles. "It's a good thing, to stand by your principles, or at least what you know your strengths are." He finishes off his coffee, clears his throat. "I should go. But this was fun. We'll do it again? And I'll call you when I get anything good. You can call me, too. Anytime." He reaches out for the book, carefully, like he's half expecting Cecil to say that giving it to him was all a joke.

Cecil instead smiles as Alexander reaches for the book. It's all for Alexander. "It was good to see you, mate. Give Isabella my best." He still has latte to finish so he remains seated. "Be careful out there. There's a lull now, but we know it won't last. Be safe."