2020-12-17 - Stop Getting Punched In the Face

The worst part about online tutoring is that you need to read things students write (though having to talk to them over Skype is a close second, as far as Ravn is concerned). He doesn't mind badly, except when some first year university student clearly has put more effort into her make-up than her essay on the murder of King Erik Klipping, and no, goddamnit, he was not killed by his chancellor. His chancellor was in fact the one person in the country to have no damn reason for this, and yes, people have argued about this since 1286, and Ravn really, really sometimes wonders why students take these courses if they don't give a damn.

The answer, of course, is credit. And they still pay him to walk them through it, so he can't really complain. After all, he's the one who keeps insisting that there is no job too dirty for his delicate hands. He's sitting crosslegged on the small bed in the Airstream trailer, sweatpants and a tank top, laptop in, well, lap. There's a pot of tea, there's a pile of store bought macarons -- and there's a nineteen-year-old girl on the screen who clearly thinks that it's entirely unreasonable to have to talk to her tutor on PST time instead of CET, and that there is possibly nothing more dull on this planet than medieval Danish politics. She keeps asking about the bandage around his lower left arm, hinting that she'd much rather talk about how he got that injury. Ravn keeps ignoring her attempts to talk about anything else than the sham trial in absentia of chancellor Stig Andersen. They're not going to be friends.

The sound of a truck, not a terribly loud one, rolls up outside the Airstream. Moments later there is a rapping on the door to the trailer. Outside, Vic stands, one eye swollen shut and already turning black and blue, lip split, bloody nose, and one arm wrapped around her ribs. Unfortunately, her 'sparring partner' didn't have the good grace to break his hand punching the metal-laced side of her ribcage. He got her in the other side. She looks ragged, her hair is all over the place, one lonely elastic stuck somewhere in the mess from where it started out in a braid.

Ravn murmurs something about 'be a minute' to the girl in Copenhagen who is about to be entirely forgotten (and who will probably swear loudly the next time somebody suggests that she gets online at 4am to talk to the tutor). Padding over to the door he opens it, -- and stares blankly for a moment. "What the hell -- who the hell did you do?"

Anyone else, he'd probably be reaching for his phone to call somebody, or turning her right around to go to the ER. But this is Vic Grey and while there's a lot that Ravn doesn't know about her, one of the things he does know is that she sometimes does things that better not get on record anywhere. He steps to the side, trying to usher her in before every neighbour in the area gets a good look. "The hell?"

"I'm fine," Vic mumbles achily. "I just need an ice pack and someone to wrap my ribs. Spar got a little out of hand, that's all." She is ushered inside, moving gingerly, and carefully eases herself to sit on the bed. She looks at the girl on the laptop screen, who is likely about to have heart-failure at the sight, and closes the laptop with a resounding thunk. "Have anything to drink?" she asks.

The street credit in Copenhagen of one Ravn Abildgaard, dr.phil, just went up several notches, unbeknownst to the man himself. He heads for the first aid kid and then for the kitchen. "I've got Glenfiddich and beer. Don't exactly keep a well stocked bar at home. Frozen peas do it for an ice pack?"

They better; at least he takes out exactly that, as well as a couple of shot glasses, and the bottle of pretentious actually Scottish scotch. "I'm no nurse," the Dane warns. "How bad is it? If it's bad enough, this might be a good time to call the boyfriend you don't have. He's the one who patched me up, after some Dream serial killer reject got me with a meat cleaver."

"Peas will do fine. And yeah, call Seth. If he isn't home, call Clayton. They should both know how to wrap ribs up." Vic takes the bag of peas and presses it to her swollen eye with a sigh of relief at the cold numbing power of frozen vegetables. "Scotch is fine. This isn't a beer kind of day." Clearly not. She very carefully shrugs out of her blood-smeared coat. She's in a black underarmor tee beneath, with olive BDUs and her tactical boots.

"First things first." Ravn pouts a generous shot and places it on the table next to the injured woman along with the pea bag. "You don't look like you went sparring. You look like somebody kicked your arse sideways into Sunday. Let me heat up some water and find a clean towel. Going to need to clean up either way. I can spare you a clean t-shirt as well."

"I'm fine," Vic insists in a weary voice. "And I let them win. Just something that needed to happen. Trust me. The world is a better place for my getting my ass kicked this once," she notes with a quirk of a smile that makes her wince from her split lip.

