2021-02-28 - We Need to Talk...

Lunch was delicious. Unsettling, but delicious. Afterward, Vyv helped Hya with any necessary supervising of the tidying up, proper bestowing and also stowing of gifts, any required notes re: flowers and the like, and possibly -- possibly -- even a hug for doing all this hard work cat-wrangling and thinking about unpleasantness. On her birthday, yet. If such a thing occurs there are no witnesses to confirm or deny.

But eventually there are other things she needs to do and things Vyv ought to be getting on with as well, and leave is taken, the chef parting from his favourite Addington with designs on joining up with his favourite Baxter. He might have a smallish box of lunch leftovers and a slice or so of cake coming with him, too. If one's lucky.

Grant is really fucking lucky. Also, he really loves cake. Really he might be a carbivore. He also is getting in way late in the evening from helping his sister move and near the end of the day declined just crashing out at the house but did get a drop off on bay street. IT was a busy day. He's sore. He did shower so he no longer smells a bit like a goat. All good things. It's rare but Grant Baxter can sometimes hit a wall and run out of 'zippy'.

It's hard to remember if Bax has a key or not since at this point he pretty much knows all the desk people, their lives, their gamer tags, and also the personal life of the inner workings of the tumbler locks in Vyv's front door. As such he lets himself in with a knock and a turn of the handle. He shuffles in. Door gets closed and shoes come off on the mat and coat hung up. "Heeeeey." He pauses and looks around in a quick glance and shuffle-drags his feet Vyvwardly. "How'd the whole...thing...go today?"

At some point, and with as little ceremony as possible to avoid having to think about it too hard, there has been a key. Some time in the six months since Grant risked adjusting kitchen drawers without prior approval (tch) but also with notable success, one of those days he's been lent the key he doesn't really need, the moment of handing it back was waved off, probably with some remark about only having to lend it to him again next week or similar. Hopefully, Grant's kept track of the thing at least enough to ensure no one else gets it, even if it is rather superfluous for him. Technically, it's a key. Realistically, it's permission. Quietly, it's an invitation.

Plus, it means Vyv doesn't actually have to get up and let him in. There is a clear urge to get up and go to meet him, briefly, but instead he stays in the Eames lounge and reaches out with one arm to make a grabby-hand gesture, like he might somehow be able to reach from there or the world might solve this issue for him. Maybe Hyacinth's contagious. One'd think he was the one who spent all day hauling heavy things around rather than having had a while now to sit here with a drink and theoretically-read. "...hello, darling. There's a box of lunch and cake for you in the fridge." Tch, ushering a likely detour into his own summonings! Clearly hasn't wholly got the hang of this yet. "Sister all moved? Nothing irreplaceable shattered?"

Grant sees his target and the reachy-swatty hand grasping in greeting which warms a smile in the pantomime of imperative demands. He gets within 2' of contact distance when Vyv's addition brings a full stop pause and a body twist. Aroo?? Yup. good job, Vyv. The order of processes will come in time. Yup there he goes with revivified (revyvified?) curiosity in the lethargy of the day. Carefully he opens the fridge and there is a quiet wonder that happens that brings an ear to ear smile with a bob of his head and a murmur of "Excellent." For now he grabs a bottle of cream soda in the little area of the fridge that is not the 'no-touchy' area. He holds his hand on the cap and uses glimmer to push the interior crease of cap apart and sets it on the counter now coming over. He flip a coaster toward himself and it whips into his thigh like a ninja start doing absolutely no damage, he catches it, and after a drink set s it and bottle upon it. That done his hand finds the grabby patient(?) hand and with a slowed fall eeeases into a flop squashing Vyv in his chair. He signs <<Thank you. For thinking of me.>>

So... close! Vyv should've known better than to invoke cake. Vyv knows he should've known better than to invoke cake. And yet. Stood up for a slice of (admittedly, extremely good) cake, he watches Bax move away and through the kitchen, and bestows upon him a rather impatient grabby-hand gesture and a pout that somehow manages to be both genuine and ironic at once. Yes, he is fully aware it is silly and unreasonable and a matter of an extra minute or two. Yes, he still wants those minutes!

