2021-02-28 - Addington-Baxter Luncheon

The hostess is in a pair of skinny jeans and fitted black t-shirt and her jet hair tied up in a red & white polkadot wrap really reliving the rockabilly look with the shiny high heels and wingtip eyeliner. See? Casual! still typing at the document to get it started with a pile of family albums there. Is she spending her birthday in work mode? Yes. yes she is. The mojito next to her stands half empty as a result at that. Awww but the nails match the hair wrap as they furiously clack away.

Super casual! Just like Itzhak, when he shows up with Ravn, pulling to the curb in his deep-plum Stingray. There's a car that slithers like a reptile if ever there was one, and with such a distinctive nose, too. Itzhak looks pretty slinky himself in all black, slimly tailored, the shirt open at the throat because hey, this is casual. No jacket either. See? Casual. He looks like a rock star, but then, he kinda always does, with that swag and ink on his knuckles.

"I can't believe you're doing this on your birthday," is how he greets Hya, swanning on in like the pro-level swanner he is. "Happy birthday, tough girl." For her birthday, Hya gets a lovely single yellow rose from him and a smooch on the cheek.

You'd think the two men are brothers; slimly tailored black silk suit to match Itzhak's except that Ravn's choice of shirt (no tie!) is a deep shade of midnight blue which offsets the copper tone of his hair just enough to -- well, really work for the guy. It was clearly tailored for him by somebody who knew what they were doing. It's casual. Somewhere. Just, somewhere isn't here.

If Itzhak is the swan, Ravn is the ugly-but-very-well-dressed duckling. He follows the other man in, looking decidedly less like he could own a runway or a stage; but when he bends to fake a hand kiss, European style, on the hostess before tucking a red rose into her hair there's a certain level of style to him all the same. Something bred in, rather than taught. Something which he has spent a lot of years trying to will out of existence, too. "Happy birthday, Hyacinth."

Casual? We can do casual. Maybe Hyacinth made more of a point of it than usual (or perhaps intended), because Vyv too is wearing jeans. They're perfectly tailored, dark indigo, and look like he might have them ironed to get that uncreased, but they're still jeans. Of course, there's also an ivory oxford shirt and a chocolate-brown tie, both beneath a v-necked Fair Isle sweatervest in brown and tan and cream. And a nubby tweed suit jacket over that, with the points of a cream, brown, and navy paisley pocket square peeking from his breast pocket. Okay, and there's cufflinks. But they're simple leather ones! And suede chelsea boots. See? We're all handling the casual up in here.

He -- surely uncoincidentally like the cake -- is already settled, seated next to Hyacinth and blatantly reading over her shoulder as she types things, one brow occasionally arching at something newly added. He looks up when Itzhak and Ravn arrive, giving the both of them a small smile and little head-inclination of greeting, along with a, "Good morning." Not quite noon yet! This does not mean he hasn't also got a mojito already, mind. Can't let one's BFF pre-luncheon-drink alone.

Hyacinth looks up from her conversation with Vyv to Itzhak and Ravn taking all this in with a warming smile, "Well yes. I want a lack of bullshit for my birthday and peace in the kingdom so it can stop dramatically falling apart with much tantrum and great aplomb." There's a blink as if to emphasize and says much to a compliment, "You boys look fantastic. Atli's taking care of something for the Society," Historical Preservation and all, "but will return when she can...and thank you." She accepts the yellow rose and tilts her cheek up.

She looks to Ravn for all the world is not having a panic attack. Awww! The gift of the red rose tucked behind her ear is really all it takes to make the woman that has everything perfectly happy. "Aaaaah, thank you guys. I love it. You look wonderful. hopefully the topic today won't spoil everything." Her nose is wrinkled up in a smile as she is still typing and all. "Bar's open. Go nuts. Vyv, I let my contact know you'll be calling him about property prospects. He said give him until Thursday to get a head start on that."

"Yo, Chef." Itzhak holds out a fist for Vyv to partake in the ritual bumping of the knuckles. Hya's compliments make him flash her his crooked, lopsided half-smile. "Thanks, doll. You both look amazing." That what they need to talk about might spoil the reasonably festive atmosphere is on his mind; he avails himself of the bar with a meaningful look at Ravn. Then he fishes out his phone to look up how to make a Bloody Mary. The rule is that if you're drinking before noon it has to have fruit in it, right? Tomato's technically a fruit!