Ravn turns on the electric kettle and rummages through drawers for a shirt -- you guessed it, black -- and a towel which is, surprisingly, blue. "Not going to even pretend I understand how that works, but I'll take your word for it. Might be a cultural thing -- not so much Danish opposite American as, academic nerd opposite people who sometimes need to kick other people's ass. Either way, let's get you out of that shirt and cleaned up."

He looks back at Vic with an expression of concern. "You do things the hard way, Vic Grey. Can't help thinking that sometimes, maybe a little harder than you have to."

"Sometimes the hard way is the best way," Vic replies with a faint smile. She carefully extracts herself from her current tee. There's a sports bra underneath so nothing exciting for her friend to see this time around. She lets out a breath at the purpling at the left side of her torso. "Ow. Yeah definitely call the guys, this has to be wrapped for sure."

Ravn doesn't seem like catching a look of the goods is his top priority of the moment; maybe 'blood-soaked' is not the look that does it for him. He nods and takes out his cell to tap in Seth's number.

(TXT to Seth) Ravn : Vic's at my place, looking pretty bad. Think you're up for playing doctor?

Vic downs the scotch in one go, then eases herself back on the bed, pressing the peas to her swollen eye. "Tell him he gets to see me in a bra. Just don't mention it's a sports bra. See how fast he gets here." She snorts then regrets that immediately, with a groan.

Ravn's lip quirks into a small smile at that. "You look like the cat dragged you in," he repeats (and somewhere in the general vicinity, a small black stray looks momentarily guilty for reasons it cannot explain). "I told him that you are here and that he needs to come play doctor. I didn't go into details. Seth's the kind of person whose cell just might end up on a court room some day, don't figure you want any personal info on it that you can avoid."

(TXT to Ravn) Seth : WTF? Uh, sure..I'll be right over.

Vic smirks. "Yeah, yeah. Hopefully he brings me some codeine. The next couple days are gonna suck." She knows about rib injuries, from that last stint in the hospital that made her partly metallic.

"He can do better than that." Ravn holds up that left arm, still bandaged. "Meat cleaver. Spared me a trip to the ER. Definitely would have needed a substantial number of stitches if he'd not been there. Clayton talked him through how to actually do it, but it worked like a charm."

The Dane pours hot water in a bowl and mixes it with cold until he's got a wash basin of warm, but tolerable water. He puts that on the table along with another towel for when it's needed. "I should take a first aid course. In this town, it's probably a very good idea."

"You're not wrong there. I might take one myself. I need a refresher on the basic first aid I learned back in the Academy," Vic says with a chuckle that ends in a cough, that sparks a wince. "Ow. Don't make me laugh."

\Not too long after the text from Ravn, the rumble to the engine of Seth's '68 Cobra is heard pulling into the trailer park where Vic's old airstream, and Ravn's current home, calls home. The crunch of gravel outside as the car rolls to a stop signals Seth's arrival to the airstream itself, and shortly after there is a tapping, as if someone gently rapping, rapping on the airstream door. Except it isn't really that gentle of a tapping. "Ravn?" calls Seth's voice from outside the door.

Ravn smirks slightly at Vic's complaint, then goes to open the door to let the other man in; he knows the rumble of that car, and he certainly didn't expect Seth to take long in getting here. "She's alive," he says as a form of greeting. "And complaining. But she does look like somebody went to town on her -- more than I can handle with a couple of bandaids." He steps aside, allowing Seth to enter the small trailer -- a luxury home it ain't, though neat enough. Ravn may not live grandly, but he does seem to be a bit compulsive about neatness.

Ravn really has no idea. If not for her ability to physically shield herself, Vic would be in much worse shape. She doesn't bother sitting up, just rolls her head towards the door. "Man, I get a booboo, and all the hot men come running to fix it," she jokes.

Seth nods once to Ravn, taking a step inside the small trailer. At the sound of Vic's voice, the redhead glances around Ravn to take a look over at her, the enforcer's eyes narrowing slightly while his brow furrows as he gets a look at her. "Fuck me, Vic. Tell me the other guy looks worse and by worse, I mean dead because I just got through telling your dad that you were safe here and could take care of yourself..."

"Ravn..." Seth says as he fishes his keys out of the front pocket of his jeans, tossing them into the air towards the Dane as he walks past him over towards the couch that Vic is laying on, "In my trunk, there is a small fannypack in the box with the jumper cables. Inside are some pill bottles. Would you please go and grab...oh hell, just bring me the bag. We can figure out what she needs later after I see what I can do."