(Really, though, it's probably no-win. Bax not immediately going for cake Vyv made? Likely at least as less-than-happy-making.)

The grabby-hand gestures manifest themselves slightly differently while cake and soda are being gathered; the actual movement changes only subtly, but the skater can feel those movements as light and fleeting tugs on various bits of his clothing. Over here, they say, though at least they aren't saying it as loudly as they could. And then when he finally gets what he's demanding, he complains! Although not, admittedly, very hard. "No, no, no, ,you're going to crush me," would probably be more convincing if he weren't in the process of wrapping his arms around this dangerous encroaching weight at the time. Or were taking his legs down from the ottoman portion to brace them. Or were still wearing non-lounging things he'd care about wrinkling. It's more like thinking about attempting to rearrange the position is about as much effort as he feels inclined to put into it yet. It is, at any rate, a perfectly good position for him to bury his face in against Grant's neck for a moment and reply unintelligibly to the thanks. Cadence and context suggest something in the 'you're welcome' family. A faint tension relaxes.

IT's quiet the thing to be nudges across the room by your clothes pulling at you like you live in a cartoon, but the harbor really does have those physics to it. Be careful what you wish for Vyv. As the complaint is filed Bax wiggles his skinny ass hunkering down naturally making the situation worse. That's what you do when there' tugging and fretting about how it's done and delivering on non-specific demand with Grant anyhow.

This is certainly not a first, but definitely falls into the uncommon category, and Bax makes for a very good human ragdoll. He also doesn't actually weigh very much which is pretty helpful. Feet pull up and there's a laugh, arms wrapping around the ones around him as words reverb against him. His head turns to smooch the chef's forehead not really knowing how much he's carrying around in his noggin today, and resting his cheek against his temple. "I feel missed. Did you think Seattle was gonna eat me?" If he knew how bad of phrasing that really is. "How was your thing with the birthday go today?"

"Mnf," Vyv doesn't exactly complain to the wriggling into place of his new, heavy, and rather unwieldy blanket. It's still a bit muffled, the murmur of, "Not Seattle, no."

And that other question. Wish you'd been there is a thought immediately and soundly rejected, and not even for the usual reasons. "The birthday part was fine. Not as good as last year, I think," you know, when he was in charge of arranging everything, "though on the other hand no one was Veil-influenced to propose to anyone, which I suppose is probably good." One of those did work out, after all! "The amount of sparkly Atli gave Hya may well blind us all when she finds a good chance to wear it." A tiny arch of a brow, "Ravn put a rose in her hair."

None of this has likely been much of his contemplation in the hours since. Well, all right, maybe just a little. He hesitates, though, resting his temple against that cheek and closing his eyes for a moment or so. "We discussed the Addington and Baxter situation somewhat. ...how much do you know about that?"

Grant promises, "Kitty's stuff is here. Saying she's 'moved' implies her stuff has a place of being which is not entirely the case." There's a studious expression as the not-usually-this-tactile Vyv recants his day. Not without highly endorsed ulterior motives. The sparkly gets a slow, sage nod. "Oh... Free lasik is good." Further part passes and an eyebrow arches, "That's a lil fancy for him. Harass later. Got it."

The rest starts to filter through layers of what Vyv isn't saying and... oh it was that kinda talk. Grant falls still and focuses for a while on an unfixed point across the room and looks back to him, "I know I never want to go neat that old fucking sawmill like...fucking ever and apparently some crazy psychopath turns a bunch of my missing family members into kibble or something . Alexander was sayin something about a...ritual or something. I sorta started to zone out after the 'don't die' part. That really just seemed like the most important take-away from it. Some something about ... I don't remember. I know they obliterated my family's sols on a fucking sawmill and I remember that dream like... it's been a year and I can still show it to you. It's that vivid man."

He pauses tired and settling right into Vyv, "I don't...want to get...obliterated or whatever and I guess a lot of family left cause they didn't want to either. It's...scary and like...it's humiliating, and I don't know what became of them or what and I don't... I don't want that to be me or my dad, or my sister or anyone." His jaw tightens and he looks to Vyv, quietly pissed, "I know the guy that did it hurt a lot of people a couple years ago."

