2021-01-12 - Crates By The Ocean

Curiosity killed the cat, yes, it did....and satisfaction brought him back, as the saying goes. The sailor's in his greatcoat, long-sleeved t-shirt, jeans, fingerless gloves, watch-cap....just come off the dock after an afternoon spent napping on the Surprise. For all the winter's cold, there's something in him that needs to rest on the water, now and again.

Of course, he can't resist. Joe gazes out at the wreck, looking around in search of shipwrecked sailors. No sign of life, but the long face is grim. It may be a vessel from that other world, and its crew nothing like human, but there's still that seafarer's fellow feeling in him. It doesn't stop him from walking along the beach a little ways and crouching down to pick up one of the crates. It's labelled in faded Russian, and he's got his pocket knife out to pry it open.

Vic is at the beach, bundled up in an old wool coat, scarf, gloves, and running shoes, over sweats. She has a wool cap mashing down her blonde locks as well, as she stands on the boardwalk, frowning at the sight of the shipwreck and crates. She was here to meet Seth for a run, and while waiting on the other enforcer, Gray Harbor seems to be intent on entertaining her. Or luring her. She taps out a message on her phone.

(TXT to Seth) Vic : You almost here? Something weird happening at the beach.

The chirp his phone makes as the text message arrives is what gives away the position of the other enforcer behind Vic. Amature move, but Seth wasn't exactly trying to be stealthy as he approached, "Yeah, I noticed..." Seth retorts as he glances down to the screen as he saddles up alongside Vic. He is also dressed for the weather and a jog with running shoes, sweats with a flannel tossed over it and a dark woolen cap to try and ward off the cold. "Weird looking boat. Are those...wings? "

Something this weird going down and you can bet ya tuchis Itzhak Rosencrantz is going to show up on the scene. He can follow that schnozz unerringly to trouble. Bundled up in peacoat and knit cap and all that jazz, he steps over the low wall from the parking lot and jogs down to the water, boots crunching in snow and pebbles. "Well what in the wide world a sports is this," he says to Joe, coming up to him, looking around at the beached crates with those eyebrows way up.

"Shipwreck," Joe says, and his voice is gentle. He's crouched over his crate, though he looks up as the others approach. "No sign of survivors," There's a choked note in his voice, though this is nothing at all like the other shipwreck he witnessed. "It's not a Dream, is it, exactly, though that's clearly somethin' from another world?"

Then he finally gets the crate open, looks down into it. Pulls out a handful of parchment scrolls....and unrolls it. The sailor frowns for a moment, then he's laughing, softly. He rolls it up, carefully, sets it back in. More rummaging, and Joe goes strangely still. What he lifts out is a CD in its jewelcase, worn and battered.....and he bows his head over it for a long, silent moment.

August was getting coffee from Espresso Yourself--an excuse to drop by and see Ellie before heading off to job along Bayside--when he spies the shipwreck. For a long second, all he does is stare. Then he pulls over, texts, 'are you seeing this' to Eleanor, and turns his car back down towards the boardwalk parking lot. (Later, it will occur to him a random 'are you seeing this' text to his wife is not how to let her have a calm workday.)

He's in his heavy, black pea coat, with a red, white, and black flannel under that, work boots, and denim jeans. He comes walking along the shoreline, surveying the washed up flotsam, slowly moves towards Joe and Itzhak. "Is this..." A Dream, he means. Is it real.

"Wooden wings..." Vic murmurs, her cold blue gaze narrowed as she sweeps over the various crates scattered along the sand. The elaborate carvings make her feel a strange sense of sadness to see the magnificent vessel sinking. "Come on," she tells Seth, tugging at his arm as she steps down to the beach proper and moves over to a crate labeled in a language she's never seen before. She reaches into her coat pocket and pulls out a crowbar. How the fuck did it fit in her coat? And why is she carrying one anyway? Questions Seth likely knows the answer to, and is too smart to ask about regardless. Her eyes flick to familiar faces as she goes.

The blonde digs the hook of the tool into a seam of the crate and she hauls on it with a grunt. There is the distinct crack of wood splintering and that side falls open, spilling out packing straw and various painting supplies. And one other thing. She blinks down at the detritus of goods and crouches to inspect them, her hand plucking the odd thing out up, a paperback novel. "Huh, The Bone Collector. I remember reading this my rookie year on the force in Portland. I was stuck in the world's longest stakeout and was using it to pass the time. I didn't get to finish it because the suspect decided to lose his mind when I was about three-quarters of the way through."

Itzhak cranes over Joe's shoulder, trying to get a glimpse of the scrolls. "What's on that? ...what's that?" about the CD. "Cavanaugh? Yossil? You okay?" He glances sharp over his shoulder when he hears August's voice. "Hell if I know," he tells him, and turns to look out at the silently burning shipwreck. "What do you think?"

Joe gets to his feet, slowly. Vic and Seth get a nod, but no smile. Instead, he says to the musician, "Well, one'a the scrolls is just a map of Treasure Island, from the book, you know?" He sighs, softly. "When I was in the Asylum, in my first month there, I was in solitary. But this girl - she lived here for a while, Roxy, she, uh.....she'd read to me at night. That's the book she'd read."

Then he turns the CD case towards Itzhak. It's in Cyrillic, too. Amateurishly produced, by the look of things, with a black and white picture of a dark-haired man laughing, and holding a guitar. "This an album by a guy named Arkady Severny. My fiancee was into his music. He sang Russian prison songs, was kind of an underground sensation, back in Soviet days."

Roen gets a shrug. "I dunno. Kind of a bleed-over? It don't feel like a Dream, to me, but what do I know? Texted Javier, he should be here when he can."

Following Vic, Seth takes a quick look around and pulls out his phone and taps out a message on it as he approaches the crate. Text sent he shoves his phone back into his pocket and looks down at the crate. Magically Mary Poppins appearing crowbars are certainly not the weirdest thing that Seth has seen, so he lets the appearance of Vic's metal rod pass without comment. Once the crate is open though he squats down next to Vic and pokes his hands in, to rummage through the crate himself. "Where do you think this all came from? This doesn't look like anything I would expect from cargo from 'there'. I was half expecting a collection of hair or something equally as disturbing."

Seth arches a brow as he slides a crystalline bottle out from the crate, a barely audible gasp escaping his lips as he stares down at the bottle and amber liquid inside. "Fuck me...this is MACALLAN M, Vic. Do you know what a find this is?"

(TXT to Alexander) Seth : Hey. Shipwreck at the beach. Ship has wings. Crates everywhere. Looks like your heaven.

A bulky figure peels off from the boardwalk, and starts ambling down the beach proper, in no particular hurry to get where he's going. Dark hair, battered leather jacket. Dark, snug-fitting jeans shoved into shit-kicking boots, with a ballcap pulled low over his eyes; and fingers festooned with ink, being rifled through his scruffy beard as he roves.

Phone in his other hand, de la Vega checks the handful of cryptic messages he received, then squints out over the shoreline where some.. thing has washed up. Along with a scattering of crates, and locals sifting through their contents. As they do. He spots a few familiar faces, and angles off in the rough direction of Joe, Itzhak and the others while shoving his phone into his back pocket.

There's a hobo-shaped shadow making its way down to the beach. Someone made the bad decision to let a nosy fellow know what's up, so here's Alexander, looking tired, and one shoulder bandaged so that he looks just a little lopsided under the concealing shroud of his heavy olive jacket. He trudges down to the rocky beach, his phone in one hand, then scans the shore. The shipwreck is hard to miss, as are the people standing around it. He moves towards Seth.

Having been near by working out, Devlin comes jogging up wearing a grey printed sweat shirt and pants. The sweat shirt has what looks like a whiskey label design to it with big ' 68 ' in the center surrounded by phrases like ' Good ol' All American ' ; Whiskey, it's good for what Ails ya ' Seeing people and crates, he jogs in that direction.

Vic's eyes snap over to Seth's find. "That can't be real. Counterfeit maybe? No way would it be in a crate full of painting supplies..." she notes, staring at the bottle that is worth more than any whiskey should be. She flips through the book and goes very still, as she comes to a dogeared page. The page is PART IV Down to the Bone. It's exactly where she left off reading it on that stakeout. "The hell?" She looks the book over thoroughly, because it feels like it might be the actual one she'd read. Maybe? Possibly? But paperback novels are copious. Just a coincidence, surely.

Alexander's approach gets a tight smile, and it fades as she spots Ruiz further away. "Looks like we aren't the only ones seeing this shit," she points out.

Seth cradling the whiskey bottle carefully like it is his firstborn son, Seth takes a moment to look up from the crate and peers out over the beach before casting his eyes back down to the bottle of liquid gold. "Yeah. It's probably fake...but what if it isn't, Vic? What if it isn't? Who knows what is real or not in this place anymore, I sure as hell don't." Carefully he slowly reaches out to hand the bottle over towards Vic, "Hey...can you put this in your 'pocket'? You know, before someone like de la Vega over there gets the bright idea to tell us to not look in these things and pilfer what we find." he mutters before he sees the look on her face. A slow frown comes to his lips as he studies his running partner, "What's up? You ok?"

As Alexander approaches Seth, glances up, and gives the PI a nod, "Alexander. I'll look at the shoulder later if you want."

Itzhak looks at the homemade CD Joe's got, looks around at what Vic and Seth are pulling out. He shivers, suddenly, rubbing at one ear. "I can hear it," he mutters to August and Joe. Surely he doesn't mean the CD. Then his head turns in Ruiz's direction, before he could have possibly known he was there. He raises his eyebrows at him to flag him down.