Atli arrives in a powder blue chiffon number with see through short sleeves. There is a solid sweetheart neckline beneath the buttons on the top. Oversized pearls clutch to her neck in a feat of irony. She wear conservative heels and her hair is in its signature curls. She carries a parcel for her cousin in one hand. Looking about the place she seems confused “Well what an interesting group to discuss very personal matters with!” This is as far as she dares push anything. This was Hyacinth’s birthday after all.

There is no object in the known universe or beyond that moves faster than a Dane in a very sharp cocktail suit feeling so decidedly out of place as this one; he's not here. He's over there, pouring himself a stiff scotch from the bar. You're looking at his lingering after-image.

Vyv looks... bemused, frankly, by the offer of a fist-bump, and blinks once at waiting hand, but-- mn, what the hell. We are doing Casual today. This turns out to involve what may or may not intentionally be a slightly dramatically deliberate lift of the return fist, and a light tap as though it might have been champagne flutes they were clinking. Congratulations, Itzhak, you may be the proud owner of the sole Vyvyan Vydal fist-bump ever created! Certainly it at least qualifies as a limited edition.

"Good morning, Miss Addington," he greets her, hand returning to his glass, as there is still a fair bit to drink in there and it's only fair to join in the drinking. "You look quite classic today. Lovely frock." The implication regarding various people's presence is politely ignored. These things never apply to him, anyway. "And thank you, Hya. I'll attempt to hold my demands until then."

Hyacinth warms a brightening smile to her cousin. The typing stops and there are gimme gimme hands either for a hug or (likely) the box. "Alti you look amazing. I love it. I may be borrowing that dress later." Higest compliment. As to her concerns she gestures to the gathered, "Well we have many who have helped us unfurl the wrinkles in the family history and several Baxters that will be joining as this directly affects them too or... Baxter adjacent persons. We're building a live document and it will be added to for all and it's quite...unflattering on all sides so get your pearls prepped, Atli. itzhak helped Erin and I vamoose the ghost of William Ghol and Ravn found key information for us related to the departed Thomas Addington's antics." It's a fair warning. She did notice though a box which was not at all required and says with genuine appreciation (that was neither manufactured or imported) "I appreciate this. You really didn't have to but thank you." and that is cut off by witnessing ...did Vyv jsut fistbump Itzhak? She blinks. "This ballroom may be possessed again... in any case..."

Itzhak rewards Vyv with a brilliant flash of a smile and going, "Oooh!" and shaking out his hand like that was just too hot. "Nice!" Ridiculous jerk. A jerk who now owns a Chef Vyv original, that is. He upnods to Atli, eyebrows tilting, like he's well aware she's talking about him and he kinda likes it. "I'm practically mishepoche," he says, following up Hya's explanation. Armed with an inexpertly-made but quite serviceable Bloody Mary, he nudges Ravn with an elbow. "A little drinking's gonna help," he mutters to him, "but don't get smashed. You're not gonna want to hear this smashed."

Ravn in turn shoots Itzhak a look that clearly says, Buddy, I drink whiskey like you drink water, and it's my first. He nods, though, and turns to smile lightly at Atli. "Miss Addington, a pleasure. It's been a while."

Then his gaze wanders to Hyacinth and he loses the smile. For all the casual (not!) air and the birthday overtones, this is a serious subject matter and he knows enough about it to realise that there is nothing amusing or light hearted at all about the Baxter-Addington feud. Just hundreds, literally hundreds of dead people over a century and a half, and no sign of things getting better.

"I realise I am not family," he adds quietly to Atli as some kind of explanation to his presence -- the guy is literally from halfway around the planet, he's very much not related by blood to anyone around here and couldn't fake it if he tried. "But as a historian, I hope to perhaps be able to offer a bit of assistance."

“Maître Pâtissier Vydal! Always a pleasure!” Atli says brightly, a sure sign that the statement assuredly would never dane to target him. A soft smile is given to the stylish jeans.

Happily accepting of hey lovely cousins explanation. She is beaming at the compliment, almost brought to tears. The parcel is a medium size blush box looking like pattered fabric and tied with silk bow. Beneath the tissue paper within is an avant garde oversized necklace, reminiscent of a regal ruff. Hyacinth’s is encrusted with diamonds.

“Thank you! Of course love! You deserve to be showered with them. You give the gift of yourself to us all year.” Atli looks about noticing the lack of her cousin being showered. “I did end up with some information finds of my own as well, but they are grim.” Her petal lips tighten at the mention.

A curt nod is given to Ravn. “If Hyacinth believes you have value in this situation, I will not be one to disagree.” This feels vaguely along the lines of It don’t like it but I am dealing with it’.