Vyv has, frankly, more or less forgotten he asked about the outcome of the moving by the time Bax gets around to answering it. The trouble with just-shy-of-pro-forma questions versus ones that touch on soul-obliteration. The evidence for this is subtle: a blink, the hint of a wrinkle between his brows, the faintest delay before, "She moved back here without--? No, never mind, later for that." He has a point to get to, even if he is going to go by way of Critique Boulevard and maybe a tiny shortcut through Gossip Lane. It's still not a long trip.

What he was not prepared for is the sheer relief that washes over him when it's clear Grant already knows the broad and particularly nasty strokes. Thank every single god and some of their dry cleaners, he doesn't have to be the one to break that news. The things Bax is saying shouldn't coincide with another little ebb in the stress through his muscles, and yet here we are. Good, he doesn't say, all that practiced composure kicking in to mask most of the reaction and settle him a touch more tactfully at, "...all right. Yes, definitely do not go near that sawmill." He could not be more in agreement with that. Or with, "And yes. Don't die." A squeeze, small enough it might not be entirely intentional.

"I don't..." A pause. "Mn. Apparently, when Baxters die, they're capable of taking some of the Art with them. Closing it off. Like the October before last, when we properly buried Gohl, and suddenly people were finding their Arts couldn't reach as far as they could the day before. The way it still is now. And so also apparently, throughout the town's history, some Addingtons have tried to prevent this via, yes, murder and somehow obliterating souls. I do not want your soul obliterated. You need that, and I'm not helping protect it from malformed clones and other Veil perils just to let anyone here get their hands on it."

He's been talking quietly, though he manages to get quite a bit of vehemence into that last remark all the same; nonetheless, it's softer when he goes on, gaze trying quite directly to catch the painter's. "I did think, earlier. Maybe I should be looking in L.A." A pause; and a sigh. "But I don't want it to be your father or sister either and I'm definitely not ready to share a house with in-laws so I suppose we're going to have to do things the hard way and try to properly stop it." He studies Bax's face again, as well as he can without moving any farther away.

Grant answers the half-formed question. "Staying with dad. Working with dad." That. And the rest? Well it's bringing him down into a dark head-space. At the end of this day though he's tired and his man is insistently wrapped around him like a possessive security blanket. it's enough. It's really enough.

He listens though to the words mumbled against his collarbone and frowns...more...frownier yet. "I don't want to get obliterated, shredded, splinched, or whatever. I wanna go to Space." It might sound like the words of someone obstinate and 12 had they not ACTUALLY gone. Still it's a lot of information causing him to frown murmuring, "I think Alexander said something about...that. He said that's what he thinks that dream was about." THAT one.

And then there's talk about L.A. again and Bax hugs the arms holding onto him with a bit of unprecedented gravitas a bit tighter. He can feel the motes of fear that aren't his own; defiant in the dark trying to defend against everything at once known and not. He looks to Vyv, yeah upset, naturally, but here all the same. Quietly he quirks a faint grin. In all the scary shit there is one bit that catches him funny and that's to say, "Well they're not in-laws because they're..." he pauses and really tried to wrestle with the terminology if his immediate family's occupational choices, "Okay they're actually in law but that doesn't make them... ... ...help me out here. like they are IN Law but they're not like in-laws...outlaws?" His nose wrinkles and shakes his head frowning murmuring something about No that won't work because neither of them has a horse. Looking back to Vyv he says "Thank you. For... considering my family. That-" His brow furrows and rests to Vyv's. "That means a lot. Maybe we can make it...not like that I don't know. L.A.'s cool but...I'm not done here and I don't want to leave them behind. No."

Yes, this is absolutely the important bit. Vyv lifts one hand precisely as far and long as necessary to make one of those dismissive little waves he sometimes does, and no more. "I know strictly speaking they aren't but really the alternatives are underwhelming. Horses aside, I'd be shocked if they own enough leather to be outlaws, and 'my boyfriend's immediate relations'--" the corner of his mouth twitches, a brow lifting, and he cocks his head, "--all right, I could think of arguments in favour of that phrase -- 'my boyfriend's immediate family' is just long and awkward. The phrase; none of you are all that tall. Once in a while I sacrifice precision to rhetorical rhythm and flow. Plus, as you pointed out, they are both technically in law. Q.E.D."