Kneeling down next to the couch, Seth takes another look at Vic, his head shaking slowly. "I told you, you don't have to go to such extremes. Next time a phone call will do just fine." The enforcer smiles slightly, "Ok...so where does it hurt? Or should I just ask where doesn't it hurt and save us some time?"

"Hear that? Next time I get hurt I expect an onslaught of hot nurses," Ravn murmurs with a shake of his head; Vic being Vic is something he's grown accustomed to over the last months. He nods at Seth, catches the keys and disappears outside for a moment, only to return with the entire fanny pack. Placing it on the bed next to them both he then retreats to the back end of the kitchen in order to not be in the way, and puts on the kettle again. Never know how much hot water one needs and besides, he may not be the only one who could do with a cup of coffee to wash down the scotch and the pain. "You can do it, Irish. You did me up just fine, and that was your first time. Can only be easier this time around."

Vic grunts. "It's complicated. It was sort of therapy for someone, that's all. I'm a big girl. I can take some bruised ribs and a black eye." Pause. "Also I may have really deserved it." She quirks a half smile at that, trying not to use the side of her mouth the lip is split on. Then he mentions his, "Fanny pack? Jesus Monaghan, the 90s called, they want their man purse back." See? She's perfectly fine! "The ribs are bruised, maybe cracked," she tells him quietly, "so they need wrapping, or some of your apparently medical mojo. The rest will heal up quick enough with some rest." All things considered, she's not that bad off. She calls to Ravn, "I'll wear my Halloween costume for you."

Seth snorts. "Complicated...I see. Is this complication done? Have they got it all out of their system? Because it seems like you and Alexander have been having some rather similar complications recently. I got a good look at him the other night and he tore up pretty bad as well." Seth takes the fanny pack from Ravn and smirks down at Vic as he opens it and starts rummaging through various pill bottles, "Yeah yeah, it's not like I am wearing the damn thing around am I? Besides, I've seen your collection of vintage tees. You can't say too much."

The enforcer takes a deep breath and sits back on his haunches as he looks over his sometimes partner in crime, "Ok, so...I'll give this healing thing another go. Seemed to work well enough for Ravn the other night, but in case it doesn't work I'll have to do this the old fashioned way and that will not be pleasant. How out of it do you want to be?"

Seth casts a glance over at Ravn, "Glass of water? And don't expect me to put on a nurse outfit for you, Darth...that ain't happening."

"With my luck, I'll be too injured to pay it the attention it deserves," the Dane calls back. Because joking is a tested and true way to deal with trauma and the fact that apparently, getting your ass handed to you on a silver platter also happens frequently in Gray Harbor without the supernatural getting involved. Dream monsters wanting to eat you is one thing -- somehow, this is far more personal. He manages to at least fake a disappointed look at Seth's refusal to turn up in a short skirt just for little old him.

"For the record," the Dane says as he brings over a glass of cold water (and the bottle of Glenfiddich in case water is for the weak), "I don't subscribe to the idea that beating you up qualifies as therapy. But if you're all right with the status quo, then I guess I need to be, too. Just, Vic, for fuck's sake, you'd rip the face off a yachter groping your arse -- don't get into the habit of letting people use you as a punching bag just because you care about them. Even if you've been a dick to somebody, there has to be a better way to sort things out."

Vic grabs the scotch bottle, ignoring the water. If she's taking pills, a booze chaser is her preference. "I want to be very out of it. I haven't been sleeping. Been keeping an eye on Clayton's house to make sure he doesn't get his hand mashed again," she admits. Ravn gets a LOOK, only at half power as the bag of peas is over her other eye. "There are levels of being a dick, and some of them do really deserve a beatdown. Trust me."

Seth nods, reaching into the pack and pulling out a bottle of Percocet. He flips the top off with his thumb and shakes out a couple of the pills, offering them over to Vic. "One chemically induced nap coming up...and while those go to work lets see what I can do about the ribs."

Seth sets down the bottle of pills, and stretches his hand out over her torso and closes his eyes, reaching out mentally to try and repair what he can with his newly learned talents.

Ravn hitches a shoulder. "I suppose it is a cultural thing. I've been angry at people more times than I can remember. I've never gone to town on them like someone did on you."

Vic probably doesn't hear a lot of it on her way to la-la fairyland where the clouds are fuzzy and taste like spun sugar, though. He shakes his head instead and goes to make sure that the first aid kit is within Seth's reach. "Tell me if there's anything I can do to help."