The sailor slips the CD into his coat pocket, pulls off his watch cap, stuffs it into the other pocket. The breeze off the harbor stirs his hair, leaving the curls in disarray. His hair's not been cut since he came sailing in, more than a year ago, and it tumbles down nearly to his collar. On the lapel of his coat, there's a pair of pins, in bright enamel: the Little Prince and his Rose.

He smiles a little when he spots Javier, beckons the cop over. "Strange days," he says to the younger man. "Memories washin' up on the beach. Careful what you find."

To Vic, he says, "No, seems to be real. If it's a Dream, it's one we're all in," Alexander gets only a fleeting glance, before Joe wonders of Itzhak, "What is it you hearin'? The Song?"

There's a quick, but warm, smile that takes in both Seth and Vic as Alexander approaches, then abrupt but not unfriendly nods to Devlin, and the rest of the group gathering around the shipwreck. His dark eyes linger on the ship itself, the crumpled wings, the strange, otherworldly nature of it. His expression tightens, then sharpens, the hungry curiosity leaping to life in his gaze. "Anybody been on that thing, yet? I mean, before it sinks or dissolves or something?" The crates are given a curious look, especially the one that he almost trips over, half-buried in the sand and snow. "It's fine," he mumbles to Seth, although he's favoring that side as he goes to one knee and starts prying open the crate.

August mmmms at Joe, nods. He watches him pull out the scroll...then the CD. The explanation doesn't seem to reassure him; in fact, it just makes him warier. Everyone else finding similarly amazing or inexplicable items just adds to his unease. He looks at the burning wreck once more, makes a low sound of agreement at 'hearing it'. "Might be risky to keep anything," he says, voice low. Who wants to be the stick in the mud and announce they should all stop touching things?

Not him, because he's going for a crate, checking what might be hidden inside it. Spying Ruiz and Alexander, he gives an up-nod of greeting to both. In his hands: a bolt of watersoaked, embroidered silk. "Huh." Along with that, what looks to be a scrimshaw ivory tusk. from a walrus, perhaps.

Vic blinks over at Seth and she nods, putting the bottle of booze into her "pocket" of holding. "Yeah I'm fine, just brought back memories. Remind me to introduce you to the scar I got from that suspect the night I was reading this book." She slides that, too, into her pocket. "He had a knife. He brought a knife to a gun fight. It was Darwinism at it's finest."

She shakes her head at Alexander, "It's winter. Even with a boat you'd likely end up sinking yours before you got to it." Joe gets a nod as well.

Devlin arrives at where the crates and people are. "Whoa.." He looks over at the ship and then back to the crates.. "Crazy.." He then notices a crate that has one edge already slightly cracked.. "May as well." as he listens to the various conversations around him. He kneels and pries it open. A few assorted items pour out, once the crate side is pried off. His head cocks.. "Damn... never thought I'd see one of these?" He looks up towards the ship and then back down at what is in his hands. As he raises it up, "Why would one of these old pistols be on that?" Anyone that is a Civil War buff might recognize the lines of a LeMat Revolver that appears to have ivory grips and plenty of decorative engraving. Hearing the Darwinism comment, Devlin chuckles, "I take it Darwin collected his due then."

Not to loot and pilfer? Now why in sweet heaven would Javier say a thing like that? The cop does look vaguely unamused as he glances over the various folks in attendance. But then, that might just be his standard look of irritation and no particular cause for concern.

One of the heretofore undisturbed crates near August gets a thump from the toe of his boot in passing. A flick of dark eyes to Joe at the greeting; a crook of his mouth in some facsimile of a smile. Vic and Alexander are each watched in turn for a beat, and then he sinks into a crouch, to study the box more carefully. "The fuck did you say these came from?" he murmurs to the blond sailor.

Seth mutters thanks to Vic, reaching over to put a hand on her shoulder. "Will do, and I am sure he paid a dear price for his stupidity, " the enforcer smirks. "Who knows, maybe this is someone's way of telling you to finish the book? Weirder things have happened. Was it any good?"

He turns to Alexander and shakes his head, "Not since we have been here. I don't know how long the ship has been out there, or who was here before us. Vic's likely right though, I'm no sailor, but I wouldn't risk a voyage out there. Likely to end up in the same predicament."

He glances up at de la Vega, giving a short nod in acknowledgment that he exists if nothing else, before shifting his eyes back to the crate and digger further into the contents, "I don't get how these are packed. It's just random shit..."

Itzhak sidles a sidestep over to Ruiz, lets a hand drop to his shoulder where he crouches there. The tall guy is giving off a dozen anxious tells, fingers rubbing together, head up like a deer that just heard something crackle in the underbrush, not to mention touching on his boyfriend in front of everybody. "The Song," he mutters, confirming what Joe said. He watches people open crates with an expression of dread mixed with curiosity. What's in those things for him? Does he want to know? maybe not so much, but also, he totally wants to know. August's find gets an interested look from him, though. "Hey that's cool. Pirate times stuff."

"It's not random," Joe says to Seth, lifting his voice a little. "It's stuff that would be valuable to the finder, in one way or another. This stuff is personal," Then he's touching Ruiz on the shoulder, pointing out the wreck of the strange ship. "It's gotta be from that," he says, and there's that drawn look to his face again. As if he can't stop thinking of the sailors of whatever kind that must've been lost.

Musingly, he says, "I wonder if I could reach it in my kayak...." He can't seriously be thinking of paddling out to it, can he? "Bet I could," Already looking towards the Surprise speculatively. He salves his curiosity by ambling over to another little box of wood bobbing in the water and scooping it up. He pries it open with his pocket knife. The contents are greeted with another frown, as he turns back. First puzzlement, then a growing comprehension....and then he flings it from him with a sound of something like disgust, clearly shaken.

The box spills its contents - a square of some matte black material, about six by six inches, which lands without a sound in the sand.

Blinking Devlin exclaims, "What the fuck... " as he sets the weapon down and reaches for something else within the crate. He extracts an empty bottle with a faded label. And as he looks at it more carefully. "I thought this was lost after my.." his tone turns rather uncharacteristic dark and vengeful for a couple of words, "my.. brother inlaw threw this out bottle to spite us." And then he seems almost reverent as he continues, "It was Great Grandpa's..."

"It was good. The movie was good too, with Denzel and Angelina." Washington and Jolie respectively, Vic notes. "They changed a lot, but both were good in their own way." She grimaces at Seth's words, reaching up to scritch at his beard absently. She clearly approves of the new look. "Yeah, but since when has anything from over there made any sense? I'm guessing over there because that ship looks like something out of Lord of the Fucking Rings."

"Maybe we should get out of here," she says to Seth. She has a bottle of whiskey in her pocket worth thousands of dollars, after all.

"Yeah," August says. A few more similar items come out: a golden candlestick holder, shaped like a serpent coiling around a pillar; an ashtray in mother of pearl. He glances up at Ruiz when he kicks the one crate, and though it might not have been meant that way, takes it as a sign.

He opens it and immediately pauses. "Huh." He begins pulling out leaves; specimens, carefully bound and pressed wax paper sheafs. Some are easily identified--magnolia, aspen, maple, banana, rubber, palm--others, less so. He holds up a pinnate specimen that's shimmering metallic bronze with bright green veins. "Not sure I know what this is." Another seems like a spruce, yet its needles are irridescent black. Then more mundane plants, with a hint of strangeness: oaks in their fall color, mottle with gold; porcupine plant, its spines shining steel.

He sets all of this down (no, aside--what was that about not keeping anything?) to pick up a sheaf of letters bound with twine. He stares at it a while, wordless.

Seth snaps his eyes over to Joeseph and then over at the discarded box with the fabric. "Wonder what that was..." he utters aloud as his curiosity is peaked before Vic snaps him out of whatever it is he was thinking. "Um..yeah. Maybe." he agrees with Vic as he stands, brushing sand and snow off of his pants. The enforcer offers his hand over to Vic to help her up, "I've never seen it. Maybe we should remedy that with a movie night...because this right here," the enforcer says as he motions with his hand to the scene at the beach, "This is starting to get weird and I don't know if I want to find what else might be in these boxes. Some things are better left lost if you know what I mean."

Glancing up at the hand on his shoulder, de la Vega gruffs a low-voiced hola to the looming mechanic standing beside him, before brushing some sand off the crate he's got in front of him. "La Canción," he repeats, dark eyes going all slivered as he regards it. And then Seth over there, rooting through one of the other open crates.

Blowing a breath out his nose, the cop shifts, and reaches into his boot for the knife he keeps strapped there (who doesn't arm themselves with a good holdout blade at all times?). It's flipped around so that the tip's pointed toward him, and then he gets to work trying to jimmy the latch open on his crate. August, meanwhile, is watched with his plants and letters and-- he pauses as Joe flings something onto the sand, just as the latch breaks with a pop.

He's staring at it, for a moment....and then Joe stoops hastily, shoves the black square back into the box, and tucks it under his arm. Clearly distressed - he mutters something about needing a little, and goes stalking off for the deck, not even waiting on farewells. The cap he was wearing falls out of his pocket, ignored.