He is definitely not in any way focusing on making this argument because it's far more comfortable than the rest, and will definitely stand by the argued-for appellation at any unexpected time it might get brought up. Definitely.

There's only so long that can go on, though, and he gives another very small sigh, closing his eyes again as foreheads touch. "It would definitely encroach on our retirement plans." You know, Veil Space. For now, they stay here. It does have his arms tightening a bit again, though. "...yes. I think it's..." He pauses, turning this over in his head, and the words come a little slower, more carefully chosen. Whether that's for Bax's sake or keeping his own thread as clear and accurate as he can would be a guess. "From what people have said, I may have some context for the dream. Do you want to hear my understanding of what went on? And," a genuine hesitation this time, not simply a pause, "...you said you could still show it to me. Does that mean you want to? Do you think I ought to see? I don't-- mn. I'd rather not make you focus like that if it'd be to no beneficial end." But if Bax meant the comment as more than just a descriptor of vividness... it's not an automatic no thank you.

Grant is absolutely not assuming a turn of phrase is any sort of actual and technical marriage proposal . he's not that fucking casual about anything and like the house would be not just slipped in there. Maybe? Either way it's semantically perplexing and in a sense that is the most important matter on the table because it's the least vital and serves as respite from a day with literal world ending afterlife grade things on that dawn.

Quietly he echoes in the definitive, "Our retirement plans." As for does he want to hear? This gets a long consideration. Burying his head in the sand is fun. This is an option still on the table right? His jaw tightens and considers the total sum. There's a pause though where Grant frowns and leans slightly away from Vyv though not to pull away from him where 'Vyv's things' are pushing off to escape. "Wha... not unless you think it has some value it's... it's horrible. I can show it to you if you want to but I'm not just going to drop something like that on you that you might never be able to put back down again. I am supposed to loo out for you, not drag you into the pit with me-" stopping himself there his index finger presses to his forehead, eyes closed. "Terrible phrasing. What... What do you know and if you want to see that after?" There's a deep breath while his eyes stay closed to prevent looking all over, "Sure. yes. I'll show you, because it might help I don't... I don't know what the right thing to do here is." He snorts and murmurs, "Studying for my bar mitzvah they didn't cover this then. I'm at a loss."

In other circumstances, chances are decent Vyv would have avoided the turn of phrase and any potentially attendant perplexing or general awkwardness. Today he's got other things on his mind! And one of them is leaning away from him, which is not ideal for his preference. The hold tightens a touch, then lightens almost reluctantly, but the leaning doesn't appear to be going any farther. Good. The rest is perhaps not quite so good.

"They've somehow failed to cover it in any of my education either," Vyv murmurs back, watching him. "I'm-- I don't know if it would be helpful, either, but my intention wasn't to ask you to. The way you phrased it, I wasn't certain whether you were giving a general illustration or making an offer." A tiny pause. "And I didn't want to ignore it if it was something you felt I should see."

Another sigh, and he leans slightly back in the chair. "All right. Here's what I believe the dream's context is. One February 10th back in the 1960s, immediate reason unknown to me but the underlying one almost certainly the Veil-thickening issue, Margaret Addington and her brother Thomas dug up every Baxter they could find in the graveyard, took the bodies to the old sawmill, and fed them into it. Alexander says probably on the Veil side, and I believe that. Why she felt that Baxters already dead and buried might suddenly start closing it off at some point when they hadn't already, I couldn't say. But that is what they did, and apparently the Exorcist sees no way to heal those souls or allow them to move on. They're stuck. And that, I think, is what you experienced in the dream." A small pause. "The other things I could mention aren't directly connected to that dream. One thing at time." Maybe a reminder to himself, there. His gaze hasn't left Bax, and he doesn't seem any more inclined than before to let go of him, either.