Vyv looks faintly amused by the shaking-out of the hand, and on the mens' return makes a little gesture toward the rest of the table, which is doing a good business in not-yet-filled chairs. In case people would like to cut in on that market. The gift gets a pair of raised brows as he looks it over, and an idle note of, "You do rather do that," regarding Hyacinth's continual gift-giving. It might be teasing? Far too casual to be certain, though the ghost of a smile does remain behind the glass as he sips the drink. Topics are definitely getting unpleasant shortly, yes, but he's willing to give them a minute yet.

Hyacinth taking a deep breath she says centering herself looking to Atli with sympathy. This is the most emotion this room's had from any two Addingtons perhaps that wasn't being irate with someone. "Ours is a very bloody history. It's ruthless and rather unflattering i'm afraid." There's a pause and Hya breaks the bad news up with the exciting addition, "But the outfits in the pictures are super cute. They might still be in the archives. I don't know. But later!" Looking to Ravn and Itzhak and back her head tilts. I see you have not escaped the look says. Preening, particulurly after the kind words of Vyv and Atli she opens the box. And yes the necklace is 0 practicality or daywear and she loves it all the more for doing so. "Yaaaaaas, okay next banquet, this is happening. Soooo so happening. God, Atli, thank you luv. It's perfect!" with that though there's also the presentation to behin as she sips her mojito and people trickle in.

"The town's history starts as you can see on the screen, ish around 1880. There were settlers here before the Baxter Family arrived but were quickly bought out by the Addington Family migrating up from California after doing well with the gold rush. In 1890 the town was renamed and officially called 'Gray Harbor'. There are not a whole lot of details around this at this time only that an Addington was, to no one's surprise, appointed mayor." This said without hubris and as a matter of detail.

"After that the time of feuding starts. We have every reason to believe at this time that the Veil was always here though during the initial clear-cutting or whatever? The original settlers may have founded the land and made some stupid deal or dug too far or licked a tree. We really don't know. All we know is they who are gone, the Baxters and the Addington families have all actually owned the total land rights at some point to the city and that may play into it? We're uncertain what the lineal connection is that makes these two families separate from other families who happened to live here."

Itzhak just gives back a look at Ravn in silent communication. Atli's curtness to Ravn has him turning to her with a smirk. Standing hipshot, he gestures to his buddy with his glass. "Hey, sweetheart, don't you know who this guy is? This here's the right honorable and totally bodacious Ravn 'don't pronounce it Raven' Abildgaard, the Kabillionth of his name." He follows that up with a flirt of his eyebrows and a finger gun at her. And he's not even drunk yet.

He turns his attention to Hya, since this is what they're here for (and his clowning might be about trying not to think about it). But he's reluctant to settle into a chair, staying on his feet.

Ravn manages to not choke on his whiskey; that's something. Here he was, paying attention to the rather remarkably gruesome speech that Hyacinth was giving and then -- that. "If you dub me Ruler of the First Men and the Andals next I will club you," he murmurs. "Also, since when did I become a British peer?"

He probably would have said less if not for -- well, for the very serious topic that's occupying his mind. "I have some theories on the original Baxter Addington relationship," he adds. "But they are just that, theories."

“Why yes this is a sweetheart neckline! Thank you for noticing!” Atli is nothing but pleasant, even if her perfect white teeth are being shown to glean like knives. She sits far from Itzhak as not to be tempted to set him ablaze. A more genuine smile is given to the presenter when the statement that the original mayor was obviously an Addington arises. This is echoed in her own attitude.

“So currently we think the large distinction may had to do with land ownership and or previous wealth? That the veil was here and stumbled upon correct?” A floral print day planner and notebook have been removed from her bag as well as a fountain pen. Was she taking notes?

Is she? Vyv certainly is. For him, though, it's his phone that's emerged, the leather case flipped open to let him take his notes there. He probably doesn't take notes on Itzhak's presentation of Ravn as kabillionth of his name, but he does look rather amused by it -- and by Ravn and Atli's reactions. It's probably the last good amusement to be found for a bit here, after all; it dims almost in preparation as Hyacinth begins the background. He does not volunteer any information or even theories, at this point. Just listens. And possibly regrets not finishing that drink so he'd have a fresh one for going through this all.