Devlin sets the bottle down carefully as he looks more into the crate. "Strange... " He finds a flat leather pouch that appears to have something plate like within. "personal... that is one way to put it," Devlin's comments not directed at anyone specific. He carefully opens up the pouch and then extracts a pair of crescent moon knives. (https://www.dragonsports.eu/en/11309-bagua-zhang-crescent-moon-knives-1-shuang-yue.html) He whistles, "Someone took their time to craft these.. it's a Damascus steel of some sort.," as he looks at it, it seems within the layers there is a metal layer so dark it seems to ' eat ' the light and yet there are layers with a strange metallic pearl iridescence to them.

Alexander is not a professional crate opener, and he has been struggling with the box for a while, in stubborn, then aggressive silence. This crate will not get the better of him! He finally wrestles the top off with a grunt of triumph, and sits down in the wet sand, panting, and sweating a little despite the cold. "We still ought to go out there. There could be...survivors. Or something. Papers. Records." He needs to KNOW. But right now, he needs to know what's in the box. At first glance, it's interesting but not very alarming: there's a small chest which, when opened, is filled with uncut garnets and sapphires. Alexander whistles under his breath, pulls that out, and sets it aside. There's satin and silk, a small bolt of each, and one of plush, red velvet. He runs his fingers over that, idly, as he pulls the other things aside. And then at the bottom, he sees something that makes his face go gray, and he abruptly drops the bolt of cloth back over it.

Vic takes Seth's offered hand, and she hangs onto it. "Yeah, yeah some things need to stay in the past, where they belong," she mutters. She tugs on the man and begins walking back towards the lot their vehicles are parked in. "Movie night sounds good," she notes, as they depart.

"La Canción," Itzhak murmurs. He stares as first Joe then Alexander find things that they do not care for at all. And August's got something that...well, Itzhak can't tell what's going on there. "Yossil!" But Joe's not listening. Itzhak huffs in aggravation. "Alexander," he calls across to him, "you okay?"

August watches Joe stalk away, and begins to think Vic and Seth have the right of it. But...

The letters are old-fashioned only in the sense that the early 90s were still a bit soon for email access to be a broadly available thing. They're all addressed to 'AJ Roen'; the top two are from an 'R. Paradiso', but the rest--the majority--are from a 'J. Luna'. He sighs, pulls one out and turns it over, tugs out the folded up paper inside. It's printed in good old dot matrix format. He only reads about half of it before he sees Alexander's reaction in the corner of his eye, half turns towards him. "You okay?" he asks, tense, ready. What's under that cloth? A body part? Something worse? He's ready to Deal With It. Alexander isn't getting attacked by a raging human hand, or whatever.

Alexander looks up. He blinks. "What? Oh. Yes?" He makes it a question. Then clears his throat. "Yes." He eyes the crate, then moves to carefully lift up the bolts of cloth again, setting them off to the side. Then he lifts out a...teddy bear. It's a fairly large one, with plush brown fur and a little deerstalker hat, and a plastic magnifying glass stuck to its right paw. "It's Ness," he says, quietly.

Of course Joe's not listening. Once that man gets a bee in his bonnet.. and speaking of which, he's gone and dropped his watch cap. Javier sighs, squeezes the hand on his shoulder briefly, and pushes to his feet to go fetch it out of a snow drift. It's shoved into a pocket of his jacket, and he trudges back to find out what's in the fucking crate.

Which, once he eases it open, turns out to be a waterlogged gun. Of all things. The firing mechanism is rusted and barnacled beyond repair, and pieces of the thing are missing, but there's no mistaking what it is. Or where it came from. And his heart does a little two-step when he realises it. Jaw tight, he cuts a glance to Itzhak, jams the thing into the waistband of his jeans, underneath his jacket, and goes back to hunting through the crate.

Devlin says, "August..it's weird.. One of my friends growing up drew these based off my description," Devlin says as he puts the crescent moon knives away in the leather pouch. "And this.. you just have to look to understand it." He holds up the bottle, "Cognac bottle.. from Kehlsteinhaus. Has his initials and those of his squad mates on the back."

Itzhak's eyebrows tilt up, seeing the teddy bear. "Aww. I had a dragon that was my favorite." He's still worried about Alexander's reaction, giving him a meaningful Look. When Ruiz finds the rusted-out, waterlogged gun, he looks at that, and then trades that glance with him, eyebrows questioning. He rubs his knuckles, fidgeting, thumb running over ink that says STAY. Not opening a crate of his own yet. He keeps eyeing them, then looking at the broken-winged ship, and then not doing anything.

The stuffed bear should be reassuring to August, except, it's not. He and Alexander were brutally assaulted by a bunch of dolls once, after all. It doesn't come alive and try to beat Alexander in the head with that spyglass, though, so he turns his attention to Ruiz and the...barnacled gun? He frowns, curious. Now Devlin has some sort of special bottle of cognac.

Yeah, Seth had the right idea.

He puts the letter back in its envelope, carefully tucks the pack into his jacket pocket. He gets up and moves through the snow to Devlin. "Was this something you already drank?" he asks. Reconstituted Veil booze...not a good idea. Especially not the emotionally compromising sort.

Alexander is still staring at Ness, many different emotions flickering over his features. "Your dragon probably didn't try to cut you open and fill you with stuffing. I thought I'd destroyed this thing." He puts it carefully back into the crate, and stacks the cloth bolts back over it, as if they might keep it from...moving. Or something. He looks up and watches the others with interest, focusing for a moment on Ruiz and his gun. His mouth opens, then closes. His gaze moves on to Devlin. "Did we all get things that should be gone?"

Devlin shakes his head, "No.. it is still empty." He shrugs in answer to Alexander, "Never had the knives or the LeMat.. just always thought LeMat's were cool for black powder weapons." He takes a breath as he ponders about the knives and the revolver.. but easy to see that bottle is going to come home. He then sniffs the bottle, "Whoa.. smells like it was emptied hours ago.. "

It seemed like a fair bit of the town was coming out to see what was up with these crates. Among them? Isolde, of course. She pried open a crate that was a bit farther away from the group. Inside, she was surprised to find some kind of toys. Vintage maybe, but nothing she'd ever seen before. They looked a little fantastical though. They didn't belong here. She didn't think so at least. Isolde had to do a double take, certain that one of them had moved...but maybe not.

She started to pick one up and then paused, setting it aside in favor of what had been under it. It caused her blood to run ice cold. It was a flannel. Moth eaten, worn. Not the one she'd first come to Gray Harbor with but it was his. Isolde gathered the flannel up, hugging it tightly to herself and breathing in the scent.

You know, whispers the ocean skittering across the sand. Those boys. You know what you did. His heart's hammering in his chest, and Javier's certain, for a moment, that everyone's fucking hearing it. Itzhak. August. Alexander. He cuts a look toward the PI, then back to the crate as he fishes out the second and final object inside: an old lantern. The type one might find in use on a fishing boat, with a drum for oil and a hook for hanging upon a prow. He runs his thumb over some flaking rust, brushing it off absently, swallowing.

"I should, uh. I should call that in. The wreck." He nods toward the strange ship out on the water.

"Isolde," Alexander says, brightening when he notices the woman. There's a little wave, and then a flicker of concern when she chooses a crate to open, but no warning against it. Just careful watching until she pulls the flannel out of the crate, and hugs it tight. He smiles, just a little, before turning to Itzhak. "Odds on this stuff sticking around? I mean, you're a mover - does it feel like this stuff is real? Is that a thing you can feel?" A glance towards Ruiz. He hesitates, then says, "You know most of the police force isn't going to be able to see it, Captain. The sailors out there will just steer around it, then forget about it. If they don't stand out."

"Uh, well, fair, he didn't," Itzhak admits. No, his stuffed dragon did not do murder on him. Then Ruiz's reaction is certainly drawing his attention. All the worry lines on his hard-worn face show. He swallows. "Y...yeah. I mean, I think it feels real enough?"

As much to distract Ruiz as to try to delve into the riddle, he stomps a few steps to another crate. His Song swells, billowing silently, and he just breaks the wood open with a flick of his hand. Smash! Dozens of slick, glossy magazines come slithering out, magazines with highly suggestive yet censored images on their covers. Itzhak blinks down at them. He scoops one up and opens it, and the centerfold falls out, and he stares at it and promptly turns beet red.

"So, you're saying all dolls in Gray Harbor are evil," August says, eyeing 'Ness' with new dislike. Murderous human hand, or demonic teddy bear: which is worse? Hard to say.

August glances down at his pocket. "I...lost these," 'lost' is a substituted word, maybe for 'trashed' or 'burned', "a while ago. Never figured I'd see them again." It's a yes to Alexander's question, at least for August's part.

He licks his lips, watches Ruiz react to that lantern. Not that he doesn't mind having the letters back, but--

He sees Itzhak's reaction, leans over to eye the magazines. "What the fuck...?"

Devlin takes a breath, "If anything is real.. would hope it is the bottle. It's family history.. that" He takes a breath to calm himself. "an asshole either tossed out or destroyed." He sighs a bit, "If not.. a cruel dream." He then discovers a needed laugh seeing Itzhak's reaction to some skin mags.

Alexander gets slowly to his feet, tapping the cover back over the crate. "Not all of them. Just that the Shadows like to fuck with you, with whatever will hurt. I loved Ness." He nods to August, then Devlin, looking thoughtful. "Be careful, whatever you do with them." And then the magazines spill out, and of course he's snoopy. He sidles over to take a look at them, his eyebrows arching. Laughter, brief but genuine, comes out when Itzhak turns beet red.