Vic eyes Ravn. "I did hit back, or it wouldn't have worked at all." She swallows down the pills, and she watches, visible eye half-lidded, as Seth goes to work with his Glimmer. She sucks in a breath as his Spirit force works on un-cracking her ribs, speeding up their healing. The breath ceases to hurt, as his abilities do their thing. "That was awesome," she murmurs, before she's out, visiting Unikitty in Cloud Cuckoo Land for a while.

Once the Glimmer does its thing, Seth opens his eyes and sits back on his haunches, taking the glass of water and sipping at it. "Ok, I think I managed to heal most of the damage, but I will wrap her up just to make sure. The Percocet should have her in sleepytime land for a bit, and by the time she wakes up the pain will hopefully be much less." The enforcer pulls out the bandages and gingerly starts to wrap them around Vic's torso.

"Ravn...do you know what happened?"

Ravn places a cup of black coffee next to the other man and goes over to sit at the foot end of the bed while Seth works, handing him things as he needs them. "I don't. She turned up on my doorstep and asked me for help. I took two looks at her and decided to text you. I can do basic first aid but this is way out of my league. I don't know who she pissed off, but they certainly did a good number on her."

He pauses and then shakes his head lightly. "It worries me, Seth. I don't know most things that go on in your world. But we should be fighting the Veil, not one another. And I refuse to believe that there is ever an argument that needs to be settled this way."

"I have no idea either," says Seth as he continues to work on taping Vic up. "But her and Alexander being beaten up like this in a relatively short amount of time makes me think they pissed someone off. It's probably good if I don't find out who, because I might end up taking offense to my friends getting hurt."

His job complete, the enforcer once again sits back on his haunches and retakes his water to sip at it. "What do you think, should we leave her on the couch, or should we move her over to your bed?"

"I think it might be best not to move her -- not that I plan to go bed anytime soon, and if I did, I can sleep anywhere." Ravn cants his head thoughtfully. "But you're right. Let's bring Alexander up to speed. If it's the same guy that hit them both, they need to talk."

(TXT to Alexander) Ravn : o/ Headsup: Vic's badly beaten up. At my place, with Seth and me. Want to come over, check that we got this magic doctor mojo right?

(TXT to Ravn) Alexander : The fuck happened? I'll be right over, and bring my kit.

(TXT to Ravn Seth Vic) Alexander : Miss Grey, I'm coming over, if that's all right.

(TXT to Alexander Seth) Ravn : Please do. Vic's out cold. But yeah.

(TXT to Alexander Vic Ravn) Seth : Miss Grey is in La La Land. I've done what I can.

It's not long until Alexander shows up at the trailer, a small tote bag slung over one shoulder. He looks around carefully, then knocks on the door. "Hello?"

Seth glancing over at the door as it is knocked on and recognizing the voice, Seth takes the initiative and calls out to Alexander, "Come on in Alexander."

Seth is sitting on his haunches next to the unconscious Vic, her top off (except for sports bra) and looked to be newly wrapped in bandages. He has a glass of water in his hands that he is sipping from., "How are you doing?"

Ravn meanwhile goes to get another coffee cup for the newest arrival. Place is getting a little crowded; it's probably a good thing that the Dane favours a spartan and tidy lifestyle. "She turned up on my doorstep looking like somebody'd taken a baseball bat to her. Figured I better take advantage of Seth's new abilities, because that was way out of my first aid league." He's still wearing a bandage on his lower arm himself where the meat cleaver kissed him a little too passionately in that recent dream -- not hard to see where he came up with the idea of shine healing. "Also figured that maybe no one'd want police involved."

Alexander enters the trailer with a frown, giving it that quick once-over of someone who habitually expects to be ambushed. He relaxes only a bit when he sees Seth there, then Vic. He frowns, taking her in. "Did she say what happened?" A quick nod at the rationale for getting Seth involved and the police /not/ involved. He moves to sit down near her, and looks her over. "Ribs? Truly broken, or just cracked? They look wrapped well. And looks like she got punched in the face a few good times." A huff of air. "Did she take medication, or fall unconscious without it? Any signs of concussion?" The questions are fired at both men, rapidly.

"Jesus Christ, I could sleep if you fuckers would stop talking," Vic mumbles groggily. She opens the eye that doesn't have the bag of frozen peas on it, and removes said bag with one hand gingerly. The swelling is going down at least. She still looks like she kissed someone's mean left hook a couple times in the face. "And I'm fine. It was just some punching therapy. I'll be ok."