Hyacinth pauses and looks up to Ravn at that question blinking, "Ravn you totes just at lunch with Vyv. That absolutely counts. he totally has you on speed dial." She lets people review the doc looking to Ravn tilting her head, "You know about folklore and 'devil bargains'. What're your thoughts on this?" looking to he and Itzhak she adds, "Because the Ferris wheel disaster is coming up next and if I remember you and Itzhak or friends of yours also were there and you got to meet Sara's ghost by proxy upstairs on the tour with Byron."

"That's what you're worried about?" Itzhak murmurs back to Ravn, the two of them like a pair of kids cutting up in the back of class. He's not taking notes. He's standing with one hand in a pocket and the other with a drink, which he's drinking. In answer to Hya he says, "I wasn't there. Roen was." And everybody knows that what August Roen knows, Itzhak knows. More or less.

Ravn glances at Itzhak and seems quite ready to tell him a few other things he's worried about when suddenly the proverbal spotlight swings his way.

He clears his throat instead, not entirely comfortable with suddenly finding himself the centre of attention here. He's decidedly uncomfortable with this position -- and one can almost see him flick that little mental switch from just me here to Lecturer, PhD, Qualified. "Yes. We have no solid evidence, I should clarify that right away. However, the Veil has proven itself hundreds, if not thousands of times in living memory, to function based on cultural archetypes. It runs on stories. One of these archetypes that keep getting referenced over the last hundred and fifty years is that of the devil's bargain. In simple terms -- a Baxter built a life here. An Addington wanted it -- they fell out, the Baxter wouldn't sell, we have no idea. The Addington came into touch with something -- not human. Probably not the proverbial Devil, but entities from the Veil. A bargain or deal was struck. Gray Harbor is still living with the consequences."

The folklorist glances from Hyacinth to Atli, and back. "I feel like I should stress that no one who is alive had any say in this matter, and that shifting blame around will achieve absolutely nothing. It's a fact -- early Addingtons committed a grave wrong towards early Baxters. None of them are around to atone for it."

Alexander is late.

In truth, Alexander thought about not coming at all; he's never been comfortable being thought of as a Baxter, or thinking of himself as a Baxter, and he has a bone-deep suspicion of most Addingtons on top of it all. Even the ones he likes. But here he is, in his grumpy homeless chic, with his grumpy expression, slowly making his way past the doors and into the back ballgown. Where he stops, staring not at those arrayed around the table, but at the projector. "There's a Powerpoint?" He sounds rather bewildered.

But after a moment, there's a quick smile towards the people gathered around, although some of those attending draw raised eyebrows from the investigator. He makes his way to a chair and sits. "Sorry. For being late."

"Is there a standard story element for fixing the trouble of things like that? Can one retain a Veil folklawyer or some such?" Vyv inquires. The tone and phrasing's a bit flippant but the underlying question is perhaps somewhat more serious. He glances to Alexander as the man arrives, and gives him a small tilt of the head in greeting. And as far as the presence of Powerpoint presentations, "Hyacinth's quite organized."

“We will just have to gift you an absurdly stylish watch soon.” Atli says, noticing Alexander’s lack of gift as well. She appreciates Ravn’s attempt to not makes this sound like an Addington family roast. “That is speculation after all.” She says in a dismissive way. Clinging to delusions was all one said some days.

If August was the one with information, Atli questions why this Itzhak is here. She does not say as much, managing time stay quite. “We were just discussing the original conflict Mr. Clayton, should you have insight to add.” A curl is smoothed behind her ear.

Hyacinth considers this and sliiides way up to the top considering this wondering out loud, "As that may be, but the Baxters are also not the original founders. Maybe some manner of curse of responsibility founded by the early Baxter family when they seized property passed on or possibly started with those before them and oh 'surprise!' you picked literally the worst damn target and now we have a 'golden goose' situation?" Speaking of doomed geese, there's Alexander. Her eyebrow lifts and greets him back in kind, "When I told you I wanted transparent I meant it. All I really wnat for my damn birthday is for the town to stop bleeding. IT's broken. Everyone's at fault. We can fix it. Yadda yadda yadda. Inspirational words. Hurrah us. Moving along." She pauses giving Vyv a "thank you." and slides the presentation forward to the 'carousel and sawmill incident of the 1960's.

"So before we get into this next part, Ravn's pretty much dead on that the Veil itself seems to have its own set of dynamic rules that seem to be in some consistent order or they wouldn't have a more organized City Hall than we do...and working there I do not say that lightly. Right now we're going to focus on two points that I've confered with Margaret directly about and others," She looks to Alexander and Itzhak nodding, "can elaborate on." Looking to Vyv she murmurs, "this is really going to be a 7 drink meeting. And i'm sorry to give you the bad news about your little friend."