Isolde slips the flannel on after another moment and exhaled softly, looking around she spotted Alexander and waved to him with a smile before refocusing on the crate. She probably couldn't carry the crate all the way home but she definitely wanted to take a closer look at some of these action figures. She picked up some of them and pushed herself to her feet. She inspected them a moment longer before moving closer to where Alexander and the others were. Eyes widening as she catches site of the centerfold Itzhak has accidentally let show and stifled a little giggle.

"Miss Morrison," Javier greets the new arrival, after clearing his throat. The lantern's hooked on two fingers, and his brows furrowed at what Alexander says. "For all I know, there's something else out there that'll fuck up traffic coming in and out of the bay. I'm calling it in." It'd be hard not to spot the way he bristles at the other man, the breath that funnels out of his nose like a bull's agitated snort.

His phone's dug back out, and he fusses with it for a moment while listening to the others. Then happens to catch sight of Itzhak's stash, and chortles. "You going to share, baby?"

These aren't just everyday nudie mags--these magazines have fabulous creatures on the covers, satyrs and nymphs and winged men and amorphous blobs with psuedopods (the psudeopods are censored with black lines). The centerfold Itzhak's holding seems to be a muscular dark-haired man with great horns and goat legs, doing something unspeakable. He hastily folds it back up...then surreptiously slips the magazine into a jacket pocket. "You bet," he says sotto voce to Ruiz, still blushing. THEN he realizes Isolde's got a battered flannel, and also that she's here, and he grins at her a little, bashful and crooked.

Something else rolls out of his crate--a silver cup, molded with grapevines and wheat sheaves and barley and olive branches. It tinks against his boot. He crouches to pick it up, wipes sand and snow from it. "...this is the kiddush cup my grandparents brought over from the Old Country." He looks up at the others. "It's the same one. There's the ding from when I knocked it over one time. Ma had to sell it."

Alexander flinches away from the bristle, his eyes stuttering back to his feet. "Do what you want," he mutters, quietly. Shoulders slumped, he looks down at the magazines, even picks one up and flips through it, but doesn't seem to show too much interest in it. It's no Girls and Corpses, okay? He puts it back down, and says, to Itzhak, "Hey. I wanted to ask you. Um. Do you have space in your garage for Cruz's car? It, uh. If it can be fixed, I'll pay." A tentative sort of look up at the mechanic.

Isolde wiggled her fingers at Ruiz and Itzhak, giving a bit more of a smile. "Nice magazines. I wonder how Pwill's doing..." The latter more of an after thought as she looked down towards the action figures she held. They looked like GI Joes. They really did. But - ah! There it was again! She startled a bit. "It's eyes moved!" Or maybe her meds weren't working right. She lightly poked the stomach of the one she claimed moved. Nothing. She shook her head and looked up to Alexander. "..What happened to the car?"

Devlin slips the bottle into the warming pocket of the sweat shirt he's wearing. The other two items, he sets on the crate, perhaps to pick up later. "Yup... if it exists.." Devlin comments, "Even the places the dreams take us have porn.." He takes a seat on another crate. "So.. what do we do about all this? And as personal as the crates seem to be.. is it wise to open others." He then looks over towards Isolde as she asks about the car.

The sailor reappears, tight-lipped....and clearly having resorted to purely ordinary, non-Veil booze. In other words, Joe's in company with Mr. Jack Daniels, at the very least, and taken in more than merely medicinal doses. He's got that distinctly ugly look in his eyes, that truculent set to the long jaw....but it eases somewhat as he heads back towards those still on the beach. At Itz's naming of the cup, he murmurs, " ...looking for the resurrection of the body, when the Sea shall give up her dead...."

Javier squints slightly at the returning Navy man, and exchanges a brief glance with Itzhak before passing off the blond's watch cap, and hitching his chin toward Joe. Then the cop meanders off a short way with his phone tucked between ear and shoulder, still examining the lantern in his hand as he rattles off a few things to the guy on the other end. Probably he's going to have a few questions about Itzhak's magazines, too. Later.

Alexander clears his throat at Isolde's question. "Um. Desert...raiders? They had a lot of guns, and strapped Itzhak to the hood of his car. I honestly don't know much else, but the car flipped." A pause. "And rolled. And it's kind of smushed." He rubs the back of his neck. "But if anyone can fix it, Itzhak can." His eyes flick towards Ruiz when he wanders off, skim over Joseph, before coming to rest on Itzhak again. "Anyway. I'll send you a text. If you want. You can say no." He turns, and starts trudging back to his crate - but not before coming within a close distance to Isolde, and smiling. "If you keep anything, lock it up. At least for a couple of days." He glances at Devlin, nods, including him in the advice as well. Then he goes back to the crate, and takes the small chest full of gems...and digs back down to get the bear. It's tucked under one arm. "Don't die," he says to all assembled, before starting to wander away.

You know who never really questions her own little reality? Gina Castro, because Dream or not, a bunch of people checking out the beach in winter - something she's noted isn't a popular pastime, since she does it a lot, draws enough attention she... hovers at the edges of the beach, watching people? For who knows HOW long. But, it seems she eventually does decide to drift forward, compelled by the cold or the excitement of everyone opening up their own crate, casually approaching-- passing Alexander along the way and pausing to look at the bear- not eyeing it, per se, and not seeming particularly wary of it. More curious. But she just tilts the corners of her lips in something that passes for a smile as she moves towards one of the bigger crates, having apparently chosen the one she wants to open along the way.

Does she greet anybody? Of course not, it's Gina.

"Iiiii dunno if I can fix that," Itzhak says to Alexander, with real pain in his eyes. Oh, that Fairlane! "I worked so hard on matching the paint, too. Gotta have a look at it. But, uh, from what I saw..." He trails off and shakes his head. "I got serious doubts. Serious." Alexander tells the story of the crazed wasteland race, and Itzhak skims off his knit cap, demonstrating the fact that he's been shaved down to the scalp. "I got processed," he says with a flinty half-smile. Then the cap goes back on.

Alexander heaves a sigh. "Take a look at it? When you can?" He sounds pleading, for all he doesn't look back. "If you want." Then he ducks his head, and trudges away, eyeing Gina warily. He reaches over and covers Ness' eyes when the woman looks at the bear. But the way he smiles, it's probably a joke? Either way, he heads out.

Isolde's eyes widen at the story. "Oh no! That sounds...bad, scary. But...at least it was only hair. Ah, besides the car." Isolde winced a bit inwardly at the thought of the crushed car. Poor thing. "Bye Alexander. I'll keep them locked up." She nodded. Well...most of them. This flannel probably wasn't going to come off at all. Looking back up towards Itzhak she asks, "Has anything else extra weird or different been found in the crates yet?"

Joe takes his cap from the cop, but doesn't put it back on. He tucks it into his pocket...and he's got a lighter and pack of cigarettes just out of it when Itz doffs his hat. It has Joe promptly dropping the lighter into the sand. "Holy- Damn, Itzhak, a Dream did that to you?" Reaching out for a moment, as if to verify by touch. But Itz puts his hat back on, and Joe stoops to retrieve the lighter, sighing. A glance after Alexander, but no farewell....and then he's nodding at Isolde. "It's all....pretty personal. Things lost. Things of the lost....."

It takes some effort for Gina to crack open the crate she was eyeing. It may also involve some shoving the crate sideways and kicking at the cover until it opens. Onto the cold, wet sand spills... clothes? Both brows rising, she reaches to hold up one piece that spills out. It's clearly child-sized for maybe a six to eight year old...and is a leather jacket, complete with fanciful studs. Tossing it to one side, she holds up another piece of clothing, this one a dolce & gabbana pink frilly dress. As she tosses clothes aside, checking more of the crate items, it's clear most of the things inside are actually luxury, brand name children's clothes, from Balmain to Fendi, and all covering up something tucked at the bottom of the crate. There's even the occasional piece of jewelry, a pearl necklace or tiara that sparkles with what looks worryingly like real diamonds.

Devlin nods to Alexander, "I may want to head in." He gets up and continues looking through the create, "No guts.. no glory.." He pulls out of all things what look like a couple of MRE's, "On second thought.. these need to go back." He tosses them towards the surf line, "Not touching those.. no way no how.." And he goes back to looking in that crate. Another leather pouch that has a clinking sound as it is shifted, some old fabric used as packing material, and lastly a few old pictures. "Hey.. these are of that Captain of the Guards from the city.. looks like a promotion ceremony or something." He then huhs, "And there's one of Jake.. looks like someone fixed him up and slapped on a shine."

His phonecall concluded, and the mundane authorities presumably given a believable enough story to keep them from prying too much, Javier starts trudging back to where the others are gathered. The lantern's still dangling from his fingers, the occasional clank as it bumps his thigh. "Hey there, McCloud," he greets the medic with a furtive smile, and touches knuckles to Itzhak's shoulder. "I'm going to head out. Got some shit to finish up at the precinct before I head home. I'll see you both later, yeah?" Joe, too, is included in that farewell as he starts to back away.

And the arrival of the diner's resident grouchy goth hasn't escaped his notice, either. The cop nods to her if he manages to catch her eye.

"Hi Joseph." Isolde offers him a smile too and nodded, looking towards her flannel a moment and then back up. "Yeah. Very personal. But also weird." She lifts the action figures some. "I swear they're moving when they aren't being looked at or something. Like that one movie." Toy Story. She furrows her brow in thought. Looking around to see what others are pulling out. "It's a very weird shipwreck." She pushed a hand through her hair. "Anyway...I should get back home myself."