Grant takes a LOT of time to sit and process this. While his eyes get glassy, and watery, his jaw tightens and his brow furrows with that rarely found anger that lives way down under the clutter and depleted Pringles cans of his being. His fingers tighten around Vyv's arm, not pulling away and not pissed at him.

"People a lot more influential than Margaret fucking Addington have been trying to stamp out my family since before Gray Harbor was ever here. We'll see how 'unfixable' it is. We saved a city and built a fucking moon. We'll see about this puzzle." Hell with the intensity in those words he might just consider taking her apart and using her as a rabbit skin glue to paste the souls back together again.

Still the offer's there and that's what brings the ire back from the edge. His eyes close, a sharp breath is drawn in and held. Quietly he murmurs, "I think you got the sum of it. You don't... need to hear it. You don't need to feel it. It'd only let her hurt more people and she...can fuck right on off with that."

Vyv gives him the time. Sometimes, he can be patient. And after all, yes: that's Grant's family, even if it happened too long ago to be anyone he's met. It occurs to Vyv to wonder what the fate of local Baxters who've died since then has been. Have there been many trips to the sawmill, after that first big one? These and other thoughts he keeps to his own damn self just now. He adjusts his hold just slightly, enough to let his fingers drift down the skater's back, and rub it a little.

"There is a really remarkable amount of fucking right off Margaret Addington ought to do," he agrees, and leans in enough to lightly touch foreheads again. A silent moment, there. "And maybe there is a way to fix it someday. We can research it... but the Exorcist is probably the top expert we're going to find. This may be trickier even than saving cities. And meanwhile, we arguably need to save this one, as well. Alexander thinks that, if we did manage to heal them somehow, they'd likely cut off access to the Arts as they moved on." He pauses, taking a slower breath. "He feels that's not necessarily a bad thing, mind. Some others likely would feel the same. Others, not. It, too, would certainly put a crimp in those retirement plans."

He lifts his head again for a better view, studying Bax in all the painter's frankly righteous anger. "So. The general consensus bar Margaret Addington is that wholesale murder and soul-rending are not acceptable options. We're going to have to work out a better solution. Clearly not all Baxters want to draw the Veil, so as far as I can see we need to figure out how it happens, whether it's intentional or not, and then either figure out who wants to and find a way to change their minds if it is, find a way to prevent it if it isn't, or all agree that we're all right with the worlds separating and the Arts going away -- everywhere. Though, presumably, the things that feed on the suffering here going away as well. It does seem a very complicated situation. The only bit I think is firmly understood is that Margaret Addington can indeed fuck right on off with that."

Grant has really not had his ire up this high since some aliens wanted to lobotomize a living thing into slavery to sustain themselves, not had his cage this rattled since Vyv recently had a fucking gun aimed at his (then) too-contoured self. Both at once is something on the guy that would rather just have everyone 'eat a Snickers'. He might just pack up for war and do...something without knowing precisely what. And then the fingers. The fingers down his spine, while not fixing anything of this situation at least remind him he is loved and he is not alone in this. It's a small but powerful reminder all the same. Leaning forward his forehead thunks into Vyv's; his need known, and purpose shared.

"This is...We sure it's everywhere or just here? We could retire to space from another launch point. You said something about Wales." He pays attention. All the same he let his weight settle into the Chef and for a change just lets Vyv carry it. That's 130# of self-proclaimed 'action hero' that is slowly letting himself become dead weight in his lap. That's happening.

As if in a whole defiant middle finger to the world he carries the rest of the conversation in Vyv's head in a combination of words and images. It's not the nightmare though. There's images , or the impression of them in the library rocket ship and constellations outside of the window and the kettle on. Other impressions and memory of sensation and moments of the two of them deeply intimate, and also the seaweed cake. Alone and un-defiled, geeze. He's got his kinks but ruining food and art is absolutely not among them. "I'd hate to give this up. And not be able to... get input when the sound drops out on me. I love being with you. I know some of my ancestors were real dickbags, but no one deserves that. We'll think of something." There's a pause and his teeth set again, "As much as I want to go to space it seems like there's people that are going to fun-wreck the shit out of our retirement plans. I can't leave you stranded in space, baby. I won't do it." Because that's how his brain is processing this concern, but all the pieces are at least accounted for , even if they manifest...weird.