"When we die... it seems there is an opportunity of flux which brings us back to the nightmares all of us in the Harbor with blood ties happened to have. I'm sorry to bring this up now but it is educational. My brother Enzo and I confronted Margaret and she didn't even deny the damn event happening." She looks back to Alexander arching an eyebrow. She knows he knows that dream.

This... definitely isn't the little girl's room. Of course, Perdita is absolutely aware of exactly what this room is, but she did spot two people she knows on their way in here a little bit ago, and she is curious as a cat. Pausing in the doorway, Perdita hesitates, feigning confusion and doing a positively amazing job at it. Dressed in a black mock turtleneck cinched tight at her waist with a wide black belt and a flowy metallic gold pleated skirt that hits ankle length, her height is currently augmented by the almost understated designer stilettos she's wearing.

"Gift?" Alexander looks around, a little bewildered. His eyes light on the card. And the cake. "Oh." He turns beet red, his shoulders drooping. "I...I apologize. I didn't, I forgot, I suppose. I will have to get you something later," he mutters to Hyacinth. He goes quiet as Hyacinth starts to speak, looking away at the mention of the dream. His hands reach out for silverware, not to eat anything, but just to give his twitchy, nervous fingers something to do.

Atli's words bring his eyes back to the table, glancing briefly at the Addington, then away. "As far as I can tell? Baxters want to extinguish the abilities, and have some way to do it once we die. To take parts and pieces of it away, weaken it. The 'lights in the darkness'. Addingtons would rather we didn't, so they've been murdering us and tearing our souls apart after death so that we can't...do that. Whatever it is. I don't know what the original conflict was, but that seems to be the ongoing issue."

"There are various archetypical solutions for a situation like this," Ravn confirms with a nod to Vyv. "The problem with them is that they all require key information we don't have. Find the body of the original murdered Baxter and give it a proper burial in hallowed ground -- that might be one such solution. Make peace between all of the living descendants could be another. Several other options. But without knowing which is the case, we're shooting in the dark there."

He greets Alexander with a small smile, relieved to see somebody else who also hates having to dress up -- and more than a little envious that the other man got away with not doing it -- and then mouth a silent 'hey there' to Perdita. They arrived pretty much at the same time -- the assumption that they arrived together is an easy mistake to make. Also, nodding to her and then quickly topping up his whiskey glass gives him an excuse to ignore the fact that people were looking at him, and he's definitely not sorry about that. At least he and Itzhak look like rock stars in their near-matching black silk suits.

Itzhak at least looks better than the last time Alexander saw him, by way of not being on a drip in a hospital bed and instead standing around looking disreputable in sleek, slim-tailored black. Like a boss. He looks at him and, nonsmiling, raises his drink to him in a silent greeting. Perdita gets a quirk of one eyebrow and a little 'come on in' nod.

"When we put Billy Gohl in the ground," he says, then, looking at Hya but talking to everyone, "he fucked up the Song. It got weaker in a lotta ways. Never been the same since. Old Lady Addington told us something was gonna happen but the old witch wouldn't say what, and by that point what were we gonna do? He was killing a lot of people." He might sound a little defensive at the end there, face growing tense.

Well, if she's going to be invited in... but this is definitely not the sort of party one expects to be going on in the ballroom of one of the fanciest homes in the town. Or. At least an outsider. Who knows what the locals expect? Perdita slips into the room with almost as silent as a breeze, moving with the familiarity of someone used to walking in painfully high heels and unafraid of them. A little fingerwave to Ravn and Itzhak as she sidles up to the taller man, smiling sweetly at him and doing her level best to blend in. Which... no.

Vyv does not look like a rock star. He looks like an unreasonably stylish and well-put together history professor. Unfortunately that doesn't actually give him any particular insight into Gray Harbor history, as his area of expertise somehow fails to notice he's wearing this rather than his whites. Perdita is a new face, and gets a thorough and unselfconsciously unsubtle appraisal, though it's more clinical than anything untoward. A slight nod of greeting, and his attention returns to the matter at hand, for now.

Hyacinth's mention of his 'little friend' gets a rather flat look, but it passes fairly swiftly; the rest of the information coming out is a bit more important right now. He makes a slight face at the mention of a burial option, and nods to Itzhak's remarks about burying Gohl, and the result. "I believe things went a bit further odd about a year ago, didn't they?" A faint pause, and his attention is more strongly on Alexander, "...what do you mean, tearing your souls apart? And why do Baxters -- theoretical ones? None of the ones I've met seem sold -- want to extinguish it?" Yes. This DOES need more drinks. He finishes the mojito, though doesn't yet get up to refill it.