Itzhak grips Javier's hand where it lands on his shoulder, briefly, his fingers cold. "Yeah," he murmurs to him. "You...be careful, okay?" His eyes land on the pistol, and the lantern. Then he lets him go, gaze trailing after him. Joe's exclamation gets a rueful sigh from him and he pulls his cap off again to demonstrate his newly shorn head. Only a shadow of dark hair remains, brutally shorn down.

Javier's comment gets a somewhat bleary grin. Company's eased the edge of his mood a little, but Joe is still several sheets to the wind, it's clear. Which explains, perhaps, why he blows a kiss at the cop's back. "You know it, baby," he says.

To Isolde, he says, gently, "Yeah. It's some special stuff. You take care," he wishes her.

Itzhak is foolish enough to bare his head again, and he's promptly got a sailor's hand palming his skull, as if Itz were a kitten in search of petting. Only a swipe or two over the fuzz before he keeps his hands to himself, but Joe can't help but laugh a little. "Man, I bet you were mad, but....it don't look bad on you."

A couple of foolish gulls attempt to open one of the MRE's. After a couple of pecks, there are a pair of loud squawks with a tone of panic and no sign of the birds other than a few feather's floating in the air. You know, that MRE looks a bit bloated and may be something moving with in?

"Catch you later, Chief," Devlin offers. He then packs the few items of interest to him in the small crate he opened earlier to include taking the bottle out of the warmer pocket to place in some of the fabric wrappings. "Catch you all later. Hoping this does exist.. if nothing else hopefully that bottle.:

Gina glances behind her at those departing, even as she casually pauses on a tiara and... is she smiling? She IS, faintly, on this tiny silver scrollwork tiara with little blue gems, and she casually sets it in her hair like a fascinator, before looking behind her and... raising her brows. "Nice haircut, Rosencratz." She says mildly. "You want a crown?" She tosses one over anyway: it's likely impossible for Itzhak to actually wear it, considering it's meant for a child, not an adult, and he's got no hair to make it stick....so cruel, Gina is. But she's finally found what she's looking for in the crate: a rococo-style jewelry box. She sits atop the pile of children's clothes and drums her fingertips against the top of it, apparently trying to decide whether it's worth opening... before she just abruptly does. And grimaces. And then shuts the box up and flings it back within the crate, before she heads towards another one.

"You two. Both of you - I'm sure I'll see you at the Poorhouse or something sometime." Isolde flashed Joseph and Itzhak a brief grin before turning and heading out, back towards home.

"I was mad. I'm still mad." Itzhak shoves his cap on over his newly bald head. "Do you mind, Cavanaugh, it's fucking freezing out here. Yeah, THANKS, Castro!" he calls at Gina sarcastically. But he holds out a hand and the tiara sails right into it. He perches it on his cap, narrowing his eyes at Joe. Haha, it's his now, he's the gantzeh makher thank you VERY much. The tiara needs nothing to stick there as Itzhak goes to open another crate or five.

"Here, gimme that," Joe says....but the tiara still ends up with the fiddler. "C'mon, dammit, Rosencrantz, we all know I'm the princess in this outfit, hand it over." Of all the things for him to be drunkenly insistent about....Well, at least he's not teary-eyed about whatever it was he found.

Snickering at the antics of the others, Gina makes her way to the other box along the route, doing her best to crack open this new lid. "Fair's fair. Come earn your crown and help me open this box." Gina calls out towards the newly crowned Itzhak, thouogh she does look over anyone else still lingering on the beach, as if pointing out how they could be helping her too. Rude.

"You're gonna hafta fight me for it!" Itzhak tells Joe, smirking. "This is my tiara, get your own." He tromps over to help Gina with the crate. When they crack this one open, it's got food in it. A lot of food, wrapped and packaged in waxed linen and paper, spilling out on a cascade of ice.

Brows rising, Gina starts to curiously unwrap one block of food - it looks to be neatly cut and individually wrapped sandwiches, everything from a a vegetarian avocado-onion-basil tomato sandwich to a cold-cut chicken pesto sandwich, to a peanut butter, cream cheese and pear sandwich, to those whipped topping and fruit sandwiches popular in japan. Casually grabbing one of the basil-tomato-avocado sandwiches, she keeps digging through, finding mason jars, topped with linen paper, each full of some delicious mixed salad with a small container of dressing taped to the mason jar lids; another container holds a whole cold rotisserie chicken, including stuffing, and several small cans of caviar are also dug out from the ice. Somewhere else, a bag of crackers and carefully wrapped blinis can also be found.

There's also smoked fish, a variety of them tied together by their gills, small containers of pickled vegetables, seemingly all kinds, and there's even fresh fruit, including a pair of whole pineapples.

Itzhak pulls out gourmet treat after treat along with Gina. "Okay, not gonna lie, this looks pretty damn good." Will Itzhak actually eat any of it? He comes up with a Mason jar of what looks like large white meatballs. "...oh man, gefelte fish." Decision made. "Screw this cold," Itzhak says, setting the jar down in the frosty sand, "I'm gonna build a fire." And he gets to doing just that. There's plenty of wood, after all. Is this a good idea? Almost certainly not but it's what he's doing!

Gina doesn't seem to mind either. She sniffs the cold fruit sandwich, before easily taking a bite-- not at all as worried as she should be about the effects. But she sets it down almost immediately, re-wrapping it before she finds some of the blinis and pops open one of the caviar containers, shaking a few of those glistening, wiggly red eggs on one of the small pancakes and popping it into her mouth. Chewing. Swallows. Then says, as if it's no big deal, "This was my favorite brand back in Russia. Used to have it with blini and boiled eggs for breakfast." Mildly said, but she shakes a little more onto a second pancake.

There is a dragging sound.
A lagging dragging sound of a beat-up b-boy bracing a box back up the beach!
And what do we beseech upon this beach? Why a Bax trying to bust the locks on the box!

Where he came from is usually anyone's guess but he is dragging a 3'x3'x3' crate up trying... yes finally to convince the lock to open by jiggling the hit out of it until he remembered he has the art of moving. Ah well. "AVAST, ITZIL!" Because that's what one fucking says when looting booty right? There's a look to Gina and the skater first makes sure the crate is between then and waves Gina a hullo.

Itzhak isn't too hot on the wiggly red eggs, from the way he eyes them. "Is there the tiny black eggs kind? I like that one." How can he get damp, cold wood to light? He might have sneaky-like urged the water out of it. Grant yelling gets him to look up from the fire he's making, and grin at him. "Yeah yeah, avast yaself. Uh...be careful with opening these things. They got stuff in them you might not like."

"Fancy fucker, huh? Yeah, there's some of that here. You want it on a blini?" Either way, she digs around for the proper can and half-heatedly tosses it towards Itzhak. "You want anything, Baxter? There's sandwiches and shit." Apparently Gina isn't in a bad mood today! Probably the caviar and blinis. Or the food's effect is sudden niceness. Who knows?

Grant is a little damp and eyes the crate like it JUST BETRAYED his trust. Oh for shame, you devil. He rolls a look back to Itzil and his fist 'nods' in a gesture signing 'yes' he knows he knows. He's about to look to the crate when Gina says the magic words and there's a double-take. Dammit, now there's choices and shit. He murmurs thoughtfully "I DO like sammiches and whatever... Sec!" The finger goes up to buy him a moment and with a foot braced to the crate he yanks the lid off in both hands (and a lot of glimmer). Where to set... eh fuck it. The crate lid is tossed over there which is a shame because it's pretty dry and if he at all was paying attention today might realize that a commodity.

Inside? Packing peanuts. He reaches down and his rm keeps going. There's a swish as he's still reaching for whatever might be in there. swish swish. His eye squints and there's a bite of his tongue still fishing around sloshing more packing peanuts out of the box. Baxter's brown eyes narrow and he hefts his short ass up so his hips are level with the top of the box and stuffs his torso into the box to fish around cascading 27 cubic feet of packing peanuts up and over the sides like a foam tsunami.

"AW YEA-cough! wheese! gag!" Words are cut off as he inhales half the pellets neat his face. Hopping back out to breathe, foam dots everywhere and statically stuck all over Bax like he escaped a snowglobe he blithely announces, "Found my keys!" THOSE get pocketed as he heads up the sad for...it-witches? Sand's a given.

"Fuck yes I'm a fancy fucker and fuck yes I want it on a blini." Itzhak stands up from the fire only to crack the hell up at the sight of Bax diving into a box of packing peanuts head-first like a fox diving after a mouse under the snow. Foam everywhere. "Your keys were in there? Only you could lose your keys and have 'em redelivered via weird shit."

Smirking, Gina... casually finishes her own blini, licking her fingertips after before she finds the blinis and a few other things she might enjoy, stands, and strolls with no hurry towards the fire Itzhak has built. She settles down near it, setting the blinis 'close enough' before she looks towards Baxter and raises both brows at his finding of his keys. She doesn't even applaud his hard effort. How cruel. "You probably could've fouund them some other way." She points out, before taking a single bite of some chicken salad sandwich with arugula and fancy bread.

Grant tilts his head back to Gina taking the sandwiches, singing half of it, stopping and then trying that again with words, hand still moving, "Well considering my house and my job both burned down? Shiiiiiiit I'm lucky to find anything anymore. I can't even find time to do things much less stuff." There's a pause and his eyes follow up to Itzil's head. "Very you. Thank you for the sammich. We got any Fireball around here and... who stole all those kids?" Because that's how a Baxter interprets a pile of children's clothes with no children.