"She said something about being therapy for someone," Seth says with a sigh, folding his arms over his chest. "I couldn't help but think that you seemed to be therapy for someone recently as well. I was wondering if they were connected."

The enforcer looks over to Vic, "They were most certainly cracked at the very least. I could feel them mend when I worked on her. I gave her some Percocet, which she washed down with some scotch just before I started working on her."

As she wakens, he smirks slightly. "If we are keeping you up, you may need more Percocet."

"I don't like this idea of therapy by beating each other up," Ravn murmurs. "But having stated that for the record -- let me go get you all something to eat. I'll pick up a couple of pizzas, and maybe we can come up with a plan where it's the Dark Men we fight, rather than each other." He picks up his coat -- it's still got a slashed sleeve but the blood has been cleaned off -- and looks at the two men. "Stay with her, all right? I know you're going to but eh. Yeah. Just in case there's more therapy coming around. I'll be back in a few."

Nipping out, the Dane heads for his rented car. He's going for pizza. In the pizza shop on the other side of town because he strongly suspects that some of the people involved need to talk about things and other people that they might not want to discuss quite so freely in front of him. And maybe, he reasons, that's for the best. His idea of who's who in the underworld of Gray Harbor is limited at best, and his desire to get caught up in a gang war is even smaller. Just, you don't leave friends bleeding -- no matter why they got an acute case of, uh, touch therapy.

"I wasn't therapy. I was punished. There's a difference," Alexander says, absently, although he frowns at the phrase 'punching therapy'. He gives her a look over, and tells Seth, "Looks like you did a good job...and she'll heal." His smile is brief and sharp at Ravn. "Going to have to have different humans if you don't want us all up in each other's faces all the time. Also," a stern look back at Seth and Vic, "no more mixing Percocet and scotch." He sits back. "Miss Grey, is this something you want us to pursue? Because I don't have to tell you that we would. But I would also be hypocritical to demand, considering." He gestures at his hand and his own stubborn silence on the origins of the injuries.

Vic watches Ravn go, mildly amused that it's the Dane worrying about her for a change. She looks back at Alexander. "No, this isn't something to pursue. It was something that needed to happen, and now that it has, shit will be way better for people, I promise. Now, the two of you, let me sleep. Go talk about me outside or something. Wake me up for the pizza though." Using her Glimmer makes her hungry, and she kept that shield up the whole time she was being pummeled.

Frowning over at Vic, Seth sighs and stands up from his position next to the couch. "Fine. I don't like it, but fine. I'll wake you up when the pizza shows up. Get some rest, Vic. You should feel better when you wake up."

Seth looks to Alexander and motions towards the door, to let the wounded enforcer rest. "Come on, we can chat outside." Seth starts to walk away from the couch, pauses and turns back to grab the bottle of scotch before finishing his way outside.

Alexander stares at Vic for a long moment, then sighs. "Sleep well. Don't die." He stands up, then, and follows Seth out into the yard. A few of the residents give the investigator an evil eye, and skirt away from him. He does /pester/ people who live here fairly often, for various reasons. He ignores this, and leans against the outside of the trailer. "Ravn's right. People really should learn to use their words."

"Yeah, same can be said to whoever gave you facial decorations," Seth says with a sigh. "First you, now Vic. I'm not thrilled with this trend. You say yours was punishment. What the hell did you do, Alexander to deserve that severe of a beating? For fuck's sake, I wouldn't put the hurt on someone like this lightly. Both you and Vic were...personal. This wasn't just business."

Seth sighs, looking back towards the airstream, "I wonder if Joey knows."

Alexander rubs at his face with his good hand. "It's not a great trend. But I can't say mine was unearned. I have reasons for not going into detail about it...but let me put it this way, if I'd done it to /you/, I'd probably have come out in the same condition or worse, and it'd be deserved. I'm not worried about it happening again, and..." he grimaces, "if it's related to what happen to Vic, it's probably still my goddamned fault, in an indirect fashion. I wanted to help someone, and I'm bad at helping people." He grimaces. "I'm sorry." Then there's a pause. "If Kelly needed to know, I think Vic would tell him. As you said, it's /personal/. Not business. But Kelly getting involved? Might make it no less personal, but also a lot more business."