Atli breaths in a sigh and holds it until she feels almost lightheaded, releasing it slowly. “There are some things I am attempting to iron here. Firstly, can we clarify the flux that occurs? Is this for Addington’s and Baxters? Second do we have a definitive answer on the lights being a good or bad thing, because without an electric bill and environmental impact study I’m uncertain if that’s an issue to be discussed. Not that genicide is the answer either.” Her voice grows strained, eye’s wide as she speaks slowly. “Are we saying it was done incorrectly this last time as well? Will Billy have to be brought back?”

The thought of the cavalier nature her father’s murder was being treated was almost enough to have her polite nature fray. Eyeing the new arrival she grits her teeth. “Oh for fudge sake. Is this someone’s girlfriend now too? Do we just need to invite the entire town to discuss the ethics of dark forces and inter family feuds?”

Notably she is not drinking.

"The bodies are gone," Alexander tells Ravn, bluntly. "They've been fed to the old mill, likely on the Veil side, and the souls are damaged beyond repair. At least, based on what the Exorcist has said - she doesn't see any way to heal them, or allow them to move on. They're just stuck there, broken and raging. And if you did, somehow, heal them? They'd likely shut down the abilities on their way to elsewhere." There's not a lot of emotion to this recitation; it's just facts from his point of view. His gaze skitters to Itzhak, then Perdita, and then away. "It's not necessarily a bad thing, if the abilities were gone forever," he admits, with a shrug. "I don't know why they want to," he says to Vyv, "but the abilities don't make things better. You have to have noticed. They give you power, sure, if you're strong enough and can control them. But they encourage things to target you, torment you, eventually kill you. We have a lot of murders, here. A lot of suicides. Disappearances. Abuse and violence. More than we should. Because of the abilities and the Veil."

He shakes his head at Atli. "Gohl is gone. He's not coming back. His soul is...wherever souls are supposed to go." He eyes the new person, as well, but doesn't speak to her. Or, apparently, have any problem just laying out the terrible in front of her.

Hyacinth points to Alexander and then Itzhan in response to Ravn's idea which is, by all fronts true. "When Marge told us something would happen what she didn't tell us at the time was that yes, when a Baxter dies they... do... something to try to close the rift in the Veil. That's why the signal's weaker a bit like daming a water source or...damning it I suppose." She looks to Atli and takes a slow breath, "Also what Alexander said is-"

Her sharp lined eyes fly to Perdita entering the room and lighter. There. However the imperious hostess says "Help yourself to the bar. Food's there. Cake shortly." Does she assume she's a Baxter? Must be. Most Baxters don't even know they are Baxters!

"To prevent this in February 1960...something on teh 10th Margaret dragged her brother up to the cenetery and exhumed the bodies of the entire Baxter family." Her jaw tightens a bit and quieter she says "Enzo and I shared Marge and Enzo's dream and, um... I remember...telling my brother... it needs to be done." This actually troubles her a bit with a frown at the keyboard where she types. "She, Margaret, didn't want the Baxters trying to close off the source of power seen as the key to the city's success. Like radiation though? Too much will burn out a town long term which is evidenced by the eradication of other like cities historic. But...we believe this to be the biggest source of contention all out ancestors wrestled with and it'll be on us to... figure out...where to go with this in the city."

Looking back to Vyv she sighs visibly pained by the memory that just...sucks for everyone really. "Yeah. Last year the late Thomas Addington was found to be possessed by the 'ghost' of WIlliam Ghol and laid waste to a huge chunk of the Addington family... under direction from Margaret Addington for those of us that proved 'unfit' to live to the family standards." She pauses and gestures to Atli and herself, "Including our parents. So... there's a lot to unpack here. Right now? If you are a Baxter? Dying in Gray Harbor is... kinda terrifying and there are those, not in this room, that have and may try to do things to destroy your afterlife...it's super gauche. This... is the thing we want to fix because that's not.. it's abhorrent. But 'fixing' this might also mean losing those skills that we've come to rely o and garden with, but also? Even closing everything doesn't seem a viable long term prospect. Killing one another? Off the table."

She nods to Alexander as he fills in that gap with a sigh, "I don't think teh 'lights' or the 'shine' or the 'glimmer' is a good thing either. And your house is super eco efficient, Atli. I checked for you. You're good."