Itzhak adjusts his tiara. "Thanks." The man can rock a tiny tiara, what can we say? He flicks out his pocketknife to pop open the tin of caviar and then use it to smear tiny black eggs on a blini. Is this caviar even from a sturgeon? Well, the writing on the tin is Russian, so...maybe? Probably. Maybe. Whatever, Itzhak just eats it. "Fuck that's good." Any reservations about eating things that came out of a crate from the Veil? Definitely not.

It's true, this is probably the most blase group to deal with sudden Veil food. Especially when it comes to blinis and caviar! And apparently chicken salad sandwiches. "Tough shit about your house." She doesn't souund particularly sympathetic, Grant is a big boy. She does glance towards the pile of clothes and just shrugs, "I don't know, but their ransom money would be insane. One of those tops is at least nine hundred dollars."

Grant dips his head at teh acknowledgement. "Thanks." Traumatic, yes, but it's been a couple months and he's been moving forward. "Nice of them to ship us food." He looks at the odd jelly curiously and then around bottling, "I smell gefilte fish?" Yeah he didn't miss that one. His attention drift back to teh pile of gaudy tiny clothes. "You'd think there's be something better to do with all that like eat or something. What's new with you? Other than being a pirate. Ooh you think they have cool pirate shit around here/ I never really did try marauding. You guys wanna go?"

"Hell yeah, gefelte fish! Hope there's horseradish too." Whatever those big white meatballs are about, they sure have the two Jewish guys excited. Itzhak pauses in stuffing blini in his face to pull something out of a pocket. It's a silver cup, molded with the sacred species of Judaism. "Lookit that." He shows it to Grant. "My bubbe's kiddush cup."

If there is one thing Ravn Abildgaard is really good at, it's being late for the party. His brand of late is not the fashionable kind that makes everyone wait on his leisurely arrival and establishes who's the big cheese around here. His is the kind of late that comes from spending most of his alone time with his nose in a book or research project and not noticing that things are happening around him. In his university days, this was in fact the reason several girls turned down the idea of dating him; no one wants to wait on a guy who may forget that you were supposed to do the thing and turns up three hours later, blissfully unaware that he's supposed to apologise.

Even bookworms need air, though, and Ravn is on a Coach Kelly-dictated regimen of long walks. His feet does eventually carry him past the beach where even he cannot stay lost enough in thoughts to not notice the shipwreck, the crates, and the small crowd of people gathering down there. Ever curious and easily distracted, he drifts closer to see what's going on and maybe spot any familiar faces.

The rumble of Seth's '68 Cobra pierces the air as the old muscle car turns the corner and parks along the edge of the beach. The enforcer is alone this time as he emerges from the car to scan over the shoreline where the crates are strewn about. The lure of possibly finding another bottle of The Macallan M in one of these crates is just too much of a temptation to let slip by. Seth walks around to the back of his car, pops the trunk, and removes a crowbar from the back before strolling his way down to the beach.

The layout of food causes his brow to rise, walking over towards it to get a better look at the offered selection before moving off to examine the other piles of 'treasure' that have accumulated in the sand.

Grant doesn't care if it's breakfast or not. Food is food is food, and food is good! hell he eats like Vyv never feeds him which everyone would know is a lie right there. "I'm gonna go find that." Oooh to locate things right now... Man there's so much shit on this beach right now it's a challenge to find anything. The food bloodhound goes to have himself a look anyways. This calls for a second sandwich . The bikini, or whatever it is, can stay with Gina and Itzil. "Heeeeey," The signing finishes the familiar greeting to Seth. Then again Bax is also someone to greet a judge this way too so... it is what it is. Seeing a very familiar face he calls out, sort of, volume's hard to control against the surf and more often than not he's not loud enough. "Sandwich...er Ravn come get food man!"

Eleanor had been watching the situation from afar after August's text but, being the curiosity seeker and conspiracy theorist that she is, she couldn't NOT go visit the stretch of beach full of crates and get a look at the amazing ship herself. The coffee shop owner left Della in charge and made her way down to the beach shortly after the morning rush ended. She is wrapped up in a puffer jacket that is trench coat length and an olive brown color. She takes photos on her phone, relatively sure they won't come out, and even takes out a small notebook to sketch a few details of the ship. Then she is drawn, inexorably, towards a very large crate. It's long, but not particularly high, half buried in the sand.

Ellie looks left, then right, then she summons up her mojo to crack the lid off. She brushes away some packing material to reveal an empty frame for a large mirror. It is ornate, stained a very dark brown, and elicits a moment of terror in the ginger. She knows this mirror. The glass is gone, which makes it feel less immediate to her, but this is the same one. The one from the basement of her childhood home. The one she and her friend Addie stepped through into the dead forest realm of the Jotunn. She hyperventilates as she taps on her phone, sending a text to her husband, urgently asking him to bring his vehicle because they have to load up the find. This might be part of the way back, the closure she needs to free the spirit of her friend.

"The hell is going on?" Ravn strays closer -- and raises a gloved hand in a wave to Seth and Bax alike, while glancing around for other familiar faces; the coffee shop owner gets an upnod in passing though he hardly expects her to remember every caffeine addict that breezes through to argue with Della about the finer points of American coffee hygiene. He looks at the crates -- and does a slow double take as his eyes settle on an issue of Double D Draenei, a magazine which has two very clear selling points on the front page, and none of them involve the video game the model escaped from.

He doesn't pick it up. Maybe he's not into video games. Maybe he just doesn't want to know where that tail goes.

"Did you just call me a sandwich or offer me one?" he asks of the purple-haired kid, making sure to pronounce clearly lest the noise of the surf mess with his hearing aids. "What is this, some kind of -- otherworldly shipwreck?"

Looking to Ravn, Seth lifts a hand to return the greeting while he gives Grant a nod of recogoniziton, "I don't rightly know what it is. What I do know if I found a bottle of really expensive scotch in one of these crates, so I am going to see if there aren't anymore. You don't typically stumble on The Macallan M, so damned if I am not going to give it another go," Seth explains as he hefts the crowbar over his head like a deranged Tusken raider.

"Other people have been finding things a bit more personal. Vic found a book she had in the past, Joe found something that shook him up, and from what I could tell others were finding things that had some profound meaning to them. Vic and I left after she found the book, thinking that maybe it might be best to just let what is in these crates alone. To leave the past in the past, but damn it I just couldn't. I have to check..." he trails off as he looks to the crates.

"The food wasn't here though. This is new." the enforcer says as he picks up one of the tins of food and looks it over. "Clothes and treasure piles are new as well. I'm surprised there is a treasure pile. What is the one over there? Are those magazines?"

Grant waves to Eleanor not interrupting her call but points to her and emphatically to the food, though he eyes the frame curiously. Looking back to Ravn chewing, and wondering abotuthe mirror he reasons, "Well I mean you are a snack but like there's food over there, man." Looking back up to the boat in question he shakes his head. "Dunno but I think it'd be cool if we go examine the wreck. I mean stuff's cool but when does the HMS Ziggy Stardust just scuttle itself?" Seth grandstanding gets a wide wide grin from him. One-handed he signs a greeting and offers a hand out business-like. "Bax." They haven't actually formally met. "Yeah man, off-world skin mags. Pretty rad actually." He would think so. "There's this one dude with a huge-" His head wobbles as he qualifies, "Pair of wings and they were all shiny like... a stained glass window and a fruit rollup had a baby. It was cool."

"I think I stumbled upon some video gamer's secret fantasy," Ravn murmurs and gives the goat girl glossy magazine one last, slightly disturbed glance; it's definitely the kind that should come with a week's supply of paper tissues. "Macallan, huh. Designer children's clothing. And -- are those actually diamonds, or just fancy rhinestones?" The folklorist frowns and looks at the crates and the people in turns. "I suppose it's a little late to worry about whether there's such a thing as a free lunch while Bax is literally eating one."

"I think I have had enough profound meaning turning up in my life recently, with my fiancee literally turning up and attempt to murder people. Maybe it's better to leave the past where it is -- in the past." The Dane makes no move towards any of the crates, regarding them with suspicion. Then he can't help laugh at Bax and shakes his head at him. "Stop hitting on me, you flirt. Also? Calling it the HMS Ziggy Stardust makes me want to look over my shoulder so I can get out of here before the spiders from Mars appear."

"Seth", greets the enforcer as he looks out towards the sinking ship, "Seth Monaghan. Pleasure." Studying the newly named HMS Ziggy Stardust Seth hrms to himself. "I'm not sure how safe that is, but I am not a seafarer. Someone with the right equipment and training might have a decent time of it, but time is probably limited. I did hear de la Vega was going to call it in, so who knows what is going to become of it."

Seth picks up one of the tins of caviar from the pile to open and sniff at it. "Are we sure this is legit? The last thing I want to do it put some alien eggs in my mouth and end up in a John Hurt way." Seth set down the tin, deciding against the idea of trying it just in case he unwillingly gives birth to a xenomorph.

As Grant starts to talk about the pile of magazines, Seth's brow rises and rises and a look that is a combination of curiosity and regulation forms onto his face. "I see...I'm not sure that is my cup of tea, but I can't say the curiosity isn't peaked." The enforcer shrugs, slipping the crowbar to rest against his shoulder, "That is what Vic and I thought too, Ravn, but here I am with a crowbar. What does that say about me?"