A small nod, reluctant. "We're fairly sure it's everywhere. It takes a bit to spread, but after the changes once we buried Gohl... they did spread everywhere we know. Portland. Wales. Japan." He doesn't like that answer either, but that's the current evidence. The weight is received with equanimity (for now; check again once his legs fall asleep), and neither is there any resistance to the slide into his mind.

It's been a little... odd in Vyv's head since the interaction with the Book. The telepathic connection's been more staticky and less reliable, for one thing. And there was that issue where he was getting nosebleeds every second or third attempt for a bit. Did rather throw the sheer amount the pair of them use it into sharp relief, it must be said. (Also had the chef readying a handkerchief every time until he went a few days without it happening. Must protect the suits!) It has the idea of losing the ability entirely more real in his head than it might otherwise be, and more worrying. The static is nearly gone now, things nearly back to normal, but the slight 'offness' of the mindscape is almost uncanny-valley right now.

The images and impressions drown it out fairly well, though. Vyv closes his eyes and sinks a little farther into them, lips briefly parting, then curling upward at the edges. [You're very distracting,] he notes, unable to make it properly a complaint. A fizz of static threads through the first few images he returns, then settles down. Some similar moments, also somewhat distracting; some perhaps less so, sitting by the ocean or Bax painting for an other-world revolution. [I'd hate to lose it too. It's... mn. I've spent most of my life without it. But I know what I'd be missing, now. And there are times--] The Art is still recovering, and as proof that his control isn't entirely properly back, that thought breaks off into a quick melange of images, moments here or in Dreams that other forms of communication broke down, underwater or when they'd been asleep or the ER and process of getting there, and emotion leaks through as well, a sharp little thread of fear and anticipatory grief before he can control it enough again to clamp that down. [...yes. I'm not sure how that would happen, zenko, but I'd much prefer not to be left stranded in space. Nor do I want you to be. And I don't want-- They can't have you. You're mine. That's all there is to that.]

Grant hasn't been able to tell the stress from that from stress, his health conditions, and everything else. Some weeks on end his head is full of bees, and right now static aside his head if full of such wonders and wicked memory. His therapist growing up told him find one good thing and focus on that. He is. It may not be discussed on network television before dark, but he's focusing on that for a moment- and there's the interruption to Vyv's focus. His grin makes a slight appearance.

[Well, I like distracting you better than I like thinking about the immortal danger of my soul for stupid reasons.] Which is as good a reason as any. His hands uncurl from Vyv's sleeve; hand wraps around the back of his head and fingers knotting in his hair. [Yeah. I am. And I'm not going anywhere. Well... there's this house you're talking about. I'll make exception to that.]

Still it's a lot of emotion making him stuffed up. There's a deep breath and a sniff. It's a much shorter pause than it feels like when he finally lets that exhale happen. "Vyv...thanks. For fighting this with me. I really can't do this one alone. But I think we can win it."

Can the bees be persuaded to make honey? Perhaps another aim to add to the ever-growing list. At present Vyv's fairly content with the current contents being shared.

He half-closes his eyes, letting his head tilt into the fingers. [Good exception. And I like you distracting me better than I like thinking about the immortal danger of your soul for stupid reasons. So it's unanimous, really.] It still does need to be thought about, of course. Quite hard, if they're going to get anywhere. But maybe, just possibly, it doesn't need to be thought about so hard right this minute.

"I don't think anyone could do this one alone. But yes, I think we'll sort it out." A tiny pause. "We rather have to." Still, the corner of his mouth quirks up briefly, and he adds more lightly, "So you're welcome." His arms slide up to draw Bax in close enough to kiss, and does so, taking a bit of time about it and letting the thoughts along that mental connection slide away from the bad things, and back toward one good one. Breaking the kiss, he studies the skater's face for a beat. "Also my legs are falling asleep." Matter-of-fact, the faint amusement growing clearer as he suggests, "Come distract me in the other room." Past and future are important, but they can wait a bit. As a wise man once said, sometimes you have to choose to own right now.

Later, there's still cake.