"The entire town is affected by this situation," Ravn notes quietly. "You can't live here and not be. I have to agree with Alexander on the loss of power -- losing what was granted by this bargain might not be too high a price to pay for this all to end. But I feel I should point out that it is not likely that all would be lost. I may not have the kind of power most of you here do -- but I had it on the other side of the planet. Gray Harbor and its mystery is not the source of all shine in the world. Gray Harbor seems to amplify it, but it did not create it."

Itzhak's mouth flattens into a thin line at the talk of deliberately sacrificing the power of the Song. He was standing languidly hipshot; now he's tense. He stalks off to get another drink.

There's a polite nod from Perdita to Vyv at the appraisal, and she unabashedly does the same, clearly approving of what she sees. The expression on the young woman's face doesn't falter from pleasantly polite despite Atli's comment, smiling at the young woman with a slightly tilted head, "Not yet, but I am taking applications if you know any eligible bachelors." her voice is soft, her accent boarding school polished to be unobjectionable almost anywhere this side of the world. Hyacinth gets a nod as well, though she holds off heading for the bar just yet, clearly more interested in what's being discussed than getting white girl wasted on the open bar. Yet, anyway.

Vyv gives the faintest nod to Ravn's note regarding having abilities on the other side of the planet. So did he, though of course not to nearly the same extent. There's not otherwise a whole lot of obvious reaction beyond note-taking, but he does choose a few moments after Hyacinth mentions people trying to destroy Baxters' afterlives, still, to ease to his feet and stride over to find a new drink to replace the old. "All right. Then how do we prevent those not in this room who might be inclined to continue such things from doing so? I suppose identification would be a good first step."

“Ah.” Is the response the Pearl Harbor level nuke Hyacinth drops on her evokes. She has ceased writing, the pen wrapped so tightly in her hand that her pale knuckles lose all color. She looks to be biting her lip so hard it may bleed.

“Yes well Mr. Abildgaard, when it effects the entire town to the degree it does the Baxter’s and Addington’s I would be more open to the possibility. Forgive me for not desiring the gory details of fratricide to be aired to dry with a live reaction in my case. I hear this lovely woman is looking for a boyfriend though so I’m sure this presentation in as monumental for her as others here.” The positivity with which this is said drips, sickly with a toxic sweetness. The pen in her hand bends in such a way that it may as well break in half, pushed to the point Atli’s demeanor and its structural integrity have much in common.

She is still not drinking. Atli was not a drinker. If she was going to have a significant breakdown it just needed to wait until the end of this presentation. Overall the fact nothing is on fire is more or less on the impressive side.

Hyacinth blinks and looks to Atli and says, "Atli..." The address comes with a soft hand roll to palm up informing, "The Baxters are invited too, and guests. She's a guest, and presently our guest. The ugly little details are nor ours alone. Pride and seclusion of information caused the problem we now desire to resolve. Super sucks, I know." This from the same woman that just reduced Vyv's relationship to 'little friend' moments ago in a fit of Hya-ly concern.

Such as it is, she turns to Perdita, "Honestly? There's a few. To dish later. Moving on," She looks to Ravn and pointedly Itzhak, "Some people are not going to be happy about that and some of us upright do not care much for living in an 'analog world' but we have to, not today, come up with some way to talk about this. It affects all of us in this city both native and naturalized."

She watches Vyv get up and go to the bar and doesn't stop him looking from him to Alexander and presses her lips together. This part is hard for her and she rests the side of her finger to her lips pausing to find words and while there's a strain of emotion with her voice, "I keep...having flashbacks to that dream at the sawmill and feeling that... happen and I don't... want...to repeat history. Our families are not fucking expendable." She can swear, her pinky is out. Quietly she murmurs "And I don't think it's any comfort for Baxters to know what happened to dear old auntie after their were laid to rest. We live among modern monsters but we don't have to become them."

The look Ravn sends Atli is sympathetic. Having your family's dirty laundry aired out in public like this? There's a few chapters of his own family history that he'd rather not discuss if he can avoid it, and compared to the Gray Harbor leading families, his is pretty mundane as far as his particular kind of background goes. We don't talk about the plantation on St Croix. Or the Latvian Crusade.

"No one is expendable," he says simply. "Not Addingtons, not Baxters, not anyone else who gets drawn into the Veil and turned into kibble." With a glance to Perdita -- another recent arrival in town besides himself -- he adds, "No one's here to judge anyone, either. As I said earlier, no one alive today is responsible for this mess. We can only try to sort it out."