Grant snickers as h's chided for flattery. "I can't help it if it's arguable true, but don't worry, I got elevensies and second breakfast. Also? spiders from MArs sound rad. I wonder if they knit stuff." Because he'd be wanting to talk crafts with alien bugs. Eyebrow arching to Seth looking at him and focusing hard to make sure he is reading this right brings a frown. "Then we should def go before the fuzz shows up and ruins all the fun. And that says? You are a guy that knows 'fun'. C'mon. Ravn's got enough boating skills for all of us. I'm sure it's fine. We've been professional fish." Because only in Gray Harbor is that an accurate sentence.

Damn this place. "Ummmm, sec." It' now he digs out his keys (to not lose them twice) and a plastic 'pretty waterproof' case from his pocket and pulls out his hearing aides putting them in there making the dropoff with Itzhak. "Ikh vel kukn aoyf dem shifl, Itzil!" They're not in the shop, but it tracks and it's good practice. His accent could be better admittedly. Hence practice. Running back up his hands still move with words. "Guys I'll be honest I can't tell if I'm yelling at you or not. Just Hand up hand down to adjust volume. I'm... workin on it. Let's go futz with a boat, boys." And now he's headed over there. Looking up he does a 'brain scan' trying to find his cuz before trying to figure out how to get over there without being impaled on flotsam.

Ravn looks to Seth. And then back at Grant. And then back to Seth. "I think we just got drafted," he murmurs at length. "Bloody hell, Bax. We can't just let him go out there on his own, I guess."

"I have no idea how to sail a winged, interdimensional elf boat from outer space!" the Dane calls out after the younger man. He's sadly aware that Bax is hard of hearing -- but it warrants be said anyhow. If for no other reason, then so that when this whole setup hits the kitchen midden, at least he can mutter I told you so at somebody.

Looking back and forth between Bax and Ravn, the enforcer smirks and shakes his head, "Nah, that is one adventure I think I am going to bypass. I don't relish getting my feet wet any more than they already are and those winter waves do not look favorable. Sorry, this landlubber is sticking with some dirt under his feet. Besides, I have crates to open," Seth says as he once again thefts the crowbar off his shoulder and into the air. "Speaking of..."

Seth follows the other two, but only as far as it takes him to reach an unopened crate. "Here goes nothing..." the enforcer says as he jams the end of the pry bar into the wooden box.

"Rir es nisht! Bax!" Itzhak comes jogging fast from the parking lot. He shouts over the surf and maybe even loud enough for Grant to hear--that singer's voice of his can get loud. Although he's yelling in Yiddish it's probably pretty obvious that what he's yelling is 'don't touch the thing'.

The water is insanely cold. Socks and shoes go off and it's clear that to some people the knowing is more important than the 'how to safely'. That the water is ice fucking cold? Is...for now... painfully endured. Oh the blessings of being under 25 and stupid as sin some days. That the water isn't up to his knees and is already trying to knock him down? This is... problematic and is halting progress. Turning around 180 he eyes the water and his hand falls to a rock (Coldcoldcoldcoldcold) as he startes to re-examine this situation. "Do we even know how to sail a space boat?" Seeing Itzhak his hand shoots out, palm up in the classic But Loooook! gesture. He wobbles and has to hand plant again. Okay that's... a bad idea.... as is. This is gonna bug him all day. "Kuk bay ir!" Looking around and back to Seth he shivers trying to shake the salt water off his feet and find his shoes, "Seth, See if that's got rope in it. Maybe we can drag it here." It's like his life goal is to be fish food.

Ravn meant to follow Grant out there -- and he would have, except that when he turns to walk towards the surf, his foot catches on a plank from the wreckage sneakily hiding under a patch of seaweed. In the attempt to not fall flat on his face the Dane flails, hands out ahead of himself, and finds himself grabbing hold of the nearest solid object -- which is another crate. As a result of his trashing about, the lid falls off the crate, and an assortment of quite decent bottles of Chianti roll out, most of them unharmed.

The wine bottles are not what catches Ravn's attention, though. He finds himself picking up a set of car keys before reminding himself that he was not going to touch anything. The keyring depicts a stylished black horse rearing up on its hind legs and he looks at it like it's very familiar -- and mildly terrifying. Then, almost as an afterthought, he picks up something else -- a leatherbound folder, the kind that you'd get handed by someone in a very posh set of swallow tails in a very posh restaurant, containing a very posh menu. The discreet print on the front reads d'Angleterre, and for some reason it seems to be quite disturbing for the Dane to find it there.

The prybar sinks into the edge of the crate as the nails holding it together loosen and wriggle to the point the pop and the seam opens, the side of the box falls away pushed by the force of the enormous amounts of cellphone wrapped stacks of green paper that spill from the box onto the sands at Seth's feet. The enforcer's eyes bulge at the sheer volume of cash that crashes over his shoes like a wave, quickly moving to try and stem the flow of greenbacks and shoving them back into the crate for safekeeping.

That is until the crips slip of bleached white stationary slides out, perfectly positioned to land in front of the younger Monaghan's stunned face.

Slowly the enforcer reaches out and picks up the paper, soundlessly reading the few handwritten words on it and staring at the sheet in front of him with a look of sheer terror while his face turns white as the blood rushes from his face do to the pounding of his heart.

A pounding he swears the others can hear like in that story from Poe.

A telltale signal beating in his chest that is sure to draw suspicious eyes his way, or so he thinks as he quickly shoves the paper into his pocket and tries to quickly stash the cash back into the crate.

Sometimes experience is the best teacher. Itzhak stands at the water's edge, mouth twisted in that way that means he's trying not to smile. "Okay, buddy, when you work it out, you let me know." Then Ravn and Seth are causing more crate action to happen, and he turns to help Ravn up from all those bottles. He catches sight of the keyring. "You got a Ferrari?" Cash comes cascading out from Seth's crate. Itzhak glances over...sees the look on the enforcer's face, reading that note, and makes a deliberate decision to turn away, like an inmate who wants to give someone privacy.

"I've got a cheap rental as you very well know," Ravn mumbles. "But I recognise those keys. That was my old man's car. And the first car I stole for shit and giggles when I was fourteen." He quickly drops the restaurant menu and tries rather hard to pretend that that has nothing to do with him either. "Bloody hell, this is a trip down memory lane. And it definitely isn't real."

From further down the beach, a figure can be seen approaching. Whoever it is, has BRIGHT tastes in clothing, from their very ugly neon yellow and black ugly Christmas sweater down to the (also)neon psychadelic-printed leggings peeking down past the leggings of their oh so bland beige high-waisted pants. Whoever they are, they're in a hurry, trying to get through the sand to where the crates are despite wearing leaky black flats. As she comes closer, it becomes clear it's Diana, looking like a kid on Christmas morning, and angling straight for some unopened crates. She waves excitedly to those she's met before, even briefly, and then focuses on trying to wedge the lid off a crate. It's harder than it looks, apparently.

Crisp winter mornings are not the ideal time to catch much audience for boardwalk magic, but that doesn't mean Aidan doesn't head down there now and then just to see if today happens to be The Day. It does mean he doesn't bother with the whole setup, though, just props in his pockets and bag, which means more pockets than usual -- camouflage cargo pants doing the lifting the bright blue and green kids' satchel hung over his shoulder isn't already. The blue and green are sort of echoed along with yellow in the big arrows all over the navy-blue sweater he's wearing, and the yellow shirt that has collar and tails showing under it works as well, but there's very little that really can make camo and the big fluffy lavender faux-fur knee-length coat seem to go together except 'it is chilly out here today guys... and I need pockets'. Or possibly to hide in a bush from the knees down. If the latter, the beat up black Docs are probably one of the better options he owns.

There were not many people on the boardwalk, but the beach itself? That's a suprisingly notable difference right nw. "Hey!" he greets the assembled brightly, the grin going only more brilliant as he clocks what people exactly are there. And... crates? And a boat! With wings? A hand comes up to wave happily at the people. "Dude. When did this happen? Was that a flying boat? Is whoever was on it okay? Aren't you kinda cold, Bax?"

There is a pile of sparkly-shiny clothing and stuff on the beach; he may not even mean to but he's drawn that way like a moth to a flame. Except hopefully with less burning at the end. "Oh, cool!" One of those remaining tiaras ends up in his curls basically immediately, then another gets an 'ooh' look as well. And that thing there! "Shipwreck stuff is finders keepers, right? 'cause this is all kinda awesome." The clothing is way too small (though he still gives a couple things he pokes appraising looks like maybe they could still work) and that might be part of what has him giving in to a sudden urge to see whether that NEXT crate over there wants to open up for him and let him see what it's hiding inside?

Grant isn't shivering. nope. He's fine. it's all... everything's fine. Is he using glimmer to pull the water out of his clothes right now? Your'e damn right he is. He's watching Itzhak, defiant. See this is not complaining there for the plan is still... fine. So cold but fine. Looking to Aidan his head tilts and attention goes up tot eh tiara and then where he found it. "I need a purple one of those for Sparrow." Because reasons.

His hand gets held out for his case back so he can put his ears back in. "Salvage. It's called 'salvage' now." Looking to the CRATE o' CASH he tilts his head, "You're sharin right/ Or letting us Scrooge McDuck it at least, right?" Now he is curious about the menu but not as much about this story, "You sold someone's Ferrari?"