Leaning against the airstream, Seth sighs and folds his arms over his chest. "True. I guess I don't really have a choice but to let it go. I don't want to let it go, because I don't like seeing my friends beat to shit...deserved or not." He lifts the bottle to his lips and takes a swig straight from it, "And I know Vic well enough to know that if I pressed it she would just get pissed, and I don't need a pissed off Vic either. I just don't like it, Alexander."

Alexander's eyes sort of light up, and he smiles, head tilted hopefully. "We're friends? I'm glad." Then he sighs. "And I don't think anyone likes it. And I don't know for sure who beat the shit out of Vic, but I do know that if she wanted them dead, /or/ she was worried about retribution, she wouldn't have come to Ravn's place. We have to trust her, yeah? Besides," a dry humor touches his expression, "one day, it's probably gonna be you with injuries you don't want any questions asked about, and now you have a check you can cash on both our asses about it. And, I don't know about Vic, but a check to stop /me/ from asking questions is pretty fucking rare. Treasure it."

Pursing his lips, Seth thinks about that for a moment, lifting the bottle to his lips again and taking a large drink from it. "Fair enough. You are probably right...and that will probably come in handy at some point in my life. I just hope whatever I did for Vic helped somewhat. I think it did, but until she gets up I won't know for sure."

He offers the bottle over to Alexander, shrugging a shoulder as he does so. "I think we are friends, sure. At least friendly to be sure. Strange bedfellows, I suppose, but we have been through some shit together so...I think it fits."

"You did," Alexander says, nodding to Seth. "Just be careful. It's good to understand what you can do, overuse will put a target on you." He takes the bottle when it's offered, and waggles it. "Ah ah. You said we're friends. Can't walk it back, now." A quick flash of his smile before he takes a small swallow, more a wetting of his lips than anything else. As he hands back the bottle he says, abruptly but in a voice not meant to carry beyond the two of them, "He shot me, you know." A pause. "Your cousin. That's why I was such a raging asshole about things. Partially. Partially why. I'm an asshole in general."

Taking the bottle back, Seth lifts it to his lips and takes another healthy swallow. "Did he now. I'm not surprised. No offense, Alexander, but I did say that your proclivity to poke around was going to get you into trouble...I just didn't know it had already happened." The enforcer sighs, taking another swig before passing the bottle off again, "I'm surprised he did it himself. You must have really pissed him off. I'm also shocked that he didn't make sure the job was finished, or make sure I finished it." He snorts, "Probably why you were an asshole, you probably thought I was around to do just that. No wonder."

Seth turns his face to look at Alexander, combing his fingers through the short red hair on his head. "What did you do?"

Alexander snorts. "He wasn't angry at me. If he was, I'd be dead." He's under no illusions about that. "It was the attempted hit at the casino. I heard the first shots but couldn't see what was going on. Thought someone might be making a run at Thorne, for some reason. And I like Thorne. So, I ran towards the gunfire, ended up in the middle of it. By the time I realized who was actually fighting...well." He shrugs. "I was in it. I disabled the vehicle, but the guy got the drop on me. Thought he could use me as a hostage. Didn't realize that nobody there, with the possible exception of Kelly, gave a shit whether I lived or died. Easiest way to get a hostage out of the picture is to kill the hostage. I was just in the way. It wasn't personal." His voice is flat; he acknowledges that, but it's clear that he's not okay with it in any regard.

Frowning, Seth nods once with a sigh. "That makes more sense. For what it is worth, I'm sorry you got stuck in the middle. At least you survived. I wasn't in town at the time, obviously. I don't really know all of what went down. Felix doesn't share much with me unless he has to. Which reminds me, I still need to talk to Joey and see what I can muster up about that day. Unless you want to fill me in from your perspective?"

Alexander shrugs. "Et concitabitur fortitudo eius, dies unus," he claims, and doesn't bother to translate the Latin. He smiles. "I don't mind filling you in. You might want to talk to Graham Stewart, even before Joey, if you can run him down - I think he and the other fellow, the one who died, were with Monaghan that day, and probably saw it from the very beginning. When I arrived, there was a group in a van, which had opened fire on him and his people, but it didn't take Monaghan down, so the van was trying to get out. Monaghan and his people were returning fire. I knocked out the van's engine, and they cleaned up the actual hitters. Neither the police nor the, uh, other side had any desire to share the results of any subsequent investigation with me." His smile is brief. "And, for once, I didn't ask. Still curious, though." He winks; apparently not even getting shot is enough to completely kill his compulsive desire to be nosy.