"I don't want nobody's soul ripped up," Itzhak says, nearly a growl, as he comes back, fresh drink in hand. A glance at Alexander, then away. "You know I don't, Hya. A lot of us," now the glance is at Ravn, and Perdita, and Vyv, all in turn, "wherever we came from, we already had the Song. The flow's just fucked up. We can unfuck it and not feed anybody to the bad men. We have to."

Alexander looks from each face, thoughtfully. "I don't object to the idea. I'd rather not have my soul shattered. But it's clear that there are branches of the Baxter family who do want to destroy the abilities. If the Addingtons simply stop shredding their souls, then each of them will probably continue to diminish the abilities when they die." Again, there's no real emotion around this recitation, just the facts as he sees them. "And it's very possible that will affect abilities all over the world. It did with Gohl. It takes time, but it does happen." He says nothing about what choice he would make, when he dies, just glances at Itzhak, then away.

The young Latina's expression doesn't falter for a moment, if anything, Atli's fake sweetness brings a seemingly genuine cheshire smile to Perdita's glossed, full lips, revealing perfect white teeth with sharp canines, looking rather like the cat who caught the canary, though it subsides to a more appropriate sympathetic expression at the look from Ravn, "I'm only here to help, and I've got a lot of catching up to do, clearly. I apologize for any seeming insensitivity to your family's tragedies."

The nice thing about mojitos is they have a whole pitcher-full over there. Well. It's Hyacinth's birthday, after all. The woman needs something to drink. Vyv will stick with it for now as well, partly as a matter of speed, and partly out of deference to it still not quite hitting noon. He returns to his seat by the hostess, settling gracefully back into it, expression still doing a very good rendition of calm and unruffled, however genuine or not. Fingertips very lightly touch Hya's wrist once, a slightly belated response to the clearness of how difficult that part was for her. He might get the hang of this whole sympathy and occasional physical-indications-of thing yet!

"Well. Do we know which Baxters? One could at least attempt to convince them not to, I suppose. And-- what happens if Baxters are elsewhere when they die? No effect on things, no one bothering to try to destroy their souls?" He manages to ask that as though the idea were just another thing that happens, and absolutely not something that makes him want a suitable target to hurl a knife or three through. "And certainly it seems there've been far too many people deemed expendable already. But there is still someone alive today who seems responsible for a fair bit of that. What do we think she's likely to do about attempts to find another way? She was so very open-minded and helpful last time, after all." Okay, maybe some of us are here to judge some people. A bit.

Itzhak finishes his drink way too fast, while these things are discussed. Then, silent but the stiffness of his spine and the aggression of his gait speaking for him, he stalks outside for a cigarette.

"I don't know," Alexander says to Vyv, flatly. "The Addingtons' persecution of the Baxters drove many of them, from what I can tell, to change their names, marry out into other families, and so forth. Clearly, not all Baxters know of the family obsession. My father doesn't; he doesn't stand out at all. Maybe my grandfather did, but he died before I was born. Either way, he clearly didn't tell my father, and so my father had no ability to pass anything down to me. But some do exist who seem to know, and wish to push it forward - Baxters retrieved Gohl's body from the Asylum. Baxters have always had a tendency to show up and start trouble."

He reaches up, rubs at his head. "As for elsewhere...I'd guess not. I'd guess being out of town, away from the thin spot, would keep us from accessing whatever it is. Maybe? Insufficient data." He watches Itzhak go.

Hyacinth makes no attempt to control other people's personal expressions here. Again, not Margaret. Her focus picks up to the touch on her arm and the refill on her glass with a small smile to Vyv on that. "We don't know, but apparently all BAxters maybe?" She turns as Alexander speaks from teh researched point on this giving him a slow nod. "Some people just want to live their life and afterlife in peace with out being part of some madcap inter-dimensional game and they should have a right to. Here in the Harbor? Things will change, and they need to. It hurts. It's... horrible...but it's what we have to deal with and really? We can change it." She looks to Atli and says with a quiet confidence, "We will work together and rebuild this place. IT's what the Historical Society does. Rebuild. Preserve. Sustain."

How do you say, Don't worry, your grandwi--mother--whatever she is won't live forever to somebody in the nicest possible way?

Ravn decides against trying. He glances after Itzhak as well as the other man leaves, knowing full well how important the shine is to the New Yorker, and how traumatic it must be for him, listening to people discuss the possibility of it fading or weakening. There's a high price to pay for safety sometimes -- and it's easy for him to say, no big deal, with what little juice he's got having so little impact on his life.