Seth is too focused on his task to notice who and what else is going on around him so the question Grant levels is ignored. As soon as he gets the last of the bundles of cash back into the box as best he can, he puts the side back into place and tries to hammer the nails back into the wood with the side a the crowbar. Oh, how he wishes he had brought a hammer. The nails just do not want to cooperate as he attempts to re-seal the crate. Frustrated, the enforcer lets out a sound that is a part grunt, a part stifled scream, and flips the small box over so the opened side is on top where he starts to pile the bundles of money back into it like an overflowing bucket as it keeps spilling out onto the sand. For every one bundle, he puts back in, two fall out again during this Sisyphean task.

Ravn freezes a moment upon the sudden crashing realisation that he said that out loud. And what's worse, somebody heard him say it. He bites his lip and then glances at Bax. "Actually I... just crashed it. I was fourteen. Didn't know how to drive. Turns out it's not one of those things that you can just hop into the seat and learn by doing."

He glances at Seth and doesn't fail to notice the other man's distress though he tries to pretend otherwise. "Maybe we should just... walk away, pretend none of this happened. It's obviously not real. Even if the car these keys belonged to still existed it'd be on the other side of the planet. And there's no such thing as a free lunch."

Itzhak can't help it, snorting a laugh at both Bax staring at him like a defiant five year old and Ravn having crashed his old man's fancy car. "Not a Ferrari, you can't," he says to Ravn. Ravn's very sensible suggestion that they should all leave these crates and walk away meets with a shrug from him. "Yeah, probably." But he's just as reckless as Bax in his way. Just less willing to stand in 30 degree ocean water.

Itzhak continues to deliberately ignore Seth frantically trying to shovel bricks of cash back into the crate. Nnnnope nothing happening over there.

"Probably," Diana agrees with Ravn as well, but it's undercut by the fact that she keeps struggling with the lid of the crate. She looks so very excited, if also very frustrated by the crate's unwillingness to play along. She scowls after a few moments, frustratedly kicking the crate-- whereupon it falls over onto the sand, and a book slides out. A book supposedly authored by her, according to the book jacket. For those that know her, it's just the book she published, only with a bright pink construction paper bookmark-- even so, she quickly scrambles closer to scoop it up from the sand. Without a word, she begins to fastidiously clear it of every bit of sand, very carefully and intently.

Grant manages to break off his staring contest long enough to wander over by Seth's task and, well, help. This is less a 'help' and more of a 'can I do a thing?' science project. Putting a finger on one nail he pushes it down, slowly, into the crate. he's pleased by this. He may get justly punched but hey it's stuck now! 47 more to go, Seth, you can do it!

"That... Ravn I'm excited to see you can walk right now." No doubt that he didn't have his legs torn off and pummeled with is quite the ordeal! Still curiosity lives and he walks a fefeet to ask Diana, "We got food if you need some. S'over there on the other side of the swearing guy." You live your best life, Seth! The sight of Aidan though pulls his mug into a wide smile, "Heeey cuz, see? I told ya. Loot! Real loot."

Ravn just stands there a moment and watches the restaurant menu float away on the shallow water. Then he holds up the keys, fancy black horse keyring and all, and throws them as far out to sea as he can. They disappear beneath the waves with a small plop. Grant's offhand comment causes him to hold still for a moment, almost as if he contemplates saying something. Then he decides against and just starts to walk back towards the road.

Giving up on getting every last brick of the cash off the sand, Seth squats down and wraps his arms around the crate in a bear hug. Lifting with his legs the enforcer lets out a grunt of effort as he lifts the crate from the sand, making it about 2 steps before Grant steps up in front of him to 'help'. The enforcer's eyes give the color-haired man a hard, cold, stare as they narrow in the other man's direction. "Back. Off." The two words spill out colder than a river of ice runoff from a melting glacier. One might think that if his hands were unoccupied, some other method of 'enticement' might be used to enforce the point.

Itzhak's eyebrows go up as Ravn just sets out. "Hey, Abildgaard. Rashka!" He strides after him.

Once she's determined the book is sand-free enough, Diana hugs it to herself, eyes closed for several moments. She briefly catches sight of Seth trying to carry a chest of money out toward the sea, though she doesn't even look for long, let alone comment-- and then she spots Ravn, watching something float away, and her head tilts. That, she doesn't comment on, either. Instead, she clings to her book, and silently begins to follow Itzhak following Ravn. Still, she doesn't call out to them or comment. She also doesn't try to disguise the sound of her moving after them, however.

Grant does a hopping dance away from monaghan as fast as he can climbing up Itzhak. It might be by the grace of God he doesn't piss himself in the process looking both stunned and confused. From around the other side if Itzil he takes a shaky breath, "Christ guy, if you need a Xanax I can hook you up cheep. You can clearly afford it. Might donate it to the fucking cause." Tis situation with Ravn and the car is a bit lost on him and he looks to his pal there with concerned asking scared, confused, and a healthy bit concerned for his well being.

Ravn in turn seems unaware of Seth's plight and uncharacteristic lack of suavely being on top of the situation. He pauses in mid-stride and looks back with that slightly dazed expression of someone who is a million miles away. He visibly pulls himself back to this reality in order to say, "... Yes? Sorry, I ... remembered something not very pleasant."

Baring no further interruptions, Seth carries the crate up the embankment towards his car like a man on a mission. That mission being getting this box off the beach as quickly as possible.

"Gevalt!" Itzhak sure did not expect to get climbed! Seth mean-mugs like a pro. Well, he is a pro. "Boychik, tsi nit shturkhen a ber...saydn es iz take modne." Don't poke the bear! Unless it's really funny. He grabs Grant by the head, and hoists his eyebrows at Ravn. "...Okay. Don't die, huh?"

In turn, Diana jumps back a little as Grant climbs Itzhak, just to be sure she doesn't run afoul of any flailing limbs. She pauses then, looking to Ravn at his words, and she nods to Itzhak's reply as though to say, 'what he said. Don't die, huh?' She gives him a small smile, trying to be reassuring, and then starts off on her own way.

Even the somewhat reclusive Finch de la Vega can be lured to the wintry beach by promises of elf ships and free stuff. The erstwhile daughter of the (Acting) Chief of Police has been pretty much hiding out at the family's crumbling mansion since the Revisionist started those awful rumors about her. But they since stopped, and word got out it was all just a mean spirited prank by someone no one can seem to pinpoint. The Branch and Bole employee is in coveralls, having come from work, and has her goggles on top of her head as she wanders among the crates curiously.

"Salvage," Aidan echoes, with a nod to Grant -- sure, that's fine with him -- and he pauses in wrangling his own crate to watch Seth fussing with his. Is that real money? Why is... His expression darkens a bit when money-guy snaps at Bax that way, and the "Dude," is decidedly disapproving, but he's more concerned with whether Grant's okay (appears to be) and whether Ravn is (maybe not?). Both are covered with a sincere, "You guys okay?" right about as the lid to his crate comes off. Even if it is a little sudden, you'd think he'd be expecting it, having been attempting to do just that. All the same, it makes him stagger back a step, looking startled.

Attention remains on the others as well, but it's hard not to spare at least some for the question of what's in the box? and the answer appears to be 'a coat'. More specifically, as the magician draws it out, an extremely fancy coat, clearly of good materials and looking to be right about Aidan's size. Very much so, as it turns out when he sheds his own and experimentally tries it on. It could have been tailored specifically for him, in fact, though the pockets look a bit... bulgy. His brow furrows and he dips a hand into one, coming up with a pill bottle. Weird. The label is read, and he blinks, glancing around and then at the thing again. Another, and a third and-- the pockets appear to be entirely full of them. The face he makes does not look thrilled with that aspect. He leans over the crate, looking as though he's considering dropping them all back in there, but pauses, and they end up pushed back into his pocket as he reaches in to draw something else out. It looks like a case for a very small guitar, and he opens it carefully. Who knows, it could turn out to be a tiny tommy gun instead.

The 'money-guy' makes his way to the car, popping the trunk to the '69 Cobra and up-ends the crate into the trunk, letting the bundles of money spill into the depths. Seth tosses the empty crate to the side, letting the wooden box shatter and crumple onto the concrete as he slams the trunk closed, taking one last look over the beach. Spotting some of the bundles of money still on the sand the enforcer takes two steps forward towards the beach again, seeming to be on a course to grab them before someone else does, but manages to stop himself.

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Seth focuses on his breathing for a moment. When he opens them again, he seems much calmer, a hint of color returning to his face.

Finch crouches beside one of the crates, which has a bird stamped on it. She wiggles her fingers and the lid pops off it, as if by a crowbar. She reaches into the shredded paper packing and pulls out some little jars of something. She grins, it's Overtone, the hair coloring wax she used to use, in all her favorite shades. She pockets them before reaching deeper and pulls out a book. Tears leap to her eyes and her smile is bright. It's Backyard Birds (Field Guides For Young Naturalists), just like the one she had when she was five, and she and her Gran would sit out in the back yard and look through binoculars at all the birds in the trees to identify them. Her heart swells as she holds the book to her chest with both arms wrapped around it. Those were happy times, before everything went bad.

As Seth takes his last look over the crate-strewn beach, he watches the contents, more specifically the bundles of cash left on the beach, metamorph into piles of seaweed. Blinking, the enforcer looks from the beach to the trunk of his car and makes a face that looks like someone fed him an overripe lemon. With a bit of trepidation, he slowly pulls the keyring out of his pocket and slowly inserts the key. He stands there for a moment, preparing himself for the worst as he turns the key millimeter by millimeter until the tumblers fall into place, and the trunk pops open to reveal the contents.

A barely audible "Fuck." escapes his lips, as he slowly closes the trunk again with a shake of his head.